O fond, but fickle and untrue

O FOND , but fickle and untrue,
Ianthe take my last adieu.
Your heart one day will ask you why
You forced from me this farewell sigh.
Have you not feign'd that friends reprove
The mask of Friendship worn by Love?
Feign'd, that they whisper'd you should be
The same to others as to me?
Ah! little knew they what they said!
How would they blush to be obey'd!
Too swiftly roll'd the wheels when last
These woods and airy downs we past.
Fain would we trace the winding path,
And hardly wisht for blissful Bath.
At every spring you caught my arm,
And every pebble roll'd alarm.
On me was turn'd that face divine,
The view was on the right so fine:
I smiled . . those conscious eyes withdrew . .
The left was now the finer view.
Each trembled for detected wiles,
And blushes tinged our fading smiles.
But Love turns Terror into jest . .
We laught, we kist, and we confest.
Laugh, kisses, confidence are past,
And Love goes too . . but goes the last.
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