The Dying Lover

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 moveA 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

And you to mind shall call,

The sighs that now unpitied rise,

The tears that vainly fall,

That welcome hour that ends this

Will then begin your pain;

For such a faithful tender

Can never break, can never break in vain.