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142 Ay, your poet's jealousy ! Hark now, if this again be not tender-sweet ? - ' My heart to yours sends but one cry : If kisses fast could flee By letter, then with your sweet lips My letters read should be ! If kisses could be writ with ink, If kisses fast could flee ! '

Ha ! those last lines are, hm ! ... hm ! ..

- They are paltry enough I

And this. ..

Then you have his letters by heart ?

Every one of them !

By all oaths that can be sworn, 'tis flattering !

They are the lines of a master !

Come, nay ... a master ? . ..