The forlorn Lovers Lament.  
To the Tune of the bony Broom.  

SIr, do not think these Lines have flowed  
from youthful hearts or hands  
But from a friend, who's thrice conjoined  
in Hymen's holy bands:  
Nor Charidora did not prove,  
by half so much unkind  
To Diaphantes, since his love,  
could never match my mind.   

Nor Coradon, who turned his song,  
and sorrows to the Broom,  
Can never match with me in wrong,  
which shores me to consume:  
Poor lovers in this lovelesse age,  
are left to mourn alone,  
And wondered at by such as rage's,  
my love to look upon.   

Even as the Lily in the Hedge,  
is pricked on either side,  
So I'm tormented by the rage,  
of those who swell with pride:  
The surgies of the swslling tide,  
and the walls broad that be,  
As yet they never could divide,  
my heart from loving thee.   

I live in anguish grief and smart,  
for thou enjoyest mine,  
And I must live without an heart,  
until thou send me thine:  
Which if thou could incline to do,  
it should such comfort send  
To me, who comfortless am now,  
and iike my life to end.   

For I should take it as a pledge,  
since thou hast mine from me,  
Lest I should die without an heart,  
let me have thine from thee:  
Then might we both together live,  
as one by hearts exchanged,  
But keeping both, if thou survive,  
just heavens will be avenged.   

But I will rest, in hope that thou,  
will send me answer kind,  
To me who lives in torment now,  
until I know thy mind.  
I do expect no frowns from thee,  
because I did presume,  
To send these lines, when minding me  
to sing them as the Broom.   
FINIS:   

A New BALLAD, Composed by a Lover, in praise of his Mistress.  
To a new Tune, I'll fix my Fancy on thee.  

WHen first thy Feature and thy face,  
I seriously espied,  
I thought to thee there was no Grace,  
which Nature had denied:  
The more I looked, the more I loved,  
contemplating upon thee,  
At length the force of love me moved  
to fix my fancy on thee.   

Thy Head is as the highest sphere,  
adorned with all the Graces,  
Thy Soul sits as Commander there,  
o'er spread with dangling Traces;  
Which through the Casements of thine Eyes  
sends forth such flames upon me,  
That I am forced to sympathise,  
and fix my fancy on thee.   

Thy Nose helow mount-fore-head lies,  
proportioned well by Nature,  
Which doth divide thy crystal Eyes,  
and makes a comely Creature;  
Thy odoriferous Breath attracts  
my soul to cease upon thee,  
And since thou art without compare,  
I fix my fancy on thee,   

Thy Thighs as Ivory columns are,  
by Nature's kind well framed,  
Betwixt there is a place I●le spare,  
which shall not here be named;  
But surely it attractive is,  
which makes me think upon thee,  
But since thou'rt, mine I will design,  
to fix my fancy on thee.   
FINIS.