The Mourning Conquest: Or,
The Womans sad Complaint, and doleful Cry,
To see her Love in Fainting fits to lye.
The Tune is, A loving Husband will not be unto his Wife unkind.
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AS I did walk abroad one time,
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I chanced for to see,
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A Young-man and a Maid, but
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they did not know of me:
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She being in the vain then,
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chuckt him under the Chin,
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And smiling in his face, she said,
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Alas poor thing.
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The Young man very bashfull was,
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but had a good intent,
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He lov'd the Maid with all his heart,
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but knew not what she meant:
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And much ado she had poor heart,
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this Young-man for to bring
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Unto her bow, which made her cry,
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alas poor thing.
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She by his loving Complements
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did understand and find,
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That she might safely let him go,
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and understand her mind:
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Pretending for to stumble,
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on the ground herself did fling,
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And said sweetheart I fell by chance,
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Alas poor thing.
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The Young-man standing all amaz'd
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for a little space,
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And finding opportunity,
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and a convenient place:
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Under a shady Bower,
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close by a pleasant Spring,
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Upon the Maid himself he throws,
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alas poor thing.
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I could not chuse but laugh to see
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these two so close imploy'd,
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The Young-man was contented, and
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the Maid was overjoy'd:
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Expressing of her love, she
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did closely to him cling,
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But finding him begin to fail,
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alas poor thing.
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IT was not long ere this young-man
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was tired with this sport,
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He laid him down to rest awhile,
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he took his breath full short:
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She turn'd about and kist him, and
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did closely to him cling,
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sweet-heart (quod she) how dost thou now,
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alas poor thing.
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But finding him in fainting fits,
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she then began to weep,
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and with her hands she rubb'd his joynts,
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to keep this Youth from sleep:
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Quod she, sweet-heart, thy weakness make?
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my very heart to sting,
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Come fie for shame, rouze up thyself,
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alas poor thing.
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And coming to himself again,
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his face lookt wondrous wan,
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Wishing he were as strong, as when
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he first with her began:
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And in a rage he swore, he thought
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no Woman e're could bring
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A man so weak, which made him cry,
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alas poor thing.
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Quoth she, sweet-heart, the souldier that
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doth venture in the Field,
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Although at first repulsed, yet
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the day they will not yield.
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But face about, and Charge again,
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and take the other fling,
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Il'e do my best to second thee,
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alas poor thing.
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Poor heart, she said, what in her lay,
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this young-mans heart to cheer,
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By kissing him, and calling him,
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her Honey and her Dear,
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But finding of his Courage,
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so sadly for to hing,
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Down she fell again and cry'd,
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alas poor thing.
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The young man hearing of her moan
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his credit for to gain,
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Resolving for to try his strength,
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but all was spent in vain:
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And troubling of his love stain-mind
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he like a logg did cling,
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Which made her kick him off, and cry,
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alas poor thing.
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So to conclude, I saw this youth,
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most fairly beat in Field:
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The stoutest heart that ever drew,
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is sometimes forc'd to yield,
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And so put up his Blade again,
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there sadly for to hing,
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And leave his Foe to sigh and cry
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alas poor thing.
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