BEAUTY's Cruelty:
OR,
The Passionate LOVER.
An Excellent New Play-Song, much in Request.
To a New Play-House Tune.
This may be Printed, R.P.
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THere is one black and sul-len Hour,
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which Fate decrees our Lives should know,
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Else we should slight Almighty Power,
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wrap'd with the Joys we find below:
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'Tis past, dear Cynthia, now let Frowns be gone,
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A long, long pennance I have done,
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a long, long Pennance I have done,
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For Crimes to me alas! unknown;
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for Crimes to me alas! unknown.
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In each soft hour of silent Night,
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your Image in my Dream appears,
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I grasp the Soul of my Delight,
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slumber in Joy, but wak'd in Tears:
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Ah! faithless charming Saint, what will you do
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Let me not think I am by you,
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let me not think I am by you,
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Lov'd less, lov'd less, for being true,
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lov'd less, lov'd less for being true.
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Before dear Cynthia I beheld
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thy charming Face, my heart was free,
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From Love, and knew not how to yield
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to any Beauty but to thee:
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Bright as the Sun that in the East doth rise,
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Did force me by a sweet Surprize
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did force me by a sweet surprize,
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To yield the Conquest to your Eyes,
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to yeild the conquest to your Eyes.
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One pleasing Smile, my Charming Fair,
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my Love-sick Heart with Joy to fill;
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Thy piercing Frowns breeds my Despair,
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oh! let those Eyes that wound, not kill;
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Since by a Smile my heart you did inspire,
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And cre-a-ted in it a Fire,
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and cre-a-ted. etc.
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That never, never can Expire,
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that never, etc.
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No longer then thus Tyrannize,
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but all your Cruelty give o'er:
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And not a heart so true despise,
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that will forever you adore;
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Ah! Charming Nymph, grant love for love again,
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Do not by Frowns create my Pain;
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do not by Frowns, etc.
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Nor torture me by your Disdain,
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nor Torture, etc.
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Who is my Crime, dear Cinthia, that
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my Punishments is so severe?
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Te[l]l me that I may Expiate
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my Crime, by a Repenting Tear;
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Forbear by Cruelty to Torture me,
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I offer you a heart that's free,
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I offer you, etc.
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From false Deceit and Flattery,
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from false, etc.
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Oh! why, you Powers, did frame
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her Heart so hard, and Face so fair?
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Her Face did first my heart inflame,
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her Cruelty breeds my Despair:
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Make her more kind, ye Powers, then I crave,
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That she may Cure the Wounds she gave,
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that she may Cure the Wounds she gave,
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Or send me to my wisht for Grave,
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or send me to my wisht for Grave.
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