Cupid's Master-Piece: OR, Long Wisht for Comes at Last: Or, The happy Meeting of William and Mary. A pretty Damsel of Sixteen 'tis said, Was Courted; but of Love she was afrai[']d: She slights sweet William (so she call'd his Name) He took her first Repulse; then she with shame, Laments her scornful Folly: Now she Loves, And languishes with grief, till Cupid moves Her William once again for to be kind; Which soon he did perform: Now both are joyn'd In Love's strict Mutual Bands, and Marryed, Let none, though once deny'd, in Love despair. Tune of, Caelia's my Foe.
|
GOd Cupid's unkind
|
Since my Soul he confin'd
|
For to Love
|
one doth prove
|
So unconstant in Mind:
|
He has wounded my heart
|
With an amorous Dart:
|
But my Dear
|
will not hear,
|
Though I tell him my smart.
|
Once 'twas he did smile,
|
Which my Heart did beguile;
|
But then
|
all young Men
|
I did scorne for a while:
|
But my Mind's alter'd now,
|
And by Cupid I vow,
|
I do wish
|
him to Kiss,
|
If I could but tell how.
|
What a madness it is
|
To refuse proffer'd Bliss:
|
a grace
|
to Embrace,
|
When kind Love bids us Kiss,
|
My Desires are too late
|
And I curse my hard Fate,
|
Who first did
|
me forbid,
|
For to make him my Mate
|
SWeet William was he
|
Who at first tempted me:
|
His Name
|
I can't blame,
|
Though so cruel he be:
|
But now I do fear,
|
My Complaints he won't hear,
|
Though I'm crying,
|
and dying,
|
Each Hour i' th' Year.
|
But if yet I could guess
|
Any Hopes of Redress,
|
I would pray
|
Night and Day,
|
For a better Success.
|
If my Love I make known,
|
And he should it dis-own,
|
Then with Grief
|
past Relief,
|
I were ever undone.
|
So sweet is his Voyce,
|
That it makes me rejoyce
|
For to hear;
|
him I fear,
|
Will not make me his Choice.
|
He's so proper and tall,
|
And so handsom withall,
|
That his sight
|
does delight,
|
And my Senses enthral.
|
When my Billy doth sing,
|
He doth make the Groves ring;
|
invite
|
to delight,
|
Each sensible thing:
|
Though my words are in vain,
|
Yet till Death I'le remain
|
His own,
|
though ne'r known
|
To be wed by my Swain.
|
Thus with Sighs she did End:
|
But kind Love was her Friend.
|
Now at last,
|
he made hast,
|
And his Bow he did bend:
|
He peirc'd Williams Brest,
|
That he could take no rest;
|
And Love
|
did him move,
|
Which he quickly exprest.
|
To the Damsel he goes,
|
Who did languish in woes,
|
And with Arms
|
full of Charms
|
He Embraces his Spouse.
|
He bid her take Heart:
|
For God Cupid by Art,
|
Did enjoyne me,
|
and confine me,
|
Never from you to part.
|
This made her Heart glad,
|
Which before was so sad:
|
They were Marry'd,
|
and ne'r tarry'd,
|
Such Desires they had.
|
Let none then despair,
|
Though tormented they are:
|
For be sure,
|
Love that's pure,
|
Love's Pleasures shall share.
|
|
|
|
|
|