The Dying Lovers
Complaint.
Daphne laments cause Strephon is unkind,
Wanting his love no comfort he can find,
[A]nd missing that which she desires to have,
Poor Daphne sighs her selfe into the Grave.
Tune of Young Phaon.
|
I Am quite undone my cruel one
|
has me forsaken quite,
|
He is the man in whom I can
|
take pleasure and delight.
|
But hes unkind and now I find
|
my thred is almost spun,
|
here I lament in discontent
|
alas Ime quite undone.
|
Whilest others sleep I mourn and weep
|
in tears Im almost drownd,
|
When absent he is gone from me,
|
No comfort can be found.
|
In slumbring dreams methinks he seems
|
to be full kind to me,
|
But when I wake this great mistake
|
brings sorrow certainly.
|
|
|
|
|
The second part, To the
same tune.
|
My Golden hair I rent and tear
|
like one outragious mad,
|
Cupid say I, I thee defie
|
thou wicked wanton Lad.
|
A minute then scarce past agen
|
ere I do him implore,
|
Cupid say I, thy deity
|
I ever will adore.
|
Thus do I pass my dayes alass
|
and can no pleasure find,
|
I sigh and cry continually
|
hes cruel and unkind.
|
Twice in a breath I wish for death
|
such torments I endure,
|
Except hes kind I ner shall find,
|
nor hope to get a cure.
|
Then down I lye in hopes to dye,
|
ere him I see again,
|
But thoughts of him brings life again
|
and thus prolongs my pain.
|
Both curd and killd, blood shed & spilld,
|
all in a Moment is,
|
From death could he again fetch me,
|
with one poor smile and kiss,
|
Thus do I turn I freiz and burn
|
in a most strange condition,
|
No Doctors Art can cure my smart
|
except he prove Physitian.
|
But hopes of that must be forgot
|
and I must to the grave.
|
Come welcome death and stop my breath
|
that I some rest may have.
|
|
|
|
|