In masker‘s cloak and hood¹，

    Each hating what the other loved，

    Face to face we stood：

    ‘That I have met with such，’ said he，

    ‘Bodes me little good.’

    ‘Let others boast their fill，’ said I，

    ‘But never dare to boast

    That such as I had such a man

    For lover in the past；

    Say that of living men I hate

    Such a man the most.‘

    ‘A loony’d boast of such a love，‘

    He in his rage declared：

    But such as he for such as me—

    Could we both discard

    This beggarly habiliment—

    Had found a sweeter word.