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.