The Constant LOVER: OR, Celia's Glory exprest to the Life. A pleasant new Song (as it's sung after the Italian manner) and great in Request at Court, and in the City.
To a pleasant new Tune of,
Why are my Eyes still flow-ing
This may be Printed,
R. P.
WHy are my Eyes still flow—ing?
why do's my Heart thus trembling move?
Why do I sigh when go—ing
to see the Darling-Saint I love?
Ah! she's my Heaven, and in my Eye
Love's Dei —ty:
There is no Life like to what she can give,
Nor any Death like taking my leave.
Tell me no more of Glo —ry,
to Courts Ambition I'ave resign'd;
But tell a long long sto—ry
of
Celia's Face, her Shape and Mind;
Spake too of Raptures that wou'd Life destroy,
To en—joy:
Had I a Diadem, Scepter and Ball,
For that dear minute I'd part with 'em all.
For that wou'd be a Trea—sure,
beyond what e'er the World can give;
A joy beyond all mea—sure,
must needs in such Endearments live:
Such tender Blessing, who too much can prize?
which —arise
Beyond the reach of mortals tell,
And in themselves all pleasures excell.
Tell her those Roses blow—ing
that in her Face create a spring,
Those Lillies that are grow— ing,
at e'ery sight fresh Raptures bring;
Which breathe into my heart Love's Gentle fire
make me—desire
The dear enjoyment that I long is gain
To which I wade even in a Sea of Pain.
Yet pain's to me a Plea—sure
since 'tis for her whom I adore
I'le wait till she's at lea—sure
her's with thy Captive heart restore
I'll scorn to think I suffer when such bliss
such—happiness
As with a Glance can banish dispair,
Is still at hand my drooping soul to cheer.
As when the Sun by Beam— ing
upon the frozen Earth unbinds;
Her Icey Chains she seem—ing
dead to mankind new Life soon finds,
Kill'd by it
[...] warmer Rays, she pregnant grows,
And be —stows,
Her Plenty on the long expecting Swain,
To let him see his hopes were not in vain.
Go bear ye Winds, my sigh —ing
in gentle Gales to her relate;
I languish, and am dy—ing,
tell her, 'tis she must stay my Fate:
Tell her, her eyes have given me a Wound,
that — uncrown'd
All happiness that the world did yield,
And from the Conqueror won the field.
Love's harvest is exceed — ing
when his soft Fires do gently move
When his Kindness is a breed —ing
in the kind hearts of those we Love:
Breathe, breathe, these Fires into my
Celia's breast
To make — me blest,
But let the gentle flame move calmly there,
Calm as the thoughts of new born Infants are.
Celia's Answer to the Constant Lover. The Second Part,
To the same Tune.
WHilst
Strephon was bewail—ing,
the absence of his charming fair,
And thou 'twas nought avail—ing,
the Beauteous
Celia she drew near:
All gay as new blown Roses are
She did ap —pear;
And hearing from the cool Grove his moan,
She in pitty made this kind return.
Come cease your eyes from flow— ing,
and let not my poor beauties move
A Shepherd that's so know —ing
in all the secret ways of Love:
Ah! sigh not after me for I,
No Dei— ty
Can boast, nor give the pleasure you feign,
Nor make you feel a moment of Pain.
Resine not then the Glo—ry
that blooming youth bids you embrace,
For things more Transi —tory
to dote upon a fading Face:
Great things pursue and lay Raptures by
Which de—stroy
What honours building in a mighty mind,
Cease then to love, to your Fame be more kind.
Where merit is command—ing,
and Constancy do's bear it's part,
Alass there's no withstand—ing
For why they storm the hardest heart.
Long time I did a Siege sustain,
But all in—vain,
For like the Winter by the Spring o'erthrown,
I melt dear
Strephon and am thy own.
If Roses they are blow —ing
for you they 're blooming in my Face,
For you they there are grow—ing
For you the Lillies all take place;
To please my
Strephon all Conspire,
To raise high—er
Love's charming Power to ravish the Mind,
When to my dearest I strive to be kind.
My
Strephon then leave sigh—ing
to Winds no more your Passion breath;
Nor speak as if a dy—ing
be you but constant and still live;
Live in your kindest
Celia's heart let there
Love de—clare
The mighty Empire you o'er her have gain'd
And now a Uirgins kind Heart you have chain'd.
Printed for I. Conyers at the Black Raven a little above St. Andrews Church in Holbourn.