Joyn’d with the Coldness of your last Adieu;
Th’ Improbability of your Return,
The many tedious restless Nights I ’ve born,
Your frivolous Excuses to be gone,
Encourag’d my Design and urg’d me on;
Nor did I doubt Success till, ah! too soon,
I found I still must love, still doat and be undone.
Wretch that I am! compel’d alone to bear
The heavy Burthen, which you ought to share.
You ’re the Offender, and I undergo