But, bold, unconcerned At thoughts of the pain, He calmly returned To his cottage again. - William Walsh (poet)

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 in each other kind
Afflictions easier grow;
In love alone we hate to find
Companions of our woe.

But, mad with his love,
To a precipice goes,
Where a leap from above
Would soon finish his woes.

How great soe’er your rigours are,
With them alone I’ll cope;
I can endure my own despair,
But not another’s hope.