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.