A Lamentable Ballad of the Ladies Fall.  
Tune is, In Peascod time.  
 

MArk well my heavy doleful Tale,  
You Loyal Lovers all.  
And heedfully bear in your breast  
a gallant Ladies fall:  
Long 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 to be true,  
and faithful to her still:  
She felt her body altered quite,  
her bright hue waxed pale,  
Her fair red cheeks turned colour white,  
her strength began to fail.   

So that with many a sorrowful sigh,  
this beauteous Maiden mild,  
With grievous heart perceived herself  
to be conceived with Child:  
She kept it from her father's sight,  
as 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 Maid's distress,  
my love, brought to thy vow,  
Behold I go with Child by thee,  
but none thereof doth know.   

The little Babe springs in my womb  
to hear the Father's voice,  
Let it not be a Bastard called  
sigh I made thee my choice:  
Come, come, my love, perform thy vow  
and wed me out of hand,  
O leave me not in this extreme,  
in grief always to stand.   

Think on thy former promise made,  
thy vows and oaths each one,  
Remember with what bitter tears  
to me thou mad'st thy moan:  
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 fame;  
and if thou taken be,  
Myself will step between the Swords,  
and take the harm on me:  
So shall I scape Dishonour quite,  
If so I should be slain,  
What could they say? but that true love  
did work a Lady's Bane.   
 
 

ANd not fear any further harm,  
myself will so devise,  
That I will go away 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,  
hard by my Father's Park.   

And there, quoth he, I'll meet my love,  
If God do lend me life,  
And this day month without all fail,  
I will make thee my wife:  
Then with a sweet and loving kiss,  
the parted presently,  
And at their parting brinish tears,  
stood in each others eye.   

At length the wished day was come,  
whereby this lovely Maid,  
With lovely eyes, and strange attire,  
for her true lover stayed:  
When any person she espied,  
come riding o'er the plain,  
She thought it was her own true love,  
but all her hopes 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,  
Ha●● thou forgot thy promise made,  
and wilt thou perjured prove.   

And ●ast thou now forsaken me,  
in this my great distress,  
To end my days in open shame,  
which thou mightst well redress:  
woe worth the time I did believe,  
That flattering tongue of thine,  
Would God that I had never seen,  
the tears of thy false Eyes.   

And thus with many a sorrowful sigh,  
homewards she went again,  
No rest came in her watery Eyes,  
she felt such bitter pain.  
In travel strong she fell that night,  
with many a bitter throw,  
What woeful pangs she felt that night,  
doth each good woman know.   

She called up her waiting Maid,  
that lay at her Beds feet,  
Who musing at her M●stris woe,  
did straight begin to weep:  
Weep not, said she, but shut the door,  
and windows round about,  
Let none bewail my wretched case,  
but keep all persons out.   

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

With that the Babe sprang in her Womb,  
no Creature 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 his 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,  
were both laid in one grave,  
Their Parents overcome with wo●e,  
no joy of them could have.   

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

Printed for W. Thackeray, at the Angel in Ducklane, E. M. and A. M.