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And hits me a hard blow in wanton play;I growl with new-born ecstasy;Then speaks she in a sweet vain jest, I wot"Allons lout doux! eh! la menotte!Et faites serviteurComme un joli seigneur."Thus she proceeds with sport and glee;

And for him, also, the fig strengthening honey doth yield!Doth she entice him as well to the arbour? He follows? Oh, make me

And on yonder shore are gather'd standing,Friends and lovers, trembling for the bold one:"Why, alas, remain'd he here not with us!Ah, the tempest! Cast away by fortune!Must the good one perish in this fashion?Might not he perchance.... Ye great immortals!"