See, see, she wakes! Sabina wakes!
And now the sun begins to rise;
Less glorious is the morn that breaks
From his bright beams, than her fair eyes.
With light united, day they give,
But different fates ere night fulfil;
How many by his warmth will live!
How many will her coldness kill!
William Congreve.
FALSE! OR INCONSTANCY.
False though she be to me and love,
I'll ne'er pursue revenge;
For still the charmer I approve,
Though I deplore her change.
In hours of bliss we oft have met,
They could not always last;
And though the present I regret,
I'm grateful for the past.
William Congreve.