The Unfortunate Lady;
OR,
The Young Lover's fatal Tragedy:
Who lately Hang'd herself for the Love of a Young Gentleman, whom her Pa-
rents would not suffer her to have; but sent her a false Letter, that he was Mar-
ryed, which was the Cause of her Untimely Death.
To the Tune of The Languishing Swain.
Licensed according to Order.
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I Do not sing of Triumph, no
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Nor of the Blessings here below;
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But of a Loyal Lover's Fall,
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Which is lamented by us all.
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Let loving Parents now attend
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Unto this Lesson which I send;
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Cross not your Children dear in Love,
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For fear it should their Ruine prove.
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Too many in this Age we find,
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They are to Riches so enclin'd,
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That they can nothing less behold,
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Tho' Love be better worth than Gold.
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When True Love cannot be enjoy'd,
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How many Damsels are destroy'd?
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As we by true Experience know,
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It having prov'd their Overthrow.
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Some has by burning Fevers fell,
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And some their Sorrows to expell,
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Have sent a fatal bloudy Dart,
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Into their fainting Love-sick Heart.
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Others by Poyson end their days;
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And thus the Lover many ways
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Can find to ease their Love sick Pain,
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When they their Wishes can't obtain.
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Among the rest of one I write,
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Her Parents Joy, and Heart Delight,
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Who by them being crost in Love,
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It did a sad Destruction prove.
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Her Heart was linked to her Dear:
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Now when her Friends the same did hear,
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She was with speed to London sent,
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Where she in sorrow did lament.
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She often wrang her Hands, and cry'd,
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I am of all my Joys deny'd;
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No glance of Comfort do's appear,
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While I am banish'd from my Dear.
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Tho' we may for a Season pact,
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I do declare he has my Heart;
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To none but him the same I'll give,
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While I have here a day to live.
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Said she, The storm may be blown o'er,
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And Fortune may our Joys restore,
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Therefore I will with Patience wait:
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But now behold her dismal Fate.
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Her Friends they did a Letter frame,
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That he was Marry'd: When it came,
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She with a Sigh, said, Is it so?
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Then Love will prove my Overthrow.
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She dress'd herself in rich Array,
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And to her Chamber took her way,
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And then her Life she ended there;
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The Grief was more than she cou'd bear.
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Let her Mishap a Warning be
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To Friends of high and low Degree:
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Cross not your Children here in Love,
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Lest you their utter Ruine prove.
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