Boast not, mistaken swain, thy art

Boast not, mistaken swain, thy art To please my partial eyes; The charms that have subdued my heart Another may despise.

Thy face is to my humour made, Another it may fright; Perhaps by some fond whim betray'd In oddness I delight.

Vain youth, to your confusion know 'Tis to my love's excess You all your fancied beauties owe, Which fade as that grows less.

For your own sake, if not for mine, You should preserve my fire, Since you, my swain, no more will shine, When I no more admire.

By me indeed you are allow'd The wonder of your kind: But be not of my judgment proud Whom love has render'd blind.