A Strange Apparition: OR, The second Meeting of two self-murthering Lovers. Phillis and Phillander. Mistaken Phillis kill'd her self, thinking Philander Slain; Philander quickly followed her, and now they'r met again. To the Tune of, Oh Cruel bloody Fate.
|
SItting beneath the Shade,
|
of the Mirtle blooming Tree,
|
My self to Recreate,
|
a Noise surprized me:
|
Such pleasant Musick I did hear,
|
the world were strangers too,
|
with Notes so sweet,
|
I ne'r could meet,
|
no mortal ever knew.
|
I harkened to his Charms,
|
and gave attentive ear,
|
I then could fear no harm,
|
each minute cost a tear
|
From my poor eyes, & then such groans
|
as eccho'd through the Air,
|
with sighs so sad,
|
said she I'm glad,
|
for worse then with Dispair.
|
Ah my Philander dear
|
I never more shall see,
|
What, have I left thee here:
|
who fled from hence for thee?
|
& through the shades I went to search
|
for thee my hearts Delight,
|
but now I fear,
|
I left thee here,
|
I'm come for th'other sight.
|
The world i'le compass quite,
|
Philander for to find,
|
Since I have took this flight,
|
to ease my troubled mind:
|
I'le search each comer of the World,
|
and wander through the Air,
|
since it is so,
|
he's not below,
|
i'le seek to find him there.
|
My Spirit cannot rest,
|
til him again I find,
|
He thinks I dye in jest,
|
else would not be unkind:
|
But had he seen my desperate wound,
|
made with a willing stroak,
|
he'd then confess
|
in bitterness,
|
dispair did it provoke.
|
Like a true lover then,
|
he would have followed me,
|
And overtook agen,
|
my Spirit that did flee:
|
But since he is not yet come there,
|
where I did him expect,
|
I cannot stay,
|
but must away
|
you powers my course derect.
|
Just as she fled away,
|
this sound I then did hear,
|
My lovely philis stay,
|
philander's drawing near:
|
The Musick then began agen,
|
so pleasant to my ear,
|
I stood amaz'd,
|
about me gaz'd,
|
and saw their meeting there.
|
And in each Lovers brest,
|
I did perceive a Wound,
|
My Soul was then opprest,
|
and I was like to swound:
|
She opens then her bloody arms,
|
and him she caught between,
|
I chid mine eyes,
|
for telling Lyes,
|
and thought it was a dream.
|
Philander art thou come?
|
did Phillis Spirit say,
|
Now to Elizium,
|
with joy let[']s haste away,
|
Ah Philis, 'twas thy great mistake,
|
caus'd thee to pierce thy brest,
|
which when I found,
|
mine I did wound,
|
with sorrow then opprest.
|
But since we're met again,
|
we never more shall part,
|
To grieve now is in vain,
|
we're now beyond all smart:
|
In folded arms they fled away,
|
with such a Harmony,
|
no mortal ere,
|
did ever hear,
|
but I that was thereby.
|
They posted to the shade,
|
which Lovers entertain,
|
These joys are great, they said,
|
that we should meet again:
|
Were we to live on earth again,
|
such joys we could not find,
|
as the sweet shade,
|
For Lovers made,
|
who never prov'd unkind.
|
|
|
|
|
|