To some more soone-enamour'd swaine;

Those common wiles

Of sighs and smiles

Are all bestowed on me in vaine.

I have elsewhere vowed a dutie;
Turne away thy tempting eye;
Shew not me a painted beautie;
These impostures I defie.
My spirit lothes

Where gawdy clothes

And fained othes may love obtaine;
I love her so

Whose looke sweares No,

That all your labours will be vaine.

Can he prize the tainted posies,

Which on every brest are worne; That may plucke the virgin roses From their never-touched thorne ? I can goe rest

On her sweet brest,

That is the pride of Cynthia's traine;
Then stay thy tongue;

Thy mermaid song

Is all bestowed on me in vaine.

Hee's a foole that basely dallies,

Where each peasant mates with him;

Shall I haunt the thronged vallies,
Whilst ther's noble hils to climbe?
No, no, though clownes
Are scar'd with frownes,

I know the best can but disdaine;
And those Ile prove,

So will thy love

Be all bestowed on me in vaine.

Shee, shee it is

Affoords that blisse

For which I would refuse no paine.
But such as you,

Fond fooles, adieu;

55

You seeke to captive me in vaine.

60

Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me !
Seeke no more to worke my harmes ;
Craftie wiles cannot deceive me,

The Spanish Virgin, or Effects of Jealousy.

The subject of this ballad is taken from a folio collection of tragical stories, entitled, "The theatre of God's judgments, by Dr. Beard and Dr. Taylor, 1642." Pt. ii. p. 89.-The text is given (with corrections) from two copies; one of them in black-letter in the Pepys collection. In this every stanza is accompanied with the following distich by way

of burden:

"Oh jealousie! thou art nurst in hell:
Depart from hence, and therein dwell."

ALL tender hearts, that ake to hear
Of those that suffer wrong;
All you that never shed a tear,
Give heed unto my song.

Fair Isabella's tragedy

My tale doth far exceed :

Alas, that so much cruelty

In female hearts should breed!

Ст

5

For on a day it so befell,

When he was gone from home, The lady all with rage did swell,

And to the damsell come.

And charging her with great offence,
And many a grievous fault,

She bade her servants drag her thence,
Into a dismal vault,

A dungeon dark and deep,

45

50

That lay beneath the common-shore,—

Where they were wont, in days of yore,
Offenders great to keep.

55

The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss:

"Your cruelty hath sped;

Make hast, for shame, and come and see;

The door being open'd, strait they found
The virgin stretch'd along;

110

Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round,
Which her to death had stung.

One round her legs, her thighs, her waist,
Had twined his fatal wreath;

The other close her neck embrac'd,

115

And stopt her gentle breath.