Love Overthrown.
The Young Man's Misery;
And the
MAID'S RUINE:
Being a True Relation, How a Beautiful Hereford-shire Damsel
(who coming to Live in London , and being greatly Beloved by
her Master's Son) was, by her Mistress, Sold to Virginia : And
of the Great Lamentation her Disconsolate Lover makes for her.
To the Tune of 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 Hereford-shire,
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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 Lillie 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 oftentimes 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 slumbring Sleep doth cry,
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O Betty, Betty, I must Dye!
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