Fatal Constancy

Clara charming without Art,
The wonder of the Plain,
Wounded by Love's resistless Dart,
Had over-fondly giv'n her Heart
To a regardless Swain:
Who, though he well knew
Her Passion was true,
Her Truth and her Beauty disdain'd;
While thus the fair Maid,
By her Folly betray'd,
To the rest of the Virgins complain'd.

Take heed of Man, and, while you may,
Shun Love's Deceitful Snare;
For though at first it looks all Gay,
'Tis ten to one y'are made a Prey
To Sorrow, Pain and Care:
But if you love first
Y'are certainly Curst,
Despair will insult in your Breast:
The Nature of Men
Is to slight who love them,
And love those that slight 'em, the best.

Yet, let the Conq'rour know my mind,
Ingrateful Celadon,
That he will never, never find
One half so true, or half so kind,
When I am dead and gone:
But, as she thus spoke,
Her tender Heart broke;
Death spares not the fair nor the Young:
So Swans when they dy
Make their own Elegy,
And breath out their Life in a Song.