A pleasant new Ballad of two Lovers.  
To a pleasant new Tune.  
 

Complain my Lute complain on him  
that stays so long away,  
He promised to be here ere this,  
but still unkind doth stay.  
But now the Proverb true I find,  
once out of sight then out of mind:  
hay ho my heart is full of woe.   

Peace liar peace, it is not so,  
he will by and by be here:  
But every one that is in Love,  
thinks every hour a year.  
Hark, hark, me thinks I hear one knock  
run quickly then and turn the lock,  
Then farewell all my care and woe.   

Come gallant now, come loiterer,  
for I must chide with thee:  
But yet I will forgive thee once,  
come sit thee down by me,  
Fair Lady rest yourself content,  
I will endure your punishment,  
And then we shall be friends again.   

For every hour that I have stayed  
so long from thee away,  
A thousand kisses will I give,  
receive them ready pay.  
And if we chance to count amiss  
again we'll reckon them every kiss,  
For he is blest that's punished so.   

And if those thousand kisses then  
we chance to count aright  
We shall not need to count again  
till we in bed do light:  
And then be sure that thou shalt have,  
thy reckoning just as thou shalt crave.  
So shall we still agree as one.   

And thus they spent the silent night,  
in sweet delightful sport,  
Till Phoebus with his beams so bright,  
from out the fiery port  
Did blush to see the sweet content,  
in sable night so vainly spent,  
Betwixt these Lovers two.   

And then this Gallant did persuade,  
that he might now be gone:  
Swéet-heart, quoth he, I am afraid,  
that I have stayed too long.  
And wilt thou then be gone, quoth she,  
and will no longer stay with me:  
Then welcome all my care and woe.   

And then she took her Lute in hand,  
and thus began to play,  
Her heart was faint she could no stand,  
but on her bed she lay.  
And art thou gone my love, quoth she,  
complain my Lute, complain with me  
Until that he doth come again.   
FINIS.   

Printed at London for H. G.