And must a faithful am'rous swain
Of fair Aminta now complain,
Be thus despis'd and left alone
In woods to make his piteous moan.

Ah, luckless me, to love a maid
Who never has my love repaid.
She sees my passion but, unkind,
Rejects it careless as the wind.

My presents were bestow'd in vain,
She heard my lays with proud disdain,
And thoughtless of her Strephon, strove
To win another shepherd's love.

Ah, trust not to thy charms, fair maid,
For beauty like the flower will fade,
And when thy youth shall feel decay,
His passion then will fade away.

Young Delia does her flame repeat,
She sought my love with kisses sweet.
In passion me she has outdone
And now shall have the heart she won.

And since thou pitiest not thy swain,
I'll seek my Delia on the plain.
Rejoic'd another maid to find,
If not so fair, yet sure more kind.