SOPHY looks grave nor says one word,
But Bose’s little ire is stirr’d;
Such ire as may be thine, O dove
Of Venus! when thou ‘rt vext by Love.
“Leave the rude spiteful man to me.”
She says. “I’ll punish him: you’ll see.
He is too silly to go mad,
Yet not so but he may be sad;
And I will bring him to his senses
For this and many more offences.
Mind.! two whole evenings, should he come,
I will be blind and deaf and dumb;
Bettina he shall hear no more,
And offer worlds for Pescator.