# The BERKSHIRE LADY,
In Four Parts.

[Printed and sold by J. EVANS, No. 41, Long-lane, West-Smithfield, London.]

## PART I.

BATCHELSORS of every station,
Mark this strange but true relation,
Which in brief to you I bring,
Never was a stranger thing.

You shall find it worth your hearing,
Loyal love is most endearing,
When it takes the deepest root,
Yielding gold and charms to boot.

Some will wed for fllore of treasure
But the greatest joy and pleasure
Is in faithful love, you'll find,
Graced with a noble mind.

Such a noble dispoftion
Had the lady, with tubmiffion,
Of whom I this fonnet write,
Store of wealth and beauty bright.
She had left by an old grannum
Full five thousand pounds per annum,
Which the held without controul,
Thus the did in riches roll.

Tho' she had valf store of riches,
Which fome perſons much bewitch,
Yet the bore a courteous mind,
Not in the leaſt to pride inclined.

Many noble perſons courted
This young lady, tis reported,
But their labour prov'd in vain,
They could not her love obtain.

Tho' she made a strong refiance,
Yet by Cupid's kind affiance
She was cenquer'd after all,
How it was, declare Iſhall.

Being at a noble wedding
Near the famous town of Reading,
A young gentleman the faw,
Who belonged to the law.

As the view'd his fweet behaviour,
Every courteous carriage gave her
New addition to her grief,
Fore'd the was to feek relief.

Privately ſhe then enquir'd
About him the ſo admir'd,
Both his name and where he dwelt,
Such were the hot flames the ſelt.

Then at night this youthful lady
Call'd her coach, which being ready
Homewards then ſhe did return,
But her heart with flames did burn.

## PART II.

Night and morning for a feafon
In her cloſet ſhe would reafon
With herſelf, and often ſaid,
He has my poor heart betrayed.

I that have ſo many flighted,
Am at length as well requited,
For my griefs are not a few,
Now I find what love can do.

He that has my heart in keeping,
Tho' I for his faſe lie weeping,
Little knows what grief I feel,
But I'll try it out with ſeel.

For I will a challenge ſend him,
And appoint where I'll attend him,
In a grove without delay,
By the dawning of the day.

He ſhan't in the leaſt difcover
That I am a wounded lover,
By the challenge which I ſend,
But for juſtice I contend.

He has cauſed ſuch deftraſſion,
And I will have ſatisfaction,
Which if he denies to give,
One of us ſhall ceaſe to live.

Having thus her mind revealed,
She a letter ſigned and ſealed,
Which when it came to his hand,
The young man was at a stand.

In the letter ſhe conjur'd him
For to meet, and well affur'd him
Recon'nce he muſt afford,
Or diſpue it with his ſword.

Having read this ſtrange relation
He was in a conſternation,
But advifing with a friend,
He perſuades him to attend.

Be of courage, and make ready,
Faint heart never won fair lady;
In regard it muſt be ſo,
I along with you will go.

## PART III.

Early on a fummer's morning
When bright Phœbus adorning
Every bower with his beams,
This young lady came, it ſeems.

At the bottom of a mountain,
Near a plearant cryſtal fountain,
There ſhe left her gilded coach
While ſhe did the grove approach.
Cover'd with a mafk, and walking,
There ſhe met her lover talking
With a friend that he had brought;
So ſhe alſked whom he ſought:

So he challenged by a gallant,
And resolve to ſhow my talent,
Which he is I cannot ſay,
But resolve to ſhow him play.

Lady—It was I that did invite you,
You ſhall wed me, or I'll fight you
Underneath the spreading trees,
Therefore choose you which you pleafe.

You ſhall find I do not vapour,
For I have a truſty rapier,
So now take your choice, ſaid ſhe,
Either fight or marry me.

Said he, madam, pray what mean ye?
In my life I ne'er have ſeen ye,
Pray unmaſk, your ſivage ſhow,
Then I'll tell youay or no.

Lady—I will not my face uncover
Till the marriage-rites are over,
Therefore take you which you will,
Wed me, fir, or try your ſkill.

Step within this plearant bower,
With your friend one ſingle hour,
Strive your mind to reconcile,
I will wander here the while.

While the beauteous lady waited,
The young batchelor debated
What was beſt for to be done,
Said his friend, the hazard run;

If my judgment may be truſted,
Wed her, fir, you can't be worſted,
If ſhe's rich, you rife to fame,
If ſhe's poor, you're the fame.

He confented to be married,
All three in a coach were carried
Unto the church without delay,
Where he wedſt the lady gay.

Thofe ſweet little cupids hover'd
Round her eyes, her ſace was cover'd
With a mafk. He took her thus
Juſt for better or for worſe.

With a courteous kind behaviour
She prefents his friend a favour,
Then ſhe difmifs him ſtrait,
That he might no longer wait.

## PART IV.

As the gilded coach ſlood ready,
The young lawyer and the lady
Rode together till they came
Unto a house of ſlate and fame;
Which appeared like a cattle,
Where you might behold a parcel
Of young cedars tall and ſtrait,
Juſt before the palace gate.

Hand-in-hand they walk'd together
To a hall, or parlour rather,
Which was beautiful and fair,
All alone he left him there.

Two long hours there he waited
Her return, at length he ſreſt,
And began to grieve at laſt.

For he had not broke his ſaſt,

Still he fat like one amaz'd,
Round a ſpacious room he gaz'd,
Which was richly beautify'd,
But, alas! he'd ſloft his bride.

Therewas peeping, laughing, ſleering
All within the lawyer's hearing,
But his bride he could not ſee,
Wou'd I were at home, ſaid he:
While his heart was melancholy,
Said the ſteward, brilk and jolly,
Shew me, friend, how came you here
You've ſome bad deſign I fear.

He reply'd, dear loving mair,
You ſhall meet with no diſafter
Thro' my means, in any fame,
Madam brought me to this place.

Then the ſteward did retire,
Saying, now I will enquire
Whether this is true or no,
Never was lover hamper'd ſo.

Now the lady that had fill'd him
With this fear, full oft beheld him
From a window as ſhe dresſ'd,
Pleased at the merr'y jeſt.

When he had herſelf attir'd
In rich robes to be admired;
Like a moving angel bright
She appear'd in his fight.

Lady—Sir, my ſervants have related
How ſome hours you have waited
In my parlour, tell me who
In my house you ever knew.

Madam, if I have offended,
It is more than I intended,
A young lady brought me here,
That is true, ſaid ſhe, my dear;

I will be no longer cruel
To my joy and only jewel,
Thou art mine and I am thine,
Hand and heart I will reſign.
Once I was a wounded lover,
But now all thofe fears are over,
By receiving what I gave,
Thou art lord of all lover.

Hand-honour, love, and treaſure,
A rich golden ſtream of pleasure
With his love he now enjoys,
Thanks to Cupid's kind decoys.

Now he's cloath'd in rich attire,
Not inferior to ſquire,
Beauty, honor, riches ſlore,
Who can a man define moſt