Love's Overthrow; OR, A full and true account of a young Maid that lived in Exeter-Exchange-Court, in the Strand, who being deeply in Love with a young Servingman, whose care was so great, that he would not marry till he was in a good Condition to maintain a Wife; which resolution of his bred jealousy in her; whereupon in reality of his Love, he presented her with a Ring, but she afterwads despairing of his Constancy, disdainfully returned him the Ring again, and within ashort time after poisoned herself; And now she lies buried near the Maypole in the Strand, with a Stake drove through her body; Being there Bruied the Thirteenth day of May last.  
To the Tune of, Bateman.  
 
 

ALL you that know what 'tis to love,  
come mourn a while with me,  
For unto you I will declare,  
a mournful Tragedy:  
A fair and comely Domsel did  
live lately in the Strand,  
Whose fancy taught her to obey,  
loves power and strict command.   

So that she deeply fell in Love  
with a young Servingman,  
Who Loyal unto her did prove,  
yet here her woe began:  
Each others Love they did embrace,  
and jointly did agree,  
hat in a very little space,  
they both should Married be.   

The Youngman he was full of care,  
and fearful to engage  
Himself in Wedlock, which did put  
this Maid into a rage:  
She loved him exceeding well,  
and so he loved too,  
But 'cause he made a small demur,  
she knew not what to do.   

He did intend all should do well,  
ere he would Married be,  
And never take a Wife to bring,  
her into misery:  
So for this cause he did delay,  
and Marriage did prolong,  
Till she from reason went astray,  
now mind my mournful Song.   
 
 

She did mistake his good intent,  
poor silly harmless Maid,  
And cried, she knew not what he meant,  
of him she was afraid:  
Quoth she, if he should prove unkind,  
what would become of me?  
He fickle is I now do find,  
and deals deceitfully.   

If Fortune will not be my friend,  
and teach him to be kind,  
My life will quickly have an end,  
my death draws near I find:  
This discontented did she live,  
and could not quiet be,  
For nothing could her pains remove,  
hatched up by jealousy.   

Her fears did every day increase,  
lest he should faithless be,  
Her panting heart could find no ease,  
a mournful Soul was she:  
At last she fell into despair,  
and Satan prompt her on,  
To draw her Soul into a snare,  
and thus her woe begun.   

In hourly Torments still was she,  
and could not be content,  
But for to set her troubles free,  
this way to work she went:  
To Holbourn she one day did go,  
and passion was her guide;  
Which did procure her overthrow,  
and made her go aside.   

Then with a Cup of Poison strong▪  
she ends her mournful Life,  
'Cause she before her time did long,  
to be a married Wife:  
After this Poison she had took,  
a week she lay in pain,  
Thinking her Love had her forsaken,  
which made her to complain.   

And now she Buried is likewise,  
near the Maypole in the Strand,  
A Stake is through her body drove,  
as we do understand:  
Then Maidens all be sure take heed,  
in Love you ne'er despair,  
Since jealousy caused this cruel deed,  
true Lovers all beware.    

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden Ball, in West-smithfield.