Song VIII. 'Tis No Fault of Mine

Young Damon has woo'd me a monstrous long time; I dare say, 'tis a twelvemonth at least; But courtship's so pleasant, when youth's in its prime, The date of it cannot be guess'd. Oh, how I did laugh, when I thought I could vex, Or cause him in anguish to pine! Indeed, 'tis the fashion with all our kind sex; So you know it is no fault of mine.

The more constant he grew, the more flippant was I; In his sighs I enjoy'd fresh delight; When he ask'd for a kiss, tho' I long'd to comply, Yet I tortur'd myself out of spite; When he found me resolv'd all his hopes to perplex, He forsook me, and left me to pine, Indeed 'tis the fashion with that cruel sex; So you know it was no fault of mine.

How short were the moments when Damon was near! Now each minute's as long as a day, And winters dark mantle envelopes the year, Tho' then ev'ry season was May. I'll seek the dear youth, and heal the keen smart, Declare I to pity incline; If then he refuses my hand and my heart, Why, you know 'twill be no fault of mine.