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EBBA 21727

Magdalene College - Pepys
Ballad XSLT Template
The LUNATICK Lover;
OR,
The Young-Man's Call to Grim King of the Ghosts for Cure.
To an Excellent New Tune.
This may be Printed, R.P.

GRim King of the Ghosts make haste,
and bring hither all your Train;
See how the pale Moon does waste,
and just now is in the Wain:
Come you Night-Haggs with all your Charms,
and Reveling Witches away,
And hugg me close in your Arms,
to you my Respects I'll pay,

I'll Court you and think you Fair,
since Love does distract my Brain;
I'll go and I'll Wed the Night-Mare,
and Kiss her and kiss her again:

But if she proves peevish and proud,
then a pies of her Love let her go;
I'll seek me a Winding-Shroud,
and down to the Shades below.

A Lunacy I endure,
since Reason departs away;
I call to those Haggs for Cure,
as knowing not what I say:
The Beauty whom I do adore,
now slights me with scorn and disdain
I never shall see her more,
ah! how shall I bear my pain.

I Ramble and range about,
to find out my Charming Saint:
While she at my Grief does flout,
and smiles at my loud complaint:
Distraction I see is my Doom,
of this I am now too sure;
A Rival is in my room
while Torments I do endure.

Strange Fancies doth fill my Head,
while wandering in Dispair;
I am to the Desarts led,
expecting to find her there:
Methinks in a Spangl'd Cloud,
I see her Enthron'd on high;
Then to her I cry aloud
and labour to reach the Sky.

When thus I have rav'd a while,
and weary'd my self in vain,
I lye on the Barren Soyl,
and bitterly do Complain:
Till Slumber hath quieted me,
in sorrow I sigh and weep;
The Clouds is my Canopy,
to cover me while I sleep.

I Dream that my Charming fair,
is then in my Rivals Bed,
Whose Tresses of Golden Hair,
is on the fair Pillows spread:
Then this doth my Passion inflame,
I start and no longer can lye;
Ah! Sylvia, art thou not to blame ,
to ruin a Lover, I cry.

Grim King of the Ghosts be true,
and hurry me hence away;
My languishing Life to you,
as Tribute I freely pay:
To the [Eli]zium Shades I past,
in hopes to be free from Care;
Where many a bleeding Chest,
is hovering in the A[i]r.

FINIS.

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden[Ball in Pye-]
Corner, near West-Smithfield.

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