<!DOCTYPE ETS PUBLIC "-//UMDLPS//DTD EEBOPROOF 2.0//EN">
<ETS>
<TEMPHEAD>
<REVDESCR>
<CHANGE>
<DATE>2007-09-02</DATE>
<RESPSTMT>
<NAME>Pip Willcox</NAME>
<RESP>MURP</RESP>
</RESPSTMT>
<ITEM>Proofed and reviewed as part of batch B070813.tech.</ITEM>
</CHANGE>
</REVDESCR>
</TEMPHEAD>
<EEBO>
<IDG S="marc" R="OX" ID="A89401">
<STC T="W">M2989</STC>
<BIBNO T="oclc">45097867</BIBNO>
<VID>171447</VID>
</IDG>
<TEXT LANG="eng">
<BODY>
<DIV1 TYPE="ballad">
<PB REF="1"><!-- PDF PAGE 8 -->
<HEAD>The Mournful Shepherd: OR <HI>Torment of Loving, and not being Lov'd again.</HI> A <HI>SONG</HI></HEAD>
<BYLINE>made by a Gentleman who Dyed for his cruel Mi&s;tris.</BYLINE>
<ARGUMENT>
<L>No Torment can be found no greater pain</L>
<L>Then truly Loving and not Lov'd again;</L>
<L>For thats a &s;trange Di&s;ea&s;e which Racks, the mind,</L>
<L>Still routs the Judgment, and does Rea&s;on blind:</L>
<L>Rai&s;es a Civil War, di&s;trasts the Soul,</L>
<L>Whil&s;t Fancy like a Raging Sea does roul:</L>
<L>The Lovers dreams of nothing but &s;trang Charms.</L>
<L>And often thinks his Mi&s;tris in his Arms;</L>
<L>But waking finds he did embrace a Shade;</L>
<L>Which all his hopes with it he had Conveyd,</L>
</ARGUMENT>
<OPENER>To a Plea&s;ant New Tune, called <HI>Could Man his Wi&s;h Obtain,</HI> &amp;c.</OPENER>
<HEADNOTE>
<P>Play'd and Sung at the King's Play-Hou&s;e.</P>
</HEADNOTE>
<DIV2 N="1" TYPE="part">
<P><FIGURE>
</FIGURE></P>
<LG>
<L>COuld man his wi&s;h obtain,</L>
<L>how happy would he be;</L>
<L>But wi&s;hes &s;eldome gain,</L>
<L>And hopes are but in vain,</L>
<L>if Fortunes di&s;agree:</L>
<L>Pitty you Powers of Love,</L>
<L>our Infelicicy;</L>
<L>Why &s;hould the Fates Con&s;pire,</L>
<L>To fru&s;trat my de&s;ire,</L>
<L>Since Love's the gentle fire</L>
<L>that keeps the World alive:</L>
<L>But me it puts to pain,</L>
<L>My Wi&s;hes are in vain,</L>
<L>Nor promi&s;e any hope to gain.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>I love and &s;till I view,</L>
<L>but dare not tell my mind,</L>
<L>Should I my flames per&s;ue,</L>
<L>I might that Bli&s;s undo,</L>
<L>which is for her de&s;ign'd,</L>
<L>A Bli&s;s that's far above,</L>
<L>more la&s;ting, rich, and kind;</L>
<L>Though hopes &s;ucce&s;le&s;s prove,</L>
<L>My heart &s;hall ne'r remove,</L>
<L>From wi&s;hing of her Love,</L>
<L>in Fortunes Triumph led;</L>
<L>And though &s;he bani&s;h me,</L>
<L>If &s;he but happy be,</L>
<L>'twill plea&s;e my Go&s;t when I am dead.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Much like a Tyrant &s;its</L>
<L>th' in&s;ulting Prince of Love,</L>
<L>And with his Arrows hits</L>
<L>Poor Mortals as it fits,</L>
<L>his humour from above;</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<DIV2 N="2" TYPE="part">
<HEAD>The Second Part,</HEAD>
<OPENER>To the &s;ame Tune.</OPENER>
<P><FIGURE>
</FIGURE></P>
<LG>
<L>But pitty I implore.</L>
<L>O let &s;om pitty move:</L>
<L>But ah, what is my Error,</L>
<L>when love thus proves a Terror,</L>
<L>That is the worlds bright Mirror,</L>
<L>and guides the Starry frame;</L>
<L>The flame that's in my brea&s;t,</L>
<L>Alas di&s;turbs my re&s;t,</L>
<L>Since I of hopes am di&s;po&s;&s;e&s;t,</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Thou Center of my joy,</L>
<L>the faire&s;i of her kind,</L>
<L>Does &s;till with frowns de&s;troy,</L>
<L>My Bli&s;s by proving Coy,</L>
<L>whil&s;t Love torments my mind;</L>
<L>And &s;corches me in pain,</L>
<L>that I no quiet find:</L>
<L>Pitty &s;ome gentle power,</L>
<L>And rain a golden Shower,</L>
<L>For &s;ure nought el&s;e can wooe-her</L>
<L>to cool my raging Flame:</L>
<L>Ala&s;s, that Gold &s;hould prove</L>
<L>The Orb that &s;till does move</L>
<L>the happy Sphere of &s;acred love.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>O're Hills and Rocks I &s;tray,</L>
<L>through fields and go<GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="tech" EXTENT="1 letter">ng <GAP DESC="illegible" RESP="tech" EXTENT="2 letters">ade</L>
<L>I take my re&s;tle&s;s way,</L>
<L>To <HI>Venus</HI> oft I pray,</L>
<L>to grant me &s;peedy aid,</L>
<L>And pitty my di&s;tre&s;s,</L>
<L>or how the cruel Maid:</L>
<L>Who&s;e eyes do Lightning bear,</L>
<L>Which bla&s;t me with de&s;pair,</L>
<L>And takes me in Loves &s;nare,</L>
<L>nor can I thence e&s;cape:</L>
<L>But &s;trugele there in vain,</L>
<L>And &s;till does &s;uffer pain,</L>
<L>Whil&s;t I to free my &s;elf do &s;train.</L>
</LG>
<LG>
<L>Witne&s;s ye Founts and Springs,</L>
<L>Groves, and each plea&s;ant Head,</L>
<L>Each warbling Bird that &s;ings,</L>
<L>And &s;preads his airy wings;</L>
<L>and bleeting flocks that feed:</L>
<L>How cruel the fair Nymph</L>
<L>to me as ever been.</L>
<L>But Tyrant love no more,</L>
<L>To per&s;ecute give o're,</L>
<L>Keep, keep your &s;hafts in &s;tore,</L>
<L>of them there is no need:</L>
<L>For lick the Swan, now I,</L>
<L>To &s;ing my la&s;t leave try,</L>
<L>Which done, I thus lye down &amp; dye.</L>
<L>He Dies.</L>
</LG>
</DIV2>
<TRAILER>FINIS.</TRAILER>
</DIV1>
</BODY>
<BACK>
<DIV1 TYPE="colophon">
<P>Printed for <HI>P. Brooksby,</HI> at
the Sign of the <HI>Golden-Ball,</HI>
in <HI>Pye-Corner.</HI></P>
</DIV1>
</BACK>
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