A Dialogue in Verse

A smasher, and no doubt. A tart’s skirts,
cleavage plunging souls to perdition,
and a swing to match, she was out to kill.
With a hussy’s nerve, she made a mission
of men, and dined off them at will.
Tell me: are all your kind squirts?

If she was all that you say she was,
why blame them? A tease wouldn’t amount
to much if there wasn’t blood and gore
to show for it, or bodies to count!
She’s the stuff of lay and lore,
my dear, and certainly not without cause!

I think you’re just as bad as all the rest.
You haven’t set eyes on her, nor are even
likely to, and here you are, plainly drooling
already! I’m not surprised though, given
what I know of men, with crotches ruling
brains. You’re all the same, all obsessed!

Hardly my dear! You can’t deny the power
of certain women. Take Helen of Troy,
for instance: a war and two splendid epics
guaranteed to make the life of every schoolboy
miserable – surely that’s some tricks?
Although I grant you that went sour…

Au contraire, she reinforces the validity
of my premise. It’s not so much her charms
as a fundamental error of judgment.
Marlowe got it wrong: Sparta took up arms
not on account of Helen’s enticement
but because of Paris’ own stupidity!

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