In silence took Catella in his arms. 
          What further passed between the easy pair,
          Think what you will, I mean not to declare;
          The lover certainly received delight
          The lady showed no terror nor affright;
          On neither side a syllable was dropt
          With care Minutolo his laughter stopt;
          Though difficult, our spark succeeded well;
          No words of mine can Richard’s pleasure tell. 
          His fav’rite beauteous belle he now possessed,
          And triumphed where so oft he’d been repressed,
          Yet fondly hoped her pardon he should get,
          Since they together had so gaily met.

          Atlength, the fair could no longer contain: 
          Vile wretch, she cried, I’ve borne too much ’tis plain;
          I’m not the fav’rite whom thou had’st in view: 
          To tear thy eyes out justly were thy due,
          ’Tis this, indeed, that makes thee silent keep,
          Each morn feign sickness, and pretend to sleep,
          Thyself reserving doubtless for amours:—­
          Speak, villain! say, of charms have I less stores? 
          Or what has Mrs. Simon more than I? 
          A wanton wench, in tricks so wondrous sly! 
          Where my love less? though truly now I hate;
          Would that I’d seen thee hung, thou wretch ingrate!

          Minutolo, while thus Catella spoke,
          Caressed her much, but silence never broke;
          A kiss e’en tried to gain, without success;
          She struggled, and refused to acquiesce;
          Begone! said she, nor treat me like a child;
          Stand off!—­away!—­thy taction is defiled;
          My tears express an injured woman’s grief;
          No more thy wife I’ll be, but seek relief;
          Return my fortune—­go:—­thy mistress seek;
          To be so constant:—­How was I so weak? 
          It surely would be nothing more than right,
          Were Richard I to see this very night,
          Who adoration constantly has paid:—­
          You much deserve to be a cuckold made;
          I’m half inclined, I vow, to do the worst. 
          At this our arch gallant with laughter burst. 
          What impudence!—­You mock me too? she cried
          Let’s see, with blushes if his face be dyed? 
          When from his arms she sprang, a window sought;
          The shutters ope’d, and then a view she caught;
          Minutolo, her lover! * * * what surprise! 
          Pale, faint, she instant grew, and closed her eyes: 
          Who would have thought, said she, thou wert so base? 
          I’m lost! * * * for ever sunk in dire disgrace!