But Death, alas! I cannot shun;
Death must come when he is gone.
Great minds against themselves conspire,
and shun the cure they most desire.
Thy hand, Belinda; darkness shades me:
On thy bosom let me rest:
More I would, but Death invades me:
Death is now a welcome guest.
When I am laid in earth,
May my wrongs create no trouble in thy breast;
Remember me! but ah! forget my fate.
With drooping wings ye cupids come,
and scatter roses on her tomb,
soft and gentle as her heart;
Keep here your watch, and never part

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS