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EBBA 31278

British Library - Roxburghe
Ballad XSLT Template
The Fair and Loyal
Maid of Bristow.
Dame Fortune on this Maiden frownd,
That once on her did smile,
She was in tears of sorrow drownd,
That death did her beguile.
To the Tune of, Jenny Ginn, Or, Busie Fame.

THere livd in Bristol City fair,
a Maiden fair and bright,
To whom a Seaman did repair
she was his hearts delight,
No comfort had he in this life,
when she was from him gone,
Twas she he vowd should be his wife
and her he doted on.

But Fortune did upon them frown,
that once on them did smile,
And she [t]hat did these Lovers Crown,
at last did them beguile:
And to Virginia he must go,
his fortune to advance,
Which did procure their overthrow
Oh sad unhappy chance.

And at his parting showres of tears,
came trickling from their eyes,
She was possest with deadly fears
and doubt did her surprize:
Least he should ner return again,
to Crown her Nuptial day,
And as she sadly did complain,
thus he to her did say.

Cease, cease, my dear do not complain,
Ile faithful be to you,
And let me perish on the main,
If ere I prove untrue:
And with a thousand Kisses I,
my faithful promise Seal,
While she perceived from his eye,
a trickling tear to steal.

More faithful Lovers ever could,
in this same Land be found,
She that was made of Beautys mold,
in virtues did abound:
And down upon her bended knee,
this lovely dame did fall,
And prayd for his prosperity,
with his return and all.

So to the brackish Seas with speed,
this Loyal Seaman went,
Which did in her much trouble breed,
and causd her discontent:
For ere he to Virginia came,
he lost his dearest life,
And ner returnd to her again,
to espouse her as his wife.

But this to her was still unknown,
in vain did she expect;
Her true and faithful Lover home,
whom she did so affect,
But oft to Dundree Hill she went,
to see ships under Sail,
Where she most sadly did lament,
and Courage then did fail,

Ah me of all unfortunate,
thus to her self she sed,
I fear that cruel rigid fate,
hath struck my true Love dead,
But if it prove for to be true,
that my dear Love is gone,
All comforts then Ile bid adieu,
alas Ime quite undone.

Ile melt away, in brinish tears,
mine eyes no more shall close,
And Ile add sorrow to my fears,
all Comforts Ile oppose:
Ile have a Motto on my Tomb,
shall make true Lovers mourn,
Till for my sake they shall consume,
and languish here forlorn.

At last the tydings to her came,
that her true Love was dead,
And to the world she did proclaime,
her joys were gone and fled:
No comfort in this world she took,
but night and day she cryd,
She was of blessings quite forsook,
and so poor soul she dyd.

Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball, near the Hospital-Gate in Smithfield.

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