midnight
If it be that in devotion Lies a power hearts to move , That which every day I show thee , Helpful to my suit should prove . Many a time thou must have noticed -- If to notice thou dost care -- How I go about on Monday Dressed in all my Sunday wear . Love 's eyes love to look on brightness ; Love loves what is gaily drest ; Sunday , Monday , all I care is Thou shouldst see me in my best . No account I make of dances , Or of strains that pleased thee so , Keeping thee awake from midnight Till the cocks began to crow ; Or of how I roundly swore it That there 's none so fair as thou ; True it is , but as I said it , By the girls I 'm hated now . For Teresa of the hillside At my praise of thee was sore ; Said , `` You think you love an angel ; It 's a monkey you adore ; `` Caught by all her glittering trinkets , And her borrowed braids of hair , And a host of made-up beauties That would Love himself ensnare . '' ` T was a lie , and so I told her , And her cousin at the word Gave me his defiance for it ; And what followed thou hast heard . Mine is no high-flown affection , Mine no passion par amours -- As they call it -- what I offer Is an honest love , and pure .