The Moon and that alike of change partake:
Tears are weak, and cannot bind,
Vows, alas! but empty wind:
The greatest art that Nature gave
To th' amorous hypocrite to make him kind,
Long ere he dies will take its leave.
10Had you but seen, as I have done,
Strephon's tears, and heard his moan,
How pale his cheek, how dim his eye,
As if with Chloris he resolv'd to die;