Cheese At Midnight? Time To Put My Shoes On

But where is Troy? And where is Thrace, and Thebes?
You speak to me of cheese?

Ah no, my dear, I speak of ancient Greece.

And what of Trebizond, and Samarkand?

A yes, a slice of Irish Desmond.

And who exactly crossed the Rubicund?

A pound of Västerbottensost, you say?

How strange you are tonight. I pray

You, sleep now. But what of Mandelay?

What caravans are on the road to old Bukhara?

Tóin Mór from Connemara?

How strange you are, my love. But tell me, who are

Those Assyrians who come down like wolves on the fold?

Please, my dear, no more Lymeswold.

Those hooded hordes swarming in purple and gold…

I must put on my shoes and say goodnight.

’Tis wondrous cold, but ah! the moon is bright.

Troilus will freeze – shut, shut the door, good John!

Don’t fret, my love, I’ll put my Snøfrisk on.