AN ANSWER To LOVES THE CAUSE OF MY MOURNING,  
Sung with its own proper Tune:  

WHen first my poor heart unacquainted to love,  
The god with his bow and his arrow did prove  
So soft was the warmth it so gently did move,  
As yet the green wound was not bleeding.  
I knew not what ailed me, but something I found  
I never felt before, which the more did abound  
As Straphon I thought on and walked over the ground  
Where his milky white flock he was feeding.  
But now alas, it doth increase to fatal loves excess,  
Never was poor Shepherdess so qite undone  
Yet though it should kill me I never will express  
To Straphon the cause of my thraldom.   

Straphon the brave, the Witty, and Gay,  
So fine were the Notes he so sweetly did play,  
That he charmed the whole nymphs of the plain in the day  
But all night he keeps my Heart burning  
How cruels the custom forbids to reveal  
A passion so strong, so hard to conceal,  
To the desert I'll go and the plain bid farewell  
For Love is the cause of my mourning.  
There the sweet nightingale in mournful notes shall knell  
My lovesome funeral as she is flying.  
Till the Rocks shall resound, and Straphon tell,  
The sad account of my dying.   

But when the birds voice disturbed Straphons rest  
With the dismal account of Beatie the best  
For pity the love pierced his generous breast,  
That ranged the whole forest to find her.  
And by a murmuring brook as he past,  
Just ready to die he found her at last:  
In passion with ardour his mind he expressed,  
At length for to hear he inclined her.  
Then tenderly by degrees, begging upon his knees  
She his heart would appease, gently replying,  
Is this my dear Straphon she strait was at ease.  
So the Shepherd saved her from dying.   
FINIS.