The tortures of my breast proclaim,
Behold, how willingly to fate
I offer this devoted frame.
If thou, when I am past all pain,
Shouldst think my fall deserves a tear,
Let not one single drop distain
Those eyes, so killing and so clear.
No! rather let thy mirth display
The joys that in thy bosom flow:
Ah! need I bid that heart be gay,