Page:Wandering shepherdess, or, the betrayed damsel (3).pdf/7

Vile ſtrumpet, doſt thou preſume for to ⟨prate⟩,
Come yield to my ſword, for no longer I’ll wait:
She to him for mercy did bitterly cry,
But he hard-hearted wretch had no mercy.

But finding with him ſhe could not prevail,
O’ Heav’n ſaid ſhe, ſince all fleſh is frail,
Pardon my crimes which are many, ſhe cries,
Now traitor I’m ready for your ſacrifice.

She op’ned her breaſt far whiter than ſnow,
He pierced her heart whilſt the crimson did flow;
Her body he threw in a river near,
And thus dy’d the beauty of fair Oxfordſhire.

Then home he returned, and when he came there,
He wandered about like a man in deſpair;
No reſt night nor day he ever cou’d find,
The ſweet Shepherdeſs ran ſo in his mind.

Within four days he took to his bed,
The doctor gave him over, it is ſaid,
When he found his dying hour was come,
He ſent for her father, and told what was done.

Then in a ſad ſort he yielded up his breath,
Her father ſaid, I’m the unhappieſt man on earth,
Then he ſought the body of his daughter dear,
Who in ſumptuous manner was bury’d we hear.

Within a little time her father did die.
Now let each take warning by this tragedy;
And maidens beware of men’s flattering tongue,
For if you conſent you are ſurely undone.