TO
HENRY
.
THINK
not
,
while
fairer
nymphs
invite
Thy
feet
,
dear
youth
,
to
Pleasure's
bowers
,
My
faded
form
shall
meet
thy
sight
,
And
cloud
my
Henry's
smiling
hours
.
Thou
art
the
world's
delighted
guest
,
And
all
that
pride
desires
is
thine
;
Then
I'll
not
wound
thy
generous
breast
,
By
numbering
o'er
the
woes
of
mine
.
I
will
not
say
how
well
,
how
long
This
faithful
heart
has
sighed
for
thee
;
But
leave
thee
happier
nymphs
among
,
Content
if
thou
contented
be
.
But
,
Henry
,
should
Misfortune's
hand
Bid
all
thy
youth's
fond
triumphs
fly
,
The
crimson
from
thy
lip
command
,
And
force
the
lustre
from
thine
eye
,
....
Then
,
thoughtless
of
my
own
distress
,
I'll
haste
thy
comforter
to
prove
;
And
Henry
shall
my
friendship
bless
,
Although
,
alas
!
he
scorns
my
love
.