With a negligent, nonchalant, jaunty air;
As though he would ask of the bystanding “parties,”—
“Pri’thee what do ye think of me, my hearties?”
Yolenta she smiled, and Yolenta she frowned,
And her delicate foot in a pet tapped the ground;
And when she turned to the herald to greet him,
The flash of her eye seemed to say she could eat him;
Though their points curled up to the knees of his trews,
I’d have been sorry to stand in his shoes.
Then she answered him shortly and sweetly,—