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Too fond art thou, forsooth, of change.

And let’st thy heart too often range

And waver, cursed with fickle doubt,

I know thee throughly—in and out.

The other day thou had’st the mind

To quit my service, and unkind

Complaints thou mad’st ’gainst Idleness,

And blamed my yoke, and did’st confess

Thee doubtful if fair Hope might be

Of good effect and aid to thee.

Thou said’st ’twas but a foolish whim,

That thou to my commands should’st trim

Thy life, and homage paid to Reason:

Was not then this foul act of treason?

Pardon! great master, I the crime

Confess, yet was I through the time

Your bounden liege, and often good

Assurance gave of trustihood,

As those should do who love thy rule.

Reason but held me for a fool;

Nor failed she sorely to reprove

My full surrender unto Love

When held she converse with me, but

With all her reasoning failed to cut

The bond between us, though ’tis true

She doubt inspired. But unto you

I promise that no more mine ear

I’ll lend to her, should I be near