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Do I shock your dainty hearing with these rugged rhymes of mine? —
'Tis the rugged tree, my lady, best supports the tender vine.
Were I shaft of polished granite, you have met such men before ;
Did they satisfy you, dearest ? did you never crave for more?
With your regal state upon you, would you daunt me, O my queen ?
But I stood you in the sunlight, and it made a brighter sheen.
Crimson robe might float about you ; but I only had to speak,
And the crimson, at my bidding, rose and beautified your cheek.

O mine empress ! O my dearest ! do you think me harshly proud ?
Would it please you, would not pain you, lead me out before the crowd ;
As a dog I lie beside you, on my neck your foot shall rest.
Ah, mine empress ! all indignant, doth she clasp me to her breast.