I believed, as she spoke, that I had ill understood her, but she repeated it so often, that I no longer doubted my wretchedness. I leave you, who so well can guess, to imagin, what Complaints I made, filling the Grove, where I was laid, with my piteous Cries; sometimes I rose and raved, and rail’d on Love, and reproached the fair Fugitive. But the tender God was still pleading in my Heart, and made me ever end my noisy Griefs in Sighs and silent Tears. A thousand Thoughts of revenge I entertained against this happy Rival, and the charming ingrate: But those Thoughts, like my Rage, would also end in soft reproaching murmurs and regret only. And I would sometimes argue with Love in this manner. Ah, cruel _Love_! when will thy Torments cease? And when shall I have leave to dye in Peace? And why, too charming and too cruel Maid, Cou’d’.t thou not yet thy fleeting Heart have stay’d? And by degrees thy fickle Humor shewn, By turns the Enemy and Friend put on: Have us’d my Heart a little to thy scorn, The loss at least might have been easier born. With feigned Vows, (that poor Expence of Breath,) Alas thou might’st have sooth’d me to my death. Thy Coldness, and thy visible decays In time had put a period to my days. And lay’d me quietly into my Tomb, Before thy proof of Perjuries had come. You might have waited yet a little space } And sav’d mine, and thy, Honour this disgrace; } Alas I languish’d and declin’d apace. } I lov’d my Life too eagerly away To have disturb’d thee with too long a stay. Ah! cou’d you not my dying Heart have fed With some small Cordial Food, till I was dead? Then uncontroul’d, and unreproach’d your Charms Might have been render’d to my Rival’s Arms. Then all my right to him you might impart, And Triumph’d o’re a true and broken Heart.