A Mongrel stole the maiden's heart away;
For which, though he lamented much in shew,
Yet was he, inward, glad it fell out so.
Now, Reason! you may plainly judge by this,
Not I, but he, the false dissembler is:
Who, while fond hope his lukewarm love did feed,
Made sign of more than he sustained indeed:
And filled his rhymes with fables and with lies,
Which, without Passion, he did oft devise;
So to delude the ignorance of such