Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme...

"Are you going to Scarborough Fair?" she asked me, her beady yellow eyes fairly streaming. She lisped the entreaty through blackened, broken teeth, her jowly face shaking. The soft Spring breeze lifted her matted, iron-gray hair off her hump, and a fetid stench reached my nostrils.

I paused a moment, then took her into my arms and made love to her right there on the dungheap beside her lowly hovel. It was a moment I shall always treasure.