The distressed Virgin.
OR,
The false Young-man and the constant Maid.
The qualities of them both displaid.
To an excellent new tune.
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A Thausand times my love commend
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to him that hath my heart in hold,
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I took him for my dearest friend
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his love I more esteem'd then gold;
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When first my eies did see his face,
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and that my ears did hear his voyce,
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His love I freely did imbrace,
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my heart told me he was my choice.
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O had he still continued true,
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and in affection permanent,
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Had he performed what was due,
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then had I found true hearts content:
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But he regardlesse of his vow,
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which he did make to me before,
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Hath thus in sorrow left me now,
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my former follies to deplore.
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Would I had never seen those eies,
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(that like attractive adamants)
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Did my poor heart with love surprize,
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the power of love so me enchants,
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I have no power to leave his love,
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though with stern hate he me pursue,
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To him I will most constant prove,
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though he be faithlesse and untrue.
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I put my finger into the bush,
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thinking the sweetest Rose to find,
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I prickt my finger to she bone,
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and yet I left the rose behind:
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If roses be such prickling flowers,
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they must be gather'd while they be green,
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But she that hath an unkind love,
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alas she rowes against the stream.
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O would he but conceive aright,
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the griefe that I for him sustain,
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He could not chuse but change his spight,
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to faithfull love and leave disdain;
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I love to have him still in place,
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his too long absence makes me mourn,
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Yet he disdaines to see my face,
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and holds my company in scorn.
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It grieves my heart full fore to thinke,
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that he whom I so dearly lov'd,
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Should thus with me refuse to drinke,
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yet can my passions nere remove:
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Though he I know could wish my death,
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so great is his inveterate hate,
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Yet I could sooner lose my breath,
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then see him wrong'd in name and state.
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Ill hap had I to come in place,
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where first I saw his tempting look,
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As soon as I beheld his face
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I Cupids prisoner straight was took;
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And never since that fatall hour,
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have I enjoy'd a minutes rest,
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The thought of him is of such power,
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it never can forsake my brest.
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Then was I struck with Cupids dart,
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then was my fancy captivated,
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Then did I vow that still my heart,
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should rest with him though me he hated;
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Then did he make a shew of love,
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which did much more my heart inflame,
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But now he doth perfidious prove,
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and give me cause his love to blame.
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The second Part, To the same tune.
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NAy more, he made a vow to me,
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that I should be his wedded wife,
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And he forsakes me now I see,
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which makes me weary of my life:
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I little thought what I should find,
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that young men could dissemble so,
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Sure he's the falsest of his kind,
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ill hap had I to prove him so.
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Could any man be so hard-hearted,
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to leave a harmlesse main in griefe?
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From me all comfort clean is parted,
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unlesse his favour grant reliefe:
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He is the man that bred my bain,
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he is the man whose love alone,
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Must be the salve to cure my pain,
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or else my life will soon be gone.
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O faithlesse wretch consider well
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that heaven abhoreth perjury,
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Great torments are prepar'd in hell,
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for them that thus will swear and lie,
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O hadst thou never made a shew
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of love, thou hadst excus'd thy blame,
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But thy false heart full well doth know
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what oathes thy perjur'd tongue did frame.
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That obstacle that hinders me,
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is that which I suspect full sore.
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His fruit grows on some other Tree,
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and he's seduced by some whore;
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Or else he hath some other Lasse,
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perhaps like me, a harmlesse maid,
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Whom he may bring to such a passe,
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as I am brought by Cupids aid.
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Oh heavens forbid that a[n]yone,
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that bears an honest loving mind,
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Should thus have cause to grieve & mourn
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at such a knave as shames his kind,
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But why should I as passions move,
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with bitter words upon him rail,
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Whom I am ever bound to love,
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untill my vitall spirit faile.
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Sweet Love forget my lavish tongue,
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if I offended in any sort,
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To recompence thee for thy wrong,
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ile alwaies give thee good report,
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Although to me thou art unkind,
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who never gave thee any cause,
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Yet I am still resolv'd in mind,
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never to break god Cupids laws.
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And if I never be thy wife,
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(which is the thing I justly claime)
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I vow to lead a single life,
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and never think of Lovers game:
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But why speak I of life, when death
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doth every minute claime his due?
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I cannot long detain my breath,
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having a Lover so untrue.
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Let all true Lovers judge aright,
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in what a case poore soule am I,
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Come gentle death and work thy spight,
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for now I am prepar'd to die,
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O heavens forgive my Love his wrong,
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done unto me a Maiden pure,
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Who for his sake must dye ere long,
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for long my life cannot endure.
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