The dying tears of a true Lover forsaken,
Made on his Death-bed; the hour before his Death.
The Tune is, Come live with me.
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THose gentle hearts that true love crave,
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Where true love can no harbour have,
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From shedding tears cannot refrain,
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But mourn with me that lov'd in vain
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Sore sick in love, sore sick in mind,
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Come gentle death my life unwind,
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For Cupids shaft and golden Bow,
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Now seeks my joys to overthrow.
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Upon my Death-bed I have pen'd,
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The Story of my woful end;
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Vain world behold I dye, I dye,
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Here murthered by loves cruelty:
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O Sarah Hill thou art the Wight,
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That turn'd my joy to sharp delight,
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Thou art the causer of my death,
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Farewel false love, farewel my breath.
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Be warn'd you wantons by my fall,
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In love there is no truth at all;
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Although in love you live untrue,
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There is some Maids as false as you:
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Her beauty dazled so mine eyes,
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That in her breast my heart still lies,
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I lov'd her, but she lov'd not me,
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Wherefore behold, I dye, I dye.
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O cursed eyes, why did you gaze,
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Upon her fair and flattering face?
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O wherefore did my eyes unfold,
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One fram'd of such unconstant mould:
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Come wrap me in my winding-sheet,
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And bear me sadly through the street,
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That from her eyes salt tears may shed,
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When for her sake she sees me dead.
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In outward shew she joyned hands,
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And vow'd to live in wedlock bands,
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But she unkind hath me dispis'd,
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And broke my heart so highly priz'd:
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O Lord what grief do I sustain,
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Which liv'd dispis'd, and lov'd in vain,
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But Lord how well are they apaid,
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Which hap to chuse a constant Maid.
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There is no living wight that knows,
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The pineing pain and endless woes,
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That we forsaken Lovers hide,
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But such as have the torments try'd:
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I needs must yield now death doth fade,
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Deaths coming cannot be denay'd:
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O reach the Bible, pray to me,
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For that my souls true love shall be.
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Go tole my Passing bell, dear friends,
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For here a Lovers journey ends:
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But mark what fortune she shall have,
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When she hath clos'd me in the Grave,
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I do not doubt but you shall see,
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Her body paid in misery:
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And made a laughing-stock to those,
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Who now her great unkindness knows.
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You of the Gentle-craft that be,
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Shew this kind favour unto me,
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That to the world this mournful Song,
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Be chanted sweetly you among:
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And some of you I do request.
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To bear me to my longing rest.
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And lay my carkass in the ground,
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With ringing Bells melodious sound.
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To my dear love then go and say,
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Her change of mind cast me away,
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Bid her hard heart so constant prove,
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To him that next shall be her love:
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With that he yielded up his life,
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Where death gave end to further strife:
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Desiring God that sits in Heaven,
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His lovers sins might be forgiven.
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Thus have you heard Hugh Hills good mind
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Who never proved in love unkind:
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But to his end continued true,
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Not changing old friend for a new.
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FINIS.
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The second part, to the same Tune.
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COme young Lasses and listen well,
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Unto the tale that I shall tell,
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For unto you I will unfold
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A matter worthy to be told:
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There was a young man lov'd me well,
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A Shoomaker his name Hugh Hill,
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His heart with love did burn amain,
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And I seem'd to love him again.
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Then were we made sure together,
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But I unconstant as the weather,
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Did him forsake, I was so nice,
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When in the Church were asked thrice,
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When that he saw I was unkind,
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And that I had a cruel mind,
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For love of me he left his life,
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Because I would not be his wife.
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I never car'd what he did say,
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But suffered him to pine away:
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And when he yielded up his breath,
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I quickly had forgot his death,
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But in my Bed upon a time,
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As many things came in my mind,
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There smiling to myself I said,
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I think that I shall dye a maid.
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Then many a Youth I thought upon,
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I lov'd and fancy'd many a one:
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I hated some, and some reserv'd,
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To like and love as they deserv'd:
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But in the midst of all my choice,
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I heard a lamentable voice,
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With Musick sounding to the ear,
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But not to me as did appear.
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For when I heard what it might be
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And what was cause of this Melody,
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And at my window a voice did cry,
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Hugh Hill is dead, fie Sarah fie,
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My conscience then tormented me,
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Of my false heart and treachery,
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And evermore the voice would cry,
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Go pine thyself repent and dye,
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Methought it was the voice of Hugh,
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Of good Hugh Hill that was so true,
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That was so faithful unto me,
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Yet used him most wickedly:
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O there he did my faults express,
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And I the same must needs confess,
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For I kill'd him with cruelty,
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For which I would but cannot dye
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And since that time my heart is light,
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And all my body altred quite,
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My eyes are sunk into my head,
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Which makes me look like one that's dead
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My face that was so fresh and fine,
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As clear as is the Claret wine,
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Is now transform'd to another hue,
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Both grim and loathsome to the view.
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My skin is whither'd, my flesh is gone,
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And nothing left but skin and bone,
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And now I pine most dolefully,
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Wishing for death but cannot dye,
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Therefore sweet Maids that suitors have
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Yeild unto them that true love crave,
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O do not cast a man away,
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Lest you yourselves go to decay.
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If unto you a young-man come,
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You are so fine you'l ne'r have none,
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Until your beauty fade away,
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You scorn most men you are so coy:
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Fie, fie, remember what you are,
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Do not refuse while you are fair,
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Unto your true loves be not coy,
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'Tis good to take them while you may.
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As you be coy, so I have been,
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But see the misery I live in,
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That was it not for my souls health,
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I would be willing to kill myself:
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Therefore fair Maids amend in time,
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Lest that your woes be like to mine,
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And pray to God to end my grief,
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Or else to rid me of my life.
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