* * * * *
Dear aunt, in the olden time of love,
When women like slaves were spurned,
A maid gave her heart, as she would her glove,
To be teased by a fop, and returned!
But women grow wiser as men improve.
And, tho' beaux, like monkeys, amuse us,
Oh! think not we'd give such a delicate gem
As the heart to be played with or sullied by them;
No, dearest aunt, excuse us.
We may know by the head on Cupid's seal
What impression the heart will take;
If shallow the head, oh! soon we feel
What a poor impression 'twill make!
Tho' plagued, Heaven knows! by the foolish zeal
Of the fondling fop who pursues me,
Oh, think not I'd follow their desperate rule,
Who get rid of the folly by wedding the fool;
No, dearest aunt! excuse me.
* * * * *
When Charles was deceived by the maid he loved,
We saw no cloud his brow o'er-casting,
But proudly he smiled as if gay and unmoved,
Tho' the wound in his heart was deep and lasting.
And oft at night when the tempest rolled
He sung as he paced the dark deck over--
"Blow, wind, blow! thou art not so cold
As the heart of a maid that deceives her lover."
Yet he lived with the happy and seemed to be gay,
Tho' the wound but sunk more deep for concealing;
And Fortune threw many a thorn in his way,
Which, true to one anguish, he trod without feeling!
And still by the frowning of Fate unsubdued
He sung as if sorrow had placed him above her--
"Frown, Fate, frown! thou art not so rude
As the heart of a maid that deceives her lover.
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