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EBBA 35406

Houghton Library - 25242.68.5
Ballad XSLT Template
Coridon and Parthenia.
The Languishing Shepherd made Happy.
Or, Faithful Love Rewarded.
Being a most Pleasant and Delectable New Play Song.
Here mournful Love is turn'd into Delight,
To this we a Chast Amorist Invite;
Where Charming Beauty rules its Pow'rs like Death,
To Save or Murder with the selfsame Breath:
The Noble Swain, whose Youthful Love hath won
So many Nymphs, by Loves was here undone;
Languishing faint, on the Cold Ground he lies,
Until the Sun-shine of Parthenia's eyes,
Dissolv'd the Cloud that did benight his Bliss,
And turn'd his Torments into Paradise.
To the Tune of, When busie Fame, etc.

WHen busie Fame o're all the Plain,
Parthenia's Praises rung,
And on the Oaten Pipe each Swain,
he matchless Beauties Sung:
The envious Nymphs were forc'd to yield,
she had the sweetest face,
No Emulor'd Disputes were held,
but for the Second place.

Young Coridon whose stubborn heart,
no Beauties e're could move,
But smil[']d at Cupids Bow and Dart,
and brave the God of Love:
He'd view this Nymph, and pleas'd at first,
such silent Charms to see,
With wonder gaz'd, then sigh'd and Curst,
his Curiosity.

CRying alas, I am undone,
so Powerful are her eyes,
Those killing Charms prevail above,
and all my thoughts surprize:
In coolest shades fierce feavors burn,
martyr'd by Love I fry,
And now except Parthenia Turn,
and smile on me I dye.

My Hood be here forever laid,
and on this Verdant Plain,
Beneath this spreading Mirtle Shade,
till death I must remain:
My Snowy Flocks may freely stray,
whilst here I gazing lye,
And dare not move from hence away,
for if I do I dye.

Parthenia cruel Nymph, no more,
turn hence that Angel face,
Which Coridon must still adore,
as chief of Mortal Race:
Oh! from the Groves sad Eccho's sound,
and say in vain I try,
Nay, still augment the Fatal wound,
I must Loves Martyr dye.

What doleful Tunes 'mongst pleasant Reeds,
my Bleeting Flocks complain,
Whilst woolves invade them as they feed,
all scatter'd through the Plain:
Here chain'd by Love, by cruel Love,
on earth I mourning lye,
And though my Couch sweet Violets prove,
yet Languishing I dye.

Whilst in sad strains the Winged Quire,
my doleful Requies Sing,
And Chaunt how I for Love expire,
unto the blooming Spring:
Let purling streams likewise declare,
as they run murmuring by,
How for Parthenia I despair,
and thus despairing dye.

Ah hark, what sad Laments are these,
what mournful sounds are here;
What dying Sounds my fancy sees!
what sighs invade my Ear?
'Tis this Mirtle Grove i'le seek,
sure some Lover nigh,
I'le find, and to him Comfort speak,
before for Love he dye.

Oh it is Coridon, kind Swain,
from whence proceeds your grief?
Coridon. By you I wounded here remain,
you can yield relief:
Conquer'd by your prevailing Charms,
and by your starry eyes,
For you unless you raise my Arms,
a faithful Shepherd dies.

Alas poor Swain, for me I swear,
by Cupid all above,
You shall not languish nor dispair,
but first enjoy my Love:
Coridon. Parthenia kind, 'tis sure I dream,
O Angel form draw nigh,
Speak, spake again that saving Theam,
that will not let me dye.

Rise Shepherd, rise, and freely take,
since thou dost constant prove,
Those chast delights, which for thy sake,
I have design'd in Love:
Coridon. Oh i'm so Ravisht with this voice,
that dangers I defie,
And in Parthenia's Love rejoyce,
which will not let me dye.

Come, come, my Coridon, let's haste
unto yon pleasing Bower;
For Lovers should no moments waste,
whilst joys in plenty showre:
But folded in each others Arms,
loves utmost Forces try;
Whilst warbling noats augment our charms
and we in pleasure dye.

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

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