Fair Nymph, who dost my fate controul,
And reign'st the mistress of my soul,
Where thou all bright in beauties ray
Hast held a long tyrannick sway,
They who the hardest rule maintain,
In their commands do still refrain
From what impossible must prove,
But thou hast bade me cease to love;
Nor would some gentle mercy give,
And only bid me cease to live.
Ah! when the magnet's pow'r is o'er,
The compass then will point no more;
And when no verdure cloaths the spring,
The tuneful birds forget to sing:
But thou all sweet and heav'nly fair,
Hast bade thy swain from love forbear.
In pity let thine own fair hand
A death's-wound to this bosom send:
This tender heart of purest faith
May then resign thee with its breath;
And in the sun-beam of thine eye
A proud and willing victim die.

But since thou wilt not have it so,
Far from thy presence will I go:
Far from my heart's dear bliss I'll stray,
Since I no longer can obey.
In foreign climes I'll distant roam,
No more to hail my native home: