True Love Rewarded with Cruelty.  
Being a true Account of one Mary Story, a Maid, who once lived at Limehouse, in the Country of Middlesex that was in love with one who had promised her Marriage, so that the Wedding-day was appointed, but he changed his mind, and forsook her, whereupon she grief and died about the latter end of July, 1683.  
Tune of, Tender hearts of London City.  
 

YOu that ever in love delighted,  
Pity me that now am slighted  
by a youngman too unkind,  
That did leave me, and deceive me,  
which distracts both brain and mind.   

I am strangely discontented,  
Night and day I am tormented,  
my heart is ready for to break;  
But i'll give o'er, and love no more,  
for my deceitful George's sake.   

But why talk I of giving over?  
That am now a dying lover,  
languishing through his disdain;  
And now with smart I break my heart,  
but he ne'er pities this my pain.   

He to me did promise Marriage;  
Oh! but mind this strange miscarriage,  
his wavering mind began to change,  
He pleaded debt, which made me fret,  
this alteration was so strange.   

But he strove to stand the trial,  
What would follow his denial,  
and to my sorrow now I know  
That I must die; most dreadfully  
Love wrought my fatal overthrow.   

That very dar I should be married,  
Then, alas! I so miscarried,  
he said that he owed twenty pound;  
This cruel news did me amuse,  
and gave to me a mortal wound.   

He said he'd not bring me to trouble  
Then my sorrows they grew double,  
but 'twas only a pretence  
Me to deceive, and strangely leave,  
as I have been informed since.   

Oh that he should be so cruel  
To my flame to add a fuel  
that a Maiden will destroy!  
No hope can save me from my Grave  
since I have lost mine only joy.   

In him alone I was delighted,  
Now my days are all benighted,  
all my comforts now are fled,  
While I do mourn like one forlorn;  
mind what I say on dying-bed.   

Tho there's nothing here can daunt thee,  
Night and day i'll surely haunt thee  
wheresorver thou dost go;  
You broke Love's laws, & that's the cause  
that has procured my overthrow.   
 
 

Your false tongue was quick and nimble,  
With me you did so dissemble,  
that you gained my tender heart,  
Which now will break for your dear sake,  
that are the cause of all my smart.   

Call to mind your gross offences,  
Broken vows, and False pretences,  
which my ruin did procure;  
My heart you won, and I'm undone,  
cause you to me are so obdure.   

Why should you be so ungrateful,  
When I proved not deceitful?  
but as constant as the Dove;  
Why at this rate do you me hate,  
and slight me thus for my true love?   

Oh! remember all your wishes,  
Treacherous vows, and fawning kisses,  
that you once bestowed on me,  
Me to ensnare; but have a care,  
lest my poor Ghost does trouble thee.   

In your baseness never glory,  
Boast not o'er poor Mary Story,  
time may come when you may rue  
That you betrayed a harmless Maid,  
who proved so loyal unto you.   

Though these lines may little move thee,  
For thy faults I must reprove thee  
with my latest murmuring breath;  
I once again do here complain  
that thou hast brought me to my death.   

You that I do leave behind me,  
I entreat you all to mind me,  
my last speeches ne'er forget,  
This cruel man his Lover kills,  
that he so light by her doth set.   

Then she did begin to shiver,  
All her joints did shake and quiver,  
her Cherry-lips looked wan and pale,  
And cruel Death did stop her breath,  
so strongly he did her assail.   

You that hear this mournful ditty,  
Cannot those but grieve, and pity  
this poor Creature, in distress,  
For she did find he was unkind;  
she died cause he was pitiless.   

young men never prove disloyal,  
Put not Maidens to the trial  
when you come their loves to win,  
Do not pretend to be a friend,  
unless their ruined you'll begin.    

Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in West Smithfield.