The wofull complaint, and lamentable death of a forsaken Lover. To a pleasant new tune.
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DOwne by a forrest where as I did passe,
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to see that sport abroad there was,
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Walking by a pleasant spring,
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the Birds in sundry notes did sing.
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Long time wandring here and there,
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to see what sports in forrests were,
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At length I heard one make great mone,
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saying, From me all joyes are gone.
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I gave good heed unto the same,
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musing from whence this Eccho came:
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But by no meanes I could devise,
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from whence this sorrowfull sound did rise,
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But in that place did still remaine,
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untill I heard it once againe.
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Then presently I heard one say,
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O death, come take my life away.
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I looked downe upon my right hand,
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a sort of pleasant trees did stand:
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And under them I did behold
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a pleasant place with shadowes cold.
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A sumptuous place was in the same,
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musing from whence this Eccho came:
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Then in that place I did perceive,
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a Gentleman both fine and brave.
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And from that place hee did come downe,
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casting from him a mourning Gowne,
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Walking up and downe the place,
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me thought a proper man he was:
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Thus to himselfe he did lament,
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wishing to God his dayes were spent,
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His torments did increase so sore,
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his heart was able to beare no more:
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I stept into a hollow tree,
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because I would his passion see:
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With folded armes looking to skies,
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the teares alas stood in his eyes:
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And carelesse of his life he seem'd,
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pitty he was no more esteem'd:
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Then downe he laid him on the ground:
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no ease to sorrow can be found.
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Thus he lamented in wofull case,
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seven long yeeres within few dayes,
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Saying, While I live, I must remaine,
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I find no ease to helpe my paine:
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For she that should my sorrowes remove,
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she doth disdaine to be my Love,
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And hath beene since that she did heare,
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that I good will to her did beare.
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Ye gods above come ease my paine,
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sith heavy griefe doth me constraine,
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For whilst my corps remaines, on earth,
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shall shew the causes of my death.
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Every tree that here doth stand,
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shall be engraven with mine owne hand,
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That they long time may witnesse beare,
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Love was the cause I died here.
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Nature did to her so much right,
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scorning to take the helpe of Art:
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And in as many vertues dight,
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as ever did imbrace a heart.
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Being so good, so truly tried,
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O some for lesse were deifi'd,
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Full of pitty as may be,
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and yet perhaps not so to me.
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When first I saw her pleasant face,
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me thought a joyfull sight it was:
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Her beauty tooke my wits away,
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I knew not how one word to say,
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A Gentleman tooke her to dance,
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she gallantly her selfe could prance,
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And kept her order in good time,
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I wish to God she had beene mine.
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But when I thought she had been mine owne,
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then was she farthest from me flowne:
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She gave no eare unto my cry,
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which makes me here in sorrow die,
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For she was in another mind,
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which to my paine I often find,
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Of all my hopes I am beguild,
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which makes me walke in woods so wilde.
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The second part, To the same tune.
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TO silent trees I make my mone,
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and birds and beasts doe heare me grone,
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Yet shee that should my griefe remove,
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disloyall wretch to me did prove.
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My love to her was constant pure,
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and to my end will so indure,
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And Jove to her I hope will send
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a grieved minde before her end.
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I have forsaken friends and kinne,
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my dayes to end these woods within,
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My pleasure past I now do leave,
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sweet Saviour now my soule receive.
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Beare witnesse heaven of my griefe,
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to ease my heart send some reliefe,
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Faire Maids, unto your lovers be true,
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if first be good, change not for new.
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O young men all, be warn'd by me:
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gaze not too much on womans beauty,
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Lest that you be so fettered fast,
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you cannot be enlarged at last.
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Some womens wils they are well knowne,
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in love oft changing sticke to none:
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They'le sweare they love you with their heart,
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when mind and tongue are both apart.
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My love to her I did reveale,
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and from her nothing did conceale,
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Though at the first she seemed coy.
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she said at the last, I was her joy,
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And none but I her love should have,
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what need I any more to crave?
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But Haggard-like she me abus'd,
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another chosen and I refus'd.
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When he had bewail'd his sorrowes long,
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hee tooke a Lute that by him hung,
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And on the lute he sweetly plaid,
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and unto it these words he said:
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O death, when will the houre come,
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that I have waited on so long?
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For whilst I live I languish still,
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finding no helpe to ease my ill.
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Then quite he flung his lute away,
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and tooke a sword that by him lay,
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Sayes, Oft thou hast been thy masters friend,
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and now thou shalt his torments end.
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He gave true sentence in that place,
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to end his life in a wofull case.
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The hilt he strooke downe to the ground,
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and gave himselfe a deadly wound.
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Then unto him I ranne amaine,
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but out alas it was all in vaine:
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For long before to him I came,
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his death he had upon the same.
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I found his grave was ready made,
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wherein I thought he should be laid.
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And in that place I laid him downe,
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and over spred his mourning Gowne.
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Over his Grave his sword I laid,
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whereon his death he had receiv'd,
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Upon his Lute a peale I rung,
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and by the place the same I hung.
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Then I beheld on every tree,
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her name that was his onely joy,
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Which long before his face did stand,
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because she got the [upp]er hand.
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This Maid that did doe all this wrong,
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to live a Maid thought it ore-long,
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Married she is to such a one,
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that daily makes her sigh and groane,
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Her coynesse to her former Love,
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disloyall then, now truely proves:
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Take heed faire Maids, for you may see
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wrongs alwayes will revenged be:
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Thus you women will use your skill,
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let us poore men say what we will.
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