The desperate Damsells Tragedy.
OR
The faithlesse young man.
To the tune of Dulcina.
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IN the gallant month of June,
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When sweet roses are in prime,
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And each bird with a severall tune,
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Harmoniously salutes the time:
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then to delight,
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my appetite
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I walkt into a meddow faire,
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and in a shade
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I spyed a maide
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Whose love had brought her to dispaire.
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She her hands sate sadly wringing
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Making piteous exclamation,
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Upon a false Young man for bringing
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Her into this great vexation:
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Quoth she false youth,
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Is there no truth,
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In thee, of Faith hast thou no share?
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no thou hast none,
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tis to well knowne:
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By me poore wretch now in despaire
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How oftentimes hast thou protested
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That thou lovest me well indeed?
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And I performed what was requested,
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Two much trust my woe doth breed:
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I let thee have
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what thou didst crave,
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Seduced by thy speeches faire,
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and having had,
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thy will false lad,
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At last thou leftst me in despaire.
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My dearest Jewell thou hast taken,
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Which should stand me in great stead,
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And now thou hast me quite forsaken,
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And art like false AEneas fled,
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from Dido true:
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what can insue,
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This faithles deed? but to end my care,
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like her a knife,
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must end my life
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For I like her am in despaire.
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Then sith tis so, come gentle death,
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I yeeld my selfe unto thy power,
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Most willing to resigne my breath,
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I am this instant time and howre:
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let thy keene dart,
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such force impart
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That I may die, oh doe not spare,
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from earth I came,
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and willing am,
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Hence to returne with grim despaire:
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When she these bitter words had spoken
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From her minde so fraught with woe,
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Her heart was in her bosome broken
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Teares aboundantly did flow,
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from h[e]r faire eyes,
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then to the skies,
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She did direct her hands with prayer,
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and seemd to move,
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the powrs above,
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To scourge the cause of her despaire.
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The second part, To the same tune.
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YOu Gods (quoth she) I invocate,
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That as your judgements still are just,
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My wrongs I pray you vindicate,
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Oh may no Mayde that young man trust:
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henceforth may he
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so wretched be,
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That none for him at all shall care,
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but that he may
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for his foule play,
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Be brought like me to grim despaire.
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Having made an end of praying,
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Suddenly shee drew a knife,
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And I that neere unseene was staying,
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Ran in hast to save her life,
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but ere that I
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to her could cry,
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That her owne life she might forbeare,
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shee Dido-like
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her heart did strike,
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Thus dyde the Damsell in despaire.
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With such force her selfe she stabbed,
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Blood ranne out abundantly,
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My heart within my bosome throbbed,
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To behold this Tragedy;
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Yet though she bled,
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she was scarce dead,
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But gasping lay with her last ayre,
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and unto me
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shee spake words three,
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Which shewed the cause of her despaire.
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Sir (quoth she) muse not to see me
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Desperatly my selfe to slay,
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For his fatall stroake doth free me
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From disgrace another way:
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My honours dead,
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my credits fledd,
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Why therefore should I live in care:
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this being spoke,
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her heart strings broke,
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Thus dyed the Damsell in despaire.
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When death had done his worst unto her,
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I did wishly on her looke,
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And by her favour I did know her.
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Therefore I my Journey tooke
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Unto the Towne,
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where shee was knowne,
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And to her friends I did declare
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what dismall fate
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had hapt of late,
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Unto this Damsell in despaire.
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With brinish teares her friends lamented,
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To heare of her timelesse end,
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And every one in griefe consented,
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And with me along did wend
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Unto the place
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where lay that face,
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That late alive was fresh and faire,
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now wanne and pale
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cause life did faile,
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Her life she ended in despaire.
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When this was told to her false Lover,
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He was of his wits bestraught,
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And wildly ran the Country over,
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Home heed by no meanes be brought:
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Let this Tale then
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warne all young men,
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Unconstancy still to forbeare,
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For he betraide
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this harmelesse Mayde
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Unto her death through grim despaire,
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