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.
[From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray,
now for the first time printed.]