%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> CROMLET's LILT, University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 05/02/2011 31339

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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

T34435 1 its own proper Tune UNKNOWN Its Own Proper Tune SInce all they Vows, false Maid, / are blown to Air; Roxburghe Ballads Editor None None None None Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 3: 647 CROMLET's LILT, ?-?

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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 5/2/2011 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America love Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 5/2/2011 2:09:11 PM XBallad Doss, MacKenzie Created XML Version of Ballad 5/2/2011 2:09:11 PM Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/2/2011 2:09:11 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/2/2011 2:09:11 PM Transcriptionist Two Fadel, Meghan Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/2/2011 2:09:11 PM Transcriptionist One Foley, Christopher Transcription of ballad manuscript 11/9/2010 Checker Sue Hong Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/30/2009 Bibliographer Meghan Fadel Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">CROMLETs LILT,</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To be sung with its own proper Tune:</hi></seg>
SInce all thy Vows, false Maid, are blown to Air; And my poor Heart betrayd to sad dispair; Into some Wilderness, My grief I will express, And thy hard Heartedness, O cruel Fate. Have I not graven our Loves, on every Tree: In yonder Warden Groves, though false thou be; Was there not a solemn Oath plighted between us both; Thou thy Faith, I my Troth, real to be? Some gloomy Place Ill find, some doleful shade, Where neither Sun nor Wind neer Entrance had. Into that hallow Cave, Myself I would down leave, For that Thing I do crave, calld Constancy. Wild Fruit shall be my Meat, Ill drink the Spring. The Earth shall be my Seat; I for covering, Ill have the starry Skie, My Corps to canopie. Till my Soul from me flie to Heavens King. Ill have no Funeral Fire, no tears for me, No Grave do I desire, no Obsequie; The courteous Red-breast he With Leaves will cover me, And sing my Elegie, with doleful Voice. And when I Soul-less am, Ill visit thee: O thou obdurest Dame, whose Cruelty Hath killd the kindest Heart, Eer piercd by Cupids Dart, No Grief my Soul shall part from loving thee. Her REPLY, HE whom I must affect, doth me disdain, His causeless Disrespect makes me complain, Wherefore Ill me address into some Wilderness. Where unheard Ill express my anxious Pain. Did we not both conjure, by Stygian Lake; That sacred Oath most pure, the Gods did take; That we should both prove true, You to me, I to you.
By that most solemn Vow we both did make. But thou perfidiously didst violate Thy Promise made to me, to my Regrete. For all the great Respect, Wherewith I the affect, Is paid with such Neglect, Loves turnd to Hate. What Tyrrant eer could hatch, though, Inhumane, A torturing Rack, and match to this my Pain: O barbarous Cruelty, That I for loving thee, Should basely murderd be by thy Disdain. Ill go find out a Cell, where Light neer shind; There Ill resolve to dwell, and be confind, Untill it pleaseth thee, With Love to pity me, Forsake thy Cruelty and prove more kind. In that dark Vault Ill call for Bats and Owls, The Scriech-Owl, worst of all Prodigious Fowls, Shall be my Mate by Day, By Night with her Ill stay, In dark and uncouth Way, mongst wandring Souls. And in that strange Exile Ill thee arrest, Amongst those Monsters vile, to be my Guest. Untill that thou relent, And thy hard Heart repent; Freely to give Consent to my Request. No Clothes shall deck my Skin, no Raiment soft; But Hair cloth rough and thin, thats comely wrought: No Bed will I ly on. My pillow shall be Stone, Each Accent prove a Groan, repeated oft, No danty Dish Ill eat, composd by Art: No Sauces for my Meat, sweet sour or tart. My Food shall be wild Fruits, Green Herbs and unboild Roots, Such as poor Hermits eat in wild Desarts. All Solace, Mirth and Game I will despise, A doleful Mourning then, with watring Eyes.
Shall be my Musick sound, Till all the Hills resound, And fill the Valleys round with piteous Cries. Yet for all this Ill not abandon thee, Nor alter in a Jot my first Decree; But in Despite of Fate, Thy Grief to aggravate, Ill love thee, tho thou hate, until I die. Another Reply. ALL my desires are past, sadly I groan, O! All my Hopes are past, pity my Moan: Ill to some quiet Grove, Where I shall clearly prove, That I am wrongd by Love O cruel Fate! Deplorable is my State, still more and more; Im subject to cruel Fate, I mourn therefore: Yet Ill be constant still, Let Fortune frown as it will, Heavens keep him from all Ill, whom I adore. Grief added unto Grief, each Day I die, I can find no Relief, where shall a fly? Ill to some desart Place, Where none shall see my Face, There Ill bewail my Case until I die. Silent Ill be a while, hopping the best, Fortune perhaps may smile, and send me Rest: I will expect the End, And on my Fates attend, The Gods some Help will send to one distrest. Ill to a Hermitage, for I do see Nought in this present Age, but Miserie. There none will me molest, I will not be opprest, But will find quiet Kest untill I die. Vain Hopes I bid adieu, for theyer not sure: Farewel now Fortune true, for Im secure; Far from the Frowns of Fate And undeserved Hate, Far better is my State, than was before.
FINIS.