pleasure of love

I pass all my hours in a sheltered old grove,
But I love the day when I see my love:
I survey every walk now my Phyllis is gone,
And sigh when I think we were there all alone;
O then 'tis, O then that I think there's no Hell
Like loving too well.

But each shade and each conscious bo'wr when I find,
Where I once had been happy and she had been kind,
When I see the print left of her foot in the green,
And imagine the pleasures may yet come again;
O then 'tis, O then that no joy's above 
The pleasures of love.

Whilst alone to myself I repeat all her charms,
She I love may be locked in another man's arms;
She may laugh at my cares and so fla se she may be,
To say the kind things she before said to me,
O then 'tis, O then that I think here's no Hell
Like loving too well.

But when I consider the truth of her heart
Such an innocent passion, so kind without art,
I do fear I have wronged her and so she may be
So full of true love to be jealous of me.
O then 'tis, O then I think no joy's above
the pleasure of love.