The True Lovers Tragedy:
Being an Incomparable Ballad of a Gentleman and his LADY
that both Killed themselves for Love, under the disguised Names of
Philander and Phillis.
Phillis, Philanders scattered Garments find
And thinks him slain, for which with Fate she joyns,
And with her fatal Poniard striketh deep,
As life no longer can its station keep,
The Crimson Streams so fast flowd from her veins
Yet Dying, of her Loves dear loss Complains:
No sooner Death had closed up her Starry eyes
But her Return'd Philander her espyes;
And finding that for him she lost her Breath,
He kills himself and Crowns his Love with death.
To a New Play-House Tune: Or, Ah! Cruel Bloody Fate.
|
AH Cruel Bloody fate,
|
what canst thou now do more?
|
Alas 'tis now too late,
|
Philander to restore;
|
Why should the Heavenly powers perswade
|
Poor Mortals to believe,
|
That they guard us here,
|
And reward us there,
|
Yet all our joys deceive.
|
Her Pon[y]ard then she took,
|
and held it in her hand,
|
Then with a dying look,
|
cry'd thus I fate command:
|
Philander ah my love I come,
|
to meet thy shade below;
|
Ah I come she cry'd,
|
With a wound so wide,
|
There needs no second blow.
|
Then purple waves of Blood,
|
ran streaming down the floor,
|
Unmov'd she saw the flood,
|
and bless'd her dying hour,
|
Philander and Philander still,
|
the bleeding Phillis cry'd,
|
She wept a while,
|
and she forcd a smile,
|
then clos'd her eyes and dy'd.
|
Upon the blushing ground,
|
stain'd with her Virgin blood,
|
She lay in Deaths deep Swound,
|
close by the murmering flood:
|
Which for the lovely Phillis sake,
|
complain'd of cruel fate,
|
Which had caus'd such care,
|
as had wrought dispair,
|
I weep it to relate.
|
WHen loe Philander came,
|
with joy to seek his love,
|
And her dear promise claim,
|
while Moon-beams from above
|
Did twinkle through the thickest shade,
|
and guild the flowry plain,
|
When he espys,
|
And ah Phillis cries,
|
(not thinking she was slain)
|
Arise, arise from earth,
|
shake of this dull repose,
|
Phillis my only mirth,
|
to thee Philander bows:
|
Sooner I would have come to thee,
|
had not a Lyon stay'd,
|
My course to fight,
|
For which exploit,
|
he Lifeless now is made.
|
Ah me, what's this! she's cold,
|
ye Gods quite Breathless too
|
Oh Death durst thou infold,
|
this beauties not thy due:
|
Alas! O cruel fate he cry'd,
|
by her own hand 'tis well,
|
Oh the dismal blow,
|
That did overthrow,
|
by heav'ns for me she fell.
|
Behold my garments dy'd,
|
in Phillis pretious blood,
|
Which falling from my side,
|
made her suppose me dead:
|
And therefore fell for love of me,
|
ah cruel destiny,
|
And shall Philander
|
live to wander,
|
No! by the powers i'le dye.
|
I come my Phillis now,
|
prepare! for in thy arms:
|
I will perform my vow,
|
a sleep like death now charms:
|
These ciprus wreaths our Crowns shall be
|
we'l Triumph over death.
|
From thy fair Lip,
|
i'le Nectar Sip,
|
Even with my latest breath.
|
With that his Fatal Sword,
|
he plunged in his breast,
|
And sigh[']d with dying words
|
oh now I am at rest,
|
Now Phillis now for ever mine,
|
fate now no more shall part,
|
Then through the Wound,
|
The passage found,
|
and left the Lovers heart.
|
|
|
|
|
|