And do not know your follies? I will wager
(If I could trap his countship into this!)
The rarest kisses I know how to give
Against the turquoise, that within a month
You'll grow so jealous—and without a cause,
Or with a reason thin as window glass—
That you will ache to kill me!
Lara.
Will you so?
And I—let us clasp hands and kiss on it.