The happy Woman that your Heart has won,
So humble am I made by all your Scorn,
And the ill Usage that from you I ’ve born;
Scarce dare I say, I may myself allow
To Jealous be, without displeasing you,
Fain wou’d I think that I mistaken am,
And fain perswaded be, that you are not to blame.
The Person that ’s to bear these Lines to you,
Wants to be gone, and does impatient grow.
I thought in this not to have giv’n Offence,