Aaron Hill (1685–1750)

OH! forbear to bid me slight her,

Soul and senses take her part;

Could my death itself delight her,

Life should leap to leave my heart.

Strong, though soft, a lover’s chain,

Charm’d with woe, and pleas’d with pain.

Though the tender flame were dying,

Love would light it at her eyes;

Or, her tuneful voice applying,

Through my ear my soul surprise.

Deaf, I see the fate I shun;

Blind, I hear I am undone.