The Unfortunate Lover: OR, Merry ANDREW's sad and woeful Lamentation for the Loss of his Sweetheart JOAN. To the Tune of, I marry and thank ye too. Licenced according to Order. ALas I am come to Town, and here make pitiful moan, For having rambled up and down can't find out my true Love joan. I came to Bartholomew Fair, and searched that Place alone, Expecting to have found her there, my delicate Sweetheart joan. I am in a pitiful Case, and shall be overthrown, I have made many a sour Face, for want of my true Love joan. In Bed I can take no rest, but rumble and toss alone, A thousand Torments in my Breast for want of my Sweetheart joan. To Love I am so inclined and daily do make sad moan, And quite distracted in my mind, for want of my true Love joan. She's as sweet as a sucking Pig, for her I do make my moan; I long to Dance the Wedding-iig along with my Sweetheart joan. I wander the silent Grove, and make most piteous moan, I am over head and ears in Love, and all for my Sweetheart joan. For she was as sweet a hit, as ever by me was known, Her precious Smiles I can't forget, Oh, where is my Sweetheart joan. Her Lips they were Cherry red, she had but one fault alone, A little Child e'er she was Wed, my delicate Sweetheart joan. I like her never the worse, the Child's a Champion grown, By being well brought up at Nurse, But where is my Sweetheart joan. To speak of her Beauty bright, there hardly is such a One, Her pleasant Charms does dim my sight, my delicate Sweetheart joan. At once she looks North and South, her Beauty I needs must own, She has a pretty Sparrows Mouth, my delicate Sweetheart joan. Her pretty sweet Bettle-brow, but Teeth she has not one, She is as slender as a Cow, my delicate Sweetheart joan. Her Hair's as black as a Coal, for her I do make sad moan, I fear some Lord or Earl has store, my delicate Sweetheart joan. Printed for P. Brooksby. I. Deacon. I. Blare. I. Back.