The poem
Dames should be doomed to dungeons Who masticate raw onions.
She was the cuddly kind of Miss A man can love to death; But when I sought to steal a kiss I wilted from a breath With onion odour so intense I lost my loving sense.
Yet she was ever in my thought Like some exotic flower, And so a garlic bulb I bought And chewed it by the hour; Then when we met I thrilled to see 'Twas she who shrank from me.
So breath to breath we battled there, To dominate each other; And though her onions odious were, My garlic was a smother; Till loth I said: 'If we would kiss Let's call an armistice.
'Now we have proved that we are true To our opinions, My garlic I'll give up if you Give up your onions.' And so next day with honey sips How sweet her lips!