If love’s a sweet passion Henry Purcell

If love's a sweet passion why does it torment?
If a bitter, oh tell me, whence comes my content?
Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain
Or grieve at my fate, when I know it's in vain?
Yet so pleasing the pain is so soft as the dart
That at once it both wounds me and tickles my heart

I press her hand gently, look languishing down
And by passionate silence I make my love known
But oh! How I'm blest when so kind she does prove
By some willing mistake to discover hеr love
When in striving to hide, shе reveals her flame
And in our eyes tell each other what neither dares name