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THE pamper'd Abbot too, eriei, he's a Saint
Vol. 11. B Absence
Absence is Hell, whence all true Joys are driven;
Love reckons Hours for Months, and Days for Years. And ev'ry little Absence is an Age. Vryd. Amfhit.
The tedious Hours move heavily away, .
And each long Minute seems a lazy Day. Ot. Cai. Mar.
For thee the bubling Springs appear'd to mourn, And whisp'ring Pines made Vows for thy Return.
When thylov'd Sight shall bless my Eyes again,** Then will I own I ought not to complain, ^
Since that sweet Hour is worth whole Years of PainJ
I charge thee, loiter not, but haste to bless me; Think with what eager Hopes, what Rage I burn. For ev'ry tedious Minute how I mourn: Think how I call thee cruel for thy Stay, And break my Heart with Grief for thy unkind Delay.
Fly swift, ye Hours, you meafure Time for me iri 'Till you bring back Leonidas again .* (vain,
Be swifter now, and to redeem that Wrong,.
(Vryd. Mar. A-la-modc.
While in divine Tanthea's charming Eyes
But, absent, if she shines no more^