The Love-sick
SERVING-MAN:
SHEWING
How he was Wounded with the Charms of a young Lady, and did
not dare to reveal his Mind.
To the Tune of Ise often for my Jenny strove.
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EEr since I saw Clorindas Eyes,
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My Heart has felt a strange surprize,
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No Pen is able to reveal
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The killing Torment which I feel;
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Yet I dare not let her, know it,
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'Cause she's Rich and I am Poor;
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No Charms above her, oh! I love her,
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and will do for evermore.
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Oh! that I might but let her know
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My Sighs, my Tears, my Care and Woe,
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And how I'm tortured for her sake,
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She might some kind of pity take:
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But I fear I should offend her
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Whom I dearly do adore;
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No Charms above her, oh! I love her,
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And will do for evermore.
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Both Sense and Reason tells me plain,
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That I bestowed my heart in vain,
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Where no acceptance will be found,
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No Balsom for this bleeding Wound:
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She's a fair and youthfull Lady,
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I a Servant mean and poor;
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No Charms above her, etc.
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I value not her Gold, her Pearl,
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For was I either Lord or Earl,
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My very Heart would be the same,
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I raise her everlasting Fame;
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Yet in vain are all my Wishes,
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They will not my Joys restore:
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No Charms above her, etc.
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Young Cupid bend thy Golden Bow,
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And let thy silver Arrows flye,
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That my fair charming Saint may know,
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The pains of Love as well as I;
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Tell her too, that I lye wounded,
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She may then my Joys restore,
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No Charms above her, etc.
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Tho' now mine Eyes like Rivers run,
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As here in Sorrows I condole;
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Her Beauty like the Rising Sun,
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Can soon revive my drooping Soul:
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But if I may ne'er enjoy her,
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Let me with a Dart be slain,
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'Tis better kill me, then to fill me
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With this Love tormenting pain.
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Now in a Vision, or a Dream,
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Her Father's Serving-man did seem
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Before her Presence there to stand,
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While Cupid held him by the Hand,
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Saying, Lady you must love him,
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Therefore now some pity show;
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Then don't deny him, nor defie him,
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For it must and shall be so.
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A Thousand thoughts ran in her head,
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As many Cupids round her Bed,
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Which did like armed Angels stand,
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With Golden Bows and Shafts in hand,
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E'ery one was pleading for him,
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And their Silver Shafts did show,
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Saying, Receive him, do not grieve him,
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For it must and shall be so.
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The youthfull Lady did reply,
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What must I love, or must I dye?
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Tell me, is there no other way
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But this, to cast my self away,
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On my Father's meanest Servant?
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Well, I find it must be so,
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I well approve him, needs must love him,
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Though it proves my Overthrow.
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I know my Father he will Frown,
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And Ladies too of high Renown,
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But yet I needs must love him still,
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Let all the World say what they will:
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My soft Heart is now enflamed,
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Love in e'ery Vein doth flow,
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I'll freely take him, ne'er forsake him,
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For it must and shall be so.
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What tho' my noble Father dear
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Disowns his Daughter utterly,
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I have Five Thousand Pounds a year,
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Of which no one can hinder me;
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'Tis sufficient to Maintain us,
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Should my Father prove our Foe,
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My Love I'll Marry, long not tarry,
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For it must and shall be so.
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What tho' a Serving-man he be,
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Whose Substance is but mean and small;
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His proper Person pleases me,
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True Love will make amends for all:
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'Tis beyond all Gold or Treasure,
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Him alone my Heart doth crave,
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I will not tarry, but will Marry,
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And make him Lord of all I have.
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