Matthew Prior (1664–1721)

IN vain you tell your parting lover,

You wish fair winds may waft him over.

Alas! what winds can happy prove,

That bear me far from what I love?

Alas! what dangers on the main

Can equal those that I sustain,

From slighted vows, and cold disdain.

Be gentle, and in pity choose

To wish the wildest tempests loose:

That thrown again upon the coast,

Where first my shipwrecked heart was lost,

I may once more repeat my pain,

Once more in dying notes complain

Of slighted vows, and cold disdain.