Or on permanent duty, do you think that, repining,
I’d sighing reprove you? O no, my love, no.
Or when you are called to quell rude disorder,
Or with brother heroes shall face the dread foe,
If my honour I trusted to Mr Recorder,
Will he fail to protect me? O no, my love, no.
What means, then, my Colin! that cold sweat appearing?
Why, why should your brow such timidity show?
And where are those glances so cold and uncheering?
Shall I think you a poltroon? O no, my love, no.