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