Strephons Complaint
For the Death of his DAPHNE.
Or, An Excellent new Copy of Verses, Sung at Winchester the 24th
day of September, 1684. by a Lady of Honour, named E.G.
To the Tune of, Young Phaon.
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WHat art thou fled unto thy Bed
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Of Earth for want of me,
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I'll follow strait, for life I hate,
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When I do think on thee.
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Within thy Grave a room i'll have,
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And buried will I lye,
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Thou didst complain for me in vain,
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Oh! wretched hapless I.
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Whilst here I live, no thanks I'll give
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To fortune so unkind,
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Who took my Dear, and left me here,
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Perplexed in my mind,
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I will away e're long I say,
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My Daphne I will follow,
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I'm tost and hurl'd about the World,
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Oh grave poor Strephon swallow.
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Unhappy I assuredly
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Did break her tender heart,
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And for her sake mine soon shall break,
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This World and I must part.
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Then none will blame poor Strephons name,
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When of it they do hear,
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They'll say he dy'd unpacifi'd,
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And troubled for his dear.
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Upon my Hearse write some Love Verse,
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You that do stay behind,
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Let not my name be much to blame,
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Although I was unkind
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But after death had stopt her breath
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I heard thereof to late,
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And I poor soul for her condoul
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Cursing my rigid fate.
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Where she is gone i'll be anon
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And wait upon her there,
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Since while she liv'd for me she griev'd,
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Amends ile make and pay her.
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She shall not let me be in debt
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For one poor dramm of sorrow,
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And whilst I live large use ile give
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If sighs and tears I borrow.
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I'll cease complaint methinks I faint,
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So pleasant's my disease,
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Without being sick if death be quick
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From hence my soul she flies.
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Into the Bay which Poets say
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Doth Lovers entertain,
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With her to be from torments free
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And strangers unto pain.
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When there she spies my blubber'd eyes
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With weeping swell'd and red,
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She'll laugh and cry assuredly
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My loving shepherds dead.
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Then come to me, thy Loyalty
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I plainly now discover;
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For thee I moan'd, I sigh'd, and groan'd,
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Thou matchless constant Lover.
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Now thou shalt blame me for the same
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Which brought us to our ends,
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Ten thousand foes in vain oppose,
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Who seek to part us friends.
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Death never could, though thought he should,
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Keep our poor Souls asunder,
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This sudden change to some was strange,
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To us it's now no wonder.
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Then take a kiss, and taste that bliss,
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That none but Lovers know,
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Whilst we did breathe i'th' World beneath
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We never could do so.
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And palefac'd Death, who stopt our breath,
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Our joys hath but increas'd,
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'Twas but a dream to us did seem,
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Joy e're we were deceas'd.
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In constancy ne're fear to dye,
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You broken-hearted Lovers,
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This very day shan't pass away,
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But new fresh joys discovers.
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To all that came to Elizium,
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And dye of our disease,
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Shall ever find content of mind,
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And such like joys as these.
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