Cupids Garland.

SET Round about WITH Gilded Roses, Containing many pleasant Songs and Sonnets. Newly Written.

—Omnia Amator,
Debuerat sertis implicuissa comat.

London, Printed by E. Crowch, for F. Colet, T. Vere, and J. Wright, 1674.

The Contents.

  • A Song of King Edward's wooing the fair Maid of London.
  • Her Answer.
  • A Royal Song of the Red Rose and the White.
  • The Life and Death of the renowned Gal­lant, Thomas Stukley.
  • A Sonnet of a Chaste Lover.
  • A Pastoral Song.
  • A lame [...]table end of Shor's Wife, some time Concubine to King Edward the 4th.
  • A Song of a Begger and a King.
  • A Lamentable Song of the fall of the Dutchess of Glocester.
  • A Shepherds Sorrow because he could not Wooe.
  • A Song of Lord Wigmore, and the fair maid of Dunsmore in Warwick-shire.
  • The sad Complaint of fair Isabel, for the loss of her Honour.
  • The Story of Ill-May-Day.
  • A Song and Verses made upon a Sigh.
Cupids Garland here is set
with gilded Roses round;
And if the Reader likes of it,
the Garland then is Crown'd.

A Courtly new Song shewing how King Edward wooed the fair maid of LONDON.

To the Tune of, Dulcina.
FAir Angel, Pearl of Beauty,
thou that art my hearts sole treasure
Thou my Subject, art my duty,
yet I must obey thy pleasure:
When Love doth sway,
Kings must obey,
And to his Scepter yeilding be:
Swéet Maiden bright,
Grant my delight,
And come sweet Virgin unto me.
Gallant Lady let my Love
so much favour once obtain,
That you would my suit approve,
pittying me when I complain:
Think on the Court,
What Masks, and Sport,
And Pleasures new invented be,
All these are thine,
Be thou but mine,
And come sweet Virgin unto me.
Art thou not (Fair Love) contented,
with those offers I do make?
Your Love shall never be repented,
if my promise you dare take,
my Royal word
It will afford.
If that thou wilt but loving be,
Thou shalt be séen
Like Englands Quéen,
Then come sweet Virgin unto me.
Be not resolved a Maid to dye,
For where Beauty he doth spye,
chastity is ne're intended,
Some Shepheards daughter
May chance hereafter,
Through all her life a Maid to be,
But Ladies bright
Should love delight,
Then come sweet Virgin unto me.
You shall purchase great renown,
why should you then be so cruel,
And upon King Edward frown,
that estéems your love a Iewel:
Oh do but grant
What I do want,
And to my gentle suit agrée,
Do thou obey
That I may say,
Welcome sweet Virgin unto me.

The fair Maid of Londons Answer to King Edwards Wanton Love.

To the same Tune.
KIng Edward know it is in vain
thus with fairest words to wooe me
From dignities I will refrain,
lest courtly honour do undo me,
like to Jane Shore,
and many more,
Who many happy daies did sée,
but she did dye
in misery,
Then let me still a Vi gin be.
Hope of honour shall not tempt
me to yéeld to your desire;
With my estate I am content,
nor do I wish to rise yet higher,
My spotless fame
I will maintain.
And unto heaven bear with me,
And so to the end,
I am your friend,
But still a Virgin I will be.

A Royal Song of the red Rose and the white united together by the happy Marriage of King Henry the Seventh, and Ellzabeth Plantaginet, Daughter to Edward the 4th. from whom King James (of Famous memory) lineally descended.

To the Tune of, The blazing Torch.
WHen as the Earth did blush with blood
of Men in Battel slain,
Whilst York against Lancaster stood.
then Henry did obtain
His Right at last, and did beat down
King Richard in the Field:
Who being kill'd did loose his Crown,
but never would he yeild.
Then Henry (from the ancient House
of Lancaster descended)
Did marry with the House of York,
and so the difference ended;
For York who did the White Rose give,
was with the Red Rose plighted:
And by this happy Marriage so,
these Roses were Vnited.
These Royal Roses buding forth,
that Henry soon consented,
For to advance his Daughters worth,
(which England ne're repented)
That she should be great Scotlands quéen
which Match the Lord befrinded,
So that King James of worthy same,
from that same Quéen descended.
Thus all the Wars at last did cease,
by this most Royal Pair:
This Land doth now enjoy swéet peace,
by this bright Lady fair:
And now still in remembrance that
these Roses were conjoyned,
The Roses yet in Royal Armes,
are with the Crown combined.

The famous life and death of the renowned English Gallant Thomas Stukely, who lived in the time of Queen Elizabeth, and ended his dayes in a Battel of three Kings in Barbary.

To the Tune of, Henries going to Bullain.
IN England in the West.
Where Phoebus takes his rest,
There lusty Stukely he was born.
By birth he was a Clothiers Son,
Deeds of wonder he hath done,
Which with lasting praise his name a­dorn:
Lusty Stukely he was nam'd,
And much honour gain'd,
For so reports the story of his life,
He married with a London Dame,
Daughter to an Alderman,
And had great store of treasure with his wife.
But he in riot soon
Her portion did consume,
Which struck old Curtis so unto the heart
Who was his wives own Father,
That he with age, or rather,
With sorrow did his life depart.
When he was laid in earth,
Stukely began his mirth
His golden Angels then began to fly,
He night by night in pleasure,
Did melt away his treasure,
And wished that his loving wife would dye.
While vice he maintain'd
His wants at last constrained
Him to sell the Pavements of his yard,
Which with blocks of Tin was lin'd
Old Curtis left the same behind,
But he the same did ne're the more re­gard.
His wife hereat lamented
And was much discontented,
Make much of me dear Husband, she did cry
Ile make much more swéet-heart of the
Than any other shall, quoth he,
Ile sell thy cloaths, and so from England fly.
So first he went to Italy.
And when he came to Barbary,
Whereby his valour he did soon obtain
The Standard Royal for to bear,
While in one Field there did appear
Thrée Kings their right for to maintain
The Sun did ne're behold
A battel fought more bold,
And afterwards brave Stukely there was slain
By those Ital ans of great worth,
Which Stukely to the field drew forth,
And thus unto himself he did complain.
Was I mad, or did I rade,
Thus to séek a Forraign grave,
And at home abuse my loving wife,
Stukely on the ground now lies
Like to Mars his Sacrifice,
And bléeding here must end my wretched life,
And with this word his breath
was stopped soon by death:
His empty body lay upon the ground,
which buried once, they did make
a royal Tomb for Stukelies sake;
And still his noble valour is renown'd.

A Pastoral Song, or discourse between a Gentleman and a Shepherd, concerning Love.

To the Tune of, The Ladies fall.
AS I did walk one day abroad,
I spy'd a Shepherds Swain,
Who often stoopt to gather Flowers,
and séem'd to take much pain,
And in his hand a basket round,
compos'd of Willows small,
Wherein he put the flowers which were
of vertues several.
But when I nearer to him came,
I asked him (good Father)
What is the reason moveth you,
these Flowers for to gather;
But he then with a heavy look,
did thus to me reply.
These Flowers I do gather Sir,
to cure Loves malady.
Nay then quoth I, you are deceiv'd,
if you do think good Swain,
By help and vertue of these flowers,
to cure Loves inward pain.
Therefore to get thy swéet hearts Love
go back again and try,
For their is none but Doctor Jone,
can cure Loves malady.
Then by the Mass, the Shepheard said,
my true Loves name is Jone,
I will to yonder hill repair,
and to her make my moan;
So going back the Shepheards Swain,
with his Swéet heart did lye,
Thus Doctor Jone did help his moan,
and cure Loves malady.

A new Song of a chaste Lover.

To the Tune of, Away to Twiver.
VVHen I did Phillis naked spy,
I shut mine eyes and would not see
Those beauties which did naked lye,
was ever a Lover like to me;
When she her Mantle did unfold,
I shut mine eyes and would not see.
Loves flower which then I might behold
was ever Lover like to me.
While she bathed in a silver stream,
I shut mine eyes and would not see,
But lay still in a pleasant dream,
was ever Lover like to me.
And when like Diana she came forth
I shut mine eyes and would not see,
The Golden fruit of precious worth,
was ever Lover like to me.
But when she cloathed had each part,
I opned then my eyes to see,
If that I could but win her heart,
for that was only lov'd of me.

A new Sonnet, setting forth the miserable and wretched end of Shores Wife, who was sometime Concubine to King Edward the Fourth.

To the Tune of, I sigh and sob, &c.
YOu that are in your blooming years
Whose beauty to the world appears,
Come learn by me (who am Shores wife)
To lead a chaste and honest life.
And to preserve your spotless fame,
Lest afterwards you do complain,
For when King Edward rul'd this Land
I could his Royal Crown command,
But after he did chance to dye,
I was expos'd to misery.
And cruelty turn'd out of door,
All men did hate the name of Shore.
And for to publish my leud sin,
I did do Pennance to begin
My shame, and carryed by command
A burning Tapor in my hand,
Thus when that I was once cast down,
On my hard fate, each one did frown.
Thus all my joyes did fickle prove,
Which I did reap by Edwards love,
A Princes Paragon I was,
But now constrain'd to beg, Alass!
I was reviled and called Whore,
Yet patiently their words I bore.
For my accusing Conscience cry'd,
That Vice had béen my sinful guide,
Then let young Maids & wives beware
And of their honour have a care.
Lest they come to a wretched and,
If like to me they do offend.

A Song of a Beggar and a King.

To the Tune of, Love will find out the way.
A Prince once there reigned,
who did much delight,
who was poorly dight,
Let Cupid then be crowned
with Roses so gay,
For his Bow so much renowned.
even Kings must obey.
It happened at his window
this Beggar he espy'd.
And from thence to the Gate
of his Pallace he hyed,
His purse then he casteth,
to this Beggar in gray,
And unto her he hasteth,
Love will make Kings obey.
And then he imbraced
the Beggar so mean.
And on his Throne placed
her like to a Quéen,
While the Nobles attended
on their wedding day,
And thus all things ended,
Love will make Kings obey.

A lamentable Sonnet of the fall of the great Dutchess of Glocester, Wife to Duke Humphrey, shewing how she did Pennance through London streets bare-footed, with a Wax Candle in her hand, and how she was banished into the Isle of Man, where she died.

To the Tune of, Queen Dido.
COme hither now fair Ladies all,
and bring with you a tear fil'd eye,
That you may wéep to hear the fall,
of Elioner a Dutches high,
Whom good Duke Humphery made his bride,
And after by foul treason dy'd.
For him they murthered in his sléep,
and being dead they seiz'd his Lands,
So that the Dutchess did nothing kéep,
for all was in King Henries hands;
Thus when that fortune once doth frown
The highest are thrown quickly down.
But she that bore a Noble mind,
to practice witchcraft did intend,
That the Dukes murtherers she might find
and bring them to a shameful end,
By black inchanting Arts to spill,
Their blood y e did Duke Humphrey kill.
But when her practice once was known,
and notice of her purpose given:
Then by her punishment 'twas shown,
such actions do displease high Heaven.
For she was doomed through each stréet
To go in Pennance in a shéet.
And to increase my grief and pain,
I judged was to leave that place
Where I had lived before in fame,
and like an Exile in disgrace,
I to thée Isle of Man was sent,
To spend my dayes in Banishment.
Full nineteen Years I spent in grief,
and made mine eyes with tears to rain
Yet could my tears yeeld no relief,
for all my sorrow was in vain.
Vnto the Isle I was assign'd,
Till death did ease my troubled mind.
For after I had here sustain'd
all hardness that one might indure,
Heavens hearing how I complain'd,
some pitty for me did procure;
And so an end of grief to make,
My soul into the Heavens to take.
Though in my life I had offended,
yet when that death approached nigh,
Into Christs hands I then commended
my soul for which he once did dye:
Thus Exile for my late offence
did save my soul by penitence.

A Sonnet.

Wherein a Shepherd doth show

His sorrow, because he cannot wooe.
To the Tune of, In sad and ashly weeds.
VVEep now mine eyes your fill,
for I my Oaten pipe will break
Let fighs resound unto the hill
because, alass I dare not speak.
let Garlands now
of Cypress bough
My inward sorrow shew,
since fondly I
for love must dye,
Because I cannot wooe.
Some can with ease profess,
and in swéet words their love declare
Yet I alass cannot express
My love to her that is so fair;
these flowry Plains
a Saint contains,
To whom all praise is due,
yet justly she,
despiseth me,
Because I cannot wooe.
Sometime I did retire
unto a spreading shady trée,
And think to cool my fire,
with gales that freshly breathing be,
the Birds do sing,
the woods do ring,
And all things pleasure shew,
yet fondly I,
for love must dye,
Because I cannot wooe.
Yet this of her I crave
that when death closeth up my eyes
She would come to my grave,
and not a Shepherds grief despise,
and on my Herse
to write this Verse,
Here Coridon so true,
in love did die,
and here doth lie,
Because he could not wooe.

A song of the Lord Wigmore, and the fai [...] Maid of Dunsmore in Warwick-shire, which [Page] may be a warning to young Maids to shun the allurements of wanton Gallants

To the Tune of, The Earl of Essexs last good Night.
IN Warwick shire there stands a Down
and Dunsmore heath men do it call:
Where Isabel of such renown
for beauty did excel them all
A Shepherds Daughter she was known
and fame abroad did make report,
That she was like a Rose new blown
and fit alone for Cupids Court.
And when young Wigmore heard y e same
who then in Warwick Castle lay,
To Dunsmore then he forth with came,
to wooe this Maid without delay.
And found her by a river side,
sitting amidst a Meadow gréen,
But when her beauty once he ey'd,
he thought she might have béen Loves Quéen.
Fresh beauty flourisht in her chéek,
her hair was like to Amber fair:
And her behaviour was so méek,
that Wigmore did to her repair.
And wooed her in humble wise,
that she would grant him but her love
And not his humble fute despise,
but that she would of him approve,
Lord Wigmore thus drown'd in his Lust
did Like a Ravisher appear,
And bid a servant of great trust,
that to his Castle he would her bear.
Thus to Lord Wigmore she was brought
who fed his fancies with delight
& by fair words such means he wrought
that he got her maiden-head y t night.
This being done, she did repent,
that she her self had thus betrayd,
By granting of her frée consent
to lose the honour of a Maid.
But ere thrée Months were past & gone,
her growing shame did then appear,
And to Lord Wigmore for his wrong,
she did complain with many a tear.

The sad Complaint of fair Isabel, for the loss of her Maiden honour, at the end whereof like Roman Lucrece she slew her self.

To the same Tune.
LOrd Wigmore pitty take on me,
& since thou hast obtain'd thy sute,
Yet do not despise the Trée
now thou hast got my Maiden fruit,
Thou spottest hast my Virgin bed,
yet pitty take upon poor me.
Like withered Rose, I hang my head,
Lord Wigmore, this is long of thee.
My crime unto the world is known,
my wantonness is now descry'd:
My name to all is hateful grown
I wish I had thy love deny'd.
I know alass, when I do die,
my body in lead shall shrowded bée,
But what can cover my infamy;
Lord Wigmore, this is long of thee.
Bespotted with reproachful shame
I crave my just deserved doom:
That death may frée me from all blame
and cut me off even in the bloom.
I number now the tedious hours,
life is unpleasant unto mée:
Let me then die you heavenly Powers,
Lord Wigmore, this is long of thee.
And when I die, let me be laid
in careless manner into the mould:
Vnpittied of each spotless Maid,
who to disgrace my self have sold.
Let ne're a Bell ring forth my Knell,
for I am that unhappy shée,
That by the fair inticements fell,
Lord Wigmore, this is long of thee.
When she this woful moan had made,
a knife she snatched from her side:
Where Lucreces part she plainly plaid
and with the same she did devide
Her soul from her fair bodies frame,
which parting, it did séem that she
With her last vow, did thus complain,
Lord Wigmore, this is long of thee.

The story of Ill-May day, briefly expressed.

To the Tune of, The Ladies Fall.
IF you the reason of the Name
of Ill-May-day would know:
You shall thou understand the same
as here I will it show.
For when King H [...]nry Reigned here,
the Eight of that same Name:
The strangers as it did appear.
by Prentic [...]s were slain,
They making show that their intent
was but to go a Maying:
Their force they on the strangers bent,
and them they fell a slaying.
These strangers did come forth of Spain
and did set up their Trade;
And so did make a private gain,
which English men had much dismaid,
The Prentices then on May Eve,
did to a sudden tumult grow,
But yet they made the Mayor beléeve
that they a Maying meant to go.
But such a May-game they did make,
the like whereof was never known,
For all the Strangers they did take,
and kil'd of them full many a one.
And now it is by Law ordain'd,
that still on May-daies Eve at night.
The Watch shall in their Armour stand
unruly Youths so to affright.

To his Sweet-heart, wherein he doth show, why he so oft cries Hi, Ho.

YOu asked me, my dear Swéet-heart,
Why I sigh'd; I will impart
The reason of it, and will show,
Why I so often cry, Hi, ho.
The former H stands for my heart,
The I is yours w ch wrought my smart,
The last H your hard heart doth show
The O the vowel is your No.
Then blame me not, since now you know
Why I so often cry, Hi, ho.

A short Song on a sigh.

To the Tune of, I warrant you I.
IT is but in vain
With sighs to complain,
And unto my self
Strange passions to frame,
For I will be careless
Vntil I do die.
Let others grow Love-sick
but so will not I.
Let others lament
For I am content:
I can love for an hour
Till my humour is spent,
But when it is past,
All Love I defy.
For though some grow Love-sick,
yet so will not I.
FINIS.

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