Classic Poem

Come to the bank where the boat is moor'd to the willow-tree low;
Bertha, the baby, won't notice; Brian, the block-head, won't know. She:
Bertha is not such a baby, sir, as you seem to suppose;
Brian, a blockhead he may be — more than you think for he knows. He:
This much, at least, of your brother, from the beginning he knew,
Somewhat concerning that other made such a fool of by you. She:
Firmer those bonds were and faster, Frank was my spaniel, my slave,
You! you would fain be my master; mark you! the difference is grave. He:
Call me your spaniel, your starling, take me and treat me as these,
I would be anything, darling! aye, whatsoever you please.
Brian and Basil are " punting, " leave them their dice and their wine;
Bertha is butterfly hunting; surely one hour shall be mine.
See, I have done with all duty; see, I can dare all disgrace,
Only to look at your beauty, feasting my eyes on your face. She:
Look at me, aye, till your eyes ache! How, let me ask, will it end?
Neither for your sake nor my sake, but for the sake of my friend? He:
Is she your friend, then? I own it, this is all wrong, and the rest;
Frustra sed anima monet, caro quod fortius est. She:
Not quite so close, Laurence Raby, not with your arm round my waist;
Something to look at I may be, nothing to touch or to taste. He:
Wilful as ever and wayward; why did you tempt me, Estelle? She:
You misinterpret each stray word, you for each inch take an ell.
Lightly all laws and ties trammel me, I am warn'd for all that.
He (aside):
Perhaps she will swallow her camel when she has strained at her gnat. She:
Therefore take thought and consider, weigh well, as I do, the whole —
You for mere beauty a bidder, say, would you barter a soul? He:
Girl! that may happen, but this is ; after this welcome the worst;
Blest for one hour by your kisses, let me be evermore curs'd.
Talk not of ties to me reckless, here every tie I discard;
Make me your girdle, your necklace — She:
Laurence, you kiss me too hard. He:
Aye, 'tis the road to Avernus, n'est-ce pas vrai donc, ma belle?
There let them bind us or burn us, mais le jeu vaut la chandelle .
Am I your lord or your vassal? Are you my sun or my torch?
You, when I look at you, dazzle, yet when I touch you, you scorch. She:
Yonder are Brian and Basil watching us fools from the porch.