The Brides Burial.
Tune is, The Ladies Fall.
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COme mourn, come mourn with me,
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you loyal Lovers all,
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Lament my losse in weeds of woe,
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whom griping grief doth thrall:
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L[i]ke to the dropping Vine.
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cut by the Gardners knife
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Even so my heart with sorrow slain,
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doth bleed for my sweet wife.
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By death that grisly Ghost,
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my Turtle-Dove is slain,
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And I am left unhappy man
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to spend my days in pain.
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Her beauty late so bright,
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like Roses in their prime,
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Is wasted like the mountains snow,
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by force of Phebus shine.
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Her fair red coloured cheeks,
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now pale and wan her eyes,
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That late did shine like Christal stars,
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alas their light it dies:
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Her pretty lilly hands,
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with fingers long and small,
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In colour like the earthly clay,
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yea cold and stiff withal.
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Then as the morning star,
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her golden gates had spread,
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And that the glistering Sun arose
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forth from f[air] Theis bed.
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Then did my Love awake,
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most like a Lilly flower,
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And as the lovely Queen of heaven,
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so shone she in her bower.
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Attired was she then,
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like Flora in her pride,
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As fair as any of Diana's Nymphs,
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so lookt my loving Bride.
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And as fair Hellens face,
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gave Grecian dames the lurch,
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So did my deer exceed in sight,
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all Virgins in the Church.
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When he had knit the knot,
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of holy wedlock band,
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Like Alablaster joyn'd to jet,
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so stood we hand in hand:
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Then loe a chilling cold
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struck every vital part,
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And griping grief like pangs of death,
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seiz'd on my true loves heart.
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Down in a swound she fell,
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as cold as any stone,
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ike Venus picture lacking life,
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so was my love brought home:
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At length a Rosy red,
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throughout her comely face,
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As Phebus beams with watry clouds
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ore-covered for a space.
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WHen with a grievous groan,
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and voice both hoarse and dry,
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Farewel quoth she my loving friend,
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for I this day must die:
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The messenger of God,
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with golden trumpet I see,
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With many other Angels more,
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which sound and call for me.
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Instead of musick sweet
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go towl my passing bell,
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And with sweet flowers strow my grave,
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that in my chamber smell.
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Strip off my brides array,
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my Cork shooes from my feet,
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And gentle Mother be not coy
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to bring my winding-sheet.
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My wedding dinner drest,
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bestow upon the poor,
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And on the hungry needy mam'd
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that craveth at the door:
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Instead of Virgins young
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my Bride-bed for to see,
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Go cause some curious Carpenter
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to make a Chest for me.
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My Bride-laces of silk,
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bestow on Maidens meet,
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May fitly serve when I am dead
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to tie my hands and feet:
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And thou my lover true,
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my husband and my friend,
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Let me intreat thee here to stay,
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untill my life doth end.
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Now leave to talk of love,
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and humbly on your knee,
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Direct your prayers unto God,
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but mourn no more for me;
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In love as we have liv'd,
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in love let us depart
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And I in token of my love,
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do kiss thee with my heart.
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O stanch those bootlesse tears,
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thy weeping is in vain,
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I am not lost for we in heaven
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shall one day meet again.
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With that she turn'd aside,
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as one dispos'd to sleep,
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And like a lamb departed life,
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whose friends did sorely weep.
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Her true love seeing this,
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did fetch a grievous groan,
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As though his heart would burst in too
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and thus he made his moan.
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O dismal and unhappy day,
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a day of grief and care,
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That hath bereft the Sun so high,
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whose beams refresh the Air.
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Now woe unto the world,
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and all that therein dwel,
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O that I were with thee in heaven,
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for here I live in hell.
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And now this Lover lives
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a discontented life,
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Whose Bride was brought unto [t]he [grave]
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a Maiden and a Wife.
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A Garland fresh and fair
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of Lillies there was made,
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In sign of her Virginity,
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and on her Coffin laid:
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Six Maidens all in white,
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did bear her to the ground,
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The Bells did ring in solemn sort,
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and made a doleful sound.
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In earth they laid her then,
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for hungry worms a prey,
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So shall the fairest face alive,
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at length be brought to clay.
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