THE Shepherd's Complaint: AND THE Comforting Shepherdess.  

Poor Coron making his Complaint  
was comforted at last;  
But when he thought himself half dead,  
his Silvia held him fast.   
To the Tune of, Maggys' Jealousy.  
 
 
 

OH Cupid thou now art too cruel,  
to use a poor Lover severe  
Thou dost to my flame add a fuel,  
that costs me full many a tear:  
Then cease to be so out of reason;  
and let me no longer complain,  
But grant me some ease for a season,   

and ease all my sorrow and pain.   

Whilst others do sweetly lie sleeping,  
I sigh by myself all alone,  
My eyes they are swelled with weeping,  
no sorrows like mine e'er was known:  
But whilst to myself I do pine,  
I do find all my sorrow in vain,  
For my love she will ne'er be so kind,   

as to banish my sorrow and pain.   

Ah! Silvia, be cruel no longer,  
to him that thy beauty adores,  
Thy Charms they grow stronger & stronger,  
then let thy soft tears wash my sores:  
Which I for thy sake have endured  
though thou dost my service disdain,  
I'm certain they cannot be Cured,   

but I must e'en die of my pain.   

What profit Love is it unto thee,  
to frown a poor Lover to death?  
And murder the man that doth woo thee,  
thus strangely to stifle his breath?  
My dear I do humbly entreat thee,  
to grant me my freedom again,  
For certainly if thou dost cheat me,   

I languish 'twixt sorrow and pain.   

But in vain do I beg for a freedom,  
when Cruelty locks up the door,  
If youngmen they once would but heed'um  
they'd never love Beauties no more:  
Then he but as kind as you are fair,  
and we shall no longer complain,  
But now we for death must prepare,   

and die with extremes of our pain.   

The Woman's Answer.  

What makes my dear shepherd to languish  
and sigh out his pitiful moan  
I bleed at the thoughts of his anguish,  
he knows that I love him alone:  
But yet he doth seem to be jealous,  
of some that do graze on the Plain,  
But I think he hath very few fellows,   

and therefore i'll constant remain.   

He talks of the pains he endured,  
and suffered all for my sake,  
I'm wounded and cannot be cured,  
and my heart it is ready to break;  
But Coron is still a reviling,  
the truest that lives on the Plain,  
No longer than I am a smiling,   

but he feels a terrible pain.   

If I should bealways a Kissing,  
the world would my folly admire,  
The Shepherds at us would lie hissing,  
and hinder what he doth desire:  
But i'll in a corner embrace him,  
that he may no longer complain,  
At night in my bosom i'll place him,   

for to banish his sorrow and pain.   

Was ever poor Shepherdess kinder,  
than now I do promise to be?  
How can he then choose but mind her,  
that loves so unchangeably?  
He cannot enjoy greater bliss,  
then with his true Love to remain,  
That each minute will give him a kiss,   

for to banish his sorrow and pain.   

You Lovers take pattern by me then,  
that hath vowed to be constant till death  
For all Loyal Shepherds to see then,  
that I at the losing my breath,  
Was free from all kind of deceit,  
and a wavering mind did disdain,  
Now kindness I once more repeat,   

and I waste with my horrible pain.    
FINIS.   

Printed for J. While, at the Black Swan, at the Bridge-foot, near Southwark.