Loves Wound, And Loves Cure.  
The Tune is, The answering Spirits in the Air.  
 stock woodcut busts  

amyntas loved Cloris that fair one,  
And Cloris loved amyntas though unknown  
Which made her cry to Cupid out for aid,  
Help Cupid help, a poor distressed Maid:  
why should the God of love deal thus with me,  
To give a wound that cannot cured be.   

Have I a tongue, and yet I dare not speak?  
Have I a heart, and yet it will not break?  
Have I a hand, and yet I dare not writ,  
To him that is my love and hearts delight?  
why should, &c.   

Men they may speak, but Maidens Modesty,  
Forbids the same, O cruel Destiny,  
How should the secrets of our hearts be shown,  
When by our words we dare not make it known,  
why should, &c.   

I find my eyes too soon deceive my heart,  
There is no balsam that can cure my smart,  
But the sweet countenance of my dearest friend,  
May crown my joys, and bring my grief to end:  
why should, &c.   

How happy are they that ne'er received a wound,  
Nor yet have been in Cupids pound?  
How happy are they that nothing can remove,  
That never felt the power or force of love?  
why should, &c.   

Why do I live to see this dismal day?  
I may not speak, nor yet for pitty pray,  
I may not speak, nor make my grievance kn●…  
Or yet to any can I make my Moan?  
why should the God of love deal thus with and,  
to give a wound, a wound; that cannot cured be   
 stock woodcuts of gentleman and lady  

AENeas with Queen Dido played the thief,  
He stolen her heart, & left her full of grief,  
But my amyntas little knows that I,  
Do love him now with true fidelity:  
why should the God of love deal thus with me,  
to give a wound, a wound, that cannot cured be   

Tell him you wandring spirits in the air,  
Where I remain whom he esteems so dear,  
Let him not pine nor languish thus for me,  
Cloris, Cloris, amyntas loveth thee,  
why should, &c.   

farewell my flock, for she that's thus unsure,  
And lead away with every look and lure,  
What care can she have of her tender sheep,  
When as her self she can no better keep?  
why should, &c.   

Now must I wander over Hills and Rocks,  
To find amyntas and forsake my Flocks:  
farewell content, and farewell liberty,  
Cloris is now in pain, but cannot die:  
why should, &c.   

Bashful amyntas thou hast known my heart,  
Why dost not thou thy mind to me impart?  
Tell him you wandring spirits in the Air,  
Had he done so, I would have eased his care,  
why should, &c.   

amyntas comes, and hearing her say so,  
Quickly stepped in, and eased her of her woe,  
Thus love you see can ever find the way,  
To make young men, and pretty Lasses obey:  
Now Cloris thou canst not Cupid blame,  
He gave a wound, and salue to cure the same.    

Printed for F. coals, T. Vere, and J. wight.