THE True Lovers Tragedy: Being an Incomparable Ballad of a Gentleman and his Lady, That both Killed themselvels for Love, under the disguised Names of Philander and Phillis.
Phillis Philanders scattered Garments finds,
And thinks him slain, for which with Fate she joyns,
And with her Fatal Poniard striketh deep,
As Life no longer can it's station keep,
The Crimsoe Streams so fast flowd from her Veins,
Yet Dying, of her Loves dear loss complains:
No sooner Death had closed up her Starry eyes,
But her return'd Philander her espyes;
And finding that for him she lost her breath,
He kills himself, and crowns his Love with death.
To the Tune of, Ab Cruel Bloody Fate.
AH Cruel Bloody Fate,
what canst thou now do more?
Alas 'tis now too late,
Philander to Restore;
Why shou'd the Heavenly powers pedswade,
Poor Mortals to believe,
That they guard us here,
And reward us there,
Yet all our joys deceive.
Her Ponyard then she took,
and held it in her hand,
Then with a dying look,
cry'd thus I Fate command:
Philander! ah my Love I come,
to meet the shade below;
Ah! I come she cry'd,
with a wound so wide,
There needs no second blow.
Then Purple Waves of Blood,
ran streaming down the floor,
Vnmov'd she saw the Flood,
and bless'd her dying hour:
Philander, and Philander still,
the bleeding Phillis cry'd,
She wept a while,
and forc'd a smile,
then clos'd her Eyes and dy'd.
Vpon the Blushing Ground,
stain'd with her Virgin blood,
She lay in Deaths deep Swound,
close by the murmering Flood:
Which for the lovely Phillis sake,
complan'd of cruel late,
Which had caus'd such care,
as had wrought despair,
I weep it to relate.
When loe Philander came,
with joy to seek his Love,
And her dear promise claim,
while Moan-beams from above,
Did twincle through the thickest shade,
and guild the flowry plain,
When he espys,
And ah Phillis cries
(not thinking she was slain)
Arise, arise from Earth,
shake off this dull repose,
Phillis my only mirth,
to thee Philander bows,
Sooner I would have come to thee,
had not a Lyon staid,
My course to fight,
For which exploit,
he Lifeless now is made.
Ah me what's this! she's cold,
ye Gods quite breathless too,
O Death durst thou infold,
this beauties not thy due:
Alas? O cruel Fate he cry'd,
by her own hand 'tis well
Oh the fatal blow,
That did overthrow,
by Heavens for me she fell.
Behold my Garments dy'd
in Phillis precious blood,
Which falling from my side,
made her suppose me dead:
And therefore fell for love of me,
ah cruel destiny.
And shall Philander
Live to wander,
No by the Powers i'le dye?
I come my Phillis now,
prepare, for in thy Arms,
I will perform my vow,
a sleep like Death now charms:
These Ciprus wreaths our Crowns shall be
we'l Triumph over death,
From thy fair lip,
I'le Nectar Sip,
Then with my latest breath.
With that his Fatal Sword,
he plunged in his breast,
and sigh'd with dying words,
Oh now I am at rest,
Now Phillis now for ever mine,
Fate now no more shall part,
Then through the Wound,
Life passage found,
And left the Lovers Heart.
FINIS.
Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden Ball, near West-Smithfield.