THE
BRIDE's BURIAL.
To the Tune of The Lady's Fall, etc.
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COME mourn come mourn with me,
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Ye loyal Lovers all;
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Lament my Loss in Weeds of Woe
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whom gripping Death doth thrall:
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Like to the dropping Vine,
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Cut by the Gard'ner's Knife;
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Ev'n 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 laid so bright,
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Like Roses in their Prime,
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Is waisted like the Mountains Snow,
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By Force to Phoebus Shrine.
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Her fair and rosie Cheeks,
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How pale and wan her Eyes,
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That late did shine like Chrystal Stars,
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Alas! their Light now dies;
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Her pretty 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 the Morning Star
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Her golden Gates had spread,
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And that the glist'ning Sun arose
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Forth from fair Thetis Bed;
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Then did my Love awake,
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Most like a Lilly Flower,
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Fair as Diana's Nymphs,
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So look'd my lovely Bride:
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And as fair Hellens Face,
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And as the lovely Queen of Heav'n,
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So shone she in her Brower,
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Attired was she then,
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Like Flora in her Pride,
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Gave Gr[e]cian 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 Wedlock's Band,
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Like Alabaster join'd to Jet,
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So stood we Hand in Hand:
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Then lo! a chilling Cold
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Struck ev'ry vital Part,
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And griping Grief, like Pangs of Death,
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Seiz'd on my true Love's 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 wanting Life,
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So was my Love brought Home:
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At length a rosie Red,
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Throughout her comely Face,
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As Phebus Beams, with wat'ry Clouds,
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O'er covered for a Space.
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Then with a grevious Groan,
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And Voice both hoarse and dry;
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Farewel, quoth she, my loving Friend,
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For I this Day must die:
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The Messenger of Death,
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With golden Trump I see,
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With many other Angels more,
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Which sound and call for me.
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Instead of Musick sweet,
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Go toll my Passing bell;
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And with sweet Flowers strew my Grave,
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That in my Chamber smell:
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Strip off my Bride's Array,
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My Cork Shoes from my Feet,
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And gentle Mother be not slow
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To bring my winding-sheet.
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My Wedding Dinner dress'd,
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Bestow upon the Poor,
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And to the Hungry, Blind, and Maim'd,
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That craveth at the Door:
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Instead of Virgins young,
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My Bride Bed for to see,
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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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Bestow on Maidens meet;
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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 and my Friend,
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Let me intreat thee 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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And mourn no more for me.
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In Love as we have liv'd,
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In Love let us depart;
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And in Token of my Love,
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Kiss thee with all my Heart.
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Oh! stop these bootless Tears,
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Thy weeping is in vain;
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I am not lost, for we in Heaven,
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Shall one Day meet again:
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With that she turn'd aside,
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As one dispos'd to sleep,
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Like to a Lamb departed Life,
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All Friends did sorely weep.
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Her true Love seeing this,
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Did fetch a grevious Groan,
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As though his Heart would burst in two,
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And thus he made his Moan:
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"Oh! dismal mournful Day,
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Day of Grief and Care,
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"That hath bereft the Sun so high,
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beams refresh the Air.
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"Now We unto the World,
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all that therein dwell:
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"Oh! that I were with her in Heaven
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here 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 were 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 Bell 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 will the fairest Face alive,
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At length be brought to Clay.
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Thus do you see by this,
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How frail is Life, and Grace;
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Which bids us all prepare,
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For that bless'd happy Place.
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