I’ve my business at the ball:
What it is I need not tell;
Attic nous should guess right well.
Come! together let us go!
Zoe mou sas agapo.
Maid of Athens! though alone,
Think not, dear, that I’ll be “done.”
They’ve an eye to Istambol,
Fain would leave me in the hole—
Do I mean to let them? No!