You will be the happiest of women.

And we will sing, all by ourselves, till we swoon away with delight.

You are crying! You are afraid of me! And yet I am not really wicked.

Love me and you shall see! All I wanted was to be loved for myself.

If you loved me I should be as gentle as a lamb; and you could do anything with me that you pleased." Soon the moans that accompanied this sort of love's litany increased and increased.