The Ruined Lovers.
Being a Narrative of a Young Man that dyed for his cruel Mistris, in June
last, who not long after his death, upon consideration of his entire affecti-
on and her own coyness, could not be comforted, but lingred out her
days in Melancholly, fell desperate sick, and so dyed.
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MArs shall to Cupid now submit,
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for he hath gain'd the Glory,
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You that in Love were never yet,
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attend unto my Story:
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For it is new, 'tis strange and true,
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as ever age afforded,
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A Tale more sad you never had,
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in any Book Recorded.
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A Young-man lately lov'd a Maid,
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more then his life and fortune,
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And in her ears the same convey'd,
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for thus he did importune:
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Dear pitty me, the Lover cry'd,
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sweet let thy heart come to me,
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And often said unto the Maid,
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love me or you'l undo me.
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I never was ingag'd before,
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I must and will be true to thee,
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Love never made me cry and roar,
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until I saw thy Beauty:
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No creature could of flesh and blood,
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bring more delight unto me,
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Which makes me cry perpetually,
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love me or you'l undo me.
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He made addresses to the Maid,
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and proffer'd to advance her,
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I cannot love thee, then she said,
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pray take it for an Answer:
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In many ways he sung her praise,
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love shot his Arrow through me,
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Why did not he, do so to thee,
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love me, etc.
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She made him such a strange reply,
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he durst no more come near her,
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Quoth he, I will go home and dye,
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since there is nothing dearer:
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They joys of all the Christian world,
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(saith he) are nothing to me,
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'Tis Death only can set me free,
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love me, etc.
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He took his Bed, he rag'd and burn'd,
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sure this must grieve her ever.
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His scorching love was quickly turn'd
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into a burning Feaver:
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And then he dy'd, but first he cry'd,
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O will she not come to me?
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Then sheds a Tear, his last words were,
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love me or you'l undo me.
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To the same Tune.
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THe Virgin when she heard the news,
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was very greatly troubled,
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And when the Coffin'd Corps she views,
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her woes are all redoubled:
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And hast thou dy'd for me, she cry'd,
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thou hast in love o're-run me,
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Too late I may thus sadly say,
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thy death hath quite undone me.
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Had I a thousand worlds, I would
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give them all to restore thee,
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For I am guilty of thy Blood,
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how dare I stand before thee?
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I am a Murdress, woe is me,
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let all true lovers shun me,
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And I must cry until I dye,
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thy death, etc.
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It is in vain for me to live,
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thy memory will haunt me,
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I only have a short reprieve,
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thy sorrows daily daunt me:
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Where-ever thy dead Corps do lye,
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since thou by death hast won me,
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I will be laid a wooful Maid,
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thy death, etc.
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With that the tears fell from her eyes,
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she could not longer bear it,
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For Love and Death did Tyrannize,
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she had great cause to fear it:
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Pray have me home to Bed, she cry'd,
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my sorrows over-run me:
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I am rewarded for my Pride,
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thy death, etc.
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She took her Bed, and in her head
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a thousand frantick Dreams are,
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Sadly she lies, and in her eyes
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a hundred flowing streams are:
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What wretched Soul am I? cry'd she,
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O whither am I going?
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Poor soul (she cry'd) and so she dy'd,
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thy death, etc.
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Let all fair Maids that are in Love,
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by this poor soul take warning.
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Least that like her, you sadly prove,
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the purchase of her scorning:
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Let all by this, mend what's amiss
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before grief over-run ye,
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Least you be forc'd to dye and cry,
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thy death hath quite undone me.
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