An Excellent New SONG, Call'd,
The Languishing Swain:
Or, The Hard-hearted SHEPHERDESS.
To a pleasant New Play-Tune.
Licensed according to Order.
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HAppy's the Man that's free from love,
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He'll range the Woods and shady Grove,
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He'll neither mind the Great nor small,
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But a good Condition's best of all.
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My only Care was how to keep
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From cruel Woolves my Harmless Sheep;
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Although from Woolves my Sheep I kept,
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None could my heart from love protect.
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There's ne'r a one upon the Plain,
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That loves like me poor harmless Swain,
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But now I find unto my cost,
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He that loves best shall suffer most.
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No Swain there is that sure be
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So wretched in their love as me,
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For Love I loose Lambs, Life, and all,
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And yet can gain no love at all.
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O cruel Gods what have I done,
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That I must be despis'd alone;
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There is no Swain that I can find
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Tormented thus by Woman-kind?
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My love I made to her alone,
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Yet did she never mind my moan:
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I beg'd, I sigh'd, and often cry'd
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For pity, but she still deny'd.
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When I beheld her on the Green,
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She seem'd to me like beauties Queen,
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My heart was wounded then with love,
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And I the pain cannot remove.
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When I of love to her do speak,
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She flouts; this makes my heart to break;
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One smile I beg she turns her head.
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With frown, that strikes me almost dead.
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Till now I ne'r lov'd anyone,
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Yet by my love I am undone,
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For though she is all charming fair,
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Her coyness causes deep despair.
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Can others Nymphs as fair as she,
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Show to their loves such Cruelty?
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If so, Why do I thus complain,
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Since Modesty makes them Disdain?
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Once more I'll see her killing Eye,
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Altho' ten thousand Deaths I dye;
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Praying her Heart may soften'd be,
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That she may pity take on me.
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But if she has no tender Heart,
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Nor will not ease my bleeding smart;
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Then will I sing out to my cost,
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He who love's best must suffer most.
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