%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A PROPER NEW BALLAD, / Being the Regrate of a true Lover, for his / Mistriss Unkindnesse. 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 31186

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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

R228745 5 UNKNOWN UNKNOWN UNKNOWN UNKNOWN I'le ever love the more I'll Never Love Thee More I'll Ever Love Thee More I Wish I were those Gloves, dear heart, / which could thy hands inshrine; Roxburghe Ballads Editor None None None None Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 2: 574 A PROPER NEW BALLAD, / Being the Regrate of a true Lover, for his / Mistriss Unkindnesse. A PROPER NEW BALLAD, Being the Regrate of a true Lover, for his Mistriss Unkindnesse. A PROPER NEW BALLAD, Being the Regret of a true Lover, for his Mistress' Unkindness. ?-?

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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 love Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 5/4/2011 1:52:03 PM XBallad Shaughnessy, Elizabeth Created XML Version of Ballad 5/4/2011 1:52:03 PM Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/4/2011 1:52:03 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Becker, Charlotte Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/4/2011 1:52:03 PM Transcriptionist Two Megna, Paul Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/4/2011 1:52:03 PM Transcriptionist One Hehmeyer, Paxton Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/20/2011 Checker Bethany Wong Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/15/2011 Checker Grafals Michael 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
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I Wish I were those Gloves, dear heart, which could thy hands inshrine; Then should no sorrow grief nor smart, molest this heart of mine: But since the Fates doth this deny, which leaves me to deplore, My dribling eyes shall never dry, until thou love me more. But O that I might shrouded be within [these] arms of thine, And that my soul might say of thee, that thou were freely mine: [Then prostrate at thy] feet I would, thee doub[t]lesse still ad[o]re, And so in spight of Fate I should, assay to love thee more. I shall defy that mortal Wight, enjoy thee w[h]o so will, Then I to soar an higher flight in love, or mount me till: But since to one I must resigne, thee quite and give thee ore, Ile love him, for that face of thine, which made me love thee more. Nay sure some sacred Angel haunts, within that heart of thine, Whose secret power my soul enchants, which from thy eyes do shine: But O that I could thee inflame, I did him implore, That so by reason of the same, thou yet might love me more. But happie is thy servent sure, that such a love enjoies, Whose smiles does all disasters cure, whos[e] frowns breeds all annoies: As Phebus breaking through the cloud, gives heat and light in store, So when thou doth thine eyes unshrude, they make me love thee more. I wish I were a Hauk to soar within the skie of love, And that thou metamorphosd were into a turtle Dove: There would I catch thee with delight, with pleasure plum thee ore, And so should none beneath our flight, attempt to love thee more. Thy face is as a heaven which holds two shining suns of love, The which thine eye-lids clouds infold, in ivorie Orbs they move: Their absence makes me like to die, their presence burns me sore, So still in these extreams I lie, and yet must love thee more. To lodge betwixt these ivorie hills, which in thy bosom dwells, From whence the sugred nectar trils in sweetness that excels:
There would I surfeit with delight, my self, and nere give ore, Till love should so our souls unite, as ay to love thee more. I like the Salamander am, that in the fire remains, And not consumed with the flame, I live in pleasant pains: O that these bodies were to act, as free as minds to soare, Then surelie I at length would make my Lasse to love me more. Since of the days desires our dreams, the true ideas are, I wish that of mine eyes, the beams in sleep inclosed were: That slumbring I might thee possess, whom daylie I adore, For waking I dare scarce transgress, and yet must love thee more. But yet if thou would condescend unto my dear request. And suffer me my health to spend, upon thy candid breast: Then surelie I, or ever let, imperiouslie would soare, As praising thee at highest rate, and so would love thee more. Some comfort unto those belong, who commen lovers be, Since they upon surmise of wrong, can set their fancie free: But should I die by thy disdain, which others would abhore, My pure affection shall unstaind, aspire to love thee more. Then let not black ingratitude, so dear a Saint disgrace, For it would taint the finest blood, and stain the fairest face: Since thou mayest love, and yet be chast, and still behind have store, Then slight not him, who doth attest the gods, hel love thee more.
FINIS.