NOT, Celia, that I juster am   Or better than the rest! For I would change each hour, like them,   Were not my heart at rest.

But I am tied to very thee   By every thought I have; Thy face I only care to see,   Thy heart I only crave.

All that in woman is adored   In thy dear self I find— For the whole sex can but afford   The handsome and the kind.

Why then should I seek further store,   And still make love anew? When change itself can give no more,   'Tis easy to be true!