I saw our novel Helen standing near,
Far-gleaming like a star.
Softly she spake: 'I would that from my stall
Some favour you would buy, that I may gain
Tenfold in praise, and beat my rivals all
In making fools of men.'
Outleapt my answer: 'Try me with thy wile:
A crown for that sweet rose!' With polished ease
She shook from haughty eyes a languid smile:
'Not so; a guinea, please.'