If thou couldst bring my Doris to my arms,
That thus at last made happy I might prove
In life the hell, in death the heaven of love.
Haste not away so soon, mock not my joy,
With the delusive sight or empty noise
Of happiness; oh do not dissipate
A pleasure thou so lately didst create!
Shadows of life or death do such bliss give,
That 'tis an equal curse to wake or live.
Stay then, kind Sleep; be ever here confin'd;