The KENTISH Garland.
|
GOOD people now I pray give ear,
|
And also true attention.
|
Unto these lines, which you shall hear,
|
And words which I shall mention.
|
Within this book as I shall write,
|
As true it is reported,
|
How a young squire ruind quite
|
A damsel whom he courted.
|
She was his fathers servant-maid,
|
And daughter to a brazier,
|
He often would her heart invade,
|
At every turn and leisure.
|
With all the argument of love,
|
Which passion might discover,
|
Portesting to the powers above,
|
How dearly he did love her.
|
With modest blushes she replyd,
|
Sir, pray stop your proceeding,
|
For I am no ways qualifyd,
|
Neither for birth nor breeding,
|
You can have choice of ladies,
|
From noble loins descended,
|
Therefore let me alone I pray,
|
Your friends will be offended.
|
Well met, the jewel of my heart,
|
Fear not my friends displeasure,
|
Let who will frown Ill take thy part,
|
And love thee out of measure.
|
No one thats born of noble blood
|
Doth stand within my favour.
|
I honour thee, with what is good,
|
For you I love for ever,
|
With modest blushes she replyd,
|
Sir, stop those fond pretences,
|
For if your friends should it know,
|
Then they would be offended.
|
Discourse to me of love no more,
|
But strive to please your parents,
|
Id rather wed with one thats poor,
|
Than wed to live at variance.
|
Farewel the jewel of my heart,
|
Fear not my friends displeasure;
|
Let who will frown, Ill take thy part,
|
Ill love thee out of measure.
|
Therefore cheer up, my lovely dear,
|
If parents they should slight me,
|
Till I my breath and life resign,
|
Dear jewel I will right thee.
|
Kind sir, you promise more to me,
|
Than can be now expected;
|
While you possess such riches store,
|
Then love may be perfected;
|
But if your parents should now stand
|
Against you with denial,
|
To disinherit you of all,
|
Then there will come the trial.
|
That is the work which they can do,
|
Let them use their pleasure:
|
I must be loyal, just and true,
|
And love thee out of measure,
|
If they would wrong their darling son,
|
For such a poor transgression,
|
Then let them go, when that is done
|
I have a large possession,
|
The which was left to me of late,
|
Twas by a near relation.
|
Let father frown, and mother hate,
|
Im in a happy station:
|
Therefore cheer up my dearest dear,
|
If parents should disdain us.
|
I hope two thousand pounds a year,
|
Will modestly maintain us.
|
These arguments and many more
|
He used to obtain her.
|
She gave consent to wed, wherefore
|
Theres none alive can blame her.
|
For she was made his lawful wife,
|
By their portested marriage,
|
But soon she lost her precious life.
|
By his ungrateful carriage.
|
Unknown to friends and parents dear,
|
This couple they were wedded,
|
And in the space of half a year
|
After they both were bedded,
|
It seemd she proved young with child,
|
Her locks began to show it,
|
Until his friends were reconcild.
|
He would not let them know it,
|
But up to famous London-town,
|
Immediately he brought her,
|
And to behave with modesty
|
And decency he taught her.
|
Much like a youthful lady gay, She seemd, all in her beauty;
|
And while he with her there did stay,
|
He shewd a husbands duty.
|
As they were charmd with mutual love,
|
Which for a season lasted;
|
At length they heard a dismal noise,
|
Which all their pleasure blasted,
|
His parents come to understand,
|
By private Information,
|
That he had lodgings in the Strand,
|
And filld with recreation.
|
They sent a letter full of wrath,
|
And threatnd her with ruin.
|
Which he receivd, whilst she stood by,
|
And at the same stood viewing.
|
Tears from his eyes did flow amain,
|
She asked him the reason:Said he, my friends do me disdain.
|
They both wept for a season.
|
She read these lines as well as he,
|
And found them harsh and cruel:
|
Said she, my dear be kind to me,
|
Be kind my dearest jewel,
|
Let me not suffer for thy sake,
|
Consider my condition.
|
For if you dont, my heart will break,
|
It was not my Ambition
|
To be a lady, well you known,
|
Twas long eer I consented.
|
Why do they seem to threaten so? I strove for to prevent it.
|
But now I am your lawful wife,
|
Which you was pleasd to make me,
|
Your smiles perhaps may save my life,
|
I die if you forsake me.
|
He took her by the hand, and said,
|
My dear, my joy and sweeting,
|
Within my lodgings pray abide,
|
Till our next happy meeting.
|
With kissess sweet and solemn vows,
|
They from each other parted,
|
But grief appeared on her brows,
|
For she was broken-hearted.
|
He promised to take her part,
|
And certainly excuse her,
|
To father, nay, and mother too,
|
That they might not abuse her:
|
To make the matter fair and clear,
|
And in all cases clear her.
|
He went, but neer returnd again,
|
And never more eame near her,
|
But when she came unto the town,
|
They told her he was marryd,
|
To a young lady of renown,
|
With grief she then miscarried.
|
But when his parents came to find,
|
That she was with their neighbour,
|
To whom she did her conscience clear,
|
Within the time of labour,
|
They threatned her with banishment,
|
For tricking of the squire,
|
But fatal death did them prevent,
|
For she did soon expire.
|
But some minutes before she died,
|
In friends and neighbours hearing.
|
She wrung her hands, and weeping said,
|
what is there no appearing?
|
Will you not come near me then?
|
Oh! husband most false-hearted,
|
With just revenge Ill haunt you when
|
My wronged souls departed;
|
Adcordingly as she had said,
|
within three nights after,
|
Come to the room where he laid
|
The wronged braziers daughter.
|
When in the midst of their joy,
|
To their amazing wonder,
|
The room was filld with dreadful noise
|
Like roaring claps of thunder.
|
To crown the stately marriage bed,
|
They saw a flash of fire,
|
And heard a dismal voice that said,
|
Oh! most ungrateful squire.
|
The lady that lies by your side,
|
She shall not long enjoy you,
|
It was I that was your lawful bride,
|
Just vengeance must destroy you:
|
Within her arms like ice or clay,
|
The spirit did unfold him:
|
By force she took him quite away,
|
His lady could not hold him.
|
She shriekd and cryd, but all in vain,
|
For then the spirit gave him
|
That very night his fatal bane,
|
Theres none alive could save him.
|
The lady then rose up with speed,
|
At this sad consternation,
|
Where on his breast they plain did read
|
These words of lamentation.
|
In perfect roman letters blue,
|
This wretch was my undoing,
|
He being false, has brought me to
|
My death and utter ruin.
|
For making me his lawful wife,
|
The deed he then to smother,
|
And for the cursed golden prize,
|
He married with another.
|
His faithless tongue seducd my soul;
|
And easily deceived me,
|
His perjerd words pierced my heard.
|
And of my life bereavd me,
|
Leaving his wife and child to fall,
|
A sacrifice together.
|
He makes a third that caused the ill,
|
So now farewel together.
|
|
|
|
|
|