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EBBA 22118

Magdalene College - Pepys
Ballad XSLT Template
THE
CONSTANT LADY,
AND
Fals Hearted Squire,
Being a
Relation of a Knights Daughter near
Woodstock in Oxford-shier, that dy'd for Love of
a Squire. To a New Tune.

NEar Woodstock Town in Oxford shire
As I Walk'd forth to take the Are,
To vew the fields and Meadows Round,
Me thought's I hear'd a Mournful Sound.

Down by a Christal River side,
A gallant Bower I espi'd
Wher a fair Lady made great moan,
With many a sigh and bitter Groan.

Allas! quoth she, my love's unkind,
My sight and Tear's he will not mind,
But is so cruel unto me,
Which Causes all my Misiry.

My father is a worthy Knight,
My Mother she a Lady bright,
And I their child and only heir,
Yet love his brought me to dispair.

A wealthy Esquire lives hard by,
Who an my Beauty cast an Eye;
He courted me both day and night,
For to be his Jewel and delight.

To me these words he often said,
Fair Beautious Lady, lovly maid,
Oh! pitty me I you Imploar,
For it' is you I do adore

He still did beg me to be kind,
And ease his love Tormented mind,
For if, says he you should deny,
For love of you alass I dye.

These words did peirce my tender heart
I soon did yeald to ease his Smart,
And unto him made this reply,
Dear Sir for me you shall not dye.

With that he flew unto my Aarmes,
And swore I had a thousand Charms,
He call'd me Angel, Saint, and he,
Did sware for ever true to be.

Soon after he had gaind my Heart,
He cruelly from me did part,
An other Maid he does pursue,
And to all his Vows has bid adieu.

Tis he that makes me to Lament,
He causes all my discontent,
Tis he that causes my dispair,
Tis he's the cause of all my care.

This Lady round the Meadow run,
And geather'd flowers where they sprung
Of every sort she there did pull,
Until she had her Apron ful.

There is a Flower she did say,
Tis call'd hearts ease by night and day,
I wish I could that Flower find,
For to ease my heart and cure my mind.

But oh! alass it is in vain,
For me to sigh or to complane,
Theres nothing now can ease my smart,
For his disdain has broak my Heart,

The Green it serv'd me for a Bed,
The Flowers Pillows for my Head,
I lay'd me down and no more Spoak,
But a lass for love my heart Broak.

But when I found he Corps was cold,
I went to her fals Love and told.
What unto this fair Maid befel,
I am glad, quoth he, she is so well.

Oh did she think I so fond would be,
That would fancy none but she,
Man was not Made for one a lone,
For I take delight to hear their moan.

Oh! Cruel man I find thou art,
Thus for to berak a Virgins Heart,
In Abraham's Bosom may she Sleep,
While they Tormented Soul shall weep:


LONDON, Printed for R.B. near Fleet-Street.

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