SAY, dearest  why this pensive Air?
Tell me, O tell thy Sorrows and thy Care;
Why thy Lips tremble, and thy Cheeks are pale?
Why heaves thy Bosom with a mournful Gale?
Let not thy Eyes for distant Evils flow,
Nor rack thy Bosom with prophetick Woe:
Imagin'd Ills deceive our aking Eyes,
As lengthen'd Shades appear of monstrous Size,
When setting  gilds the Ev'ning Skies.