Constant Cloris: or, Her lamentation for Mirtillo. Who was killed in Ireland, before he was married to her, and she for grief and dispair stabbed her self. To the tune of, Celia that I once was blest. Licensed according to order. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription B02356 of text R227556 in the English Short Title Catalog (Wing C5940). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 4 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 B02356 Wing C5940 Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.39.k.6[23] 99887400 ocm99887400 182109 2240880383

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B02356) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 182109) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books; Tract supplement ; A3:1[23]) Constant Cloris: or, Her lamentation for Mirtillo. Who was killed in Ireland, before he was married to her, and she for grief and dispair stabbed her self. To the tune of, Celia that I once was blest. Licensed according to order. 1 sheet ([1] p.) : music. Printed for P[hilip]. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in Pye-Corner, [London] : [1690?] Publisher's name, place and date of publication from Wing. Verse: "Cloris in a mirtle grove ..." Printed in two columns. Reproduction of original in the British Library. eng Ballads, English -- 17th century. eebo Constant Cloris: or, Her lamentation for Mirtillo. Who was killed in Ireland, before he was married to her, and she for grief and dispair stabbed her anon 1690 1 493 1 0 0 10 0 0 2048.68 F The rate of 2048.68 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the F category of texts with 100 or more defects per 10,000 words. 2008-07 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-10 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2009-08 Sampled and proofread 2009-08 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2009-09 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
Constant CLORIS OR , Her lamentation for Mirtillo . Who was killed in Ireland , before he was Married to her , and she for Grief and Dispair stabbed her self . To the Tune of , Celia that I once was blest .

Licensed according to Order .

1. CLoris in a Mirtle Grove , Sat bemoaning of her love To the Turtles , on the mirtles , Pearching on the twigs above ; She unto them thus lay crying , Come and see a Lover dying . She unto , &c. 2. My Mirtillo he is dead , His soul to the Elezium's fled , You that Cooing set and Wooing , View me on my gloomy Bed ; O kind Death thy dart is killing , And my soul with sorrows filling . O kind , &c. 3. I implore thee make me blest , Rob no more my soul of rest , For delaying's worse than staying , wast me to Mirtillo's breast ; O Mirtillo where thou' rt roaming , My impatient soul is coming . O Mirtillo , &c. 4. Dear Mirtillo is withdrawn To an Everlasting dawn , He hath left me , and berest me Of those Eyes I doted on ; But I will not stay behind him , I will seek him till I find him . But I will , &c. 5. I 'll pursue his lovely Ghost , And rush among the Crying Host , Ne're abhor him , but seek for him On the sweet Elezium Coast , For Mirtillo I 'll Enquire , By my looks display my sire , For Mirtillo , &c. 6. My hated hours slowly pass , Come Death dissolve this loathsom mass Time is mowing , hours going , Yet there 's minutes in my glass , But Mirtillo I will shake it , For revenge my self will break it , But Mirtillo , &c. 7. My eager soul shall pass away , To live in Everlasting Day , My Mirtilo , by the willow , 〈◊〉 Does bewail my tedious stay , Love does always hate delaying , Where 't is fixt is no gainsaying . Love does , &c. 8. Then a bloody knife she took , And with a gashly dying look , Her heart she pierced , love rehearsed , And this life she soon forsook , Weltering in her gore she cryed , Dear Mirtillo , and so died . Weltering in her , &c. 9. Fortune had no sooner fround , And she receiv'd the fatal Wound , But the Turtles on the Mirtles , Was with grief incompast round , And the small Birds mournful singing , Was her Pasing-Bell then ringing . And the , &c. FINIS .

Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in Pye-Corner .