That thou so oft hast sworn to me,
To leave me in this lonely grove,
Immured in shameful privity?”
The village maidens of the plain
Salute me lowly as they go;
Envious they mark my silken train,
Nor think a Countess can have woe.
The simple nymphs! they little know
How far more happy’s their estate;
To smile for joy than sigh for woe—