An Excelent New Song Call'd,
The slighted Lover,
OR,
The Scornful Mistress.
Tune of, How lovely's a Woman, etc.
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I.
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OH why am I allways perplexed in mind,
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For the more I do love yet the more she's unkind,
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Though I dote on her still yet no favour can win,
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For when I do sigh she from me does fling.
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II.
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Young Cupid but aim with thy piercing love Dart,
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And make it once touch my fair Mistresses heart,
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That soon she may know what torment and pain,
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It is for to love and not be lov'd again.
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III.
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Sometimes she don't mind all the vows I do make,
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Tho I tell her I love and must dye for her sake,
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Yet she on me will frown and bid me be gone.
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For a lover she says, she'l never have one.
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IV.
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Dispairing I lye at her feet, and do crave,
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That she would bestow a kind look on her slave,
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Then she gives me a glance that's enough for to kill,
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Tho it pierces my Heart, yet I must love her still.
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V.
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Oh why was I Born to be tortured so
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By one that wont hold me nor yet let me go,
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Tho her Tongue does deny, yet her Eyes seem to say,
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Tho I bid you be gone, yet ide have you to stay.
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VI.
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So thus between hope and dispair I do lye,
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Not knowing whether she'll make me live or dye,
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Tis her Conquering Charms that has my Heart gain'd
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And yet she'l not love which creates all my pain.
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VII.
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And if that she should have a heart made of stone,
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Yet tis my dear Celia I must have or none,
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For tis her I adore, and tis her I do love,
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Tis her has my heart, and tis hers I must move.
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VIII.
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For with her I live, but without her I die,
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Oh ye Powers above make fair Celia comply,
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If she once would but give a look that was kind,
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Then I should have hopes that her heart would be mine.
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IX.
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I wait at her Window both early and late,
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Yet when she looks out still this is my hard fate,
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She gives me a frown, then away she does go,
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Not minding the grief I for love undergo.
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X.
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By Letters I often have told her I love,
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With tender expressions her heart for to move,
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But alas all in vain for she'll give no reply,
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Altho her true Lover does languish and die.
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XI.
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Oh fair one consider a Lover that's true,
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Who Vows does declare he nere lov'd none but you,
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Then soften her heart Oh you powers above,
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That she may once know what it is for to love.
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XII.
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Then take my last lines that I ever shall write,
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O send me relief or you kill me this Night,
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If you love I am blest, but if not then adieu,
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Yet fair one Remember 'twas for love of you.
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