W hen judgment and wit are combin’d
I n one tender and sensible mind,
L ove’s busy, at least so I find,
L ooking out to see whom he can snare.
I ’m caught—but I do not much care;
A s love is a lott’ry, I’ll e’en take a share,
M ay fortune then favour the brave and the fair.
Last year I thought to write to thee,
But then my courage fail’d,
And since that period I have been
By doubts and fears assail’d:
St. Valentine is come again,
And I will not neglect
To speak my sentiments to thee,
As one I much respect.
Pray trifle not, if you incline
Unto another Valentine;
But if your heart in me has pleasure,
I will retain it as a treasure.
Old custom tells us that we may
Write to our sweethearts on this day,
And without censure tell our mind;
And this it is makes me inclin’d
To tell you, that with love and truth,
I sigh for you my dearest youth;
Nor need I blush to own a flame,
Enwrapp’d in honour's sacred name;
Then unto this my name I sign,
And so remain your Valentine.
I love thee, dear youth! and can I do less,
As I love thee thus dearly, that love to confess
No, nor will I a faithful affection disown,
That claims but thy dear approbation alone.
I love! yes, I love most sincerely, ’tis true,
And all that affection is center’d in you;
Ah! say then, beloved, you'll love me again,
And I’ll strive to love more, if I strive but in vain.
