Four of the choicest new songs as they are sung at court; written by a person of quality, named E.G.

About this Item

Title
Four of the choicest new songs as they are sung at court; written by a person of quality, named E.G.
Author
E. G.
Publication
London :: printed, and are to be sold by A. Chamberlain, in Red-Bull-Play-house yard, over against the Pound St. John-street,
[1684?]
Rights/Permissions

To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.

Cite this Item
"Four of the choicest new songs as they are sung at court; written by a person of quality, named E.G." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A41503.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 5, 2024.

Pages

A New Love Song.

THe night her blackest Sables wore, All gloomy were the Skies, And glittering Stars there were more Than those in Celia's Eyes, When at her Fathers Gate I Knockt, Where I had often been, And shrowded only in her Smock, The fair one let me in.
Fast lock'd within my close embrace She trembling lay, Asham'd her swelling Breast, And gave me way; She's fair and pretty I have said, My eager passion I obey'd, Resolv'd the Fort to win, And her fond heart was soon betray'd To yield and let me in.
None but the envying Gods Conquest, Or Lovers blest, As I to what degrees of happiness, We rais'd our equal joy, The mistress of love ran o're, We did anew begin, And she blest that day That e're she let me in. But long the feasted thefts of Love VVe could not thus conceal, The lovely maid does pregnant prove, VVhich must our joys reveal, She wept and sigh'd, Yet still if 'twere to do again, She would not curse the fatal hour That e're she let me in.
But who could see her charming tears, Her sorrows without art, Her long-wish'd fate with fears, And not resign his heart; VVe marry'd and conceal'd the Crime, So all was well again, And now she thanks the blessed hour, That e're she let me in.
Do you have questions about this content? Need to report a problem? Please contact us.