Though he turn to gale, pellmell'
Like an escapee
From the satchel gifted Ulysses by the Wind King
Make to blow you into hell
And the cloak from your soul, as well,
Hang on well.
If this Proteus becomes a raging bull
Rudely obstructing your path
Brandish horns for goring
Bear his bull
Only slightly boring
Hold on fast and hold on well.
Though next this Proteus
Implore you with the sophistries
And passionate soliloquies
Of a lovely boy or girl
With flowers in their hair and comely thighs and knees
Dash them please.
If Proteus should taunt you
Denigrate tthe mysteries you're on to-
Call you a fool
For believing as you do
Make, Aristaeus, no answer,
Remember what you want to know.