Nor yet those lucid drops of tender woe
Which down my cheeks in quick succession flow.
Yes, dearest life! your kisses number all;
And number, too, my sorrowing tears that fall:
Or, if you count not all the tears, my fair,
To count the kisses sure you must forbear.
But let your lips now soothe a lover’s pain,
(Yet griefs like mine what soothings shall restrain!)
If tears unnumbered pity can regard,
Unnumbered kisses must each tear reward.