Part 2 — RIVALS
Reading edition
Of all the torments, all the cares, With which our lives are cursed; Of all the plagues a lover bears, Sure rivals are the worst! By partners in each other kind Afflictions easier grow; In love alone we hate to find Companions of our woe.
Sylvia, for all the pangs you see Are laboring in my breast, I beg not you would favor me, Would you but slight the rest! How great soe'er your rigors are, With them alone I'll cope; I can endure my own despair, But not another's hope.
William Walsh [1663-1708]