Depart thou not! For thee I'll badly pine; I'm not the kind that likes to be put down. Thou wouldst become my figment Colombine If I be sole inside with Pierrot's frown.

I craft no singing-in-the-rain cliché, Instead I hide within my dwelling meek. I haven't seiz'd the guts to go away; The world is wickèd for a man so weak.

I'd give up ev'ry thing I own for thee! Now humble, I consume a nothing pie. Must I await our meeting foolishly? I pray, yet mine entreaties but belie.