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EBBA 30426

British Library - Roxburghe
Ballad XSLT Template
Beautys Overthrow:
The Rejoycd Libertine.
When Pride and Beauty do together meet,
They make that bitter which would else be sweet:
The fervent Lover when too much abusd,
Bids Love farewel, desires to be Excusd.
To a New Play-house, called, Cloah your Pride abate.

CLoah your Pride abate,
kind Beams discover,
Frowns purchase all mens hate,
but gaind no Lover:
Nature and Feature
designd you care,
But whilst your Proud,
you are not fair:
Nor can the joys of passion prove
For pride will ever be a foe to Love.

To Court where Tyrants sway,
whod venture thither?
Or who would put to Sea,
in Stormy Weather?
Graces and Faces

no Lustre own,
When shadeded by
disdainful Frown:
Ner to the Sun had the Persian bowd
Had he hid his glory behind a Cloud.

Nor shall your Beauty great,
while your Disdainful,
Make my poor heart to ake,
or my Life Painful:
Cupid is Stupid,
thinks he to Charm,
His Golden Darts
me cannot harm:
nor can your blooming cheeks bear sway
When beauty is gone your Pride must decay.

Think you Ingratitude
clouds not your Beauty,
Whilst you did me delude,
love was my Duty:
Sleeping or waking,
Cloah was there
Till Pride did say
she was not fair:
And then my passion I soon recald,
No longer would I be to pride inthrald

You did your self Destroy,
and made me wander,
Now I am filld with joy,
loves no Commander:
Witty and Pritty,
to me you seemed,
But I your Prisoner,
am now Redeemed:
No Rosie cheeks shall me ere betray,
Although at your foot-stool once I lay,

Freedom I now do prize,
and scorn my Fetters,
Ile no more Idolize.
like Cupids Debtors:
Sobbing and Throbbing,
made me look pale,
But now Im freed
from a terrible Goal:

Ile no more Beauty value at all,
since Princes thereby have been brought in thrall.

You that would conquer all,
when Age shall meet you,
Into Dispair youl fall,
none then will treat you:
Desire like Fire,
will you possess,
And Men will prove
so Pittiless,
That you shall then renounce your birth
& wish that you never had lived on earth

But if that youl return,
and see your Folly,
Youl have no cause to mourn,
no Melancholly
Shall seize to Displease
Cloahs kind Breast,
But she for ever
shall live at rest:
When death shall make thy beauty yield
Thoult post to the fair Elizium Field.

Printed for J. Clarke, at the Golden
Lyon, between the Hospital-gate,
and Duck-Lane-end.

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