The True Lovers Ghost.  
False Men do often prove unkind  
to those that would to them be true;  
Then carefully my story mind,  
the like before you never knew.  
To the Tune of, Tender Hearts of London-City.  
 
 

LAdies all behold and wonder,  
At the paths that I lie under,  
burning in a quenchless fire,  
What I endure there's none can cure,  
but he whose person I admire.   

Virtues in him still are shining,  
Though his pity is declining,  
and his heart doth grow obdure,  
My tender heart doth feel the smart,  
that none but he himself can cure,   

Now I languish in my trouble,  
And my sorrows they grow double,  
night and day I do lament,  
But his disdain creates my pain,  
and all my comforts circumvent.   

Not a Maid in all the Nation,  
Ever took more recreation,  
when I was from passion free,  
But now in vain, I may complain,  
for losing of my Liberty.   

Oh that Love should have such power,  
Maidens freedoms to devour,  
making Captive, who were free,  
You maids take care, of love beware,  
lest you in chains do lie like me.   

Never did a slighting Lover,  
So much cruelty discover,  
as this Tyrant doth to me,  
Oh come kind death, and stop my breath,  
and end my pain and misery.   
 

As she sat thus discontented,  
Of all hopes she was prevented,  
for death with his all-killing dart,  
Did give a stroke, which her heart broke  
and so she died with deadly smart.   

When these tidings were brought to him  
It was enough for to undo him,  
sorrow than did him surprise,  
Oh then he said, what is she dead,  
the tears ran trickling from his eyes.   

Since my Love is gone before me,  
She that did so much adore me,  
I'll make haste with her to be,  
Death's kill dart shall pierce my heart  
my Love I come, I follow thee.   

In this world I take no pleasure,  
But do grieve beyond all measure,  
'cause I proved so unkind,  
But she's gone, my joys are flown,  
and long I will not stay behind.   

Thus he sat with grief tormented,  
Her misfortune he lamented,  
at last he struck his gentle breast,  
And sighing said, O lovely Maid,  
how for my sake wert thou oppressed.   

Then to him her Ghost appeared,  
At which sight he greatly feared,  
lest he should be snatched away,  
Yet 'tis, said I, but equity,  
because my Love I did betray.   

Then on him the Ghost it seized,  
Whose anger could not be appeased,  
but away with him it flew,  
And through the air, it did him bear,  
he had no time to bid adieu.   

Lovers all but mind this Story,  
That my pen hath laid before ye,  
and prove loyal unto death,  
Than you will find, content in mind,  
when you do lose your vital breath.    

Printed for, J. Deacon, at the Angel in Guilt-spur-street, without Newg●te.