Of lines written in a Coach to Aunty Naida who begged me to marry 'Lizzy', a foreigner

Up to me to let you know!
Unto you will put it
Of utterances,
Nestled under my toungue
Nothing short of the lines:
"Its o'er, yes its o'er!"
Of virtues l couldn't unmask,
How of parallels we were,
Same way, never to meet!
Aboard a ferry to the City,
Shall pen more, time forbids!