Quimpeder—sheathed in iron.
Pike thwart, milady, pike thwart.
Guarding soft down
In her garden that's restrained.

Mecock wanders aimlessly,
Stopped by this belt of Fe.
How can it be freed?

Quimpeder,
Two kilograms:
Belt yours, milady, belt yours.
Made so tight,
Bent so taut
Cannot get to her notch at all.

She has a key!
As she turns it, sways
The door ope.

In her harbor, my mast stays,
Anchored for a lay.

Quimpetered,
It's flowing there,
In quarts, milady, in quarts
Streaming out when we slide.
Screaming out, like hot hounds we bay.

Jesters play,
Jerks encircled, endlessly,
As they peep through hole for the key
What do they see?