Metin
Nor is't enough to quit the nymph, but you
695
Must to her friends and kindred bid adieu;Must renounce all sort ot commerce with every thing that belongs to her; which is one of the best remedies against so contagious a distemper, but hard to be put in practice.
Nor to your sight admit the page or maid,
By whom the tender billet doux's convey'd.
And, though impatient, stifle your desire;
Nor of her health, nor what she does enquire.
700
E'en you who powerful reasons can assign,
That 'twas ill-treatment made your love decline,
Forbear complaints, and no invectives make;
By scornful silence, best revenge you'll take.
Bury your passion in a speechless grave,
705
Desist from love, but do not say you have.
If over much you boast, the symptom's ill;
Who always cries, "I've done with love," loves still.
To make sure work, quench leisurely the fire;
He's safe, who can by just degrees retire.
710
A torrent's swift, a stream does gently glide,
But that's a short, and this a lasting tide;
That love must irrecoverably decay,
Which does by atoms waste itself away.
