The Rondeau

You bid me try, Blue-eyes, to write A Rondeau. What! forthwith?—to-night? Reflect? Some skill I have, 'tis true; But thirteen lines!—and rhymed on two!— "Refrain," as well. Ah, hapless plight!

Still there are five lines—ranged aright. These Gallic bonds, I feared, would fright My easy Muse. They did, till you— You bid me try!

That makes them eight.—The port's in sight; 'Tis all because your eyes are bright! Now just a pair to end in "oo,"— When maids command, what can't we do? Behold! The Rondeau—tasteful, light— You bid me try!