AN Answer to the Maiden's Tragedy: OR, The Lamentation of a Young Man, Near Wolverhampton, for the Death of a Young Maiden; which of late has been a great Grief and Trouble to him, for his Unkindness to her.  
To the Tune of, Russel 's Farewell.  
 
 
 

YOu Lovers all both far and near,  
pray listen to my moan;  
I wronged my Love, my only Dear,  
the like was never known:  
I proved indeed her fatal fall,  
by my Disloyalty,  
For which I fear in time I shall  
a sad Example be.   

Love thou art sleeping in the Grave,  
and I am left behind;  
No peace or comfort can I have,  
but a tormented mind:  
The Heart within my Breast does bleed,  
no Pleasure can I see;  
E'er thou hadst done that bloody Deed,  
would I had died for thee.   

What Protestations did I make,  
that I did thee adore?  
Yet did at last my Love forsake,  
and this torments me soret  
Sad Torments do I under go,  
for my Disloyalty,  
The Eyes of mine like Fountains flow,  
would I had died for thee.   

The Golden Chain of Love I broke,  
and did my promise slight,  
So that at length a fatal streak,  
did prove thy ruin quite:  
When at the point of sad di'pair,  
thou wroughtst this Tragedy;  
My Soul is styled with grief and care,  
would I had died for thee.   

After a tedious long delay,  
we did together meet,  
And pitched upon our Wedding-day,  
our blessings to complete:  
She waited long yet all in vain,  
then with a sigh said she,  
True Love is a tormenting Pain,  
no Man so false as he.   

I seemed unconcerned then.  
t●o ' I her Heart betrayed;  
And never came a near her when,  
this Piteous Moan she mad●:  
But now my Dearest thou art dead,  
and I no comfort see,  
All Joy and Peace is from me fled,  
would I had died for thee.   

I with the World could freely part,  
to be released from thrall;  
Now I alone do feel the smart,  
for thou art passed it all:  
While I in Storms of Grief and Woe,  
feel Endless Misery  
This Grief I cannot under go,  
would I had died for thee.   

When e'er I wander all alone,  
methinks her voice I hear,  
And sometimes with a dying groan,  
which kills my Heart with fear:  
Then do I start and turn away,  
as frighted woefully,  
And in that passion sighing say,  
would I had died for thee.   

When I her bleeding Ghost behold,  
wrapped in a Winding-sheet;  
And on her Head a Crown of Gold,  
with voice exceeding sweet:  
Dear Thomas, Thomas most unkind,  
why do you stay? said she,  
Why do you tarry thus behind?  
make haste and follow me.   

Thus am I in distraction hurled,  
denied of quiet rest;  
And though I live it from the World,  
my very Soul's oppressed:  
I'd fain surrender up my Breath,  
to give me case, said he,  
For Life is worse to me than Death,  
would I had died for thee.    

Printed for P. Brooskby, J. Deacon, J. Blare, and J. Back.