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Abigail:
I live like a nun in a cloister
Solitary, celibate, I hate it
Adams:
I live like a monk in an abbey
Ditto, ditto, I hate it
Abigail:
Write to me with sentimental effusion
Let me revel in romantic illusion
Adams:
Do you still smell of vanilla and spring air?
And is my favorite lover's pillar still firm and fair?
Abigail:
What was there, John, still is there, John
Come soon as you can to my cloister
I've forgotten the feel of your hand
Adams:
Madam we shall walk in Cupid's Grove together
Both:
And we'll fondly survey
That promised land
Till then, till then
I am as I ever was and ever was
And ever shall be
Yours, yours, yours, yours, yours
Abigail:
Saltpeter, John
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