The Pensive Lover; OR, The Damosels Crosses Crowned with Comfort.  
She for a time had lost her swain,  
for which her Heart near broke;  
Likewise she would herself have slain,  
but Phaon stopped the Stroke.  
To the Tune of, Grim king of the Ghosts.  
 
 

O Pity a harmless Maid  
you Lovers that hear my moan  
Young Phaon is from me strayed,  
and here I am left alone:  
My sorrows was ne'er so severe,  
as now for the loss of my Swain,  
Alas! I have reason to fear,  
I never shall see him again.   

Through Valleys I range and rove,  
and Deserts both far and near,  
and every shady G●ove,  
in order to find my Dear:  
But weary of wand'ring now,  
since Phaon I cannot find,  
O here in these Shades I vow,  
my breath shall be strait resigned.   

Sweet Death thou must prove my friend,  
since there is no joys appears,  
For why should I live to spend,  
my sorrowful days in tears:  
His innocent Life is betrayed,  
alas! I have cause to fear,  
Or else he would ne'er have stayed  
so long from his dearest Dear.   
 
 

He never was false to me,  
but true as the Turtle-Dove,  
Therefore I know that he  
would never desert his Love:  
But that some unfortunate doom,  
has blasted the days of my Dear,  
O would I had died in his room,  
for I have no Comfort here.   

When ever I close my Eyes,  
to slumber and take my rest,  
I fancy I hear the Cries  
of Phaon my Love, oppressed:  
His body all bathed in Blood,  
thus gashful my Love he appears,  
At this my poor eyes, like a flood,  
does melt into showers of Tears.   

Farewell to the World, said she,  
since Phaon is not alive,  
This Minute i'll come to thee,  
for why should I here survive:  
Then taking a Weapon so keen,  
so soon as these words she had spoke,  
But Phaon strait stepped in between,  
and hindered the fatal stroke.   

As soon as she e'er beheld  
young Phaon, her heart's delight,  
She was with Love-Raptures filled,  
her sorrows all banished quite:  
With trembling voice she replied,  
sweet Phaon thou'rt welcome to me,  
My Patience, alas! has been tried,  
but now I am happy in thee,   

Pardon, fair Cynthia, he said,  
for leaving thee sighing here,  
My Flocks with their Lambs they strayed  
and I have ranged far and near:  
The Valleys, nay, Desert and Grove,  
I wander from morning till night,  
But now I am come to my Love,  
to Crown thee with joy and delight:   

When ever I slept, said she,  
I wakened in frightful Dreams,  
Thy Body I thought I see  
all bathed in Purple Streams  
When I in this passion did wake,  
and just at the point of Dispair,  
I knew not what course I should take,  
my sorrows I could not bear.   

Love, dry off thy Tears, said she,  
since I am alive and well,  
And here in the shades with thee,  
hereafter I mean to dwell:  
And never will wander again  
from thee who I dearly adore,  
The Glory of all the whole Plain,  
fair Cynthia shall be therefore.    

Printed for J. Blare, at the Looking-Glass on Lundon-Bridge.