Amintor's lam
[...]tation
[...]
Setting forth the passion of a Young man, who falling in love with a coy Lady that had no kindness for him, persued his inclinations so far, that she was forced to fly beyond Sea, to avoid the importunity of his Address, whereupon he thus complains.
Both Sexes from this Song may learn,
of what they should beware:
How in extreams they may discern,
Ʋnkindness and dispair.
To a delicate New Tune: Or,
Since Celias
my foe.
SInce
Celia's my Foe,
To a Desart Ile go,
Where some River
for ever
shall eccho my Wo!
The Trees will appear
More relenting than her,
In the morning,
adorning,
each Leaf with a tear.
When I make my sad moan,
To the Rocks all alone,
From each hollow
Will follow
some pittiful groan:
But with silent disdain,
She requites all my pain:
To my mourning,
returning,
no answer again.
O why was I born,
To a Fate so forlorn,
To inherit,
Not merit
her anger, or scorn:
My affection is such,
As no blemish can touch,
Yet i'm flighted,
and spighted
for loving too much.
Perhaps cou'd I prove,
More unjust to my love,
I might find her,
yet kinder,
and pitty might move,
But i'le chuse to obey,
Tho' I dye by the way;
Yet 'tis better,
Than get her,
by going astray.
Then why shou'd you fly,
My fair
Celia? O why?
When to please ye
'tis casse,
for
Amintas to dye.
If your Lover you'd shun,
You no danger shall run,
Him you banish
will vanish,
And from you he gone.
Stay
Celia unkind,
Will you leave me behind,
Let me enter,
and venture
my self with the Wind.
Ah! from me will you part,
Who so love your desert,
Either tarry,
Or carry
your slave with his heart.
Were you but secure,
I'de your absence endure,
Were all danger
a stranger
to Virgins so pure:
But some insolent wave,
May your merit out brave,
Both regardless,
and careless
What vertues you have.
Yet Storms shall not dare,
To assault one so fair,
To attend you
i'le send you,
sighs softer than air:
The Nymphs of the Deep,
My dear
Celia shall keep,
On a Pillow,
each Billow
Shall lull you asleep.
The Seas they shall dance,
And the Winds shall advance,
With your Gally
To dally,
and guide you to
France;
While I from the Shore,
My fair Idol adore;
Till that
Neptune
your Captain,
Hath wafted you o're.
Then
Celia adieu,
When I cease to pursue,
You'l discover
No Lover
was ever so true,
Your sad Shepherd flies
From those dear cruel eyes,
Which not seeing
his being,
Decays and he dies.
Yet 'tis better to run
To the fates we can't shun,
Then for ever
T'endeavor
what cannot be won:
What ye Gods have I done
That
Amintor alone,
Is thus treated,
and hated
for loving but one?
And thus I complain,
Tho 'tis all but in vain,
Yet the trouble
is double,
to stifle my pain:
The Sea or the Shore,
I as well might implore,
They'r as moving,
and loving
as her I adore.
Then since 'tis the fate
Of my wretched estate,
Without pitty,
'Tis fit I
submit to her hate.
For as Winter comes on
When
Apollo is gone,
So declining,
and pining,
She leaves me alone.
Printed for P. Brooksby, near the Hospital-gate in West-smithfield.