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EBBA 22169

Magdalene College - Pepys
Ballad XSLT Template
The two Unhappy Lovers;
Being a Wealthy Merchant who broke his heart for Love, and the
Mercers Beautiful Daughter, who after his Death, Poysoned her self
in dispair.
Tune of, If Love's a sweet Passion.

IN London there lived a Beautiful Maid,
Only Daughter unto a Rich Mercer by Trade,
Who had left to her Portion full three thousand pound,
Thus both Riches and beauty in her did abound;
But the Pride of her insolent heart soar'd above
All the graces of Beauty, and blasted her Love.

As through the fair City she blazed her Fame,
For to Court her, a Merchant and Shop-keeper came
Nay, a wealthy young Squire, and Curnol likewise,
Each indeavour'd to gain this Rich Beautiful prize,
But their proffered Services prov'd but in vain,
For she frown'd, and returned the Darts of disdain.

I'll have no Mechanick Shop-keeper, she cry'd,
Nor shall any poor Souldier e're lye by my side;
No, nor Merchant, who ventures his stock on the Seas
She return'd them such insolent answers as these;
But the wealthy young Squire she fancy'd we hear,
Whose Estate was some five or six thousand a year.

The Noble brave Curnol he valu'd her not,
And the Shop-keeper straightways her beauty forgot;
But the wounded young Merchant he languishing cry'd,
Have I lov'd her! yet must I be clearly deny'd?
O go tell her, except she some pity will take,
That her Languishing Lover must dye for her sake.

She soon was inform'd of her languishing Love
Yet no manner of pitty this Damsel could move
But she laugh'd in derision and thus did reply,
I'll not hinder the Youth, if he's willing to dye;
For no Merchant my Person shall ever imbrace,
While a Rich noble Gallant young Squire's in place.

So soon as her Answer was brought to his Ear,
He reply'd with a sigh and a Sorrowful Tear,
I am ruin'd by Beauty, my Glory is fled,
In the dark silent Grave I will now lay my Head
Thus he straitway departed, and left her to know
Many days of sad sorrow for slighting him so.

The Squire whom she did so dearly adore,
He rejected her Charms, and came near her no more,
This beginning of sorrow she presently found,
For the Arrows of Cupid had given the Wound,
And did cause her in passionate sorrow to cry,
There is none in the world more unhappy than I.

My true Love the Merchant I sent to the Grave,
When it lay in my absolute power to save
His dear innocent Life; nay, I kill'd him with grief,
And deny'd him so much as one glance of relief;
Therefore now to my passionate sorrow I find,
I am justy rewarded, and serv'd in my kind.

After my true love to the Grave let me go,
For here's nothing but torment and trouble I know,
With which my poor sorrowful Soul is opprest,
Let this Potion of Poyson now end the contest,
Then she took up the draught, and did trembling cry,
I am coming my Love, for thy sake I will dye.


Printed for J. Conyers, at the Anchor and Bible near St.
Peters Church in Corn-Hill.

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