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CXII
A SONG

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Celinda
Prithee tell me, faithless Swain,
Why shou'd you such Passion feign,
On purpose to deceive me?
So soon as I to love began,
Then you began to leave me.

Damon
Celinda, you must blame your Fate,
Kindness has its certain Date,
E'er we the Joys have tasted,
Had you not then with feigned Hate
Love's kindest Hours wasted.
Then weep no more, nor sigh in vain,
But lay your Baits to catch again
A more deserving Lover;
For know, a Slave who's broke his Chain
You never can recover.