Ode: His Restless Estate

Your presence breeds my anguish,
Your absence makes me languish:
Your sight with woe doth fill me;
And want of your sweet sight, alas, doth kill me.

If those dear eyes that burn me,
With mild aspect you turn me,
For life my weak heart panteth;
If frowningly, my sp'rit and life-blood fainteth.

If you speak kindly to me,
Alas! kind words undo me:
Yet silence doth dislike me,
And one unkind ill word stark dead would strike me.

Thus, sun nor shade doth ease me;
Nor speech, nor silence please me:
Favours and frowns annoy me;
Both want and plenty equally destroy me.