Constancy Lamented:
OR, A
Warning for Unkind Parents,
Not [t]o seperate those who are joyned in Love:
Being a full and true Account of a Wealthy Tradesman's Son in the Strand, who died
on Friday last, for the Grief he conceived in the Absence of his dearly beloved E.
H --- k. (a Hereford-shire Damsel) who was by his Hard-hearted Mother, sold to
Virginia; and of the many Arguments the Mother used to perswade this Young-
Man to fix his love on some more Wealthy Maiden: With the Mothers sad lamen-
tation, and almost Raving Distraction for her Son's Death, and her own most Un-
worthy Action.
The whole Published from the Relation of a Worthy young Gentlewoman, a daily Visi-
tant of the said young Man's, and a sorrowful mourner for his great mishap.
To the Tune of, All happy times, etc. Or, Languishing Swain.
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ALas! my dearest Dear is gone,
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And I am left to sigh and moan,
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To weep and wail, to sigh & cry,
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O Betty, Betty, I must die.
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There is no pleasure I can find,
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Now she is gone: Perplex'd in mind
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I'm rowling on my love-sick bed;
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The thoughts of her does strike me dead.
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Physicians they do come to try
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Their Doses with great industry:
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But I tell 'em all it is in vain,
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Since Betty's sailing on the main.
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Nought in the world but sweet Betty,
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Can ease my mind, or set me free
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From those distractions which I bear,
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Her absence for my heart doth tear.
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There is no pleasure, O my Dear,
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That I can find, no comfort here!
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But 'frightened Dreams do me surprize,
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When that dull sleep has shut my eyes,
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Methinks, my dearest Dear, I see
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What cruel Frights attendeth thee:
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How that thou too and fro art tost,
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And in great Hazards to be lost.
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O cruel Mother, and Unkind,
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Which brought this grief unto my mind,
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By banishing my dearest Joy,
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'Tis only this doth me destroy!
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Why shoul'st thou love, his mother said
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A silly poor and serving maid,
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Whose birth is of some mean degree,
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Which would bring Scandals unto me.
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Behold, my Son, there's Virgins store,
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Most beautiful, and yet not poor;
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Of birth and breeding most compleat:
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My Son, it's these will make thee great.
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I'd rather surely see thee dead,
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Then that thou should'st my Servant wed,
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To make her equal unto me,
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Whose birth is of some poor degree.
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Wealth! birth! (the Young-man cries)
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Alas, alas, are foolish Toys:
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They do indeed perplex the mind,
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True Love alone doth comfort find.
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O cruel mother hear I pray,
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And listen unto what I say;
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For your desire you'll surely have
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To lay me in the silent Grave:
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For why, I feel now at my heart,
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Such cruel pain, such bitter smart
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That long I'm sure I cannot bear
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Such cruel Tortures as they are.
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O Neptune, let me thee implore
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To guard my Love safe to the shore:
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And tho' I never must her see,
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Heavens grant her Felicity.
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And now, Farewel Mother unkind,
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You have ruined body and mind;
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For to this world I bid adieu
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And Dying cry, 'Tis long of you.
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But when his mother she did see
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That he was dead assuredly,
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Like one distracted she did run.
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Still crying, O my Son, my Son.
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For thee, alas, my heart doth bleed,
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Accursed be my wretched Deed:
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Could I but have thy life again,
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I'd send for Betty o'er the Main.
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Therefore you Parents everywhere,
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Whose chance it is these lines to hear,
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Do not contend against True Love,
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For fear you such like Tryals prove.
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