Page:Oxfordshire tragedy, or, The virgin's advice (1).pdf/5

(5) Nothing ſo wretched is as I, to love a man that doth me hate; I will a letter to him fend, rememb'ring of the oaths he made, Within the pleaſant bow'r, where, my tender heart be firſt betray'd. Her trembling hand a letter wrote, 'My deareſt dear, what muſt I do? 'Alas! What have I done, that I 'am forſaken and forgot by you? 'I could have many a Lord of fame, 'who little knows my miſery; 'I did forſake a worthy Knight, ' tis all for love I bear to thee. 'And now my little infant ſon, 'will quickly ſpread abroad my fame; 'One line of comfort to me ſend, 'or by your cruelty I'm ſlain.' This anſwer he to her did fend, 'Your inſolence amazes me, 'To think that I ſhould marry one, 'with whom before I had been free! Indeed I'll not a father be, 'to any baſtard you will bear: So take no further thought of me, 'no more from you, pray let me hear.' When ſhe this letter did receive, ſhe wrung her bands and wept full fore, And ev'ry day ſhe ſtill would range, to lament within that pleaſant bow'r