And now (the mournful warbler flown)
The nymph and friendly bower their own,
O'er all reserve their spleen prevails,
And every tongue in concert rails:
All wonder'd what her eyes could see
In such a worthless thing as he!
Who still pursues his private ends,
Ungrateful to his kindest friends;
One instance sure might serve to show him!
Alas, how little did they know him?