Repentance too Late:
Being fair Celias complaint for the loss of her Virginity.
OR, The wronged Lover finds no cure but Death.
Being a pleasant new play Song: As it is sung at the Theater
Fair Caelias kind and trusts too much her Swain,
Who once Enjoying her returns disdain,
Courts other Virgins and neglects her quite
What love he had is turned now to spite.
For which she grieves at her too quick belief
And warns all Virgins by her doleful grief,
How to beware of man whose false surprize,
Had ruind her then lies her down and dyes.
To a pleasant new play house Tune called, Sad as Death: OR, Parthenia unto Cloe cryed.
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SAd as death at dead of night
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the fair complaining Caelia sat
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But one poor lamp was all her light
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whilst thus she reasond with her fate.
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Why should man such triumphs gain
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and purchase such joy that gives us pain,
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Ah what glory can insue
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a helpless Virgin to undoe.
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Cursd the night when cursd the hour,
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when first he drew her to his Arms
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When Virtue was betrayd by power
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and yielded to unlawful charms.
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When approachd with all his fires
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armd with hopes and strong desires,
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S[i]g[h]s and tears and every vile
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with which the men the maids beguile.
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Dream no more pleasures past
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since all thy torments are to come,
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The secret is made known at last
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and endless shame is now thy doom,
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The false forsworn alass is gone
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and left thee here to dispair alone,
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Who that hears of Caelias pain
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will never trust will never trust a man again.
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Easly I believed his vows
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and yielded up my honour bright,
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For which hard fate no cure allows
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but it is never set in night.
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Come gentle death and ease my grief
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yeild poor Caelia some relief,
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Oh! lock me in thy cold embrace
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henceforth the Graves my dwell[ing-place.]
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Ah! and could he leave me thus
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weeping, the mourning Caelia cryed,
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Wast enjoyment wrought my curse
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oh! me that er had I but dyd.
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Then toth Elizium shades ide gone
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a spotless Virgin now ime none,
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But toth woods my woe must sing
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till willing death my rescue bring.
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Cyprus shall ore shade my Tomb
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while on the blushing ground I lye,
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Where Violets and sweet Roses bloom
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I care not now for coming nigh,
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Since I have lost my Virgin state
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by trusting man such my hard fate,
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That proves perfidious and unjust
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and has to shame betrayd my trust.
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Cruel powers why have ye made
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Man so Majestick bright and fair,
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Alas wast only to invade
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poor silly Virgins to insnare.
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Undone by their too crafty wiles
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Alurd into loves fatal toiles,
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By the soft whispers of their breath
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which wound the love sick heart to death.
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Like a Serpent that does lye
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und[e]r a bed of gaudy flowers,
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Whose smell and sight invites the eyes
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and ravishd sence so that no power.
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To shun they have but plucking strait
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they meet their unexpected fate,
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So men with sweet words deceive
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till they have got their ends then leave.
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The yielding Virgin to possess
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for constant v[o]ws the wandring Air,
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To waile her own unhappiness
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for constant lovers now are rare.
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Words smooth as Oyl are soon forgot
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oaths they suspend or value not,
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Her whom they swear now Angel bright
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when once enjoy[]d is black as night.
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Virgins all be warnd by me
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who now must mourn my ill stard fate,
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Oh! trust not your virginity
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least love should turn to cruel hate,
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Which I have provd for which I dye
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Heart-broken hear for ever lye,
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At which she sighd out her last breath
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and love and beauty left in death.
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