A Lamentable Ballad of the Tragical end of a Gallant Lord and a Vertuous Lady, with the untimely end of their two Children, wickedly performed by a Heathenish Blackamoor their servant: the like never heard of. The Tune is, The Ladys Fall.
|
IN Rome a Noble man did wed,
|
a Virgin of great fame.
|
A fairer creature never did
|
dame nature ever frame;
|
By whom he had two Children fair,
|
whose beauty did excel:
|
They were their parents only joy,
|
they loved them both so well.
|
The Lord he loved to hunt the buck,
|
the tyger and the boar:
|
And still for swiftness always took
|
with him a Blackamoor:
|
Which Blackamoor within the wood,
|
his Lord he did offend,
|
For which he did him then correct,
|
in hopes he would amend.
|
The day it grew unto an end,
|
then homewards he did haste,
|
Where with his Lady he did rest,
|
until the night was past:
|
Then in the morning he did rise,
|
and did his servants call;
|
A hunting he provides to go,
|
straight they were ready all.
|
To Cause the toil the Lady did
|
intreat him not to go;
|
Alas good Lady, then quoth he,
|
why art thou grieved so?
|
Content thyself I will return
|
with speed to thee again:
|
Good Father (quoth the little Babes)
|
with us here still remain.
|
Farewel dear children, I will go
|
a fine thing for to buy:
|
But they therewith nothing content,
|
aloud began to cry:
|
The Mother takes them by the hand,
|
saying, come go with me
|
Unto the highest Tower, where
|
your Father you shall see.
|
The Blackamoor perceiving now
|
(who then did stay behind)
|
His Lord to be a Hunting gone,
|
began to call to mind:
|
My Master he did me correct,
|
my fault not being great:
|
Now of his wife i'le be reveng'd,
|
she shall not me intreat.
|
The place was moted round about,
|
the bridge he up did draw;
|
The gates he bolted very fast,
|
of none he stood in awe:
|
He up into the Tower went,
|
the Lady being there:
|
Who when she saw his countenance grim
|
she straight began to fear.
|
But now my trembling heart it quakes
|
to think what I must write;
|
My senses all begin to fail,
|
my soul it doth affright:
|
Yet I must make an end of this
|
which here I have begun,
|
Which will make sad the hardest heart,
|
before that I have done.
|
This wretch unto the Lady went,
|
and her with speed did will,
|
His lust forthwith to satisfie,
|
his mind for to fulfill:
|
The Lady she amazed was,
|
to hear the Villain speak,
|
Alas (quoth she) what shall I do?
|
with grief my heart will break.
|
With that he took her in his arms,
|
she straight for help did cry:
|
Content yourself Lady (she said)
|
your Husband is not nigh.
|
The bridge is drawn, the gates are shut,
|
therefore come lie with me,
|
Or else I do protest and vow
|
thy Butcher I will be.
|
The Chrystal tears ran down her face,
|
her children cryed amain,
|
And sought to help their Mother dear,
|
but all it was in vain:
|
For that outragious filthy Rogue,
|
her hands behind her bound,
|
And then perforce with all his might,
|
he threw her on the ground.
|
With that she shriekt, her children cry'd
|
and such a noise did make,
|
That towns-folks, hearing her lament
|
did seek their parts to take:
|
But all in vain no way was found
|
to help the Ladies need:
|
Who cried to them most piteously,
|
oh help, oh help with speed.
|
Some run into the Forrest wide,
|
her Lord home for to call,
|
And they that stood still did lament
|
this gallant Ladies fall.
|
With speed her love came posting home
|
he could not enter in,
|
His Ladies cries did pierce his heart,
|
to call he did begin.
|
O hold thy hand thou savage Moor,
|
to hurt her do forbear,
|
Or else be sure if I do live,
|
wild Horses shall thee tare:
|
With that the Rogue ran to the wall,
|
he having had his will,
|
And brought one child under his arm
|
his dearest blood to spill.
|
The Child seeing his Father there,
|
to him for help did call:
|
O Father help my Mother dear,
|
we shall be killed all:
|
Then fell the Lord upon his knee,
|
and did the Moor intreat,
|
To save the life of his poor child.
|
whose fear as then was great.
|
But this vile wretch the little Child
|
by both the heels did take,
|
And dasht his brains against the wall,
|
whilst Parents hearts did ake:
|
That being done straightway he ran
|
the other child to fetch,
|
And pluckt it from the Mothers breast
|
most like a cruel wretch.
|
Within one hand a knife he brought,
|
the Child within the other;
|
And holding it over the wall,
|
saying, thus dye shall thy mother:
|
With that he cut the throat of it,
|
then to the Father he did call:
|
To look how he the head had cut,
|
and down the head did fall.
|
This done he threw it down the wall,
|
into the Mote so deep,
|
which made the Father wring his hands
|
and grievously to weep.
|
Then to the lady went this Rogue,
|
who was near dead with fear:
|
Yet this vile wretch most cruelly
|
did drag her by the hair.
|
And drew her to the very wall,
|
which when the Lord did see,
|
Then presently he cryed out,
|
and fell upon his knee:
|
Quoth he, If thou wilt save her life,
|
whom I do love so dear:
|
I will forgive thee all is past,
|
though they concern me near.
|
O save her life I thee beseech,
|
O save her I thee pray,
|
And I will grant thee what thou wilt
|
demand of me this day:
|
Well, quoth the Moor, I do regard
|
the moan that thou dost make:
|
If thou wilt grant me what I ask,
|
i'll save her for thy sake.
|
O save her life and then demand
|
of me what thing thou wilt:
|
Cut off thy Nose, and not one drop
|
of her blood shall be spilt:
|
With that the Lord presently took
|
a knife within his hand;
|
And then his Nose he quite cut off,
|
in place where he did stand.
|
Now I have bought the Ladys life,
|
then to the Moor did call:
|
Then take her, quod this wicked rogue,
|
and down he let her fall:
|
Which when her gallant Lord did see,
|
his senses all did fail:
|
Yet many sought to save his life
|
yet nothing could prevail.
|
When as the Moor did see him dead,
|
then did he laugh amain
|
At them who for their gallant Lord
|
and Lady did complain:
|
Quoth he, I know you'll torture me,
|
if that you can me get,
|
But all your threats I do not fear,
|
nor yet regard one whit.
|
Wild Horses shall my body tear,
|
I know it to be true,
|
But I'll prevent you of that pain,
|
and down himself he threw:
|
too good a death for such a wretch,
|
a Villain void of fear,
|
And thus doth end as sad a tale,
|
as ever man did hear.
|
|
|
|
|
|