All your wine;—you are nervous from play: fill once more;—
And then like the rest,[616] I imagine, before
He well was aware or his own thoughts could tell,
He madly in love with the fair Countess fell.
He was handsome and rich, young, easily led—
A most opportune prize, and so easily bled.
She so skillfully—women, what devils[617] are ye!—
Lured him on till no longer the power had he
Or the will to resist;—I’ve just played the knave;—
Till his honor and soul into her hands he gave—