I first saw Phebe when the show'rs
Had just made brighter all the flow'rs;
Yet she was fair
As any there,
And so I loved her hours and hours.
Then I met Helen, and her ways
Set my untutored heart ablaze.
I loved at sight
And deemed it right
To worship her for days and days.
Yet when I gazed on Clara's cheeks
And spoke the language Cupid speaks,
O'er all the rest
She seemed the best,
And so I loved her weeks and weeks.
But last of Love's sweet souvenirs
Was Delia with her sighs and tears.
Of her it seemed
I'd always dreamed,
And so I loved her years and years.
But now again with Phebe met,
I love the first one of the set.
“Fickle,” you say?
I answer, “Nay,
My heart is true to one quartette.”