The healing Balsom of
a true Lover.
While Phillis seemed to be strange,
Her love was almost mad,
But when he found a suddain change,
It made his heart full glad.
Tune of Amoret and Phillis.
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PHillis my wounded hearts delight
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doth triumph o're my soul,
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When she is gone out of my sight
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I by my self condoul,
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No comfort then at all I find
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when absent she's from me,
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I chide the woods cause they'r unkind
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and rail at every tree.
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I wander through the shady woods
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thinking my love to find,
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I threaten then the sliding floods
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and quarrel with each Wind.
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The Lark that do so early rise
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I ask'd if her she see,
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But nothing she to me replies
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but makes a song of me.
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My passion she doth strangly mock
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laughs at what I endure,
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And straight I leave my wandring flock
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in hopes to find a cure.
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Quite through the plains I rudely walk
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like one bereft of wit,
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And as unto my self I talk
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I fall into a fit.
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Strange sights methinks I then do see
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which trouble me full sore,
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If once I could again get free
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I ne'r would love her more,
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But there's no hopes for me at all
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my liberty to gain,
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Nor e're to get out of this thrall
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poor love sick helpless Swain.
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Y Ou happy shepheards that are free
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pray keep so if you can,
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And take a pattern now by me
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a poor distressed man.
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Love is a base and cruel cheat
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and robbs men of their rest,
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Compos'd of nothing but deceit
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while free men they are blest.
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[Phill ]is was false yet seemed kind
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[?] caught me in a snare,
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[?]ow she bewrays her faithless mind
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I mourn beneath despair.
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O Cupid thou deceitful boy
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let loose a helpless swain,
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Deprived of his bliss and joy
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and tost in Seas of pain.
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Cease, Cease my dear do not complain
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blame not blind Cupids dart,
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For I will ease thee of thy pain
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and ease thy love sick heart.
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What love did cause thee to endure
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I grieve to think thereon,
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Thou art the man i'le thee assure
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that I do dote upon.
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To thee I seemed strange because
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i'de have thee fond of me,
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And teach thee tricks in Cupids laws
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I thought were strange to thee.
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But now I find thou dost acquaint
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thy self with such like things,
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I can't endure to hear complaint
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thou shalt tast of loves springs.
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The Balsom of my lips i'le lay
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upon my bleeding wound
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Shall cause thy pain to pass away
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and shalt soon be sound.
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Come take a kiss from thy dear heart
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my love I can't express,
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And when thou feel'st no more of smart
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count it a happiness.
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How many lovers have been lost
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wanting a salve like mine,
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And in the world been strangly crost
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yet by the power divine.
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I'me sent to heal thy bleeding brest
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and ease thee of thy sore,
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For which I hope I shall be blest
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and happy evermore.
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