Ponce de Leon: or, The rival slain A tragical dream in K. Harry's walk.

SONG.

THat which most call brisk and Jolly, Makes my Spirits Melancholly: That which some call black Dispair, Is to me a Heaven Fair; And in short there's nothing can Make me like to other Men; For I find that I shall have, Instead of Heav'n, a Hell to be my Grave!

—Too light a Punishment, (said I within My silent Brest) for such a Crimson Sin As you are guilty of:— Whilst perjur'd he, Dispairing, curst himself, and's Pedigree: But then, again recov'ring somewhat better His Sense, he pulled out this following Letter.

To the Duke of Infantada!

SEIGNEUR!

FOR the gods sake, regard the many irreiterated Promises and Oathes made to your passionate Amoretta, when she frankly resign'd up all the strong Holds of Love to your endeared Embraces, which ought to have been kept most Sacred and Inviolable: There∣fore expose not your Person to so dangerous a War, when you may feast your self peaceably in her Arms: For the time draws near, wherein Nature will mischievously manifest to the view of all, the events of our Amorous Passions, without you take speedy care to Mar∣ry your Distressed Countess

AMORETTA.

And this so passionately he Read aloud, That ev'ry Word thereof I understood; And when he'ad done, his poys'nous Soul gave way To moderate his Grief, and thus did say; 'Tis true, fair Amoretta, Heav'n does know, I once to you an ar'drous Love did show; But nothing of Reality I meant, Concerning Marriage, 'xcept a base intent To violate your Chastity, therefore I cannot Love the Amoretta more: What would you have me say? I'd rather dwell Hereafter in the hottest Flames of Hell, Than keep those Vows so often to you made, After I had your Innocence betray'd! My Fancy's fled from thee, and does abide (Perhaps much like the Wind) on Almahide!

Here he did stamp upon the Ground, then Swore Love was Damnation, and his Hair he tore; Till with the Passion, weary of his Life, He calmly breathed forth this Love-sick