You are an unconstant. This reproach, well weighed, signifies, “My self-love is more flattered by imputing to you a fault, of which I am myself the cause, than if I was to tell myself that I have not charms enough to fix you.”
The truth is, that unconstancy is oftener a misfortune than a crime. A lover cannot always help it. He is innocent, because he is passive in it. Not to deserve inconstant, if not a cure, is at least a consolation.