丽迪雅。丽迪雅知道有十五朵花开，现在已经有二十朵春花把花园铺满了绿;现在没有情人在早晨骚扰她，在她梳妆时逮住她。轰鸣的门环不再唤醒街道，椅子和马车也不再挤在寂静的门前;现在她所有的早晨都在窗前度过，或是在她无言的凝视中度过;她靠在胳膊上沉思，诅咒男人的反复无常，太迟了。“哦,青春!啊，生命的春天，永远消失了!我的名字将不再是最受欢迎的祝酒词;玻璃上的钻石将不再刻上我的名字;错别字将不再记录我爱人的火焰;也不会有戴着白手套的男人们成群结队地尾随我，把我送到马车旁。“我该怎么度过这可恶的一天呢?” At chapel shall I wear the morn away? Who there appears at these unmodish hours, But ancient matrons with their frizzled tow'rs, And gray religious maids? My presence there, Amidst that sober train, would own despair? Nor am I yet so old, nor is my glance As yet fix'd wholly on devotion's trance. Strait then I'll dress, and take my wonted range Through India's shops, to Motteux's, or the Change, Where the tall jar erects its stately pride, With antic shapes in China's azure dy'd; There careless lies a rich brocade unroll'd, Here shines a cabinet with burnish'd gold. But then alas! I must be forc'd to pay, And bring no penn'orth, not a fan away! "How am I curs'd, unhappy and forlorn! My lover's triumph, and my sex's scorn! False is the pompous grief of youthful heirs; False are the loose coquet's inveigling airs; False is the crafty courtier's plighted word; False are the dice when gamesters stamp the board; False is the sprightly widow's public tear; Yet these to Damon's oaths are all sincere. "For what young flirt, base man, am I abus'd? To please your wife am I unkindly us'd? 'Tis true her face may boast the peach's bloom; But does her nearer whisper breathe perfume? I own her taper shape is form'd to please; But don't you see her unconfin'd by stays? She doubly to fifteen may claim pretence; Alike we read it in her face and sense. Insipid, servile thing! whom I disdain; Her phlegm can best support the marriage chain. Damon is practis'd in the modish life, Can hate, and yet be civil to his wife: He games, he drinks, he swears, he fights, he roves; Yet Cloe can believe he fondly loves. Mistress and wife by turns supply his need; A miss for pleasure, and a wife for breed. Powder'd with diamonds, free from spleen or care, She can a sullen husband's humour bear; Her credulous friendship and her stupid ease, Have often been my jest in happier days; How Chloe boasts and triumphs in my pains! To her he's faithful; 'tis to me he feigns. Am I that stupid thing to bear neglect, And force a smile, not daring to suspect? No, perjur'd man! a wife may be content; But you shall find a mistress can resent." Thus love-sick Lydia rav'd; her maid appears, And in her faithful hand the band-box bears The cestus, that reform'd inconstant Jove, Not better fill'd with what allur'd to love); "How well this ribbon's gloss becomes your face!" She cries in rapture; "then so sweet a lace! How charmingly you look! so bright! so fair! "Tis to your eyes the head-dress owes its air!" Straight Lydia smiled; the comb adjusts her locks; And at the play-house Harry keeps her box.