by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
Ye happy swains
Language: English
Ye happy swains, whose nymphs are kind, Teach me the art of love; That I the like success may find, My shepherdess to move. Long have I strove to win her heart, But yet, alas!, in vain; For she still acts one cruel part Of rigour and disdain. Whilst in my breast a flame most pure Consumes my life away; Ten thousand tortures I endure Languishing night and day. Yet she, regardless of my grief, Looks on her dying slave, And unconcern'd, yields no relief, To heal the wound she gave. What is my crime, oh rigid Fate! I'm punish'd so severe; Tell me, that I may expiate With a repenting tear; But if you have resolved that I No mercy shall obtain, Let her persist in tyranny, And cure by death my pain.
Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Henry Purcell (1658/9 - 1695), "Ye happy swains", Z. 443, published 1685. [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 24
Word count: 134