Robert Mureheads Lament,
To a pleasant New Tune:
|
LEave off my mind, why thinks thou on
|
she that was once my Dear,
|
Does thou not know that she is gone,
|
and Married now I hear.
|
What madness makes thee Recollect,
|
to think on such a Maid?
|
Who alwayes pay'd me with neglect,
|
and my designs bewray'd.
|
Why wakenest thou again my woe[?],
|
and thus tormenteth me,
|
Who is the worst of all my Foes,
|
who only Friend should be,
|
Is she not dead to me, alace,
|
except her Husband die?
|
I'll yet remember on her face,
|
for all her crueltie.
|
For I never saw a thing so Fair,
|
since I had Eyes to see,
|
A thing that was both Chast and rair,
|
a thing that ravisht me,
|
In modestie she did exceed,
|
the most of Woman kind,
|
O though she had no fault indeed
|
gift that she had been mine.
|
I wot in my conceit I swear,
|
and constancie to thee.
|
Whilst no man could withstand her feat
|
nor shun her destinie,
|
I loved her well she lov'd not me,
|
she was ungrate you'l say.
|
Some said it was but policie,
|
O what great fools were they.
|
For I tryed all the Civil Arts,
|
that ever any used,
|
With tears I did proclaim my smart,
|
yet daily was abused,
|
I am sure if ever she had loved,
|
at length she would have shown'd,
|
Sh[e] slighted me and so she prov'd,
|
and manfullie disown'd,
|
Unhappie I if I recall,
|
these peevish thoughts again.
|
To bring my spirit under thral,
|
to repossess my pain,
|
If I had never seen her face,
|
I had not fainted so,
|
To offer up a sacrifice,
|
to anie thing below:
|
|
|
|
|
|