Unconstant Damon:
OR,
Clorindas Languishing Lamentation:
To a delightfull new Tune, or, He that loves best must suffer most.
Licensed according to Order.
|
I.
|
SOme mournful Muse attend my Quill,
|
While I the Shades and Valleys fill,
|
With Sighs and sad lamenting Cries,
|
Since Damon doth my Love despise:
|
Here for his sake I bleeding lye,
|
And fain I would but cannot dye.
|
II.
|
Among the Mountains did I rove,
|
And likewise e'ery silent Grove,
|
To find out my Disloyal Swain;
|
But yet I find it all in vain.
|
Now for his sake I bleeding lye,
|
And fain I would but cannot dye.
|
III.
|
When first the Shades I did frequent,
|
I little knew what Lovers meant;
|
My freedom then I did enjoy,
|
But Damon did the same destroy:
|
Now for his sake I bleeding lye,
|
And fain I would but cannot dye.
|
4.
|
Why doth the God of Love invade
|
The Heart of a young harmless Maid?
|
And leave me likewise bound, saith she,
|
In Chains of sad Captivity?
|
Where I in Sorrow sighing lye,
|
And fain I would, but cannot dye.
|
5.
|
No longer can I now Conceal
|
My flames, but must the same reveal;
|
For Cupid with his Golden Dart,
|
Has wounded deep my yielding Heart;
|
Soe that in melting Tears I lye,
|
And fain I would, but cannot dye.
|
6.
|
The Rose and Lillys which did twine,
|
Here in these youthful Cheeks of mine,
|
Are now become as pale as Lead,
|
Since all my splendid Glory's fled:
|
For Damons sake, I Bleeding lye,
|
And fain I would, but cannot dye.
|
7.
|
The fatal stroke make haste to give,
|
For I had rather dye than live
|
In so much Torment, Grief and Pain;
|
Farewell thou false and perjur'd Swain:
|
In Grief alas! I bleeding lye,
|
And fain I would, but cannot dye.
|
8.
|
Here I invoke the Powers above,
|
To pitty me whose Pain is Love,
|
And yield me now this day Relief,
|
To ease the anguish of my Grief:
|
For here alas! I bleeding lye,
|
And fain I would, but cannot dye.
|
9.
|
What have I done to cause this Woe?
|
Why does the Fares afflict me so?
|
Why don't my Heart this minute break?
|
And Death a Final Conquest make:
|
For here alas! I Bleeding lye,
|
And fain I would but cannot dye.
|
10.
|
The Nymph that now enjoys my Dear.
|
While I in sorrow Languish here,
|
She little knows my Wretched State,
|
The which no Mortal can relate:
|
For here alas! I bleeding lye,
|
And fain I would, but cannot dye.
|
|
|
|
|
|