March

Here comes bluff March--a cross between A Jester and a Libertine. He loves to make the parson race With wicked words his hat to chase; To dye with compromising rose The pious man's abstemious nose. The ladies hate him, though he shows A pretty taste for silken hose. The smoker views him with distrust, Shielding his last match from his gust. But once alight--his holy joy No blast from Heaven can destroy!