%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The Love-sick Maid: Or, Cordelia's Lamentation for the / Absence of her Gerheard. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1678-1678 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 05/09/2011 31261

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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

R228966 4 UNKNOWN UNKNOWN UNKNOWN a pleasant New Tune UNKNOWN A Pleasant New Tune BE gone / Thou fatal fiery Feavor, now be gone, Roxburghe Ballads Editor None None None None Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 3: 901 The Love-sick Maid: Or, Cordelia's Lamentation for the / Absence of her Gerheard. The Love-sick Maid: Or, Cordelia’s Lamentation for the Absence of her Gerheard. The Lovesick Maid: Or, Cordelia’s Lamentation for the Absence of her Gerheard. 1678-1678 W. Thackeray, T. Passenger, and W. Whitwood

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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 5/9/2011 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America affliction/ health clothing/ appearance death love Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 5/9/2011 2:28:51 PM XBallad Doss, MacKenzie Created XML Version of Ballad 5/9/2011 2:28:51 PM Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/9/2011 2:28:51 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Zusky, Catherine Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/9/2011 2:28:51 PM Transcriptionist Two Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/9/2011 2:28:51 PM Transcriptionist One Megna, Paul Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/7/2011 Checker Dominique Moomaw Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 2/15/2011 Checker Grafals Michael Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/27/2009 Bibliographer Shannon Meyer Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The Love-sick Maid: Or, <hi rend="bold">Cordelias</hi> Lamentation for the</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Absence of her <hi rend="bold">Gerheard</hi>. To a pleasant New Tune.</hi></seg>
BE gone Thou fatal fiery Feavor, now be gone, let Love alone; Let his Etherial flames possess my Breast: His Fires From thy consuming heat no aid requires, for swift desires Transports my passions to a Throne of rest: Where I, Who in the pride of Health, did never feel such warmth to move; By Sickness tamd and so inflamd, I know no Joys but Love. And he That trifled many tedious hours away, my Love to try, In little space, hath gaind the grace to have more Power than I. Depart Thou scorching fury, quick from me depart, think not my heart To thy dull flame shall be a Sacrifice; A Maid Dread Cupid now is on thine Altar laid, by thee betrayd. A rich Oblation to restore thine eyes. B[u]t yet My fair acknowledgment will prove thou hadst no craft, To bend thy bow, against thy Foe, that aimd to catch the Shaft: For if That at my Breast thy Arrows thou all at once let flye, She that receives a thousand Sheaves can do no more but dye.
No more, You learnd Physitians, tyre your Brains no more, pray give me ore, Mine is a Cure in Physick never read: Although You skilful Doctors all the World doth know; pray let me go, You may as well make practise on the Dead. But if My Gerheard dain to view me, wi[t]h the Glory of his looks, I make no doubt, to live without Phy[s]i[t]ians and their Books: Tis he Tha[t] with his balmed Kisses can restore my la[t]est breath: Wha[t] bliss is this, to gain a Kiss, can save a Maid from Death: To you That tell me of another World, I vow, and will allow Your sacred Precepts, if youl grant me this; That he Whom I esteem of next the Deity, may go with me; Without whose presence there can be no bliss. Go teach Your Tenets of Eternity, to those that aged be; And not perswade a Love-sick Maid, theres any Heaven but he. But stay, Methinks an Icy slumber hath possest my frenzy brain: Pray bid him dye, if you see I shall never wake again. The Young-Mans Answer: Or, His Dying Breath, Lamenting for his Fair Cordelias Death. To a delightful New Tune.
COme on Thou fatal messenger, from her thats gone, lest I alone Within that quenchless flame forever fry: The lake Of Love being kindled, wherein none can take rest, but wake, Where slumber hath no power to close the Eye; Whilst I, That by my fair Cordelia desires to take a sleep, With lids wide spread upon my bed, am forcd a watch to keep. And she That waited many tedious hours my Constancy to try, Is now at rest whilst I opprest, fain would, but cannot dye. Dispatch, Thou scorching Fury, quickly now dispatch, by death I watch, To be releast from this tormenting flame: The Dart Sent from dread Cupid, sticks fast in my heart, I wanting art, Had not the power for to resist the same. Though she, Who by her late acknowledgment profest thou hadst no craft; Yet from thy bow, thou madst her know, what Power lay in the shaft, But then Thou sent another Arrow, which me of hopes bereft: Most like a Foe, to wound me so, for whom no cure is left.
Wherefore Did you Physitians give my Mistriss ore? had you no more Experience, but what you in Books have read? Or why (You Learned Doctors) did you cease to try your skills when I Might have revivd her, if shed not been dead: And yet Suppose that I in Person had present been to view her, Is there such grace in any face, to work so great a Cure? But now Ime come too late to kiss her: which were it not in vain, After her death, ide spend my breath to fetch her back again. Unto The fair Elizium, thither will I go, whereas I know, She is amongst those Sacred ones preferd: When I Shall be admitted for to come so nigh; pardon Ile cry, For my so long absence, wherein I have errd: And since By her I was esteemd so much on Earth, being here: Hence for her sake no rest i'le take, till I have found her there. No more, But only I desire, to hear my Passing-Bell, That Virgins may lament the day, of Gerheards last Fare-well.
London Printed for W. Thackeray, T. Passenger, and W. Whitwood.