Bess, you is my woman now, you is, you is! An' you mus' laugh an' sing an' dance for two instead of one. Want no wrinkle on yo' brow, Nohow, Because de sorrow of de past is all done done Oh, Bess, my Bess! This is a great love song—so canonical that it seems not to have been “written.” It seems to have just fallen from the sky. But it had an author, DuBose Heyward, Stephen Sondheim’s idol. (And I’d argue Sondheim is channeling “Bess, You Is My Woman” in “One Hand, One Heart.”) Porgy is a poet without being a poet. Repetition makes him emphatic. “You is, you is.” The past is not just done: It is “done done.” We sense Porgy’s warmth and wit when he sternly informs Bess, “You must laugh and sing and dance for two instead of one.” As if that would be a burden. Bess replies: Porgy, I's yo' woman now, I is, I is! An' I ain't never goin' nowhere 'less you shares de fun. Dere's no wrinkle ...