Ne Sit Ancillæ Tibi Amor Pudor

THERE’S just a twinkle in your eye That seems to say I might, if I Were only bold enough to try An arm about your waist. I hear, too, as you come and go, That pretty nervous laugh, you know; And then your cap is always so Coquettishly displaced.

Your cap! the word’s profanely said. That little top-knot, white and red, That quaintly crowns your graceful head, No bigger than a flower, Is set with such a witching art, Is so provocatively smart, I’d like to wear it on my heart, An order for an hour!

O graceful housemaid, tall and fair, I love your shy imperial air, And always loiter on the stair When you are going by. A strict reserve the fates demand; But, when to let you pass I stand, Sometimes by chance I touch your hand And sometimes catch your eye.