Who knows if thou heart be true
In the art of dance should one care
To be swept away in a nose boquet
And then toss into the air

To be fondled at will by foul fingers
To touch what would be foul of sweet air
What life my soul would thou sacrafice
To be handled by one who would not care

For the want of just a pure pleasure
To rush upon a taste I would know
Where is my heart in this measure
That's what I really want to know