A Pair Well Matched

Fair Iris I love, and hourly I die,
But not for a lip, nor a languishing eye;
She's fickle and false, and there we agree,
For I am as false and as fickle as she;
We neither believe what either can say,
And neither believing, we neither betray.

'Tis civil to swear, and to say things of course;
We mean not the taking for better or worse:
When present we love; and when absent agree;
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me:
The legend of Love no couple can find,
So easy to part, or so equally join'd.