A Looking Glasse for Maids. OR, The Downfall of two desperate Lovers.
Hinry Hartlove and William Martin, both lately living in the Isle of Wight, who for the love of Anne Scabborow, a beatifull Virgin, she having first made her self sure to one of them, & afterwards sel offto the other, chaleng'd the field, where after a cruel fight they were both mortally wounded, and were found dead upon the place by the afore mentioned Maiden, who bestowed many tears upon their bodies, buried them both in one Grave.
And now she lies in grief and sad distresse,
Wishing all Lovers true, more happinesse.
The tune is, Aim not too high,
VNhappy I, who in this prime of youth,
Vnkind to him with whom I broak my truth;
Mark well my words you that are Maids & Wives,
I was the cause that two Men lost their lives.
I'th Isle of Wight, Anne Scarborow was my name
There did I live in credit wealth and fame,
My Parents rich, I nothing then did lack,
But grace and truth, the which did go to wrack.
A gentle man a Suter to me came,
With whom I might have liv'd a gallant Dame,
But wantonness and pride did seize my heart,
Was sure to him, and yet from him did part.
He broak a piece of Gold, and gave it me,
Then did I séemingly to him agrée:
But Oh my heart was never rightly plac't,
Another Man I afterwards imbrac't.
Which when he knew he fell into dispare,
He beat his brest and toro his curled haire:
O who would trust a woman, then said he,
That seldome are what they do séeme to be.
Now do I and, that all a man can do,
His best indeavours make not women true,
Yet he that now hath intrest in your heart,
Shall buy you dearely, sore that we do part.
Then came the other, whom I lov'd so well,
But now behold a heavy chance befell;
When my first Love his Rivall had beheld,
He cast his Glove and challeng'd him the Field.
To answer him the other thought it fit,
He said he nere was known a Coward yet;
He for my favour then so much did strive,
He said he'd fight with any man alive.
Next morning then these Gentlemen did méet,
And manfully each other they did gréet,
Each other wounded in most piteous sort,
Ere any man unto them did resort.
At last they made a strong and desperat close,
Both fell to ground and never after rose:
Curst be ye place where these brave men did fall,
And curst be I, that was the cause of all.
The second part,
To the same tune,
When word was brought to them I quickly went
But e'r I came their lives alas was spent,
Then did I tare the hair from off my head,
And wisht a thousand times that I were dead.
When I came there these Gallants then I found,
Both of them livelesse bléeding on the ground,
My Conscience told me I was cause of this,
Swéet Iesus now forgive me my amisse.
I buried them and laid them in one grave,
God grant their souls a resting place may have,
More rest then I whose restlesse conscience now,
Accuses me for breaking of my Vow.
If I walk néer the place where now they lye,
It troubleth my mind excéedingly.
If to the place where then did fight I go,
It fills my guilty conscience full of wo.
If I to bed do go I cannot sléep,
And if I do my dreams do make me wéep,
Me thinks I see them bléeding in my sight,
By thoughts by day and eke by dreams by night.
My rich Apparrell I have laid aside.
My Cloth of gold and other things of pride
In savie will I mourn while I have breath,
And every day expect and look for death,
A dead mans Scull my silver cup shall be,
I'n which Ile drink too good a cup for me,
Instead of meat on Roots and hearbs Ile séed,
To put me full in mind of soul déed.
You woo [...]y Nimphs that welcome in the Spring,
Come hear a discontented Virgin sing
O that I might my time now with you spend,
In silent Groves untill my life doth end.
You Maids likewise in Country and in City,
That now have heard my discontented Day,
Be constant ever True to one alone.
For if that you prove false it will be known
If you will know where sorrow doth abide,
Repair to me no other place beside,
Grief and Despair doth dayly now attend me,
And there is nought but death that can befriend me
This discontented Damsell now she kéeps
Her chamber where she dayly sits and wéeps
And suffers none to come to her tis said
But onely one and that's her Fathers Maid.
The meat and drink her Father to her sends,
She sends the poor the which she calls her friends,
She feeds on Roots and hearbs and such like things
Sometimes on bread which she counts food for Kings
Sée here the fruits of wantonesse pride,
O let us pray yt God may be our guide:
There's few of us that have our times ill spent.
So well brought up, that doth so well repent.
You Damsels all now have a speciall care,
Forget not her that did these things declare:
Be to your Swéet-hearts ever just and true,
And so fair Maids she bids you all adieu.
Finis.
Printed for Tho, Vere at the sign of the Angel without Newgate,