4.

'Tis _I_, that am alone to blame,
_I_, that am guilty of love's treason;
Since your sweet breast, is still the same,
Caprice must be my only reason.

5.

I do not, love, suspect your truth,
With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not,
Warm was the passion of my youth,
One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.

6.

No, no, my flame was not pretended,
For oh! I lov'd you most sincerely,
And though our dream at last is ended,
My bosom still esteems you dearly.

7.

No more we meet in yonder bowers,
Perhaps my soul's too prone to roving,
But older, firmer _hearts_ than ours,
Have found monotony in loving.

8.