Hope farewel, Adieu to all pleasure,
OR
Silvia's Matchless Cruelty.
To the Tune of, Hail great Sir, etc.
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HOPE farewel, adieu to all Pleasure,
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No Torment so great as Love in despair:
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Sylvia frowns, my Endeavours to please her,
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And laughs at those pains she makes me to bear.
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Life's my disease, and there's no Cure,
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But death's cruel dart that must set me at ease;
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But when I'm no more, O then may she grieve,
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For him, who while living, she would never relieve.
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In the World so charming a Creature
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(my Fancy tells me) I never beheld;
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Splendid Grace is Love in each Feature,
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That with Loves Raptures I strangely am fill'd:
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Here I ly slain with darts of Disdain,
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While Sylvia's hard heart will not pity my pain:
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But let her know, for all her great hate,
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That she may repent it when it is too late.
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Can you be so desperat cruel,
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As, for your sake to let death be my doom?
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Love is like unquenchible Feuel,
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In which all my Glory and Life will consume:
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Still you despise my sorrowful cryes,
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And over your Lover doth here tyrannize;
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But when kind Death shall once set me free,
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You may be Rewarded for your Crueltie.
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When the World shall read this sad Story,
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Which here I write with a trembling Quill,
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Shewing how you have blasted my Glory,
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Oh! will they not count you a Tyrant still?
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Then let me find my Silvia more kind,
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To comfort and cherish my troubled mind.
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For if I go to the Shades below,
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'Tis you are the Causer of my Overthrow.
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Oh! my Grief is never lamented,
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By she whom I so dearly adore:
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With her Frowns I am daily tormented,
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No Creature for Love e're suffered more:
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Cupid's keen dart hath wounded her heart,
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I never, no never did feel greater smart:
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Here a poor slave one smile he does crave,
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Or else you will send him to his silent Grave.
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In your Charms I daily delighted,
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And ever thought you my Heaven to be:
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Yet by you I am evermore slighted,
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And now you make a poor Martyr of me.
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Wont you therefore your Captive restore,
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Who sues for your Love, and desires no more?
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You may be sure what Pains I endure,
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And 'tis in your power either to kill or cure.
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In a sad and sorrowful Ditty,
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With sighs and tears I send forth my moan;
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Yet my fair one affoords me no pity,
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But lets me languish to death all alone:
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This very day now I must away,
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Both heart and spirit with Life does decay.
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More than Untrue, dear Sylvia, was you,
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And therefore farewel, all the World adieu.
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