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They hew'd him when they had him got,
As small as Flesh into the Pot,
Lo! thus befel a heavy Lot,

About this bonny Lafs.
The Lady young, which did lament

This cruel cursed Strife,
For very Grief dyed that Day,

A Maiden and a Wife :
An hundred Men, that hapless Day,
Did lose their Lives in that same Fray ;
And 'twixt those Names, as many say,

Is deadly Strife still 'biding.

An Excellent Ballad of a Prince of

England's Courtship to the King of France's Daughter, and

and how the Prince

disasterously sain, and the aforesaid Princess was afterwards marry'd to a Forrester.


To the Tune of, Crimson Velvet.

The following Song is, I believe, written on a fiétitious Subject, at least I have not been able to discover any Partof History to which it alludes ; however, I will not pretend to advance positively that it is fictitious,

seeing that very few of these venerable ancient Song Editors were whollyindebted to Invention for their Poetical Productions; most of those who do not relate a direct Fact having some Story at least in view, which through length of Time may have been forgotten.

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The King a Daughter had,

Beauteous, fair and comely,
Which made her Father glad,

She was his only Joy ;
A Prince from England came,
Whose Deeds did merrit Fame,

He woo'd her long, and lo at last,
Look what he did require,
She granted his Desire,

Their Hearts in one were linked fast.
Which when her Father proved,
Lord how he was moved,

And tormented in his Mind;
He fought for to prevent them,
And to discontent them,

Fortune crossed Lovers kind.

When these Princes twain

Were thus barr'd of Pleasures,
Through the King's Disdain,

Which their Joys withstood :
The Lady lock'd up close

Her Jewels and her Treasure,
Having no remorse

Of State or Royal Blood :
In homely poor Array

She went from Court away,

To meet her Love and Heart's de light,
Who in a Forest great,
Had taken up his Seat,

To wait her coming in the Night :
But lo, what sudden Danger,
To this Princely Stranger,

Chanced as he set alone;
By Outlaws he was robbed,
And with a Poniard stabbed,

Uttering many a dying Groan.
The Princess armed by him,
And by true Desire,


Wandring all the Night,

Without Dread at all : Still unknown she pass'd,

In her strange Attire,
Coming at the last

Within Eccho's call :
You fair Woods, quoth she,
Honoured may you be,

Harbouring my Hearts delight:
Which doth incompass here
My Joy and only dear,

My trusty Friend and comely Knight.
Sweet I come unto thee,
Sweet I come to woo thee,

That thou may'st not angry be,
For my long delaying,
And thy courteous staying,

Amends for all I'll make to thee.

Passing thus alone

Through the silent Forest, Many a grievous Groan

Sounded in her Ear; Where she heard a Man

To lament the forest Chance that ever came,

Forc'd by deadly Strife : Farewel, my dear, quoth he, Whom I shall never see,

For why, my Life is at an end,
For thy sweet sake I dye,
Through Villains Cruelty,

To show I am a faithful Friend.
Here I lye bleeding,
While my Thoughts are feeding,

On the rarest Beauty found,
O hard hap that may be,
Little knows my Lady

My Heart's Blood lies on the Ground.

With that he gave a Groan,

That did break asunder, All the tender Strings

Of his gentle Heart : She who knew his voice,

At his Tale did wonder, All her former Joys

Did to Grief convert:
Strait she ran to see,

Who this Man should be,
That so like her Love did speak;

And found when as she came,
Her lovely Lord lay slain,

Smear') in Blood which Life did break,
Which when that she espyed,
Lord how sore she cryed,

Her Sorrows could not counted be;
Her Eyes like Fountains running,
While she cry'd out, My Darling,

Would God that I had dy'd for thee.

His pale Lips, alas,

Twenty times she kissed, And his Face did wash

With her brinish Tears; Every bleeding Wound

Her fair Face bedewed, Wiping of the Blood

With her golden Hair:
Speak, my Love, quoth she,
Speak, dear Prince, to me,

One sweet Word of Comfort give;
Lift up thy fair Eyes,
Listen to my Cries,

Think in what great Grief I live :
All in vain she sued,
All in vain she wooed,

The Prince's Life was filed and gone.
There stood she still mourning,
'Till the Sun's approaching,

And bright Day was coming on.


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