Ephelia

England

Love's Cruelty, Or The Prayer.(1)

Speak cruel Love! what is't thou dost intend?
Oh! tell me, have thy Tyrannies no end?
Though to thy Pow'r I have a Rebel been,
May not Repentance expiate my Sin?
Oh! long ere this, if I had injured Heaven,
So true a Convert it would have forgiven:
Four times the Sun his Yearly Race hath run,
Since first my Heart was by my Eyes undone;
In all which time, thou scarce hast been so kind,
To give one Minute's Quiet to my mind;
Thou tak'st from me the Relish of Delights,
My Days no Pleasure know, no Sleep my Nights:
With wand'ring thoughts each Prayer thou dost profane,
(I offer to my God) and mak'st them vain.
Sometimes with Books I would divert my mind,
But nothing there but
J's
and
G's
I find:
Sometimes to ease my Grief, my Pen I take,
But it no Letters but
J G
will make.
I seek Diversion in Company,
But my discourse great Love, is all of Thee;
In Sighs and Sobs, I Languish out the Night
And all the day, in Tears I drown my Sight:
Yet I no pity can from thee obtain,
Thou'lt neither Cure, nor mitigate my Pain:
Merciless Tyrant! Since thou wilt not Save,
Quickly Destroy, and send me to my Grave.
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