A lamentable Balled of the Ladies Fall, Declaring how a Gentlewoman through her too much trust came to her en● and how her Lover slew himself.  
The tune of, In Peascod time.  
 
 

MArk well my heavy doleful Tale.  
you loyal Lovers all,  
And heedfully bear in your breast,  
a gallant Ladies fall.  
Along was she wooed,  she was won  
to lead a wedded life;  
But folly wrought her overthrow,  
before she was a Wife,   

Too soon alas she gave consent,  
to yield unto his will,  
Though he protested so be true  
and faithful to her still,  
She felt her body altered quite,  
her bright hue waxed pale,  
Her fair red cheeks changed colour while,  
her strength began to fail.   

So that with many a sorrowful sigh,  
this beauteous maiden mild,  
With grieved heart perceived herself  
to be conceived with child,  
She kept it from her Father's sight,  
so close as close might be,  
And so put on her silken Gown,  
none might her swelling see.   

Unto her Lover secretly  
she did herself bewray▪  
And walking with him hand in hand,  
these words to him did say.  
Behold said she a Maids distress,  
my Love brought to thy Bow,  
Behold I 〈◊〉 with child by thee,  
though none thereof do know.   

The little babe s●rings in my womb,  
to hear the Father's voice,  
Let it not be a bastard c●●●d,  
sigh I make thee my choice.  
Come come my love perform t●y vow,  
and wed me out of hand:  
O leave me not i● th●se extremes,  
in grief 〈…〉 ayes to 〈◊〉.   

Think on thy former promise made,  
thy vows and Oath each one,  
Remember with what bitter tears  
to me thou mad'st thy mean;  
Convey me to some secret place,  
and marry me with speed,  
Or with thy Rapier end my life,  
 further shame proceed.   

Alas my dearest Love quoth he  
my greatest joy on earth.  
Which way can I convey thee hence  
without a sudden death.  
Thy friends they be of high degree,  
and I of mean estate;  
Full hard it is to get thee forth  
out of thy father's gate.   

Dread not thyself to save my same,  
and if thou taken be,  
Myself will step between the s●●●●●  
and take the harm on me.  
So shall I scape dishonour quite,  
if so I should be slain,  
What could they say but that tru● 〈◊〉  
did work a Lady's bane.   
 
 

ANd fear not any further harm,  
myself will so devise,  
That I will go along with thee,  
unseen of mortal eyes.  
Disguised like some pretty Page,  
I'll meet thee in the dark,  
And all alone I'll come to thee  
had by my Father's Park.   

And there quoth he I'll meet my love,  
if God lend me life,  
And this day month without all fail,  
I will make thee my wife,  
Then with a swee● an loving kiss,  
they parted presently;  
And at their parting brinish tears,  
stood in each others eye.   

At length the wished day was come,  
whereas this lovely maid,  
With lovely eyes and strange attire,  
for her true lover stayed.  
When any person she espied  
come riding over the plain,  
She thought it was her own true love,  
but all her joys were vain.   

Then did she weep and sore bewail  
her most unhappy state,  
Then did she speak these woeful words  
when succourless she sat.  
O false forsworn and faithless wretch,  
disloyal to thy Love:  
Hast thou forgot thy promise made,  
and wilt thou perjured prove.   

And hast thou now forsaken me,  
in this my sad distress;  
To end my days in open shame,  
which thou mightst well redress  
Woe worth the the time I did believe  
that flattering tongue of thine,  
Would God that I had never seen  
the tears of thy false eyen.   

And thus with many a sorrowful sigh  
homeward she went amain,  
No rest came in her watery eyes,  
she felt such bitter pain.  
In travel strong they fell that night,  
with many a bitter throw.  
What woeful pangs she felt that night,  
doth each good women know.   

She called for her waiting Maid,  
that lay at her beds feet;  
Who musing at her mistress woe,  
did fast begin to weep.  
Weep not quoth she but shut the door,  
and windows round about;  
Let no●e bewail my wretched case,  
but keep all persons out.   

O Mistress call your mother dear,  
of women you have need;  
And of some skilful midwives' help,  
the better may you speed:  
Call not my Mother for thy life,  
nor call no women here,  
The Midwife's help comes now too late,  
my death I do not fear.   

With that the babe sprung in her womb,  
no creator being nigh,  
And with a sigh that broke her heart,  
this gallant Dame did die,  
This living little infant young,  
the Mother being dead,  
Resigned its new received breath,  
to him that had him made.   

Next morning came her Lover true,  
affrighted at this news,  
And he for sorrow slew himself,  
whom each one did accuse.  
The Mother with the new born babe,  
was both laid in one grave;  
Their parents overcome with woe,  
no joy of them could have.   

Take heed you dainty Damsels all,  
of flattering words beware,  
And of the honour of your name  
have you a special care;  
Too true this a story is,  
as many one can tell,  
By others harms learn to be wise,  
and thou shalt do full well.    

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and William Gilbertson.