If discommend, 0 then 'tis all deceit,I strive to cloak my passion by the cheat.If I look well, I then neglect your charms,Lie dull and lazy in your active arms;If weak my voice, if pale my looks appear,0 then I languish for another fair.Would I did sin, and you with cause complain,For when we strive to shun, yet strive in vain,'Tis comfort sure to have deserv'd the pain.But sure fond fancies now such heats engage,Your cred'lous peevish humour spoils your rage.In frequent chidings I no force can see,You frown too often to prevail with me;The ass grows dull by stripes; the constant blowBeats off his briskness, and he moves but slow.But now I'm lavish of my kind embrace,And Moll, forsooth, supplies her lady's place!Kind love, forbid that I should stoop so low;