Whitney's Dying Letter
To his Mistriss that betray'd him: With her Answer .
Giving a full Account how through excess of Grief and Mal-
lancolly She Stabed Herself.
Tune, Whitney's Farewel , etc.
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False Wretch, why would thou thus betray
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my Life, whilst in its Prime!
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Sure Terror haunts thy breast each day
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For so unjust a crime.
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Curse on the time I lov'd thy Charms,
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Or did thy Pleasures taste:
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The false Embraces of thy Arms
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Hath brought me to my last.
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How oft have I thy wants reliev'd,
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And to support thy pride;
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Thou knowst full well I often Theiv'd,
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New Dresses to provide.
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And then to recompence at last,
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My Love with death and Shame
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Sure Justice will make thee taste
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For thy reward the same.
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Base Woman, Woman, how canst be
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So infamously false!
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So full of hate and treachery,
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That none can feel thy pulse.
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Malice with Love thou canst disguise,
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Thy subtle ends to gain:
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And seem most foolish when most wise,
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To Cheat believing Man.
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I'm bound to Curse that tempting Eye
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That did my breast invade.
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Tis by that charming Treachery
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I am to death betray'd.
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Beware how Whores your secrets gain,
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Their subtle charms deride;
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They to the Gallous bring more Men,
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Then all the World beside.
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Had I thus wretched shame surviv'd,
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O then thou shouldst have seen,
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Thy Charms should have no more deceiv'd
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Poor Whittney o're again!
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But as I'm now compell'd to dye,
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The World will surely see,
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Some dreadful death or misery,
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Will doubtless fall on thee.
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If I had ne're so wicked been,
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You ought not above all
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To be the only Person seen
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To work my shameful fall.
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When I am dead and gone thou'l find,
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Within my breast a Hell.
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Whose Glommey flams will plague thy mind,
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And so false wretch farewel.
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Her ANSWER .
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WHy should Passion so prevail,
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Against the thing I lov'd.
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My Grief no longer I'le conceal,
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My hearts to sorrow mov'd.
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How oft, how oft, have I embrac'd
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Dear Whittney in my Arms;
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Whose kind affections on me were plac'd
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On my prevailing Charms.
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Through his unkind neglects of late
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To Envy I was bent:
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And brought him to his woful fate
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Which I too late Repent.
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Now could I wish 'twas in my pow'r,
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But to restore his Breath;
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I'de Bless, I'de Bless that happy hour.
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Cou'd I retrieve his Death.
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But now alace, it is too late
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The greater are my Cares.
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I only can bemoan his Fate,
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And think of him with Tears.
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The sweet delights I oft enjoy'd.
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Along with him are fled,
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The Comfort of my Life's destroy'd,
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Since my dear Whittney' s Dead.
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Ah! how unhappy am I grown,
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Each thought new woes create.
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I should have thought I'de happy been
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Could I have shar'd his Fate.
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But since through Envy I Betray'd,
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Poor Whittney to his fall,
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By my own Treachery I am made
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A Wretch condemned by all.
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I'le wander to some Gloomy-Shade
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And let my Tears express,
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The Cares and Sorrows that invade,
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And do my heart oppress.
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Pitty my Griefs ye Powers above,
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And hasten on my Doom;
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That I may follow what I Love
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To the Elizeum .
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With this bright Dagger in my hand,
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I'le give my Woes relief;
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This fatal Stobb shall now Command
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An end to all my grief.
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Dear Whittney 'tis for thee I bleed,
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I brought thee to thy Doom.
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Which makes me Act this bloody Deed
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And now dear Soul I come.
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