I lov'd thee, faithless Man, and love thee still,
Thou fatal object of my fond desires,
And that which nourishes these amorous fires,
Is Hope, by which I love against my will.
Great was the pa**ion thou didst late express,
Yet scorn'st me now, whom long thou didst adore,
Sporting with others, her thou mind'st no more,
Whom thou hast call'd thy Heav'n and happiness.
Think not by this, thy Lesbia thee invites,
To spend thy years in dalliance and delights,
'Tis but to keep her faith in memory;
But if to grieve my soul thou only strive,
To thy reproach, and to my boast I'll live,
A monument of thy INCONSTANCY.