The Unhappy TAILOR OR, Loves Fatal Farewell, being a Tragical Relation of one James Orde a Tailor; Who Hanged himself on Sunday Morning in the new Buildings near Lamb's Cunduit, for Love of a Young Maiden who slighted his Courtship.  
To the Tune of Johnson's Farewell  
Licenced according to Order.  

COme all Rash Lovers pray draw near,  
and hear what I shall tell,  
Of one who lately did despair,  
and for that cause he fell:  
He was Tailor brisk and brave,  
who loved a handsome Maid,  
And did for speedy Marriage crave,  
but she the same delayed.   

Which drove him to such discontent,  
that he no rest could find,  
Both Night and Day he did lament,  
to see his Love unkind;  
And took the same so much to heart,  
in silence he did grieve,  
Such was the force of Cupid's Dart,  
that none could him relieve.   

Until at last despair and grief  
united so their Power,  
His Case was far beyond relief,  
sad Fate must him devour.  
For having got a slender Roap  
on Sunday-morning last,  
As one being void of future hope,  
he hanged himself in haste.   

In the New-building near the Field,  
his body it was found,  
Where, he to fatal death did yield,  
tho' his feet touched the Ground;  
Which did amaze all those who see  
his sad and dismal fate,  
Because that Loves unkind Decree,  
had thus cut off his date.   

About him were some Letters found.  
Which plainly seemed to tell,  
Despair had on him gained such ground,  
In peace he could not Dwell  
Likewise he did disire all,  
Who heard of his sad Fate  
To take example by his Fall,  
Before it was too late.   

His Sweet heart she no sooner hears,  
This sad and Doleful news  
But she with Sorrows Grief and Tears  
All comfort doth refuse,  
For her unkindness to her Dear,  
She doth Lament and Morn,  
'Cause to him she was so severe  
As her True Love to scorn.   

Oh! all Young Maid's (quoth she beware  
How you true love despise,  
Lest you like me, bring on despair,  
Make Love a sacrifice  
I freely would give all I have,  
To bring him back again,  
But 'tis too late his Life to save  
My sighs are all in vain.    

London, Printed for John Alkin, 1699.