Those that can tell Heaven's Joy, when News is brought
That some Poor Sinner's dear Conversion's wrought,
Might tell our Raptured Ecstasies, when we
Received the News, that you were come from Sea:
Each wore such Looks, as visibly expressed
Some more than common Joy, sat smiling in his Breast:
Great as your Friend's Joys, you will nothing find,
Unless the Grief of those you left behind:
I can describe my Joy for your Return
No more, than tell how I your Absence Mourn:
Both are beyond the reach of words t'express,
And to describe them, would but make them less:
The Blessing of young Heirs is mixed with Pain,
And by their Fathers' Deaths, Princes their Empires gain:
If then all pleasure, meets with some allay,
Forgive me, Dearest
Strephon
, if I say,
I almost Grieve to think that thou canst be
Six days in
London
, ere thou Visit me.
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