An Excellent new Playhouse SONG, Call'd,
The Faithful LOVERS
Or, The Young Man's Earnest Request
To His Mistress.
With her kind Answer to her LOVER.
To the Tune of, Fond Boy. With Allowance.
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SUch commands ore my fate has your love or your hate
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That nothing can make me more wretched or great,
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Whilst expecting I lye to live or to dye,
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Thus doubtful the Sentance on which I relye,
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Your tongue bids me go, tho your Eyes say not so,
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But much kinder words from their Language does floe.
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Then leave me not here thus betwixt hope and fear,
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Where your love cannot come let your pitty appear;
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But this my Request you must grant me at least,
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And more I'll not ask but to you leave the rest,
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If my Fate I must meet let it be at your Feet,
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Death there with more joy then life elswhere I'd greet.
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Be quick in my doom, whether Blest or Undone,
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And leave me not here for to perish alone;
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If I dye with the pain, look but kindly again,
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And I doubt not but of new life to obtain:
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For your goodness is such you can nere do too much
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To keep from all harms a poor languishing wretch.
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For the torment I bear is beyond all compare,
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Till your whispering tongue shall bid me not dispair,
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Then the sufferings gone will nere be thought on,
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But will be imployd on the Joy that's to come,
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Did but Cupid's love dart gently once touch your heart
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You'd say it were pleasing though it caused a smart.
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SInce my love or my hate does command ore your Fate;
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Tis Love I must own if it comes not too late,
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In what sorrow I lye for fear you should dye,
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O where's all my hopes then on which I relye,
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Tho my tongue bid you go, still my Eyes cryed no,
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While my Heart for your troubles with sorrow did flow.
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Our Sex oft do cry, we the Man do defie,
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Tho' we know the same minute our tongue gives the lye,
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But now I do own in the World there is none
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But your self that has gained my heart for your o[wn]:
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Then here while I live you may freely [re]ceive
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Whatere in my power I am able to give.
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