THOUGH I have loved you well, I ween, 
    And you, too, fancied me, 
Your heart hath too divided been 
    A constant heart to be. 
And like the gay and youthful knight, 
    Who loved and rode away, 
Your fleeting fancy takes a flight 
    With every fleeting day.
So let it be as you propose, 
    Tho’ hard the struggle be; 
’Tis fitter far—that goodness knows!— 
    Since we cannot agree. 
Let’s quarrel once for all, my sweet, 
    Forget the past—and then 
I’ll kiss each pretty girl I meet, 
    While you’ll flirt with the men.
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