A Looking Glass for Maids. OR, The Downfall of two desperate Lovers.  
Hinry Hartlove and William Martin, both lately living in the Isle of Wight, who for the love of Anne Scabborow, a beautiful Virgin, she having first made herself sure to one of them, & afterwards sell offto the other, challenged the field, where after a cruel fight they were both mortally wounded, and were found dead upon the place by the afore mentioned Maiden, who bestowed many tears upon their bodies, buried them both in one Grave.  

And now she lies in grief and sad distress,  
Wishing all Lovers true, more happiness.   
The tune is, Aim not too high,  

 
 

Unhappy I, who in this prime of youth,  
Unkind to him with whom I broke my truth;  
Mark well my words you that are Maids & Wives,  
I was the cause that two Men lost their lives.   

I'th' Isle of Wight, Anne Scarborow was my name  
There did I live in credit wealth and fame,  
My Parents rich, I nothing then did lack,  
But grace and truth, the which did go to wrack.   

A gentle man a Suitor to me came,  
With whom I might have lived a gallant Dame,  
But wantonness and pride did seize my heart,  
Was sure to him, and yet from him did part.   

He broke a piece of Gold, and gave it me,  
Then did I séemingly to him agree:  
But Oh my heart was never rightly placed,  
Another Man I afterwards embraced.   

Which when he knew he fell into despair,  
He beat his breast and toro his curled hair:  
O who would trust a woman, than said he,  
That seldom are what they do seem to be.   

Now do I and, that all a man can do,  
His best endeavours make not women true,  
Yet he that now hath interest in your heart,  
Shall buy you dear, sore that we do part.   

Then came the other, whom I loved so well,  
But now behold a heavy chance befell;  
When my first Love his Rival had beheld,  
He cast his Glove and challenged him the Field.   

To answer him the other thought it fit,  
He said he ne'er was known a Coward yet;  
He for my favour then so much did strive,  
He said he'd fight with any man alive.   

Next morning than these Gentlemen did meet,  
And manfully each other they did greet,  
Each other wounded in most piteous sort,  
Ere any man unto them did resort.   

At last they made a strong and desperate close,  
Both fell to ground and never after rose:  
Cursed be the place where these brave men did fall,  
And cursed be I, that was the cause of all.    

The second part,  
To the same tune,  
 
 

When word was brought to them I quickly went  
But e'er I came their lives alas was spent,  
Then did I tore the hair from off my head,  
And wished a thousand times that I were dead.   

When I came there these Gallants than I found,  
Both of them liveless bleeding on the ground,  
My Conscience told me I was cause of this,  
Sweet jesus now forgive me my amiss.   

I buried them and laid them in one grave,  
God grant their souls a resting place may have,  
More rest than I whose restless conscience now,  
Accuses me for breaking of my Vow.   

If I walk near the place where now they lie,  
It troubleth my mind exceedingly.  
If to the place where then did fight I go,  
It fills my guilty conscience full of wo.   

If I to bed do go I cannot sleep,  
And if I do my dreams do make me weep,  
Me thinks I see them bleeding in my sight,  
By thoughts by day and eke by dreams by night.   

My rich Apparel I have laid aside.  
My Cloth of gold and other things of pride  
In savie will I mourn while I have breath,  
And every day expect and look for death,   

A dead man's Scull my silver cup shall be,  
I'n which I'll drink too good a cup for me,  
Instead of meat on Roots and herbs I'll séed,  
To put me full in mind of soul deed.   

You woo●y Nymphs that welcome in the Spring,  
Come hear a discontented Virgin sing  
O that I might my time now with you spend,  
In silent Groves until my life doth end.   

You Maids likewise in Country and in City,  
That now have heard my discontented Day,  
Be constant ever True to one alone.  
For if that you prove false it will be known   

If you will know where sorrow doth abide,  
Repair to me no other place beside,  
Grief and Despair doth daily now attend me,  
And there is nought but death that can befriend me   

This discontented Damsel now she kéeps  
Her chamber where she daily sits and wéeps  
And suffers none to come to her 'tis said  
But only one and that's her Father's Maid.   

The meat and drink her Father to her sends,  
She sends the poor the which she calls her friends,  
She feeds on Roots and herbs and such like things  
Sometimes on bread which she counts food for Kings   

See here the fruits of wantonness pride,  
O let us pray that God may be our guide:  
There's few of us that have our times ill spent.  
So well brought up, that doth so well repent.   

You Damsels all now have a special care,  
Forget not her that did these things declare:  
Be to your Swéet-hearts ever just and true,  
And so fair Maids she bids you all adieu.    
Finis.   

Printed for Tho, Vere at the sign of the Angel without Newgate,