Your torrid temperature is disconcerting;
And, Lord! the frowsy draperies you wear
Might well be made of gunnybags, or shirting;
And one could bet you never learned the rare
And subtle art of scientific flirting—
To set the tune, and lead the boys a dance,
Through many a labyrinth of sweet romance.
[71]
]Yet still our own! though scoffers mock and mar;
And at your feet I lay this sapless jingle,
That, if too dry, may moisten at the bar