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They hew'd him when they had him got,
About this bonny Lafs.
This cruel cursed Strife,
A Maiden and a Wife :
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.
The King a Daughter had,
Beauteous, fair and comely,
She was his only Joy ;
He woo'd her long, and lo at last,
Their Hearts in one were linked fast.
And tormented in his Mind;
Fortune crossed Lovers kind.
When these Princes twain
Were thus barr'd of Pleasures,
Which their Joys withstood :
Her Jewels and her Treasure,
Of State or Royal Blood :
She went from Court away,
To meet her Love and Heart's de light,
To wait her coming in the Night :
Chanced as he set alone;
Uttering many a dying Groan.
Wandring all the Night,
Without Dread at all : Still unknown she pass'd,
In her strange Attire,
Within Eccho's call :
Harbouring my Hearts delight:
My trusty Friend and comely Knight.
That thou may'st not angry be,
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,
To show I am a faithful Friend.
On the rarest Beauty found,
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:
Who this Man should be,
And found when as she came,
Smear') in Blood which Life did break,
Her Sorrows could not counted be;
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:
One sweet Word of Comfort give;
Think in what great Grief I live :
The Prince's Life was filed and gone.
And bright Day was coming on.