And took me out once to the fair;
I really think he’s coming round,
So I’ll keep cool and hold my ground;
Should he propose, I’ll show surprise,
And stammer, No, with drooping eyes:
That’s the way they do in books,
Nor show their haste by eager looks;
I hope he won’t discover mine,
Nor take in earnest my decline,
It really wasn’t final, nay,