Song: “Love still has something”

Love still has something of the sea, From whence his Mother rose; No time his slaves from love can free, Nor give their thoughts repose. They are becalmed in clearest days, And in rough weather tost; They wither under cold delays, Or are in tempests lost. One while they seem to touch the port, Then straight into the main Some angry wind in cruel sport Their vessel drives again. At first disdain and pride they fear, Which if they chance to ’scape, Rivals and falsehood soon appear In a more dreadful shape. By such degrees to joy they come, And are so long withstood, So slowly they receive the sum, It hardly does them good. ’T is cruel to prolong a pain, And to defer a bliss, Believe me, gentle Hermione, No less inhuman is. An hundred thousand oaths your fears Perhaps would not remove, And if I gazed a thousand years, I could no deeper love. ’T is fitter much for you to guess Than for me to explain, But grant, oh! grant that happiness, Which only does remain.