Cupid's Garland.  
SET Round about WITH Gilded Roses, Containing many pleasant Songs and Sonnets. Newly Written.  
— Omnia Amator,  
Debuerat sertis implicuissa comat.  
London, Printed by E. Crouch, for F. Colet, T. Vere, and J. Wright, 1674.   

The Contents.  

A Song of King Edward's wooing the fair Maid of London.  
Her Answer.  
A Royal Song of the Red Rose and the White.  
The Life and Death of the renowned Gallant, Thomas Stukley.  
A Sonnet of a Chaste Lover.  
A Pastoral Song.  
A lamentable end of Shor's Wife, some time Concubine to King Edward the 4th.  
A Song of a Beggar and a King.  
A Lamentable Song of the fall of the Duchess of Gloucester.  
A Shepherd's Sorrow because he could not Woo.  
A Song of Lord Wigmore, and the fair maid of Dunsmore in .  
The sad Complaint of fair Isabel, for the loss of her Honour.  
The Story of Ill-May-Day.  
A Song and Verses made upon a Sigh.   
Cupid's Garland here is set  
with gilded Roses round;  
And if the Reader likes of it,  
the Garland than is Crowned.   

A Courtly new Song showing how King Edward wooed the fair maid of LONDON.  
To the Tune of, Dulcina.  

FAir Angel, Pearl of Beauty,  
thou that art my hearts sole treasure  
Thou my Subject, art my duty,  
yet I must obey thy pleasure:  
When Love doth sway,  
Kings must obey,  
And to his Sceptre yielding be:  
Sweet Maiden bright,  
Grant my delight,  
And come sweet Virgin unto me.   

Gallant Lady let my Love  
so much favour once obtain,  
That you would my suit approve,  
pitying me when I complain:  
Think on the Court,  
What Masks, and Sport,  
And Pleasures new invented be,  
All these are thine,  
Be thou but mine,  
And come sweet Virgin unto me.   

Art thou not (Fair Love) contented,  
with those offers I do make?  
Your Love shall never be repent,  
if my promise you dare take,  
my Royal word  
It will afford.  
If that thou wilt but loving be,  
Thou shalt be seen  
Like England's Queen,  
Then come sweet Virgin unto me.   

Be not resolved a Maid to die,  
For where Beauty he doth spy,  
chastity is ne'er intended,  
Some Shepherd's daughter  
May chance hereafter,  
Through all her life a Maid to be,  
But Ladies bright  
Should love delight,  
Then come sweet Virgin unto me.   

You shall purchase great renown,  
why should you then be so cruel,  
And upon King Edward frown,  
that estéems your love a jewel:  
Oh do but grant  
What I do want,  
And to my gentle suit agree,  
Do thou obey  
That I may say,  
Welcome sweet Virgin unto me.    

The fair Maid of London's Answer to King Edward's Wanton Love.  
To the same Tune.  

KIng Edward know it is in vain  
thus with fairest words to woo me  
From dignities I will refrain,  
lest courtly honour do undo me,  
like to Jane Shore,  
and many more,  
Who many happy days did see,  
but she did die  
in misery,  
Then let me still a Vi gi'en be.   

Hope of honour shall not tempt  
me to yield to your desire;  
With my estate I am content,  
nor do I wish to rise yet higher,  
My spotless fame  
I will maintain.  
And unto heaven bear with me,  
And so to the end,  
I am your friend,  
But still a Virgin I will be.    

A Royal Song of the red Rose and the white united together by the happy Marriage of King Henry the Seventh, and Ellzabeth Plantagenet, Daughter to Edward the 4th. from whom King James (of Famous memory) lineally descended.  
To the Tune of, The blazing Torch.  

WHen as the Earth did blush with blood  
of Men in Battle slain,  
Whilst York against Lancaster stood.  
then Henry did obtain  
His Right at last, and did beat down  
King Richard in the Field:  
Who being killed did lose his Crown,  
but never would he yield.   

Then Henry (from the ancient House  
of Lancaster descended)  
Did marry with the House of York,  
and so the difference ended;  
For York who did the White Rose give,  
was with the Red Rose plighted:  
And by this happy Marriage so,  
these Roses were United.   

These Royal Roses buding forth,  
that Henry soon consented,  
For to advance his Daughter's worth,  
(which England ne'er repent)  
That she should be great Scotland's queen  
which Match the Lord befriended,  
So that King James of worthy same,  
from that same Queen descended.   

Thus all the Wars at last did cease,  
by this most Royal Pair:  
This Land doth now enjoy sweet peace,  
by this bright Lady fair:  
And now still in remembrance that  
these Roses were conjoined,  
The Roses yet in Royal Arms,  
are with the Crown combined.    

The famous life and death of the renowned English Gallant Thomas Stukely, who lived in the time of Queen Elizabeth, and ended his days in a Battle of three Kings in Barbary.  
To the Tune of, Henry's going to Bullain.  

IN England in the West.  
Where Phoebus takes his rest,  
There lusty Stukely he was born.  
By birth he was a Clothier's Son,  
Deeds of wonder he hath done,  
Which with lasting praise his name adorn:   

Lusty Stukely he was named,  
And much honour gained,  
For so reports the story of his life,  
He married with a London Dame,  
Daughter to an Alderman,  
And had great store of treasure with his wife.   

But he in riot soon  
Her portion did consume,  
Which struck old Curtis so unto the heart  
Who was his wives own Father,  
That he with age, or rather,  
With sorrow did his life departed.   

When he was laid in earth,  
Stukely began his mirth  
His golden Angels than began to fly,  
He night by night in pleasure,  
Did melt away his treasure,  
And wished that his loving wife would die.   

While vice he maintained  
His wants at last constrained  
Him to sell the Pavements of his yard,  
Which with blocks of Tin was lined  
Old Curtis left the same behind,  
But he the same did ne'er the more regard.   

His wife hereat lamented  
And was much discontented,  
Make much of me dear Husband, she did cry  
I'll make much more swéet-heart of the  
Than any other shall, quoth he,  
I'll sell thy , and so from England fly.   

So first he went to Italy.  
And when he came to Barbary,  
Whereby his valour he did soon obtain  
The Standard Royal for to bear,  
While in one Field there did appear  
Three Kings their right for to maintain   

The Sun did ne'er behold  
A battle fought more bold,  
And afterwards brave Stukely there was slain  
By those Ital ans of great worth,  
Which Stukely to the field drew forth,  
And thus unto himself he did complain.   

Was I mad, or did I rade,  
Thus to seek a Foreign grave,  
And at home abuse my loving wife,  
Stukely on the ground now lies  
Like to Mars his Sacrifice,  
And bleeding here must end my wretched life,  
And with this word his breath  
was stopped soon by death:  
His empty body lay upon the ground,  
which buried once, they did make  
a royal Tomb for Stukelies' sake;  
And still his noble valour is renowned.    

A Pastoral Song, or discourse between a Gentleman and a Shepherd, concerning Love.  
To the Tune of, The Lady's fall.  

AS I did walk one day abroad,  
I spied a Shepherd's Swain,  
Who often stooped to gather Flowers,  
and seemed to take much pain,  
And in his hand a basket round,  
composed of Willows small,  
Wherein he put the flowers which were  
of virtues several.   

But when I nearer to him came,  
I asked him (good Father)  
What is the reason moveth you,  
these Flowers for to gather;  
But he then with a heavy look,  
did thus to me reply.  
These Flowers I do gather Sir,  
to cure Love's malady.   

Nay then quoth I, you are deceived,  
if you do think good Swain,  
By help and virtue of these flowers,  
to cure Loves inward pain.  
Therefore to get thy sweet hearts Love  
go back again and try,  
For their is none but Doctor Joan,  
can cure Love's malady.   

Then by the Mass, the Shepherd said,  
my true Love's name is Joan,  
I will to yonder hill repair,  
and to her make my moan;  
So going back the Shepherd's Swain,  
with his Sweet heart did lie,  
Thus Doctor Joan did help his moan,  
and cure Loves malady.    

A new Song of a chaste Lover.  
To the Tune of, Away to Twiver.  

When I did Phillis naked spy,  
I shut mine eyes and would not see  
Those beauties which did naked lie,  
was ever a Lover like to me;   

When she her Mantle did unfold,  
I shut mine eyes and would not see.  
Love's flower which then I might behold  
was ever Lover like to me.   

While she bathed in a silver stream,  
I shut mine eyes and would not see,  
But lay still in a pleasant dream,  
was ever Lover like to me.   

And when like Diana she came forth  
I shut mine eyes and would not see,  
The Golden fruit of precious worth,  
was ever Lover like to me.   

But when she clothed had each part,  
I opened then my eyes to see,  
If that I could but win her heart,  
for that was only loved of me.    

A new Sonnet, setting forth the miserable and wretched end of Shore's Wife, who was sometime Concubine to King Edward the Fourth.  
To the Tune of, I sigh and sob, etc.  

YOu that are in your blooming years  
Whose beauty to the world appears,  
Come learn by me (who am Shore's wife)  
To lead a chaste and honest life.  
And to preserve your spotless fame,  
Lest afterwards you do complain,  
For when King Edward ruled this Land  
I could his Royal Crown command,  
But after he did chance to die,  
I was exposed to misery.  
And cruelty turned out of door,  
All men did hate the name of Shore.   

And for to publish my lewd sin,  
I did do Penance to begin  
My shame, and carried by command  
A burning Tapor in my hand,  
Thus when that I was once cast down,  
On my hard fate, each one did frown.   

Thus all my joys did fickle prove,  
Which I did reap by Edward's love,  
A Prince's Paragon I was,  
But now constrained to beg, Alas!  
I was reviled and called Whore,  
Yet patiently their words I bore.   

For my accusing Conscience cried,  
That Vice had been my sinful guide,  
Then let young Maids & wives beware  
And of their honour have a care.  
Lest they come to a wretched and,  
If like to me they do offend.    

A Song of a Beggar and a King.  
To the Tune of, Love will find out the way.  

A Prince once there reigned,  
who did much delight,  
who was poorly dight,  
Let Cupid then be crowned  
with Roses so gay,  
For his Bow so much renowned.  
even Kings must obey.   

It happened at his window  
this Beggar he espied.  
And from thence to the Gate  
of his Palace he hied,  
His purse then he casteth,  
to this Beggar in grey,  
And unto her he hasteth,  
Love will make Kings obey.   

And then he embraced  
the Beggar so mean.  
And on his Throne placed  
her like to a Queen,  
While the Nobles attended  
on their wedding day,  
And thus all things ended,  
Love will make Kings obey.    

A lamentable Sonnet of the fall of the great Duchess of Gloucester, Wife to Duke Humphrey, showing how she did Penance through London streets , with a Wax Candle in her hand, and how she was banished into the Isle of Man, where she died.  
To the Tune of, Queen Dido.  

COme hither now fair Ladies all,  
and bring with you a tear filled eye,  
That you may weep to hear the fall,  
of Elioner a Duchess high,  
Whom good Duke Humphrey made his bride,  
And after by foul treason died.   

For him they murdered in his sleep,  
and being dead they seized his Lands,  
So that the Duchess did nothing keep,  
for all was in King Henry's hands;  
Thus when that fortune once doth frown  
The highest are thrown quickly down.   

But she that bore a Noble mind,  
to practise witchcraft did intent,  
That the Duke's murderers she might find  
and bring them to a shameful end,  
By black enchanting Arts to spill,  
Their blood the did Duke Humphrey kill.   

But when her practice once was known,  
and notice of her purpose given:  
Then by her punishment 'twas shown,  
such actions do displease high Heaven.  
For she was doomed through each street  
To go in Penance in a shéet.   

And to increase my grief and pain,  
I judged was to leave that place  
Where I had lived before in fame,  
and like an Exile in disgrace,  
I to thee Isle of Man was sent,  
To spend my days in Banishment.  
Full nineteen Years I spent in grief,  
and made mine eyes with tears to rain  
Yet could my tears yield no relief,  
for all my sorrow was in vain.  
Unto the Isle I was assigned,  
Till death did ease my troubled mind.   

For after I had here sustained  
all hardness that one might endure,  
Heavens hearing how I complained,  
some pity for me did procure;  
And so an end of grief to make,  
My soul into the Heavens to take.   

Though in my life I had offended,  
yet when that death approached nigh,  
Into Christ's hands I then commended  
my soul for which he once did die:  
Thus Exile for my late offence  
did save my soul by penitence.    

A Sonnet. 
Wherein a Shepherd doth show  
His sorrow, because he cannot woo.   
To the Tune of, In sad and ashly weeds.  

Weep now mine eyes your fill,  
for I my Oaten pipe will break  
Let fighs resound unto the hill  
because, alas I dare not speak.  
let Garlands now  
of Cypress bough  
My inward sorrow show,  
since fond I  
for love must die,  
Because I cannot woo.   

Some can with ease profess,  
and in sweet words their love declare  
Yet I alas cannot express  
My love to her that is so fair;  
these flowery Plains  
a Saint contains,  
To whom all praise is due,  
yet justly she,  
despiseth me,  
Because I cannot woo.   

Sometime I did retire  
unto a spreading shady tree,  
And think to cool my fire,  
with gales that freshly breathing be,  
the Birds do sing,  
the woods do ring,  
And all things pleasure show,  
yet fond I,  
for love must die,  
Because I cannot woo.   

Yet this of her I crave  
that when death closeth up my eyes  
She would come to my grave,  
and not a Shepherd's grief despise,  
and on my Hearse  
to write this Verse,  
Here Coridon so true,  
in love did die,  
and here doth lie,  
Because he could not woo.    

A song of the Lord Wigmore, and the fai● Maid of Dunsmore in , which may be a warning to young Maids to shun the allurements of wanton Gallants  
To the Tune of, The Earl of Essexs last good Night.  

IN Warwick shire there stands a Down  
and Dunsmore heath men do it call:  
Where Isabel of such renown  
for beauty did excel them all  
A Shepherd's Daughter she was known  
and fame abroad did make report,  
That she was like a Rose new blown  
and fit alone for Cupid's Court.  
And when young Wigmore heard the same  
who then in Warwick Castle lay,  
To Dunsmore than he forth with came,  
to woo this Maid without delay.  
And found her by a river side,  
sitting amidst a Meadow green,  
But when her beauty once he eyed,  
he thought she might have been Loves Queen.   

Fresh beauty flourished in her chéek,  
her hair was like to Amber fair:  
And her behaviour was so meek,  
that Wigmore did to her repair.  
And wooed her in humble wise,  
that she would grant him but her love  
And not his humble fute despise,  
but that she would of him approve,   

Lord Wigmore thus drowned in his Lust  
did Like a Ravisher appear,  
And bid a servant of great trust,  
that to his Castle he would her bear.  
Thus to Lord Wigmore she was brought  
who fed his fancies with delight  
& by fair words such means he wrought  
that he got her maidenhead that night.   

This being done, she did repent,  
that she herself had thus betrayed,  
By granting of her free consent  
to lose the honour of a Maid.  
But ere three Months were past & gone,  
her growing shame did then appear,  
And to Lord Wigmore for his wrong,  
she did complain with many a tear.    

The sad Complaint of fair Isabel, for the loss of her Maiden honour, at the end whereof like Roman Lucrece she slew herself.  
To the same Tune.  

LOrd Wigmore pity take on me,  
& since thou hast obtained thy suit,  
Yet do not despise the Tree  
now thou hast got my Maiden fruit,  
Thou spottest hast my Virgin bed,  
yet pity take upon poor me.  
Like withered Rose, I hang my head,  
Lord Wigmore, this is long of thee.   

My crime unto the world is known,  
my wantonness is now descried:  
My name to all is hateful grown  
I wish I had thy love denied.  
I know alas, when I do die,  
my body in lead shall shrouded been,  
But what can cover my infamy;  
Lord Wigmore, this is long of thee.   

Bespotted with reproachful shame  
I crave my just deserved doom:  
That death may free me from all blame  
and cut me off even in the bloom.  
I number now the tedious hours,  
life is unpleasant unto me:  
Let me then die you heavenly Powers,  
Lord Wigmore, this is long of thee.   

And when I die, let me be laid  
in careless manner into the mould:  
Unpitied of each spotless Maid,  
who to disgrace myself have sold.  
Let ne'er a Bell ring forth my Knell,  
for I am that unhappy she,  
That by the fair enticements fell,  
Lord Wigmore, this is long of thee.   

When she this woeful moan had made,  
a knife she snatched from her side:  
Where Lucreces part she plainly played  
and with the same she did divide  
Her soul from her fair bodies frame,  
which parting, it did seem that she  
With her last vow, did thus complain,  
Lord Wigmore, this is long of thee.    

The story of Ill-May day, briefly expressed.  
To the Tune of, The Ladies Fall.  

IF you the reason of the Name  
of Ill-May-day would know:  
You shall thou understand the same  
as here I will it show.  
For when King H●nry Reigned here,  
the Eight of that same Name:  
The strangers as it did appear.  
by Prentice's were slain,  
They making show that their intent  
was but to go a Maying:  
Their force they on the strangers bend,  
and them they fell a slaying.   

These strangers did come forth of Spain  
and did set up their Trade;  
And so did make a private gain,  
which English men had much dismayed,  
The Prentices then on May Eve,  
did to a sudden tumult grow,  
But yet they made the Mayor believe  
that they a Maying meant to go.   

But such a May-game they did make,  
the like whereof was never known,  
For all the Strangers they did take,  
and killed of them full many a one.  
And now it is by Law ordained,  
that still on May-days Eve at night.  
The Watch shall in their Armour stand  
unruly Youths so to affright.    

To his Sweetheart, wherein he doth show, why he so oft cries Hi, Ho.  
YOu asked me, my dear Swéet-heart,  
Why I sighed; I will impart  
The reason of it, and will show,  
Why I so often cry, Hi, ho.  
The former H stands for my heart,  
The I is yours which wrought my smart,  
The last H your hard heart doth show  
The O the vowel is your No.  
Then blame me not, since now you know  
Why I so often cry, Hi, ho.   

A short Song on a sigh.  
To the Tune of, I warrant you I.  

IT is but in vain  
With sighs to complain,  
And unto myself  
Strange passions to frame,  
For I will be careless  
Until I do die.  
Let others grow Lovesick  
but so will not I.   

Let others lament  
For I am content:  
I can love for an hour  
Till my humour is spent,  
But when it is past,  
All Love I defy.  
For though some grow Lovesick,  
yet so will not I.   
FINIS.