The Brides Buriall. To the tune of the Ladies Fall.
COme mourn, come mourn with me
you loyall lovers all,
Lament my losse in wéedes of woe,
whom griping griefe doth thrall,
Like to the dropping vine,
cut downe by gardners knife,
Even so my heart with sorrow slaine,
doth bleed for my swéet wife.
By Death (that grisly Ghost)
my turtle Dove is slaine:
And I am lost unhappy man,
to spend my daies in paine:
Her beauty late so bright,
like Roses in their prime,
Is wasted like the mountaines snow,
by force of
Phoebus shine.
Her faire red coloured lips,
now pale and wan, her eyes
That late did shine like christall stars,
alas her light it dies:
Her pretty lilly hands,
with fingers long and small,
In colour lie like earthly clay,
yea cold and stiffe withall.
When as the morning gray,
her golden gate had spred,
And that the glistring sunne arose,
forth from faire
Th
[...]tis bed:
Then did my loue awake,
most like a lilly flower,
And as the louely Quéene of heauen,
so shin'd she in her bower.
Attired she was then,
like
[...] in her pride,
As faire as braue
Dianaes Nimphs,
so lookt my louely Bride,
And as faire
Hellens face,
gaue
Grecian Dames the lurch,
So did my deare excéed in sight,
all Uirgins in the Church.
When we had knit the knot,
of holy wedloc
[...]s band:
Like Alablaster ioyn
[...]d to iett,
so stood we hand in hand:
Then loe a chilling cold,
struk every vitall part;
And griping griefe like pangs of death,
seaz'd on my true Loves heart.
Downe in a sound she fell,
as cold as any stone:
Like
Venus picture lacking life,
so was my Love brought home,
At length arose a red,
throughout her comely face,
As
Phoebus beames with watry clouds
ore covered her face.
Then with a grievous groane,
and voyce most hoarse and dry,
Farewell quoth shée my loving friends
for I this day must die.
The messenger of God,
with golden Trumpe I sée:
With many other Angels more,
doth sound and call for me.
In stead of musicke sweet,
goe toll my passing bell:
And with these flowers strow my grave
that in my chamber smell:
Strip off my Brides array,
my Corke-shooes from my feet,
And gentle mother be not coy,
to bring my winding sheet.
My Wedding dinner drest,
bestow upon the poore:
And on the hungry needy maind,
that craveth at the doore.
In stead of Uirgins young,
my Bride-bed for to sée,
Goe cause some cunning Carpente
to make a chest for mee.
My Bride laces of silke,
bestow'd on maidens meete,
May fitly serve when I am dead,
to tie my hands and feete:
And thou my Lover true,
my husband and my friend,
Let me intreate thee here to stay,
untill my life doth end.
Now leave to talke of love,
and humbly on your knee:
Direct your prayer unto God,
but mourne no more for me.
In love as we have lived,
in love let us depart:
And I in token of my love,
doe kisse thée with my heart.
O stench thy bootlesse teares,
thy wéeping is in vaine:
I am not lost, for we in heaven,
shall one day meet againe.
With that she turn'd her head,
as one disposd to sleepe,
And like a Lambe depart
[...]d life:
while friends full sore did weepe.
Her true Love séeing this,
did fetch a grievous groane,
As though his heart did burst in two,
and thus he made his moane:
O dismall heavy day,
a day of griefe and care,
That hath bereft the Sun so high.
whose beames refresht the ayre.
Now woe unto the world,
and all that therein dwell,
O that I were with her in heaven,
for here I live in hell:
And now this Lover lives,
a discontented life:
Whose Bride was brought unto the gra
[...]
a Maiden and a Wife.
A garland fresh and faire,
of Lillies there was made,
In signe of her Uirginity,
and on her Coffin laid:
Sixe maidens all in white,
did beare her to the ground,
The Bells did ring in solemne sort,
and made a solemne sound.
In earth they laid her then,
for hungry wormes a prey:
So shall the fairest face alive,
at length be brought to clay.
FINIS:
London Printed for H. G [...]sson.