The Ruined Lovers.
Being a rare Narrative of a young Man that dyd for his Mistriss in June last, who not
long after his Death, upon consideration of his intire Affection, and her own Coyness,
could not be comforted [but] lingred out her days in Melancholly, fell desperate-sick and
so dyed, To the Tune of, Mock-Beggers Hall stands empty.
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MArs shall to Cupid now submit,
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for he hath gaind the glory,
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You that in love were never yet,
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attend unto my story:
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For it is new, tis strange and true,
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as ever age afforded,
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A tale more sad, you never had,
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in any Books recorded.
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A Young Man lately lovd a Maid,
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more than his life or fortune;
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And in her Ears the same conveyd,
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for thus he did importune:
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Dear pitty me, the lover cryd
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Sweet let thy heart come to me,
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And often said unto the Maid,
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love me or youl undo me.
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I never was engagd before.
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I must and will be true to thee,
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Love never made me cry and roar,
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until I saw thy Beauty
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No creature coud of flesh and blood,
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being more delight unto me;
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Makes me to cry perpetually,
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love me or youl undo me.
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He made Addresses to the Maid,
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and proffered to advance her,
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I cannot love thee, then she said,
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pray take it for an answer:
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In many ways, he sung her praise,
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Love shot his Arrow through me,
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Why did not he, do so to me,
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love me, etc.
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She made him such a strange reply,
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he durst no more come near her,
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Quoth he, I will go home and dye,
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since there is nothing dearer,
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The joys of all the Christian World,
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(saith he) are nothing to me,
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This death only, can set me free,
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love me, etc.
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He took his Bed he ragd and burnd
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sure this must greatly grieve her,
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His scorching love was quickly turnd
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into a burning Feaver:
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And then he dyd, but first he cryd,
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O! will she not come to me:
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Then sheds a tear, his last words were
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love, me or youl undo me.
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THe Virgin when she heard the news
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was very greatly troubled;
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And when the Coffind Corps she views,
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her woes were all redoubled:
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And hast thou dyd for me, she cryd,
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thou hast in love out-run me
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Too late I may, thus sadly say,
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Thy Death hath quite undone me.
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Had I a thousand Worlds, I would
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give them all to restore thee,
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For I am guilty of thy blood,
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how dare I stand before thee,
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I am a Murdress, woe is me,
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let all true lovers shun me,
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And I must cry until I dye,
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thy Death, etc.
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It is in vain for me to live,
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thy memory will haunt me,
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I only have a short reprieve,
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thy sorrows daily daunt me:
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Where-ever thy dead Corps do lye,
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since thou in Death hast won me;
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I will be laid a woful Maid,
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Thy death, etc.
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With that the tears fell from her Eyes,
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she could no longer bear it,
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For love and death doth tyrannize,
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she could no longer bear it:
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Pray have me home to bed, she cryd,
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my sorrows over-rune me,
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I am rewarded for my Pride,
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Thy death, etc.
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She took her bed, and in her hand,
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a thousand frantick Dreams are,
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Sadly she lies, and in her Eyes,
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a hundred flowing streams are:
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What wretched Soul am I, said she,
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O whether am I going:
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Poor Soul she cryd, and so she dyd,
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thy death, etc.
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Let all fair Maids that are in love,
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by this poor Soul take warning,
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Lest that like her, you sadly prove,
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the purchase of her scorning,
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Let all by this mend whats amiss,
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before Grief over-run ye;
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Lest you be forcd to dye and cry,
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thy death hath quite undone me.
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