Lissette

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 Romeo 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!

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

Said I would lavish a burning hour full On any grissette. A parry!--and powerful!

But--"You are mine, and blood is inflammable, Flaunty Lissette!" My rage was undammable....

Could a stilletto'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.