The new way of.
LOVE is the cause of my Mourning,
To it's own Proper Tune.
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I
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WHEN Strephon the Heart of fair Iris possest,
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'mongst all the young Shepherds she loved him best
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No Swain in a Mistress so fully was blest,
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For he was both her Friend and her Lover:
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Long did he court her Affection in vain,
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Till at length soft Compassion triumph'd o'er Disdain
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That she heard all his Sighs, and she felt all his Pain
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Then the Swain found the Art how to move her.
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Heavens did both their Souls inspire
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Then with an equal Fire,
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Both had but one Desire,
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Both Hearts were burning.
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O then, my dear Iris, I little did fear,
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Love would be the Cause of my Mourning!
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2
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Iris, the sprightly, the witty and gay,
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Whose Charms all bewitching and fragrant like May
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Will ever be blooming and never decay;
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She was all my Delight and my Pleasure:
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Returned all my Vows, and so kind she did prove,
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Each Smile and each Glance encreased our Love,
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And taught how I might the dear Minutes improve,
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I envyed no Monarch his Treasure.
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But oh alas! that cursed Fate,
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Hath chang'd her Mind of late,
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Her Love is turned to Hate,
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And I now forlorn,
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Like an innocent Turtle: thats left by its Mate
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Do remain in sad Anguish and Scorn.
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3
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Since Iris condems me, and will not allow
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To hear the Defence of a Lover so true,
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To any new Beauty I'll scorn e'er to bow;
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What I lov'd once will charm me forever.
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Tho my Vows and my Sighs are returned with Disdain
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I'll suffer her Martyr, and never complain:
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My Sou'ls so fast lock'd, and in Love with its Chain
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No new Beauty has Power to discover,
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And now banished from her Sight
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And rob'd of all Delight,
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Ill take a longsome Flight
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Without e'er returning.
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And concealing her Name, to th' World I'll proclaim
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That Love's been the cause of my Mourning.
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