Thou must not blight by love unkind, by treachery's heartless frown.
For naught in life is safe and sure if faith thou shouldst discard,
And the sunlight of the fairest soul is oft the swiftest marred.
I will not sign this letter nor set to it my name;
For I am not that happy man to whom love's message came,
Who in thy bower thy accents sweet enraptured heard that day,
When on thy heaving bosom, thy chosen love, I lay.
Yet well thou'lt know the hand that wrote this letter for thine eye,
For conscience will remind thee of thy fickle treachery.
Dissemble as thou wilt, and play with woman's skill thy part,