Could he whom my dissembled Rigour grieves,
But know what Torment to my Soul it gives,
He’d find how fondly I’d return his Flame,
And want myself the Pity he would claim.

Unhappy part’ner of my killing Pain,
Think what I feel the Moment you complain.
Each Sigh you utter wounds my tend’rest Part,
So much my Words misrepresent my Heart.

When from your Eyes the falling Drops distil,
My vital Blood in ev’ry Tear you spill;
And all these mournful Agonies I hear,
Are but Echoes of my own Despair.