%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The Oxfordshire TRAGEDY: / Or, The Death of Four Lovers. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 06/28/2014 33556

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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

1 NONE Oxfordshire Tragedy, The NEar Woodstock Town in Oxfordshire, / As I walk'd forth to take the Air, Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 865 The Oxfordshire TRAGEDY: / Or, The Death of Four Lovers. The Oxfordshire TRAGEDY: Or, The Death of Four Lovers. The Oxfordshire TRAGEDY: Or, The Death of Four Lovers. ?-?

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured 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 groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 6/28/2014 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America affliction/ health death infidelity love Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 6/28/2014 2:44:06 PM XBallad Chow, Jeremy Created XML Version of Ballad 6/28/2014 2:44:06 PM Transcription Supervisor Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/28/2014 2:44:06 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Palmer Browne, Megan Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/28/2014 2:44:06 PM Transcriptionist Two Trafecanty, Luci Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/28/2014 2:44:06 PM Transcriptionist One Gibbs, Natalie Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/23/2013 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 4/29/2014 Checker Charlotte Becker Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/8/2012 Bibliographer Elizabeth Aguilar Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 11/8/2012 Checker Elizabeth Aguilar Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The Oxfordshire TRAGEDY:</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Or, The Death of Four Lovers.</hi></seg>
NEar Woodstock Town in Oxfordshire, As I walk'd forth to take the Air, To view the Fields and Meadows round, Methought I heard a mournful Sound. Down by a Christal River-side, A gallant Bower I espy'd, Where a fair Lady made great Moan, With many a Sigh and bitter Groan, Alas! quoth she, my Love's unkind, My Sighs and Tears he will not mind. But he's so cruel unto me, Which causes all my Misery. My Father is a worthy Knight, My Mother is a Lady bright, And I their only Child and Heir Yet Love has brought me to Despair, A wealthy Squire lived by, Who on my Beauty cast an Eye: He courted me both Day and Night To be his Jewel and Delight. To me these Words he often said, Fair, beauteous, handsome, comely Maid, Oh! pity me, I you implore, For it is you I do adore. He still did beg me to be kind, And ease his Love tormented Mind; For if said he, you should deny, For Love of you I soon shall die. These Words pierced my tender Heart, I soon did yield to ease his Smart. And unto him made this Reply, For Love of you I soon shall die. With that he flew unto my Arms, And swore I had a thousand Charms, He call'd me Angel, Saint, and he Did swear forever true to be. Soon after he had gain'd my Heart, He cruelly did from me part. Another Maid he does pursue, And to his Vows he bids adieu. he that makes me to lament, He's the Cause of my Discontent. He hath caused my sad Despair, And now occasions this my Care. The Lady round the Meadows run, And gathered Flowers as they sprung, Of every sort she there did pull, Until she got her Apron full. Now here's a Flower she did say. Is named Heart's Ease Night and Day,
I wish I could that Flower find, For to ease my Love-sick Mind. But oh! alas! 'tis all in vain, For me to sigh and to complain: There's nothing that can ease my Smart, For his Disdain will break my Heart. The Green served as a Bed, And Flowers a Pillow for her Head, She laid her down and nothing spoke, Alas! for Love her Heart was broke: But when I found her Corps cold, I went to her true Love, and told What unto her had befell, I'm glad, said he, she is so well. Did she think I so fond could be, That I could fancy none but she: Man was not made for one alone, I take delight to see her Moan. O wicked Man I find thou art, Thus to break a Lady's Heart; In Abrahams Bosom may she sleep, Whilst thy wicked Soul doth weep. The ANSWER. A Second Part I bring you here, Of the fair Maid of Oxfordshire, Who lately broke her Heart for Love Of one that did unconstant prove. A youthful Squire most unjust, When he beheld this Lass at first, A thousand solemn Vows he made, And so her yielding Heart betray'd. She mourning broke her Heart and dy'd, Feeling the Shades on ev'ry side, With dying Groans and grievous Cries, As Tears were flowing from her Eyes. The Beauty which did once appear On her sweet Cheeks so fair and clear, Was waxed pale, her Life was fled. He heard at length that she was dead. He was not sorry in the least, But chearfully resolv'd to feast And quite forgot her Beauty bright, Whom he so basely ruin'd quite. Now when this youthful Maid, Within her silent Tomb was laid, The Squire thinking all was well, He should in Peace and Quiet dwell. Soon after this he was possest With various thoughts which broke his Rest. Sometimes he thought her Groans he heard,
Sometimes her ghastly Ghost appear'd. With a sad Visage pale and grim And ghastly Looks she cast on him. He often started back and cry'd, Where shall I go myself to hide? Here I am haunted Night and Day, Sometimes methinks I hear her say, Persidious Man, false and unkind, Henceforth you shall no Comfort find. If through the Fields I chance to go, Where she received her Overthrow. Methinks I see her in Despair, And if at home, I meet her there. No Place is free from torment now, Alas! I broke a solemn Vow, Which once I made, but now at last It does my worldly Glory blast. Since my Unkindness did destroy My dearest Love and only Joy. My wretched Life must ended be, Now must I die and come to thee. His Rapier from his Side he drew And pierc'd his Body thro' and thro. So he drop'd down in Purple Gore, Just where she did sometime before. He buried was within the Grave Of his true Love, and thus you have, A sad Account of his hard Fate, Who dy'd in Oxfordshire of late. The Lovers Farewel. FOrgive me, if your Looks I thought Did once some Change discover; To be too jealous is the Fault Of every wounded Lover.. Might truth those kind Reproaches show, Which you do blame severely, A Sigh, alas! you little know What 'tis to love sincerely The Torments of a long Despair I did in Silence smother. But 'tis a Pain I cannot bear, To think you love another. My Fate, alas! depends on you, I am but what you make me Divinely blest if you prove true. Undone, if you forsake me, In thee I place my chief Delight, I seek no other Pleasure: Then do not all my Hopes destroy, Who loves thee out of Measure.
Then do not all my Hopes destroy, Who loves thee out of Measure. Forbear to triumph in Disdain, Since here I lie and languish; True Love is a tormenting Pain, And fills my Soul with anguish. The silent Night I spend in vain, And melting Lamentation; And yet no Glance of Love appears, But utter Detestation. Regarding not my piteous Moan, My Sighs and sad lamenting. Your Heart as Flint or Marble-stone, Feels not the least relenting. Your Beauty gave the fatal wound, And did at first allure me. In Chains of Love I now lie down, And you alone can cure me. Cast not a loyal Love away, Who at your Feet lies bleeding. Unto my Sighs one Smile convey, For which my Tears are pleading. Why should a charming Beauty bright, Resolve to be so cruel? O let me not be ruin'd quite, In Love's destroying Fuel. See how my Eyes like Fountains flow, In christal Tears before thee, So do not seek the Overthrow Of one that does adore thee. Behold I am thy captive Slave, Your wounded Slave believe me; And thou alone this Life can save, And therefore now reprieve me, The wound you gave has pierc'd my Heart, And you no Pity give me: Yet I cannot forbear to love, Altho' with Scorn you kill me. If thus you are resolv'd to frown, And slight my friendly Favour, Soon to my Grave I will go down, Farewel, farewel, forever. I find she triumphs in Disdain, And still denies me Blessing; Why should I live to feel this Pain, That is beyond expressing? This said, his naked Sword he drew, And to his Heart he sent it: And as he bid this World adieu, She bitterly lamented. Crying, I was unfortunate, Would I had dy'd before him Thus did she weep when 'twas too late, Her Tears could not restore him. AND is my valiant Squire gone, The Glory of the Nation? Then all my Joys are from me fled, Behold my Lamentation, These Eyes of mine like Fountains flow, As here you may discover: Because I prov'd the Overthrow Of an entire Lover. Ten thousand times I wish in vain That I had never slighted.
My worthy Squire with Disdain When he would fain have plighted, A true and solemn Vow to me, And dearly did adore me. But now to my Grief I see He bleeding lies before me. All in the frozen Arms of Death, My loyal Love lies sleeping, Bereav'd of mortal Life and Breath, This causes all my weeping. My very Heart for Heaviness E'er long will break asunder; Nor am I able to express, The Grief that I lie under. I must confess I stood a while, And heard this mournful Ditty; Without returning him a Smile, Or any Glance of Pity; Because I was resolved to try His Stedfastness of Wooing, But little did I think that I Should thus have prov'd his Ruin. Upon the Sword he laid his Hand, In Grief and Desperation: Conceal'd I could no longer stand, But strait with Admiration, More swift than Eagle's Wings I flew To him and Kisses gave him: But O! the Sword was thro' and thro Alas! I could not save him. These Words he utter'd as he dy'd, Farewell my dearest Jewel; You should have been my lawful Bride, Had you not been so cruel To leave a Lover all alone, In sorrow broken-hearted; This said, than with a dying Groan, He instantly departed. Bathed in Streams of purple Gore, My weeping Eyes beheld him; My golden tresses then I tore, Crying, my Frowns have kill'd him? For being of all Hopes bereft, Life's thread he vow'd to sever: Now he is gone, and I am left, To mourn his Loss forever. But why should I presume to live, Here in this World behind him. No, No, the fatal Stroke I'll give, Then I perhaps may find him. In the Elizian Shades below, Where bleeding Lovers wander: Still venting of their Grief and Woe. Which here they had lain under. Then from his lovely Breast she drew The Sword with Might and Power: Expressing of these mournful Words, Now comes the fatal Hour, That I must leave the World, for why My Dear is gone before me: The Pattern of true Loyalty, Who did in Life adore me.
Printed and Sold in Bow-Church-Yard, London.