My Heart rejects as Treason;
A spark there lies, still fann’d by Sighs,
Ordained by Beauty’s maker,
And fix’d by Fate, burns yet, tho’ late,
For lovely Molly Dacre.
Oh! while I miss the days of Bliss
I pass’d in rapture gazing,
The Dream impress’d still charms my breast
Which Fancy ever raising.
Tho’ much I meet in Life is sweet,