The two Unfortunate Lovers:
OR, THE
Flintshire 'SQUIRE and Shropshire MAID's Misfortunes,
as you shall find in this following Treatise.
Tune of, The Ruined Virgin : or, Franklin is fled away. Licens'd according to Order.
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I N Flint-shire liv'd, we hear, a 'Squire young,
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Who wrong'd a Damsel dear, by his fair Tongue,
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The solemn Vows he made,
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Her yielding Heart betray'd,
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So that she soon was laid, low in the Grave.
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In her fair Beauty bright, he did pretend
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To place his whole delight, never did Friend
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Such Protestations make,
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That he would never break
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His Vows, but freely take her for his Bride.
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Set not your Love on me, kind Sir, she said,
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Who am of low Degree, a silly Maid,
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Unworthy of the place,
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Ladies you may embrace,
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Of a right noble Race, therefore forbear.
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No Lady in the Land I love like thee,
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Though thousands at command, all's one to me,
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Thy Charms are manifold,
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Beyond the price of Gold;
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Grant Love, and then, behold, I ask no more.
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Such honourable Love, who could deny,
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Thinking he'd loyal prove, she did reply,
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By all the Powers divine,
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My Heart I do resign,
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In Wedlock to be thine, while Life doth last.
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So soon as she did yield, Joys to compleat,
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Their loyal Love they sea[r]'d with kisses sweet,
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Never to prove unkind,
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But bear a faithful Mind,
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But yet at last we find, ruin'd was she.
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Now when his Parents knew their true intent,
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They in a Passion grew, for to prevent
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Their league of Loyalty,
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The Lovers then did cry,
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Alas! where shall we fly for refuge now?
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The young Man then reply'd, To London go,
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Where thou shalt be my Bride, and likewise know
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That I will follow thee,
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In Love and Loyalty;
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Thus they did both agree, like Lovers kind.
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Then to fair London -town, straight she was brought,
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Like one of high Renown with pleasure frought;
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But her unhappy State,
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Prov'd most unfortunate,
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As I shall here relate, therefore attend.
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He never follow'd her as it appears,
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Though she had Travel'd far, therefore her Tears,
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In multitudes did flow,
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So that in Grief and Woe,
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She cry'd, My Overthrow now is at hand.
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His coming not to Town, like a keen Dart,
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Straitways did cast her down, so that her Heart
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Soon was with Sorrow broke,
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Death gave the fatal Stroke
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As this last word she spoke, Dearest, farewel.
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In Saint Martins she dy'd, near to White-hall ,
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Where loyal Lovers cry'd to see her Fall;
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Her last lamenting Moan,
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To such a highth was grown,
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That any Heart of Stone needs must relent.
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