Two unfortunate Lovers, or, a true Relation of the
lamentable end of John True, and Susan Mease.
Their lives this Ditty doth relate,
And how they dyd unfortunate.
To the tune of, The Brides Buriall.
|
ATtend you lovers and give eare,
|
unto my mournefull song,
|
Of two that loved faithfully,
|
yet each did other wrong.
|
At Coventry in Warwickshire,
|
this young man he did dwell,
|
His name John True a Shooe-maker,
|
and livd of it full well.
|
At Corley did this maiden dwell,
|
three miles from Coventry:
|
Yet for the love he bare to her,
|
oft times he would her see.
|
And comming unto her one day,
|
he told to her his mind:
|
Susan, quoth he, I love thee deare,
|
be not to me unkind.
|
If thou canst love and fancy me,
|
in heart and eke in mind:
|
I will prove loving unto thee,
|
and never be unkind.
|
Thy cheerefull looks rejoyce my heart,
|
and merry make my mind:
|
Sweet Susan then love me againe,
|
be not to me unkind.
|
Good John I thank you for your love,
|
and wish ye t home to tarry,
|
I am too young for you to wed,
|
and have no mind mary.
|
Where you doe dwell are Maids good store,
|
of beauty faire and free,
|
Set not your love upon me then,
|
for I cannot love thee.
|
This answer struck him to the heart,
|
as cold as any stone:
|
Then homewards straight he did re-paire,
|
with many a sigh and grone.
|
Wishing that he had nere bin borne,
|
or in his cradle dyd,
|
Unhappy man to love so true,
|
and yet to be denyd.
|
Quoth he, I will to her againe,
|
and heare what she doth say;
|
It may be she may be more kind,
|
though first she said me nay.
|
Then comming to the towne againe,
|
he sent for her straight way,
|
Desiring her to speake with him,
|
but she did it denay.
|
Then did he sigh, lament and grieve,
|
and knew not what to say,
|
Then did he take his pen in hand,
|
and writ these words straight way;
|
My hearts delight and onely joy,
|
kill not me with disdaine,
|
Vouchsafe that I may speak with thee
|
and rid me of my paine.
|
Resolve me sweetest I thee pray,
|
why is thy hatred such?
|
I know no cause, unlesse it be
|
for loving thee too much.
|
As is my name so is my love,
|
sweet Susan unto thee:
|
True is my name, true is my love,
|
and ever so shall be.
|
My love is loyall just and good,
|
kill me not with disdaine,
|
Rather doe me that courtesie,
|
to love for love againe.
|
When she had read and understood,
|
his mind and his intent,
|
She then began to like and love,
|
and yeeld him hearts content,
|
John I am thine, if thou beest mine,
|
for ever and for aye,
|
It was to prove thy constancy,
|
that I did say thee nay.
|
But heres my hand, my heart & love
|
Ile nere thee more deny,
|
My love is constant firme and true,
|
and shall be till I dye.
|
Then they imbracd each others love,
|
and joyd in heart and voyce,
|
That he of her, and she of him,
|
had made so sweet a choise.
|
But fortune which doth often frowne,
|
where she before did smile,
|
The mans delight and maidens joy,
|
full soone she did beguile.
|
|
|
|
|
The second Part, to the same tune.
|
WHen she was setled in her love,
|
then he would change his mind,
|
And for to try her constancy,
|
would be to her unkind.
|
And thus resolved in his mind,
|
hed come to her no more,
|
But went and wood another maid,
|
which grievd her heart full sore.
|
(Quoth he) she proved unto me,
|
hard-hearted and unkind,
|
But now her true love I have woon,
|
Ile beare the selfe same mind.
|
When she perceivd his love to her,
|
not as twas wont to be,
|
She did lament, sigh, weep and grieve
|
and then these words spake she.
|
False-hearted man adue, quoth she,
|
disloyall and unkind,
|
And if I dye for love of thee,
|
thou shalt not know my mind.
|
Woe to the time I did beleeve,
|
that flattering looke of thine,
|
Would God that I had never seene,
|
the teares of thy false eyne.
|
Hard hap had I to set my love,
|
on one that mocked me,
|
Sure all the countrey doth not yeeld,
|
a man so false as he.
|
Thus was she brought to weak estate
|
all comforts from her fled,
|
She did desire to speake with him,
|
before that she was dead.
|
Her friends did seek to cheere her heart
|
and to make glad her mind,
|
But she was kild with loving him,
|
that provd to her unkind.
|
False-hearted man, may never maid
|
love thee as I have done,
|
But may my death remembred be,
|
to time that is to come.
|
And may all maids example take,
|
by this my mournefull death,
|
And now sweet Lord receive my soule
|
to thee I yeeld my breath.
|
Thus dyd the patterne of true love,
|
thus dyd a vertuous maid,
|
Thus dyd as good a harmelesse Lasse
|
as ever Love betrayd.
|
Six maids in white as custome is,
|
did bring her to the grave,
|
Her parents grieve, lament & mourn,
|
no child at all they have.
|
When as her Lover understood,
|
for truth that she was dead,
|
He ragd, and ready was to teare
|
his haire from off his head.
|
But when he came into the towne,
|
whereas his Love lay,
|
He straightway ran unto her grave,
|
and these words there did say.
|
Susan (quoth he) Ile kisse thy grave,
|
upon my bended knee,
|
Whereby Ile shew to all the world,
|
how deare I loved thee.
|
And as he lay upon the grave,
|
he heard a voyce to say,
|
John True if ere thou lovdst m[e] deare,
|
make hast and come away.
|
Then started he up from the grave,
|
and stood like one strucke dumb,
|
But when he had regaind his speech,
|
he cryed, I come, I come.
|
And thus like one out of his wits,
|
he ragd in piteous sort,
|
That all the neighbours presently,
|
were grievd at this report.
|
And thus with sorrow & grief of heart,
|
he lay a whole fortnight:
|
But when he had confest his fault,
|
he yeelded up his spright.
|
According to his hearts desire,
|
and as he did request,
|
They digd his grave, & laid him down
|
by her whom he lovd best.
|
You yong men all that have true loves
|
prove true unto your friend,
|
And if you love, be sure your love
|
be true unto the end.
|
And thus I end my story true,
|
so full of griefe and woe.
|
May never any seeke againe,
|
to wrong each other so.
|
|
|
|
|