Is thus my Love, my easy Love betray'd?
Such Scorn we may expect, nay we deserve,
When wanton Souls from steddy Vertue swerve.
But ah! inconstant , and ingrate,
When Love was ceas'd, you might have shown your Hate;
You might have kill'd me with those faithless Hands,
Rather than leave me thus on parching Sands.
Well may you follow the inconstant Sea,
The Waves are false, and you are false as they.
By both betray'd, with gnawing Hunger pin'd,
I must unpity'd die, and — die for being kind.
Farewell, ye Sister-Nymphs, believe no more,
Nor trust the Youth, nor trust the hated Shore.
Farewell ye distant Waves; you I forgive,
Well might you fickle prove, and  leave,
When he, who lov'd so much, yet cou'd deceive.
Farewell ye sportive Fish, and beauteous Shells,
And shining Pearls, that grow in rocky Cells,
Whose polish'd Orbs on Twigs of Coral strung
Around my Neck the perjur'd  hung.
Farewell, ye Songs, that once were thought to please,
My Voice shall calm no more the list'ning Seas.
Unhappy Fate of the soft yeilding Maid!
Whoever loves, is sure to be betray'd.