A mournful Caral: Or, An Elegy, Lamenting the Tragic
ends [of the] unfortunate Faithful Lovers, Frankin and Cordelius, he being slain, she
slew her self with her Dagger. To a new Tune, called, Franklin is fled away.
|
F[ran]kin my loyal friend, O hone, o hone,
|
In whom my joy do end, O hone, o hone,
|
Frankin my hearts delight,
|
Since last he took his flight,
|
bids now the world good night, O hone o hone,
|
Frankin, is fled and gone, O hone, o hone,
|
And left me here alone, O hone, o hone,
|
Frankin is fled away,
|
The glory of the May,
|
Who can but mourn and say, O hone, o hone
|
Frankin belovd of all, O hone, o hone,
|
Ladies lament his fall, O hone, o hone,
|
Come mourn upon his shrine,
|
You Lady Muses nine,
|
And Matrons all divine, O hone, o hone,
|
Frankin with comely grace, O hone, o hone,
|
Courted with kind imbrace, O hone, o hone,
|
Till Mars did bear controule,
|
And his affection stole,
|
to heaven bequeathd his soul, O hone, o hone
|
Frankin did please the Dames, O hone, o hone,
|
None could resist his Flames, O hone, o hone
|
Virgins lament the day,
|
That Franklin fled away,
|
How can we chuse but say, O hone, o hone.
|
Frankin why wouldst thou goe, O hone, o hone
|
To Battle with thy Foe, O hone, oh hone,
|
Thy solemn obsequies,
|
With watry dropping eyes,
|
A mournful sacrifice, O hone, a hone.
|
frankin which gracd the swains, O hone o hone
|
Sported upon the Plains, O hone, o hone,
|
With all the Royal train,
|
Faithful he did remain,
|
Until my Lord was slain, O hone, o hone,
|
FRankin why wouldst thou dye, O hone, o hone
|
Regarding not my cry, O hone, o hone,
|
Love-sick in every vein,
|
Opprest with grief and pain:
|
And so I shall remain, O hone, o hone.
|
Frankin the pride of men, O hone, o hone,
|
None flourisht like him then,
|
till death without remorse,
|
took Frankin hence by force,
|
I must bewail his Course, O hone, o hone,
|
In the Elizium Fields, O hone, o hone,
|
Much joy and pleasure yields, O hone, o hone,
|
there Frankin Sainted is,
|
injoying Lovers bliss.
|
The Earthly mold Ile kiss, O hone, o hone,
|
[Frankin] under this stone, O hone, o hone,
|
His Corps remain alone, O hone, o hone,
|
Come drop with me a tear,
|
All you that faithful are,
|
Such zealous thoughts I bear, O hone, o hone
|
Frankin I come to thee, O hone, o hone,
|
To end my misery, O hone, o hone,
|
The world I plainly find,
|
A hell unto my mind,
|
Thou art so true and kind, O hone, o hone.
|
I count there is no bliss, O hone, o hone,
|
But where my true love is, O hone, o hone,
|
Go toul my mournfull bell,
|
Theres heaven where Frank doth dwell
|
Now must I bid farewel, O hone, o hone,
|
This Dagger in my hand, O hone, o hone,
|
My life shall soon command, O hone o hone,
|
And with this fatal Dart,
|
Ile stab my Love-sick heart,
|
Ending a Lovers part, O hone o hone.
|
Thus did she end her life, O hone, o hone,
|
Which should have been his wife, O hone o hone
|
Young-Men and Virgins all,
|
Lament these Lovers fall,
|
Gracing their Funeral, O hone, o hone.
|
|
|
|
|
|