The Unfortunate Lady;  
OR, The Young Lover's fatal Tragedy: 
 Who lately Hanged herself for the Love of a Young Gentleman, whom her Parents would not suffer her to have; but sent her a false Letter, that he was Married, which was the Cause of her Untimely Death.  
To the Tune of The Languishing Swain.  

Licenced according to Order.   
 
 

I Do not sing of Triumph, no  
Nor of the Blessings here below;  
But of a Loyal Lover's Fall,  
Which is lamented by us all.   

Let loving Parents now attend  
Unto this Lesson which I send;  
Cross not your Children dear in Love,  
For fear it should their Ruin prove.   

Too many in this Age we find,  
They are to Riches so inclined,  
That they can nothing less behold,  
Tho' Love be better worth than Gold.   

When True Love cannot be enjoyed,  
How many Damsels are destroyed?  
As we by true Experience know,  
It having proved their Overthrow.   
 
 

Some has by burning Fevers fell,  
And some their Sorrows to expel,  
Have sent a fatal bloody Dart,  
Into their fainting Lovesick Heart.   

Others by Poison end their days;  
And thus the Lover many ways  
Can find to ease their Lovesick Pain,  
When they their Wishes can't obtain.   

Among the rest of one I write,  
Her Parent's joy, and Heart Delight,  
Who by them being crossed in Love,  
It did a sad Destruction prove.   

Her Heart was linked to her Dear:  
Now when her Friends the same did hear,  
She was with speed to London sent,  
Where she in sorrow did lament.   

She often wrang her Hands, and cried,  
I am of all my joys denied;  
No glance of Comfort does appear,  
While I am banished from my Dear.   

Tho' we may for a Season part,  
I do declare he has my Heart;  
To none but him the same I'll give,  
While I have here a day to live.   

Said she, The storm may be blown over,  
And Fortune may our joys restore,  
Therefore I will with Patience wait:  
But now behold her dismal Fate.   

Her Friends they did a Letter frame,  
That he was Married: When it came,  
She with a Sigh, said, Is it so?  
Then Love will prove my Overthrow.   

She dressed herself in rich Array.  
And to her Chamber took her way,  
And then her Life she ended there;  
The Grief was more than she could bear.   

Let her Mishap a Warning be  
To Friends of high and low Degree:  
Cross not your Children here in Love,  
Lest you their utter Ruin prove.    

Printed for I. Blare, at the Looking-glass on London-bridge.