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'Twas plain I shared with many more your heart.
What need I of your perjuries bring proof,
Suppose the common talk was not enough!
What do your ogles and your gestures mean,
Your carriage at th' assembly and the scene ?
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There's scarce a fop you meet with in your way,
To whom you have not something soft to say;
Some token which you either understand
By mystic words or motion of the hand.
They tell me you are sick; I run to see,
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And find, as ill as you pretend to be,
It is not for my rival, but for me.
I seldom told you of your faults, but strove
To cover all your failings with my love;
Of this I might remind you, and much more,
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But what avails it now; th' affair is o'er:
A fond you found me, and a patient man,
And get you such another if you can.
I fear not now your frowns; my bark defies
The storm of words, and tempest of your eyes;
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