| |
| AH how sweet it is to love, | |
| Ah how gay is young desire! | |
| And what pleasing pains we prove | |
| When we first approach Loves fire! | |
| Pains of Love be sweeter far | 5 |
| Than all other pleasures are. | |
| |
| Sighs which are from Lovers blown, | |
| Do but gently heave the Heart: | |
| Ev’n the tears they shed alone | |
| Cure, like trickling Balm, their smart. | 10 |
| Lovers when they lose their breath | |
| Bleed away in easie death | |
| Love and Time with reverence use, | |
| Treat ’em like a parting friend: | |
| Nor the golden gifts refuse | 15 |
| Which in youth sincere they send: | |
| For each year their price is more, | |
| And they less simple than before. | |
| |
| Love like Spring-tides full and high | |
| Swells in ev’ry youthful vein: | 20 |
| But each Tide does less supply, | |
| Till they quite shrink in again | |
| If a flow in Age appear, | |
| ’Tis but rain, and runs not clear. | |
| |
