The Mistaken LOVER; OR, The supposed Ungrateful Creature, appears a True Pattern of LOYALTY.  

Alas I in vain he did Complain,  
and counted her his Foe;  
Concluding she would Cruel be,  
but it was nothing so.   
To an Excellent New Tune, Sung at Court.  
This may be Printed, R. P.  
 
 

OH so Ungrateful a Creature,  
ne'er could I thought you to be,  
〈◊〉 to abuse my good Nature,  
laugh at my Simplicity:  
You above all, had least reason,  
first to abuse my poor heart,  
But if another had done it,  
you ought to have taken my part,   

Curse of your cunning proceeding,  
curse of your private Amour,  
While my poor heart lies a bleeding,  
may you be double cursed o'er:  
Was you but kind as you're cruel,  
than you may talk of a bliss,  
But you preserve me for Fuel,  
O what a Tyrant is this!   
 
 

You that my Torment invented,  
proving the cause of my grief,  
May you in Dreams be tormented,  
never obtaining Relief:  
Languishing like one forsaken,  
drowned in sorrowful tears,  
Evermore when you awaken,  
haunted with troops of new fears.   

Tho' in disdain you forsake me,  
seeing my joys are increased,  
'Tis not your Frowns that shall make me  
ever repine in the least  
'Tis not a true Lover's duty,  
such a hard heart to adore,  
I'll never dote on your Beauty,  
since there is many in store.   

When he had made this Oration,  
than the young Damsel drew near,  
Not in a furious Passion,  
but like a Lover most dear:  
Why dost thou count me Disloyal,  
this makes my very heart ache,  
Might it be put to the trial,  
Love, I would die for thy sake.   

How could you Curse me, that never  
proved once false to my Love,  
Making my constant endeavour,  
every thing to remove,  
Which might thy Happiness hinder;  
this is the truth of my heart,  
If I have been an Offender,  
then let me suffer the smart.   

Love, I cannot be so Fickle,  
she in soft Language replies,  
While many tears they did trickle,  
down from her beautiful eyes:  
I that have never offended,  
you judge me guilty to stand,  
O that my sorrows were ended,  
by the most fatalest hand.   

Hearing her sorrowful Ditty,  
and that her Love it was pure,  
Then he was moved with pity,  
and could no longer endure.  
Then in the purest perfection,  
sorrows was turned to Bliss,  
Sealing her perfect protection,  
with many a tender sweet kiss.   
FINIS.   

Printed for C. Dennisson, at the Stationers-Arms with in Aldgate.