PORTSMOUTHs Lamentation,
OR, A Dialogue between Two Amorous Ladies, E.G. and D.P.
Dame Portsmouth was design'd for France,
But therein was prevented;
Who Mourns at this Unhappy Chance,
and sadly doth lament it.
To the Tune of, Tom the Taylor, Or, Titus Oats.
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I Prithee Portsmouth tell me plain,
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without dissimulation,
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When dost thou home return again,
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and leave this English Nation?
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Your youthful days are past and gone,
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you plainly may perceive it,
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Winter of age is coming on,
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true you may believe it.
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And Nelly is't not so with thee
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why dost thou seem to flout me,
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I am inclos'd with misery,
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and sorrows round about me:
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O 'twas a sad and fatal hour,
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as e're could come unto me,
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When Death did all my joys devour,
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on purpose to undoe me.
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Thy loss was much I must confess,
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and much to be lamented,
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Now thou art almost pittiless,
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thy design it is prevented:
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To France 'twas thy intent to go,
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but therein did'st miscarry,
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And trouble 'tis to thee I know,
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that thou art forc'd to tarry.
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Fye Nell, this news is worse and worse,
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and doth increase my trouble,
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That I must now unstring my purse,
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doth make my sorrow double,
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From hence I thought for to convey
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what in this Land I gained,
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But I am here confin'd to stay,
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and now my credits stained.
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Pish, lightly come, and lightly go,
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ne'r let this matter grieve thee,
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Tho' fortune seems to be thy foe,
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and for a while to leave thee:
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Yet shee again on thee may smile,
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then be not broken hearted,
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Tho' from this little Brittish Isle,
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thou must not yet be parted.
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With care and grief I am opprest,
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and I am discontented
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Sorrow is lodged in my Breast,
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my Youthful life lamented:
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How did I vainly spend my time,
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tho' Riches still increased;
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And play'd the Wanton in my prime,
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but now my comfort's ceased.
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Well, thou hast laid up Riches store,
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to serve thee when afflicted;
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And yet doth carp and care for more
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thou can'st not contradict it,
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But let enough thy mind suffice
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since fortune frowns upon thee:
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Now show thyself discreet, and wise,
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or else what will come on thee?
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Could I but safely get to France,
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with all my Gold and Treasure;
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There would I briskly sing, and dance,
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and Riot beyound measure;
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But I am crost in my design,
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which greatly doth torment me,
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And 'tis in vain for to repine:
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what plagues hath Heaven sent me.
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Madam I fear it will grow worse,
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with patience strive to bear it,
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And since you must unstring your purse,
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for it be now prepared,
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Your debts in England must be paid
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believe me what I tell ye
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And thereat be not dismaid,
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but be advis'd by Nelly.
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