The Brides Burial.
The Tune is, The Ladies Fall.
COme mourn, come mourn with me,
you loyal Lovers all,
Lament my losse in wéeds of woe,
whom griping grief doth thral:
Like to the dropping Vine.
cut by the Gardners knife
Even so my heart with sorrow slain,
doth bléed for my swéet wife.
By death that grisly Ghost,
my Turtle-Dove is slain,
And I am left unhappy man
to spend my days in pain.
Her beauty late so bright,
like Roses in their prime,
Is wasted like the mountains snow,
by force of
Phebus shine.
Her fair red coloured chéeks,
now pale and wan her eyes,
That late did shine like Christal stars,
alas their light it dies:
Her pretty lilly hands,
with fingers long and small,
In colour like the earthly clay,
yea cold and stiffe withal.
When as the morning star,
her golden gates had spread,
And that the glistering Sun arose
forth from fair
Thetis bed.
Then did my Love awake,
most like a Lilly flower,
And as the lovely Quéen of heaven,
so shone she in her bower.
Attired was she then,
like
Flora in her pride,
As fair as any of
Diana's Nymphs,
so lookt my loving Bride.
And as fair
Hellens face,
gave
Grecian dames the lurch,
So did my déer excéed in sight,
all Virgins in the Church.
When he had knit the knot,
of holy wedlock band,
Like Alablaster joyn'd to jet,
so stood we hand in hand:
Then loe a chilling cold
struck every vital part,
And griping grief like pangs of death,
seiz'd on my true loves heart.
Down in a swound she fell,
as cold as any stone,
Like
Venus picture lacking life,
so was my love brought home:
At length a Rosy red,
throughout her comely face,
As
Phebus beams with watry clouds,
ore-covered for a space.
THen with a grievous groan,
[...]nd voice both hoarse and dry,
Farewel quoth she my loving friend,
for I this day must die:
The messenger of God,
with golden trumpet I sée,
With many other Angels more,
which sound and call for me.
Instead of musick sweet
go towl my passing bell,
And with sweet flowers strow my grave,
that in my chamber smell.
Strip off my brides array,
my Cork shooes from my feet,
And gentle Mother be not coy
to bring my winding-sheet.
My wedding dinner drest,
bestow upon the poor,
And on the hungry needy mam'd
that craveth at the door:
Instead of Virgins young
my Bride-bed for to see,
Go cause some curious Carpenter
to make a Chest for me.
My Bride-laces of silk,
bestow on Maidens meet,
May fitly serve when I am dead.
to tie my hands and feet:
And thou my lover true,
my husband and my friend,
Let me intreat thee here to stay,
untill my life doth end.
Now leave to talk of love,
and humbly on your knee,
Direct your prayers unto God,
but mourn no more for me;
In love as we have liv'd,
in love let us depart,
And I in token of my love,
do kiss thee vvith my heart.
O stanch these bootlesse tears,
thy vveeping is in vain,
I am not lost for vve in heaven
shall one day meet again.
With that she turn'd aside,
as one dispos'd to sleep,
And like a lamb departed life,
whose friends did sorely weep.
Her true love seeing this.
did fetch a grievous groan,
As though his heart vvould burst in tvvo
and thus he made his moan.
O dismal and unhappy day,
a day of grief and care,
That hath bereft the Sun so high,
whose beams refresh the Air.
Novv vvoe unto the vvorld,
and all that therein dvvel,
O that I vvere with thée in heaven,
for here I live in hell.
And now this Lover lives
a discontented life,
Whose Bride was brought unto the grave
a Maiden and a Wife.
A Garland fresh and fair
of Lillies there was made,
In sign of her Virginity,
and on her Coffin laid:
Six Maidens all in white,
did bear her to the ground,
The Bells did ring in solemn sort,
and made a doleful sound.
In earth they laid her then,
for hungry worms a prey,
So shall the fairest face alive,
at length be brought to clay.
Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and J. Wright.