The Discontented Lover.
To a pleasant new Court Tune.
TOule, toule, gentle bell for a soule,
Killing care doth controule,
And my minde is sore opprest:
But I feare I shall dye
For a glance of that eye,
Which so late'y did flye
Like a Comet from the skye,
Or like some great Diety:
But my wishes are in vaine,
I shall never sée't again.
When I in the Temple did spye
This divine purity,
On her knées to her Saint;
Shée séem'd so divine,
All her graces did shine
Farre more fairer then the shrine:
Faith I wisht shée had beene mine,
And my heart full resigne,
May powerfully prove
No Religion like love.
Faire, faire, and as chast as the aire.
Holy Nuns breath in prayer,
Was this Votresse divine:
From each eye dropt a teare,
Like the pearled violets were,
When the spring doth appeare
To usher in the yeare;
But I dare safely sweare,
That those teares trickle downe
For no sins of her own.
But now encreaseth my woe,
I by no meanes can know
Where this beauty doth dwell:
All her rites being done
To her Lady and her Sonne,
I was left all alone,
And my Saint was from mée gone,
And to Heaven shée is flowne,
Which makes mée to say
I can scarce live a day.
Now I must make haste and dye,
And ascend to the skye
Where my hopes are inthron'd:
You Ladyes all adue,
Be your Loves false or true.
I am going to view
One that far excels all you,
One whom I never knew;
But must breath out my breath
For acquaintance in death.
The second part;
To the same tune.
RIng, ring, merry bels, while we sing,
Drinking healths to our King,
And our mindes all advanc'd;
Let us never feare to dye,
Till we drinke out each eye,
Let cash and cans flye
Like hailestones from the skye,
Bacchus great Deity:
But my wishes are but vaine,
Fill the cans round againe.
When I in the Taverne did spye
Such faire boone company
On our knées drinking healths,
Wée looke so divine,
When our noses did shine
Well burnisht with rich Wine,
Faith I wisht the cup were mine:
Vnto thée I resigne,
And may powerfully proove
In drinking thy love.
Frée, frée, as the aire let us bée,
Estéeming no degrée,
But to all breaths alike,
From one eye dropt a teare,
Lest you Maudlin appeare,
And next morning do feare
To be physick'd with small béere;
But I dare safely sweare
If a teare trickles downe.
'Tis for love to the Crowne.
But now encreaseth my woe,
I by all meanes must know
What is due for our Sack;
But the reckoning being payd
To the Hostes or Mayd,
Wée néed not be afraid
To be scurvily betrayd
To the Constables ayd:
Let us honestly pay
Else wée scarce get away.
Now must I make haste and sée
What wil us all frée
All our hands from the bar;
You Ladyes all adiew,
Be your reckoning false or true,
I am going for to view
What belongeth to all you,
Though wée pay more then our due,
Yet my purse I will spend,
And my life for my friend.
Imprinted at London for Richard Harper, 1650.