The Lamentation of Cloris. For the Unkindness of her SHEPHERD.  
SHOWING,  
How she by her Strephon was strangely Beguiled,  
And is almost Distracted for want of a Child:  
But if any brisk Lad will come her to Embrace,  
She's free, can they find a convenient place.  
To the Tune of, O Cloris awake, &  
 

No Love▪ no Life.  
FC   


My Shepherd's unkind,  
alas, what shall I do?  
Who shall I direct  
my sad Speeches unto?  
Whilst in secret I mourn,  
for the loss of my dear,  
Down from my poor eyes,  
drops many a Tear.   

He takes much delight,  
with his flocks for to keep,  
And minds not poor Cloris,  
who for him doth Weep:  
But in vain I lament  
for I plainly do see,  
It is all one to him,  
what becometh of me.   

In the morning he's gone,  
before I'm awake,  
Then I miss my dear Shepherd,  
my heart it doth ache:  
The Sighs and the Groans,  
by myself I do fetch,  
Would move him to pity  
a sorrowful wretch.    

The second part,  
to the same Tune.  

At night he doth think  
for to make me amends,  
And with his fair looks,  
for to make us good friends:  
But alas, he's so weary,  
he cannot be kind.  
And this adds great sorrow,  
to my pensive mind.   

But I have no hopes,  
that I e'er shall enjoy  
As the fruits of my labour,  
A Girl or a Boy:  
Which so much I desire,  
but I fear all in vain,  
For my Strephon's unkind,  
which doth make me complain.   

But if thus he continues,  
i'll tell you my mind,  
I'll find out some friend:  
who knows how to be kind:  
For I'm sure flesh and Blood,  
long cannot endure,  
The pain that I feel,  
without looking for cure.   

When I walk in the fields,  
not thinking of harms,  
And meet but a woman,  
with a Babe in her arms:  
It tormenteth me more,  
than my tongne can relate,  
Which makes me deplore  
my too riged fate.   

Well Strephon thy forehead  
I will certainly graft,  
With a large pair of Horns,  
yet do't with such craft,  
Thou shalt never be the wiser,  
and when this is done,  
I fear not to bring thee  
a Daughter or Son.   

And for my so doing,  
can any me blame,  
If they do but consider,  
what a scurrilous Name,  
Poor women receive  
that no Children do bear,  
Though the fault be their husbands  
such dry souls they are.   

Besides I am young,  
and my Nature requires  
A lusty young Lad,  
for to please my desires:  
Yet I have as little,  
of Lovers Content,  
As ever had woman.  
which makes me lament   

Then pity poor Cloris,  
all you that enjoy  
The content of your hearts,  
and do frequently toy,  
With your Lovers in private,  
and use Venus' Game,  
For you cannot deny,  
but my shepherd's to blame.    
FINIS.   

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, I. Wright, I. Clarks, W. Thackeray, & T. Pass●●●er.,