Fair CYNTHIA's Sorrowful Sighs. BEING Her steadfast Resolution to find out her Beloved CORYDON.  
To a Pleasant New TUNE.  

I.  
MY sweet Corydon, art thou fled and gone,  
and left Cynthia in Sighs and Tears;  
I have no Relief, but oppressed with Grief,  
haunted with Troops of slavish fears:  
Oh! that now I was in thy tender Arms,  
Tasting of those Charms  
which I would enjoy:  
O ye Gods be kind,— Ease my mind,—  
done't a Lady thus destroy.   

II.  
Bring me to my Dear, for alas! I fear,  
all my Friends they do frown on me;  
Therefore for thy sake, my poor heart will break  
if that I cannot come to thee:  
Dejected here I wander all alone,  
Sigh and making moan,  
to enjoy my Dear;  
In thy loving Breast,— I could rest,—  
but I have no quiet here.   

III.  
Now my drooping Soul, daily does condole,  
those sad sorrows I undergo,  
Unregarded I, here lamenting lie,  
tears from my melting Eyes does flow:  
But therefore I re●olve to quit the Grove,  
And search for my Love,  
never thus despair;  
For my Corydon,— Sure he can,—  
ease me of my grief and care.   

IV.  
When thou w●rt with me, in Felicity,  
I my Minutes in Mirth did spend;  
But thou being gone, and I left alone,  
there's many Evils does attend:  
Tho●e nymphs which formerly were won't to smile  
Now doth me Revile,  
therefore i'll arise:  
And will come to thee,— Love, said she,—  
whom I do so highly prize.   

V.  
If I live or Dye, in his Company,  
there my Happiness will I place;  
Like two Lovers sweet, we'll each other Greet,  
kiss and most tenderly Embrace:  
For wheresoever he shall make his Bed,  
There i'd lay my Head,  
troubles to destroy:  
Ye Powers let me have,— What I crave—  
than you'll Crown my grief with joy.   

VI  
In the silent Night, will I take my flight,  
when the Shepherds are all secure,  
Wander far and near, to find out my Dear,  
whose absence I cannot endure:  
For tho' I now do feel the fatal smart,  
Of a broken heart,  
than I shall be free;  
When I find my Love,— Who will prove—  
both my Life and Liberty.   

VII.  
Tho' these Lines I leave, yet let no one grieve,  
when they find 'em within my Bower,  
I am gone alone, for to find out one,  
which is a sweet and famous Flower,  
Whom I have reason always to adore,  
Nay, and Honour more  
than another Swain;  
Therefore Nymphs farewel— Now, and tell,—  
that I shall return again.   
FINIS.   

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball in Pie-corner, near West-Smithfield.