London drollery, or, The wits academy being a select collection of the newest songs, lampoons, and airs alamode : with several other most ingenious peices [sic] of railery, never before published / by W.H.

The Jealous Girl mistaken, in a Dialogue between Menalcas and Licoris.

1.

HEre, here, my fair Licoris, Sit thee down thy weary'd Limbs to rest, Where drooping Violets so like thy self, Have made for thee a Nest.

Grass for our Sheep here store is, And a shade the Sun can ne'r infest As dark and gloomy, as the greif Wherewith thou seem'st so sore opprest.

Now let me know The cause of thy dear Woe, Whose precious Food Is of thy Tears and Blood; And for whose nourishment, Thy self thou near hast spent.

2.

Menalcas dost thou ask it, Need the root inquire what Fruit it bears; Thou wer't the Spring of all my Joys And Fountain Art of all my Tears.

Therefore do no more Mask it, Pitty Friend worse then true scorn appears, I shortly shall be gone, and with me yours, And your Faith Phillis fears.

'Tis she False man, Makes me so pale and wan, So sorrow slain, With that she wept amain, And hung her gentle head Like to a Lilly dead.

3.

With that the Shepheard moved Both his eyes and hands to Heaven, he heav'd His spotless faith he vow'd, and she Alas unhappily deceav'd.

That he ne'r Phillis Loved More then ripe ears do love, the stormy wind, But in Licoris all his hopers Eternally should be confin'd. Quoth she, fie, fie, Add no more perjury, I saw the Band Of our true Loves on her hand. The Ring I thee first gave Sav'd thy life, and dig'd my grave.

4.

With that the Shepheard smiled In his heart, glad that he could untie With so much ease, the knot of poor Licoris headless Jealousie. My Life thou art beguiled Quoth the Swain, with that the Ring pull'd out Yet seeming reason some there was For this, thy but too loving doubt

For Corydon, By thy Ring made her one Like as the Lambs Mistaken by their Dams; But this is thine, and I More for it till I die.

5.

Long sate the Girl ashamed, 'Till at last, about his Neck she stole Her Arm, then Venus belt a better Cord to hold a wavering Soul.

Her Jealousie she blamed, In his brest she hid her bashful head, And whisper'd to his heart, that if He lov'd her not, she was but dead, That no man ere To her was half so dear, His Pardon pray'd, Yet being sore afraid To loose so sweet a friend, Had almost wrought her end.

6.

Menalcas then embrac'd her, Protesting that he lov'd her well before, But now he vow'd that nought but Death should ever part 'em more. Now he in's heart had plac'd her, Cause she for love of him was brought so low, There's nought but too much love I find Has wrought Licoris overthrow.

For Jealousie, There's no man can deny, Though grown a weed, But to come of noble seed. And no where to be found But in Loves richest ground.