Damon and Celia, Or, the languishing Lover comforted.
Of all new Songs, the Poet hopes that this
Will please you well, because he knows it is
A very good one, you may find hereby,
Theres nothing lost by loving constantly.
Which ought to be all honest Lovers Guide
But as for such who no delays abide;
Let them love one, for half and hour no more,
And when theyve done go call their Mrs. whore.
To a pleasant New play-house Tune, called No, no tis in vain, etc.
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NO, no, tis in vain,
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Though I sigh and complain,Yet the secret Ile never reveal:
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The Wracks shall not tear it,
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From my breast, but ile bear it,
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to the Grave, where it ever shall dwell:Oh! would that the Gods had created her low,
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and placd the poor Hylas above,
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Then, then I a present might freely bestow,
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of a heart that is all over Love.
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Like the Damnd from the fire,
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I may gaze and admire,
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Yet never can hope to be blest:
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Oh the pangs of a Love,
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That dares not discover,
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The Poyson that lodgd in his Breast:Like a Deer that is wounded I bleeding run on,
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and fain I the passion would hide,
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But oh tis vain, for wherever I run,
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the bloody Dart sticks in my side.
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Like a Ship on the Ocean,
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Thats ever in motion,
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Continually tumbld and tost:
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When each greedy wave
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Portendeth a grave
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and on the hard Rock to be lost:
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Each frown from my Celia does threaten my woe
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which alas I find to be true,
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My torments do follow where ever I go,
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tis in vain to flye, fate will persue.
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If the cause shed discover,
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To her languishing Lover,
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Why, why she so cruel doth prove,
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An Alter ile raise,
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And her anger appease,
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By a sacrificd heart to her Love:Then Cupid would know the fault lay not in me
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and ease my destraction and pain,
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Methinks to his God-head an honour twould be,
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in making her love me again.
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But if he take part,
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To destroy my poor heart
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Then ile curse both his Quiver and Bow,
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For he if he please,
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Can to Lovers give ease,
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And make them his power to know,
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My Celia from blame I will ever set free,
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and her name I will always adore,
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Shes a Goddess on earth, to be worshipd by me
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expecting her blessing in store.
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IT is not in vain,
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You do sigh and complain,
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For the secret to me is reveald:
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My Breast now doth bear it,
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Where for ever Ile wear it,
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such flames cannot long be conceald:The Gods have created me low to your mind,
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and placd your affections above,
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The present I ask is that still youd prove kind
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and give me that heart full of Love.
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Like the blest free from trouble,
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Our joys still may double,
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And never no sorrow can know,
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Then happys that Lover,
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Which dares not discover,
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Those flames which occasion his woe:
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Like a prisoner set free, he may sing and rejoyce
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when he from confinement is clear,
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If his Love prove kind, then thrice happys his choice,
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no bloody darts after appear.
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Like a Merchant whose treasure
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Comes home in full measure,
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From the Indies who long have been gone,
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Such joys do abound,
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To a Lover thats Crownd,
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With success, that before lookd for none:
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Now smile my dear Damon, the day is your own,
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no more of your Celia complain,
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Your constancy my true affections hath won,
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then count not your sorrows in vain.
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It was only to Try ye,
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Which made me deny ye,
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The cause now you certainly know,
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My heart you shall have,
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Till cold death to the Grave,
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Does force us to pay what we owe:
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Little Cupid hath heard thee, & made me prove kind,
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he heard your complains ery day,
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But when the night came, he did torture my mind
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by telling me what you did say.
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He was your best friend,
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And your suit did commend,
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Then pritty sweet Damon, no more,
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Lets not angry prove,
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To the God of our love,
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but for ever his power adore:My heart is thy own, and ile give thee my hand,
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wel marry and make no delay,
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And I my own self will be at thy command,
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to please thee by night and by day.
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