%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A Looking=glass for Maids. / OR, / The Downfal of two most Desperate Lovers. / Henry Hartlove and William Mar[t]in, both late living in the Isle of Wight, who for / love of Ann Scarborow, a beautiful Virgin, she having made her self sure to one of / them, and afterwards fell off to the other; they challenged the field, where after / a cruel fight, they were both mortally wounded, and found dead on the place by / the forementioned Maiden, who bestowed many tears on their bodies, and buried / them in one grave. And now she lives in grief and sad distress, / Wishing all lovers true more happiness. 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 05/19/2021 37669

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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

R30955 1 Aim not too high Fortune my Foe Aim Not Too High UNhappy I who in the prime of youth, / Unkind to him with whom I broke my truth, Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 8 A Looking=glass for Maids. / OR, / The Downfal of two most Desperate Lovers. / Henry Hartlove and William Mar[t]in, both late living in the Isle of Wight, who for / love of Ann Scarborow, a beautiful Virgin, she having made her self sure to one of / them, and afterwards fell off to the other; they challenged the field, where after / a cruel fight, they were both mortally wounded, and found dead on the place by / the forementioned Maiden, who bestowed many tears on their bodies, and buried / them in one grave. And now she lives in grief and sad distress, / Wishing all lovers true more happiness. A Looking glass for Maids. OR, The Downfall of two most Desperate Lovers. Henry Hartlove and William Martin, both late living in the Isle of Wight, who for love of Ann Scarborow, a beautiful Virgin, she having made herself sure to one of them, and afterwards fell off to the other; they challenged the field, where after a cruel fight, they were both mortally wounded, and found dead on the place by the aforementioned Maiden, who bestowed many tears on their bodies, and buried them in one grave. And now she lives in grief and sad distress, Wishing all lovers true more happiness. ?-? F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, J. Clarke, W. Thhckeray, & T. Passinger

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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 5/19/2021 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 5/19/2021 2:25:08 AM XBallad Raychawdhuri, Anita Created XML Version of Ballad 5/19/2021 2:25:08 AM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/19/2021 2:25:08 AM Double-Key Comparison and Merging McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/19/2021 2:25:08 AM Transcriptionist Two Messner, Milena Transcription of ballad manuscript 5/19/2021 2:25:08 AM Transcriptionist One Raychawdhuri, Anita Transcription of ballad manuscript 9/5/2019 Bibliographer Kristen McCants Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left">A Looking-glass for Maids.</seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">OR,</hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">The Downfal of two most Desperate Lovers.</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">Henry Hartlove</hi> and <hi rend="bold">William Martin</hi>, both late living in the <hi rend="bold">Isle of Wight</hi>, who for</hi></seg> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">love of <hi rend="bold">Ann Scarborow</hi> a beautiful Virgin, she having made her self sure to one of</hi></seg> <seg n="6" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">them, and afterwards fell of to the other; they challenged the field, where after</hi></seg> <seg n="7" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">a cruel fight, they were both mortally wounded, and found dead on the place by </hi></seg> <seg n="8" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">the forementioned Maiden, who bestowed many tears on their bodies, and buried</hi></seg> <seg n="9" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">them in one grave.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="10" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">And now she lives in grief and sad distress,</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="11" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">Wishing all lovers true more happiness.</hi></hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="12" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Tune is, <hi rend="bold">Aim not too high.</hi></hi></seg>
UNhappy I who in the prime of youth, Unkind to him with whom I broke my truth, Mark well my words you that are maids & wives I was the cause that two men lost their lives. Ith isle of Wight, Ann Scarborow was my name, There did I live, in credit, wealth and fame; My Parents rich, I nothing then did lack, But grace and truth, the which did go to wrack. A Gentleman a Suitor to me came, With whom I might have liv'd a gallant Dame: But wantonness and pride did seize my heart, Was sure to him, and yet from him did part. He broke a piece of Gold and gave it me, Then did I seemingly to him agree; But, O my heart was never rightly plac'd, Another man I afterwards imbrac'd. Which when he knew, he fell into dispair, He beat his breast, and tore his curled hair: O who would trust a woman? then said he, That seldom are what they do seem to be.
Now I do find that all a man can do, His best indeavours makes not women true; Yet he that hath an interest in your heart, Shall buy you dearly, 'fore that we do part. Then came the other whom I lov'd so well, But now behold a heavy hap befell: When first my love his Rival had beheld, He cast his Glove and challeng'd him the field. To answer him the other thought it fit, He said he ne'r was known a Coward yet: He for my favour then so much did strive. He said he'd fight with any man alive. Next morning then these Gentlemen did meet, And manfully they did each other greet: Each other wounded in most piteous sort, E're any man unto them did resort. At last they made a strong and desperate close, Both fell to ground and never after rose: Curst be the place where these two men did fall, And curst be I that was the cause of all.
When word was brought to me I quickly went, But e're I came alas their lives was spent: Then did I tear the hair from off my head, And wisht a thousand times that I were dead. When I came there these Gallants then I found, Both of them liveless, bleeding on the ground; My conscience told me I was cause of this, Sweet Jesus now forgive me my amiss. I buried them, and laid them in one grave, God grant their Souls a resting place may have More rest then I, whose restless conscience now, Accuses me for breaking of my vow. If I walk near the place where now they lye, It troubleth my mind exceedingly: If to the place where they did fight I go, It fills my guilty conscience full of woe. If I to bed do go, I cannot sleep, And if I do my dreams do make me weep: Methinks I see them bleeding in my sight, My thoughts by day, & eke my dreams by night. My rich apparel I have laid aside, My cloth of Gold, and other things of pride: In sable will I mourn while I have breath, And every day expect and look for death. A dead mans Skull my silver Cup shall be, In which i'le drink, too good a Cup for me: Instead of Meat, on Roots and Herbs i'le feed, To put me still in mind of my foul deed.
You woody Nymphs that welcome in the spring, Come hear a discontented Virgin sing: O that I might my time now with you spend, In silent Groves, until my life doth end. You Country Maids, in Country and in City, That now have heard my discontented Ditty: Be constant, ever true to one alone, For if you do prove false it will be known. If you will know where sorrow doth abide, Repair to me, no other place beside: Grief and despair doth daily now attend me, & there is nought but death that can befriend me. This discontented Damosel now she keeps Her Chamber, where she sits and daily weeps: And suffers none to come to her, 'tis said, But only one, and that's her Fathers Maid. The Meat and drink her Father to her sends, she sends the poor, the which she calls her friends she feeds on Roots, & Herbs, and such like things sometimes on bread which she counts food for Kings. See here the fruits of wantonness and pride, O let us pray that God may be our guide: There's few of us but have our time ill spent, So well brought up, that do so well repent. You Damosels all now have a special care, Forget not her, that did these things declare; Be to your sweet-hearts ever just and true, And so fair Maids she bids you all adieu.
printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, J. Clarke, W. Thackeray, & T. Passinger.