No signs of pity in his face appear;
Look, if the ungrateful creature shed one tear!
Crammed with his pride, he leaves no room within
For sighs to issue out, or love to enter in.— [He turns away.
What! dost thou turn thy face in my despite?
Am I a toad? a monster to thy sight?
Farewell, fond pity, then: As thou from me,
So thy good fortune turns her face from thee.
Left, scorned, and loathed, and all without relief,
Revenge succeeds to love, and rage to grief.