'Tis more than usual sleep that made 'em so?Why are the kisses which he gave, betray'dBy the impression which his teeth had made ?Yet say you're chaste, and I'll be still deceived;What much is wish'd for, is with ease believ'd.But when you own what a lewd wretch thou art,My blood grows cold and freezes at my heart,Then do I curse thee, and thy crimes reprove,But curse in vain, for still I find I love;"Since she is false," oft to myself I cry,"Would I were dead,"-yet 'tis with thee I'd dieI will not see your maid, to let me knowWho visits you, where, and with whom you go;Nor by your lodging send my boy to scout,And bring me word who passes in and out.Enjoy the pleasure of the present times,But let not me be knowing of your crimes.Do you forswear't, tho' in the act you're caught,I'll trust the oath, and think my eyes in fault.