When so wantonly free,
Was her smart Repartee,
I was cur'd and went blushing, went blushing away.
How Lovers Mistake,
The Addresses they make,
When they swear to be Constant and true;
For all the Nymphs hold,
Tho' the Sport be still old,
That their Play-mates must ever be new:
Each pretty new Toy,