The Humourist

Good faith! I never was but once so mad
To dote upon an idle woman's face,
And then, alas! my fortune was so bad
To see another chosen in my place;
And yet I courted her, I'm very sure,
With love as true as his was, and as pure.

But if I ever be so fond again
To undertake the second part of love,
To reassume that most unmanlike pain,
Or after shipwreck do the ocean prove;
My mistress must be gentle, kind, and free,
Or I'll be as indifferent as she.