The wounded Lover:
Loves powerful Dart did pierce his heart
who with his panting breath
Aloud did cry, My Celia's eye
hath wounded me to death.
Tune of, Some say there was a Papist plot ; or, Jenny Gin.
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M Y thinks I feel fresh bleeding wounds,
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still running in my breast;
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'Tis Celia all my Joys confounds,
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and robs me of my rest:
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The beauty of her sparkling eyes
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doth set my heart on fire;
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She doth my yielding soul surprize,
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and fills me with desire.
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Yet tho she doth so tryrannize,
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I fondly hug my chains;
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My Liberty I do despise,
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and love my pleasing pains:
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'Tis love, O love! feeds my delight,
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and adds flames to my fire;
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Altho' I burn both day and night,
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I languish with desire.
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Yet she in whom I take delight
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looks with a scornful eye;
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And seems my passion for to slight,
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that ready am to dye:
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Yet one poor sweet enamouring smile
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not mixed with disdain,
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My killing anguish would beguile
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and banish all my pain.
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O who would let a Lover dye,
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that one poor smile could save?
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A glance of her all-conquering eye
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would fetch me from the Grave.
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Then be as kind as thou art fair,
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'twill happy be for me;
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Or else for Death I must prepare,
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and all for love of thee.
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My troubled Ghost will to and fro
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be wandring through the Ayr;
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And every where as it doth go
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cry: Celia too too fair,
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Why didst thou prove to me unkind
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while I enjoy'd my breath?
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I was so troubled in my mind,
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that brought me to my death.
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For certain this must trouble thee,
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to give me to my doom;
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For I will have thy cruelty
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engraved on my Tomb:
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Some one that felt Love's powerful dart,
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so kind will be to me,
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And write here lies a broken heart,
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fair Celia slain by thee.
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The blossoms of thy flowry cheeks
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will then grow wan and pale,
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And turn as green as any Leeks,
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thy spirits they will fasl.
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O then too late thou wilt repent
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thy cruelty to me,
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And cry in fearful discontent,
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my Love i'le follow thee.
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Then e're it be too late begin
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thy kindness for to show;
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Think on the pains I lived in
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encompass'd round with woe:
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So maist thou me from death preserve,
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now mourning in despair,
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Who vow while I have life to serve
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my Celia chast and fair.
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Oh what a happy man were I
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beyond all others blest,
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If by the message of thine eye
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thy love would be exprest:
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But if there be no hopes that I
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my true-Love may obtain,
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I'le wish for death most greedily,
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to ease me of my pain.
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Take pitty on my fainting breath
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once more I thee desire;
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Or see my heart resign to death,
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just ready to expire:
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Thou ne'r wilt find a Love more kind,
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my passion to exceed;
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To cruel death I yield my breath,
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for thee to death I bleed.
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