What! pouting, Miss? you toss your head in vain;
You know full well I’ve reason to complain,
Love serves me many a trick—Let’s try again.
But not of Love I’ll sing,
Who’s ever on the wing,
And will not stay a moment more
Than he’s caress’d, and fondled o’er;
I’ll choose some nobler theme,
Commanding more esteem;
Come, come, how dull you seem!