YOU dainty dames, so finely fram'd in beauty's chiefest mould, And you that trip it up and down, Like lambs in CUPID's fold. Here is a lesson to be learn'd, Most wond'rous in its kind, For such as will prove false in love, And bear a faithless mind.

Not far from Nottingham, of late, In Clifton, as we hear, There dwelt a fair and comely dame, For beauty without peer: Her cheeks were like the crimson rose, Yet as you may perceive, The fairest face, the falsest heart, And sooner will deceive.

This gallant dame she was belov'd Of many in that place, And many sought in marriage bed Her body to embrace: At last a handsome proper youth, Young Bateman call'd by name, In hopes to make a married wife, Unto this maiden came.

Such love and liking here was found, That he from all the rest, Had stole away the maiden's heart, And she did love him best: Then plighted promise secretly Did pass between them two, That nothing could but death itself, This true loves knot undo.

He broke a piece of gold in twain, One half to her he gave, The other as a pledge, quoth he, Dear heart, myself will have. If I do break my vow, quoth she, While I remain alive, May never thing I take in hand, Be seen at all to thrive.

This passed on for two months space, And then this maid began To settle love and liking too Upon another man: Jerman, who a widower was, Her husband needs must be, Because he was of greater wealth, And better in degree.

Her vows and promise lately made To Bateman she deny'd; And in despite of him and his, She utterly defy'd. Well then, quoth he, it if be so, That you will me forsake, And like a false and forsworn wretch Another husband take.

Thou shalt not live one quiet hour, For, surely I shall have Thee, either alive or dead, When for thy sake in grave. Thy faithless mind thou shalt repent, Therefore be thou assur'd, When for thy sake thou hear'st report, What torments I endur'd.

But mark how Bateman dy'd for love, And finished his life, That very day she marri'd was, And became old Jerman's wife. For with a strangling cord, God wot, Great moan was made therefor, He hang'd himself in desperate sort, Before the bride's own door.

Whereat such sorrow peirc'd her heart, And troubled sore her mind, That she could never after that, One day of comfort find; And wheresoever she did go, Her fancy did surmise, Young Bateman's pale and ghastly ghost Appear'd before her eyes.

When she in bed at night did lie Betwixt her husband's arms, In hope thereby to sleep and rest, In safety without harms; Great cries and grievous groans she heard A voice that sometimes cry'd, "O thou art she that I must have, I will not be deny'd."

But she now being big with child, Was for the infant's sake, Preserved from the spirit's power, No vengeance could he take. The babe unborn did safely keep, As God appointed so, His mother's body from the fiend, That sought its overthrow.

But being of her burden eas'd, And safely brought to bed, Her care and grief began anew, And further sorrow bred. And of her friends she did intreat, Desiring them to stay, Out of the bed, quoth she, this night, I shall be borne away.

Here comes the spirit of my love, With pale and ghastly face. Who till he bear me hence away, Will not depart this place. Alive or dead I'm his by right, And surely he will have, In spight of me and all the world, What I by promise gave.

O watch with me this night, I pray, And see you do not sleep, No longer than you keep awake, My body can you keep. All promised to do their best, Yet nothing could suffice, At middle of the night to keep Sad slumber from their eyes.

So being all full fast asleep, To them unknown which way, The child-bed woman that woful night From thence was borne away; And to what place no creature knew, Nor to this day can tell; As strange a thing as ever yet In any age befel.

All maidens that would happy prove, And would good husbands chuse, The man whom you did vow to love, By no means do refuse. For God who hears all secret oaths, Will dreadful vengeance take, On such that of a solemn vow, Do slender reckoning make.