Thy false one inclines to a Swain,
Whose Musick is sweeter than thine.
And you my Companions so dear,
Who sorrow to see me betray'd;
Whatever I suffer forbear,
Forbear to accuse my false Maid,
Tho' thro' the wide World we shou'd range,
'Tis in vain from our Fortunes to fly;
'Twas hers to be false and to change,
'Tis mine to be Constant and die.