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