To watch the bravos of the royal box.
While thus, between our filberts and our wine,
We mourned with sighs your mistress’s decline,
You half indulged the fond imagination,
That what seemed death was but her emigration.
Perhaps, quoth you, and ’twas a bold ‘perhaps,’
Ere many years of exile shall elapse,
The wand’ring maid may find in foreign lands
More loving hearts and hospitable hands.
Perchance her feet, with furry buskins graced,