The two Unhappy Lovers;
Being a Wealthy Merchant who broke his heart for Love, and the
Mercers Beautiful Daughter, who after his Death, Poysoned her
self in dispair.
Tune of, If Love's a sweet Passion.
Licensed According to Order.
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I.
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IN London there lived a Beatiful Maid,
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Only Daughter unto a Rich Mercer by Trade,
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Who had left to her Portion full three thousand pound,
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Thus both Riches and beauty in her did abound;
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But the Pride of her insolent heart soar'd above
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All the graces of Beauty, and blasted her Love.
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II.
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As through the fair City she blazed her fame,
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For to Court her, a Merchant and Shop-keeper came
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Nay, a wealthy young Squire, and Curnol likewise,
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Each indeavour'd to gain this Rich Beautiful prize,
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But their proffered Services prov'd but in vain,
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For she frown'd, and returned the Darts of disdain.
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III.
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I'll have no Mechanick Shop-keeper, she cry'd,
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Nor shall any poor Souldier e're lye by my side;
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No, nor Merchant, who ventures his stock on the Seas
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She return'd them such insolent answers as these;
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But the wealthy young Squire she fancy'd we hear,
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Whose Estate was some five or six thousand a year.
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IV.
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The Noble brave Curnol he valu'd her not,
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And the Shop-keeper straightways her beauty forgot;
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But the wounded young Mercha[n]t he languishing cry'd,
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Have I lov'd her! yet must I be clearly deny'd?
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O go tell her, except she some pitty will take,
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That her Languishing Lover must dye for her sake.
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V.
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She soon was inform'd of her languishing Love,
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Yet no manner of pitty this Damsel could move;
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But she laugh'd in derision and thus did reply,
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I'll not hinder the Youth, if he's willing to dye;
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For no Merchant my Person shall ever imbrace,
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While a Rich noble Gallant young Squire's in place.
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VI.
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So soon as her Answer was brought to his Ear,
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He reply'd with a Sigh and a Sorrowful tear,
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I am ruin'd by Beauty, my Glory is fled,
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In the dark silent Grave I will now lay my Head
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Thus he straitway departed, and left her to know,
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Many days of sad sorrow for slighting him so.
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VII.
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The Squire whom she did so dearly adore,
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He rejected her Charms, and came near her no more,
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This beginning of sorrow she presently found,
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For the Arrows of Cupid had given the Wound,
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And did cause her in passionate sorrow to cry,
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There is none in the world more unhappy than I.
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VIII.
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My true Love the Merchant I sent to the Grave,
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When it lay in my absolute power to save
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His dear innocent Life; nay, I kill'd him with grief,
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And deny'd him so much as one glance of relief;
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Therefore now to my passionate sorrow I find,
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I am justly rewarded, and serv'd in my kind.
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IX.
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After my true love to the Grave let me go,
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For here's nothing but torment and trouble I know,
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With which my poor sorrowful Soul is opprest,
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Let this Potion of Poyson now end the contest,
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Then she took up the draught, and did trembling cry,
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I am coming my Love, for thy sake I will dye.
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