But I ’m a Fool too easie in my Pain,
And such a generous Rage can’t entertain.
Wou’d but the Story of my Cares create
The like to you, methinks ’twou’d mine abate.
Your Trifles, I must own, went near my Heart,
With them I found it difficult to part.
To what was yours I bore such mortal Love,
Tho’ you yourself did quite indiff’rent prove,
They ’ve cost me many a Sigh, and many a Tear,
And more Distraction than you e’er shall hear.