Pride and vanity of young women/The Kent-shire Tragedy

The KENT-SHIRE TRAGEDY.

A Lady lov’d a gallant sailor,
and she ador’d him as her life,
With solemn vows and faithful tokens,
she promised to be his wife.

But cruel parents, and deep at variance,
to think she lov’d the young man so,
By the hard hearted, they soon were parted,
which was the cause of their overthrow.

To the Indies then this handsome young man,
was forc’d to quite the British shore,
For many a day, as I heard say,
but he never saw his true love more.

In deep distraction this comely lady,
to Bedlam then she was confin’d,
Crying death come ease me, since grief has seiz’d me,
Oh! what can ease a sad troubled mind.

O! what shall I do, or what shall I say,
or what shall I do since my love is gone,
From Carolina to Pensylvania,
I’ll search the Indians round and round.

On board I’ll enter, my life to venture,
for the young man whom I adore,
From Pensylvania to Carolina,
I’ll search the Indians round and round.

Like one in battle my chains does rattle,
here in Bedlam where I ly;
My heart’s a breaking, since I’m forsaken,
and all by parents cruelty.

O what care I for gold and silver!
for rubies, pearls or precious stone,
Or what care I for worldly treasure,
since my true love is from me gone.

Like a malefactor in grief I rapture,
or like a convict in revenge,
Alas! fond love has bound me faster,
than all the strength of your bedlam chains.

To fate resigned, I’m here confined,
into this dungeon where I ly;
Why was I born, to be forlorn,
under ⟨the⟩ frowns of tyranny.

O Bedlam’s porter, be my comforter,
and from this dungeon set me free,
Or bring me to my dearest jewel,
that I once more his face may see.

In deep despair, this lady fair,
in Bedlam died as I heard say,
On that very night her faithful lover,
in biscay-bay was cast away.

With lamentation and great vexation,
her mother cry’d my child is dead,
I’ve prov’d her ruin and sad undoing,
this day her blood lies on my head.

Is gold and grandeur such an honour,
that is my piece of mind destroys,
True love I find it is much better,
than any of such empty toys.

My wit is cracked, with grief distracted,
my mind rune like the raging waves,
When I think on these loyal lovers,
who now lie in their silent graves.