Lisette

Oh ... there was love in her heart--no doubt of it-- Under the anger. But see what came out of it!

Not a knave, he!--A smitten rhyme-smatterer, Cloaking in languor And heartache to flatter her.

And just as a woman will--even the best of them-- She yielded--brittle. God spare me the rest of them!

For! though but kisses--she swore!--he had of her, Was it so little? She thought 'twas not bad of her,

Said I would lavish a burning hour-full On any grisette. And silenced me, powerful!

But she was mine, and blood is inflammable-- For a Lisette! My rage was undammable....

Could a stiletto's one prick be prettier? Look at the gaping. No?--then you're her pitier!

Pah! she's the better, and I ... I'm your prisoner. Loose me the strapping-- I'll lay one more kiss on her.