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I cannot
change, as others do,
Though you unjustly scorn;
Since that poor swain that sighs for you,
For you
alone was born.
No, Phyllis, no, your heart to move
A surer way I'll try:
And to revenge my slighted
love,
Will still love on, will still love on, and
die.
When, killed with grief, Amintas lies
And
you to mind shall call,
The sighs that now unpitied
rise,
The tears that vainly fall,
That welcome
hour that ends this smart
Will then begin your pain;
For such a faithful tender heart
Can never break, can
never break in vain.
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