How blessëd to know oneself loved to this pitch![pitch!]
I’ll dismount! Like your slave, I will lead your palfrey!
[Hands her his riding-whip, and dismounts.
There now, my rosebud, you exquisite flower!
Here I’ll go trudging my way through the sand,
Till a sunstroke o’ertakes me and finishes me.
I’m young, Anitra; bear that in mind!
You mustn’t be shocked at my escapades.
Frolics and high-jinks are youth’s sole criterion!
And so, if your intellect weren’t so dense,