THE
BLOODY GARDENER's CRUELTY,
Or, the Shepherd's Daughter betrayed.
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COME all you constant lovers, and to me lend an ear,
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And mind this sad relation which I do give you here,
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of a maiden fair,
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A shepherd's daughter dear,
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But love did prove her utter overthrow;
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She was of beauteous mould, fair and clear to behold
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And by a noble Lord she courted were
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But was too young we find,
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As yet fond love to mind,
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Yet little Cupid did her heart ensnare.
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His parents they were all of high degree,
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They said, she is no match at all for thee,
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If you'll a blessing have,
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Grant us but what we crave,
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And wed with none but whom we shall agree.
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Dear son, for you we have chosen out a bride,
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With store of gold, and beautiful beside,
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Of a temper kind and free,
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She is the girl for thee,
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But not a shepherd's daughter of mean degree.
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And if by us you'll not be rul'd or led,
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You from our presence shall be banished,
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No more we will you own,
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To be our only son,
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Then let our will be done, to end the strife.
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Madam, said he, if a begging I should go,
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I should be well contented so to do,
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If that I could but have,
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The girl that I do crave,
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No curs'd gold shall part my love and me.
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Was she as poor as Job, and I of royal robe,
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And lord of all the globe, she should be mine,
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His mother said in scorn,
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Thou art most nobly born,
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And with a beggar's brat shall never join.
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He hearing his mother to say so,
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His eyes did then with tears like fountains flow
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Saying, a promise I have made,
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And her beauty betray'd,
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Therefore no other for my bride I chuse.
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A cruel snare then for her life she laid,
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And for to act this thing, O then she did,
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With her gard'ner she agreed,
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To do the bloody deed,
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And butcher her forthwith, and dig her grave.
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To the bloody gardener she gave fourscore pounds
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To murder her, and lay her underground,
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All in a grave so deep,
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In everlasting sleep,
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Hoping her fair body would not be found.
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She wrote a letter, and sent it with speed,
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Saying, my dearest, with haste now proceed,
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Meet me this night I pray,
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I've something to say,
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Poor girl, she little thought upon the deed.
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The youthful shepherdess of this nothing knew
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But went to seek her true love as she us'd to do,
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She search'd the garden round,
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But no true love she found,
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At length the bloody gardener did appear.
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What business have you here, madam, I pray?
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Are you come here to rob the garden gay?
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Cries she, no thief I am,
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To meet my love I'm come,
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Which did this night appoint to meet me here.
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He spoke no more but straight a knife he took,
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And pierc'd her heart before one word he spoke
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Then on the ground she fell,
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Crying, sweet love, farewell,
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O welcome, Death, thy fatal stroke.
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Was this done now my dear by your design,
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Or by your cruel parents most unkind,
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My life is thus betray'd;
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Farewell vain world, she said,
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I hope in Heaven, I a place shall find.
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But when he saw her life was really gone,
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Immediately he laid her in the ground,
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With flowers fine and gay,
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Her corpse did overlay,
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Intending that her body should not be found.
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Now all the time this Lord he little knew,
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But went to meet his true love as he used to do
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He search'd the vallies round,
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But no true love he found,
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The little lambs were wandering to and fro,
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Lamenting greatly for their shepherdess,
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Then he did lay him down upon the grass,
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The heavens he did implore,
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To see his love once more,
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O then ye gods above I am surely blest.
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O whither shall I seek that angel bright,
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Who is alone my pleasure and delight,
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Pray if alive she be,
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Let me my true love see,
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Or else my soul will quickly take its flight.
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Whereat the woods and groves began to mourn
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The small birds they did sing a mournful tune,
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Crying your love is gone,
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And left you quite alone.
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Then on a mossy bank he laid him down.
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He had no sooner clos'd his eyes to sleep,
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But a milk-white dove came to his breast,
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Her flutt'ring wings did beat,
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Which wak'd him out of sleep,
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And then the dove took to wing, and he was blest.
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To his mother's garden straight he did repair,
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For to bemoan the loss of his dear,
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Here the dove once more he see,
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Sitting on a myrtle tree,
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With drooping wings she did disconsolate appear.
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O done, disconsolate, why do you come?
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Have you lost your love as I have done,
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That you dodge me here,
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No comfort can I bear,
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Then thus the dove replied, and then flew down.
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Saying it was your mother order'd it so
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That from her milk-white breast her blood did flow,
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To the grove he did repair,
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But found no true love there,
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Homeward then to his mother he did go.
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He said, mother, most cruel and severe,
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I fear you've killed my joy and only dear;
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For a dove I do declare,
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Did all in blood appear,
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And said, if she is dead her fate I'll share.
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His mother hearing what the son did say,
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She turn'd as pale as death and swoon'd away,
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Then into distraction run,
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And told what she had done,
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And where the virgin's body it then lay.
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He said no more, but straightway took a knife,
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And said, now farewell to the comforts of life,
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Then into the garden he flew,
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And pierc'd his body through,
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And said, it was curs'd gold caus'd all this strife.
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These two lovers in one tomb were laid,
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And many a briny tear for them was shed,
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And the gard'ner as we hear,
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Was apprehended there,
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And hung in chains, for being so severe.
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