For the fond lover is the brother too:
All other griefs abate; this monstrous grief
Has no remission, comfort, or relief;
Four ample volumes, through each page disclose—
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Good Heaven protect us!—only woes on woes;
Till some strange means afford a sudden view
Of some vile plot, and every wo adieu![68]
Now, should we grant these beauties all endure
Severest pangs, they've still the speediest cure,