The Mourning Conquest. Or,
The Womans sad Complaint, and doleful Cry,
To see her Love in Fainting fits to lye.
The Tune is, A loving Husband will not be unto his Wife unkind.
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AS I did walk abroad one time,
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I chanced for to see,
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A Young-man and a Maid, but
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they did not know of me;
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She being in the vain then,
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chuckt him under the chin,
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And smiling in his face, she said,
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alas poor thing.
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The Young-man very bashful was
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but had a good intent,
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He lov'd the Maid with all his heart
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but knew not what she meant,
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And much a do she had, poor heart;
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this Young-man for to bring,
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Unto her bow, which made her cry,
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alas poor thing!
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She by his loving Complements,
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did understand and find,
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That she might safely let him know
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and understa[nd] [her m]ind:
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Pretending for to stumble,
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on the ground herself did fling,
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And said, Sweet-heart I fell by chance
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alas poor thing!
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The young-man standing all amaz'd
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for a little space,
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And finding opertunity,
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and a conveniant place,
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Under a shady Bower,
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close by a pleasant Spring;
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Upon the Maid himself he he throws,
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alas poor thins.
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I could not chuse but laugh to see
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these two so close imploy'd,
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The young-man was contented, and
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the Maid was over joy'd,
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Expressing of her love, she
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did closely to him cling,
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But finding him begin to fail,
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alas poor thing.
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IT was not long before this young man
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was tired with this sport,
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He laid him down to rest a while,
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he took his breath full short:
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She turn'd about, and kist him, and
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did closely to him cling,
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Sweet-heart (quoth she) how dost thou now,
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alas poor thing!
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But finding him in fainting fits,
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she then began to weep,
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And with her hands she rubb'd his joynts
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to keep this Youth from sleep;
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Quoth she, sweet-heart, thy weakness makes
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my very heart to sting:
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Come fye, for shame rouze up thy self
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alas poor thing!
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And comming to himself again,
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his face lookt wondrous wan,
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Wishing he were as strong, as when
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he first with her began:
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And in a rage he swore, he thought
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no Woman e're could bring,
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A man so weak, which made him cry
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alas poor thing!
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Quoth she, sweet-heart, the Souldier that
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doth venture in the field,
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Although at first repulsed, yet
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the day they will not yeild:
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But face about, and Charge again,
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and take the other fling:
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Ile do my best to second thee,
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alas poor thing!
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Poor heart, she did what in her lay,
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this Young-mans heart to cheer,
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By kissing him, and calling him,
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her Hony, and her Dear,
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But finding of his Courage,
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so sadly for to hing,
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Down she fell again, and cry'd,
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alas poor thing!
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The youngman hearing of her moan
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his credit for to gain,
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Resolving for to try his strength,
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but all was spent in vain:
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And troubling of his love-slain mind
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he like a Logg did cling,
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Which made her kick him off, & cry,
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alas poor thing!
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So to conclude, I saw this youth,
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most farely beat in Field:
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The stoutest heart that ever drew,
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is sometimes forced to yeild,
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And so put up his Blade again,
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there sadly for to hing,
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And leave his Foe to sigh and cry,
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alas poor thing!
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S. B.
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