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 you Cupids come, To scatter roses on her tomb.
Soft and Gentle as her Heart Keep here your watch, and never part.