Air Iris I love, and hourly I die,
But not for a lip, nor a languishing eye:
She's fickle and false, and there we agree,
For I am as false and as fickle as she.
We neither believe what either can say;
And, neither believing, we neither betray.
'Tis civil to swear, and say things of course;
We mean not the taking for better or worse.
When present, we love; when absent, agree:
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me.
The legend of love no couple can find,
So easy to part, or so equally join'd.
More verses by John Dryden
- The Beautiful Lady Of The May
- The Secular Masque
- To My Honor'D Friend, Dr. Charleton (Excerpt)
- A Song. Go Tell Amynta, Gentle Swain
- On The Death Of Amyntas. A Pastoral Elegy