Page:Modern poets and poetry of Spain.djvu/306

260 Go, get another in thy chain,
 * And Heaven for you decree

A thousand joys, for me 't is vain; I know thee cheat, and tell thee plain,
 * I will not marry thee.

Whene'er Don Juan has a feast at home, I am forgotten as if at Rome; But he will for funerals me invite, To kill me with the annoyance quite:
 * Well, so be it!

Celeste, with thousand coy excuses, Will sing the song that set she chooses, And all about that her environ, Though like an owl, call her a Siren:
 * Well, so be it!

A hundred bees, without reposing, Work their sweet combs, with skill enclosing; Alas! for an idle drone they strive, Who soon will come to devour the hive:
 * Well, so be it!