Comfort To A Youth That Had Lost His Love

What needs complaints,

When she a

Has with the

Of saints?

In endless mirth,

She thinks not

What's said or

In earth:

She sees no tears,

Or any

Of thy deep

She hears;

Nor does she mind,

Or think on't now,

That ever

Wast kind:—But changed above,

She likes not there,

As she did here,

Thy love.—Forbear, therefore,

And lull

Thy woes, and

No more.