THE youth to her proposal gave consent, And Constance instantly to business went; The means she used to take his clothes were such, That scarcely once his person felt her touch; She stopt not there, but even freely chose To take from off his feet, both shoes and hose What, say you:--With her hands did Constance this? Pray tell me what you see therein amiss? I wish sincerely I could do the same, With one for whom I feel a tender flame. BETWEEN the clothes in haste Camillus flew, Without inviting Constance to pursue. She thought at first he meant to try her love; But raillery, this conduct was above. His aim, howe'er more fully to unfold, She presently observed:--'Tis very cold; Where shall I sleep? said she: CAMILLUS Just where you please; CONSTANCE What, on this chair? CAMILLUS No, no, be more at ease; Come into bed. CONSTANCE Unlace me then, I pray. CAMILLUS I cannot: I'm undressed, and cold as clay: Unlace yourself.-- Just then the belle perceived A poinard, which anxiety relieved; She drew it from the scabbard, cut her lace, And many parts of dress designed for grace, The works of months, embroidery and flow'r Now perished in the sixtieth of an hour, Without regret, or seeming to lament, What more than life will of the sex content. YE dames of Britain, Germany, or France, Would you have done as much, through complaisance? You would not, I'm convinced: the thing is clear; But doubtless this, at Rome, must fine appear. POOR Constance softly to the bed approached, No longer now supposing she encroached, And trusting that, no stratagem again Would be contrived to give her bosom pain. Camillus said: my sentiments I'll speak; Dissimulation I will never seek; She who can proffer what should be denied, Shall never be admitted by my side; But if the place your approbation meet, I won't refuse your lying at my feet. FAIR Constance such reproof could not withstand, 'Twas well the poinard was not in her hand; Her bosom so severely felt the smart, She would have plunged the dagger through her heart: But Hope, sweet Hope! still fluttered to her view; And young Camillus pretty well she knew; Howe'er with such severity he spoke, That e'en the mildest saint it would provoke; Yet, in a swain so easy, gentle, kind, 'Twas strange so little lenity to find.