BALLAD. (Here sleeps in peace, beneath this rustic…)

Here sleeps in peace, beneath this rustic vase, The tenderest lover a husband could prove; Of all this distress, alas, I am the cause So much I adored him, heaven envied my love.

The sighs I respire ev'ry morn I arise, The misery I cherish, the grief, and the pain The thousand of tears that fall from my eyes, Are all the sad comforts for me that remain.

When, his colours display'd, honour call'd him to arms, By tender persuasions I kept him away, His glory forgetting for those fatal charms, And to punish me he is depriv'd of the day.

Since when to his memory I've rais'd this sad tomb, Where to join him, alas! I shall shortly descend; Where sorrow, nor pain, nor affliction can come, And where both my love and my crime shall have end.