THE Faithful Inflamed Lover. OR, The true Admirer of Beauty.  
Being an Account of a Worthy Squire that Married a Farmer's Daughter.  
This Beauteous Maid his heart betrayed,  
he loved her not for Store;  
He sought not one for Wealth alone,  
he had enough before.  
To the Tune of, Over Hills and high Mountains.  

 

NOw my dearest sweet jewel,  
I am come for to prove  
Whether you can be cruel,  
or obedient to love:  
I acquaint you this hour  
with the pains I endure,  
Love, it lies in thy power,  
for to Kill or to Cure.   

Ever sleeping and waking,  
still my thoughts is on thee,  
But it proves my hearts-breaking,  
when I perfectly see,  
That you give a denial,  
though my love it is true,  
Yet I vow to be Loyal,  
I can love none but you.   

In my slumber I fancy  
that I have in my Arms,  
My most beautiful Nancy,  
this my senses alarms:  
Love, I then am contented,  
with a mere Golden Dream,  
But I wake more tormented,  
in a far worse extreme.   
 

O that I might enjoy thee,  
of a blessing I share,  
There is none shall annoy thee,  
I will tender my Dear;  
In my arms thee i'll nourish,  
where I will thee enfold,  
And in Silks thou shalt flourish,  
love, Embroidered with Gold.   

I will Crown thee with pleasure,  
now my amorous Girl,  
And endue thee with Treasure,  
to adorn thee with Pearl;  
Being wounded with Beauty,  
now my Dear I adore,  
Love, it is but my Duty,  
were it twenty times more.    

The Maidens Reply.  

PRay attend to the Sequel,  
and be ruled by me,  
There is many more equal  
to your birth and degree:  
It is not my desire,  
as I freely relate,  
In the least, to aspire,  
or strive to be Great.   

Though you me do admire,  
when you call me your dear,  
Should I grant your desire,  
I have reason to fear;  
Being lowly descended,  
your Relations will frown,  
While they are thus offended,  
I shall then be run down.   

For your proffer I care not,  
than I pray Sir be mute,  
Nay, to venture I dare not,  
'tis a dangerous suit:  
Many covetous Parents,  
as 'tis known to be true,  
They have set them at variance,  
and divided them too.    

The Man.  

'Tis a trial to Patience,  
while you are so severe,  
Tell me not of Relations,  
I adore thee my dear;  
Then a promise i'll make thee,  
so that thou shalt be sure,  
I will never forsake thee,  
now while life doth endure.   

When she found he was Loyal,  
than the Damsel did yield,  
Making no more denial,  
thus he conquered the field,  
Then they both were united,  
in true love to dwell,  
And the Parents invited.  
so the matter went well.   
This may printed, R. P.    

Printed for J. Deacon, at the Angel in Gild. Spur-Street, without Newgate.