The Fond Fair

When lovers for favors petition, Oh! then they approach with respect; But when in our hearts they've admission, They treat us with scorn and neglect: 'Tis dangerous ever to try 'em, So artful are men to deceive; 'Tis safer, much safer to fly 'em, So easy are maids to believe.

O, Cupid, why art thou pursuing, Such endless designs on my heart, To make me so fond of my ruin, And doat on the cause of my smart? In vain do I strive to remove him, Affection to reason is blind; In spite of his failings I love him, He's charming, though false and unkind.