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EBBA 33517

National Library of Scotland - Crawford
Ballad XSLT Template
The BRIDE's BURIAL.
An Excelent Old-Ballad, --- Tune of "The Lady's Fall.

COME mourn, come mourn with me,
You Loyal lovers all,
Lament my loss in weeping woe,
Whom griping grief doth thrall,
Like to the drooping Vine.
Cut by the Gardner's Knife;
Even so my Heart with sorrow slain,
Doth bleed for my sweet Life,

By death that griefly Ghost,
My turtle Dove is slain,
And I am left, unhappy Man!
To spend my Days in vain,
Her beauty, late so bright,
Like Roses in their prime,
Is wasted like the Summer's Snow,
By force of Phoebus's shine.

Her fair & colour'd Cheeks,
Now pale & wan her Eyes,

Which late did shine like Chrystal Stars,
Alas! their Light it dies,
Her pretty lilly hands,
With Finger's long & small,
In colour like the earthly Clay;
Yea, cold &stiff withal.

When as the morning star,
Her golden Gates had spread,
And the bright glittering Sun arose,
Forth from fair Thetis' bed,
Then did my lover 'wake,
Most like a Lilly Flower,
And as the lovelly Queen of MAY,
So shone she in her Bower.
Attir'd was she then,
Like Flora in her pride;
As fair as any of Diana's Nymphs,
So look'd my lovely Bride.

And as fair Helener's face,
Gave Grecian dames the lurch,
So did my Dear exceed in sight,
All Virgins in the Church.

When we had knit the knot,
Of holy Wedlock's band,
Like Alabaster join'd to Jet,
So stood we hand in hand,
When lo! chilling cold,
Struck every Vital part,
And griping grief, like pangs of death,
Seiz'd on my true Love's heart.

Down in a swoon She fell,
As cold as any Stone;
Like Venus' picture lacking Life,
So was my Love brought home,
At length the Rosey Red,
Throughout her comely Face,
As Phoebus beams with watery clouds.
Are cover'd for a space.

When with a grievous groan,
And Voice both horse & dry,
Farewell said she, my loving friend,
For I this Day must Die,
The messenger of God,
With golden trump, I see,
With many other Angels more,
Who sound & call for me.

Instead of musick sweet,
Go toll my Passing-Bell,
And with sweet Flowers strew my Grave:
Which in my Chamber smell,
Strip off my bright array,
My cork Shoes from my Feet;
And gentle Mother be so kind,
To bring my winding-sheet.

My Wedding dinner dress,
Bestow upon the Poor,
And on the hungry, needy, maim'd,
Which beggeth at the door,
Instead of virgins young,
My Bride-maids for to be,
Go cause some curious carpenter,
To make a Chust for me.

My bride laces of silk,
Bestow'd on maidens meek,
May fitly serve when I am dead,
To tie my Hands &Feet,
And thou my lover true,

My husband & my Friend,
Let me intreat you here to stay,
Until my Life doth end.

Now leave to talk of love,
And humble on your knee,
Direct your Prayers unto God,
But moan no more for me,
In love, as we have liv'd,
In love too let us part:
And as a token of my Love,
I do kiss thee with my heart.

Oh! stanch those briney tears
Your weeping is in vain,
I am not lost, for we in Heaven,
One day shall meet again,
With that shu turn'd aside,
As one dispos'd to sleep,
And as a Lamb departed life,
While friends did sorely weep.

Her true love seeing this,
Did fetch a grievous groan,
As tho' his heart was burst in twain,
And thus he made his moan,
O dismal & unhappy Day!
A Day of grief & care,
Which hath bereft the Sun so high,
Whose beams refresh the Air.

Now woe unto the World,
And all that therein dwell,
Oh! that I were with thee in Heaven,
For now I live in hell,
And now this lover lives,
A discontent'd Life;
Whose Bride was brought unto the grave
A Maiden & a Wife.

A Garland fresh & fair,
Of lillies there was made,
In sign of her Virginity,
And on her Coffin laid,
Six Maidens all in white,
Did bear her to the ground;
The Bells did Ring in solom sort,
And made a doleful sound.

In Earth they laid her then,
For hungry worms a prey,
So shall the fairest face alive,
At length be brought to Clay.


D. Wrighton, Printer, No.36. Snow-Hill, Birmingham

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