To the Tune of, John Anderson my Jo.
‘TIS not your beauty, nor your wit,
That can my heart obtain;
For they cou’d never conquer yet,
Either my breast or brain:
For if you’ll not prove kind to me,
And true as heretofore,
Henceforth I’ll scorn your slave to be
Or doat upon you more.
Think not my fancy to o’ercome,
By proving thus unkind;
No smoothed sight, nor similing frown,
Can satisfy my mind,
Pray let Platonicks play such pranks,
Such follies I deride,
For love, at least, I will have thanks,
And something else beside.
Then open hearted be with me,
As I shall be with you,
And let your actions be as free,
As vertue will allow.
If you’ll prove loving, I’ll prove kind,
If true, I’ll constant be;
If fortune chance to change your mind,
I’ll turn as soon as you.
Since our affections well ye know,
In equal terms do stand,
‘Tis in your power to love or no,
Mine’s likewise in my hand,
Dispence with your austerity,
Or, by great Cupid’s deity,
I’ll never love you more.
– Old Songs with Additions.