Repentance too Late:
Being fair Celia's complaint for the loss of her Virginity.
OR, The wronged Love finds no cure but Death.
Being a pleasant new play Song: As it is sung at the Theater
Fair Caelia's kind and trusts too much her Swain,
Who once Enjoying her returns disdain,
Courts other Virgins and neglects her quite
What love he had is [t]urned now to spite.
For which she grieves at her too quick belief
And warns all Virgins by her doleful grief,
How to beware of man whose false surprize.
Had ruin'd her then lies her down and dyes.
To a pleasant new play house Tune called, Sad as Death: OR, Parthenia unto Cloe cryed.
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Sad death at dead of night
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the fair complaining Caelia sat
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But one poor lamp was all her light
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whilst thus she reason'd with her fate.
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Why should man such triumphs gain
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and purchase such joy that gives us pain,
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Ah what glory can insue
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a helpless Virgin to undoe.
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Curs'd the night when curs'd the hour,
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when first he drew her to his Arms
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When Virtue was betray'd by power
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and yeilded to unlawful charms.
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When approach'd with all his fires
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arm'd with hopes and strong desires,
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S[i]g[h]s and tears and every vile
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with which the men the maids beguile.
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Dream no more pleasures past
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since all thy torments are to come,
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The secret is made known at last
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and endless shame is now thy doom,
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The false fors[w]orn alass is gone
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and left thee here to dispair alone,
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Who that hears of Caelia's pain
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will never trust will never trust a man again.
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Eas'ly I believed his vows
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and yielded up my honour bright,
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For which hard fate no cure allows
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but it is never set in night.
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Come gentle death and ease my grief
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yeild poor Caelia some relief,
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Oh! lock me in thy cold embrace
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henceforth the Grave's my dwelling place.
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Ah! and could he leave me thus
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weeping, the mourning Caelia cryed,
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Was't enjoyment wrought my curse
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oh! me that e'r had I but dy'd.
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Then to'th Elizium shades i'de gone
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a spotless Virgin now i'm none,
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But to'th woods my woe must sing
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till willing death my rescue bring.
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Cyp'rus shall o're shade my Tomb
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while on the blushing ground I lye,
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Where Violets and sweet Roses bloom
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I care not now for coming nigh.
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Since I have lost my Virgin state
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by trusting man such my hard fate,
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That proves perfidious and unjust
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and has to shame betray'd my trust.
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Cruel powers why have ye made
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Man so Majestick bright and fair,
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Alass was't only to invade
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poor silly Virgins to insnare.
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Undone by their too crafty wiles
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Alur'd into lovers fatal toiles,
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By the soft whispers of their breath
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which wound the love sick heart to death.
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Like a Serpent that does lie
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under a bed of gaudy flowers,
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Whose smell and sight invites the eyes
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and ravish'd sence so that no power
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To shun they have but plucking strait
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they meet their unexpected fate,
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So men with sweet words they deceive
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till they have got their ends then leave.
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The yielding Virgin to possess
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for constant v[?]ws the wandring Air,
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To waile her own unhappiness
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for constant lovers now are rare.
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Words smooth as Oyl are soon so got
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oaths they suspend or value not,
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Her whom they swear now Angel bright
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when once enjoy[']d is black as night.
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Virgins all be warn'd by me
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who now must mourn my ill star'd fate
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Oh! trust not your virginity
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least love should turn to cruel hate.
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Which I have prov[']d for which I dye
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Heart-broken hear for ever lye,
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At which she sigh'd out her last breath
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and love and beauty left in death.
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