I well remember you in Earnest said, For one in France you once a Passion had. If she ’s the Reason why you don’t return, Be free, and let me thus no longer mourn; For if my Hopes and Wishes are but vain, Tell me the Truth---- And end at once my wretched Life and Pain.---- To me her Picture and her Letters send, They ’ll make me worse, or else my Fate amend; Such is the State of miserable me, That any change would advantageous be Your Brother’s and your Sister’s send me too, All will be dear to me that ’s so to you.---- Methinks I cou’d submit to wait upon 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, But yet I ’m fall’n into Extravagance. And now methinks ’tis time that I had done, But I ’ve no Pow’r to end these Lines so soon, Nor force the pleasing Vision from my Sight; My lovely Charmer’s present while I write. Twelve solitary Months are almost past } Since in your trembling Arms you held me last, } And fondly, to my Ruin, me embrac’d. } Fierce, and true as mine, I thought your Flame, And, oh! believ’d ’twould always be the same. Ne’er cou’d I think, that when you had enjoy’d My Favours, with them you ’d so soon be cloy’d: Or that the Dangers of the Sea you ’d run, } Scorn Rocks and Pirates too, that you might shun } A Maid that lov’d like me, and is by you undone. } Reflect, thou faithless Man! and call to mind } What I ’ve endur’d for you, yet not repin’d, } And tell me, can this Treatment then be kind? } The Officer now presses me to ’ve done My Letter, or (he says) he must be gone; He ’s as impatient, as if he, like you, Were running from another Mistress too, Farewel--from me you parted with more ease (Perhaps for ever too) than I can do with these. My Mind a thousand pleasing Notions frames, And I cou’d call you many tender Names; More dear than is my Life to me, are you; And dearer far than I imagine too; Sure never any yet so cruel prov’d, To be so barb’rous when so well belov’d.