(_For the Mirror._)
My Lydia says, "believe me I speak true,
I ne'er will marry any one but you;
If Jove himself should mention love to me,
Not even Jove would be preferred to thee."
She says--but all that women tell
Their doting lovers--I, alas! too well
Know, should be written on the waves or wind,
So little do their words express their mind.