Then after three short minutes' space, As she in sorrow groaning lay, A gentleman[148] did her embrace, And mildly unto her did say, "Dear melting soul, be not so sad, But let your passions be allayed." Her answer was, "My heart is burst, My span of life is near an end; My love from me by death is forced, My grief no soul can comprehend." Then her poor heart did soon wax faint, When she had ended her complaint. For three hours' space, as in a trance, This broken-hearted creature lay, Her mother wailing her mischance, To pacify her did essay; But all in vain, for strength being past, She seemingly did breathe her last. Her mother, thinking she was dead, Began to shriek and cry amain, And heavy lamentations made, Which call'd her spirit back again, To be an object of hard fate, And give to grief a longer date. Distorted with convulsions, she In dreadful manner gasping lay, Of twelve long hours no moment free, Her bitter groans did all dismay; Then her poor heart being sadly broke, Submitted to the fatal stroke. When things were to this issue brought, Both in one grave were to be laid; But flinty-hearted Hannah thought, By stubborn means for to persuade, Their friends and neighbours from the same, For which she surely was to blame. And being ask'd the reason why, Such base objections she did make; She answered thus scornfully, In words not fit for Billingsgate: "She might have taken fairer on, Or else be hang'd." Oh, heart of stone! What hell-born fury had possest, Thy vile inhumane spirit thus? What swelling rage was in thy breast, That could occasion this disgust, And make thee show such spleen and rage, Which life can't cure nor death assuage? Sure some of Satan's minor imps Ordained were to be thy guide; To act the part of sordid pimps, And fill thy heart with haughty pride; But take this caveat once for all, Such dev'lish pride must have a fall. But when to church the corpse was brought, And both of them met at the gate, What mournful tears by friends were shed, When that, alas! it was too late! When they in silent grave were laid, A constant youth and constant maid.[149] You parents all, both far and near, By this sad story warning take, Not to your children be severe, When they their choice in love do make; Let not the love of cursed gold, True lovers from their loves withhold! FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 141: Mallet's _Edwin and Emma_ is founded on this ballad. See his "Ballads and Songs," edited by F. Dinsdale, esq., LL.D., F.S.A.] [Footnote 142: The author of the ballad, whom the late Mr. Denham, of Piersebridge, learnt from his father, was the then master of Bowes grammar-school. His name does not appear.] [Footnote 143: This verse is not in Mr. Bell's copy, in his "Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England."]