%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> Loves Lunacie. / OR, / Mad Besses Fegary. / Declaring her sorrow, care and mone, / Which may cause many a sigh and grone: / A Young-man did this Maid some wrong, / Wherefore she writ this mournfull Song. Crimsal, Richard University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1634-1634 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/18/2011 30147

The University of California makes a claim of copyright only to original contributions made by Early Modern Center participants and other members of the university community. The University of California makes no claim of copyright to the original text. Permission is granted to download, transmit or otherwise reproduce, distribute or display the contributions to this work claimed by The University of California for non-profit educational purposes, provided that this header is included in its entirety. For inquiries about commercial uses, please contact:

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

S108784 4 UNKNOWN UNKNOWN The mad mans Morris UNKNOWN The Mad Man's Morris the same tune UNKNOWN The Same Tune POore Besse, mad Besse, so they call me, / I'm metamorphosed; I'M like to faire Philomela, / by Tereus basely ravished; Roxburghe Ballads Editor None None None None Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 206 1: 207 Loves Lunacie. / OR, / Mad Besses Fegary. / Declaring her sorrow, care and mone, / Which may cause many a sigh and grone: / A Young-man did this Maid some wrong, / Wherefore she writ this mournfull Song. Loves Lunacie. Or, Mad Besses Fegary. Declaring her sorrow, care and mone, Which may cause many a sigh and grone: A Young-man did this Maid some wrong, Wherefore she writ this mournfull Song. Loves Lunacy. Or, Mad Besse's vagary. Declaring her sorrow, care and mone, Which may cause many a sigh and grone: A Young-man did this Maid some wrong, Wherefore she writ this mournfull Song. Crimsal, Richard 1634-1634 Iohn Wright the younger

This document follows the guidelines specified for TEI.

XML Generated Automatically at 4/18/2011 4:04:19 PM Using EMC

XBallad Parsing Engine developed by Carl Stahmer.

TEI Template developed by Gerald Egan and Modified by Carl Stahmer

All apostrophes are encoded as '.

Any dashs occurring in line breaks have been removed;

All dashs are encoded as ‐ and all em dashes as —.

 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 affliction/ health love mythology/ Classical Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 4/18/2011 4:04:19 PM XBallad Doss, MacKenzie Created XML Version of Ballad 4/18/2011 4:04:19 PM Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/18/2011 4:04:19 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Zusky, Catherine Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/18/2011 4:04:19 PM Transcriptionist Two Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/18/2011 4:04:19 PM Transcriptionist One Becker, Charlotte Transcription of ballad manuscript 9/20/2010 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 7/9/2008 Bibliographer Giles Bergel Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 10/27/2008 Checker Meghan Fadel Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/24/2011 Checker Bethany Wong Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Loves Lunacie.</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Or,</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Mad <hi rend="bold">Besses</hi> Fegary.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Declaring her sorrow, care and mone,</hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Which may cause many a sigh and grone:</hi></seg> <seg n="6" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">A Young-man did this Maid some wrong,</hi></seg> <seg n="7" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Wherefore she writ this mournfull Song.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="8" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the Tune of, <hi rend="bold">The mad mans Morris.</hi></hi></seg>
POore Besse, mad Besse, so they call me, Im metamorphosed; Strange sights and visions I doe see, by Furies I am led: Tom was the cause of all my woe, to him I loudly cry, My love to him theres none doth know, yet heere he lets me lie. This Bethlem is a place of torment, heeres fearfull notes still sounding; Heere minds are fild with discontent, and terrors still abounding. Some shake their chaines in wofull wise, some sweare, some curse, some roaring, Some shrieking out with fearfull cries, and some their cloaths are tearing. O curst Alecto that fierce fury, Megara, Tysiphon! Are governours of my late glory; wise Pallas me doth shun: My jems, my jewels and my earings, are turnd to iron fetters; They now doe serve for others wearings, such as are now my betters.
Orcades Fairies now doe lead me, Ore mountaines, hils and valleys, Naiades doth through waters drive me, and Brizo with me dallies: O sometimes I dreame of my Tom, then with my folded armes I him embrace, saying welcome, but waking breeds my harmes. Adrastea now robbeth me, of all my wit and patience, Angarona will not receive me, to live in peace and silence: My mind runs on my fine apparell, which once did fit my wearing: Then with my selfe I seeme to quarrell, my rags I fall to tearing. O once I was as faire as Briseis, and chast as was Cassandra, But living voyd of joy and blisses, Im Hero to Leander: For as chast Hero her selfe drowned, so I am dround in sorrow; The Fates on me hath sorely frowned, no patience I can borrow.
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The second part, To the same tune.</hi></seg>
IM like to faire Philomela, by Tereus basely ravished; Yet when his burning lust did thaw, he closely her imprisoned: And even so Im quite defloured by Tom of all my senses; My love and meanes he hath devowred, making no recompences. You Gods and all you Goddesses, pray listen to my mourning, And grace me with this happinesse, to see my Toms returning. Or if you will not grant me this, to send him hither to me, Send me but word whereas he is, and Tom, Ile come unto thee. If that he be in God Marses traine, where armour brightly glisters; Be sure Ile fetch him home againe, in spight of the three Sisters: Or if he be in Venus Court, where Cupid shoots his arrowes: Ile fetch him thence from all his sport, onely to ease my sorrowes. Stay, who comes here? tis the sisters three, which lately I did mention, I doubt they come to chide with me and hinder my intention. Clotho brings wool, Lachesis doth spin, Atropos cuts asunder; Now Ile away and not be seene, each one is my Commander. You Maids and Virgins faire and pure note well my carefull calling, You cannot thinke what I endure, Cupid hath causd my falling:
When I was as now many be, free from God Cupids arrowes, I would have smild at any shee, that should tell me of sorrowes. My lodging once was soft and easie, my garments silke and sattin; Now in a locke of straw I lie, this is a wofull pattin: My diet once was choise and fine, all which did not content me; Now I drinke water, once good wine was naught unlesse twere sent mee. Thus pride and love together joynd to worke my utter ruine; They wrought my discontent in mind, which causes my undoing. And thus good people all adue, perhaps you nere may see me, Farewell I bid once more to you, Im grieved sore believe me. But if you chance once more to come, bring tidings from my dearest, By all meanes bring my true love Tom, hees welcomst when hees neerest: The day is past, and night is come, and here comes our commander; Heel locke me into a darke roome, tis sorrowes chiefest Chamber.
FINIS. Richard Climsull. AT LONDON. Printed for John Wright the younger, and are to bee sold at the upper end of the Old-Bayley.