(IMPROMPTU.)

How dare you say that still you love?
In truth you'll move my rage,
Or, likelier far, my scorn you'll prove,
If deeper you engage.

Be warn'd, in time, I love no more,
Nor can I ever change:
One pang I felt, but now 'tis o'er,
And you may freely range.

Cold, cold I feel to all your sighs,
Cold, cold to all your tears,
Indiff'rence arms my alter'd eyes,
And apathy my ears.

Hard as the flinty rock I seem;
The form no longer charms,
That, wand'ring in a fev'rish dream,
Dwelt in the wanton's arms.

Go, satiate there—my love so pure
Shall never more be yours;
Let meretricious charms allure,
And wing your worthless hours.

Seduction from those eyes no more
My conscious nerves will feel;
And while your sorrows I deplore,
I have no wish to heal.

I know another still might say
Your heart remain'd her own;
I think the senses cannot stray
Indiff'rent and alone:

For 'tis the senses that delude,
That vitiate the heart;
Refinement dies as they intrude,
And love conceals his dart.

Your friend perhaps I still may be—
Your mistress, never, never;
The flame that dazzled you from me
Leaves you more lost than ever.