you'll be amaz'd at what I mean,
In all my Height of Fortune to complain:
Ador'd by Monarchs, and an Emp'rot's Bride,
You'll say, I need not in a Fret have dy'd.
Forbear; nor witless Jests on Love employ,
Alike unknowing in its Pain and Joy:
When you despise its Happiness or Woe,
You but your Want of Sense, or Virtue, show:
Be humane then; be touch'd with Scenes refin'd,
Which, while they raise the Passions, mend the Mind:
And, by your Pity of my Woes To night,
Convince the World, your Hearts are form'd aright.