A Loue-sick maids song, lately beguild, By a run-away Louer that left her with Childe.
To the tune of, In Melton on a day.
ALas and well away,
that ere I trod on ground
To see this hapiesse day,
wherein such griefes abound.
Alas I cannot sleepe,
my ioyes are cleane exilde:
I cannot choose but weepe,
because I was beguild.
When I oshuld take the meat,
that should my life sustaine:
There is nothing that I eat,
but aggrauates my paine,
Oh, fie on him whose déede
doth cause me thus complaine
My heart within doth bleede,
with sorrow griefe and paine.
Ah, euill might he thriue,
that spoil'd me of my health:
The cruelst wretch aliue,
hath me vndone by stealth.
For where I liu'd a maid,
a maiden in good fame,
He hath me now betrayde,
and brought me vnto shame.
My maidenhead is lost,
oh, cursed be the hower:
When he that lou'd me most:
should seeke me to deflower.
Now am I great with childe,
as great as I may goe:
He that hath me beguild,
a way is gone me fro.
And left me here alone,
within this desart place:
To waile and make my moane,
O most distressed case.
What shall of me betide,
none but the Lord doth know:
He that should be my guide,
hath left me here in woe.
Ye windes resound my cryes,
within the Misers eares:
That he with watry eyes,
may shed his brinish teares.
To waile the late done déede.
that he committed haue:
Or else to come with speede,
my babe and me to saue.
The trees can witnesse well,
my priuy griefe and paine:
These Rocks and stones can tell
the sorrowes I substaine
My meate is hawes and hips,
my drinke is water cleare:
Nought els my tender lips,
haue tasted this halfe yeare.
O whelpe of Tigers broode,
couldst thou finde in thy hart,
With her that did thée good,
to play so lewde a part.
Woe worth me poore woman,
that did thée alwaies helpe,
And cursed be the Dam,
brought forth so bad a whelp.
Thou hadst me at thy call,
as hawkes are at the lure:
My selfe, my goods and all,
and what I might procure.
Thou hadst it at thy neede,
I neuer sayd thée nay,
To stand thée ought in stéede,
or helpe thée any way.
And now thou doest requite,
this loue I beare to thee:
With deadly deepe dispite,
as now I plainely see.
To leaue me comfortlesse,
my luklesse state to rue:
Thou canst not say no lesse,
but thou hast beu vatrue.
Woe worth the time that I
gaue credit to thy words:
For now I platnely trie,
thou bushes giu'st for birds.
Woe worth those fained teares,
which thou hast often spent:
They brought me in the dryers
which make me now lament.
O would to God I had
not knowne thy periur'd face:
I might haue then bene glad,
where now I reape alasse.
For I did neuer offend,
before that time with thée:
Nor neuer did intend,
to spot my chastity.
But sith no words will serue,
to counteruaile thine act:
And that thou doest deserue,
hell torments for thy fact.
I will hold me contont,
till that I breathe my last:
I cannot now briuent,
the thing is done and past.
Ye maides be warnd by me,
let no such cogging mates,
Spot your virginitie,
by any subtill feates.
Least in the ende you say,
and sing as now I doe:
Alas and well away,
we are beguiled too.
Consider words are winde,
or of small force at least:
And men are most vnkinde,
I speake probatum est.
There is no truoch in men,
the best is all to had:
Who trusts their dealings then
I hold them worse than mad.
Who trusts to rotten boughes
shall fall ere they bewares:
Who credites fayned vowes:
are sonest brought to care.
My selfe may iustly say.
I prou'd it to my paine:
I neuer saw the day,
but words & deeds were twain
And thus to end my song,
I wish you all beware,
And of the flattering tongue,
to haue a speciall care.
Kéepe well your honest name,
as the apple of your eye,
So shall your lasting fame.
remaine eternally.
FINIS
Printed at London for I. W.