Truth, for truth 's a weighty matter,
And truth, at issue, we can't flatter!
Well, 't is done with; she 's exempt
From damning us through such a sally;
And so she glides, as down a valley,
Taking up with her contempt,
Past our reach; and in, the flowers
Shut her unregarded hours.
V
Oh, could I have him back once more,