Song XXXIV. Translated out of French

Clymena still complains of me
And I of her complain too.
But would you know the cause, why we
This quarrel did attain to.
'Tis 'cause I am not true saies she,
And I say that again too.

I cannot choose but wonder why
This lovely Toy doth blame me,
If my heart wears inconstancy;
It is but what became me.
Since she was fickle, why not I?
I'm but as she did frame me.

Time was I thought our flames of love,
Would turn for ever brighter;
But when she did so faithless prove,
I vow'd I would requite her,
I quickly did my flames remove,
And now for ever slight her.