In every age and clime we see Two of a trade can never agree.
Sure men were born to lie, and women to believe them!
How happy could I be with either, Were t'other dear charmer away!
My lodging is on the cold ground, And hard, very hard, is my fare, But that which grieves me more Is the coldness of my dear.
Woman's mind Oft' shifts her passions, like th'inconstant wind; Sudden she rages, like the troubled main, Now sinks the storm, and all is calm again.
But his kiss was so sweet, and so closely he pressed, that I languished and pined till I granted the rest.