Bodleian Library Broadside Ballads contains a broadside dated "between 1683 and 1696" called THE YOUNG-MAN'S LAMENTATION - Douce Ballads 2(261b). Unfortunately, the on-line image is mostly illegible, but a transcription already exists in an article at Musical Traditions. I have copied it here. (I modernized the spelling and punctuation.) It has 4 lines which resemble yours. I have marked them in boldface:

THE YOUNG-MAN'S LAMENTATION
His Passionate Complaint of his Unconstant Lover;
Together with his Resolution to leave her who scornfully slighted him.
To an Excellent New Tune, or, Over Hills and High Mountains
Licensed according to Order.

1. Meeting's a pleasure,
But parting's a grief.
An unconstant lover
Is worse than a thief.
A thief he can rob me
And take what I have;
But an unconstant lover
Will bring me to the grave.

2. When fancy is grounded
And rooted beside,
The lover is wounded
As soon as denied.
Many torments are bleeding
To increase his pain,
And the lover lies bleeding
By the darts of disdain.

3. This is my condition,
I needs must confess.
With humble submission
I have made my address.
In her charms I delighted
More than gold, I declare;
Yet am scornfully slighted
For the love which I bear.

4. I value not treasure,
The rich golden ore.
There's joy, love and pleasure
Which I dearly adore.
But alas! That sweet blessing
I may not enjoy,
I all sorrows possessing,
Which my life will destroy.

5. Like a ship on the ocean,
I am tossed to and fro,
From the height of promotion,
To the depth of sad woe.
While the billows are roaring
In a tempest of grief,
I the fates am imploring
But can find no relief.

6. Of a false-hearted lover
I must needs complain.
To my grief I discovered
That my sighs are in vain,
Having moved her to pity,
With tears in my eyes,
While that sorrowful ditty
She would scorn and despise.

7. To think that my jewel
Should torture me so,
In love's flaming fuel,
With a fever I glow.
She's more than ungrateful,
Unconstant, unkind,
To her dear loyal lover
Like the wavering wind.

8. In her cheeks blushing roses
With lilies appear,
Where Cupid reposes
As her charms I draw near.
I account it my duty
Her perfection to prize.
She's a phoenix for beauty;
Was she constant likewise!

9. If her heart was not ranging,
She should soon be my bride,
But alas she is changing
And turns with the tide.
Having ruined many
By her false heart alone,
She's not constant to any
But can love more than one.

10. Since I find out her folly,
I'll no longer repine,
But will strive to be jolly
With a glass of rich wine.
No longer about her
Will I troubled be.
I can now live without her.
Let her go, farewell she.

11. Though I am forsaken,
Yet she is forsworn;
Yet she is mistaken
If she think that I'll mourn.
I'll set as slightly by her,
As e'er she did me,
And for ever will deny her.
Let her go, farewell she.

Printed for P. Busby, J. Deacon, J. Blare and J. Back.