Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Popular music of the olden time > Volume 2

REIGN OF CHARLES II.
527
The popularity of the song was very great, and may be traced in an uninter-
rupted stream from that time to the present. The words were reprinted in
Merry Drollery Complete, Part II., 1670, under the title of "Phillis, her
Lamentation;" and in the same, a parody on it, called "Women's Delight."
Another parody, " My lodging is on the cold boards," is in Howard's play, All
Mistaken, 1672. Then the original in The Neiv Academy of Compliments, 1694,
1713, &c. ; in Vocal Music, or the Songster' 's Companion, 8vo., 1775 ; in Johnson's
Lottery Song Book, N.D. ; and fifty others. It was lengthened into a ballad, and
became equally popular in that form. A copy is in the Roxburghe Collection,
ii. 423, "printed by and for W. 0[nley] for A. Melbourne], and sold by C.
Bates, at the Sun and Bible in Pye Corner." Onley and Milbourne were ballad-
priuters in the reign of Charles II. Bates I believe to be somewhat later. It is
as follows : —
" The slighted Maid ; or The pining Lover.
With sighs and moans she doth intreat her dear,
Whilst he seems to be deaf and will not hear ;
At length his frozen heart begins to melt,
Being moved with the passion she had felt.
To the tune of I prithee, Love, turn [to] me," &c. "Licens'd and enter'd
according to order."
Was ever maiden so scorned
By one that she loved so dear ?
Long time have I sighed and mourned,
And still my love will not hear :
turn to me, my own dear heart,
And I prithee, love, turn to me,
For thou art the lad I long for,
And, alas ! what remedy ?
My lodging is on the cold ground,
And very hard is my fare ;
But that which troubles me most, is
The unkindness of my dear :
turn to me, my own dear heart,
And I prithee, love, turn to me,
For thou art the lad I long for,
And, alas ! what remedy ?
stop not thine ear to the wailings
Of me, a poor harmless maid ;
You know we are subject to failings, —
Blind Cupid hath me betrayed :
And now I must cry, turn, love,
And I prithee, love, turn to me,
For thou art the man that alone art
The cause of my misery.
How canst thou be so hard-hearted,
And cruel to me alone ;
If ever we should be parted,
Then all my delight is gone :
But ever I cry, turn, love,
And I prithee, love, turn to me,
For thou art the man that alone art
The cause of my misery.
I'll make thee pretty sweet posies,
And constant I ever will prove ;
I'll strew thy chamber with roses,
And all to delight my love :
Then turn to me, my own dear heart,
And I prithee, love, turn to me,
For thou art the man that alone canst
Procure my liberty.
I'll do my endeavour to please thee
By making thy bed full soft ;
Of all thy sorrows I'll ease thee
By kissing thy lips full oft :
Then turn to me, my own dear heart,
And I prithee, love, turn to me,
For thou art the man that alone canst
Procure my liberty.