Of Strephon’s faith, the efforts rend’ring vain
Of such as would essay your love to gain,
Till his own choice, or some disaster show,
Your promis’d pleasures vanish’d like the snow.
Your charms are fled, no lover then in view,
The paths of discontent you will pursue.
That you despis’d Philander then you’ll mourn,
Nor gave Lothario’s suit a just return;
Or for Alonzo sigh when ’tis too late,
And with reluctance meet your destin’d fate.