With watching shrunk, with sorrow pale,
Thy lightness and caprice bespeak,
Thy guilt and perfidy bewail.
Those signs of sorrow, on my face,
Are not the obsequies portray’d
Of a lost good, nor yet the trace
Of tribute to thy beauties paid.
They are the evidence alone
There fix’d thy falsehood to proclaim;
Of thy deceits the horror shown,