Coridon and Parthenia, The Languishing Shepherd made Happy.  
Or, Faithful Love rewarded.  
Being a most Pleasant and Delectable New Play Song:  
Here mournful Love is turned into Delight,  
To this we a chaste amorist Invite;  
Where Charming beauty rules its powers like Death,  
To Save or Murder with the selfsame breath:  
The Noble Swain, whose Youthful Love hath won  
So many Mymphs, by Love was here undone:  
Languishing faint, on the Gold Ground he lies,  
Until the Sunshine of Parthenia's Eyes  
Dissolved the Cloud that did benight his bliss,  
And turned his Torments into Paradise.  
To the Tune of, When busy Fame.  
 
 

When busy Fame o'er all the Plain,  
Parthenia's Praises rung,  
And on the Oaten Pipe each Swain;  
her matchless Beauties Sung:  
The envious Nymphs were forced to yield,  
she had the sweetest face,  
No Emulored Disputes were held,  
but for the Second place,   

Young Coridon whose stubborn heart,  
no Beauties e'er could move,  
But smiled at Cupid's Bow and Dart,  
and brave the God of Love:  
He'd view this Nymph, and pleased at first,  
such silent Charms to see,  
With wonder gazed, then sighed and Cursed,  
his Curiosity.   

CRying alas, I am undone,  
so Powerful are her eyes,  
Those kill Charms prevailed above,  
and all my thoughts surprise:  
In coolest shades fierce favours burn,  
martyred by Love I fry,  
And now except Parthenia Turn,  
and smile on me I die.   

My Hood be here for ever laid,  
and on this Ferdant Plain.  
Beneath this spreading Myrtle Shade,  
till death I must remain:  
My Snowy Flocks may freely stray,  
whilst here I gazing lie,  
And dare not move from hence away,  
for if I do I die.   

Parthenia cruel Nymph no more,  
turn hence that Angel face,  
Which Coridon must still adore,  
as chief of Mortal Race:  
Oh! from the Groves sad Echoes sound,  
and say in vain I try,  
Nay, still augment the Fatal wound,  
I must Loves Martyr die.   

What doleful tunes 'mongst pleasant Reeds  
my Bleeting Flocks complain,  
Whilst wolves invade them as they feed,  
all scattered through the Plain:  
Here Chained by Love by cruel Love,  
on earth I mourning lie,  
And though my Couch sweet Violets prove,  
yet Languishing I die.   

Whilst in sad strains the Winged Choir,  
my doleful Requies Sing  
And Chant how I for Love expire,  
unto the blooming Spring:  
Let purling streams likewise declare,  
as they run murmuring by,  
How for Parthenia I despair,  
and thus despairing dye.   Parthenia. 

Ah hark, what sad Laments are these,  
what mournful sounds are here:  
What dying Sounds my fancy sees,  
what sighs invade my Ear?  
'Tis this Myrtle Grove i'll seek,  
'tis sure some Lover nigh,  
I'll find, and to him Comfort speak,  
before for Love he die.   

Oh it is Coridon kind Swain,  
from whence proceeds your grief?   Coridon. 

By you I wounded here remain,  
'tis you can yield relief:  
Conquered by your prevailing Charms,  
and by your starry eyes,  
For you unless you raise my Arms,  
a faithful Shepherd dies.   Parthenia. 

Alas poor Swain, for me I swear,  
by Cupid all above,  
You shall not languish nor despair,  
but first enjoy my Love:   Coridon. 

Parthenia kind 'tis sure I dream,  
O Angel form draw nigh,  
Speak speak again that saving Theme,  
that will not let me die,   Parthenia. 

Rise Shepherd, rise, and freely take,  
since thou dost constant prove,  
Those chaste delights, which for thy sake  
I have designed in Love:   Coridon. 

Oh i'm so Ravished with this voice  
that dangers I defy,  
And in Parthenia's Love rejoice,  
which will not let me die.   Parthenia 

Come, come my, Coridon, let's haste,  
unto yond pleasing Bower;  
For Lovers should no moments waste,  
whilst joys in plenty shower:  
But folded in each others Arms,  
loves utmost Forces try;  
whilst warbling notes augments our charms  
and we in pleasure die.    

Printed for P. Brooksby▪ at the Golden-Ball. in West-smithfield.