With broken words, and down-cast eyes,
  Poor Colin spoke his passion tender:
And, parting with his Lucy, cries,
  Ah! woe's my heart that we should sunder.

To others I am cold as snow,
  But kindle with thine eyes like tinder;
From thee with pain I'm forc'd to go:
  It breaks my heart that we should sunder.

 ... 

Dear nymph, believe thy swain in this,
  You'll ne'er engage a heart that's kinder;
Then seal a promise with a kiss,
  Always to love me, tho' we sunder.

Ye Gods! take care of my dear lass,
  That as I leave her I may find her:
When that blest time shall come to pass,
  We'll meet again, and never sunder.