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EBBA 34279

National Library of Scotland - Rosebery
Ballad XSLT Template
Hope farewel, Adieu to all pleasure,
OR
Silvia's Matchless Cruelty.
To the Tune of, Hail great Sir, etc.

HOPE farewel, adieu to all Pleasure,
No Torment so great as Love in despair:
Sylvia frowns, my Endeavours to please her,
And laughs at those pains she makes me to bear.
Life's my disease, and there's no Cure,
But death's cruel dart that must set me at ease;
But when I'm no more, O then may she grieve,
For him, who while living, she would never relieve.

In the World so charming a Creature
(my Fancy tells me) I never beheld;
Splendid Grace is Love in each Feature,
That with Loves Raptures I strangely am fill'd:
Here I ly slain with darts of Disdain,
While Sylvia's hard heart will not pity my pain:
But let her know, for all her great hate,
That she may repent it when it is too late.

Can you be so desperat cruel,
As, for your sake to let death be my doom?
Love is like unquenchible Feuel,
In which all my Glory and Life will consume:
Still you despise my sorrowful cryes,
And over your Lover doth here tyrannize;
But when kind Death shall once set me free,
You may be Rewarded for your Crueltie.

When the World shall read this sad Story,
Which here I write with a trembling Quill,
Shewing how you have blasted my Glory,
Oh! will they not count you a Tyrant still?

Then let me find my Silvia more kind,
To comfort and cherish my troubled mind.
For if I go to the Shades below,
'Tis you are the Causer of my Overthrow.

Oh! my Grief is never lamented,
By she whom I so dearly adore:
With her Frowns I am daily tormented,
No Creature for Love e're suffered more:
Cupid's keen dart hath wounded her heart,
I never, no never did feel greater smart:
Here a poor slave one smile he does crave,
Or else you will send him to his silent Grave.

In your Charms I daily delighted,
And ever thought you my Heaven to be:
Yet by you I am evermore slighted,
And now you make a poor Martyr of me.
Wont you therefore your Captive restore,
Who sues for your Love, and desires no more?
You may be sure what Pains I endure,
And 'tis in your power either to kill or cure.

In a sad and sorrowful Ditty,
With sighs and tears I send forth my moan;
Yet my fair one affoords me no pity,
But lets me languish to death all alone:
This very day now I must away,
Both heart and spirit with Life does decay.
More than Untrue, dear Sylvia, was you,
And therefore farewel, all the World adieu.

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