You say 'tis Love creates the pain,
Of which so sadly you complain;
And yet would fain engage my Heart,
In that uneasy cruel part;
But how alas, think you that I
Can bear the wounds of which you die?
'Tis not my passion makes my care,
But your indifference gives despair:
The lusty Sun begets no Spring,
Till gentle show'rs assistance bring,
So love that scorches and destroys,
Till kindness aids can cause no joy.
Love has a thousand ways to please,
But more to rob us of our ease;
For waking nights and carefull days,
from hours of pleasures he repays;
But absence soon, or jealous fears,
O'er flows the joys with floods of tears.
But one soft moment makes amends
For all the torment that attends.
Let us Love, and to happiness hast.
Age and wisdom comes too fast;
Youth for loving was design'd.
You be constant, I'll be kind.
I'll be constant, I'll be kind.
Heav'n can give no greater blessing
Than faithful Love, and Kind possessing.