But yet you may remember, oft I’ve said,
You’d be the Ruin of a harmless Maid;
But those were Notions that abortive dy’d,
And I upon your flatt’ring Oaths rely’d.
Cou’d I cease loving you, I shou’d have Ease,
But that ’s a Cure far worse than the Disease;
And ’tis (alas) impossible, I find,
To raze your Image from my tortur’d Mind;
And it ’s a thing which I did ne’er design,
For your Condition is far worse than mine;