Joy of her beauty ran in him so hot,
Old trembling mother by him was forgot,
While Anna searched the mother's face, to know
Whether she took her for a whore or no.
The woman's maxim, 'Win the woman first,'
Made her be gracious to the withered thing.
'This being in crowds do give one such a thirst,
I wonder if they've tea going at "The King"?
My throat's that dry my very tongue do cling,
Perhaps you'd take my arm, we'd wander up