The Young-Mans A.B.C.
OR
Two Douzen of Verses which a Young-Man sent to his
Love, who proved unkind; wrote in the manner of an A[l]phabet.
The Tune is, Aim not too high.
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ACept dear Love
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these shaddows of my grief,
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And let thy pitty
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send me some relief,
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A Captive to
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thy will I must remain,
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For thou art only she
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must ease my pain.
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BE kind to me,
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as I am kind to thee,
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Blast not thy fame,
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with cruelty to me:
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But let thy inward parts
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be like thy face,
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Beauty in heart
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adorns the outward face.
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COnsider how,
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my service hath been bent,
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Continually
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to gain thy swet content,
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Canst thou my dear,
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be so obdure to me,
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Cross unto him
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that is so true to thee.
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DEfer no time
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to understand my grief
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But with some speed,
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come ease me with relief:
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Thy beauty rare
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hath struck my heart so deep,
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That all my days
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I mean to wail and w[e]ep.
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EXcept thou do
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some favour to me yield,
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I shall be slain,
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with love in Venus field,
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I am so discontent,
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in mind and heart,
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That neither means
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nor time can cure my smart,
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FOrget thou not
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the woe wherein I dwell,
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My torments do,
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all other griefs excell,
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Consider well
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my woful sable nights,
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And days I spend away,
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without delights,
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GRant me thy love,
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to mittigate my pain,
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The like thou shalt
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receive from me again:
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So love will we
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as doth the Turtle-Dove,
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Whose firm affection
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ever constant prove.
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HAve you respect
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of this the grief I take;
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Which out of sleep,
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doth sometimes me awake:
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In dreams I see
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that which I most desire,
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But waking sets
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my sences all on fire.
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IN doleful sort,
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these words I now relate,
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Which makes me think
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myself unfortunate,
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To set my heart
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where I had nought but scorn;
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Which makes me rue
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the time that I was born.
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KIll me not in
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this desperation deep,
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To think how I neither
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eat, nor drink nor sleep:
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To think of that
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which I cannot obtain,
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The whith hath neer
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my heart with sorrow slain
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LEt tender pitty
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move thy gentle heart,
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And so from thee
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my love shall never start,
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To gain thy Love,
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ile venture life and limb,
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And for thy sake,
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the Ocean I will swim.
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MY life I loath,
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because my woes increase,
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Therefore my torments cease,
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and me release:
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Then be not harsh,
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whereas thou shouldst be kind,
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But for my love
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let me no hatred find
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NEither deny
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to grant me this request,
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Nor seek thou not,
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to work me more unrest:
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For if thou do,
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the worst share fall to thine,
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The worst can come,
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ends but one life of mine.
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OH that thou wouldst
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but now conceive aright,
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Then would my darkness
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soon be turnd to light:
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My greatest sorrows
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should then I destroy,
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And all my grief
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and care exchange to joy.
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PIerce then no deeper
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to my bleeding heart,
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The which is ready
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now for to depart,
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He still that loves,
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and is not belovd again,
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Had better dye,
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then still to live in pain.
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QUench thou the flames,
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of this my burning breast,
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Which for thy sake,
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no time nor tide can rest,
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My love to thee
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hath evermore been true,
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Therefore the same
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see still I have from you.
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REgard my grief
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how still it more exceeds
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My life is like the Herb
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thats spoyl[]d with weeds:
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Amongst the finest Wheat,
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the Tares do grow,
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And thou my love
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hast wrought my overthrow.
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SWeet love, now take,
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on my thy friend some care,
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Regard his grief
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that still lives in dispair
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Of thy true love, which
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is more dear then Gold,
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My griefs are more
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than numbers can be told.
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TOo long I have livd,
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and yet too late repent,
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For why the glory of
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my life is spent;
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In loving her
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that never did love me,
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O then what days,
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of pleasure can I see.
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WOuld I had never
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livd thy face to have seen,
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O then full happy
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surely had I been:
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For never any one,
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under the Sun,
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But thou alone,
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could me this wrong have done.
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X Thousand times
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more cruel is thy mind,
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Then Heathens, Jews,
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or Turks are in their kind:
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Or any one
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that on the earth doth go,
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And woe is me,
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for I have found it so.
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YEt if thy mind be
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so perversly bent,
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That nothing can
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procure my hearts content:
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Know this from me,
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that I have learnd of late
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No more to dote,
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on her that doth me hate.
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ZENOBIA
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to Tamberlain ner was
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More dear then thou
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to me, but now alass,
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I find my toyl,
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my sighs and sobs in vain,
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Why should I love,
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and not be lovd again.
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& Now to set
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a period to my woe,
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If thou wilt have me,
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prethee tell me so,
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If otherwise thou meanst,
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thy mind it send,
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Resolve me off or on,
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and theres an end,
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