Looking-glass for Maids:
OR,
The Downfal of two most Desperate Lovers.
Henry Hartlove and William Martin, both late living in the Isle of Wight, who for the love of Ann
Scarborow a beautiful Virgin, she having made her self sure to one of them, and afterwards fell off
to the other, they challenged the field, where after a cruel fight, they were mortally Wounded
and found dead on the place by the forementioned Maiden, who bestowed many tears on their bo-
dies, and buried them in one Grave.
Tune is, Aim not too High.
And now she lives in grief and sad distress,
Wishing all Lovers true more happiness.
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UNhappy I who in the prime of youth,
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Unkind to him with whom I broke my truth
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Mark well my words you that are maids & wives
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I was the cause that two men lost their lives.
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Ith Isle of Wight, Ann Scarborow was my name
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There did I live in credit, wealth and fame,
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My Parents rich, I nothing then did lack,
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But grace and truth, the which did go to wrack.
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A Gentleman a Suitor to me came,
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With whom I might have livd a gallant dame,
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But wantonness and pride did seize my heart,
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Was sure to him, and yet from him did part.
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He broke a piece of gold and gave it me,
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Then did I seemingly to him agree,
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But, O, my heart was never rightly placd
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Another man I afterward imbracd.
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Which when he knew, he fell into despair,
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He beat his breast, and tore his curled hair:
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A who would trust a Woman, then said he,
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That seldome are what they do seem to be.
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Now I do find that all a man can do,
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His best endeavours makes not women true,
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Yet he that hath an interest in your heart,
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Shall buy you dearly, fore that we do part.
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Then came the other, whom I lovd so well,
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But now behold a heavy hap befel,
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When first my Love his Rival had beheld,
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He cast his glove and challengd him the field.
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To answer him the other thought it fit,
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He said he ner was known a Coward yet:
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He for my favour then so much did strive,
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He said hed fight with any man alive.
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Next morning then these Gentlemen did meet,
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And manfully they did each other greet,
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Each other wounded in most piteous sort,
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Ere any man unto them did resort.
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At last they made a strong and desperate close,
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Both fell to ground and never after rose,
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Curst be the place where these brave men did fall,
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And curst be I who was the cause of all.
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When word was brought to me I quickly went,
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But ere I came their lives alass was spent,
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Then did I tear the hair from off my head,
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And wisht a thousand times that I were dead.
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When I came there these gallants then I found,
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Both of them liveless bleeding on the ground,
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My conscience told me I was cause of this,
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Sweet Jesus now forgive me my amiss.
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I buried them and laid them in one grave,
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God grant their souls a resting place may have,
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More rest then I, whose restless conscience now
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Accuses me for breaking of my vow.
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If I walk near the place where now they lye,
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It troubleth my mind exceedingly,
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If to the place where they did fight I go,
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It fills my guilty consciene full of woe.
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If I to Bed do go, I cannot sleep,
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And if I do, my dreams do make me Weep;
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Methinks I see them bleeding in my sight,
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My thoughts by day, and eke my dreams by night.
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My rich apparel I have laid a side,
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My cloth of gold, and other things of Pride,
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In Sable will I mourn while I have breath
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And every day expect and look for death.
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A dead mans skull my silver Cup shall be,
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In which ile drink, too good a cup for me,
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Instead of meat, on Roots and Herbs ile feed
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To put me still in mind of my foul Deed.
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You woody Nymphs that welcome in the Spring,
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Come hear a discontented Virgin Sing;
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O that I might my time now with you spend,
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In silent Groves, until my life doth end.
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You Country Maids, in Country, and in City,
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That now have heard my discontented Ditty,
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Be constant, ever true to one alone,
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For if you prove false it will soon be known.
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If you will know where sorrow doth abide
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Repair to me, no other place beside,
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Grief and despair doth daily now attend me,
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& there is nought but death that can befriend me.
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This discontented Damsel now she keeps
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Her Chamber, where she sits and dayly weeps
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And suffers none to come to her, tis said,
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But onely one, and thats her fathers Maid.
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The meat and Drink her Father to her sends,
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She sends the poor, the which she calls her friends;
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She feeds on roots, and Herbs, and such Like things
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sometims on bread, which she counts food for Kings.
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See here the fruits of wantonness and pride,
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O let us pray that God may be our guide,
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Theres few of us but have our time ill spent,
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So well brought up, that do so well repent.
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You Damsels all, now have a special care,
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Forget not her, that did these things declare;
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Be to your Sweet-hearts ever just and true,
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And so fair Maids she bids you all adieu.
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