Thanks, Douglas! I enjoyed all of the poems posted above
(and I've had another go myself at Maud's reply)-

Sir - bats, I must inform you, are not wholly black (nor blind) -
And not solely nocturnal. Among other facts, you’ll find
Those plants have sound botanic names I greatly would prefer
(Their species, plus variety) when you to them refer.
You’re hoping to impress me - with feigned knowledge of the sky?
That’s Mercury, not Venus! Your Astronomy’s awry.
As I’m a lady who elates at Truth told, above all,
That’s why you had no invitation last night to my Ball –
Your language is romantic, without scientific zeal;
Your accuracy’s wanting and such slackness lacks appeal.
Yet now, dew-damp and dewy-eyed, you turn up at my door
Requesting that I join you for dawn rambling on the moor?
‘The garden’, you say? ‘Lead me up the garden path’, more like –
No mere stroll would suffice for you; you’d lure me on a hike!
And I promised you nothing, Sir! (I - at the most - implied.)
Wet outdoors? Uninviting, Sir! So… won’t you come inside?

Knocks my effort into a cocked hat, I think. Dashed good verse, Graham.

I learned about Woodbines from Adrian Mole. What I could never figure out was the connection between Craven A cigarettes and the classic song, "Craven A never heard of fornication."

Dear me, Gail. I don't think we can go into that here. Very rude. I don't see the connection either for what it's worth.Ah, an Oxford education!