Who’ll, know it?  Richard earnestly replied;
          In Jack’s concealment we may both confide;
          Excuse the trick I’ve played and ne’er repine;
          Address, force, treachery, in love combine;
          All are permitted when intrigue ’s the word;
          To hold the contrary were quite absurd. 
          Till stratagem was used I naught could gain,
          But looks and darts from eyes, for all my pain. 
          I’ve paid myself;—­Would you have done it?—­No;
          ’Tis all as might be wished;—­come, smiles bestow;
          I’m satisfied, the fault was not with you. 
          In this, to make you wretched, naught I view;
          Why sigh and groan?—­What numbers could I name,
          Who would be happy to be served the same.

          Hisreas’ning yet could not the belle appease;
          She wept, and sought by tears her mind to ease;
          Affliction highly added to her charms;
          Minutolo still gave her new alarms;
          He took her hand, which she at once withdrew: 
          Away, she cried; no longer me pursue;
          Be satisfied; you surely don’t desire
          That I assistance from the house require,
          Or rouse the neighbours with my plaintive cries
          I’ll ev’ry thing declare without disguise.

          Suchfolly don’t commit, replied the spark;
          Your wisest plan is nothing to remark: 
          The world at present is become so vile,
          If you the truth divulge, they’ll only smile;
          Not one a word of treachery would believe,
          But think you came—­and money to receive: 
          Suppose, besides, it reached your husband’s ears;
          Th’ effect has reason to excite your fears;
          ’Twould give displeasure and occasion strife: 
          Would you in duels wish to risk his life? 
          Whatever makes you with him disagree,
          At all events, I’m full as bad as he.

          Thesereasons with Catella greatly weighed
          Since things, continued he, are thus displayed;
          And cannot be repaired, console your mind;
          A perfect being never was designed. 
          If, howsoe’er you will * * * but say no more;
          Such thoughts for ever banish, I implore. 
          ’Mid all my perseverance, zeal, and art,
          I nothing got but frowns that pierced the heart: 
          ’Twill now on you depend if pleasure prove
          This day imperfect, ere from hence we move. 
          What more remains to do? the worst is past;
          ’Tis step the first that costs, however classed.