III.
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hat measure Fate to him shall meteIs not the noble Lover’s care;He’s heart-sick with a longing sweetTo make her happy as she’s fair.Oh, misery, should she him refuse,And so her dearest good mistake!His own success he thus pursuesWith frantic zeal for her sole sake.To lose her were his life to blight,Being loss to hers; to make her his,Except as helping her delight,He calls but incidental bliss;And holding life as so much pelfTo buy her posies, learns this lore:He does not rightly love himselfWho does not love another more.
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