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EBBA 22038

Magdalene College - Pepys
Ballad XSLT Template
Charmed Lover;
Young Man that Courted a
Welch LADY,
For the sake of her BEAUTY.
Licensed according to Order. To the Tune of, Sir John Johnson's Fare-well

AS I was walking in the Fields,
My self to recreate,
And take the Pleasure Summer yields;
Two lovers I saw sate,
Near to a pleasant Rivers Side,
In a Morning fresh and gay,
Where Love and Vertue doth abide,
But mark what he doth say.

My Love your like the Phenix fair,
That is so fine and gay;
No Beauty may with you compare,
Though deck'd in rich Aray;
Your Presence is my whole Delight,
And glorious is your Nature
Of Love, Vertue, and Beauty bright,
England's fair dainty Dame.

Your cery Cheeks, and rudy Lips,
Have set my Heart on fire,
I, and your pretty smiling Looks,
My Soul doth much admire:
Your Beauty shines exceedingly,
Much like the Sun above;
For which have I so mightily,
Upon you fix'd my Love.

Your crisped Locks like Threads of Gold,
Doth in my Sight appear,
Your Teeth like Ivory I behold,
And Jewels in each Ear:
A lovely Creature, sure are you
Exceeding fine and gay,
Of shining Beauty and Vertue,
That never can decay.

A glorious Name and good Report,
On you I'll ever give;
For none but you can me comfort,
Whilst that I here doth live:
Not one in all the World is found,
That can to you compare;
Where Love and Vertue doth abound,
In you my only Dear.

I pray my Love, don't say me nay,
But grant me my Desire,
And yield to be my Bride strait,
And quench a burning Fire:
The Fire of Love's exceeding fierce,
And burneth in a Rage;
Such are my Torments in the least,
No one can them asswage.

But you my only Joy and Deer,
Can ease me of my Smart,
And quench those hellish Torments where,
They rage in my poor Heart,
Your Love and Vertue is full sure,
Where once it does begin,
And in a Moments time can cure,
The pains that I am in.

My Dear and well-beloved Swain,
A small Request I crave,
That is, your true Love to obtain,
And shield me from the Grave:
For surely if you me deny,
Your Person and your Love,
Alas! then I for you must die;
or wander in a Grove.

London, Printed by J. Willkins, in White-Fryers.

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