The Ruined Lovers.
Being a rare Narrative of a young Man that dyed for his cruel Mistriss, in June last, who
not long after his death, upon a consideration of his intire Affection, and her own
coyness, could not be comforted, but lingered out her dayes in Melancholly, fell
desperate sick, and so dyed.
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 ingagd before,
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I must and will be true to tye,
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Love never made me cry and roar,
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untill I saw thy beauty.
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No creature coud, of flesh and bloud,
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bring more delight unto me:
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Which makes me cry perpetually,
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Love me, or youl undo me.
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He made Adresses to the Maid,
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and profered 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 wayes, he sung her praise,
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Love shot his Arrow thorow me,
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Why did not he, do so to thee,
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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 joyes of all the Christian World,
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(said he) are nothing to me;
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Tis 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 him.
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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 second part, Containing the misery, sorrow, and death of the Maid.
To the same Tune.
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THe Virgin when she heard 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 bloud,
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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 untill I dye,
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Thy death hath, 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 hath quite undone me.
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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 did 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-run me:
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I am rewarded for my pride;
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Thy death hath quite undone me.
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She took her bed, and in her head,
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a thousand frantick dreams are,
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Sadly she lyes, and in her eyes
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a hundred flowing streams are;
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What wretched soul am I? cryd 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 hath 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 a miss,
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before grief over-run [yee];
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Lest you be forcd to die, and cry,
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Thy death hath quite undone me.
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