The diseased maiden Lover:
Being a pleasant new Song, to an Excellent New Tune,
Or, may be sung to the Tune of, Bonny Nell.
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AS I went forth one Summers day,
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To view the Meddows fresh and gay,
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A pleasant Bower I espy'd,
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Standing hard by a Rivers side.
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And in't I heard a Mayden cry,
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Alas there's none e're lov'd like I.
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I couched close to hear her moan,
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With many a sad and grievous groan,
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And wisht that I had been the wight
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That might have bred her hearts delight:
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But these were all the words that she
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did still repeat, none loves like me.
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Then round the Meddowes did she walk,
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Catching the Flower by the stalk,
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Such as within the Meddows grew,
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As Dead-mans thumb and Hare-bell blew.
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and as she pluckt them still cry'd she,
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alas there's none e're lov'd like me.
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A bed therein she made to lye,
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Of fine green things that grew fast by,
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Of Poplers and Willow leaves,
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Of Sicamore and Flaggy sheaves:
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and as she pluckt them, etc.
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The little La[r]k-foot shee'd not pass,
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Nor yet the Flowers of three-leav'd grass
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With Milk-Maids Hony-suckles phrayse
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The Crows-foot, nor the yellow Craise:
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and as she pluckt them, etc.
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The pretty Dasie which doth shew
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Her love to Phoebus, bred her woe,
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Who joys to see his cheerful fare,
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And mourns when he is not in place:
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alack, alack, alack, quoth she,
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there's none that ever Lov'd like me.
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The Flowers of the sweetest scent,
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She bound them round with knotted Bent,
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And as she laid them still in bands,
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She wept, she wail'd and wrung her hands
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alas, alas, alas, etc.
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False man, quoth she, forgive thee heaven,
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As I do wish my sins forgiven,
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In blest Elezium I shall sleep,
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When thou with perjur'd souls shalt weep.
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Who when they liv'd, did like to thee,
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That lov'd their loves as thou dost me.
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When she had fil'd her Apron full,
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Of such sweet Flowers as she could cull,
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The green leaves serv'd for a bed,
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The Flowers pillows for her head:
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Then down she lay, ne'r more did speak,
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Alas, with Love her heart did break.
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FINIS.
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The Faithless Lover.
To the same Tune.
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WHen I had seen this Virgins end,
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I sorrowed as became a friend,
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And wept to see that such a Maid
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Should be by faithless love betray'd:
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But woe I fear will come to thee,
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That was not true in Love as she.
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The birds did cease their harmony,
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The harmless Lambs did seem to cry,
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The Flowers they did hang their head,
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The flower of Maidens being dead;
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Whose Life by death is now set free,
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and none did love more dear then she.
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The bubbling brooks did seem to moan,
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And ecchoes from the Vallies did groan,
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Diana's Nymphs did ring her knell,
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And to their Queen the same did tell:
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Who vowed by her chastitie,
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That none should take revenge but she.
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When as I saw her corps were cold,
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I to her Lover went and told,
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What chance unto this Maid befell,
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Who said I am glad she sped so well:
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Do you think that I so fond would be,
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To love no Maid but onely she.
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I was not made for one alone,
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I take delight to hear them moan;
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When one is gone, I will have more,
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That man is rich that hath most store.
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I bondage hate, I must live free,
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And not be ty'd to such as she.
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O Sir remember then (quoth I)
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The power of Heavens All-seeing eye;
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Who doth remember vows forgot,
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Though you deny you know it not:
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Call to your mind this maiden free,
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The which was wrong'd by none but thee.
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Quoth he, I have a love more fair,
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Besides, she is her fathers heir,
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A bonny Lass doth please my mind,
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That unto me is wondrous kind:
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Her will I love, and none but she,
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Who still shall welcome be to me.
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False-minded man that so would prove,
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Disloyal to thy dearest love,
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Who at her death for thee did pray,
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And wisht thee many a happy day:
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I would my Love would but love me,
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Even half so well as she lov'd thee.
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Fair Maidens will example take,
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Young men will curse thee for her sake,
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They'l stop their ears unto our plaints,
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And call us Divels seeming Saints:
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They'l say to day that we are kind,
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Tomorrow of another m[i]nd.
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