P.P.C.
Goodbye, Clary. I wish you no good luck.
For such sounds stupid, even without fooling.
You’ve sold yourself a treat. So have no truck
with all the rest: for everyone likes mewling.
Your house was small. Your master’s lent it size.
The fount of his good fortune flows unending.
Your fame grows great, can last till his demise.
Your soul is small. With that there’s no contending.
Your body’s fine. You’ll make a lovely wife.
You’ll bear your master lovely sons and daughters.
Your heart’s shut tight; you’ll lead a faithful life.
You’ll stay high-minded, far from muddy waters.
Goodbye Clary. You’ll see me nevermore.
I’ll steer well clear, no dream of yours I’ll clutter.
You were my dream, until I truly saw.
You are yourself. And my disdain is utter.
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P.P.C. = Pour Prendre Congé – taking leave
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