LUCIETTA, my deary,
That fairest of faces!
Is made up of kisses;
But, in love, oft the case is
Even stranger than this is--
There's another, that's slyer,
Who touches me nigher,--
A Witch, an intriguer,
Whose manner and figure
Now piques me, excites me,
Torments and delights me--
_Cætera desunt_.