Near Thames' green banks a lovelorn nymph reclined,
Thus taxed her Thrysis, various as the wind,
Hast thou, perfidious youth, the oaths forgot?
And must the mournful willow be my lot?

Since thou, contemning Gods thy vow hast broke,
Thus played with love and made my fame thy joke;
A dire revenge on thee I now have chose,
For soon these waves shall end my life and woes.

This said, she hasted to the sounding flood,
And, shudd'ring o'er its flow'ry margin stood: 
The tears of anguish starting in her eye;
Resolved to plunge, she vents a dismal sigh.

But, in his terrors, whils grim Death appears,
She cries (her wav'ring mind o'erspread with fears):
'Tis madness all! I'll fly back to the plains,
I've but one life, and there's a choice of swains.