Classic Poem

A Certain Cure for Immoderate Grief

Oh! my poor Husband! cries the plaintive Wife,
Late the sole Joy and Comfort of my Life!
And art thou gone? Alas! the cruel Day,
Which snatch'd, by far my better Half away!
To me how irksome is this bustling Stage!
" Fie on't! O fie! " no longer I'll engage; —
Betsy, take Care you bury th' dear Soul
With high Respect; — my Sorrows to controul,
I'll post for Bath ; the sprightly Ball may prove,
A sovereign Balm to cure — (and whet her Love)
Well, down she comes, shines forth in lovely Weeds,
And plainly shows her Grief, from Heart proceeds .Englishlove poemlove poemslove poems for herlove poetrypoems about loveromantic poems