Poem by William Congreve

* * *

False though she be to me and love, 
         I’ll ne’er pursue revenge; 
For still the charmer I approve, 
         Though I deplore her change. 

In hours of bliss we oft have met: 
         They could not always last; 
And though the present I regret, 
         I’m grateful for the past.

1. A Hue and Cry after Fair Amoret

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