The faithful lover's downfall: OR, The Death of Fair Phillis Who Killed herself for loss of her Philander.  
Phillis for loss of her Philander,  
Through each Grove doth wander;  
Until she hears by fate he's slain,  
Which causes her so to complain:  
Overwhelmed in tears, she does conclude,  
To end her life, which soon ensued;  
For with her fatal Dagger, she  
Stabbed to the heart, sets Sorrow free;  
Dying with patience, braving Fate,  
That to her Love did her translate.  
To a Pleasant New playhouse Tune: Or, Oh! cruel bloody fate.  
 

AH! cruel bloody Fate,  
what canst thou now do more?  
ah me! it is too late,  
Philander to restore:  
Why should the Power above persuade  
poor Mortals to believe,  
That they guard us here,  
And reward us there,  
yet all our joys deceive.   

Her Dagger than she took,  
and held it to her Breast,  
And with a Dying look,  
these words she then expressed:  
Philander, ah my Love, I come,  
to meet thy Shade below,  
Oh I come, she cried,  
With a Wound so wide,  
there need no second Blow.   

Oh! too Cruel now,  
to take my Love away,  
Couldst thou no time allow,  
nor grant one moments stay?  
Snatched from my arms, and gone so soon  
dread Tyrant this I crave,  
All the fearfullest Rage  
Thou canst engage,  
and scorning thou shouldst save.   

Since Philander is gone,  
wounds bleed apace, she cries,  
No comfort shall be known,  
to Phillis now she sighs:  
Be gone my former joys, be gone,  
griefs my acquaintance are,  
Cruel Powers above,  
That still do cross Love,  
and drive us on Dispair.   

How often in this Shade,  
have we expressed our joys,  
And sighing Vows have made  
which cruel Fate destroys:  
Oh me, I faint, yet his loved Name,  
recalls my fading Soul,  
To think of the bliss,  
And the Happiness,  
we had without control.   

Oh my dear Love, make room,  
unto the Elysium Fields,  
Thy Love-sick Phillis comes,  
which spring of pleasure yields:  
Where fate no more hath Power,  
to blast our sacred flame,  
Nor cruel Stars depose,  
Such a happy Bliss,  
As in paradise,  
bright Angels do disclose.   

My Love on wings of Time,  
thy bleeding Phillis flies,  
Since in thy Blooming prime,  
thou'rt slain, thy Phillis dies:  
Farewell fond world and all thy joys,  
I here beneath the Shade,  
Upon the fair Earth,  
That gave us first Birth,  
will for ever now be laid.   

And think it happy now,  
beneath this pleasing fate,  
As Love commands to be,  
and bless my happy state:  
Then she sighs, whilst streams of passion  
breath from her fainting Breast,  
Soiled her tender Limbs,  
At which Crimson streams,  
whilst death each part possessed.   

My Shepherd now I come,  
and will no longer stay,  
I have delayed too long,  
too long I have been away:  
Since Death hath proved unkind, he now  
for it shall make amends,  
In spite of fate,  
Shall be mine, tho' late;  
and make us ever friends.   

Once more I come, and then  
she fell upon the ground,  
So raises herself again,  
and with a dying swound,  
Complained so sore of cruel fate,  
wishing all Lovers just,  
That they for ever  
Might endeavour,  
to fulfil Loves trust.   

From Crimson Veins her blood  
ran streaming down the flour,  
unmoved she saw the flood  
and blessed her dying hour:  
Philander, ah Philander, still  
the bleeding Phillis cries,  
She wept a while,  
And she forced a Smile,  
then closed her eyes and dies.   
FINIS.   

London, Printed for T. Vere, at the sign of the Angel in Guilt-spur-street without Newgate.