THOUGH I have loved you well, I ween,|
And you, too, fancied me,
Your heart hath too divided been
A constant heart to be.
And like the gay and youthful knight,
Who loved and rode away,
Your fleeting fancy takes a flight
With every fleeting day.
So let it be as you propose,
Tho’ hard the struggle be;
’Tis fitter far—that goodness knows!—
Since we cannot agree.
Let’s quarrel once for all, my sweet,
Forget the past—and then
I’ll kiss each pretty girl I meet,
While you’ll flirt with the men.