The Constancy of True Love,
OR,.
An Excellent Relation of the Untimely Death of
Two Faithfull Lovers.
To the tune of Downe by a Forrest
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IN that faire fragrant month of May,
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When earth her curtaines doth display,
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I did by chance my corps repose
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Upon a banke, which Woods did close,
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With greene and leavy bowres about;
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A place to shunne the teadious rout
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Of Tibs and Toms, for this intent,
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This flowrie seat I did frequent.
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Nature had strove to shew her feate
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In the composure of this seat;
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For in a Valley plaine was found,
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This place by hills incircled round.
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Both lofty Beech and Cedars tall
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Did shelter this rich Silvan hall.
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Heere Satires and the Naiades,
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Here Silvans and the Driades,
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Here rurall gods and tripping Nymphs,
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Did bath their corps in the pure lymphs,
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And christal streams which made a noise
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In compassing this place of joyes.
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No fairer place nor Fountaine found
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Dian with golden tresses crownd,
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And Lad[y-]guarded in this seate,
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the wihstling wind coold summers heat
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Here the nine Muses usde to dance,
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Here the kind graces usde to prance;
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Here Phaebe his warbling harpe did tune,
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The lifesome monthes of May & June.
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Here Philomel tund melody,
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Hither the chirping birds did fly,
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Here Thrush & blackbird from their throats
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straind divers sundry pleasant notes.
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Here the Nymph Eccho in hollow ground
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Did the last syllable resound;
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What harbour could the world spare
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more trim, more neat, more sweet more rare?
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Here as I sate musing alone,
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Me thought I heard one grieve and groane,
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Ah me poore wretch, this creature said,
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Whereat my senses grew afraid.
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I started looking here and there,
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To viewe the subject of this feare:
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A Lady object to mine eyes,
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I found the effect of all these cryes;
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I hasted to enquire the cause
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Which did her weeping eyes amaze:
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Behold, quoth shee, my Love (alas)
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Whose crimson blood here dyes the grasse.
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The sweetest creature here lyeth dead,
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That famous Europe ever bred;
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I have my wronged Lover slaine,
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His death shall be the death of twaine.
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I praid her then for to relate,
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The cause of his untimely fate;
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She then scarse fetching of her breath,
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Beginnes the Story of his death.
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Blinde Cupid (quoth she) with his dart,
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In tender yeares did wound his heart,
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Made subject to the love of me,
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An actor of this tragedie.
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His heart and mind together tried,
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His love and mine together tied,
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Our parents sought to crosse our will,
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But we continued constant still.
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Though time the disadvantage gave,
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And we no place for love could have,
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Yet still we sought to recompence,
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Love with true love without offence.
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We dwelt in neighbouring houses nie,
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And getting conference thereby;
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We did appoint under this tree
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To meet but disapointed bee.
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The second part, To the same tune.
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WHen bright Aurora peeped out,
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And Phaebus newly lookd about,
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I first (according to my vow)
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made haste unto this plighted bough:
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Heere as I stayed for my Love,
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Whose comming over-late did prove,
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A Lyon with with inhumane pawes,
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Came to that well to coole his jawes.
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His mouth was all with blood besmeard,
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This instrument of Death I feard,
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I fled to hide my selfe for feare,
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And left behind my mantle there.
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The Lyon having sl[a]kd his thirst,
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Ran where I left my garment first,
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But when hee saw no place for prey,
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He fould with blood my Liverie:
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And having musied thus the same,
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Thither he went whence first he came:
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But I knew not that hee was gone,
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And therefore stayd I hid alone.
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In the meane time (Oh griefe) came hee,
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Who promisd had to meet with mee,
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And under this our plighted bough,
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He sought performance of our vow.
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Hee found not mee, but found my Coat,
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All bloudied by the Lyons throat,
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Which when he saw with bloud belayd,
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My absence made him sore afraid:
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What should he thinke, but that some beast,
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Upon my carkasse made his Feast:
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He thought that the grim Lyons whelpe,
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Devoured mee being voyd of helpe.
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While hee these events thus did brooke,
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The instrument of death he tooke,
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A naked sword, which by his side,
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Ready for Combats hee had tyed:
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I have, quoth hee, wrought my Loves death,
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The end of her shall end my breath,
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And thereupon thrust to the hilt
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His sword, and thus his blood he spilt.
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That the first Passenger might know,
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The dismall events of this woe,
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He wrote and pinnd a note thereof,
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Upon his Hatt to shew the proofe:
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Which I being voyd of feare at last,
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And thinking all the danger past,
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Returning from that hideous bed,
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Whereto I from the Lyon fled,
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I found this Copie of his death,
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And his dead carkasse voyd of breath:
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No sobs, no sighes, no griefes, no groanes,
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No trickling teares, no mournfull moanes,
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No ejaculations, no cries,
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No dolefull Dittie, or Elegies,
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Shall serve for to bewaile his end,
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Which for my love his life did spend.
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In life his love did mee pursue,
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But by his death hee provd it true:
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If he then for my sake did die,
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As much for him wh[y] should not I?
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Since death hath us denied our right,
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Then friendly death shall us unite,
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And I will follow him in haste,
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Who thought he followed me being past.
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These words assoone as shee had spoke,
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Shee gave her selfe a deadly stroke:
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She drew the sword out of his breast,
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And in her owne the same shee thrust.
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And as in life their hearts were one,
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So are their lives together gone,
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In spight of parents, time or place,
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Fond love will runne his wished race.
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Thus have you heard a Tragedy
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Acted by lovers constancy,
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God send such lovers better speed,
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Where fervency true Love doth breed.
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