Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night for me.

Is there, within thy dimmest dreams,
This dread ambition, Myrt?
Hast thou the ghost of a desire
To wear a hobble[Footnote: "Harem," or whatever is to come in the future,
may be substituted here.] skirt?
If so, at any pain or cost, oh, tell me before all is lost.

Look deeper still. Dost underline
Most words in writing letters?
Or "Local" write on envelopes?
Say, ere I bind my fetters.
Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell me so.

Once more. Dost thou, in easy speech,
Ever let fall "those kind"?
Art thou to nutmeg in a pie
Unalterably inclined?
If aught of these, maid of my wooing, there's absolutely nothing doing.



To Myrtilla Complaining


Myrtie, you weep that the bard has neglected you,
Passed you, forgotten you, let you alone.
Bless you, Myrtilla, I never suspected you
Ever would speak to me, sweet, in that tone.