They all gave way before my wrath,
Wild outcries flew about pell-mell;
At length I managed to rush forth,
With voice of thunder, from that hell.
"As maidens of the town we fly,
We'll shun you maidens of the village!
Leave it to those of quality,
Their humble worshippers to pillage!
Yet if ye are of practised skill,
And of all tender ties afraid,
Exchange your lovers, if ye will.
But never let them be betrayed."
Thus sings he in the winter night,
While not a blade of grass was green.
I laughed to see his piteous plight,
For it was well deserved, I ween.
And may this be the fate of all,
Who treat by day their true loves ill,
And, with foolhardy daring, crawl
By night to Cupid's treacherous mill!
THE MAID OF THE MILL'S REPENTANCE.
YOUTH.
Away, thou swarthy witch! Go forth
From out my house, I tell thee!
Or else I needs must, in my wrath,
Expel thee!
What's this thou singest so falsely, forsooth,
Of love and a maiden's silent truth?
Who'll trust to such a story!
