Amintas, to my grief I see,
With what neglect you look on me,
How much to love you are inclin'd,
Yet slight this heart for you design'd.
So have I seen some wretched slave,
Whose fortune should have made him crave,
Despise the wealth he had in store,
And toil at ev'ry mine for more.

Celia shall now turn miser too,
But 'tis to lay up love for you;
To lay up all her tears and sighs,
And all her looks, with dying eyes;
That when by some inconstant maid
You find your pains and heart betray'd,
She may put on those pow'rful charms
To bring you back to her own arms.