%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> THE / Young Man's A, B, C: / OR, / Two Dozen of Verses which a Young Man sent his Love, who / proved u[n]kind. 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 09/01/2021 37528

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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

R186953 1 The Virgin's A, B, C, &c. Fortune my Foe The Virgin's A, B, C, etc. ACcept, dear Love, these / Shadows of my Grief, British Library - Bagford Editor none none none none Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 2: 170 2: 171 THE / Young Man's A, B, C: / OR, / Two Dozen of Verses which a Young Man sent his Love, who / proved u[n]kind. THE Young Man's A B C: OR, Two Dozen of Verses which a Young Man sent his Love, who proved unkind. Printer W.O. ?-? W.O.

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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 9/1/2021 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 9/1/2021 11:54:19 AM XBallad McCants, Kristen Created XML Version of Ballad 9/1/2021 11:54:19 AM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 9/1/2021 11:54:19 AM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Stark, Nicole Transcription of ballad manuscript 9/1/2021 11:54:19 AM Transcriptionist Two McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 9/1/2021 11:54:19 AM Transcriptionist One Al halabieh, Deena Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/13/2019 Bibliographer Kristen McCants Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
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ACcent, dear Love, these Shadows of my Grief, And let thy Pity yield me some Relief: A Captive to thy Will I must remain; For thou art only she must ease my Pain. BE kind to me, as I am kind to thee; Blast not thy Fame with Cruelty to me: But let thy inward Parts thy Features grace, Beauty in Heart adorns the outward Face. COnsider how my Service hath been bent Continually to gain thy sweet Content: Canst thou, my Dear, be so obdure to me? Cross unto him that is so true to thee? DEfer no time to understand my Grief, But with some speed come ease me with Relief: Thy Beauty rare hath struck my Heart so deep, That all my Days I mean to wail and weep.
EXcept thou dost some Favour to me yield, I shall be slain with Love in Venuss Field; I am so discontent in Mind and Heart, That neither Means nor Time can cure my Smart. FOrget thou not the Woe wherein I dwell, My Torments do all other Griefs excel; Consider well my woful sable Nights, And Days I spend away without Delights. GRant me thy Love to mitigate my Pain, The like thou shalt receive from me again: So love will we as doth the Turtle-dove, Whose firm Affection ever constant prove. HAve you Respect on this the Grief I take, Which out of sleep doth sometimes me awake; In Dreams I see that which I most desire; But waking sets my Senses all on Fire. IN doleful sort these Words I now relate, Which makes me think myself Unfortunate; To set my Heart where I had nought but Scorn, Which makes rue the time that I was born. KIll me not in this Desparation deep, To think how I neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep; To think of that which I cannot obtain, The which hath near my Heart with Sorrow slain.
LEt tender Pity move thy gentle Heart, And so from thee my Love shall never start; To gain thy Love I'll venture Life and Limb, And for thy sake the Ocean I will swim. MY Life I loath because my Woes increase, Therefore my Torments cease, and me release: Then be not harsh whereas thou shouldst be kind, But for my Love let me no Hatred find. NEither deny to grant me this Request, Nor seek thou not to work me more Unrest; For if you do, the worst share fall to thine; The worst can come, ends but one Life of mine. OH that thou wouldst but now conceive aright, Then would my Darkness soon be turn'd to Light: My greatest Sorrows I should then destroy, And all my Grief and Care exchange to Joy. PIerce then no deeper to my bleeding Heart, The which is ready now for to depart: He still that loves, and is not lov'd again, Had better die, than still to live in pain. QUench thou the Flames of this my burning Breast, Which for thy sake no Time nor Tide can rest: My Love to thee hath evermore been true, Therefore the same see that I have from you. REgard my Grief how still it more exceeds, My Life is like the Herb that's spoil'd with Weeds: Among the finest Wheat the Tares do grow; And thou, my Love, hath wrought my Overthrow.
SWeet Love, now take on me, thy Friend, some Care, Regard my Grief that still lives in Dispair Of thy true Love, which is more dear than Gold; My Griefs are more than numbers can be told. TOo long I've liv'd, and yet too late repent, For why, the Glory of my Life is spent, In loving her, that never did love me; O then what Day of Pleasure can I see. WOuld I had never liv'd thy Face to ha' seen, O then full happy, surely had I been; For never anyone under the Sun, But thou alone, could me this Wrong have done. X Thousand times more cruel is thy Mind, Than Heathens, Jews, or Turks are in their Kinds Or anyone that on the Earth doth go; And Woe is me, for I have found it so. YEt if thy Mind be so perversly bent, That nothing can procure my Heart's Content, Know this from me, that I have learn'd of late, No more to dote on her that doth me hate. ZEnobia to Tamberlain ne'r was More dear than thou to me; but now, alas! I find my Toyl, my Sighs and Sobs in vain, Why should I love, and not be lov'd again? & Now to set a Period to my Woe, If thou wilt have me, prithee, tell me so? If otherwise thou mean'st, thy Mind it send, Resolve me off or on, and there's an End.
London: Printed by and for W.O. and sold by the Booksellers of Pye-corner and London-bridge.