The Oxfordshire TRAGEDY:
Or, The Death of Four Lovers.
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NEar Woodstock Town in Oxfordshire,
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As I walk'd forth to take the Air,
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To view the Fields and Meadows round,
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Methought I heard a mournful Sound.
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Down by a Christal River-side,
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A gallant Bower I espy'd,
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Where a fair Lady made great Moan,
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With many a Sigh and bitter Groan,
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Alas! quoth she, my Love's unkind,
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My Sighs and Tears he will not mind.
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But he's so cruel unto me,
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Which causes all my Misery.
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My Father is a worthy Knight,
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My Mother is a Lady bright,
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And I their only Child and Heir
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Yet Love has brought me to Despair,
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A wealthy Squire lived by,
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Who on my Beauty cast an Eye:
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He courted me both Day and Night
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To be his Jewel and Delight.
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To me these Words he often said,
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Fair, beauteous, handsome, comely Maid,
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Oh! pity me, I you implore,
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For it is you I do adore.
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He still did beg me to be kind,
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And ease his Love tormented Mind;
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For if said he, you should deny,
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For Love of you I soon shall die.
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These Words pierced my tender Heart,
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I soon did yield to ease his Smart.
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And unto him made this Reply,
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For Love of you I soon shall die.
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With that he flew unto my Arms,
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And swore I had a thousand Charms,
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He call'd me Angel, Saint, and he
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Did swear forever true to be.
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Soon after he had gain'd my Heart,
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He cruelly did from me part.
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Another Maid he does pursue,
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And to his Vows he bids adieu.
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he that makes me to lament,
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He's the Cause of my Discontent.
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He hath caused my sad Despair,
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And now occasions this my Care.
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The Lady round the Meadows run,
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And gathered Flowers as they sprung,
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Of every sort she there did pull,
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Until she got her Apron full.
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Now here's a Flower she did say.
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Is named Heart's Ease Night and Day,
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I wish I could that Flower find,
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For to ease my Love-sick Mind.
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But oh! alas! 'tis all in vain,
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For me to sigh and to complain:
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There's nothing that can ease my Smart,
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For his Disdain will break my Heart.
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The Green served as a Bed,
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And Flowers a Pillow for her Head,
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She laid her down and nothing spoke,
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Alas! for Love her Heart was broke:
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But when I found her Corps cold,
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I went to her true Love, and told
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What unto her had befell,
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I'm glad, said he, she is so well.
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Did she think I so fond could be,
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That I could fancy none but she:
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Man was not made for one alone,
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I take delight to see her Moan.
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O wicked Man I find thou art,
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Thus to break a Lady's Heart;
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In Abrahams Bosom may she sleep,
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Whilst thy wicked Soul doth weep.
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A Second Part I bring you here,
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Of the fair Maid of Oxfordshire,
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Who lately broke her Heart for Love
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Of one that did unconstant prove.
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A youthful Squire most unjust,
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When he beheld this Lass at first,
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A thousand solemn Vows he made,
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And so her yielding Heart betray'd.
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She mourning broke her Heart and dy'd,
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Feeling the Shades on ev'ry side,
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With dying Groans and grievous Cries,
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As Tears were flowing from her Eyes.
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The Beauty which did once appear
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On her sweet Cheeks so fair and clear,
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Was waxed pale, her Life was fled.
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He heard at length that she was dead.
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He was not sorry in the least,
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But chearfully resolv'd to feast
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And quite forgot her Beauty bright,
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Whom he so basely ruin'd quite.
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Now when this youthful Maid,
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Within her silent Tomb was laid,
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The Squire thinking all was well,
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He should in Peace and Quiet dwell.
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Soon after this he was possest
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With various thoughts which broke his Rest.
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Sometimes he thought her Groans he heard,
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Sometimes her ghastly Ghost appear'd.
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With a sad Visage pale and grim
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And ghastly Looks she cast on him.
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He often started back and cry'd,
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Where shall I go myself to hide?
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Here I am haunted Night and Day,
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Sometimes methinks I hear her say,
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Persidious Man, false and unkind,
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Henceforth you shall no Comfort find.
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If through the Fields I chance to go,
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Where she received her Overthrow.
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Methinks I see her in Despair,
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And if at home, I meet her there.
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No Place is free from torment now,
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Alas! I broke a solemn Vow,
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Which once I made, but now at last
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It does my worldly Glory blast.
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Since my Unkindness did destroy
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My dearest Love and only Joy.
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My wretched Life must ended be,
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Now must I die and come to thee.
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His Rapier from his Side he drew
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And pierc'd his Body thro' and thro.
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So he drop'd down in Purple Gore,
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Just where she did sometime before.
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He buried was within the Grave
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Of his true Love, and thus you have,
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A sad Account of his hard Fate,
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Who dy'd in Oxfordshire of late.
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The Lovers Farewel.
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FOrgive me, if your Looks I thought
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Did once some Change discover;
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To be too jealous is the Fault
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Of every wounded Lover..
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Might truth those kind Reproaches show,
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Which you do blame severely,
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A Sigh, alas! you little know
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What 'tis to love sincerely
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The Torments of a long Despair
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I did in Silence smother.
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But 'tis a Pain I cannot bear,
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To think you love another.
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My Fate, alas! depends on you,
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I am but what you make me
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Divinely blest if you prove true.
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Undone, if you forsake me,
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In thee I place my chief Delight,
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I seek no other Pleasure:
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Then do not all my Hopes destroy,
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Who loves thee out of Measure.
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Then do not all my Hopes destroy,
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Who loves thee out of Measure.
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Forbear to triumph in Disdain,
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Since here I lie and languish;
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True Love is a tormenting Pain,
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And fills my Soul with anguish.
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The silent Night I spend in vain,
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And melting Lamentation;
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And yet no Glance of Love appears,
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But utter Detestation.
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Regarding not my piteous Moan,
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My Sighs and sad lamenting.
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Your Heart as Flint or Marble-stone,
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Feels not the least relenting.
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Your Beauty gave the fatal wound,
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And did at first allure me.
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In Chains of Love I now lie down,
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And you alone can cure me.
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Cast not a loyal Love away,
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Who at your Feet lies bleeding.
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Unto my Sighs one Smile convey,
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For which my Tears are pleading.
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Why should a charming Beauty bright,
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Resolve to be so cruel?
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O let me not be ruin'd quite,
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In Love's destroying Fuel.
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See how my Eyes like Fountains flow,
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In christal Tears before thee,
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So do not seek the Overthrow
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Of one that does adore thee.
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Behold I am thy captive Slave,
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Your wounded Slave believe me;
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And thou alone this Life can save,
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And therefore now reprieve me,
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The wound you gave has pierc'd my Heart,
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And you no Pity give me:
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Yet I cannot forbear to love,
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Altho' with Scorn you kill me.
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If thus you are resolv'd to frown,
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And slight my friendly Favour,
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Soon to my Grave I will go down,
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Farewel, farewel, forever.
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I find she triumphs in Disdain,
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And still denies me Blessing;
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Why should I live to feel this Pain,
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That is beyond expressing?
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This said, his naked Sword he drew,
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And to his Heart he sent it:
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And as he bid this World adieu,
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She bitterly lamented.
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Crying, I was unfortunate,
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Would I had dy'd before him
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Thus did she weep when 'twas too late,
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Her Tears could not restore him.
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AND is my valiant Squire gone,
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The Glory of the Nation?
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Then all my Joys are from me fled,
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Behold my Lamentation,
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These Eyes of mine like Fountains flow,
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As here you may discover:
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Because I prov'd the Overthrow
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Of an entire Lover.
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Ten thousand times I wish in vain
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That I had never slighted.
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My worthy Squire with Disdain
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When he would fain have plighted,
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A true and solemn Vow to me,
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And dearly did adore me.
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But now to my Grief I see
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He bleeding lies before me.
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All in the frozen Arms of Death,
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My loyal Love lies sleeping,
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Bereav'd of mortal Life and Breath,
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This causes all my weeping.
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My very Heart for Heaviness
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E'er long will break asunder;
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Nor am I able to express,
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The Grief that I lie under.
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I must confess I stood a while,
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And heard this mournful Ditty;
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Without returning him a Smile,
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Or any Glance of Pity;
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Because I was resolved to try
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His Stedfastness of Wooing,
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But little did I think that I
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Should thus have prov'd his Ruin.
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Upon the Sword he laid his Hand,
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In Grief and Desperation:
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Conceal'd I could no longer stand,
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But strait with Admiration,
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More swift than Eagle's Wings I flew
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To him and Kisses gave him:
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But O! the Sword was thro' and thro
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Alas! I could not save him.
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These Words he utter'd as he dy'd,
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Farewell my dearest Jewel;
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You should have been my lawful Bride,
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Had you not been so cruel
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To leave a Lover all alone,
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In sorrow broken-hearted;
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This said, than with a dying Groan,
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He instantly departed.
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Bathed in Streams of purple Gore,
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My weeping Eyes beheld him;
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My golden tresses then I tore,
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Crying, my Frowns have kill'd him?
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For being of all Hopes bereft,
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Life's thread he vow'd to sever:
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Now he is gone, and I am left,
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To mourn his Loss forever.
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But why should I presume to live,
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Here in this World behind him.
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No, No, the fatal Stroke I'll give,
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Then I perhaps may find him.
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In the Elizian Shades below,
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Where bleeding Lovers wander:
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Still venting of their Grief and Woe.
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Which here they had lain under.
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Then from his lovely Breast she drew
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The Sword with Might and Power:
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Expressing of these mournful Words,
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Now comes the fatal Hour,
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That I must leave the World, for why
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My Dear is gone before me:
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The Pattern of true Loyalty,
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Who did in Life adore me.
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