Nor your fine dinners, nor your fine wines
Will find victory in mine eyes
Do not throw your money; and later expect me to acquiesce
For I declare, I am repulsed by your request
Your motive is shallow
Your tone, displeasingly mellow
It is as if you requested a book from your fellow
To be sure, I play this game to win
And if you did not know, you are as foolish as the rest of your kin
My eye is on the ultimate prize
Clearly, you are not even half its size
Though I hold myself in high esteem to be sure
I would more easily be won through rancour
Than through soft words or gifts; with seeming allure