Rondeau

Night and day the anxious lover Is attentive to the fair, 'Till the doubtful courtship's over, Is she then so much his care?

Warm as summer his addresses, Hope and ardour in his eyes; Cool as winter his caresses, When she yields his captive prize.

Now the owner of her beauty, Sees no more an angel's face, Half is love, the rest is duty; Pleasure sure is in the chace.