Of All the Torments
Hubert Parry, William Walsh
Of all the torments, all the cares
With which our lives are curst;
Of all the plagues a lover bears
Sure rivals are the worst!
By partners of each other kind
Afflictions easier grow;
In love we hate to find
Companions of our woe
Silvia, for all the pangs you see
Are laboring in my breast;
I beg not you would favor me
Would you but slight the rest
How great so e'er your rigors are
With them alone I'll cope:
I can endure my own despair
But not another's hope!