All, all, my dear Joconde, renew our loves;
You laugh!—Ah! cruel, go, expose thy charms,
Grim death will quickly spare me these alarms!
JOCONDE'S reply our records ne'er relate,
Nor what he did, nor how he left his mate;
And since contemp'raries decline the task;
'Twere folly, such details of me to ask.
We're told, howe'er, when ready to depart,
With flowing tears she press'd him to her heart;
And on his arm a brilliant bracelet plac'd,