The BRIDESs BURIAL.
Tune of The Ladys Fall.
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COME mourn, come mourn with me,
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You loyal lovers all,
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Lament my loss in weeping woe,
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Whom griping grief doth thrall.
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Like to the drooping vine,
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Cut by the gardeners knife;
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Even so my heart with sorrow slain,
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Doth bleed for my sweet wife.
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By death, that grisly ghost,
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My turtle dove is slain;
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And I am left unhappy man!
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To spend my days in vain.
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Her beauty, late so bright,
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Like roses in their prime,
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I wasted [l]ike the summers snow,
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By force of Phebus shine.
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Her fair and colourd cheeks,
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Now pale, and wan h[e]r eyes,
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Which late did shine like christal stars,
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Al[a]s! their light it dies.
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Her petty lilly hands,
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With fingers long and small,
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In colour like the earthly clay,
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Yea, cold and stiff withal.
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When as the morning-star
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Her golden gates had spread,
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And the bright glittering sun arose
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Forth from fair Thetis bed.
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Then did my lover wake,
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Most like a lilly flower,
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And as the lovely queen of May,
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So shone she in her bower.
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Attired was she then
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Like Flora in her pride;
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As fair as any of Dianas nynphs,
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So lookd my lovely bride.
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And as fair Helens face
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Gave Grecian dames the lurch,
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So did my dear exceed in sight
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All virgins in the church.
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When we had knit the knot
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Of holy wed[l]ocks band,
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Like alabaster joind to jet,
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So stood we hand in hand.
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When, lo? a chilling cold
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Struck every vital part,
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And griping grief, like pangs of death,
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Seizd on my true loves heart.
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Down in a swoon she fell,
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As cold as any stone;
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Like Venus picture lacking life,
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So was my love brought home.
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At length the rosy red,
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Throughout her comely face,
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As Phebus beams with watery clouds
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Are coverd for a space.
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When with a grievous groan,
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And voice both hoarse and dry,
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Farewel, said she, my loving friend,
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For I this day must die.
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The messenger of God,
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With golden trump, I see,
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With many other angels more,
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Who sound and call for me.
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Instead of music sweet
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Go toil my passing-boll,
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And with sweet flowers strew my grave,
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Which in my chamber smell.
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Strip off my bright array,
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My cork shoes from my feet;
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And, gentle mother, be so kind
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To bring my winding-sheet.
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My wedding dinner dress,
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Bestow upon the poor,
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And on the hungry, needy, maimd,
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Which beggeth at the door.
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Instead of virgins young,
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My bride-maids for to be,
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Go cause some curious carpenter,
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To make a chest for me.
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My bride laces of silk
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Bestowd on maidens meek,
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May fitly serve when I am dead,
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To tie my hands and feet.
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And thou, my lover true,
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My husband, an my friend,
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Let me intreat you here to stay
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Until my life doth end.
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Now leave to talk of love,
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And humbly on your knee,
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Direct your prayers unto God,
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But moan no more for me.
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In love, as we have livd,
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In love too, let us part;
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And as a token of my love,
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Do kiss thee with my heart.
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Oh? staunch those briny tears.
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Your weeping is in vain.
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I am not lost, for we in Heaven
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One day shall meet again.
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With that she turnd aside,
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As one disposd to sleep,
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And as a lamb departed life,
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While friends did sorely weep.
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Her true love seeing this,
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Did fetch a grievous groan,
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As tho his heart was burst in twain,
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And thus he made his moan.
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O dismal, and unhappy day?
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A day of grief and care:
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Which hath bereft the sun so high,
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Whose beams refresh the air.
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Now woe unto the world,
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And all that therein dwell.
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Oh? that I were with thee in Heaven,
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For now I live in Hell.
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And now this lover lives
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A discontented life;
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Whose Bride was brought unto the grave,
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A maiden and a wife.
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A garland fresh and fair,
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Of lillies there was made.
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In sign of her virginity,
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And on her coffin laid.
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Six maidens all in white
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Did bear her to the ground;
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The bells did ring in solemn sort,
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And made a doleful sound.
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In earth they laid her then,
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For hungry worms a prey.
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So shall the fairest face alive
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At length be brought to clay.
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