(Its praise is false and hollow);
Ascend to fortune’s loftiest hill,
No ban of mine shall follow.
The memory of these days will be
To me a life’s regretting.
Most faithless lover! what to thee?—
Only an hour’s coquetting.
Shame, shame! to look, to breathe, to live,
To mock my loving madness!
The thought alone that I forgive,