To Anne
Oh, Anne, your offences to me have been grievous:I thought from my wrath no atonement could save you;But Woman is made to command and deceive us--I look'd in your face, and I almost forgave you.
I vow'd I could ne'er for a moment respect you,Yet thought that a day's separation was long;When we met, I determined again to suspect you--Your smile soon convinced me suspicion was wrong.
I swore, in a transport of young indignation,With fervent contempt evermore to disdain you:I saw you--my anger became admiration;And now, all my wish, all my hope's to regain you.
With beauty like yours, oh, how vain the contention!Thus lowly I sue for forgiveness before you;--At once to conclude such a fruitless dissension,Be false, my sweet Anne, when I cease to adore you!
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