Reliques of Ancient English Poetry consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and other Pieces of our earlier Poets, (Chiefly of the Lyric kind.) Together with some few of later Date |
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 | Reliques of Ancient English Poetry |  |
XXI. THE DISTRACTED LOVER,
Mad Song the fifth,
[_]
—was written by Henry Carey, a celebrated composer of Music at the beginning of this century, and author of several little Theatrical Entertainments, which the reader may find enumerated in the “Companion to the Play-house,” &c. The sprightliness of this Songster's fancy could not preserve him from a very melancholy catastrophe, which was effected by his own hand. In his Poems, 4 to. Lond. 1729, may be seen another Mad-Song of this author begining thus,
“Gods! I can never this endure,
“Death alone must be my cure, &c.
“Death alone must be my cure, &c.
I go to the Elysian shade,
Where sorrow ne'er shall wound me;
Where nothing shall my rest invade,
But joy shall still surround me.
Where sorrow ne'er shall wound me;
Where nothing shall my rest invade,
But joy shall still surround me.
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I fly from Celia's cold disdain,
From her disdain I fly;
She is the cause of all my pain,
For her alone I die.
From her disdain I fly;
She is the cause of all my pain,
For her alone I die.
Her eyes are brighter than the mid-day sun,
When he but half his radiant course has run,
When his meridian glories gaily shine,
And gild all nature with a warmth divine,
When he but half his radiant course has run,
When his meridian glories gaily shine,
And gild all nature with a warmth divine,
See yonder river's flowing tide,
Which now so full appears;
Those streams, that do so swiftly glide,
Are nothing but my tears.
Which now so full appears;
Those streams, that do so swiftly glide,
Are nothing but my tears.
There I have wept till I could weep no more,
And curst mine eyes, when they have wept their store,
Then, like the clouds, that rob the azure main,
I've drain'd the flood to weep it back again.
And curst mine eyes, when they have wept their store,
Then, like the clouds, that rob the azure main,
I've drain'd the flood to weep it back again.
Pity my pains,
Ye gentle swains!
Cover me with ice and snow,
I scorch, I burn, I flame, I glow!
Ye gentle swains!
Cover me with ice and snow,
I scorch, I burn, I flame, I glow!
Furies, tear me,
Quickly bear me
To the dismal shades below!
Where yelling, and howling
And grumbling, and growling
Strike the ear with horrid woe.
Quickly bear me
To the dismal shades below!
Where yelling, and howling
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Strike the ear with horrid woe.
Hissing snakes,
Fiery lakes
Would be a pleasure, and a cure:
Not all the hells,
Where Pluto dwells,
Can give such pain as I endure.
Fiery lakes
Would be a pleasure, and a cure:
Not all the hells,
Where Pluto dwells,
Can give such pain as I endure.
To some peaceful plain convey me,
On a mossey carpet lay me,
Fan me with ambrosial breeze,
Let me die, and so have ease!
On a mossey carpet lay me,
Fan me with ambrosial breeze,
Let me die, and so have ease!
| Reliques of Ancient English Poetry | |