%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The Love-sick-Maid: Or, Cordelia's lamentation for / the absence of her Gerhard. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1642-1642 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 10/16/2018 36062

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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 To a pleasant new Tune Gerard's Mistress To a Pleasant New Tune BE gone, / Thou fatall fiery Feaver, now be gone, Manchester Central Library Blackletter Ballads Editor none none none none Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 2: 8 The Love-sick-Maid: Or, Cordelia's lamentation for / the absence of her Gerhard. The Love-sick-Maid: Or, Cordelia's lamentation for the absence of her Gerhard. Printer John Hamond 1642-1642

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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 10/16/2018 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 10/16/2018 3:14:34 PM XBallad Raychawdhuri, Anita Created XML Version of Ballad 10/16/2018 3:14:34 PM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/16/2018 3:14:34 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Adkison, Katie Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/16/2018 3:14:34 PM Transcriptionist Two McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/16/2018 3:14:34 PM Transcriptionist One Kenney, Aria Transcription of ballad manuscript 11/17/2016 Bibliographer Rachel LevinsonEmley Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The Love-sick-Maid: Or, Cordelia's lamentation for</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">the absence of her <hi rend="bold">Gerhard.</hi> </hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To a pleasant new Tune.</hi></seg>
BE gone, Thou fatall fiery Feaver, now be gone, let Love alone, Let his etheriall flames possesse my brest, His fires, From thy consuming heat no aide requires, for swift desires Transports my passions to a Throne of rest, Where I, Who in the Pride of Health, did Never feele such warmth to move, By sicknes tam'd, am so inflam'd, I know no joyes but love: And he, That trifled many tedious houres away my love to try, In little space, hath gain'd the grace to have more power then 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 layd, by thee betrayd, A rich oblation to restore thine eyes: But yet My faire acknowledgement shall prove thou had'st no craft, To bed thy bow against a foe, that aim'd to catch the shaft: For if, That at my brest thy Arrowes, thou all at once let fly, She that receives, a thousand sheaves, can doe no more but die.
No more, You learn'd Physitians, tyre your braines no more, pray'e give me o're, Mine is a cure in Physick never read, Although You skilfull Doctores all the world doth know pray'e let me go, You may as well make practise on the dead: But if My Gerhard daigne to view me with the glory of his lookes, I make no doubt to live without Physitians and their Bookes: he, That with his balmed kisses can restore my latest breath, What blisse is this, to gaine a kisse, can save a maid from death. To you, That tell me of another world, I bow, and will allow Your sacred precepts, if you'l grant me this, That he, Whom I esteeme of next the Deitie, may go with me, Without whose presence there can be no blisse Go teach, Your Tenets of Eternity to those that aged be, And not perswade, a Love-sick-Maid, there's any Heaven but he: But stay, Methinkes an Icie slumber hath possest my franzi braine, Pray bid him dye, if you see I Shall never wake againe.
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The young-mans answer, or his dying breath,</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Lamenting for his faire Cordelia's death,</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To a delightfull New Tune</hi></seg>
COme on, Thou fatall Messenger from her that's gone, lest I alone Within that quenchles flame forever fry, The lake Of love being kindled, wherein none can take rest, but awake, Where slumber hath no power to close the eye, Whilst I, That by my faire Cordelia, Desires to take a sleepe, With lids widespread, upon my Bed, Am forc'd a watch to keepe: And she, That wayted many tedious houres my constantcie to try, Is now at rest, whilst I opprest, faine would but cannot die. 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 mad'st 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 mistris o're, had you no more Experience, but what you in books have read, Or why, (You learned Docters) did you cease to try your skills, when I, Might have reviv'd her, if she'd not bin dead, And yet, Suppose that I in person, Had present bin to view her, Is there such grace, in any face, To worke so great a cure: But now I'me come too late to kisse her, which were it not in vaine, After her death, I'd spend my breath, to fetch her back againe. Unto The faire Elizium thither will I go, whereas I know, She is amongst those sacred ones prefer'd, When I Shall be admitted for to come so nigh, pardon I'll cry, For my long absence wherein I have erred, And since, By her I was esteemed, So much on earth being here, Hence for her sake, no rest I take, Till I have found her there: No more But onely I desire To heare my passing Bell, That Virgins may lament the day, Of Gerhards last farewell.
Printed at London by John Hamond,