Amintors lamentation for [Celi]as [unkindness]
Setting forth the passion of a Young man, who falling in love with a coy
Lady that had no kindness for him, persued his inclinations so far, that
she was forced to fly beyond Sea, to avoid the importunity of his Ad-
dress, whereupon he thus complains.
Both Sexes from this Song may learn,
of what they should beware:
How in extreams they may discern,
Unkindness and dispair.
To a delicate New Tune: Or, Since Celias my foe.
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SInce Celias my Foe,
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To a Desart Ile go,
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Where some River
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for ever
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shall eccho my Wo!
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The Trees will appear
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More relenting than her,
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In the morning,
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adorning,
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each Leaf with a tear.
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When I make my sad moan,
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To the Rocks all alone,
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From each hollow
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Will follow
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some pittiful groan:
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But with silent disdain,
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She requites all my pain:
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To my mourning,
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returning,
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no answer again.
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O why was I born,
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To a Fate so forlorn,
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To inherit,
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Not merit
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her anger, or scorn:
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My affection is such,
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As no blemish can touch,
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Yet im slighted,
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and spighted
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for loving too much.
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Perhaps coud I prove,
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More unjust to my love,
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I might find her,
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yet kinder,
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and pitty might move,
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But ile chuse to obey,
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Tho I dye by the way;
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Yet tis better,
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Than get her,
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by going astray.
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THen why shoud you sty,
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My fair Celia? O why?
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When to please ye
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tis easie,
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for Amintas to dye.
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If your Lover youd shun,
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You no danger shall run,
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Him you banish
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will vanish,
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And from you be gone.
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Stay Celia unkind,
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Will you leave me behind,
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Let me enter,
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and venture
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my self with the Wind.
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Ah! from me will you part,
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Who so love your desert?
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Either tarry,
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Or carry
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your slave with his heart.
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Were you but secure,
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Ide your absence endure,
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Were all danger
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a stranger
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to Virgins so pure:
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But some insolent wave,
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May your merit out-brave,
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Both regardless,
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and careless
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What vertues you have.
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Yet Storms shall not dare,
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To assault one so fair,
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To attend you
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ile send you,
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sighs softer than air:
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The Nymphs of the Deep,
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My dear Celia shall keep,
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On a Pillow,
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each Billow
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Shall lull you asleep.
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The Seas they shall dance,
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And the Winds shall advance,
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With your Gally
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To dally,
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and guide you to France;
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While I from the Shore,
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My fair Idol adore;
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Till that Neptune
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your Captain,
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Hath wafted you ore.
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Then Celia adieu,
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When I cease to pursue,
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Youl discover
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No Lover
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was ever so true,
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Your sad Shepherd flies
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From those dear cruel eyes,
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Which not seeing
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his being,
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Decays and he dies.
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Yet tis better to run
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To the fates we cant shun,
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Then for ever
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Tendeavor
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what cannot be won:
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What ye Gods have I done
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That Amintor alone,
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Is thus treated,
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and hated
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for loving but one?
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And thus I complain,
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Tho tis all but in vain,
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Yet the trouble
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is double,
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to stifle my pain:
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The Sea or the Shore,
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I as well might implore;
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Theyr as moving,
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and loving
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as her I adore.
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Then since tis the fate
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Of my wretched estate,
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Without pitty,
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Tis fit I
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submit to her hate.
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For as Winter comes on
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When Apollo is gone,
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So declining,
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and pining,
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She leaves me alone.
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