Come, welcome death! and to this troubled heart
thy calm oblivions peace at length impart.
From thy loath'd presence startled nature flies,
yet art thou grateful to my care-worn eyes.
Religion decks thee in a robe so bright,
and sorrow paints thee lovely to the sight.
Come then in pity, grant thy sad relief
to one whom life o'erwhelms with agonizing grief.

See where with wreaths of laurel crown'd
Britannia rules on Afric ground!
Still on her cheeks some tears remain
like blushing roses pearl'd with rain.
By thee fell death! Her fav'rite son
was from her arms for ever torn,
altho' the field was nobly won,
the victors had most cause to mourn.

Mark where the fair Matilda stands
and madly clasps her lily hands.
How weep those eyes of heav'nly blue
like violets dropping morning dew!
By thee, remorseless as thou art,
is caused the anguish of the fair;
thy spear has pierced her Henry's heart
and fraught her bosom with despair.

Cease, tyrant, cease, thus envious to destroy
the lover's transports and the victor's joy!
In kindness rather turn thine haggard eye
on one who only supplicates to die.
No tears sweet incense shall bedew my tomb,
my woes unpitied, and unmourn'd my doom.
Strike then in mercy, bid my sorrows end
and be the friend of her who has no other friend.