No joy would I deny him, let him cull it where he will,
So, mistress of his bosom is Cleopatra still;
So that he feels for ever, when he Love's nectar sips,
'Twas sweeter—sweeter—sweeter when tasted on my lips;
So that all other kisses, since he has drawn in mine,
Shall be unto my loved as "water after wine."
Awhile let Cæsar fancy Octavia's pallid charms
Can hold Rome's proudest consul a captive in her arms.
Her cold embrace but brightens the memory of mine,
And for my warm caresses he in her arms shall pine.