He generously ran the score,
But, Mary, I did more,—I paid it.
I know he’s dashing, bold, and free,
A front of Jove, an eye of fire;
But should he say he loves like me,
I’d, like Apollo, strike the lyre.
He says, he at your feet will throw
His all; and, if his vows are steady,
He cannot equal me—for, oh!
I’ve given you all I had, already.