Your turn will come, maybe:
Who knows? perchance you will see
The lying glances, the treacherous smiles she lately lavished on me.
If so, you can say
You met me to-night:
Tell her I went my way
Despising her trumpery slight:
Man, after all, is king—
He can laugh at the little sting
Of a woman’s scorn, when the woman herself is so poor and low a thing.