Oh! make me what I was again,
Tho’ faint I tread the scorching plain;
Tho’ with a faithless Fox I stray,
Me tho’ again his wiles betray,
Make me a goat, tho’ void of wit,
You leave me dying in the pit:
’Tis better far than thus alone
To live without one joy my own;
For while the past my mind retains,
My present pleasures are but pains.”