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William Congreve
1670 - 1729

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SONG (1)
  (1)
SONG (2)
  (2)

(1)

SONG (1)
False though she be to me and Love,
I'll ne'er purse Revenge;
For still the Charmer I approve,
Thou' 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.


(2)

SONG (2)

Pious Selinda goes to Pray'rs,
If I but ask the Favour;
And yet the tender Fool's in Tears,
When she believes I'll leave her.

Wou'd I were free from Restraint,
Or else had Hopes to win her;
W ou'd she cou'd make of me a Saint,
Or I of her a Sinner.

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