Celia to Amintor


Since God , whom we continually offend ,

Is still so merciful , that he forgives ,

Man , sure! a pitying ear may justly lend,

When Woman , penitent, in sorrow, lives.


The mournful dove , when absent from her mate ,

Sits, brooding melancholy , all alone;

Pines, and bemoans, her separated state,

And all the groves can ne'er the loss attone.


So, I, depriv'd of all, I hold most dear,

My much-mourn'd lover , and my tend'rest friend ;

Hear reason whisper, in my conscious ear,

That only your blest sight my grief can end.


Sure, if I see you not, before I sleep ,

A second Niobe I shall become;

Fly, then, Amintor , give my woe relief,

Rather, than vex you, I'll be always dumb .

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