A mournful caral: or, An elegy, lamenting the tragica[l] ends of two unfortunate faithful lovers, Frankin and Cordelius, he being slain, she slew her self with her dagger. To a new tune, called, Franklin is fled away. 1680-1682? Approx. 5 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2011-04 (EEBO-TCP Phase 2). B04423 Wing M2984 Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.8[348] 99887827 ocm99887827 183483

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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B04423) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 183483) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books; Tract supplement ; A5:2[274]) A mournful caral: or, An elegy, lamenting the tragica[l] ends of two unfortunate faithful lovers, Frankin and Cordelius, he being slain, she slew her self with her dagger. To a new tune, called, Franklin is fled away. 1 sheet ([1] p.) : ill. (woodcuts). Printed for M. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, I. Clarke, W. Thackeray, and T. Passenger., [London] : [between 1680-1682] Place and date of publication suggested by Wing. Verse: "F[ran]kin my loyal friend, o hone, o hone ..." Imperfect: trimmed and mutilated, affecting title and text. Reproduction of original in the British Library.

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eng Ballads, English -- 17th century. 2020-09-21 Content of 'availability' element changed when EEBO Phase 2 texts came into the public domain 2008-04 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-08 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2009-06 Sampled and proofread 2009-06 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2009-09 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
A mournful Caral: Or, An Elegy, Lamenting the Tragic, en 〈…〉 unfortunate Faithful Lovers, Frankin and Cordelius, he being ſlain, ſhe flew herſelf with her Dagger. To a new Tune, called, Franklin is fled away.

F in my loyal friend, O hone, o hone, In whom my joy do end, O hone, o hone, Frankin my hearts delight, Since laſt he took his flight, bids now the world good night, O hone, o hone, Frankin, is fled and gone, O hone, o hone, And left me here alone, O hone, o hone, Frankin is fled away, The glory of the May, Who can but mourn and ſay, O hone, o hone Frankin belov'd of all, O hone, o hone, Ladies lament his fall, O hone, o hone, Come mourn upon his ſhrine, You Lady Muſes nine, And Matrons all divine, O hone, o hone, Frankin with comely grace, O hone, o hone, Courted with kind imbrace, O hone, o hone, Till Mars did hear controule, And his affection ſtole, to heaven bequeath'd his ſoul O hone, o hone Frankin did pleaſe the Dames, O hone, o hone, None could reſiſt his Flames, O hone, o hone Virgins lament the day, That Frankin fled away, How can we chuſe but ſay, O hone, o hone. Frankin why would'ſt thou goe, O hone, o hone, To Battle with thy Foe, O hone, oh hone, Thy ſolemn obſequies, With watry dropping eyes, A mournful ſacrifice, O hone a hone. frankin which grac'd the ſwains, O hone o hone Sported upon the Plains, O hone, o hone, With all the Royal train, Faithful he did remain, Vntil my Lord was ſlain, O hone, o hone,

FRankin why would'ſt thou dye, O hone, o hone, Regarding not my cry, O hone, o hone, Love-ſick in every vein, Oppreſt with grief and pain: And ſo I ſhall remain, O hone, o hone. Frankin the pride of men, O hone, o hone, None flouriſh like him then, till death without remorſe, took Frankin hence by force, I muſt bewail his Courſe, O hone, o hone, In the Elizium Fields, O hone, o hone, Much joy and pleaſure yields, O hone, o hone, there Frankin Sainted is, injoying Lovers bliſs. The Earthly mold I'le kiſs, O hone, o hone, 〈◊〉 under this ſtone, O hone, o hone, His orps remain alone, O hone, o hone, Come drop with me a tear, All you that faithfull are, Such zealous thoughts I bear, O hone, o hone Frankin I come to thee, O hone, o hone, To end my miſery, O hone, o hone, The world I plainly find, A hell unto my mind, Thou art ſo true and kind, O hone, o hone. I count there is no bliſs, O hone, o hone, But where my true love is, O hone, o hone, To toul my mournfull bell, There's heaven where Frank doth dwell Now muſt I bid farewel, O hone, o hone, This Dagger in my hand, O hone, o hone, My life ſhall ſoon command, O hone, o hone, And with this fatal Dart, Ile ſtab my Love-ſick heart, Ending a Lovers part, O hone, o hone. Thus did ſhe end her life, O hone, o hone, Which ſhould have been his wife, O hone, o hone Young-Men and Virgins all, Lament theſe Lovers fall, Gracing their Funeral, O hone, o hone.

Printed for M. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, I. Clarke, W. Thackeray, and T. Paſſenger.