The distressed Virgin:
OR,
The false Young-man, and the constant Maid,
The qualities of them both displaid.
To an excellent new Tune.
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A Thousand times my love commend,
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to him that hath my heart in hold,
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I tooke him for my dearest friend,
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his Love I more esteemd than Gold.
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When that mine did eyes see his face,
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and that mine cares had heard his voyce,
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His Love I freely did embrace,
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my heart told me he was my choice.
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O had he still continued true,
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and in affection permanent,
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Had hee performed what was due,
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then had I found true hearts content:
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But hee, regardlesse of his vow,
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which he did make to me before,
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Hath thus in sorrow left me now,
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my former follies to deplore.
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Would I had never seene those eyes,
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that (like attractive Adamants)
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Did my poore heart with love surprize,
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the power of love so me enchants.
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I have no power to leave his love,
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though with sterne hate he me pursue.
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To him I will most constant prove,
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though he be faithlesse and untrue.
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I put my finger unto the bush,
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thinking the sweetest Rose to find,
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I prickt my finger to the bone,
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and yet I left the Rose behind:
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If Roses be such prickling flowers,
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they must be gathered when thare green,
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But she that loves an unkind Love,
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alas, she rowes against the streame.
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Oh, would he but conceive aright,
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the griefe that I for him sustaine,
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He could not chuse but change his spight
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to faithfull love, and leave disdaine.
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I love to have him still in place,
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his too long absence makes me mourne,
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Yet he disdaines to see my face,
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and holds my company in scorne.
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It grieves my heart full sore to thinke,
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that he whom I so dearely love,
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Should thus refuse with me to drinke,
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yet can my passion nere remove:
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Though he, I know, could wish my death,
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so great is his inveterate hate,
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Yet I could sooner lose my breath,
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than see him wrongd in name or state.
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Ill hap had I to come in place,
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where first I saw his tempting looke,
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As soone as I beheld his face,
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I Cupids prisoner straight was tooke:
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And never since that fatall houre
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I have enjoyed one minutes rest,
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The thought of him is of such power,
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it never can forsake my brest.
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Then was I strucke with Cupids Dart,
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then was my fancie captivated,
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Then did I vow that still my heart
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should rest with him though me he hated:
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Then did he make a shew of love,
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which did much more my heart enflame,
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But now he doth perfidious prove,
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and gives me cause his love to blame.
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The second part, To the same tune.
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NAy more, he made a vow to me,
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that I should be his wedded wife,
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And he forsakes me now I see,
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which makes me weary of my life:
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I little thought what now I finde,
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that Youngmen could dissemble so,
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Sure hes the falsest of his kinde,
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ill hap have I to prove him so.
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Could any man be so hard hearted,
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to leave a harmelesse Maid in griefe:
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From me all comfort cleane is parted,
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unlesse his favour grant reliefe.
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Hee is the man that bred my paine,
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he is the man whose love alone
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Must be the salve to cure my paine,
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or else my life will soone be gone.
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O faithlesse wretch, consider well
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that Heaven abhorreth perjury:
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Great torments are prepard in Hell
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for them that thus will sweare and lye.
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Oh hadst thou never made a show
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of love, thou hadst excusd thy blame:
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But thy false heart full well doth know
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what oaths thy perjurd tongue did frame.
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That obstacle that hinders me
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is that which I suspect full sore:
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His fruit growes on some other tree,
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and hes seduced by some whore:
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Or else he hath some other Lasse,
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perhaps like me, a harmlesse Maid,
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Whom he may bring to such a passe,
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as I am brought by Cupids aide.
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Oh Heavens forbid that any one,
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that beares an honest loving mind,
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Should thus have cause to grieve and moan,
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for such a knave that shames his kind,
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But why should I as passions move,
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with bitter words upon him raile,
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Whom I am ever bound to love,
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untill my vitall spirits faile.
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Sweet Love forgive my lavish tongue,
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if I offend in any sort:
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To recompence thee for that wrong,
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Ile alwayes give thee good repo[r]t,
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Although to me thou art unkind,
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who never gave thee any cause:
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Yet I am still resolvd in mind,
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never to breake God Cupids Lawes.
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And if I never be thy wife,
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(which is the thing I justly claime)
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I vow to live a single life,
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and never thinke of Lovers game.
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But why speake I of life, when death
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doth every minute claime his due?
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I cannot long retaine my breath,
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having a Lover so untrue.
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Let all true Lovers judge aright,
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in what a case poore soule am I:
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Come gentle death, and worke thy spight,
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for now I am prepard to dye:
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O Heaven forgive my Love his wrong,
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done unto me a Maiden pure,
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Who for his sake must dye ere long,
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for long my life cannot endure.
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