All you, my companions so dear,
Who sorrow to see me betray’d,
Whatever I suffer, forbear,
Forbear to accuse the false maid.
Tho’ thro’ the wide world I should range,
’Tis in vain for my fortune to fly,
’Twas her’s to be false and to change,—
’Tis mine to be constant and die.
If while my hard fate I sustain,
In her breast any pity is found,