Played with my tablets much as pleased us play,In mode becoming souls of dainty strain.Inditing verses either of us twainNow in one measure then in other lineWe rang the changes amid wit and wine.Then fared I homewards by thy fun so firedAnd by thy jests (Licinius!) so inspired,Nor food my hapless appetite availedNor sleep in quiet rest my eyelids veiled,But o'er the bedstead wild in furious plightI tossed a-longing to behold the light,So I might talk wi' thee, and be wi' thee.But when these wearied limbs from labour freeWere on my couchlet strewn half-dead to lie, For thee (sweet wag!) this poem for thee wrote I,Whereby thou mete and weet my cark and care.Now be not over-bold, nor this our prayerOutspit thou (apple of mine eyes !): we prayLest doom thee Nemesis hard pain repay :— She's a dire Goddess, 'ware thou cross her way.