50
POEMS.
Yet if I wrong thee, if indeed
'Tis fear that makes thy poor heart bleed,
Lest She thou lov'st, some other should prefer,
Let me thy jealous doubts efface,
Wrong me not with a thought so base,
For Delia trusts in thee!—Oh! trust in Her!
'Tis fear that makes thy poor heart bleed,
Lest She thou lov'st, some other should prefer,
Let me thy jealous doubts efface,
Wrong me not with a thought so base,
For Delia trusts in thee!—Oh! trust in Her!
Believe, that in my own sincere
All vows but thine offend my ear;
Then hush thy anxious bosom's care to rest;
And when thou hear'st a Rival's name,
Think that his sighs but fan the flame,
Which thou alone hast kindled in my breast.
All vows but thine offend my ear;
Then hush thy anxious bosom's care to rest;
And when thou hear'st a Rival's name,
Think that his sighs but fan the flame,
Which thou alone hast kindled in my breast.
That wealth and title sue to me,
Glads me, I own, since 'tis for thee
Such glorious glittering baubles I resign;
Or should a smile my cheek adorn,
Oh! trust me, I but smile in scorn,
To think their merits should contend with thine.
Glads me, I own, since 'tis for thee
Such glorious glittering baubles I resign;
Or should a smile my cheek adorn,
Oh! trust me, I but smile in scorn,
To think their merits should contend with thine.
