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EBBA 21335

Magdalene College - Pepys
Ballad XSLT Template
THE
Dairy Maid's TRAGEDY
OR,
The Forsaken Damosel
Of Summersetshire's sorrowful Lamentation for the loss of her Love, who left her in
Despair, till she languish'd to Death. To the Tune of, The Nightingale's Song.

As I through a Meadow one Morning did pass,
there did I behold a young beautiful Lass,
Whose age I'm perswaded was hardly fifteen;
and she on her head wore a garland of Green.

Her lips was like Rubies, and as for her eyes,
they sparkled like diamonds or stars in the Skies,
And with her sweet voice, which was charming and clear,
My Sonnet she sung for the loss of her Dear:

O why was my Billy so false and unkind?
why does he appear like the whavering wind,
To one that was loyal in e'ry degree?
oh, why has he taken another for me?

The cunning deceit of his flattering Tongue,
betray'd my poor innocent Heart being young,
For every word that he spoke I believ'd,
but now to my sorrow I find I'm deceiv'd.

While we in the Meadow was making of day,
with pleasure we pass'd the sweet Minutes away;
He call'd me his Jewel, his joy and delight,
but now he endeavours to ruin me quite.

What can be the cause that he torters me so?
how can he delight in the sad overthrow
Of Susan, whoever was true to her trust,
I'm sorry that Billy shou'd prove so unjust.

Whilst we in one Service together did live,
he wanted for nothing, that Susan could give;
Good huming March tiple for him I'd provide,
And twenty good bits in a corner beside.

When he through the Fields has been going to Plow,
I made him sweet Sullebubs under the Cow;
Then then he could kiss me and call me his dear,
but now after all, I am never the near.

I often would feed him with Custards and Cream,
oh then how delighful and pleasant he'd seem.
Then then I was cudled and pull'd on his knee,
what Man in the World was more loving than he?

Nay, this, and full twenty times more have I done,
his hose I have mended, and cleaned his shun,
His bands I have starched, and twenty things more,
and yet he has got now another in store.

I find that my favours are clearly forgot,
there's nothing but sorrow doth fall to my lot,
Since he without reason have left me of late,
instead of sweet Susan, he kisses young Kate.

Sure never was Man so ungrateful as he;
but what shall I say he's a Tyrant to me,
Who laughs at my ruin, and dismal despair,
The garland of willow therefore I must ware.

Though I at the present am strangely abhor'd,
perhaps he may meet with an equal reward;
For seldom or never unpunish'd they go,
that seeks a poor innocent Love's overthrow.

Since he is deceitful, no other I'll have,
but wander about till I find out my grave,
And there I'll lye down for to take my repose,
while Death's icie Hands my poor Eye-lids shall close.

I'll never return to my Dairy again,
this passionate sorrow, and tortering pain,
Will soon put a period to all that I feel,
Tho' now it is greater than I can conceal.

When this she had utter'd, she fainted away,
then on the cold Earth in a slumber she lay;
I ran to revive her, but [seemed?] it too late,
she dy'd for her Love, and submitted to Fate.

FINIS.

Licensed according to Order.
LONDON: Printed for J. Deacon, at
the Angel in Guiltspur-street.

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