JOHN SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAMSHIRE

COME, let us now resolve at last To live and love in quiet; We’ll tie the knot so very fast That Time shall ne’er untie it. The truest joys they seldom prove Who free from quarrels live: ’Tis the most tender part of love Each other to forgive. When least I seem’d concern’d, I took No pleasure nor no rest; And when I feign’d an angry look, Alas! I loved you best. Own but the same to me—you’ll find How blest will be our fate. O to be happy—to be kind— Sure never is too late!

SOME vex their souls with jealous pain, While others sigh for cold disdain: Love’s various slaves we daily see— Yet happy all compared with me! Of all mankind I loved the best A nymph so far above the rest That we outshined the Blest above; In beauty she, as I in love. And therefore They, who could not bear To be outdone by mortals here, Among themselves have placed her now, And left me wretched here below. All other fate I could have borne, And even endured her very scorn; But oh! thus all at once to find That dread account—both dead and kind! What heart can hold? If yet I live, ’Tis but to show how much I grieve.