To Anne

Oh, Anne, your offences to me have been grievous: I thought from my wrath no atonement could save you: But woman is made to command and deceive us I look ‘d in your face, and I almost forgave you. I vow’d I could ne’er for a moment respect you, Yet thought that a day’s separation was long; When we met, I determined again to suspect you Your smile soon convinced me suspicion was wrong. I swore, in a transport of young indignation, With fervent contempt evermore to disdain you: I saw you – my anger became admiration; And now, all my wish, all my hope’s to regain you. With beauty like yours, oh, how vain the contention! Thus lowly I sue for forgiveness before you; At once to conclude such a fruitless dissension, Be false, my sweet Anne, when I cease to adore you!