Fair Sylvia, cease to blame my Youth,
For having lov'd before;
So Men, till they have learnt the Truth,
Strange Deities adore:
My Heart, 'tis true, has often rang'd,
Like Bees o'er gaudy Flow'rs;
And many thousand Loves has chang'd,
Till it was fix'd on yours.

But Sylvia, when I saw those Eyes,
'Twas soon determin'd there;
Stars might as well forsake the Skies,
And vanish in Despair:
When I from this great Rule do err,
New Beauties to implore;
May I again turn Wanderer,
And never settle more.