CRUEL SEDUCTION: Dreadful Warning to All Young Women in this Neighbourhood to Beware of Young Men's Deluding and Flattering Tongues. ——:o:——
The following melancholy account of her cruel seduction and desertion by her base lover was forwarded to that very worthy man Mr. —— —— a churchwarden, well-known and respected by all in this neighbourhood by Miss S——h W——r, the night before she committed suicide.
Young lovers all I pray draw near, Sad shocking news you soon shall hear, And when that you the same are told, It will make your very blood run cold.
Miss S——h W—— is my name, I brought myself to grief and shame, By loving one that ne'er loved me, My sorrow now I plainly see.
Mark well the words that will be said, By W—— E—— I was betray'd, By his false tongue I was beguil'd At length to him I proved with child.
At rest with him I ne'er could be, Until he had his will of me, To his fond tales I did give way, And did from paths of virtue stray.
My grief is more than I can bear, I am disregarded every where, Like a blooming flower I am cut down, And on me now my love does frown.
Oh! the false oathes he has sworn to me, That I his lawful bride should be, May I never prosper night, or day, If I deceive you, he would say.
But now the day is past and gone, That he fix'd to be married on, He scarcely speaks when we do meet, And strives to shun me in the street.
I did propose on Sunday night, To walk once more with my heart's delight, On the Umber's banks where billows roar, We parted there to meet no more.
His word was pledged unto me, He never shall prosper nor happy be, The ghost of me and my infant dear, They both shall haunt him every where.
William dear when this you see, Remember how you slighted me, Farewell vain world; false man adieu, I drown myself for love of you.
As a token that I died for love, There will be seen a milk-white dove, Which over my watery tomb shall fly, And there you'll find my body lie.
These cheeks of mine once blooming red, Must now be mingled with the dead, From the deep waves to a bed of clay, Where I must sleep till the Judgement Day.
A Joyful rising then I hope to have, When Angels call me from the grave Receive my soul, O Lord most high, For broken hearted I must die.
Grant me one favour that's all I crave, Eight pretty maidens let me have, Dress'd all in white a comely show, To carry me to the grave below.
Now all young girls I hope on earth, Will be warned by my untimely death, Take care sweet maidens when you are young, Of men's deluding—flattering tongue.
——:o:—— Printed in London for the Venders.
[Several copies of this song can be found in the Bodleian broadside collection, but I could not find one that has a heading matching this one.]