A wiping;
With her cole black Hands she scratch'd her A--
And swore she was beshitten,
With that the Pedlars all did skip,
And the Fidlers fell a spitting.

_The unfortunate Lover. Set by Mr._ WILLIS.

[Music]

What shall I do, I am undone,
Where shall I fly my self to shun;
Ah! me my self, my self must kill,
And yet I die against my Will.

In starry Letters I behold,
My death is in the Heavens inroll'd,
There find I writ in Skies above,
That I, poor I, must die for Love.

'Twas not my Love deserv'd to die,
Oh no, it was unworthy I;
I for her Love should not have dy'd,
But that I had no worth beside.

Ah me! that Love such Woe procures,
For without her no Life endures;
I for her Virtues did her serve,
Doth such a Love a Death deserve.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

My Dear and only Love take heed,
How thou thy self expose;
And let not longing Lovers feed,
Upon such looks as those
I'll Marble Wall thee round about,
And Build without a Door;
But if my Love doth once break out,
I'll never Love thee more.

If thou hast love that thou refine,
And tho' thou seest me not;
Yet paralell'd that Heart of thine
Shall never be forgot:
But if Unconstancy admit,
A Stranger to bear sway;
My Treasure that proves counterfeit,
And he may gain the Day.

I'll lock my self within a Cell,
And wander under Ground;
For there is no such Faith in her,
As there is to be found:
I'll curse the Day that e'er thy Face,
My Soul did so betray;
And so for ever, evermore,
I'll sing Oh well-a-day!

Like _Alexander_ I will prove,
For I will reign alone;
I'll have no Partners in my Love,
Nor Rivals in my Throne:
I'll do by thee as _Nero_ did,
When _Rome_ was set on fire;
Not only all relief forbid,
But to the Hills retire.

I'll fold my Arms like Ensigns up,
Thy falshood to deplore;
And after such a bitter Cup,
I'll never love thee more.

Yet for the Love I bore thee once,
And lest that Love should die;
A Marble Tomb of Stone I'll write,
The Truth to testifie:
That all the Pilgrims passing by,
May see and so implore;
And stay and read the reason why,
I'll never love thee more.

_The Second Part of the Trader's Medly: Or, The Cries of_ LONDON.

[Music]

Come buy my Greens and Flowers fine,
Your Houses to adorn;