THE
Mournful Lover,
SHEWING
How Celia, a London Lady, proved false to Strephon a Lieutenant
of a Ship, and in his Absence at Sea, Married Thirsis a Country Gentleman,
For which Strephon Dyed.
Licensed according to Order.
Tune of, Royal and Fair, etc
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[1]
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HEavens look down and pity my Crying,
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Heavy with Care thus sadly opprest,
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My Soul is in pain, and still I am Dying,
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And never find Ease in my Love-sick Breast.
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In torture I lye,
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And hourly dye;
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Celia's unkind, and deaf to my Cry,
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She's fickle as Wind,
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As I to my Sorrow find,
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I'm left to repine,
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Because she's Divine,
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She will not be mine.
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[2]
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Think Celia, how oft with Wishes and Curses,
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You vow'd to love your Strephon alone,
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Yet forsake me, and only love Thirsis,
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And leave me weeping, and making my Moan.
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But fair one know,
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Tho' for you I go,
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Down to the gloomy dark Shadows below,
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Yet when I am dead,
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My pale Ghost shall haunt your Bed;
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None shall define,
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What I design.
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For Celia is mine.
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[3]
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Thirsis may boast for a Time of the Blessing,
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And laugh to see me robbed of all,
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Celia is false, and not worthy possessing,
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Tho' for her sake a Martyr I fall.
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But Heaven is just,
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Tho' hence I must;
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Yet when I'm converted to Attoms and Dust,
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Each tatling Wind,
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Shall puff 'em up to make her blind;
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Tho' she's Divine,
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The Gods Combine,
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To show she's mine.
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[4]
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With my own Blood I made her a Writing,
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And there I bound my self to be true,
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She gave me the same of her own Inditeing,
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When into my Arms like Lightning she flew.
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In raptures I blest,
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What I possest,
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As I lay promising on her dear Breast,
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Which now she denies,
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And looks upon me with scornful Eyes;
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I'll not resign,
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What is Divine,
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For Celia is mine.
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[5]
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I crossed the Sea to gain my self Honour,
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A Piece of Gold we then did part,
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I thought I was happy because I had wone her,
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That was the Time she gave me her Heart.
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But the false Maid,
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Denies what she said;
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Thus my false Celia, poor Strephons betray'd,
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And here I am left,
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Of all Joy, forever bereft:
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I can't Divine,
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At her Design,
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But Celia is mine.
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My Glass it is run, & my Sands have done passing
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Death waits for me, and I must go,
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Adieu to false Celia, and all her Embracing,
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I must go to, the dark Dawning below.
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Lovers farewel,
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My Story go tell,
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Go fetch my cold Shroud, and ring my last Bell
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That a Tear she may shed,
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When she hears poor Strephon's dead,
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E'er may she pine,
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And still decline,
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False Celia is mine.
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