O Love! thou bane of the most generous souls! Thou doubtful pleasure, and thou certain pain.

The radiant sun sends from above ten thousand blessings down, nor is he set so high for show alone.

Shall Nature, erring from her first command, self-preservation, fall by her own hand?

Of all the kind of pains, the greatest pain is to love and to love in vain.

O Love! thou bane of the most generous souls! Thou doubtful pleasure, and thou certain pain.

Marriage the happiest bond of love might be, If hands were only joined when hearts agree.

Who to a woman trusts his peace of mind, Trusts a frail bark, with a tempestuous wind.