The Languishing Lady; Or, The Falsehearted Lovers Unspeakable Cruelty.  
To an Excellent new Tune.  
Welcome death, the cure of all my sorrow, thou alone canst give me ease;  
Of all the delights my senses e'er did borrow, none could e'er my fancy please:  
Since love has transported me so in sadness, that I languish and despair;  
In all the degrees of love I find a madness, which causes all my grief and care.  

II.  
When first these Eyes of mine did view him,  
O how my heart was inflamed to love,  
I lost my senses ever since I know him,  
since he to me does unconstant prove:  
Love, that transports me so in sadness,  
makes me languish and complain,  
O cruel Cupid, come and ease my madness,  
let me no longer grieve in vain.   

III.  
Farewell joy, and farewel pleasure,  
farewel all things of delight,  
For of sorrow I have had my measure,  
unto all I bid good-night;  
Farewell to him, the cause of all my weeping,  
I hope he will never thrive in love,  
And she that has gotten his heart in keeping,  
may she for ever unconstant prove.   

IV.  
Thus shall my bleeding wrongs be righted,  
while I range the silent shade,  
And my ungrateful love be requited,  
who my yielding heart betrayed:  
Long was I wooed before I consented  
unto the thoughts of love, said she,  
Till he in sorrowful sights lamented,  
blaming me for my cruelty.   

VI  
Now when I heard this mournful ditty,  
whi●e in sighs he did complain,  
I was immediately moved to pity,  
granting love for love again:  
But I have found him now most deceitful,  
I of his presence am denied,  
Never was lover sure so ungrateful,  
as he has been to me, she cried.   

VII.  
Did he not once admire my beauty,  
and did solemnly declare,  
That he did count it a damsels duty,  
to be full as kind as fair:  
Then in his arms beed freely receive me,  
saying, he did my Charms adore:  
Yet after all he does slight and leave me,  
was ever man so false before?   

VIII.  
He little knows what bitter anguish,  
does my drooping spirits seize,  
Here in this bower I lie and languish,  
shall I never be at ease?  
Yes, when I in the grave lie a sleeping,  
than my false love may wish in vain,  
Yet neither sorrowful sights, nor weeping,  
e'er can recall me back again.    

Printed for C. Bates, next Door to the Crown Tavern in West-Smithfield.