Let perjured fair Amynta know
What for her sake I undergo;
Tell her, for her how I sustain
A lingering fever's wasting pain;
Tell her the torments I endure,
Which only, only she can cure.
But, oh! she scorns to hear or see
The wretch that lies so low as me;
Her sudden greatness turns her brain,
And Strephon hopes, alas! in vain;
For ne'er 'twas found (though often tried)
That Pity ever dwelt with Pride.
