One man among many, of this I’m most sure:
on chorus’ carriage she reigns.
But settling with rest, all chaste and demure,
writhing with thirst as we're dangled the cure,
has only led me to more pain.
To rise up the race to a canter,
or let each drown her with cracked song
that shouts loudest deserves her answer?
With men, I’m not much of a dancer;
I won’t whisper sweetly for long.