Since from my dear, my dear, my dear Since from my dear, my dear, my dear My dear, my dear Astrea’s sight I was so rudely torn My soul has never, never, never Has never, never, never known delight Unless it were to mourn To mourn, unless, unless it were to mourn But oh! alas, alas, with weeping eyes, And bleeding, bleeding, bleeding heart i lie Thinking of her, of her whose absence ‘tis That makes me wish to die, die, die, Makes me, makes me wish to die, die, die