The Ruined Lovers.
Being a rare Narrative of a young Man that dyed for his cruel Mistriss, in Iune last, who not long after his death, upon a consideration of his intire Affection, and her own coyness, could not be comforted, but lingered out her dayes in Melancholly, fell desperate sick, and so dyed.
Tune of,
Mock-beggers Hall stands empty.
MArs shall to
Cupid now submit,
for he hath gain'd the glory;
You that in Love were never yet,
attend unto my story,
For it is new, 'tis strange and true
as ever age afforded;
A tale more sad, you never had
in any Books Recorded.
A Young-man lately lov'd a Maid
more than his life or fortune,
And in her ears the same convey'd,
for thus he did importune:
Dear, pitty me, the Lover cry'd,
Swéet let thy heart come to me;
And often said unto the Maid,
Love me, or you'l undo me.
I never was ingag'd before,
I must and will be true to t'ye,
Love never made me cry and roar,
untill I saw thy beauty.
No creature cou'd, of flesh and bloud,
bring more delight unto me:
Which makes me cry perpetually,
Love me, or you'l undo me.
He made Adresses to the Maid,
and profered to advance her:
I cannot love thée, then she said,
pray take it for an answer:
In many wayes, he sung her praise,
Love shot his Arrow thorow me,
Why did not he, do so to thée,
Love me, &c.
She made him such a strange reply,
he durst no more come near her:
Quoth he I will go home and dye,
once there is nothing dearer.
The joyes of all the Christian World,
(said he) are nothing to me;
'Tis Death only, can set me frée:
Love me, &c.
He took his Bed, he rag'd and burn'd,
(sure this must greatly grieve him.
His scorching love was quickly turn'd
into a burning Feaver:
And then he dy'd, but first he cry'd,
O! will she not come to me:
Then sheds a fear; his last words were,
Love me, or you'l undo me,
The second part, Containing the misery, sorrow, and death of the Maid.
To the same Tune.
THe Virgin when she heard news
was very greatly troubled;
And when yse coffin'd Corps she views,
her woes were all redoubled;
And hast thou dy'd, for me she cry'd,
thou hast in love out-run me;
Too late I may, thus sadly say,
Thy death hath quite undone me.
Had I a thousand worlds, I would
give them all to restore thée,
For I am guilty of thy bloud,
how dare I stand before thée;
I am a Murdress, woe is me,
Let all true Lovers shun me;
And I must cry untill I dye,
Thy death hath, &c.
It is in vain for me to live,
thy memory will haunt me,
I only have a short Re
[...]rieve,
th
[...] sorrown daily daunt me;
Where ever th
[...] dead Corps do lye,
(Once thou in death hast won me)
I will be laid, a woful Maid,
Thy d
[...]ath hath quite undone me.
With that the tears fell from her eyes
she could no longer bear it,
For Love and Death did tyrannize,
she could no longer bear it:
Pray have me home to bed, she cry'd,
my sorrows over-run me:
I am rewarded for my pride;
Thy death hath quite undone me.
She took her bed, and in her head,
a thousand frantics dreams are,
Sadly she lyes, and in her eyes
a hundred flowing streams are;
What wretched fool am I? cry'd she,
O whether am I going?
Poor soul (she cry'd) and so she dy'd:
Thy death hath &c.
Let all fair Maids that are in love,
by this poor Soul take warning,
Lest that like her, you sadly prove
the purchase of her scorning:
Let all by this, mend what's a miss,
before grief over-run
Lest you be forc'd to die, and cry,
Thy death hath quite undone me.
FINIS.
London, Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and J. Wright.