Close ×

Search EBBA

EBBA 33151

National Library of Scotland - Crawford
Ballad XSLT Template
To Carry the Dying Lover over to the
The Discontented Lover Overcome with Grief.
A Pleasant New Song greatly in Request. To the Tune of, Charon make haste, etc.

CHaron make haste and carry me over
to the Elizium Shady Grove,
Where I my Passion in sighs will discover,
which I have suffered long for Love:
I am a weary of my Life,
and cannot be eased no, no where;
Then put a period to my Grief,
and carry me where I may know no care.

O my dear Sylva, 'tis thou that hast wounded me,
with the soft glances of your fair Eyes,
And with your hate you have quite confounded me,
and you have made me a Sacrifice:
I was a Slave to all your Charms,
and perfectly thought you would comply;
But now you leave me in Deaths cold Arms,
and I must for your sake a poor Martyr dye.

Come Charon make haste, why is all this delaying,
since Sylva the fair she is so unkind,
I'm weary of Life, and weary of staying,
and fain I some ease there now wou'd find:
Come give me a cast to the cooler Shore,
where kind Lovers Ghosts does there remain,
Free from the Torments that wrack'd 'em before,
and find a soft Cure for all their pain.

Ah Sylva unkind, your Eyes did discover,
if that you might be but subject to yield,
Which made me before a passionate Lover,
nor thought by your scorn for to be kill'd:
But oh! since those promising Eyes,
have deceiv'd my poor hopes, and destroy
Those fancies that late did arise,
that I might my dear Sylva enjoy.

Farewel to the World, now barren of pleasure,
for since none it can bring to my Breast,
Since Sylvas unkind who is the Worlds teeasure,
farewel to't, come Charon now make haste;
My pain's too great for longer delay,
my Torment's beyond expressing,
Since she is unkind, why should I stay,
besides my Sylva, there's nought worth possessing

Delay not a wretch quite weary of living,
who dyes by disdain every day,
Since Sylva my life thinks not worth reprieving,
Charon make haste and fetch me away:
O'recome with pain, see, see I faint,
and Death proves more kinder than my dear,
Farewel then to my cruel Saint,
for to the Shades I with speed now repair.

To the Elizium Shades I am going,
that is the place that my Cares will Cure,
Down from my eyes here the tears they are flowing
Love is a Torment I can't endure:
My very Sighs and Tears discover,
that I was ever true to you,
Now my fair Sylva and most unkind Lover,
for ever, for ever I bid adieu.

This may be Printed, R.P.
Printed for C. Dennisson, at the Stationers
Arms within Aldgate.

View Raw XML