The Pensive Lover; OR, The Damosels Crosses Crown'd with Comfort.

She for a time had lost her swain,
for which her Heart near broke;
Likewise she would her self have slain,
but Phaon stopt the Stroke.
To the Tune of, Grim king of the Ghosts.
O Pitty a harmless Maid
you Lovers that hear my moan
Young Phaon is from me stray'd,
and here I am left alone:
My sorrows was ne'r so severe,
as now for the loss of my Swain,
Alas! I have reason to fear,
I never shall see him again.
Through Valleys I range and rove,
and Desarts both far and near,
and every shady G [...]ove,
in order to find my Dear:
But weary of wandring now,
since Phaon I cannot find,
O here in these Shades I vow,
my breath shall be straight resign'd.
Sweet Death thou must prove my friend,
since there is no joys appears,
For why should I live to spend,
my sorrowful days in tears:
His innocent Life is betray'd,
alas! I have cause to fear,
Or else he would ne'r have stay'd
so long from his dearest Dear.
He never was false to me,
but true as the Turtle-Dove,
Therefore I know that he
would never desert his Love:
But that some unfortunate doom,
has blasted the days of my Dear,
O would I had dy'd in his room,
for I have no Comfort here.
When ever I close my Eyes,
to slumber and take my rest,
I fancy I hear the Crys
of Phaon my Love, opprest:
His body all bathed in Blood,
thus gashful my Love he appears,
At this my poor eyes, like a flood,
does melt into showers of Tears.
Farewel to the World, said she,
since Phaon is not alive,
This Minute i'le come to thee,
for why should I here survive:
Then taking a Weapon so keen,
so soon as these words she had spoke,
But Phaon straight stept in between,
and hinder'd the fatal stroke.
As soon as she e're beheld
young Phaon, her hearts delight,
She was with Love-Raptures fill'd,
her sorrows all banisht quite:
With trembling voice she reply'd,
sweet Phaon thou'rt welcome to me,
My Patience, alas! has been try'd,
but now I am happy in thee,
Pardon, fair Cynthia, he said,
for leaving thee sighing here,
My Flocks with their Lambs they strayd
and I have rang'd far and near:
The Valleys, nay, Desart and Grove,
I wander from morning till night,
But now I am come to my Love,
to Crown thee with joy and delight:
When ever I slept, said she,
I waken'd in frightful Dreams,
Thy Body I thought I see
all bathed in Purple Streams
When I in this passion did wake,
and just at the point of Dispair,
I knew not what course I should take,
my sorrows I could not bear.
Love, dry off thy Tears, said she,
since I am alive and well,
And here in the shades with thee,
hereafter I mean to dwell:
And never will wander again
from thee who I dearly adore,
The Glory of all the whole Plain,
fair Cynthia shall be therefore.

Printed for J. Blare, at the Looking-Glass on Lundon-Bridge.

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