Rivalry in Love
Of all the torments, all the cares,
With which our lives are curst;
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.