Your new Bulbul is in danger.

The silly thing must have been reading Roman history.

Say not no! It intoxicates you all.

I watch over her for my Laura's sake: a thousand kisses I shower on you, dark delicious soul that you are! Are you not my pine-grove leading to the evening star?
Come, that we may consult how to spirit her away during her season of peril.
Gulfs do not close over little female madcaps, my Laura; so we must not let her take the leap.

Enter the salle when you arrive: pass down it once and return upon your steps; then to my boudoir.