On a Gentleman. Tune, My Freedom, which is all my Ioy.
2.
POor Clori•• wept, and from her eyes
The liquid tears came trickling down;
Such wealthy drops may well suffice,
To be the ransom of a Crown:
Westminster-drollery, or, A choice collection of the newest songs & poems both at court and theaters by a person of quality ; with additions.
About this Item
- Title
- Westminster-drollery, or, A choice collection of the newest songs & poems both at court and theaters by a person of quality ; with additions.
- Publication
- London :: Printed for H. Brome ...,
- 1671-1672.
- 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.
- Subject terms
- English wit and humor.
- English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700.
- Ballads, English -- Texts.
- Cite this Item
-
"Westminster-drollery, or, A choice collection of the newest songs & poems both at court and theaters by a person of quality ; with additions." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A65514.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 4, 2024.
Pages
Page 66
And as she wept, she sigh'd, and said,
Alas for me unhappy Maid,
That by my folly, my folly am betray'd.
2.
When first these eyes, unhappy eyes,
Met with the Author of my wo,
Methoughts our Souls did sympathize,
And it was death to say him no.
He su'd, I granted; O then befel
My shame, which I'me afraid to tell!
Ay me that I had never lov'd so well.
3.
O had I been so wise as not
T'have yielded up my Virgin-Fort,
My life had been without a blot,
And dar'd the envy of Report;
But now my guilt hath made me be
A scorn for time to point at me,
As at the But and Mark of Misery.
4.
Here now in sorrow do I sit,
And pensive thoughts possess my breast!
My silly heart with cares is split,
And grief denies me wonted rest:
Come then black night and screen me round,
That I may never more be found,
Vnless in tears, in tears of sorrow drown'd.