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EBBA 31923

University of Glasgow Library - Euing
Ballad XSLT Template
THE
London Lads Lamentation
TO
CUPID.
OR,
When shall I my True-Love have?
All young-men must to Cupids power submit,
Courage and Wisdom, Vertue too, & Wit:
None can his mighty power & charm[s] withstand
He, like young Beauty, always will Command:
And here young maidens easily may find,
How apt young-men are to be true & kind
Such constancy in them could scarce be found
Should men go search the Universe all round.
To an Excellent New Tune, Sung at the COURT.
This may be Printed, R. P.

CLoes Face is Heavn to me,
Like the Morning-Light we see;
And the Beauty of her Eye,
Bright and lovely, like the Sky:
Cloe, since my Heavn thou art,
Ease and cure my wounded heart.

Will young Love a Tyrant be?
Make me doat on Cruelty:
Why doth sullen Fate confine
Me to one that is not mine?
Cloe, since my Heavn thou art,
[Ease and cure my wounded heart.]

Had I Lovd as others do,
Onely for an hour or two,
Then there had a Reason bin,
I should suffer for my Sin:
Cloe, since my Heavn thou art,
Ease and cure my wounded heart.


Love (thou knowst) with what a flame,
I adore young Cloes Name:
Let me then thy pitty find,
Shoot a Dart and change her mind:
Cloe, since my Heavn thou art,
[Ease and cure my wounded heart.]

All her Beauties do entice,
Though the Nymph be cold as Ice,
Rosie-Lips and Lilly-Skill;
All we gaze on, Charm and win:
Cloe, since my Heavn thou art,
Ease and cure my wounded heart.

On her gentle Downy Breast,
Let a sighing Lover rest,
Twind within those tender Arms,
Fetterd by those pleasing Charms:
Cloe, since my Heavn thou art,
Ease and cure my wounded heart.

Let my Love with joys be Crownd,
You that with a Glance can Wound,
With a Melting Kiss restore,
Your young Love that sighd before:
Cl[o]e, since my Heavn thou art,
Ease and cure my wounded heart.

Thus youl show your power and skill,
Able both to Save and Kill,
But to Kill has always bin
Held a most Notorious Sin:
Cloe, since my Heavn thou art,
Ease and cure my wounded heart.

In sweet Groves wel always dw[ell]
With more joys than tongue can [tell]
There the Wanton then wel play[,]
Steal each others heart away:
Cloe, since my Heavn thou art,
Ease and cure my wounded heart.

You I love (by Jove) I do,
More then all things here below,
With a Passion full as great,
As ere Creature fancied yet:
Cloe, since my Heavn thou art,
Ease and cure my wounded heart.

Bid the Miser leave his Ore,
Bid the Wretched sigh no more:
Bid the Old be Young again,
Bid young Maids ner think of Me
Cloe, since my Heavn thou art,
Ease and cure my wounded heart:

Loves not a thing of Chance, but [Fate]
That makes me Love, that makes [you hate]
Then if you be false or true,
Love I must, and none but you:
Cloe, since my Heavn thou art,
Ease and cure my wounded heart.


[Printed for J. Back, at the Black-Boy on London-Bridge.]

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