TEACH you French? I will, my dear!

Sit and con your lesson here.

What did Adam say to Eve?

Don’t pronounce the last word long;

Make it short to suit the song;

Rhyme it to your flowing sleeve,

Aimer, aimer; c’est À vivre.

Sleeve, I said, but what’s the harm

If I really meant your arm?

Mine shall twine it (by your leave),

Aimer, aimer; c’est À vivre.

Learning French is full of slips;

Do as I do with the lips;

Here’s the right way, you perceive,

Aimer, aimer; c’est À vivre.

French is always spoken best

Breathing deeply from the chest;

Darling, does your bosom heave?

Now, my dainty little sprite,

Have I taught your lesson right?

Then what pay shall I receive?

Will you think me overbold

If I linger to be told

Whether you yourself believe

Aimer, aimer; c’est À vivre.

Pretty pupil, when you say

All this French to me to-day,

Do you mean it, or deceive?

Tell me, may I understand,

When I press your little hand,

That our hearts together cleave?

Have you in your tresses room

For some orange-buds to bloom?

May I such a garland weave?

Or, if I presume too much

Teaching French by sense of touch,

Grant me pardon and reprieve!

Sweetheart, no! you cannot go!

Let me sit and hold you so;

Adam did the same to Eve,—

Aimer, aimer; c’est À vivre.