An Excellent New SONG, Call'd, The Languishing Swain: Or, The Hard-hearted SHEPHERDESS.
To a pleasant New Play-Tune.
Licensed according to Order.
[...] [...] [...]
HAppy's the Man that's free from love,
He'll range the Woods and shady Grove,
He'll neither mind the Great nor small,
But a good Condition's best of all.
My only Care was how to keep
From cruel Woolves my Harmless Sheep;
Although from Woolves my Sheep I kept,
None could my heart from love protect.
There's ne'r a one upon the Plain,
That loves like me poor harmless Swain,
But now I find unto my cost,
He that loves best shall suffer most.
No Swain there is that sure be
So wretched in their love as me,
For Love I loose Lambs, Life, and all,
And yet can gain no love at all.
O cruel Gods what have I done,
That I must be despis'd alone;
There is no Swain that I can find
Tormented thus by Woman-kind?
My love I made to her alone,
Yet did she never mind my moan:
I beg'd, I sigh'd, and often cry'd
For pity, but she still deny'd.
When I beheld her on the Green,
She seem'd to me like beauties Queen,
My heart was wounded then with love,
And I the pain cannot remove.
When I of love to her do speak,
She flouts; this makes my heart to break;
One smile I beg she turns her head.
With frown
[...], that strikes me almost dead.
Till now I ne'r lov'd any one,
Yet by my love I am undone,
For though she is all charming fair,
Her coyness causes deep despair.
Can others Nymphs as fair as she,
Show to their loves such Cruelty?
If so, Why do I thus complain,
Since Modesty makes them Disdain?
Once more I'll see her killing Eye,
Altho' ten thousand Deaths I dye;
Praying her Heart may soften'd be,
That she may pity take on me.
But if she has no tender Heart,
Nor will not ease my bleeding smart;
Then will I sing out to my cost,
He who loves best must suffer most.
Printed for J. Blare, at the Sign of the Looking-Glass on London-Bridge.