What do I want there?
I'll get the kiss which the tavernkeeper's charming little daughter owes me.

Her sweet mouth and fair braids with the bows of blue ribbon--I saw nothing prettier anywhere!" "Yes, these blondes!" cried Angelo Negri, a Neapolitan boy of thirteen, rolling his black eyes upward enthusiastically, and kissing, for lack of warm lips, the empty air.
"Sweet, sweet, sweet," sighed Giacoma Bianchi.
"Sweet enough," remarked little thick-set Cornelius Groen from Breda, in broken Italian.

"Yet you surely are not thinking of that silly girl, with her flaxen braids, but of the nice honey and the light white pastry she brought us.

If we can get that again, I'll ride there with you." "I won't," protested Wilhelm Haldema, from Leuwarden in Friesland.

"I shall go down to the river with my pole.