THE Shepherds Complaint: AND THE Comforting Shepherdess.

Poor Coron making his Complaint
was comforted at last;
But when he thought himself half dead,
his Silvia held him fast.
To the Tune of, Maggys Jealousie.
OH Cupid thou now art too cruel,
to use a poor Lover severe
Thou dost to my flame add a fuel,
that costs me full many a tear:
Then cease to be so out of reason;
and let me no longer complain,
But grant me some ease for a season,
and ease all my sorrow and pain.
Whilst others do sweetly lye sleeping,
I sigh by my self all alone,
My eyes they are swelled with weeping,
no sorrows like mine e're was known:
But whilst to my self I do pine,
I do find all my sorrow in vain,
For my love she will ne'r be so kind,
as to banish my sorrow and pain.
Ah! Silvia, be cruel no longer,
to him that thy beauty adores,
Thy Charms they grow stronger & stronger,
then let thy soft tears wash my sores:
Which I for thy sake have endur'd
though thou dost my service disdain,
I'm certain they cannot be Cur'd,
but I must e'ne dye of my pain.
What profit Love is it unto thee,
to frown a poor Lover to death?
And murder the man that doth wooe thee,
thus strangely to stiffle his breath?
My dear I do humbly intreat thee,
to grant me my freedom again,
For certainly if thou dost cheat me,
I languish 'twixt sorrow and pain.
But in vain do I beg for a freedom,
when Cruelty locks up the door,
If young-men they once would but heed'um
they'd never love Beautys no more:
Then he but as kind as you are fair,
and we shall no longer complain,
But now we for death must prepare,
and dye with extreams of our pain.

The Womans Answer.

What makes my dear shepherd to languish
and sigh out his pittiful moan
I bleed at the thoughts of his anguish,
he knows that I love him alone:
But yet he doth seem to be jealous,
of some that do graze on the Plain,
But I think he hath very few fellows,
and therefore i'le constant remain.
He talks of the pains he endured,
and suffered all for my sake,
I'm wounded and cannot be cured,
and my heart it is ready to break;
But Coron is still a reviling,
the truest that lives on the Plain,
No longer then I am a smilling,
but he feels a terrible pain.
If I should be-always a Kissing,
the world would my folly admire,
The Shepherds at us would lye hissing,
and hinder what he doth desire:
But i'le in a corner imbrace him,
that he may no longer complain,
At night in my bosom i'le place him,
for to banish his sorrow and pain.
Was ever poor Shepherdess kinder,
then now I do promise to be?
How can he then chuse but mind her,
that loves so unchangeably?
He cannot enjoy greater bliss,
then with his true Love to remain,
That each minute will give him a kiss,
for to banish his sorrow and pain.
You Lovers take pattern by me then,
that hath vow'd to be constant till death
For all Loyal Shepherds to see then,
that I at the losing my breath,
Was free from all kind of deceit,
and a wavering mind did disdain,
Now kindness I once more repeat,
and I waste with my horrible pain.

Printed for J. While, at the Black Swan, at the Bridge-foot, near Southwark.

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