In all his charms I have young Strephon seen,
Yet never by the youth have wounded been.
Yet were he, as you paint him, thus complete,
And fond to lay his garlands at your feet,
Sure young men’s minds still subject are to change,
Though from our plains he were not doom’d to range.
A change of scenes may, with distorted brows,
Pour swift contempt on all your former vows.
But let indiff’rence lodge within your breast,
Nor Strephon’s absence e’er your mind molest;