  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. Sir C. Sedley |
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