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EBBA 30978

British Library - Roxburghe
Ballad XSLT Template
The Tyrannical Beauty.
Beauty fadeth like a Flower,
Then fair Ladies be not Proud,
Time and Sickness may Devour,
What at present your allowd.
To a Pleasant Tune; called, Prodigious Fate.

SInce her Beautys grown a Snare,
And by that Im deeply Wounded,
Yet my hopes are quite confounded,
cause my Love I cant declare:
If my passion I discover,
and my Love should me deny,
Shel destroy a faithful Lover,
and her Martyr I shall dye.

To the Grave then shall I post,
While her beauty is admired,
And by all men much desired,
yet ile strive to love her most:

When my Body is Interred,
she perhaps of me will say,
Theres the faithfullst Lover buried,
that ere saw the Sun shine day.

On my Tomb these Lines ile have,
And ile get some loving Poet,
Who before I dye shall know it,
that she brought me to my Grave:
And these words ile have Inserted
that she broke my tender heart,
First my reason she perverted,
then she sent her Killing Dart.

Then the world shall justly say,
They must blame her charming beauty
Which of all commanded Duty,
with this preceipt, you must pay:
And account your selves befriended,
if for me you pains indure,
For before your days are ended,
I perhaps may grant a Cure.

By this means she doth command,
And they must by force obey her,
Who so bold as to gain-say her,
or who can her power withstand:
No man yet could ere oppose her,
in the strictest of her Charge,
For all mortal men that knows her,
ner shall keep their minds at large.

You that ner did see her face,
Keep your freedom while you have it,
Tis in vain to hope to save it,
such will be your hapless case:
If at any time you view her,
whose fair eye commands the world,
In a moment to be sure,
into passion youl be whirld.

Where a Prisoner youl remain,
And for certain be confined,
As her Cruelty designed,
till your heart is broke with pain:

Though a thousand she hath wounded,
and for love of her they dyd,
And in Seas of sorrow Drownded,
yet is she unsatisfied.

Killing Beauty now give ore,
Be no more so deadly Cruel,
To Loves fires add no more Fuel,
tyrannize ore men no more:
Tis unjust they should be used,
for their Loves as they have been,
For their kindness much abused,
this is sure a deadly Sin.

You in time may be repayd,
When your Beauties are disbanded,
Which have you so much befriended,
and so many Captives made:
Then your power will be deminsht,
and your pride will sure abate,
When your Tyranny is finisht,
then your Captives will you hate.

Take my Counsel then in time,
And forbear to use severely,
Those poor souls that love you dearly
while your beauty is in prime:
For in time you may lament you
when perhaps twill be too late,
Former pride may discontent you,
causing you to Curse your fate.


Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, J. Clarke, W. Thackeray, and T. Passinger.

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