Wishing ten thousand times in vain
That single they had longer tarried,
Perhaps like them I may complain,
Though I no hast[e] have to be married.

Printed for I[onah] Blare at the Looking-glass on London Bridge. [In Black-letter. Date, about 1684, perhaps earlier, but after 1677.]

80

The Unconstant Lover's Cruelty.

"Lay a Garland on my hearse of the dismal Yew;
Maidens, willow-branches bear; say I died true:

My Love was false, but I was firm from my hour of birth;

Upon my buried body lie lightly, gentle Earth.”

Beaumont and Fletcher: The Maid's Tragedy, Act ii. sc. 1. 1610.

THE tune to which our

"Unconstant Lover's Cruelty" was directed to be sung is "Black and sullen hour." This name refers to a song by Tom D'Urfey, in the first act of his "Banditti," 1686. It is found in the Loyal Garland of that year, fifth edition; but omitted, with ten others, through some fastidious squeamishness, from the Percy Society's reprint, Sept. 1850. Here it is:

66

The music of this is in Pills to P. Mel., iv. 255. We have no patience with the punctilious prudery which considers such a song shockingly indelicate," and would yet accept without scruple the subtle innuendoes of later versifiers, or the deliberate offensiveness of many recent novelists.

The incidental suicide of the neglected lady is similar to that described in the "Philander" ballad, which we give on p. 542; and the woodcut on p. 539, Left, is common to both.

TO THE TUNE OF, [There is one] Black and Sullen Hour.

[In the original are three cuts: the central one is printed on p. 533. That to the right is a copy from the Obsequies of Faire Phillida, Roxb. Coll., i. 330.]

SI walk'd forth one morning fair,

AS

to view what Nature did compleat,
Where little Hills enammell'd were,
with Lillies and fair Violets sweet;
And while I in my Pleasures did remain,
I heard a Damsel thus complain,
Farewel, thou most unconstant Swain,
Farewel, thou most unconstant swain.
Then to a most convenient place,
I being then resolv'd to go,
Where I remained for a space,

to know the cause of all her woe,

4

8

121

With sighs and sobs she sounded forth her moan,

As she lay languishing alone,

as she lay, &c.

Her joys they being fully flown,

her joys they, &c.

Those protestations which you made,
is now the cause of all my woe;
By which my heart was soon betray'd,
proving my final overthrow,
Here am I tortur'd by your tyranny,
How could you prove so false to me
how could, &c.

And break the laws of loyalty,

and break, &c.

Long was I woo'd before I gave consent to any terms of Love, But at the length, your life to save,

my heart you did with pitty move; Protesting that you ever would prove true, And thus my heart you did subdue,

and thus, &c.

my life my Love will not reprieve,

You little Birds ring forth my knell,

when of this World I take my leave:

While tears did trickle down, she thus did cry,
Why do I here in sorrow lye,

why do I, &c.

O! break strong heart, and let me dye;

O! break, &c.

17

21

26

30

335

39

44

Alas, her patience here was tried,

for care and grief did her surround,

Then did she lay her Lute aside,

casting her self upon the ground:

48

Here must I end my days, so hard's my fate,

My grief and sorrows are so great,

my grief, &c.

No Tongue nor Pen can well relate,

no tongue, &c.

53

While she lamented for her love,
and could not find the least relief,
Every Creature in the Grove

did seem to be possess'd with grief,

The little pritty Lambs bleat forth her woe,
The small Birds they their sorrow show,
the small, &c.

In cloaking their fine Wings do[wn low],1
in cloaking, &c.

Then from her trance she did arise,

and drawing forth a weapon keen,
Which when I see, did me surprize,
I ran to enter in between:

In hopes to stop her hand, though all in vain,
She on her breast receiv'd her bane,

Then with a sigh she did depart,

which seem'd to pierce the Cloudy Sky,

I was afflicted in my heart,

to see so sweet a creature dye:

84

You loyal lovers that this tydings hear,
in this sad sorrow bear a share,
Contribute in one brinish tear,
contribute in one brinish tear.

This may be Printed, R[obt]. P[ocock].

88

Printed for J. Blare, at the Looking-Glass on London Bridge. [In Black-letter. Date, probably, 1686-87.]

1 Mutilated in original, and guessed at, from what seem to be parts of a w, bis. Two lines earlier an imperfection leaves a doubt between shew or show.

A Remedy for the Green-Sickness.

"There was a maid that was a jade,

Four lovers true had she;

One did so dote, that he cut his own throat,
And she poison'd the other three.

THE

From this we learn to see and discern,

Nor hotly to desire,

A maid whose store of lovers is more
Than her just needs require."

Taylor's Edwin the Fair, Act i. sc. 10.

HE tune of "Philander" bore many names, such as The Merry Milkmaids, Down in the North-Countrey, &c. Sometimes it is named "Cruel bloody fate," from part of the first line; sometimes "Philander" from one of the lovers, but the original song thus indicated belongs to the tragedy of "Theodosius," Act v., 1680, written by Nat Lee (see p. 153). The music composed by Henry Purcell, is found in Playford's Choice Ayres, for 1681, iii. 29. Also in Pills to P. Mel., iv. 284, and Pop. Music, 280. Words alone in Wit and Drollery, 1682 (not in earlier editions), 346; in extended ballad-form it is in Roxb. Coll., iv. 78, and Douce Coll., 74. There are two parodies on it among the 180 Loyal Songs, 1685, pp. 126 and 129, entitled respectively "Dagon's Fall," on "poor Tony" Shaftesbury, and "The Bully Whig; or, the Poor Whore's Lamentation for the apprehending Sir Thomas Armstrong," 1682. The last begins "Ah, cruel bloody Tom!" and the other one similarly to Philander. The Roxburghe copy, iv. 78, is entitled "The True Lover's Tragedy; being an incomparable ballad on Philander and Phillis." We give the original three verses, from the play :—

AH, What cant thou nor

H, cruel, bloody Fate! what canst thou now do more?

Why should the heavenly Powers persuade poor Mortals to believe
That they guard us here, And reward us there,

Yet all our joys deceive.

Her poignard then she took, and held it in her hand,
And, with a dying look, cry'd, Thus I fate command:
Philander, oh my love! I come to meet thy Shade below;
Ah, I come! she cry'd, With a wound so wide

There needs no second blow.

In purple waves her blood run streaming down the floor,
Unmov'd she saw the flood, and bless'd her dying hour:
Philander! oh Philander! still the bleeding Phillis cry'd;
She wept a while, And she forc'd a smile,

Then clos'd her eyes and dy'd.

(Seven more verses in Roxb. Coll.)

Else

A different "Cure for the Green-Sickness," in Pills to P. Melancholy, iv. 297, begins, "As fair Olinda sitting was." where is a ballad, "The Green-sickness Grief."