  Ho! my little maiden With the glossy tresses, Come thou and dance with me A measure all divine; Let my breast be laden With but thy caresses— Come thou and glancingly Mate thy face with mine. Thou shalt trill a rondel, While my lips are purling Some dainty twitterings Sweeter than the birds’; And, with arms that fondle Each as we go twirling, We will kiss, with titterings, |
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