AN
Answer to the Maiden's Tragedy:
OR,
The Lamentation of a Young Man,
Near Wolverhampton, for the Death of a Young Maiden; which of
late has been a great Grief and Trouble to him, for his Unkindness to
her.
To the Tune of, Russels Farewel.
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YOu Lovers all both far and near,
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pray listen to my moan;
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I wrong'd my Love, my only Dear,
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the like was never known:
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I prov'd indeed her fatal fall,
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by my Disloyalty,
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For which I fear in time I shall
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a sad Example be.
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Love thou art sleeping in the Grave,
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and I am left behind;
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No peace or comfort can I have,
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but a tormented mind:
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The Heart within my Breast does bleed,
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no Pleasure can I see;
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E'er thou hadst done that bloody Deed,
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would I had dy'd for thee.
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What Protestations did I make,
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that I did thee adore?
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Yet did at last my Love forsake,
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and this torments me sore:
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Sad Torments do I under go,
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for my Disloyalty,
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The Eyes of mine like Fountains flow,
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would I had dy'd for thee.
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The Golden Chain of Love I broke,
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and did my promise slight,
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So that at length a fatal stroak,
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did prove thy ruin quite:
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When at the point of sad dispair,
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thou wrought'st this Tragedy;
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My Soul is fill'd with grief and care,
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would I had dy'd for thee.
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After a tedious long delay,
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we did together meet,
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And pitch'd upon our Wedding-day,
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our blessings to compleat:
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She waited long yet all in vain,
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then with a sigh said she,
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True Love is a tormenting Pain,
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no Man so false as he.
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I seemed unconcerned then,
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tho' I her Heart betray'd;
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And never came a near her when,
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this Pitti[o]us Moan she made:
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But now my Dearest thou art dead,
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and I no comfort see,
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All Joy and Pe[a]ce is from me fled,
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would I had dy'd for thee.
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I with the World could freely part,
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to be releas[']d from thrall;
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Now I alone do feel the smart,
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for thou art past it all:
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While I in Storms of Grief and Woe,
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feel Endless Misery,
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This Grief I cannot undergo,
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would I had dy'd for thee.
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When e'er I wander all alone,
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methinks her voice I hear,
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And sometimes with a dying groan,
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which kills my Heart with fear:
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Then do I start and turn away,
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as frighted wofully,
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And in that p[a]ssion sighing say,
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would I had dy'd for thee.
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When I her bleeding Ghost behold,
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wrapt in a Winding-sheet;
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And on her Head a Crown of Gold,
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with voice exceeding sweet:
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Dear Thomas, Thomas most unkind,
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why do you stay? said she,
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Why do you tarry thus behind?
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make hast and follow me.
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Thus am I in distraction hurl'd,
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deny'd of quiet rest;
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And though I hide it from the World,
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my very Soul's opprest:
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I'd fain surrender up my Breath,
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to give me ease, said he,
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For Life is worse to me than Death,
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would I had dy'd for thee.
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