Love Overthrown.
The Young Man's Misery;
And the
MAIDS RUINE;
Being a true Relation, How a beautiful Hereford-shire
Damsel (who coming to live in London, and being greatly Beloved by her
Masters Son) was, by her Mistress, sold to Virginia: And of the great La-
mentation her Disconsolate Lover makes for her.
The Tune is, All happy times when free from Love, etc.
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THere was a Maiden fair and clear,
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The which came out of Herefordshire,
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A Serving Maid now for to be,
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That fitted best to her degree.
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Her skin the Lilly did invite,
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To try which was the better white;
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Her cheeks were of Vermilion red,
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Like fragrant Beds of Roses spread.
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At length this fair Damsel came
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As Servant to live in the Strand,
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With a Tradesman of great renown,
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Whose wealth and riches did abound.
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This Tradesman had a youthful Son,
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Whose heart to love had not begun;
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But pritty Betty was so fair,
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She soon did draw his heart in snare.
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He often-times did Betty try,
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But she always did him deny,
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Saying, Good Sir, it is in Vain,
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My honour you shall never stain.
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One Night he watching of his time,
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He unto Betty told his mind,
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How that he dearly did her love,
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And nothing sure could it remove.
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Therefore my dearest Dear (quoth he)
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If that thou wilt consent with me,
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On Sunday next, to end all strife,
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My Dearest thou shalt be my wife
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His mother chanced them to hear,
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Who hid her self in a Place near,
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She strait resolved in her mind,
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To frustrate her son's design
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Then in the morning she did say,
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Come Betty dress you speedily,
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For in the Country you must go
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With me for one day or two.
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And so away she did her bring,
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Unto a Captain of her Kin,
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Whose Ship that time lay in the Downs
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And he was for Virginia bound.
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And so away this Damsel's gone
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Unto Virginia, sailing on.
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O Heavens unto her prove kind,
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And grant she may some comfort find.
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But when her Mistress was come home,
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You are welcome mother, said her Son,
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But where is Betty now I pray,
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That she so long behind doth stay.
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I understand my Son, quoth she,
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How great your love is to Betty;
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But your Designs are all in vain,
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For Betty's sailing on the main.
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And now this Young-man's grown so sad,
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No sort of mirth can make him glad;
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But oft in slumbering sleep doth cry,
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O Betty, Betty, I must die.
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