Aminta o'er my heart desires to reign.
THIS minute, if I durst, I'd thither go,
And, full of confidence, declare my woe,
The subtle flame that burns without controul;
What hurt to paint feelings of my soul?
From balance of accounts 'twill both exempt:
'Tis better far to love than show contempt.
But should the husband find me in the house?—
Ne'er think of that, and try the hunks to chouse.
THEIR course had hardly run three other days,