THE
Mournful Ladys Garland.
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TRUE lovers all, both far and near,
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B[e]hold the lines that I have pennd,
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[I]d have you take a special care
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To swear no more than you intend.
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Be ruld by them that wish you well,
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Honour your parents both day and night,
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And pray often when ye have time,
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And place this pattern in your sight.
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A noble knight near London livd,
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Who had a daughter very fair,
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A rich young squire courted her,
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[Sh]e loved him exceeding dear.
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By his false deluding tongue
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He stole her yielding heart away.
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Let every youth that hears this
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Observe these words that I shall say.
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But sixteen years of age was she,
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Poor soul! when she began to love.
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Let every one her woes condole,
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For it did soon her ruin prove.
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He did so far her favour win,
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That she did yield with him to lie.
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But now, good people, pray do mind,
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Y[ou] shall hear [our] destiny.
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At last, poor heart! she provd with child
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[B]ut when, alas! she found it so,
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He came to her upon a night,
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Saying, I must to London go.
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Next morning he his journey took,
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With protesta[ti]ons oer and oer;
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That in a week he would return,
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But oh! he neer came near her more,
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No letters she fr[o]m him receivd,
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Which made her oft in tears complain,
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And oft times to herse[l]f would cry,
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Where shall I go to hide my shame.
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At last, poor soul! her time grew nigh,
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Therefore upon a certain nigh[t],
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Her cloaths and linen she took up,
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And from her father took her night.
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Long time she wanderd up-and down,
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And could not find a resting-plade
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From country to city, and town to [t]own,
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Until her money it grew scarce,
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At last upon a lonesome heath,
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She being by herself alone,
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Was there delivd of a son,
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Two miles from either house or home.
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Being so weakened with pains,
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Poor soul! she could not stand upright,
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But with her infant in her arms,
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Upon the g[r]ound she lay all the night.
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The child being clasped in her again,
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A shepherd having lost a lamb,
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That from him by chance did stray,
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Seeking about to find it out,
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By providence did come that way.
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Finding the lady on the ground,
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He came to her without delay,
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Poor soul! she fell into a swoon,
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As soon as she the shepherd saw.
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But coming to herself again,
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To him she made her sorrow known:
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He being of a tender heart,
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Did then conduct her to his h[o]me.
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THere she much kindness did receive
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And a month did there remain,
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Then with her child tyd on her back,
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Poor soul! she wanderd forth again.
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Two years she wanderd up-and-down,
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At last by chance, as you shall hear,
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She came to famous Dartmouth-town,
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Where the squire livd, we hear.
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And wandering the streets all oer,
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At last, poor soul! she did espy,
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The squire standing at the door,
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And by his side his lady gay.
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Wiping the tears from her eyes,
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Up to the door she strait did hie,
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And on her bended trembling knees,
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She beggd of him his charity.
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Said he, Theres such a dirty crew,
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Thats daily begging in the street,
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To such-like lusty sluts as you,
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I will give neither bread nor meat.
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For thats some bastard on your back.
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And you I warrant some common whore.
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With that he calld the coachman strait.
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To whip this creature from the door.
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With hungry soul and feeble limb,
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In the street she wandered up-and-down,
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At last kind fortune did so hit,
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She got a lodging in the town.
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A letter she presently writ,
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And seald it with her own hand,
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These were the words enclosd in it,
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Which to the squire she did send.
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O cursed wretch I thy wicked tongue,
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That was the ruin first of me,
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You was the first that betrayd me,
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When I was in my innocency.
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I slighted all my friends for thee,
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Curst be the hour I saw thy face.
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It was you, and only you,
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That brought my body [t]o disgrace
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When he had read the letter thro
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And ponderd well within his mind.
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He straitway made no more ado,
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But to the lady came, we find.
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Pretending for to pity her,
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Forcing a smile to hide a frown,
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Ha said, Ill meet you to-morrow-nig[ht]
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In such a grove hard by the town.
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Next morning to the grove she hyd
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With her sweet little infant dear,
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There all the day it seems she stayd
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But yet no squire did appear,
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All night upon the bare cold ground,
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This creature and the infant lay,
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But no comfort could be found,
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So in the morn before twas day.
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She having never a farthing left,
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To buy her hungry baby food,
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She could no longer then make shift,
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She smote her breast, and thus she said,
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My tender babe, alas! said she,
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I nothing have to succour thee,
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Kissing the child, My dear, she said,
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For want of bread we starvd shall be
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Five days within that lonesome wood,
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She and her baby there did lie,
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Expecting from his dad some food,
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To help them in extremity.
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At last pale death approaching nigh,
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As at her breast the poor child lay,
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Her life being spent just to a hair,
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She to her pretty infant thus did say.
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My pretty pra[t]tling soul,
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I cannot bear to hear thee cry,
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Let tender folks my woes condole,
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See, see, thy mothers death is nigh.
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Stroaking the infant oer the face,
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Which was besmeard with briny tears,
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She said, O Lord! what would I give
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That thy cruel father was but here.
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The pretty prattling innocent,
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Hearing his mother for to cry,
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With his little hand did stroack her face,
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Crying, Mamma, mamma, do not cry,
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With his little hand about her neck,
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It raised up, and kissd her lips,
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That very moment her heart did break,
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She turnd and to her baby spake.
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Lord! if it be thy blessed will,
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That my baby should alive remain,
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Send it some help when I am gone,
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To ease his hungry piercing pain.
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But if it be thy blessed will, said she,
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That we should die for want of bread.
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Then welcome death, replied she,
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And strait she dyd immediately.
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By no means from her could free,
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Two nights and days it pining lay,
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And ended then its misery.
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Two months within this lonesome wood.
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Unburyd these two bodies lay,
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But now, good people, pray do mind
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A word or two I have to say.
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THE squire on a certain day,
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With men and dogs a-hunting wen[t]
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And having been long time at play,
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The dogs by fortune lost their scent.
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Then runing thro this lonesome wood,
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These howling hungry dogs of prey,
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Came to the place, and there they stood
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Just where the breathless bodies lay.
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Being mounted on a stately steed,
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As thro the wood they galloped
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The horse the bodies first espyd,
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And very much was frightened.
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At which he gave a sudden stride,
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And threw the squire on the ground.
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A stump of bush stuck in his side,
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Whereby he got a fatal wound.
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His man he strove to help him up,
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But turning to him, he replyd,
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Lend me you hand, I cannot stand.
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Then lay me by that womans side.
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She was my wife before the Lord,
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And thats my baby that lies dead,
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Gods vengeance now hath followd me,
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And now hath fallen on my head.
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He kissd her lips as cold as clay,
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Likewise to the child he as many gave,
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And to his man he thus did say,
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Lut us be buried in one grave
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For here I [cann]ot long remain,
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My cruel heart is spilt in twain,
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Dear Christ, forgive my sould, he said,
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So with a groan or two he dyd.
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Lord! when this news was brought to tow[n]
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Of this unhappy accident,
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His lady she distracted run,
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But first, poor soul! she gave consent.
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A coffin was made large and wide,
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One grave was dug to hold all three.
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The lady she lies by his side,
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And thus I end my tragedy.
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You tender soulds of Christian hearts,
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Who hear these verses which I sing,
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Remember that which I impart,
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To love in vain is a cruel thing.
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Oh! be dutiful unto your friends,
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And never do as I have done:
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Let them that read the same,
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Think on us that are dead [and gone]
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