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EBBA 31660

University of Glasgow Library - Euing
Ballad XSLT Template
BEAUTYs Cruelty:
OR,
The Passionate Lover.
An excellent new Play-song much in Request, to a Play-house Tune. Licensed according to Order.

THere is one black and sullen hour,
which Fate decrees our lives should know,
Else we shoud flight Almighty Power,
Wrapt with the Joys we find below:
Tis past dear Cynthia, now let frowns be gone,
Along, long pennance I have done,
a long, long pennance I have done,
For Crimes to me, alas! unknown,
for Crimes to me, alas! unknown.

In each soft hour of silent night,
your Image in my Dream appears,
I grasp the Soul of my delight,
slumber in joy, but wakd in tears:
Ah! faithless charming Saint what will you do,
Let me not think I am by you,
let me not think I am by you,
Lovd less, lovd less, for being true,
lovd less, lovd less, for being true.

Before dear Cynthia I beheld,
thy charming face, my heart was free
From Love, and knew not how to yield
to any Beauty but to thee:
Bright as the Sun that in the East doth rise,
Did force me by a sweet surprize,
did force me by a sweet surprize,
To yield the Conquest to your Eyes,
to yield the Conquest to your Eyes.

One pleasing Smile my charming fair,
my Love-sick Heart with Joy to fill,
Thy piercing frowns breeds my Despair,
Oh! let those Eyes that wound not kill;
Since by a smile my heart you did inspire,
And created in it a Fire,
and created, etc.
That never, never can expire,
that never, never, can expire.

No longer then thus tyranize,
but all your cruelty give ore
And not a heart so true despise,
that will for ever you adore:
Ah, charming Nymph, grant love for love again
Do not by Frowns create my pain;
do not by Frowns, etc.
Nor torture me by your disdain,
nor torture me by your disdain.

What is my Crime, dear Cynthia, that
my punishment is so severe?
Tell me that I may expiate
my Crime, by a repenting tear:
Forbear by Cruelty to tortue me,
I offer you a Heart thats free
I offer you a Heart, etc.
From false deceit and flattery,
from false deceit and flattery.

Oh! why you Powers did you frame
her heart so hard and face so fair?
Her face did first my heart enflame,
her cruelty breeds my despair:
Make her more kind, you Powers, then I crave.
That she may cure the wound she gave,
that she may cure, etc.
Or send me to my wisht-for Grave,
or send me to my wisht-for Grave.


Printed for J. Deacon, at the Angel, in Gilt-spur
street, without Newgate.

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