THE ORIGINAL:


With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies!
How silently, and with how wan a face!
What! may it be that even in heavenly place
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries?
Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case:
I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace
To me, that feel the like, thy state descries.
Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me,
Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit?
Are beauties there as proud as here they be?
Do they above love to be loved, and yet
Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess?
Do they call "virtue" there—ungratefulness?



THE PARODY:


With wobbly steps, O Youth, thou climb'st the stairs!
How clumsily and with how red a face!
What! Dost thou trip and fall about the place
and pray thy folks sleep soundly, unawares?

Perhaps thy little brother who now sees
thee fall can be persuaded not to race
and broadcast to the house thy plunge from grace.
To him, thou could'st give money and say "PLEASE!"

Then, in thy shameful state, O Youth, pray tell,
whil'st thou cling to the handrail, bleary-eyed,
are friends thou partied with, like thee, unwell— 
in fear, lest their condition be descried?

Those youth who guzzle beer in lieu of milk
will bring ignominy on all their ilk.