The Lovesick SERVINGMAN: SHOWING How he was Wounded with the Charms of a young Lady, and did not dare to reveal his Mind.  
To The Tune of Ice often for my Jenny strove.  
 

E'Er since I saw Clorinda's Eyes,  
My Heart has felt a strange surprise,  
No Pen is able to reveal  
The kill Torment which I feel;  
Yet I dare not let her know it,  
'Cause she's Rich and I am Poor;  
No Charms above her, oh! I love her,  
and will do for evermore.   

Oh! that I might but let her know  
My Sighs, my Tears, my Care and Woe,  
And how I'm tortured for her sake,  
She might some kind of pity take:  
But I fear I should offend her  
Whom I dearly do adore;  
No Charms above her, oh! I love her,  
And will do for evermore.   

Both Sense and Reason tells me plain,  
That I bestowed my heart in vain,  
Where no acceptance will be found,  
No Balsam for this bleeding Wound:  
She's a fair and youthful Lady,  
I a Servant mean and poor;  
No Charms above her, etc.   

I value not her Gold, her Pearl,  
For was I either Lord or Earl,  
My very Heart would be the same,  
I raise her everlasting Fame;  
Yet in vain are all my Wishes,  
They will not my joys restore:  
No Charms above her, etc.   

Young Cupid bend thy Golden Bow,  
And let thy silver Arrows fly,  
That my fair charming Saint may know,  
The pains of Love as well as I;  
Tell her too, That I lie wounded,  
She may then my joys restore,  
No Charms above her, etc.   

Tho' now mine Eyes like Rivers run,  
As here in Sorrows I condole;  
Her Beauty like the Rising Sun,  
Can soon revive my drooping Soul:  
But if I may ne'er enjoy her,  
Let me with a Dart be slain,  
'Tis better kill me, then to fill me  
With this Love tormenting pain.   

The Young Lady's Answer.  

Now in a Vision, or a Dream,  
Her Father's Servingman did seem  
Before her Presence there to stand,  
While Cupid held him by the Hand,  
Saying, Lady you must love him,  
Therefore now some pity show;  
Then don't deny him, nor defy him,  
For it must and shall be so.   

A Thousand thoughts ran in her head,  
As many Cupids round her Bed,  
Which did like armed Angels stand,  
With Golden Bows and Shafts in hand,  
every one was pleading for him,  
And their Silver Shafts did show,  
Saying, Receive him, do not grieve him,  
For it must and shall be so.   

The youthful Lady did reply,  
What must I love, or must I die?  
Tell me, is there no other way  
But this, to cast myself away,  
On my Father's meanest Servant?  
Well, I find it must be so,  
I well approve him, needs must love him,  
Though it proves my Overthrow.   

I know my Father he will Frown,  
And Ladies too of high Renown,  
But yet I needs must love him still,  
Let all the World say what they will:  
My soft Heart is now inflamed,  
Love in every Vein doth flow,  
I'll freely take him, ne'er forsake him,  
For it must and shall be so.   

What tho' my noble Father dear  
Disowns his Daughter utterly,  
I have Five Thousand Pounds a year,  
Of which no one can hinder me;  
'Tis sufficient to Maintain us,  
Should my Father prove our Foe,  
My Love I ll Marry, long not tarry,  
For it must and shall be so.   

What tho' a Servingman he be,  
Whose Substance is but mean and small;  
His proper Person pleases me,  
True Love will make amends for all.  
'Tis beyond all Gold or Treasure,  
Him alone my Heart doth crave,  
I will not tarry, but will Marry,  
And make him Lord of all I have.     

Printed for P. Brooksby, J. Deacon, J. Blare, J. Black.