Song from "King Arthur" (You say 'tis love creates the pain)

She. You say 'tis love creates the pain
Of which so sadly you complain.
And yet would fain engage my heart
In that uneasy cruel part:
But how, alas, think you that I
Can bear the wound of which you die?

He. 'T is not my passion makes my care,
But your indiff'rence gives despair;
The lusty sun begets no spring,
Till gentle show'rs assistance bring:
So love that scorches and destroys,
Till kindness aids, can cause no joys.

She. Love has a thousand ways to please,
But more to rob us of our ease:
For wakeful nights and careful days
Some hours of pleasure he repays;
But absence soon, or jealous fears,
O'erflow the joys with floods of tears.

He. By vain and senseless forms betray'd,
Harmless love 's th' offender made,
While we no other pains endure,
Than those that we ourselves procure:
But one soft moment makes amends
For all the torment that attends.

Chorus of Both. Let us love, let us love,
And to happiness haste;
Age and wisdom come too fast:
Youth for loving was design'd.
He alone. I 'll be constant, you be kind.
She alone. You be constant, I 'll be kind.
Both. Heav'n can give no greater blessing
Than faithful love, and kind possessing.