%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> THE NEW BALOVV: / OR, / A Wenches Lamentation for the loss of her Sweet-heart: / he having left her with a Babe to play her, be- / ing the Fruits of her Folly. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 05/04/2011 31184

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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

R228744 1 Balow UNKNOWN Balow BAlow, my Babe, weep not for me: / Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee, Balow, balow, &c. [with variation] Roxburghe Ballads Editor None None None None Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 2: 573 THE NEW BALOVV: / OR, / A Wenches Lamentation for the loss of her Sweet-heart: / he having left her with a Babe to play her, be- / ing the Fruits of her Folly. THE NEW BALOW: OR, A Wenches Lamentation for the loss of her Sweet-heart: he having left her with a Babe to play her, being the Fruits of her Folly. THE NEW BALOW: OR, A Wenches Lamentation for the loss of her Sweetheart: he having left her with a Babe to play her, being the Fruits of her Folly. ?-?

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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 5/4/2011 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America children death infidelity procreation Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 5/4/2011 1:50:52 PM XBallad Shaughnessy, Elizabeth Created XML Version of Ballad 5/4/2011 1:50:52 PM Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/4/2011 1:50:52 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Becker, Charlotte Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/4/2011 1:50:52 PM Transcriptionist Two Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/4/2011 1:50:52 PM Transcriptionist One Megna, Paul Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/20/2011 Checker Bethany Wong Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/15/2011 Checker Grafals Michael Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/23/2009 Bibliographer Shannon Meyer Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">THE NEW BALOW:</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">OR,</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">A Wenches Lamentation for the loss of her Sweet-heart:</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="bold"><hi rend="italic">he having left her with a Babe to play her, be-</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="bold"><hi rend="italic">ing the Fruits of her Folly.</hi></hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="6" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The Tune is Balow.</hi></seg>
BAlow, my Babe, weep not for me: Whose greatest griefs for wronging thee, But pity her deserved smart, Who can but blame her own kind heart, For trusting to a flattering friend; The fairest tongue the falsest mind. Balow, my babe, etc. Balow my Babe, ly still and sleep, It grieves me sore to hear thee weep: If thou be still I will be glad, Thy weeping makes thy mother sad: Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy, Thy father wrought me great annoy. Balow, balow, etc. First when he came to court my love, With sugred words he did me move; His flattering and fained chear, To me that time did not appear. But now, I see that cruel be, Cares neither for my babe nor me. Balow, balow, etc. I cannot choose but love him still. Altho that he hath done me ill, For he hath stolen away my heart, And from him it cannot depart: In well or wo, where ere he go, Ile love him though he be my fo. Balow, Balow, etc. But peace my comfort, curse not him Who now in seas of grief doth swim Perhaps of death: for who can tell, Whether the Judge of heaven or hell, By some predestinated death, Revenging me, hath stopt his breath. Balow, Balow, etc. If I were near those fatal bounds; Where he ly groaning in his wounds: Repeating as he pants for breath, Her name that wounds more deep then death O then what womens heart so strong Would not forget the greatest wrong. Balow, balow, etc. If linen lack, for my loves sake, Whom once I loved: then would I take My smock even from my body meet, And wrap him in that winding sheet, Ay me how happy had I bin, If he had nere been wrapt therein. Balow, balow, etc. Balow my babe, spare thou thy tears, Until thou come to wit and years, Thy griefs are gathering to a sum, Heaven grant thee patience till they come,
A mothers fault a fathers shame, A hapless state, a bastards name. Balow, balow, etc. Be still my babe, and sleep a while, And when thou wakes then sweetly smile: But smile not as thy father did To cusen maids: O heaven forbid And yet into thy face I see Thy Father dear which tempted me. Balow, balow, etc. Balow my babe, O follow not His faithless steps who thee begot Nor glory in a maids disgrace, For thou art his too much, alace, And in thy looking eyes I read Who overthrew my maiden head. Balow, balow, etc. O if I were a maid again, All young mens flatteries Id refrain: Because unto my grief I find, That they are faithless and unkind, Their tempting terms hath bred my harm Bear witness babe lyes in my arm Balow, balow. etc. Balow my babe, spare yet thy tears, Until thou come to wit and years: Perhaps yet thou may come to be, A courteour by disdaining me: Poor me, poor me; alas poor me, My own two eyes have blinded me Balow, balow, etc. On Love and fortune I complain, On them, and on my self also: But most of all mine own two eyes The chiefest workers of my wo. For they have caused so my smart, That I must die without a heart, Balow, balow, etc. Balow my babe, thy Fathers dead To me the Prodigal hath plaid: Of heaven and earth regardless he Preferd the wars to me and thee, I doubt that now his cursing mind Make him eat accorns with the swine Balow, balow, etc, Farewel, farewel, most faithless youth That ever kist a womans mouth, Let never a woman after me, Submit unto the curtesie. For if she do, O cruel thou. Would wrong them: O who can tell how? Balow, balow, etc.
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