XXI. THE LUNATIC LOVER. MAD SONG THE THIRD, - is given from an old printed copy in the British Museum, compared with another in the Pepys collection: both in blackletter. GRIM king of the ghofts, make hafte, And bring hither all your train; See how the pale moon does waste, And hug me close in your arms; I'll court you, and think you fair, ΙΟ Then, a pise on her love! let her go; 15 And down to the fhades below. I'll feek me a winding fhroud, A lunacy fad I endure, Since reafon departs away; Now flights me with scorn and disdain; I never fhall fee her more: 20 -was originally fung in one of TOM D'URFEY'S comedies of Don Quixote acted in 1694 and 1696; and probably compoSed by himself. In the feveral stanzas, the author represents his pretty mad woman as 1. fullenly mad: 2. mirthfully mad: 3. melancholy mad: 4. fantastically mad: and 5. Stark mad. Both this, and Num. XXIV. are printed from D'urfey's "Pills to purge Melancholy. •» 1719. vol. I. FROM rofie bowers, where sleeps the god of love, Hither, ye little wanton cupids, fy; Teach me in foft melodious ftrains to move With tender paffion my heart's darling joy: Or, if more influencing Is to be brifk and airy, I'll trip like any fairy: As once on Ida dancing Were three celeftial bodies: With an air, and a face, And a fhape, and a grace, I'll charm, like beauty's goddess. Ah! 'tis in vain! 'tis all, 'tis all in vain! Cold, cold defpair, difguis'd like fnow and rain, My pulfe beats a dead march for loft repofe, Or fay, ye powers, my peace to crown, On beds of ooze, and chryftal pillows 10 20 25 No, no, I'll strait run mad, mad, mad, 30 Love has no power to charm. Wild thro' the woods I'll fly, I'll fly, Robes, locks-fhall thus be tore! A thousand, thousand times I'll dye Ere thus, thus, in vain, -ere thus in vain adore. 35 XXIII. THE DISTRACTED LOVER, MAD SONG THE FIFTH. From the Hive, a collection of Songs. 4 vols. 1724. 12mo where may be found two or three other MAD SONGS not admitted into this collection. Go to the Elyfian fhade, Where forrow ne'er fhall wound me ; Where nothing shall my reft invade, But joy fhal ftill furround me. I fly from Celia's cold difdain She is the cause of all my pain, For her alone I die. Her eyes are brighter than the mid-day fun, When his meridian glories gaily shine, See yonder river's flowing tide, Thofe ftreams, that do fo fwiftly glide, Are nothing but my tears. U 3 ΤΟ 15 Her |