NOT, Celia, that I juster am 
   Or better than the rest! 
For I would change each hour, like them, 
   Were not my heart at rest. 

But I am tied to very thee 
   By every thought I have; 
Thy face I only care to see, 
   Thy heart I only crave. 

All that in woman is adored 
   In thy dear self I find-- 
For the whole sex can but afford 
   The handsome and the kind. 

Why then should I seek further store, 
   And still make love anew? 
When change itself can give no more, 
   'Tis easy to be true!