The Young-mans Wish, OR,
Behold his mind fulfil'd, whom Love had almost kil'd,
VVith joy reviv'd againe, as heere appeareth plaine:
The like to this, ('twixt Man and Wife)
I never heard yet, in all my Life.
To the tune of, I am in Love, and cannot tell with whom.
VVHat strange affections have my thoughts possest,
that nothing will nor can my mind content?
Or why should love my inward parts molest,
or time away in patience thus be spent?
The cause Ile shew, but oh my heart will breake;
I am in love, but know not how to speake.
My Humors and my Fancies all are crost,
my minde so much disturb'd I cannot sleepe;
By day my wits like tennis Balls are tost,
and every hower in dolefull dumps most déepe:
I am cast downe, all pleasures I forsake,
The reason is, I love and cannot speake.
Sometimes my Muse ascendeth up on high,
and climes Parnassus hils for learnings lore;
As soone againe it in the déepe doth lie,
now high, then low; now rich, and straightway poore:
Now laugh & smile, yet straight my heart will breake;
For still I love and know not how to speake.
I wander up and downe, and yet stand still;
I walke abroad, and yet lie sick in bed:
I live at libertie, and yet my will
is into desolation captive led:
My health I have, yet life doth me forsake,
Though still I love, I know not how to speake.
I féede, I feast, I fare on dainty dyet;
I drinke the freshest wine, yet still am dry:
I take my rest, and yet can have no quiet;
I stand in water, yet in flames I frye:
I sulphur greatly, yet with cold I shake:
I love in heart, and yet I dare not speake.
I weare good clothes, and yet I naked goe,
with decent gesture séemely to behold;
I am adorn'd from top unto the toe;
And yet my shape is lothsome double fold:
I have my wits, and yet I doe mistake,
'Tis all because I love, and cannot speake.
I heare, I sée, I smell, I taste, I touch,
and yet am senceles growne in every thing;
Great want I féele, yet have (me thinks) too much,
each ounce of mirth, a pound of griefe doth bring:
I am inforc'd thus to the world to breake
My minde; but to my Love I cannot speake.
I live in peace, yet hold an inward strife,
Cupid that villaine wounded so my heart;
I single am, yet faine would have a Wife,
to ease me of my dolour, griefe and smart:
But she with whom I gladly would partake,
Makes me abash'd, I know not how to speake.
The second Part.
To the same Tune.
O That some Oratour would be so kinde,
to plead my cause, and certifie my love;
My passions and disturbances of minde.
to try if she will prove my Turtle Dove:
What almes or answer she to me would make,
For oh alas, I love, but cannot speake.
But since no meanes or way I can invent,
to bring her tidings of my hearts desire;
My time in Wishes shall be wholly spent,
and Phoenix-like Ile wast my selfe in fire:
For while I live Ile sorrow for her sake,
Because I want both Art and heart to speake.
O that I were some curious King of Gold,
to weare upon her finger for delight;
That by some Merchant so I might be sold
for her owne use and service day and night:
Or would I were a bond-slave for her sake;
That feare might force, or Love me cause to speake.
Could I but crave to light her to her bed,
it surely would revive my drooping heart;
Or lay soft pillowes underneath her head;
till dalliance long had made us loth to part:
So finding scope, my wished mind I'd breake,
By signes, to heare, or touch, if not to speake.
But O my heart, my wishes are in vaine,
no hopes have I for this which here I crave;
Nor know I any way her love to gaine;
O would the Fates had dig'd my timeles grave:
Where I might rest securely in my Tombe,
And not be found untill the day of doome.
His Love (at last) who from a window high
had heard the griefes and sorrowes he indur'd;
Thus comforts him with words immediately,
thy love-sicke heart (said she) shall soone be cur'd:
Thou shalt no longer cause have to complaine;
If thou lov'st me, Ile quit thy love againe.
Thou wishedst but my company a time;
now here's my hands for ever and for aye,
In weale or woe I will be wholly thine,
my heart, my hand, my life shall thée obay:
So, lastly; thus their loves were truely tride,
He was her Bridegroome, she his lovely Bride.
L. P.
FINIS.
Imprinted at London for Iohn Wright, the younger, and are to be sold at his Shop at the upper end of the Old-Bayley.