TRUANT! you love me not--the reason this,
You told me that you lov'd a maid before;
And tho', perchance, you many more may kiss,
True love, felt once , can never be felt more .
Then ask not me to credit what you swore,
Nor e'er believe that I can give you bliss;
Go, go to her who taught you how to love--
Repeat to her your vows, and not to me;
For sooth I think, who can inconstant prove
To his first love, will ever faithless be.
In gaining wayward hearts no pride I see,
Nor have I pride in kindling in the breast
That meteor flame, call'd passion--no not I;
The heart I aim at, and of that possess'd,
Make it my castle, and all arts defy,
For that once fill'd--no longer roves the eye.