A Lamentable BALLAD of the tragical End of a gallant Lord
and a virtuous Lady, and the untimely End of their two Children, wickedly performd by a heathenish
Black-a-moor, their Servant, the like never heard of before.
To the Tune of Flying Fame,
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IN Rome a noble Lord did wed,
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A Virgin of great Fame,
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A fairer Creature never did,
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Dame Nature ever frame:
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By whom he had two Children fair.
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Whose Beauty did excel,
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They were their Parents only Joy.
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They lovd them both so well.
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This Lord he lovd to hunt the Buck,
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The Tyger and the Bear,
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And still for Swifteness always took,
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With him a Black-a-moor:
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Which Black-a-moor in the Wood,
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His Lord he did offend.
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For which he did him then correct,
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In hopes he would amend.
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The Day it grew unto an End.
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Then homewards he did haste,
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Where with his Lady he did rest,
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Until the Night was past.
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Then in the Morning he did rise,
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And did his Servants call,
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A hunting he provides to go,
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Straight they were ready all.
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Because of Toil the Lady did,
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Intreat him not to go:
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Alas! good Lady then, quoth he,
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Why art thou grieved so?
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Content thyself, I will return,
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With Speed to the again:
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Good Father, quoth the Little Babes,
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With us here still remain.
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Farewel, dear Children, I will go,
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A fine Thing for to buy.
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But they therewith nothing content,
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Aloud began to cry:
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Their Mother takes them by the Hand
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Saying, Come go with me,
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Unto the highest Tower, where.
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Your Father you shall see.
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The Black-a-moor perceiving now,
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Who then did stay behind,
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His Lord to be a hunting gone,
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Began to call to Mind:
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My Master he did me correct,
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My Fault not being great.
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Now of his Wife Ill be revenged.
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She shall not me intreat.
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This Place was moted round about,
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The Bridge he did undraw,
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The Gates he bolted very fast,
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Of none he stood in Awe;
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He up unto the Tower went,
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The Lady being there:
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Who when she saw his Countenance,
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She straight began to fear.
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But now my trembling Heart it quakes
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To think that I must write:
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My Senses all begin to fail,
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My soul it doth affright:
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Yet I must make an End of this,
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Which here I have begun,
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Which will make sad the hardest heart
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Before that I have done.
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This Wretch unto the Lady went,
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And her with Speed did will,
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His Lust forthwith to satisfy
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His mind for to fulfil.
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Then she amazed was,
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To hear the Villain speak.
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Alas! quoth she what shall I do?
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With Grief my Heart will break.
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With that he took her in his Arms,
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She straight for Help did cry.
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Content yourself, Lady, he said,
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Your Husband is not nigh;
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The Bridge is drawn, the Gates are shut,
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Therefore come lie with me;
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Or else I do protest and vow,
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Thy Butcher I will be
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The chrystal Tears ran down her Face,
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Her Children cryd amain,
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And sought to help their Mother dear,
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But it was all in vain,
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So that egregious, filthy Rogue.
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Her Hands behind her bound,
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And then by Force with all his Might
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He threw her on the Ground.
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With that she shriekd, her Children cryd
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And such a Noise did make,
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The Towns Folk hearing her lament,
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Did seek their Parts to take:
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But all in vain, no Way was found,
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To help the Ladys Need,
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Who cries to them most pitiously
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O help! O help! with Speed.
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Some ran [i]nto the forest wide,
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Her Lord home for to call;
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And they that stood did still lament.
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This gallant Ladys Fall.
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With Speed her Lord came posting home
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He could not enter in;
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His Ladys Cries did pierce his Heart,
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Her dearest Blood to spill.
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Oh! hold thy Hand thou Savage Moor
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To hurt her do forbear,
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Or else be sure as I do live,
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Wild horses shall the tear.
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With that the Rogue ran to the Wall,
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He having got his Will,
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And brought one Child under his Arm,
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To call he did begin.
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The Child seeing his Father there,
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To him for Help did call,
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O Father help! my Mother dear,
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We shall be killed all.
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Then fell the Lord upon his Knee,
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And did the Moor intreat,
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To save the Life of his dear Child,
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Whose fear was then so great.
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But this vile Wretch the little Child,
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By both the Heels did take,
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And dashd his Brains against the Wall,
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Whilst Parents Hearts did ake,
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That being done straightway he ran,
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The other Child to fetch,
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And pluckd it from the Mothers Breast,
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Most like a cruel Wretch.
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Within one Hand a Knife he brought,
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The Child within the other,
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And holding it over the Wall,
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Saying thus shall die thy Mother,
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With that he cut the Throat of it;
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Then to the Lord did call,
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To look how he the Neck had cut,
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And down the head did fall.
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Then threw the Body down the Wall,
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Into the Mote so deep;
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Which made the Father wring his Hands
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And grieviously to weep:
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Then to the Lady went this Rogue,
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Who was near dead with Fear;
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Yet this vile Wrtch most cruelly,
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Did drag her by the Hair.
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And drew her to the very Wall,
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Which when her Lord did see,
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Then presently, he cryd out,
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And fell upon his Knee.
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Quoth he if thou wilt save her Life,
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Whom I do love so dear,
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I will forgive thee all thats past.
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Though they concern me near.
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O save her Life I thee beseech,
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O save her Life I thee pray,
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And I will grant thee what thou wilt.
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Demand of me this Day:
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Well, quoth the Moor, I do regard.
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The Moan that thou dost make;
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If thou wilt grant me what I ask,
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Ill save her for thy Sake.
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O save her Life and then demand,
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Of me what thing thou wilt,
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Cut of thy Nose, and not one Drop,
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Of her Blood shall be spilt.
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With that the Lord he presently took,
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A Knife within his Hand,
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And then his Nose he quite cut off,
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In Place where he did stand.
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Now I have bought the Ladys Life,
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He to the Moor did call,
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Then take her, quoth the wicked Rogue
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And down he let her fall,
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Which when this gallant Lord did see,
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His Senses all did fail,
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Yet many sought to save her Life,
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Yet nothing could prevail.
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When as the Moor did see her dead.
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Then he did laugh amain,
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At them who for their gallant Lord,
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And Lady did complain.
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Quoth he, I know youll torture me,
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If that you can me get;
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But all you Threats I do not fear,
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Nor yet regard one Whit
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Wild Horses shall thy Body tear,
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I know it to be true;
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But Ill prevent you of that Pain.
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And down himself he threw:
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Too good a Death for such a Wretch,
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A Villain void of Fear;
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And thus doth end as sad a Tale,
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As ever Man did hear.
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