Make ends meet

in passing by, Deep in my heart is stamp'd for aye; How curt and sharp her

answer too, To ecstasy the feeling grew!

This girl must win for me! Dost hear?

What! She? She from confession cometh here, From every sin absolved and

free; I crept near the confessor's chair. All innocence her virgin soul, For next

to nothing went she there; O'er such as she I've no control!

Like any gay Lothario, Who every floweret from its stalk Would pluck, and

deems nor grace, nor truth, Secure against his arts, forsooth! This ne'er the