The Ruined Lovers.
Being a rare Narrative of a young Man that dy d 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 recordrd.
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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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bring 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 head,
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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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