A Looking Glasse for Maids.
OR,
The Downfall of two desperate Lovers.
Henry Hartlowe and William Martin, both lately living in the Isle of Wight, who for the
love of Anne Scabborow, a beautiful Virgin, she having first made herself sure to one of
them, & afterwards fel off to the other, chalengd the field, where after a cruel fightthey
were both mortally wounded, and were found dead upon the place by the afore men-
tioned Maiden, who bestowed many tears upon their bodies, buried them both in one
Grave. And now she lies in grief and sad distresse,
Wishing all Lovers true, more happinesse.
The tune is, Aim not too high,
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UNhappy I, who in this prime of youth,
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Unkind to him with whom I broak my truth;
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Mark well my words you that are Maids & Wives,
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I was the cause that two Men lost their lives.
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Ith Isle of Wight, Anne Scarborow was my name
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There did I live in credit wealth and fame.
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My Parents rich, I nothing then did lack,
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But grace and truth, the which did go to wrack.
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A gentle man a Suter to me came,
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With whom I might have livd a gallsnt Dame,
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But wantonness and pride did seize my heart,
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Was sure to him, and yet from him did part.
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He broak a piece of Gold, and gave it me,
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Then did I seemingly to him agree:
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But Oh my heart was never rightly plact,
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Another Man I afterwards imbract.
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Which when he knew he fell into dispare,
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He beat his brest and tore his curled haire:
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O who would trust a woman, then said he;
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That seldome are what they do seeme to be.
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Now do I find, that all a man can do,
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His best indeavours make not women true,
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Yet he that now hath intrest in your heart,
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Shall buy you dearely, fore that we do part.
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Then came the other, whom I lovd so well,
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But now behold a heavy chance befell;
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When my first Love his Rivall had beheld,
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He cast his Glove and challengd him the Field.
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To answer him the other thought it fit,
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He said he nere was known a Coward yet;
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He for my favour then so much did strive,
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He said hed fight with any man alive.
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Next morning then these Gentlemen did meet,
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And manfully each other they did greet,
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Each other wounded in most piteous sort,
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Ere any man unto them did resort.
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At last they made a strong and desperat close,
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Both fell to ground and never after rose:
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Curst be that place where these brave men did fall,
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And curst be I, that was the cause of all.
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The second part, To the same tune,
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When word was brought to them I quickly went
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But er I came their lives alas was spent,
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Then did I tare the hair from off my head,
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And wisht a thousand times that I were dead.
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When I came there these Gallants then I found,
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Both of them livelesse bleeding on the ground,
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My Conscience told me I was cause of this,
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Sweet Jesus now forgive me my amisse.
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I buried them and laid them in one grave,
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God grant their souls a resting place may have,
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More rest then I whose restlesse conscience now,
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Accuses me for breaking of my Vow.
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If I walk neer the place where now they lye,
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It troubleth my mind exceedingly.
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If to the place where they did fight I go,
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It fills my guilty conscience full of wo,
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If I to bed do go I cannot sleep,
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And if I do my dreams do make me weep,
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Methinks I see them bleeding in my sight,
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By thoughts by day and eke by dreams by night.
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My rich Apparrell I have laid aside.
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My Cloth of gold and other things of pride
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In sable will I mourn while I have breath,
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And every day expect and look for death,
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A dead mans Scull my silver cup shall be,
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In which Ile drink too good a cup for me,
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Instead of meat on Roots and hearbs Ile feed,
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To put me stil in mind of my foul deed.
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You woody Nimphs that welcome in the Spring,
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Come hear a discontented Virgin sing
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O that I might my time now with you spend,
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In silent Groves until my life doth end.
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You Maids likewise in Country and in City,
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That now have heard my discontented Dity,
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Be constant ever True to one alone,
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For if that you prove false it will be known
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If you will know where sorrow doth abide,
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Repair to me no other place beside,
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Grief and Despair doth dayly now attend me.
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And there is nought but death that can befriend me
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This discontented Damsell now she keeps
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Her chamber where she dayly sits and weeps
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And suffers none to come to her tis said
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But onely one and thats her Fathers Maid.
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The meat and drink her Father to her sends,
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She sends the poor the which she calls her friends,
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She feeds on Roots and hearbs and such like things
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Sometimes on bread which she counts food for Kings
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See here the fruits of wantonesse and pride,
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O let us pray that God may be our guide:
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Theres few of us that have our times ill spent.
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So well broaght up, that doth so well repent.
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You Damsels all now have a speciall care,
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Forget not her that did these things declare:
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Be to your Sweet-hearts ever just and true,
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And so fair Maids she bids you all adieu.
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