The diseased maiden Lover: Being a pleasant new Song,  
to an Excellent New Tune, Or, may be sung to the Tune of, Bonny Nell.  
 
AS I went forth one Summer's day,  
To view the Meadows fresh and gay,  
A pleasant Bower I espied,  
Standing hard by a River's side.  
And in't I heard a Maiden cry,  
Alas there's none e'er loved like I.  
I couched close to hear her moan,  
With many a sad and grievous groan,  
And wished that I had been the wight  
That might have bred her heart's delight:  
But these were all the words that she  
did still repeat, none loves like me.  
Then round the Meadows did she walk,  
Catching the Flower by the stalk,  
Such as within the Meadows grew,  
As Deadman's thumb and Harebell blew.  
and as she plucked them still cried she,  
alas there's none e'er loved like me.  
A bed therein she made to lie,  
Of fine green things that grew fast by,  
Of Poplers and Willow leaves,  
Of Sicamore and Flaggy sheaves:  
and as she plucked them, etc.  
The little La●k-foot shéeed not pass,  
Nor yet the Flowers of thrée-leaved grass  
With Milkmaids Honeysuckles phrayse  
The Crows-foot, nor the yellow Craise:  
and as she plucked them, etc.  
The pretty Dafie which doth show  
Her love to Phoebus, bred her woe,  
Who joys to see his cheerful fare,  
And mourns when he is not in place:  
alack, alack▪ alack, quoth she,  
there's none that ever Loved like me.  
The Flowers of th● sweetest scent,  
She bound them round with k1otted Bent,  
And as she laid them still in bands,  
She wept, she wailed and wrung her hands  
alas, alas, alas, etc.  
False man, quoth she, forgive thee heaven,  
As I do wish my sins forgiven,  
In blessed Elezium I shall sleep,  
When thou with perjured souls shalt weep.  
Who when they lived, did like to thee,  
That loved their loves as thou dost me.  
When she had filled her Apron full,  
Of such sweet Flowers as she could cull,  
The green leaves served for a bed,  
The Flowers pillows for her head:  
Then down she lay▪ ne'er more did speak,  
Alas, with Love her heart did break.  
FINIS.   

The Faithless Lover.  
To the same Tune.  
 
WHen I had seen this Virgin's end,  
I sorrowed as became a friend,  
And wept to see that such a Maid  
Should be by faithless love betrayed:  
But woe I fear will come to thee,  
That was not true in Love as she.  
The birds did cease their harmony,  
The harmless Lambs did seem to cry,  
The Flowers they did hang their head,  
The flower of Maidens being dead;  
Whose Life by death is now set free,  
and none did love more dear than she.  
The bubbling brooks did seem to moan,  
And echoes from the Valleys did groan,  
Diana's Nymphs did ring her knell,  
And to their Queen the same did tell:  
Who vowed by her chastity,  
That none should take revenge but she.  
When as I saw her corpse were cold,  
I to her Lover went and told,  
What chance unto this Maid befell,  
Who said I am glad she sped so well:  
Do you think that I so fond would be,  
To love no Maid but only she.  
I was not made for one alone,  
I take delight to hear them moan;  
When one is gone, I will have more,  
That man is rich that hath most store.  
I bondage hate, I must live free,  
And no● be tied to such as she.  
O Sir remember then (quoth I)  
The power of Heavens All-séeing eye;  
Who doth remember vows forgot,  
Though you deny you know it not:  
Call to your mind this maiden free,  
The which was wronged by none but thee.  
Quoth he, I have a love more fair,  
Besides, she is her father's heir,  
A bonny Lass doth please my mind,  
That unto me is wondrous kind:  
Her will I love, and none but she,  
Who still shall welcome be to me.  
False-minded man that so would prove,  
Disloyal to thy dearest love,  
Who at her death for thee did pray,  
And wished thee many a happy day:  
I would my Love would but love me,  
Even half so well as she loved thee.  
Fair Maidens will example take,  
Young men will curse thee for her sake,  
They'll stop their ears unto our plaints,  
And call us Devils seeming Saints:  
They'll say to day that we are kind,  
To morrow of another mind.  
FINIS.   

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and J. Wright.