Classic Poem

Lovers, who in complaints your selves consume,
And to be happy once, perhaps presume,
Your love & hopes, alike are vain,
Nor will they ever cure your pain.
They that in Love would Joy attain,
Their passion to their power must frame.
Let them enjoy what they can gain,
And never higher aym.

Complaints & Sorrows, from my breast depart,
You think to soften an ungentle heart,
When it not onely wards such blows,
But from your sufferance prouder grow's.
They that in Love would joy &c.

Amanti ch'in pianti &c.

Lovers, who in complaints your selves consume,
And to be happy once, perhaps presume,
Your love & hopes, alike are vain,
Nor will they ever cure your pain
They that in Love would Joy attain,
Their passion to their power must frame.
Let them enjoy what they can gain,
And never higher aym

Complaints & Sorrows, from my breast depart,
You think to soften an ungentle heart,
When it not onely wards such blows,
But from your sufferance prouder grow's
They that in Love would joy &c.