Ho! my little maiden
With the glossy tresses,
Come thou and dance with me
A measure all divine;
Let my breast be laden
With but thy caresses—
Come thou and glancingly
Mate thy face with mine.
Thou shalt trill a rondel,
While my lips are purling
Some dainty twitterings
Sweeter than the birds’;
And, with arms that fondle
Each as we go twirling,
We will kiss, with titterings,
Lisps and loving words.