A WARNING for Married Women.
Being an Example of Mrs. Jane Reynolds (a West-country Woman) born near Plimouth,
who having plighted her Troth to a Seaman, was afterwards married to a Carpenter,
and at last carried away by a Spirit, the manner how shall presently be recited.
To a west-country Tune, call'd, The fair Maid of Bristol: or, John True.
|
THere dwelt a fair Maid in the West,
|
of worthy birth and fame,
|
Near unto Plimouth stately town,
|
Jane Reynolds was her name.
|
This damsel dearly was belov'd,
|
by many a proper youth:
|
And what of her is to be said,
|
is known for very truth:
|
Among the rest a Seaman brave
|
unto her a wooing came,
|
A comely proper youth he was,
|
James Harris call'd by name.
|
The maid and young man was agreed,
|
as time did them allow,
|
And to each other secretly
|
they made a solemn vow.
|
That they would ever faithful be,
|
whilst Heaven afforded life,
|
He was to be her Husband kind,
|
and she his faithful Wife.
|
A day appointed was also,
|
when they were to be married,
|
But before these things were brought to pass,
|
matters were strangely carried.
|
All you that faithful Lovers be,
|
give ear and hearken well,
|
And what of them became at last
|
I will directly tell:
|
The young man he was prest to Sea,
|
and forced was to go,
|
His sweet-heart she must stay behind
|
whether she would or no.
|
And after he was from her gone,
|
she three years for him staid,
|
Expecting of his coming home,
|
and kept herself a maid.
|
At last news came that he was dead
|
within a Foraign Land,
|
And how that he was buried,
|
she well did understand.
|
For whose sweet sake the maiden she
|
lamented many a day:
|
And never was she known at all
|
the wanton for to play.
|
A Carpenter that liv'd hard by,
|
when he heard of the same,
|
Like as the other had done before,
|
to her a wooing came.
|
But when that he had gain'd her love,
|
they married were with speed,
|
And four years space (being man and wife)
|
they lovingly agreed.
|
Three pritty children in this time,
|
this lovely couple had,
|
Which made their father's heart rejoyce,
|
and mother wondrous glad.
|
But as occasion serv'd one time,
|
the good man took his way
|
Some three days journey from his Home,
|
intending not to stay.
|
But whilst that he was gone away,
|
a spirit in the night,
|
Came to the window to his wife,
|
and did her sorely fright.
|
Which Spirit spake like to a man,
|
and unto her did say:
|
My dear and only love, quoth he,
|
prepare and come away.
|
James Harris is my name, quoth he,
|
whom thou didst love so dear,
|
And I have travell'd for thy sake,
|
at least this seven year.
|
And now I am return'd again,
|
to take thee to my wife,
|
And thou with me shalt go to Sea,
|
to end all further strife.
|
O tempt me not, sweet James (quoth she)
|
with thee away to go,
|
If I should leave my children small,
|
alas, what would they do?
|
My husband is a Carpenter,
|
a Carpenter of great fame,
|
I would not for five hundred pounds
|
that he should know the same.
|
I might have had a King's Daughter,
|
and she would have married me,
|
But I forsook her golden crown,
|
and for the love of thee.
|
'Therefore if thou'lt thy husband forsake,
|
and thy children three also,
|
'I will forgive thee what is past,
|
thou wilt with me go.
|
If I forsake my husband and
|
my little children three,
|
What means hast thou to bring me to,
|
if I should go with thee?
|
'I have seven ships upon the sea,
|
they are come to Land,
|
'Both Marriners and Merchandize
|
be at thy command.
|
The ship wherein my love shall fail,
|
is glorious to behold,
|
The sails shall be of finest silk,
|
and the mast of shining gold.
|
When he had told her these fair tails,
|
to love him she began,
|
Because he was in humane shape,
|
much like unto a man.
|
And so together away they went,
|
from off the English shore,
|
And since that time the woman kind,
|
was never seen no more.
|
But when her Husband he came home,
|
and found his Wife was gone,
|
And left her three sweet pretty Babes
|
within the house alone.
|
He beat his breast, he tore his hair,
|
the tears fell from his eyes,
|
And in the open Streets he run,
|
with heavy doleful cries.
|
And in this sad distracted case,
|
he hang'd himself for woe,
|
Upon a Tree, near to the place,
|
the truth of all is so.
|
The children now are fatherless,
|
and left without a Guide,
|
But yet no doubt the heavenly Powers
|
will for them well provide.
|
|
|
|
|
|