%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> Fond Loue why dost thou dally: / OR, / The passionate Louers Ditty, / In praise of his Loue thats faire and witty. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1624-1624 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/18/2011 30079

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

S120578 2 The mocke Widdow UNKNOWN The Mock Widow the same tune UNKNOWN The Same Tune FOnd Loue why dost thou dally, / And mocke my passions with thy disdaine? O How I am astonish't, / To view the feature of my true loue, Roxburghe Ballads Editor None None None None Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 126 1: 127 Fond Loue why dost thou dally: / OR, / The passionate Louers Ditty, / In praise of his Loue thats faire and witty. Fond Love why dost thou dally: OR, The passionate Lovers Ditty, In praise of his Love thats faire and witty. Fond Love why do you dally: OR, The passionate Lovers Ditty, In praise of his Love that's fair and witty. 1624-1624 Francis Coules

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity religious concepts religious figures religious types & sects royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic The New World travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgarities/ crass humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 4/18/2011 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America love mythology/ Classical sex/ sexuality Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 4/18/2011 2:24:25 PM XBallad Doss, MacKenzie Created XML Version of Ballad 4/18/2011 2:24:25 PM Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/18/2011 2:24:25 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Zusky, Catherine Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/18/2011 2:24:25 PM Transcriptionist Two Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/18/2011 2:24:25 PM Transcriptionist One Becker, Charlotte Transcription of ballad manuscript 9/7/2010 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 7/7/2008 Bibliographer Giles Bergel Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 4/15/2011 Transcriber Becker, Charlotte Created Ballad XML 4/15/2011 Transcriber Meyer, Shannon Created Ballad XML 4/15/2011 Double-Key Transcription Merger Zusky, Catherine Created Ballad XML 4/15/2011 Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Created Ballad XML 4/15/2011 XBallad Doss, MacKenzie Created Ballad XML 10/31/2008 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/18/2011 Checker Bethany Wong Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Fond Love why dost thou dally:</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">OR,</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The passionate Lovers Ditty,</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">In praise of his Love thats faire and witty.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the tune of <hi rend="bold">The mocke Widdow.</hi></hi></seg>
FOnd Love why dost thou dally, And mocke my passions with thy disdaine? there is no blisse, where coynesse is, Seeke not thy pleasure in my paine: But let the chast torments of my desire, Kindle in thee propitious fire: So shall the pleasures of thy sweet imbraces, Conquer the griefe of my former disgraces, Then those stormes past, shall mercie appeare, And thou of cruelty goe quit and cleare. If not, thou art accused, For being a lure of my griefe and care, for from thy sight, comes my delight, Thy frowne onely procures despaire: But in thy smiles there dwell eternall joyes, Which from my heart all flouds of woes destroies, Then be not thou obdurate unto me, Seeing thou art my chiefe felicity: Thou seest how passionate I am for thee, O then grant Love, forgetting cruelty. Sweet Jove thou art my goddesse To whom my heart I soly dedicate, then mercie send, to me thy friend, My sad griefe to abreviate: Then shall I praise thy goodly tresses, Shining like gold as all the Gods confesses, And eke the splendor of thy comely face, Which doth so well thy compleat body grace, As thou appearst like Cynthia in her spheare, Or like Apollo in the dayes bright chaire.
Never was framd by nature, A Mayd of rarer forme and beauty then is my Love, to whom Ile prove, Officious in my duty, Her breath more sweeter farre then Civet can be, Delicious honey, or rare Sugar-Candy, Her rosie Cheekes most comely to the view, Which causeth me her Love for to pursue, And for Lorina languish I in griefe, For from her smiles my pleasures come in briefe. Come sweet sit thee downe by me, And pay just tribute for our true love, come lets court, and merrily sport, Here is the pleasant shady grove, Where nothing is wanting that pleasures may bring, Where natures harmonious Musicioners sing, And Philomel amongst them the sweetest, To love recording those notes that are meetest, Where soft winds murmure the joy of our blisse, And glyding by thy lips, oft steale a kisse. Heare the nimble Faunes caper, And old Silvanus traine doth trip and dance, thy forme to grace, in this faire place, Woods Nymphs doe their notes advance, Here all pleasure and content doth dwell, Joy doth all sorrow from this place expell, O I could surfet with this goodly sight, Wherein my heart and senses take delight, Thou art the Soveraigne of my love-sicke mind, In whom a Map of vertues are inshrind.
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The second part To the same tune.</hi></seg>
O How I am astonisht, To view the feature of my true love, thy sweet face, and comely grace, Would in an Angel envy move, Thy eyes give luster these shadowes ore-spread, And thy sweet language would waken the dead, The musicke of the spheares is but a dull noise When we shall heare thee, in thy sweetest voyce, Curious wonders within thee doe shine, Which doe perswade me that thou art divine. Juno the Queene of glory, Cannot come neare thee for thy vertuous grace: thou art more faire, in beauty rare, And dost deserve as well that place, Wherein Joves darling in her glory moves, Thy hands farre whiter then faire Venus Doves, And thou thy selfe compleat in each degree, Upon thy forehead dwels rare Majestie: Thou art indeed a lampe of heavenly wonder, And for thy vertues keepst all creatures under. All earthly joyes and pleasures Are to be had in thy society, Lorinas name, deserves true fame, She is indued with pietie, Fairer she is by ods then rocks of pearle: Jove till this time nere saw a braver Girle. The Phenix rare makes not a gayer show, Nor yet the Lillies on the banke of Poe, She is indeed the mirror of our age, And with Joves Queene may walke in equipage.
Wherefore should I dally then, To court this glory, and to imbrace, even in thee, all blisse I see, Lively depainted in thy face, Come then lets dally, and to the wanton ayre, Change loves delightments, so shall we declare Our loves by our kisses, whilst I nothing fearing Breath my best wish, in my wisht beauties hearin[g] Which when I have done thy captive Ile be, Yet thinke I have a glorious liberty. Come then, come my Lorina, And yeeld that treasure, which who so knowes, knowes a blisse, by which he is Eternally exempt from woes, Should Jove himselfe envy at our best delight, These joyes weele enjoy still in envies despight: Nay should his anger descend so upon me, As my Lorina to ravish thee from me, Ide flye in my fury as high as his spheare, And snatch thee from his armes or perish there. Come then let me enjoy thee, Whilst beauties florish on thee doth dwell, Colour fades, and foolish Mayds, That so dye lead Apes in hell, O then be wiser and grant to my desire, In thy snow white bosome quench my loves quic[k] fi[re] Let not unfaigned love goe unrewarded, Nor true affections be sleightly regarded, So shall I still live, and all sorrowes defie, Or else a Martyre to thy beauty dye.
Printed at London for Francis Coules. FINIS.