Fancies Favourite,
OR,
The Mirror of the Times.
B[e]ing a young Ladies commendation of a young Gallant, which hath a long time
shewed her much love, which by his civill carriage, and long patience in waiting
on her, at last Conquered her who was once Resolved to lead a single life, and
therefore he termed her the Phaenix of the Times.
To the Tune of, Fancies Phaenix.
|
COme, come. away you Maidens fair
|
this Song to you I will ,
|
Tis of a Young-man Ile declare,
|
who in his praise I needs must write:
|
The City if I search about,
|
I scarce shall finde his fellow out.
|
Hee hath been constant long to mee,
|
The mirrour of the times is hee.
|
I must confess I once did mind,
|
a single life to live and die,
|
But such rare parts in him I find,
|
his civil Suit I cant deny,
|
But am resolvd to set him free,
|
And grant him love and libertie:
|
So civil he hath been to mee, etc.
|
I once did think I never should,
|
so much as know what love should be,
|
Nor did I dream he ever could,
|
with patience so have conquered me,
|
His comely gesture I did spie,
|
Made me delight ins company,
|
That all may say that doth him see, etc.
|
Did you ere see that glorious Star,
|
that ushers in the morning bright,
|
How hee exceeds all other far,
|
by casting forth his sparkling light,
|
So all doth say as much by hee,
|
that ere did keep his company,
|
His carriage doth such J[e]sture show,
|
he is admired where ere he go.
|
Hee bashfull is yet hold also,
|
and shows it with a gallant grace,
|
All vaporing blades he scorns to know,
|
yet scorns he for to hide his face
|
Hel take no wrong nor quarrels breed
|
but stick to his friend in time of need,
|
Hes civil, yet hel merry be, etc.
|
If any where you should him spy,
|
in Maids or womans company,
|
No wanton looks comes from his eye,
|
at any time as you ere shall see,
|
Hel court, hel kiss, hel sing or play,
|
but it shall bee in a modest way,
|
For Men or Womens conpanie, etc.
|
BUt stay my Pen doth run too fast
|
in setting forth his g[a]llantrie,
|
For fear I loose him at the last
|
then cause youl have to laugh to mee
|
When some to hear of him they may
|
Perswade his love from me away.
|
But if they gain his love from mee
|
None constant then I think there bee,
|
But his name I have not told,
|
nor will not yet, you may be sure,
|
Till of him I can get faster hold
|
theres no one here shall it procure.
|
You Maidans all that hear my Song
|
I would not have you for him long.
|
But if you do perswaded bee,
|
You may finde some as good as hee.
|
A Phaenix he hath termed mee.
|
because I thought to lie alone,
|
But if that such a Bird there be,
|
Out of his Climat sure shes flown
|
Our Land is cold, and therefore I,
|
Resolve no Phaenix for to die.
|
But though I dont this Phaenix prove,
|
Yet I will be his Turtle-Dove.
|
Theres many a maiden that doth say,
|
a single life is best at ease,
|
How oft I prey will you say nay,
|
if once a Young-man doth you please,
|
I must confess sometimes youl prove
|
Most coy to him you most do love.
|
What by experience I finde true,
|
Pray blame not me to tell it you.
|
Let me advise you Maidens fair,
|
not to be coy, nor proud at all,
|
For those thee count themselvs most rare
|
most timee doth get thee greatest fal
|
You seldome see a scornful Maid,
|
but at last she is betrayed,
|
Be courteous, yet be vertuous still,
|
And let not young-men have their wil
|
Choose not a husband for estate,
|
unless you fancy him beside,
|
You may repent when tis too late,
|
tis for a life time you are tyd,
|
No Ranter take if you be wise,
|
nor yet none of the precise,
|
The one wil rant and spend thy means
|
the other closely may love queans.
|
But now my Song grows to at end,
|
I must be gone my love doth stay,
|
Last night I did unto him send
|
to meet me at a place to day,
|
Where we intend so to agree,
|
in what Church wee will Married be,
|
Then Phaenix like weel live and dye
|
in the pure flames of Chestity.
|
One Love, one Faith we do expresse,
|
& therefore wee one name will have,
|
Our love so great is I confesse,
|
we likewise do desire one grave,
|
To his desire I well incline,
|
his ashes shall be joyned with mine:
|
So Phaenix like wee mean to lie,
|
and Turtle like weel live and dye.
|
|
|
|
|
|