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SONG XXVI. The Lover's Fortune.

I

Cælia was cruel: Silvia, Thou,
I must confess, art kind;
But in her Cruelty, I vow,
I more Repose could find:
For O! thy Fancy at all Game does fly,
Fond of Address and willing to comply.

II

Thus he that loves must be undone,
Each Way on Rocks we fall;
Either you will be kind to none,
Or worse, be kind to all.
Vain are our Hopes, and endless is our Care,
We must be jealous or we must despair.