THE Lamented LOVERS: OR, THE Young Men and Maiden's Grief for the Unhappy Tragedy of this Unfortunate Couple. To the Tune of Frantick Lover. Licensed according to Order.
|
YOu Damsels now of Beauty bright,
|
It is to you these Lines I write;
|
your Cruelty give o'er,
|
And do not here like Tyrants reign,
|
And kill those with your high disdain,
|
which doth your Charms adore,
|
A young man lately lov'd a Maid,
|
To whom he often sighing said,
|
my Dear, some Pitty show,
|
And yield to me some kind relief,
|
Or else my Heart will break with Grief:
|
prove my overthrow.
|
Ten thousand thoughts runs in my Head,
|
When lying on my restless Bed,
|
and Tears like Fountains flow;
|
Oh! let thy Frowns to Blessings turn,
|
For if in love I longer burn,
|
prove my overthrow.
|
Will not my sighs some pitty move?
|
Behold the pleasant Charms of Love,
|
in e'ry Vein does flow;
|
Some comfort to thy Servant give,
|
Without thy Love I cannot live,
|
prove my overthrow.
|
The scornful Damsel did reply,
|
Your Suit I u[tt]erly defie;
|
pray from my presence go;
|
'Tis strange that Love should be so hot,
|
Your Life or Death I value not,
|
or eke your overthrow.
|
Each word was like a killing Dart,
|
Which pierc'd the young man to the Heart,
|
he streight from her did go,
|
With a most discontented mind,
|
He often sighing said, I find
|
she'll prove my overthrow.
|
His scorching Love straightway did turn
|
Unto a Feaver which did burn,
|
he straight to bed did go,
|
From whence he never did arise,
|
But often said with Sighs and Cries,
|
Love proves my overthrow.
|
I now shall never see thee more,
|
Whom I so dearly did adore,
|
since you no kindness show,
|
I'll dye a Martyr for thy sake,
|
And with these words his heart did break,
|
love proves my overthrow.
|
The Maidens Reply.
|
Now when this Damsel she did hear
|
The Death of her beloved Dear;
|
she wept most bitterly:
|
To his Grave with Grief she run,
|
And cried out, what have I done!
|
my Frowns has murder'd thee.
|
With Grief and Cares I am opprest,
|
That night and day I take no rest;
|
thy Ghost methinks I see,
|
That haunts my Person night and day,
|
My Love, alas! what shall I say?
|
I that murder'd thee.
|
Farewell Relations, Friends and all,
|
His Bloud doth for just Vengeance call,
|
kind Death must set me free,
|
In Grave I'll lye down by thy side,
|
I am not fit to live she cry'd,
|
my Frowns has murder'd thee.
|
She to her Bower did return,
|
And never, never cease to mourn;
|
in Tears to that degree,
|
That Death at length her heart did seize;
|
Her last and dying words are these,
|
my Love I come to thee.
|
It was her Will, that she might have
|
A Lodging in her Lover's Grave,
|
to which all did agree;
|
Both their Relations thought it fit,
|
And on her Coffin it was writ,
|
My Love I come to thee.
|
|
|
|
|
|