A Nymph:
 When I have often heard young Maids complaining, 
 That when Men promise most they most deceive, 
 The I thought none of them worthy of my gaining; 
 And what they Swore, resolv'd ne're to believe. 
 But when so humbly he made his Addresses, 
 With Looks so soft, and with Language so kind, 
 I thought it Sin to refuse his Caresses; 
 Nature o'ercame, and I soon chang'd my Mind. 
 Should he employ all his wit in deceiving, 
 Stretch his Invention, and artfully feign; 
 I find such Charms, such true Joy in believing, 
 I'll have the Pleasure, let him have the Pain. 
 If he proves Perjur'd, I shall not be Cheated, 
 He may deceive himself, but never me; 
 'Tis what I look for, and shan't be defeated, 
 For I'll be as false and inconstant as he. 
 A Thousand Thousand ways we'll find 
 To Entertain the Hours; 
 No Two shall e're be known so kind, 
 No Life so Blest as ours.