And could’st thou think our commerce thus should end,
Oblivion thus blot out the sacred fire,
Thy virtues, worth, and merit that expire,
That does adorn my lovely charming friend:
Ah no! while mem’ry holds her seat
Within the precincts of this breast,
The soft sensation e’er will beat,
And e’er remain my steadfast guest;
Nor, while the blood flows round my heart,
With the blest image will I part: