The messenger of God, Instead of musicke sweet, Go toll my passing-bell; And with sweet flowers strow my grave, That in my chamber smell. 65 70 And on the hungry, needy, maimde, 75 Now craving at the door. Instead of virgins yong, My bride-bed for to see, Go cause some cunning carpenter, To make a chest for mee. My bride laces of silk Bestowd, for maidens meet, May fitly serve, when I am dead, To tye my hands and feet. And thou, my lover true, 80 85 My husband and my friend, Let me intreat thee here to staye, Until my life doth end. Now leave to talk of love, And humblye on your knee, Direct your prayers unto God: But mourn no more for mee. In love as we have livde, Do kiss thee with my heart. O staunch those bootless teares, Shall one daye meet againe' With that shee turn'd aside, And like a lamb departed life; Her true love seeing this, Did fetch a grievous groane, As tho' his heart would burst in twaine, "O darke and dismal daye, A daye of grief and care, That hath bereft the sun so bright, 90 95 100 105 110 And now this lover lives A discontented life, Whose bride was brought unto the grave A maiden and a wife. A garland fresh and faire Six maidens, all in white, Did beare her to the ground: 120 125 Given from two ancient copies, one in black-print, in the Pepys Collection; the other in the Editor's folio MS. Each of these contained a stanza not found in the other. What seemed the best readings were selected from both. This song is quoted as very popular in Walton's Complete Angler, chap. 2. It is more ancient than the ballad of Robin Good-Fellow printed below, which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben. Jonson. As at noone Dulcina rested In her sweete and shady bower; But from her looke A wounde he tooke Soe deepe, that for a further boone 'Forgoe me now, come to me soone.' But in vayne shee did conjure him To depart her presence soe; Having a thousand tongues to allure him, And but one to bid him goe: Where lipps invite, And eyes delight, And cheekes, as fresh as rose in June, Persuade delay; What boots, she say, Forgoe me now, come to me soone?' He demands, What time for pleasure She sayes, Night gives love that leysure, Which the day can not allow.' He sayes, 'The sight Improves delight.' . Which she denies: Nights mirkie noone In Venus' playes Makes bold,' shee sayes; 5 10 15 20 25 Forgoe me now, come to mee soone.' 30. But what promise or profession From his hands could purchase scope? Who would sell the sweet possession Of suche beautye for a hope? Of lingering night 35 Forgoe the present joyes of noone? Her speeches were, 'Forgoe me now, come to me soone.' How, at last, agreed these lovers? Shee was fayre, and he was young; The tongue may tell what th' eye discovers; Did shee consent, Or he relent? Accepts he night, or grants shee noone? Left he her a mayd, Or not? she sayd 'Forgoe me now, come to me soone.' 40 45 50 XIV. THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY. This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, collated with another in the British Museum, H. 263. folio. It is there entitled, 'The Lady Isabella's Tragedy, or the Step-Mother's Cruelty: being a relation of a lamentable and cruel murther, committed on the body of the lady Isabella, the only daughter of a noble duke, &c. To the tune of, The Lady's Fall.' To some copies are annexed eight more modern stanzas, entitled, The Dutchess's and Cook's Lamentation.' THERE was a lord of worthy fame, Attended by a noble traine And while he did in chase remaine, |