THE
Dying Lover's last Farewel:
OR, THE
Tragical Downfal of Martellus and Arminda.
The Shepherd being slighted, did despair,
And being sore opprest with Grief and Care,
He did complain that Love he ever try'd,
So yielded unto Fate, and there he dy'd:
Who when the Nymph could not recal by Art,
Her Sorrows swell'd & broke her tender Heart.
To an excellent Play-house Tune, call'd, Stone Walls cannot a Prison make: or, Young Pheon.
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ONe night when all the Village slept,
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Martellus sought despair,
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The wandring Shepherd waking kept
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to tell the Woods his care:
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Be gone, said he, fond Thoughts be gone,
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eyes give your sorrow o're;
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Why should you waste your tears for one
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that thinks on you no more?
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Yet all the Birds, the Flocks, and Powers
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that dwell within the Grove,
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Can tell how many tende[r] hours
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we here have pa[s]t in love.
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Ye Stars above, my cruel Foes,
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can tell how she has sworn,
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A thousand times that like to those
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her flames should ever burn.
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I thought the Rocks could sooner move,
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than she her faith betray,
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I was transported so with love,
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my senses fled away:
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When hand in hand we us'd no walk,
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no joy was like to this,
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She told me, that I had her heart,
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and seal'd it with a kiss.
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But faithless she will ever be,
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I to my sorrow find,
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Or else perhaps prove so to me,
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and to some other kind.
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But sure the God of Love will show'r
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down vengeance in the end,
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And punish by his mighty Power
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those that his Laws offend.
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How happy should I count myself
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for to receive one smile,
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From her that stole my heart away,
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and did me so beguile;
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My drooping spirits would revive,
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and I should be at ease,
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And promise to myself good days
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my fancy for to please.
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But since she's gone, O let me have
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my with, and quickly dye,
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In this cold bank I'll make my grave,
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and there forgotten lye:
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Sad Nightingales the watch shall keep,
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and kindly there complain.
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Then down the Shepherd lay to sleep,
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and never wak'd again.
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Arminda coming through the Grove,
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to ease him of his grief,
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And finding that her wronged Love
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was dead past all relief;
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Unto the Gods she did complain,
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with senses all amaz'd,
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And sobbed out these words in vain,
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as on his grave she gaz'd:
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Oh! why ye only Powers above,
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would you so cruel be,
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For to deprive me of my Love,
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e're I his face could see?
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Unhappy I whose deep disdain
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makes me thus sadly crost,
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For when I thought to love again
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I found that I was lost.
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O let me strive with all my art
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thy breath for to reprive,
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That thou mayest know my love-sick heart
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doth for my Shepherd grieve:
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With open eyes behold my woe,
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that am with sorrow slain,
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Since that I prov'd thy deadly Foe
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to kill thee with disdain.
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But oh! alas, I know grim Death
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he will not bribed be,
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For to restore his latest breath
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to see my misery:
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No sorrow e're was like to mine,
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come help me for to mourn,
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That I in tears of watry brine
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may to a deluge turn.
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You Birds that warble in the woods,
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and Beasts so fierce and fell,
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Bear witness of my dying words,
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and weep my funeral-knell:
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Since he is to Elizium gone,
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who was to me so kind,
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No longer I can live alone,
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nor stay one hour behind.
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I come dear Love, I come she cry'd,
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make thy Arminda room,
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Since that for love Martellus dy'd,
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unto the shades I come.
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Then fetching of a dying groan,
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her tender heart it broke,
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And falling on her Lover's grave,
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she never after spoke.
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