%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The mournfull Shepherdesse of Arcadiah. / OR, / The solitary sollitudes of the matchlesse Shepherdesse: / Whose earthly joy did shine with luster bright, / But now's eclips'd, and turn'd to dismall night; S., A. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer 1649-1649 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 10/04/2018 36078

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R227874 2 Tell me you wandring Spirits, &c. Tell Me, You Wandering Spirits Tell Me You Wandering Spirits, etc. to the same Tune Tell Me, You Wandering Spirits To the Same Tune ASsist me Muses with your power divine, / to portract out the sable plaints of mine, WHen blustering Boreas from the North blew (cold / Then did he pen them safely in their Fold Manchester Central Library Blackletter Ballads Editor none none none none Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 21 The mournfull Shepherdesse of Arcadiah. / OR, / The solitary sollitudes of the matchlesse Shepherdesse: / Whose earthly joy did shine with luster bright, / But now's eclips'd, and turn'd to dismall night; The mournful Shepherdess of Arcadia. OR, The solitary solitudes of the matchless Shepherdess: Whose earthly joy did shine with luster bright, But now's eclipsed, and turned to dismal night; S., A. 1649-1649 Fran. Grove

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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 10/4/2018 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 10/4/2018 1:44:58 PM XBallad McCants, Kristen Created XML Version of Ballad 10/4/2018 1:44:58 PM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/4/2018 1:44:58 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Levinson-Emley, Rachel Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/4/2018 1:44:58 PM Transcriptionist Two Adkison, Katie Transcription of ballad manuscript 10/4/2018 1:44:58 PM Transcriptionist One McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 12/11/2017 Checker Kristen McCants Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/17/2016 Bibliographer Kristen McCants Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The mournfull Shepherdesse of Arcadiah.</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">OR,</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The solitary sollitudes of the matchlesse Shepherdesse:</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">Whose earthly joy did shine with luster bright,</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="bold"><hi rend="italic">But now's eclips'd, and turn'd to dismall night;</hi></hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="6" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The Tune is, Tell me you wandring <hi rend="bold">S</hi>pirits, etc.</hi></seg>
ASsist me Muses with your power divine, to portract out the sable plaints of mine, Melpominy direct my warbling quill, Descending down from high Pernassus hill And sing in queers a heavenly harmony Whilst I, whilst I for want of Clora fain would die. I was a Shepherdesse of beauty, bright and fair Indu'd with graces, honours passing rare, And as the Phenix is more excellent, Then all the birds under the firmament, So was I counted, though I live forlorn My joyes, my joyes are all transpos'd which makes me mourn I flourish'd like the lovely Mary-gold, Or damaske Roses beauteous to behold, Whilst lustrous Phoebus with his splendor bright, Did spread our blossomes with his glorious light, Such operations had the powerfull sun, But now, but now it is dissolv'd, my joyes are done.
The rurall Swaines that were our friendly Mates That knew our blisse, our joyes, and happy states, Unfainedly in hearts they did rejoyce, To hear my Clora's sweet melodious voice, His oaten reed did sound with pleasant glee, But now, but now my joyes is turn'd to misery, With silver tones, his Bag-pipes chanted shril (In height of glory on Pernassus hill,) Whose harmony delighted all the Swaines, That us'd to sport upon the lovely plains, With dancing Galliards, Jigges, and Roundelayes, And none, and none but Clora, Clora got the praise When scorching Tytan with his burning beames, In midst of Summer was upon extreames; Then to the green woods side he did convey His pretty Lambs and Sheep to feed and play, This was his care whilst Clora he did keep In fields, in fields his tender flock, & harmeles sheep.
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The second part to the same Tune</hi></seg>
WHen blustering Boreas from the North blew cold Then did he pen them safely in their Fold And when that Winters bitter tempest came His zealous care was to prevent the same, But Clora's gone, unto another Sphear, Instal'd, instal'd a Saint or blessed spirit there. And since he's gone, whilst I am left alone, The Rurall Swaines, with heavy sighs and moan Do seem to call him to his place again, But Oh alas, their wishes are in vain; The harmelesse sheep, do seem to mourn and pinh, Though he, though he, invested is with Saints divine Our pretty Lambs are stragling gone astray, (who wants a guide must surely loose his way) The waters troubled where oun Heards did drink And want that vertue to expell the stink, His Crook and Scrip he left behind we see For heaven, for heaven & glorious joyes more rarer be. Th[e] whistling Black-bird, and the Nightingale, Whose silver tones were stil'd heroical,
The Queristers both of the Woods and Fields, Whose harmony melodious musick yeelds, They'r metamorphoriz'd into sighs and cries, Besides, besides the Swan that sings now mourning dies. And I in pleasant story too have read, That when the Turtle Dove is gone and dead The Mate lives single in a mournfull state, So wil I doe till death strikes out my date, In sollitudes, and pensive heart excel, Then shall, then shall the world confesse I lov'd him well. Oh that my date were out, my time were neer That I might meet him whom I love so deer, In high Olimpus heavens celestial throne (A place prepar'd for blessed Saints alone.) The world is sin, and naughty beside, O that, O that my death had been when Clora died.
FINIS. A.S. London printed for Fran. Grove on Snow-hill.