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She was young. She was fair. She was new. She was nice.
She was pure. She was sweet, seventeen.
He was old. He was vile, no stranger to vice.
He was bad. He was base. He was mean....
He had slyly inviegled her up to his flat
to view his collection of.....stamps,
and he said as he hastened to put out the wine
his cigar, the cat.....and the lamps:

“Have some Madiera, m’dear?
You really have nothing to fear..
I don’t want to tempt you. That wouldn’t be right.
One shouldn’t drink spirits at this time of night.
Have some Madiera, m’dear.....
It’s really an excellent year.
I don’t care for Sherry, and one cannot drink Stout,
and Port is a wine I can well do without!
You see, it’s strictly a case of ‘Chacun a son GOUT....’
Have some Madiera, m’dear?”

Unaware of the wiles of the snake in the grass
And the fate of a maiden who topes.
She lowered her standards by raising her glass,
Her mind, her courage, and his hopes.
She sipped it. She drank it. She drained it. she did!
He quietly re-filled it again,
and he said, as he secretly carved one more notch
on the butt of his gold-handled cane....

“Have some Madiera, m’dear?
I have a small cask of it here...
and once it’s been opened, it won’t keep,
Finish it up; it will help you to...sleep.”
“Have some Madiera, m’dear?
It’s ever so much nicer than Beer!
Now if it were Gin you’d do wrong to say ‘yes’
the Evil gin does is hard to assess...
and, besides, it’s inclined to affect my Prowess....
Have some Madiera, m’dear?”

Then there flashed thru her mind what her mother had said
with her ante-pen-ultimate breath:
“Oh, my child, should you gaze on the wine that is red:
BE PREPARED FOR A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH!”
She let go the glass with a shy little cry. (eek!)
Crash! Tinkle! It fell to the floor.
When he said: “What in Heaven?” She made no reply.
Up her mind and in a dash for the door!

“Have some Madiera, m’dear?”
Rang out down the hall, loud and clear
in a tremulous voice that was filled with Despair
as she paused to take breath in the cool, midnight air...
“Have some Madiera, m’dear?......”
The words seemed to ring in her ear.
Until the next morning she woke up, in bed
with a smile on her lips, and an ache in her head,
and a BEARD at her earlobe which * tickled *, and said:
“Have some Madiera, m’dear?”