%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The Young-Mans A. B. C. / Or, Two Dozen of Verses which a Young Man sent his / Love, who proved unkind. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1686-1686 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/22/2011 30293

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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

R215896 1 The Young-mans A. B. C. UNKNOWN The Young Man's A. B. C. ACcept, dear love, these / shadows of my grief. Roxburghe Ballads Editor None None None None Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 432 1: 433 The Young-Mans A. B. C. / Or, Two Dozen of Verses which a Young Man sent his / Love, who proved unkind. The Young-Mans A.B.C. Or, Two Dozen of Verses which a Young-Man sent his Love, who proved unkind. The Young Man's A.B.C. Or, Two Dozen of Verses which a Young Man sent his Love, who proved unkind. Printer A. Milbourn 1686-1686 A. Milbourn

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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 4/22/2011 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America affliction/ health love virtue Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 4/22/2011 3:06:36 PM XBallad Doss, MacKenzie Created XML Version of Ballad 4/22/2011 3:06:36 PM Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/22/2011 3:06:36 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/22/2011 3:06:36 PM Transcriptionist Two Hehmeyer, Paxton Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/22/2011 3:06:36 PM Transcriptionist One Becker, Charlotte Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/17/2008 Bibliographer Giles Bergel Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 2/15/2011 Checker Bethany Wong Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 2/15/2011 Checker Bethany Wong Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 2/15/2011 Checker Bethany Wong Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/24/2008 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/1/2010 Checker Danielle Davey Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/1/2010 Checker Danielle Davey Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
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ACcept, dear love, these shadows of my grief, And let thy pitty yield me some relief: A Captive to thy will I must remain; For thou art only she must ease my pain. BE kind to me as I am kind to thee; [B]last not thy fame with cruelty to me: but let thy inward parts thy features grace, beauty in heart ado[r]ns the outward face. COnsider how my service hath been bent Continually to gain thy sweet content: Canst thou, my Dear be so obdure to me? Cross unto him that is so true to thee. DEfer no time to understand my grief, but with some speed come ease me with relief: Thy beauty rare hath struck my heart so deep, That all my daies I mean to wail and weep.
EXcept thou didst some favour to me yield, I shall be slain with love in Venu[s] field: I am so discontent in mind and heart, That neither means nor time can cure my smart. FOrget thou not the woe wherein I dwell, My torments do all all other griefs excell; Consider well my woful sable nights, And days I spend away without delights. GRant me thy love to mitigate my pain, The like thou shalt receive from me again. So love will we as doth the turtle dove, [W]hose firm affection ever constant prove. HAve you respect on this the grief I take, Which out of sleep doth sometimes me awake; In Dreams I see that which I most desire; But waking sets my senses all on fire. IN doleful sort these words I now relate, which makes me think my self unfortunate; To set my heart where I had nought but scorn, which makes me rue the time that I was born. KIll me not in this desperation deep, To think how I neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep; To think of that which I cannot obtain, The which hath near my heart with sorrow slain.
LEt tender pitty move thy gentle heart, And so from thee my love shall never start, To gain thy love ill venture life and limb, And for thy sake the Ocean I will swim. MY life I loath because my woes increase, Therefore my to[r]ments cease and me release: then be not harsh whereas thou wouldst be kind, but for my love let me no hatred find. NEither deny to grant me this request, Nor seek thou not to work me more unrest, For if you do the wo[r]st share fall to thine. the worse can come ends but one life of mine. OH that thou wouldst but now conceive aright, then would my darkness soon be turnd to light: My greatest sorrows I should then destroy And all my grief and care exchange to joy. PIerce then no d[e]eper to my bleeding heart, The which is ready now for to depart: He still that loves and is not lovd again, Had better die than still to live in pain. QUench thou the flames of this my burning breast, which for thy sake no time nor tide can rest: My love to thee hath evermore been true, Therefore the same see that I have from me. REgard my grief how still it more exceeds, My life is like the Herb thats spoild with weeds: Among the finest wheat the tares do grow, And thou my love hath wrought my overthrow.
SWeet love now take on me thy friend, some care, Regard my grief that still lives in dispair Of thy true love, which is more dear than gold; My griefs are more than numbers can be told. TOo long Ive livd and yet too late repent, For why the glory of my life is spent; In loving her that never did love me, O then what day of pleasure can I see? WOuld I had never livd thy face to have seen, O then full happy surely had I been, For never any one under the Sun, But thou alone, could me this wrong done. X Thousand times more cruel is thy mind, Than Heathens, Jews, or Turks are in their kind Or any one that on the earth doth go, And woe is me, for I have found it so. YEt if thy mind be so perversly bent, That nothing can procure my hearts content, Know this from me, that I have learnd of late. No more to dote on her that doth me hate. ZEnobia to Tamberlain neer was More dear than thou to me, but now alas! I find my toyl, my sighs and sobs in vain, Why should I love, and not be lovd again? & Now to set a period to my woe, if thou wilt have me, prithee tell me so: if otherwise thou meanst, thy mind it send, Resolve me off o[r] on, and theres an end.
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