Henry Englefield

“What! the girl I adore by another embraced?What! the balm of her breath shall another man taste?What! pressed in the dance by another's man's knee?What! panting recline on another than me?Sir, she's yours; you have pressed from the grape its fine blue,From the rosebud you've shaken the tremulous dew;What you've touched you may take. Pretty waltzer—adieu!”