THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 

 
 THE 
 
 ROXBURGHE BALLADS.
 
 What hast here? Ballads? I love a ballad in print, or a life, for 
 then we are sure they are true. 
 
 [ERE'S one to a very doleful tune, how an usurer's wife was 
 brought to bed with twenty money bags at a burden ; and how 
 she long'd to eat adder's heads, and toads carbonado'd, it is true, 
 and but a month old. Here's the midwive's name to't, one 
 Mistress Taleporter, and five or six honest wives that were present, why should 
 I carry lies abroad ? Here's another ballad, of a fish that appear'd upon the 
 coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above 
 water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids ; it was thought to 
 be a woman, and was turned into a cold fish, for she would not exchange flesh 
 with one that lov'd her. The ballad is very pitiful, and as true five justice 
 hands at it ; and witnesses, more thrn my pack will hold.
 
 THE 
 
 ROXBURGHE BALLADS. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 CHARLES HINDLEY, ESQ. 
 
 Editor of " The Old Book Collector's Miscellany : or, a Collection of 
 
 Readable Reprints of Literary Rarities," " Works of John 
 
 Taylor the Water-Poet," " The Catnach Press" " The 
 
 Cu/riosities of Street Literature," " The Book of 
 
 Ready-made Speeches," " Bronn, 
 
 Jones and liubinsoit" 
 
 etc., etc., 
 
 VOL I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 REEVES AND TURNER, 
 
 196, STRAND, w.c., AND 185, FLEET STREET, E.G. 
 
 1873-
 
 Musio 
 Library 
 
 PR 
 
 /// 
 
 /?/ 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " I knew a very wise man that believed that, if a man were permitted to 
 make all the ballads, he need not care who should make the laws of a nation." 
 
 Andrew Fletcher of Saltoun (1653-1716). 
 
 HE Collection of Ancient Songs and Ballads, written on various 
 subjects, and printed between the year MDLX. and MDCC., and 
 now known as the ROXBURGHE BALLADS, consists of three 
 large volumes in folio, and embraces above thirteen hundred broadsides 
 mostly in 13l(XCtv ItfttPt, and are, with but few exceptions, all in a very 
 good state of preservation. There are several ballads, of which there are 
 duplicates and even triplicates, of considerable later dates than the original 
 copy ; and into the edition or editions of later date are inserted lines and 
 stanzas not found in the older impressions, but inserted by some subsequent 
 ballad-writer or printer for the purpose of noticing or satirizing, a custom or 
 peculiarity of the day when the reprint was published. 
 
 The Collection was commenced by Robert Harley, who was the eldest son 
 of Sir Edward Harley, and was born in 1661, in Bow Street, Covent Garden, 
 then a fashionable quarter in London.* He was advanced to the peerage of 
 Great Britain by Queen Anne in 1711, as Baron Harley, of Wig- 
 more, in the County of Hereford, Earl of Oxford, and Earl Mortimer, 
 and after a busy and chequered political life, spent the remaining 
 portion in retirement, associating with scholars and men of taste, and so 
 became the founder of a large collection of scarce, curious and entertaining 
 pamphlets and tracts, subsequently collected and published as "The Harleian 
 Miscellany." And also of an extensive collection of MSS., which now forms 
 one of the greatest treasures in the British Museum, and well known to every 
 lover of literature as the Harleian Collection of Manuscripts, a catalogue o 
 which was arranged and published by H. Wanley, London, 1759-63, folio, 
 2 vols., with portraits of Robert and Edward Harley. Earls of Oxford. And 
 again by H. Wanley and the Rev. R. Nares, as " A Catalogue of the Harleian 
 
 *Bow STREET, built 1637, and so called " as running in shape of a bent 
 bow." Strype, who tells us this, adds that " the street is open and large, with 
 very good houses, well inhabited, and resorted unto by gentry for lodgings, as 
 are most of the other streets in this parish. " This was in 1 720 ; and it ceased 
 to be " well inhabited about five years afterwards." The Theatre (Covent- 
 garden Theatre) was^uilt in 1732, and the Bow-street Police-office, celebrated 
 in the annals of crime, established in 1749. Cunningham's Hand-Book of 
 London, Past and Present.
 
 ;; INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Collection of MSS. in the British Museum, with Indexes of Persons, Places 
 and Matters, 1808-12, folio, 4 vols, at 8 8s. The indexes, compiled by the 
 Rev. T. H. Home, are published separately at 2 2s. 
 
 When the printed books collected by the Earl of Oxford were dispersed, 
 the Collection of Ballads were bought by James West, President of the Royal 
 Society. At the death of West, his "curious and valuable library" was sold 
 by auction by Messrs. Langford, "at Mr. West's Dwelling-House, in King- 
 ttreet, Covent Garden, on Monday, the 29th of March, 1773, and the 23 
 following days, Sundays excepted." The ballads formed Lot 21 12, and are 
 described in the sale-catalogue as "A curious Collection of Old Ballads, in 
 number above 1200, b [lack] 1 [etter], with humorous frontispieces, 3 vol." 
 Major Thomas Pearson was the purchaser of the collection at 20 ! ! who 
 had it rebound in Russia leather into two volumes, with printed borders, 
 indexes, and title pages bearing his monogram, T. P. These titles still remain, 
 a verbatim copy of which will be found at the commencement of our reprint. 
 
 Although the sale-catalogue of West's library stated the number of ballads 
 to be " above 1,200" and Major Pearson had "made several additions," yet 
 the total number included in the printed indexes is but 733, viz., 270 in the 
 first volume, and 463 in the second 29 pages are left blank. The index to 
 vol. i. extends to p. 481, and that of vol. ii. to p. 577 " It is therefore to be 
 assumed," says Mr. Chappell, the author of Popular Music in the Olden Time, 
 "that the auctioneer had counted Second Parts, usually printed on the second 
 page of the broadsides, as separate ballads." 
 
 The date on the printed title pages is that of the year after Major Pearson 
 had acquired the collection. Further additions were made, either by him or 
 by subsequent possessors, to the number of 41 ballads in the first volume, and 
 1 6 in the second. The first lines of these are added to the indexes in 
 manuscript. 
 
 The next appearance in public of the collection was at the sale of the 
 library of "Thomas Pearson, Esq., deceased, in 1788, by T. and J. EGERTON, 
 Booksellers, at their ROOM in SCOTLAND YARD, opposite the ADMIRALTY, 
 on Monday, I4th of April and 22 following days Sundays excepted." The 
 ballads were Lot 2710, and described thus : 
 
 2710 ANCIENT SONGS AND BALLADS, written on various subjects, and 
 printed between the Tears 1560 and 1700. Chiefly collected by 
 Robert, Earl of Oxford, and purchased at the sale of the library of 
 James West, Esq.,t 1773 increased by several Additions, 2 vol. 
 bound in Russia leather.
 
 INTRODUCTION. iii 
 
 To which the Auctioneers added the following note : 
 
 "N.B. The preceding numerous and matchless Collection of Old 
 Ballads are all printed in Black Letter, and decorated with many Hundred 
 wooden Prints : they are pasted upon Paper with Borders (printed on purpose) 
 round each Ballad ; also a printed Title and Index to each Volume. To them 
 are added the paragraphs which appeared in the public Papers respecting the 
 above curious Collection at the time they were purchased at Mr. West's. " 
 
 It was at this auction that they were purchased for John, Duke of Rox- 
 burghe, for ^36 45. 6d. The Duke was remarkable for the magnificent 
 collection of books which wealth and taste enabled him to form, and to whom 
 a venerative reference is made in the name of the Roxburghe Club. His 
 Grace's library in St. James' Square comprised upwards of ten thousand distinct 
 articles, the richest department being early English literature. It cost its noble 
 collector forty years of labour, but probably a moderate sum of money, in com- 
 parison with what was realized by it when, after his death, it was brought to 
 the hammer. 
 
 At the sale of " The Curious and Extensive Library of the late John, 
 Duke of Roxburghe," which was presided over by R. H. Evans for 46 days in 
 1812, The Ballads are set forth as follows: Lot 
 
 3210 A Curious Collection of some thousand Ancient Ballads, bound in 3 
 large Volumes in Folio. This Collection greatly exceeds the cele- 
 brated Pepys Collection at Cambridge, and is supposed to be the finest 
 in England." 
 
 The extraordinary advance in the marketable value of all literary rarities, 
 and the Duke's " curious and extensive" collection being well-known, attracted 
 much attention. It was at this celebrated sale that Boccaccio's Decamerone, 
 printed by Valdarfer at Venice in 1471, produced the largest sum ever given 
 for a single volume, viz., ^2,260*. 
 
 *The work was purchased at the above sum by the Marquis of Blandford, 
 Earl Spencer being the under bidder at 2,250. Dr. Dibdin's account of the 
 sale, pr as he chooses to call it, the fight, is in an exaggerative style, and ex- 
 tremely amusing. Dibdin had afterwards occasion in his " Reminiscences of a 
 Literary Life" to make the following addition to the history of this precious 
 volume : " Of all EXTRAORDINARY RESULTS, what could exceed that of the 
 Boccaccio of 1471, coming eventually into the possession of the former noble- 
 man (Earl Spencer) at a price less than ONE-HALF of that for which he had 
 originally contended with the latter, who had become its first purchaser at the 
 above sale ? Such, however, is the FACT. At the sale of the Marquis of 
 Blandford's library in 1819, this volume was purchased by the house of Long- 
 man and Co. for .918, it having cost the Marquis 2,260. It came from them 
 to Lord Spencer at that price, and is now in the beautiful library at Althorpe, 
 Northamptonshire. "
 
 j v INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The first portion, or nucleus of the collection of ballads and with which 
 the name of the Duke is now permanently associated, had been obtained at a 
 public auction twenty-four years previous for less than 37 that is the two 
 volumes, to which the Duke added seven ballads, printed in Edinburgh in 
 1570, and had increased the collection by a third volume. This third volume 
 is much the largest containing, as it does, 564 ballads, and far too bulky 
 for handling but is not quite in keeping with the rest. The latter half of it 
 includes many whi f e-letter ballads, chiefly of the last century, and, in some 
 cases, so late in the century as to number within it a song by Burns. T The 
 three volumes were bought by Harding, the bookseller, for 447 155., and 
 were re-sold to the late Benjamin Heywood Bright second son of Richard 
 Bright, of Ham Green, near Bristol, and of Colwall, in Herefordshire, for 
 600, * who studiously kept them out of sight, being afraid lest anybody should 
 even know that he possessed them ; but they, as well as a manuscript collec- 
 tion of Miracle-plays the possession of which he also for some reason con- 
 cealed were necessarily brought to light after his death. 3 
 
 Mr. Bright died at Ham Green on the 4th of August, 1843, and the first 
 portion of his "most extensive collection of valuable, rare, and curious books, 
 in ill classes of literature," was sold by auction by S. Leigh Sotheby and Co., 
 Anctioneers of Literary Property and works illustrative of the Fine Arts, at 
 their house, Wellington Street, Strand. It was altogether a thirty days' sale, 
 commencing on Monday, March 3, 1845, and continuing at intervals until the 
 
 following July. 
 
 The three volumes of ballads were : Lot 
 
 296 BALLADS. A MOST EXTENSIVE, CURIOUS, AND INTERESTING COLLEC- 
 TION OF OLD ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH BROADSIDE BALLADS ; 
 ROMANTIC, LEGENDARY, HISTORICAL, LOCAL, RELIGIOUS, 
 AMATORY, HUMOROUS, AND CONVIVIAL, MOSTLY PRINTED IN THE 
 BLACK LETTER, AND DECORATED WITH WOODCUTS, 1570-1680, 
 WITH SOME FEW OF LATER DATE, bound in three volumes, folio : 
 To which description the Auctioneers appended : 
 
 " This collection was begun by Rob. Harley Earl of Oxford, from whose 
 library it passed successively to those of Qames] West, Major Pear- 
 son, and the Duke of Roxburghe, by each of whom it was increased ; 
 and we have the highest authority for asserting, that it is the most 
 extensive in existence ; those in the bkck letter amounting to nine 
 hundred in number, exclusive of second parts. 
 
 " I love a ballad in print," are the words put by Shakespeare into the 
 
 mouth of one of his characters, and, from his evident fondness for them 
 
 Mr. W. Chappell. 'The Athenaeum (1845.) j. p avn e Collier
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 we may infer that he is conveying his own feelings through the mouth 
 of the speaker. Another great writer of our own days had an equal 
 predilection for this species of literature, and has availed himself of 
 them in the fascinating productions of his pen. The collections of 
 Percy, Evans, Ritson, Pinkerton, Jamieson, and others, and the 
 numerous editions that some of them have passed through, are convin- 
 cing proof of the favour with which they have been received by the 
 public. The present collection affords ample materials for a new wo rk, 
 not less interesting than any that have preceded it. 
 
 "The extent of the collection precludes our giving a detailed list, and we 
 can only refer to some of the more interesting, as they have occurred 
 in a cursory examination of the volumes, classed under the several 
 heads we have particularised." 
 
 After which S. Leigh Sotheby and Co. printed in extenso the titles of 
 upwards of three hundred of the ballads, analytically arranged under the 
 various headings given in their description, occupying more than seven pages 
 of the catalogue. 
 
 The collection was purchased by the late Thomas Rodd, the eminent 
 bookseller, for the trustees of the British Museum for 535. A fourth volume 
 had been added by Mr. Bright, and it formed the following Lot : 
 
 297 BALLADS. A collection of Eighty-five broadside Ballads, Romantic, 
 Historical, Amatory, and Satirical : the whole of them in f)lacfc 
 Ifttft, an d ornamented with woodcuts. They are of the time of 
 Charles II, and are in the finest possible condition : 
 
 True love requited ; or the bayliff's 
 daughter of -Islington. 
 
 Flora's departure.' 
 
 The young man's labour lost. 
 
 A strange apparition. 
 
 The Christian Conquest ; overthrow 
 of the Turks. 
 
 The Virgin Race, or Yorkshire's 
 glory. 
 
 News for young men and maids. 
 
 Poor Tom the taylor, his lamen- 
 tation. 
 
 Love's unspeakable passion. 
 
 The Deptford frolic. 
 
 Tyrannick love. 
 The ballad of the cloak. 
 The Suffolk miracle. 
 Advice to batchelors. 
 ' A farewel to Graves-end. 
 Unfortunate jockey. 
 Colonel Sidney's overthrow. 
 Cupid's delight. 
 The confined lover. 
 The disdainful virgin led captive. 
 The love-sick maid of Portsmouth. 
 Wavering Nat and kind Susan. 
 The seaman's sorrowful bride. 
 Coy Jenny.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The seaman's adieu. 
 The seaman's renown. 
 The gallant seaman's renown. 
 The pope's pedigree. 
 The Shoemaker's delight. 
 Love's better than gold. 
 The fair and loyal maid of Bristow. 
 Courageous Jemmy's resolution. 
 The true lover's tragedy. 
 Two-penny-worth of wit for a penny. 
 A carrouse to the emperour. 
 The hasty wedding. 
 The countryman's delight. 
 The Oxford health. 
 The doubting virgin. 
 The doubting virgin's tatisfacticn 
 The more haste the worse speed. 
 Jealous Nanno. 
 
 The good fellow's consideration. 
 The jovial beggar's merry crew. 
 Olimpya's unfortunate love. 
 The vanity of vain glory. 
 The maid's unhappinesse. 
 The musical shepherdess. 
 The matchless murder (of Thomas 
 
 Thinn, Esq, 
 Love and constancy. 
 The good fellows frolick. 
 The merry boys of Christmas. 
 The life and death of George of 
 
 Oxford. 
 Gallantry all-a-mode, or the bully to 
 
 the life. 
 
 The three worthy butchers of the 
 north. 
 
 Jem's lamentation. 
 
 The courtier's health. 
 
 London's wonder in the breaking of 
 this mighty frost. 
 
 Sir Thomas Armstrong's farewell. 
 
 The Scotch wooing. 
 
 The mournful shepherd. 
 
 Young Jenny, or the princely shep- 
 herd. 
 
 The clothier's delight. 
 
 The Algier-slave's releasement. 
 
 The Benjamin's lamentation. 
 
 Repentance too late. 
 
 The two faithfull lovers . 
 
 The power and pleasure of love. 
 
 The dumb maid, or the young gal- 
 lant trappann'd. 
 
 Tom Tell-Truth. 
 
 England's gentle admonition. 
 
 The dying lover's complaint. 
 
 The country innocence. 
 
 The love-sick maid quickly reviv'd. 
 
 True love rewarded with cruelty. 
 
 Content, a treasure. 
 
 Love's lamentable tragedy. 
 
 The merry boys of Europe. 
 
 An antidote of rare physicke. 
 
 The king of good fellows. 
 
 A match at a venture. 
 
 Jocky's lamentation turn'd into joy 
 
 The bad husband's folly. 
 " Lot 297 " was also bought for the trustees of the British Museum by 
 Mr. Rodd for 25 55. The remaining lots in connection with Ballads were as 
 under, which we reprint verbatim from the Catalogue, together with the 
 names of the purchasers and the prices realized : 
 
 298 BALLADS. The Seaman's folly The love-sick Maid A most excellent 
 song of the love of young Palinus and fair Sheldra, all 
 
 Utter: Rodd, 195.
 
 INTRODUCTION. vii 
 
 299 BALLADS. An excellent Ballad, intituled The constancy of Susanna 
 
 This is the ballad of which some lines are sung by Sir Toby Belch, 
 in Twelfth Night. The lamentable tragical History of Titus 
 Andronicus, bolh fo(acfc Uttft .' Rodd, los. 
 
 300 BALLADS. A Friend's Advice, fclacfc IfttPt, circa l6 5 The Loyal 
 
 Torie's delight, with music Vienna's Triumphs, with music, 1683 
 The Scotch Lasses Constancy, with the music, 1682; and five 
 mare : Rodcl, 16.=. 
 
 301 BALLADS, GARLANDS, &c. The Amazing Garland The Crafty Lovers, 
 
 or a Windsor Miser Outwitted Jokes of John Falkirk The Derby- 
 shire Tragedy The Horn-fair Garland The Northumberland 
 Garland Portsmouth Jack's Garland The Unnatural Father, an 
 account of Theophilus Maskall, of Dorsetshire The Worcestershire 
 Garland The Winchester Garland Relation of a Mermaid that was 
 seen and spoke with on the Black Rock, nigh Liverpool, by John 
 Robinson ; with upwards of seventy other popular Songs, Stories, 
 and Garlands : Pocock, ,3 95. 
 
 302 Ballads, Broadsides, Slip-songs, &.C., a parcel, modern : Sir F. Madden, 
 
 95. od. 
 
 303" Ballads. A collection of Old Ballads, corrected from the best and most 
 ancient copies extant, illustrated with copper plates, red morocco, 
 stilted, 3 vol. : Rodd, ^3 35. 
 
 304 Evans (Thos.) Old Ballads, by R. H. Evans, best edition, 4 vol. calf 
 extra : Pocock, i 6s. 1810 
 
 "On the rarity of the Ballads in this collection, it is" (says J. P. Collier) 
 "superfluous to enlarge ; in many instances the broadsides are unique : no 
 duplicates of them are to be met with in public or private libraries ; and it is 
 easy to account for this circumstance, if we reflect that they were seldom 
 printed in a form calculated for preservation. Thomas Deloney and Richard 
 Johnson were almost the only ballad- writers of that age, who subsequently 
 brought together their scattered broadsides in small volumes, while hundreds 
 of similar pieces by other popular authors were allowed to perish. The more 
 generally acceptable a ballad became, the more it was exposed to the danger 
 of destruction." 
 
 The consequence has been that very few Ballads, as they came from 
 the hands of those who may be called our elder printers, have descended to 
 our day ; and many of the best in the collection would have been irretrievably 
 lost but that the constant demand for them induced typographers in the reigns
 
 yiii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of James and Charles, in particular, to re-publish them. The year, whether 
 of impression or re-impressson, is very rarely given on a broadside, but it is 
 usually known between what dates the printers, whose names are appended, 
 carried on business, and from thence we are generally able to form a judgment 
 as to the age of productions of their presses. The times when reprinted 
 Ballads were first composed and issued must often be matter of mere con- 
 jecture, depending much upon internal evidence, and even this is rendered 
 more uncertain by interpolations, not unfrequently made in order that the 
 work should be more welcome to auditors of the period of republication. 
 
 Although the library of the British Museum contains a much larger number 
 of broadside ballads than any other of the public libraries, yet the Roxburghe 
 collection, taken alone, is but second in extent to the collection known by the 
 name of Samuel Pepys, the diarist, which is in the library of Magdalene 
 College, Cambridge. The latter is in five volumes, containing 1,800 ballads, 
 of which 1376 are in folgcft lfttt This famed collection was commenced 
 by the learned Selden. 
 
 John Selden died 1654, and Pepys continued collecting till near the time 
 of his death in 1 703, which fact he records on the title page of his volumes 
 thus "My collection of Ballads" (following the words with an engraved 
 portrait of himself) " Begun by Mr. Selden : Improved by ye addition of many 
 Pieces elder thereto in Time, and the whole continued down to the year 1770, 
 when the Form, till then peculiar thereto, viz., of the Black Letter with 
 Pictures seems (for cheapness sake) wholly laid aside, for that of White Letter 
 without Pictures." 
 
 Besides the ballads, Pepys left to the Magdalene College an invaluable 
 collection of manuscript naval memoirs, of prints, ancient English poetry, and 
 three volumes of " Penny Merriments." These amount in number to 112, and 
 some of them are Garlands, that contain many ballads in each. 
 
 The following are Pepys' directions for the disposition of his library taken 
 from MS., JIarl, No. 7*031 > which we deem of sufficient general interest to 
 print in extcnso : 
 
 ' For the further settlement and preservation of my said library, after the 
 death of my nephew, John Jackson, I do hereby declare, 
 
 "That could I be sure of a constant succession of heirs from my said 
 nephew, qualified like himself for the use of such a library, I should not 
 entertain a thought of its ever being alienated from them. But this uncertainty 
 considered, with the infinite pains, and time, and cost, employed in my 
 collecting, methodising, and reducing the same to the state it now is, I cann
 
 INTRODUCTION. ix 
 
 but be greatly solicitous that all possible provision should be made for its 
 unalterable preservation and prepetual security against the ordinary fate of 
 such collections, falling into the hands of an incompetent heir, and thereby 
 being sold, dissipated, or embezzled, and since it has pleased God to visit 
 me in a manner that leaves little appearance of being myself restored to a 
 condition of concerting the necessary measures for attaining these ends, I 
 must ,^nd do with great confidence rely upon the sincerity and direction of 
 my executor and said nephew, for putting in execution the powers g;ven them, 
 by my forementioned will relating hereto, requiring that the same be brought 
 to a determination in twelve months time after my decease, and that special 
 regard be had therein to the following particulars, which I declare to be my 
 present thoughts and prevailing inclinations in this matter, viz. : 
 
 " I. That after the death of my said nephew, my said library be placed and 
 for ever settled in one of our universities, and rather in that of Cambridge 
 than Oxford. 
 
 "2. And rather in a private college there, than in the public library. 
 "3. And in the colleges of Trinity or Magdalen preferably to all others. 
 
 " 4. And of these two, cccterit parlous, rather in the latter, for the sake 
 of my own and nephew's education therein. 
 
 "5. That in which soever of the two it is, a fairroome be provided therein 
 on purpose for it, and wholly and solely appropriated thereto. 
 
 " 6. And if in Trinity, that the said roome be contiguous to, and have 
 communication with, the new library there. 
 
 " 7. And if in Magdalen, that it be in the new building there, and any 
 part thereof, at my nephew's election. 
 
 ' ' 8. That my safd library be continued in its present form, and no other 
 books mixed therein, save what my nephew may add to them of his own 
 collecting, in distinct presses. 
 
 " 9. That the said room and books so placed and adjusted be called by the 
 name of Bibliotlieca Pepysiana. 
 
 " 10. That this Biblwtheca Pepysiana be under the sole power and 
 custody of the master of the college for the time being, who shall neither 
 himself convey, nor suffer to be conveyed by others, any of the said books from 
 thence to any other place, except to his own lodge in the said college, nor 
 there have more than ten of them at a time ; and that of those also a strict 
 entry be made, and account kept, of the time of their having been taken out 
 and returned in a book to be provided, and remain in the said library for that 
 purpose only.
 
 x INTRODUCTION. 
 
 "ir. That before my said library be put into the possession of either of 
 the said colleges, that college for which it shall be designed, first enter into 
 convenants for performance of the foregoing articles. 
 
 '12. And that for a yet further security herein, the said two colleges of 
 Trinity and Magdalen have a reciprocal check upon one another ; and that 
 college which shall be in present possession of the said library, be subject to 
 an annual visitation from the other, and to the forfeiture thereof to the life, 
 possession, and use of the other, upon conviction of any breach of their said 
 covenants. " S. PEPYS." 
 
 We print the following notices of the Roxburghe Ballads from The 
 Athenaeum of August 23rd and 3Oth, 1845 : 
 
 "We are about to give some account of the contents of the three folio 
 volumes of Ballads sold at the Duke of Roxburghe's sale for 400, bought 
 privately by Mr. Bright, we believe, for 600, and purchased for the British 
 Museum a few months ago, at the price of 535. The collection is not yet 
 accessible to the readers at that institution, but they will probably ere long be 
 enabled to refer to it ; and, in the meantime, extracts from, with remarks and 
 criticisms upon the principal productions in it, may not be unacceptable. In 
 the whole there are not fewer than twelve hundred separate pieces of popular 
 poetry, including only a small number of duplicates ; of many of them no 
 other copies exist, and the rest are of the utmost rarity. Nearly all are in 
 black letter. 
 
 " There are only three great collections of old ballads in the empire : that 
 of the late Mr. Heber was a fourth, but it was dispersed at the auction of his 
 books, as it was wisely thought that nobody would buy it entire ; the different 
 productions were therefore divided into lots, according to their subjects, and 
 the whole sold for much more than would otherwise have been realized. In 
 the instance immediately before us the same course ought, perhaps, to have 
 been pursued, for the sake of the estate ; Mr. Bright's ballads might then have 
 yielded to the executors at least one-third more money than they produced. 
 In Mr. Heber's sale lots of ten or fifteen ballads were sold at from 15 to 30 
 each lot ; whereas it is evident that the ballads at Mr. Bright's auction on the 
 average did not bring ten shillings a-piece : about twelve hundred ballads 
 were, as we have said, knocked down for 535. The purchase, therefore, on 
 account of the British Museum, was an admirable one, and our great national 
 London library now contains a larger assemblage of ballads than is to be found 
 at Oxford or Cambridge. We are to be understood here as speaking of mere 
 broadsides : Oxford has rarer poetical tracts, Cambridge a more valuable series
 
 INTRODUCTION, xi 
 
 of penny histories ; but in what are properly termed broadside ballads neither 
 of them can at this time compete with the British Museum. 
 
 "The private collections in this kingdom of such pieces are hardly to be 
 named : there are only three which deserve any notice, and two of these belong 
 to persons who are just as unwilling to let them see the light as the third is 
 ready upon all occasions to make whatever he may possess useful, by rendering 
 it accessible. The contrast is as remarkable as it is advantageous : the two 
 first may be somewhat ashamed of the smallness of their acquisitions in this 
 department, considering their opportunities, and by keeping up a sort of 
 mystery may lead those who know little of the matter to suppose that a few 
 scattered specimens are a connected and valuable series. 
 
 "The reasons why productions of this class are scarce are very obvious. 
 Nostri veteres versus ubi sunt ? exclaims Cicero ; and Mr. Macaulay, in the 
 preface to his 'Lays of Ancient Rome,' has incontestibly shown first, that 
 there must have been old Latin ballads ; and secondly, that they had all been 
 lost by the age of Augustus. With us the case is almost as bad : the songs 
 that our minstrels used to accompany on the harp have nearly all perished, 
 and even of those which our ballad-singers, two or three hundred years ago, 
 were accustomed to chant in our streets and highways, comparatively few 
 remain : many must have been lost, to one that has come down to us. One 
 of the earliest traces of what may properly be called ballad-singing is to be 
 found in a letter dated in 1537, when an itinerant musician with ' a crowd or a 
 fiddle' gave offence by a ' Hunt is up,' in which he satirically handled the Duke 
 of Norfolk and the Earls of Surrey and Shrewsbury, as well as some dignitaries 
 of the Church : 
 
 "The hunt is up, the hunt is up, &c. 
 The Masters of Art and Doctors of Divinity 
 Have brought this realm out of good unity. 
 Three noblemen have take this to stay, 
 My Lord of Norfolk, Lord of Surray, 
 And my Lord of Shrewsbury : 
 The Duke of Suffolk might have made England merry. 
 
 " This relic was unknown to all the collectors of materials for the history of 
 our popular literature, and is derived from the original information against 
 John Hogan, the political ballad-singer, preserved in the Rolls Cbapel. 
 
 " There is probably nothing as old as this in the three volumes known as 
 the Roxburghe Collection ; but it is often very difficult to decide on the date 
 of particular pieces. It sometimes happens that a song, existing only in an 
 impression as recent as the time of Charles II., is really as old as the reign of 
 Elizabeth, and inay.be proved to be so from internal evidence. The fact, on
 
 jii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 doubt, was, that the ballad was frequently reprinted on account of its popu- 
 larity, and that all the older editions have been lost. At other times we have 
 editions in regular succession : for instance, a capital yEsopian apologue of 
 1 The Lark and her Family' was, as far as we know, first printed in 1563, with 
 the name of the versifyer, Arthur Bourcher, at the end ; but we are acquainted 
 with copies of it in 1571, 1579, 1586, 1603, 1624, and we find it also in one of 
 the Roxburghe volumes, without date, but the type affording clear proof that it 
 came from the press while Charles II., or perhaps even his successor, was on 
 the throne. This, however, is a case of rare occurrence : of very few ballads 
 so many and such ancient impressions are known, and we are frequently most 
 glad to content ourselves with an edition of a broadside between 1660 and 
 1690, which was originally, perhaps, a full century older. 
 
 " We may farther illustrate this point by reference to a popular poem on a 
 subject which produced a volume from the learned Mr. Douce, but of which 
 poem he was entirely ignorant. It bears the title of ' Death's Dance ;' and it 
 purports to have been ' Printed at London by H. Gosson,' who succeeded his 
 father, Thomas Gosson, as a publisher of many ephemeral productions. Mr. 
 Douce, had he lived till now, would have grieved bitterly at the omission of 
 this satirical ballad in his book ; and had not the late Mr. Bright been so chary 
 of his three volumes, and so afraid lest anybody should even know that he 
 possessed them, Mr. Deuce's ' Dissertation on the Dance of Death' would not 
 have been left thus incomplete. Our reason for mentioning this ballad is, 
 because it is unquestionably much more ancient than the time (about 1640) 
 when the undated impression was published by Henry Gosson : it is one of 
 many pieces of the kind which must have been written considerably more than 
 fifty years before the period of the sole existing copy in the Roxburghe Collec- 
 tion. It opens as follows : 
 
 " If Death would come to shew his face 
 
 as he dare shew his powre, 
 And sit at every rich man's place, 
 
 both every day and howre, 
 He would amaze them every one 
 
 to see him standing there, 
 And wish that soone he would be gone 
 
 from all their dwellings faire. 
 
 " Or ii that Death would take the paines 
 
 to goe to the water-side, 
 Where merchants purchase golden gaines 
 
 to pranke them up in pride ; 
 And bid them thinke upon the poore, 
 
 or else ' He see you soone,' 
 There would be given then at their doore 
 
 good alms both night and noone.
 
 INTRODUCTION'. xiii 
 
 " Afterwards the writer (whose name is unrecorded) supposes Death to 
 visit the Exchange, Westminster Hall, St. Paul's, various " tippling houses," 
 gaming houses, &c. , giving some curious and amusing touches at the manners 
 of the time ; but he is particularly severe upon persons in trade : 
 
 " If Death would take his dayly course 
 
 where tradesmen sell their ware, 
 His welcome, sure, would be more worse 
 
 than those of monyes bare : 
 It would affright them for to see 
 
 his leane and hollow lookes, 
 If Death would say, ' Come, shew to me 
 
 my reckoning in your bookes.' 
 
 "If Death would through the markets trace, 
 
 where Conscience us'd to dwell, 
 And take but there a huckster's place, 
 
 he might do wondrous well : 
 High prices would abated be, 
 
 and nothing found too deare ; 
 When Death should call 'Come buy of me !" 
 
 'twould put them all in feare. 
 
 "Just afterwards we meet with the subsequent stanza : 
 
 " If Death would prove a gentleman, 
 
 and come to court our dames, 
 And do the best of all he can 
 
 to blazen forth their names ; 
 Yet should he little welcome have 
 
 amongst so fayre a crew, 
 That daily go so fine and brave. 
 
 when they his face do view. 
 
 "Thomas Gosson (the predecessor in business, of H. Gosson, for whom, 
 this broadside was printed,) was probably brother to Stephen Gosson, the 
 puritanical enemy of dramatic performances, who published his ' School of 
 Abuse,' in which he attacked them, in 1579. In 1595, he printed anony- 
 mously a small tract, in verse, called ' Pleasant Quips for Upstart New-fangled 
 Gentlewomen,' and he was indisputably a very clever and powerful writer. 
 We are without any external evidence, but we feel persuaded that this ballarl 
 of ' Death's Dance' was by him, written before the close of the reign of 
 Elizabeth, and originally printed by Thomas Gosson. The only existing; 
 impression for H. Gosson was indisputably a reprint. It ends with this warn- 
 ing : 
 
 " For Death hath promised to come, 
 
 and come he will indeed ; 
 Therefore, I warne you, all and some, 
 beware and take good heed ;
 
 xiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 For what you do, or what you be. 
 
 hee's sure to find and know you ; 
 Though he be blind and cannot see, 
 
 in earth he will bestow you. 
 
 "Orthography is, ot course, no test of the age of a reprinted- Ballad, 
 because, in reprinting it, the compositor sometimes used the old spelling of the 
 copy before him, and sometimes the improved (so to call it) spelling of his 
 own day. 
 
 " It now and then happens that the period when a Ballad was written and 
 printed can be distinctly ascertained from evidence supplied by itself. Such is 
 the case with another production on the ' Dance of Death,' in the Roxburghe 
 Collection ; it has no printer's name, but merely the word Finis at the close ; 
 and the title it bears is, ' The doleful Dance and Song of Death ; intituled 
 Dance after my Pipe.' It opens thus singularly : 
 
 " Can you dance the shaking of the sheets, 
 
 A dance that every one must do ? 
 Can you trim it up with dainty sweets. 
 
 And everything that 'longs thereto ? 
 Make ready then your winding sheet, 
 And see how you can bestir your feet, 
 For Death is the man that all must meet. 
 
 Here is nothing to fix the date ; but the stanza we are about to quote shows 
 that, although reprinted perhaps fifty or sixty years after it first came out, it 
 must have been originally published as early as 1577 or 1578. Death speaks : 
 
 "Think you on the solemn 'Sizes past, 
 
 How suddenly in Oxfordshire 
 I came, and made the Judges all agast, 
 
 And justices that did appear ; 
 And took both Bell and Baram away, 
 And many a worthy man that day, 
 . And all their bodies brought to clay. 
 
 " Stovv's 'Annals' (edit. 1605. p. 1154), under date of 4th, 5th, and 6th 
 July, 1577, contains an account of these ' solemn Assizes' at Oxford, when, 
 among many others, Chief Baron Bell and Serjeant Baram died of the jail- 
 fever, brought by infected prisoners into the court. This is a curious point, 
 although the ballad itself is of little or no poetical value. 
 
 " In another remark, respecting the true age of particular ballads, we 
 shall be fully borne out by the three folios now in the Museum. There are 
 several ballads, of which there are duplicates, if not triplicates, of considerably 
 later dates than the original copy ; and into which alterations have been in- 
 troduced to suit the circumstances and requirements of the day when tlje re- 
 print was published. We may select one proof of this assertion from a
 
 INTRODUCTION. XY 
 
 humourous and pungent broadside, called ' The Map of Mock-beggar Hall, 
 of which there are two copies in the collection, one considerably older than 
 the other. It commences, and is continued, in the subsequent strain : 
 
 " I reade in ancient times of yore, 
 
 That men of worthy calling 
 Built alines houses and spittles store, 
 
 Which now are all down falling ; 
 And few men seeke them to repaire, 
 
 Nor is there one among twenty. 
 That in good deeds will take any care, 
 
 While Mock-beggar Hall stands empty . 
 
 The last line is the burden of the song, and is repeated at the end of every 
 staff, although the author nowhere explains precisely what he means by ' Mock- 
 beggar Hall.' It seems to have reference to some lost production of the same 
 kind, in which it was introduced and celebrated. The following stanza is now 
 in the later of the two copies, and satirically refers to the then modern practice 
 of riding in coaches : 
 
 " Methinks it is a great reproach 
 
 To those that are nobly descended, 
 Who for their pleasures cannot have a coach, 
 
 Wherewith they might be attended, 
 ]>ut every beggarly Jacke and Gill, 
 
 That eat scarce a good meal in twenty, 
 Must through the streets be jolted still, 
 
 While Modi-beggar Hall xtands empty. 
 
 Another stanza, not entirely new, but with some important changes from the 
 older copy (to which we shall advert presently), is thus : 
 
 "There's some are rattled through the streets, 
 
 Procatum est, I tell it, 
 Whose names are wrapt in parchment sheets ; 
 
 It grieves my heart to spell it : 
 They are riot able two men to keepe, 
 
 With a coachman they must content be, 
 Which at playhouse doores in his box lies asleep, 
 . While tioch-beggar Hall stands empty. 
 
 Our last two quotations are from the copy of ' The Map of Mock-beggar Hall,' 
 which was ' printed at London for Richard Harper, neere to the Hospitall gate 
 in Smithfield,' which is the most modern of the two by perhaps thirty or forty 
 years, for neither broadside has any distinct date. We know that about 1630, 
 or a little later, the custom of riding to theatres on horseback was generally 
 abandoned in favour of being driven there in coaches, so much so that the Lord 
 Mayor of London and the Court were called upon to interfere to prevent the 
 stoppage of the streets. To this public inconvenience the most recent copy 
 
 I
 
 xv j INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of the ballad makes allusion, and on this account we may fix its date about 
 1635. The more ancient copy was probably printed quite early in the reign 
 of James I. ; but in our memorandum we have omitted to note by whom 
 it was published, though we are confident that it was without any date of 
 the year. On this account, it does not at all follow, that because ballads con- 
 tain temporary allusions, they were not older than such allusions. Thus, in a 
 comic ballad, " printed at London for G. H." i.e., Henry Gosson, entitled 
 ' There's Nothing to be had without Money,' we _meet with the following 
 
 stanzas : 
 
 All parts of London I have tride, 
 
 Where merchants' wares are plenty, 
 The Royal Exchange and faire Cheapside, 
 
 With speeches fine and dainty, 
 To bring me in for to behold 
 Their shops of silver and of gold ; 
 There might I chuse what wares I would, 
 
 But God a mercy, penny. 
 
 For my contentment once a day 
 
 I walk'd for recreation 
 Through Pauls, Ludgate and Fleet-street gay, 
 
 To raise an elevation . 
 Sometimes my humour is to range 
 To Temple, Strand, and New Exchange, 
 To see their fashions rare and strange ; 
 
 But God a mercy , penny. 
 It is quite certain, therefore, that this last part of the stanza was written after 
 
 the death of Elizabeth ; but there are other copies (not in the Roxburghe 
 volumes, but in private hands) of the same ballad that have no allusion to the 
 New Exchange. One of them gives the last three lines as follows : 
 
 Sometimes my humour is to land 
 From boat at Temple or the Strand, 
 To see the sights on every hand. 
 
 Another in these terms :/- 
 
 Sometimes my humour is to go 
 To Temple, Strand, or Pimlico, 
 To drink good ale or Charnico. 
 
 To find a ballad in three several states, with changes adapted to "different 
 periods, is unusual, but by no means unprecedented ; and it is a circumstance 
 upon which nobody, who has written on the subject of our early popular 
 poetry, has remarked. The burden of the ballad will remind the reader of 
 the song ' Gramercy, mine own Purse,' attributed to Dame Juliana Berners, 
 and inserted in Ritson's 'Ancient Songs,' Vol. II. edit. 1829. 
 
 There is a fine old satirical broadside in the Collection now deposited in 
 the Museum, of which, if we mistake not, there is an earlier (and perhaps a 
 better) copy in the Pepysian Library at Cambridge ; but an introduction to
 
 INTRODUCTION. xvii 
 
 that edifice is so difficult to be obtained, and the means of examination, to 
 those who are admitted, so insufficient, that we cannot pretend to speak posi- 
 tively.* Sure we are that what is contained in the Roxburghe volumes must be 
 in some respects a modernization ; but be it so or not, it is a severe rebuke to 
 all who formerly neglected Christmas hospitality and charity. It is entitled 
 ' Christmas Lamentation for the Losse of his Acquaintance, showing how he is 
 forst to leave the Country, and come to London.' It is in a very peculiar, but 
 striking measure, and is said to be sung " to the tune of Now Spring is come." 
 The second stanza is thus forcibly written : 
 
 Christmas bread and beefe is turned into stones, 
 Into stones, into stones, into stones, 
 
 And silken rags ; 
 
 And Ladye Money sleepes and makes moanes, 
 And makes moanes, and makes moanes, and makes moanes, 
 
 In miser's bags. 
 
 In houses where pleasures once did abound, 
 Nought but a dogge and a shepherd is found, 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 Places where Christmas revels did keepe, 
 Are now become habitations for sheepe, 
 Welladay, welladay, welladay ! 
 Where should I stay ? 
 
 There can be little doubt that the next stanza was interpolated in the early 
 part of the reign of James I. , from the mention it contains of yellow starch 
 then so much in fashion, though it had been used earlier : we apprehend 
 that it will be found, in its more ancient state, in the copy Pepys bequeathed. 
 
 Since pride came up with yellow starch, 
 Yellow starch, yellow starch, yellow starch, 
 
 Poore folkes doe want, 
 
 And nothing the rich man will to them give, 
 To them give, to them give, to them give, 
 
 But doe them taunt. 
 For charity from the country is fled, 
 And in her place hath nought left but need, 
 
 ' Welladay 1 
 
 And corne is growne to so high a price, 
 It makes poore men cry with weeping eyes, 
 Welladay, wellafray, welladay ! 
 Where should I stay ? 
 
 The copy we have used purports to have been " printed at London for F. 
 C., dwelling in the Old Bayly," F. C. being the initials of Francis Coules, who 
 was a comparatively modern publisher. 
 
 We have reason to think that ' Poor Robin's Dream,' commonly called 
 Poor Charity, is one of the most ancient ballads in the whole of the three Rox- 
 
 *This was in 1845 : in 1873 we may add : and so damn'd uncivil as not 
 to answer a letter written in reference to the Pepysian Collection.
 
 xviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 burghe volumes : it is of a moral character, and brings Time, Conscience, 
 Plain -dealing, Dissimulation, Charity, Truth, and some other abstract and 
 allegorical persons to figure on a stage, something in the manner of the moral 
 plays or moralities which succeeded the old scriptural dramas, and preceded 
 plays founded upon life and history. Poor Robin, dreaming, fancies that he 
 sees a stage set up and pulled down exactly in the way in which, at a remote 
 period, it used to be temporarily erected and removed, whether in an open 
 space in a town, or in an inn-yard : on this stage, the stage of life, he sees 
 various characters perform, and the first he mentions is Time, who is described, 
 no doubt, very much as he was exhibited in Shakspeaee's ' Winter's Tale,' and 
 in the play in which, according to Henslowe's Diary (Shakespeare Society's 
 impression, p. 167), he was introduced in the year 1600 : 
 
 " The first that acted, I protest, 
 
 Was Time, with a glass and a scithe in his hand, 
 With the globe of the world upon his breast, 
 
 To show that the same he could command : 
 There's a time for to work, and a time for to play, 
 A time to borrow, and a time to pay. 
 And a time that doth call us all away. 
 
 Conscience, who next enters, is thus spoken of : 
 
 " Conscience in order takes his place, 
 
 And very gallantly plays his part j 
 He fears not to fly in a ruler's face, 
 
 Although it cuts him to the heart : 
 He tells them all this is the latter age, 
 Which put the actors in such a rage, 
 That they kick'd poor Conscience off the stage. 
 
 Dissimulation and Charity are introduced in the following manner : 
 
 " Dissimulation mounted the stage, 
 
 But he was cloathed in gallant attire : 
 He was acquainted with Youth and Age ; 
 
 Many his company did desire. 
 They entertained him in their very breast : 
 There he could have harbour and quietly rest, 
 For dissemblers and turn-coats fare the best. 
 
 Then cometh in poor Charity : 
 
 Methinks she looketh wondrous old ; 
 She quiver'd and she quak'd most piteously, 
 
 It griev'd me to think she was grown so cold. 
 She had been in the city and in the country, 
 Amongst the lawyers and nobility ; 
 But there was no room for poor Charity. 
 
 " The impression from which our extracts are taken is obviously a com- 
 paratively modem one, and purports to have been ' ' Printed by J. Lock, for 
 J. Clark, at the Harp and Bible in West Smithfield." There is no date of
 
 INTRODUCTION'. xix 
 
 the year, but the reprint must have been made towards the close of the 
 seventeenth century, and we may safely conclude that the ballad was 
 originally produced considerably more than a century before. 
 
 "Here we pause for the present, but we shall continue the subject next 
 week, with some ballads hitherto unknown, and illustrative of songs in 
 ' Walton's Angler.' " 
 
 "We continue our notice of the three folio volumes of ballads now most 
 appropriately deposited in the British Museum, the great national receptacle of 
 our national literature, of which early pieces of popular poetry form so essential 
 and distinctive a part. If it be not always as positively good as might be 
 desired, we ought to recollect for whom it was written ; productions of the 
 kind were the vehicles of the opinions of the mass of the people upon the 
 topics of the day : they are so even in our own time, and were much more so 
 among our ancestors before the invention of newspapers ; and, as has been said 
 by a great authority, ' they contain more real history, as far as the multitude is 
 concerned, than all our annals, which treat of kings, princes and nobles.' 
 Ballads may be but 'straws to show which way the wind blows,' to use 
 Selden's expression, but they show it in its under-currents with more truth than 
 the lofty vanes placed far above the level of popular influences. If we could, 
 with any degree of precision, settle the dates of the various compositions in the 
 Roxburghe collection (and it may possibly be done hereafter by a patient ex- 
 amination, which we cannot pretend to have bestowed upon them), we should 
 possess more valuable materials for a history of national opinions, prejudices, 
 and manners, for about 200 years, than we can hope to derive from any other 
 source. Therefore, if some people fancy that old ballads ought to contain 
 what they are pleased to consider good poetry, and that their contents are 
 interesting and important on no other account, they commit a gross mistake : 
 good poetry, in the best sense of the words, must generally be thrown away 
 upon the class to which ballads are addressed. They must always be looked 
 at with reference to the period when they were written : our oldest specimens 
 were adapted to a state of society in which strong thoughts and natural feelings 
 predominated, because the modes and habits of artificial life were not under- 
 stood and introduced; but the great majority of the twelve hundred pieces in 
 the volumes under consideration were composed at a much later date, and not a 
 few of them were the amusement of the lower orders, at a time when men like 
 Sidney, Spenser, Daniel, and Drayton, were writing for the higher orders. 
 These present rather a contrast to the refinements of style then prevailing ; 
 and, coming down to the period of the Civil Wars, when theatres were closed 
 and other amusements for the multitude either entirely put down or grievously
 
 xx INTRODUCTION. 
 
 curtailed, we shall find such ballad-makers as Martin Parker, Lawrence Price, 
 Richard Climsell, Robert Guy, John Wade, and a few more, almost daily en- 
 deavouring to provide welcome food for the appetite of the mob. The name 
 of Martin Parker will be familiar to many readers of the class of productions 
 to which we are referring : they may also be in some degree acquainted with 
 that of Lawrence Price ; but Climsell, Guy, and Wade have been hitherto un- 
 known contributors to our ballad-poetry. 
 
 "Two ballads, by Martin Parker, both in the Roxburghe collection, 
 materially illustrate a portion of that charming book, which can never be too 
 much illustrated, ' Walton's Angler.' Nobody can have forgotten the three 
 songs in Chapter IV. of that work, one by Marlowe, another imputed, probably 
 correctly, to Raleigh, and the third anonymous : the last is thus introduced by 
 the Milkmaid's mother : 
 
 " ' But stay, honest anglers ; for I will make Maudlin sing to you one short 
 song more. Maudlin, sing that song that you sung last night, when young 
 Coridon, the shepherd, played so purely on his oaten pipe to you and your 
 cousin Betty.' 
 
 " ' Maud. I will, mother.' 
 
 And then she sings as follows : 
 
 ' ' I married a wife of late, 
 
 The more's my unhappy fate : 
 
 I married her for love, 
 
 As my fancy did me move, 
 And not for a wordly estate. 
 
 But oh ! the green sickness 
 
 Soon changed her likeness, 
 And all her beauty did fail. 
 
 But 'tis not so 
 
 With those that go 
 
 Through frost and snow, 
 
 As all men know, 
 And carry the milking-pail. 
 
 " In none of the innumerable editions of ' Walton's Angler' has anybody 
 attempted to trace the origin or author of this song ; and as long as Mr. Bright 
 had the custody of the Roxburghe Ballads it would probably have remained 
 unknown : he does not seem to have heen aware of it himself, for he has left 
 no trace behind him, as far as we can understand, that he had read the volumes 
 he so studiously kept from the sight of others. The fact, however, is, that the 
 song above quoted is formed out of two -ballads by Martin Parker, with his 
 initials at the end of them : one of which bears the following title . 
 
 Keep a good Tongue in your Head : 
 
 for 
 
 Here's a very good woman, in every respect, 
 But only her tongue breeds all the defect.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxi 
 
 " It opens with a stanza, only the first five lines of which were employed, 
 with some slight changes, by Walton. 
 
 " I marred a wife of late, 
 The more's my unhappy fate : 
 I tooke her for love, 
 As fancy did me move, 
 And not for her worldly state. 
 For qualities rare 
 Few with her compare ; 
 
 Let me doe her no wrong. 
 I must confesse, 
 Her chiefe amisse, 
 Is onely this, 
 As some wives is, 
 
 She cannot rule her tongue . 
 
 " Walton wanted no more than the commencement ; more would not have 
 answered his purpose ; and for a conclusion 'he resorted to another popular 
 production by the same writer (whom he nowhere names), which is thus headed 
 in the original copy : 
 
 The Millie-maid's Life ; 
 
 or, 
 
 A pretty new ditty, composed and pen'd, 
 The praise of the milking paile to defend. 
 
 " Like the former, it consists of many stanzas (of which we shall speak 
 presently), but as Walton did not require more than part of one of them, he 
 took it (again with alterations) from the following : 
 
 " Those lasses nice and strange, 
 That keep shops in the Exchange, 
 Sit pricking of clouts, 
 And giving of flouts, 
 They seldom abroad do range : 
 Then comes the green sicknesse 
 And changeth their likenesse, 
 
 All this for want of good sale ; 
 But 'tis not so, 
 As proofe doth show 
 By them that goe 
 In frost and snow, 
 
 To carry the milking paile. 
 
 "Both these ballads were written to be sung to the same air, ' To a 
 curious new tune called the Milkemaid's Dumps,' which, as far as we know, 
 has been lost, for we find no trace of it in any collection, public or private. 
 Neither of Martin Parker's ballads has a date, but the first was ' Printed at 
 London for Thomas Lambert, at the Horshoo in Smithfield,' while the last 
 has merely ' Printed at London for T. Lambert.' Both are in black-letter ; 
 
 J2
 
 xxii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and as Walton has thought them worth quoting, another specimen or two from 
 each may not be unacceptable. The following is the third stanza of ' Keep a. 
 good Tongue in your Head.' 
 
 ' ' Her cheeks are red as the rose 
 Which June for her glory shows : 
 Her teeth on a row 
 Stand like a wall of snow, 
 Between her round chin and her nose. 
 Her shoulders are decent, 
 Her armes white and pleasant, 
 
 Her fingers small and long. 
 No fault I find, 
 But in my minde 
 Most womenkind 
 Must come behind, 
 
 O ! that she could rule her tongue. 
 
 " Of her domestic qualities and recommendations the author writes [thus, 
 showing, among other things, the usual employments of women of her rank in 
 that day most likely during the Protectorate. 
 
 " Her needle she can use well ; 
 In that she doth most excel ; 
 She can spin and knit, 
 And everything fit, 
 As her neighbours all can tell. 
 Her fingers apace 
 At weaving bone lace 
 
 She useth all day long : 
 All arts that be 
 So women free 
 
 Of each degree, 
 
 Performeth she. 
 
 O ! that she could rule her tongue. 
 
 "From the other ballad, 'The Milk-maid's Life,' which must have 
 preceded in point of date, we make the subsequent quotation, which succeeds 
 a stanza in which Parker invokes the ' rural goddesses' to assist him in singing 
 the praise of Milk-maids. 
 
 " The bravest lasses gay 
 
 Live not merry so as they. 
 
 In honest civil sort 
 
 They make each other sport, 
 As they trudge on their way. 
 
 Come faire or foule weather, 
 
 They're fearfull of neither, 
 Their courages never quaile : 
 
 In wet or dry, 
 
 Though winds be hye. 
 
 And darke to sky, 
 
 They ne'er deny 
 
 To carry the milking paile.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxiii 
 
 Their hearts are free from care, 
 They never will dispaire ; 
 Whatever them befall, 
 They bravely beare out all, 
 And fortune's frowns outdare. 
 They pleasantly sing 
 To welcome the spring, 
 
 'Gainst heaven they never raile. 
 If grasse will grow 
 Their thankes they show ; 
 And frost and mow, 
 They merrily goe, 
 
 A16ng with the milking paile. 
 
 " Surely those who love poetry, and who sometimes unreasonably expect 
 to meet with it in old ballads of a comparatively modern date, must be satisfied 
 with this sweet, cheerful, pastoral vein of Martin Parker. To us it is no 
 wonder that he was quoted by Izaac Walton ; our wonder rather is that 
 Walton did not name him as well as Marlowe and Raleigh : however, his 
 reason might be that Parker was living when the first edition of ' The Com- 
 plete Angler' was printed, in 1653. Martin Parker was a much better poet 
 than many give him credit for ; and though he wrote for bread, and wrote to 
 please the vulgar, he was, as we could show did space allow it, author of some 
 of the best and most famous of the Robin Hood ballads, hitherto anonymously 
 printed. Before we quit Walton and angling, we may fitly direct attention to 
 an excellent song, in the collection now under review, chiefly in praise of 
 angling, but satirically and humourosly touching various professions and 
 avocations : the following is one stanza of it. 
 
 " When Eve and Adam liv'd by love, 
 
 And had no cause for jangling, 
 The Devil did the waters move ; 
 
 The Serpent fell to angling. 
 He baits his hook with godlike look ; 
 
 Quoth he, this will intangle her ; 
 The woman chops, and down she drops . 
 
 The Devil was the first angler. 
 
 " The title given to the production is ' The Royal Recreation of Jovial 
 Anglers,' and the main purpose cf the writer (whose name or initials nowhere 
 appear) is stated in thir introductory couplet : 
 
 " Proving that all men are Intanglers, 
 And all professions are turned Anglers. 
 
 In this spirit we read as follows : 
 
 " Upon the Exchange, twixt twelve and one, 
 
 Meets many a neat intangler : 
 Most merchant men, not one in ten, 
 But is a cunning Angler :
 
 xxiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 And, like the fishers in the brooke, 
 
 Brother doth fish for brother : 
 A golden bait hangs at the hooke, 
 
 And they fish for one another. 
 
 A shopkeeper I next prefer ; 
 
 A formal man in black, sir, 
 That throws his angle everywhere, 
 
 And cryes, ' What is it you lack, sir ? 
 Fine silks and stuffs, or hoods and muffs ?' 
 
 But if a courtier prove the intangler, 
 My citizen must look to 't then, 
 
 Or the fish will catch the Angler. 
 
 " Several circumstances show that this song was not as old as the reign of 
 Elizabeth, one of them being that the hour for the meeting of merchants on 
 the Exchange in her day, as might be established by various authorities, was 
 between eleven and twelve ; in the snbsequent reign it became between twelve 
 and one, and so it continued till after the breaking out of the civil wars. 
 
 " It was during those wars that May -games were temporarily suppressed; 
 but they were not finally extinguished until a short time before the Restora- 
 tion, when the Funebria Flora took place. In the Roxburghe collection 
 are several ballads and songs upon May and May-games, some, no doubt, 
 written shortly anterior to their extinction, and when the people seemed 
 naturally to cling to them with peculiar fondness. A few of these pieces are 
 penned in such a free and lively strain, that they are hardly fit for the selection 
 of specimens, although there is in them much more of lively and boisterous 
 mirth, than of vice and indelicacy. The first stanza of one of them, entitled 
 ' The Fetching Home of May,' (to the tune of ' Room for Company') may be 
 extracted, and will show the animating spirit with which they were composed : 
 it is certainly not much later than the reign of Elizabeth, although the copy of 
 it we have used was ' printed at London, by J. Wright, junior, dwelling at the 
 upper end of the Old Baily,' perhaps about 1650 or 1660. 
 
 " Now Pan leaves piping, the gods have done feasting, 
 
 There's never a goddess a hunting to-day, 
 Mortals doe marvell at Corydon's jesting, 
 That lends them assisting to entertain May. 
 The lads and the lasses, 
 With scarfs on their faces, 
 So lively, it passes, 
 
 Trip /over the downes : 
 Much mirth and sport they make, 
 Running at bar\ey-breake : 
 Good \acV. \ what pa'\tves they take 
 Fo t tYvew green gownes.
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxv 
 
 " It is quite evident from the run of the lines, that the tune of ' Room for 
 Company,' was the same as was afterwards called 'Hunting the Hare.' In 
 fact, 'Hunting the Hare,' was also known by the name of 'The Green 
 Gown,' from the burden of the very stanza we have just quoted. 
 
 It is quite evident from the run of the lines, that the tune of ' Room for 
 Company' was the same as that afterwards called ' Hunting the Hare,' In. 
 fact, ' Hunting the Hare' was also known by the name of ' The Green Gown,' 
 from the burden of the very stanza we have just quoted. 
 
 There is a species of ballad, of which several examples are contained in 
 the Roxburghe volumes, that we do not recollect to have met with elsewhere, 
 nor has it, we believe, been remarked upon by any of our poetical antiquaries. 
 We allude to the ' Medley,' which consists of stanzas formed from single lines 
 or fragments of other popular compositions, well known at the time, and there- 
 fore easily recognized by street-audiences. We may reasonably doubt whether 
 medleys were ever great favourites with the lower orders, or more of them 
 would have come down to us : they may have specimens of the kind in the 
 Pepysian Library at Cambridge ; but we doubt it, and we feel sure that they 
 have none at Oxford. The fact is, that the pleasure to be derived from them 
 so much depended upon the recognition of lines from current and notorious 
 ballads, that -the moment popular recollection failed, medleys would cease to 
 be attractive, and hence they must have been rarely reprinted. We were sur- 
 prised, therefore, to meet with two different copies, clearly of different dates, 
 of a medley, the antiquity of which is hardly to be disputed, because it was 
 sung " to the tune of Tarlton's Medley," meaning Richard Tarlton, the most 
 celebrated comedian of any age, who died in 1588. ' Tarlton's Medley' must 
 have been greatly liked as he wrote and sung it at the theatre, and of its 
 popularity the author of the imitation before us, which was to be sung to the 
 same tune, availed himself. It is entitled. 
 
 An excellent Medley, 
 
 Which you may admire at with offence, 
 For every line speaks a contrary sense, 
 
 and it was printed first for Henry Gosson (not originally, although every 
 earlier edition seems to have perished), and afterwards for F. Coles, T. Vere, 
 and J. Wright. It opens with this stanza, and it will be observed that no one 
 line has any connexion in point of sense with another : 
 
 " In summer time when folks make hay, 
 All is not true that people say, 
 The fool's the wisest in the play. 
 
 Tush ! take away your hand.
 
 x'xvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The fiddler's boy hath broke his base ; 
 Sirs, is not this a piteous case ? 
 Most gallants loath to smell the mace 
 Of Wood-street." 
 
 Here we find fragments of seven or eight different ballads, and so of the other 
 stanzas, nineteen in number, of which the medley consists : thus, supposing 
 each stanza to be composed of lines taken from seven separate productions of 
 this class, the whole ballad would remind the hearer, at the time it was 
 written, of no fewer than 133 popular songs. Some, though only a few, have 
 survived to our own day : thus, in the following stanza, we only know of that 
 performance in which John Dory is mentioned : 
 
 " When the fifth Harry sail'd to France, 
 Let me alone for a countrey dance, 
 IN ell will bewail her luckless chance ; 
 
 Fie on false-hearted men ; 
 Dick Tarlton was a merry wag, 
 Hark, how the prating ass will brag, 
 John Dory sold his ambling nag 
 
 For kick-shaws. 
 
 The ballad of John Dory has been preserved by Ritson and others, but we 
 may well grieve for the loss of an heroical ballad on the victories of Henry V. 
 if not for that which related some personal anecdote of Tarlton. The reference 
 to him proves, in some degree, the antiquity of the production ; and in another 
 stanza, we find an allusion, the darkness of which may be easily accounted for, 
 to the accident which happened on the Thames, late in the reign of Elizabeth, 
 when a shot from a gun wounded one of the watermen, who were rowing the 
 Queen in her barge : 
 
 " Now hides are cheap, the tanner thrives, 
 Hang those base knaves that beat their wives, 
 He needs must go that the devil drives ; 
 
 God bless us from a gun ! 
 The beadles make the lame to run ; 
 Vaunt not before the battle's won, 
 A cloud sometimes may hide sun. 
 
 Chance medley. 
 
 It was " chance medley " that wounded the Queen's watermen, when 
 Thomas Appletree fired the gun on the Thames, It is to be borne in mind, 
 that when once a medley had been published, any subsequent writer seems to 
 have felt himself at liberty to add to, or alter it, in order that it might better 
 suit his own day ; and we learn, from the testhnony in our hands, that such 
 was the custom with Martin Parker, whose initials at the end of a ballad seem 
 to have been sufficient to insure a considerable sale. The price of a broadside 
 of the kind was a penny during the reigns of Elizabeth, James, and Charles (as
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxvii 
 
 is proved by many of those under our notice), which cannot but be deemed 
 high, when we recollect tho.t it was equal to about sixpence of our present 
 money." 
 
 The late George Daniel, of Canonbury Square, Islington, near London, 
 who formerly possessed the "ELIZABETHAN GARLAND," which consists of 
 Seventy Ballads, printed between the Years 1559 and 1597, at the sale of 
 whose library it was purchased by the late Joseph Lilly for Henry Huth, Esq., 
 says in an article on "OLD BALLADS," in his " Love's L'ast Labour A T flt 
 Lost:" "If any portion of English Literature be more generally interesting 
 than another, it is ancient ballad-lore. Battles have been fought and heroes 
 immortalised in its inspiring strains. It has made us familiar with the manly 
 virtues, sympathies, sports, pastimes, traditions, the veiy language of our fore- 
 fathers, gentle and simple. We follow them to the tented field, the tourna- 
 ment, the border foray, the cottage ingle, and the public hostelrie. We glow 
 with their martial spirit, and join in their rude festivities. Narrative and 
 sentiment, reality and romance, the noblest patriotism and the tenderest love, 
 the wildest mirth and the deepest melancholy, inform, delight, and subdue us 
 by turns. The impulses of the heart, those gems of truth ! were the inspira- 
 tions of the muse. Hence thoughts of rare pathos and beauty, and felicity of 
 expression that no study could produce, no art could polish, find a response in 
 every bosom. In peace, the ballad might be the " woeful" one made to a 
 'mistress's eyebrow ;' in war, it was the trumpet sounding 'to arms !' or the 
 muffled drum rolling forth the warrior's requiem. 
 
 "The merit of our old English Border Ballads was long ago acknow- 
 ledged far beyond sea-girt land. Joseph Scaliger, when he visited England 
 1566, among many minute observations recorded in his entertainiug Table Talk, 
 particularly notices the excellence of our Border Ballads, the beauty of Mary 
 Stuart, and our burning coal instead of wood in the north. 
 
 " The tunes to which these ballads were sung are centuries older than the 
 ballads themselves. Many of them are lost in antiquity. ' The Bride's good, 
 morrow ,' ' The fyrst Apclles,' ' Damon and Plthias,' ' A new lusty gallant,* 
 1 The nine Muses,' ' Pepper is blacke,' ' Lightie Love,' ' Black Almaine, 
 upon Scissilia,' ' Labandalashotte ,' ' Bragandary,' ' Tlie Wanton Wife,'' 
 ' In Somertime,' and 'Please one and please all,' were among the most 
 popular. Many ballads quoted by Shakespeare, Beaumont and Fletcher, and 
 Samuel Rowlands ( ' Crew of King Gossips) extend not beyond a single verse, 
 or even a single line ; yet how suggestive are they ! It was such penny 
 broadsides that composed the ' bunch' of the military mason, Captain Cox, of 
 Coventry, and that stocked the pedlar's pack of Autolicus ; and their power
 
 xxviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of fascination may be learnt from the varlet's own words, when he laughingly 
 brags how nimbly he lightened the gaping villagers of their purses while chant- 
 ing to them his merry trol-my-dames ! 
 
 " We delight in a Fiddler's Fling, full of mirth and pastime ! We revel 
 in the exhilarating perfume of those odoriferous chaplets gathered on sunshiny 
 holidays and star-twinkling nights, bewailing how beautiful maidens meet 
 with faithless wooers, and how fond shepherds are cruelly jilted by deceitful 
 damsels ; how despairing Corydons hang, and how desponding Phillises drown 
 themselves for love ; how disappointed lads go to sea, and how forlorn lasses 
 follow them in jackets and trousers ! Sir George Etheridge, in his comedy of 
 'Love in a Tub,' says, ' Expect at night to see an old man with his paper 
 lantern and crack'd spectacles, singing you woeful tragedies to kitchen-maids 
 and cobblers' apprentices. ' Aubrey mentions that his nurse could repeat the 
 history of England, from the Conquest to the time of Charles I. , in- ballads 
 And Aubrey, himself a book-learned man, delighted in after years to recall 
 them to his remembrance. In Walton's ' Angler,' Piscator having caught a 
 chub, conducts Venator to an ' honest ale house, where they would find a 
 cleanly room, lavender in the windows, and twenty ballads stuck about the 
 wall.' ' When I travelled,' says the Spectator, ' I took a particular delight in 
 hearing the songs and fables that are come from father to son, and are most in 
 vogue among the common people of the countries through which I passed. ' 
 The heart-music of the peasant was his native minstrelsy, his blithesome carol 
 in the cottage and in the field." 
 
 In respect to the "wooden prints" which " adorn" the ballads here re- 
 printed, our readers will not fail to see at a glance how often the same cuts are 
 repeated, and made to change sides with one another, and that simply to make 
 a little variation from a ballad that had been printed at the same office on the 
 day, week, or month previous, while scarce one cut in fifty has been executed 
 for, or bears in any way on the subject matter. 
 
 We have, therefore, designedly and silently omitted several cuts after they 
 have been used on two, and three previous occasions, by which means we have 
 been enabled to give a greater number of ballads on a given number of pages 
 than we otherwise could have done, as we considered it a waste of space to 
 repeat over and over again to the end of the chapter the'same old, and in many 
 cases inappropriate "wooden prints." 
 
 With these remarks, we place before the "public the first volume of our 
 repru.t of 
 
 THE ROXBURGHE BALLADS.
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I, 
 
 i-* 
 
 r. " 
 
 , 
 
 A New Yorkshyre Song, intituled : Yorke, 
 
 Ydrke, for my Monie ... ... i 
 
 A True Relation of the Life and Death of 
 Sir Andrew Barton, a Pyrate and 
 Rover on the Seas ... ... g 
 
 Amantium irse Amoris redintegratio est : 
 The falling out of Lovers is the re- 
 newing of Love ... ... 21 
 
 The Maydes Answere ... ... 25 
 
 An Admirable New Northern Story of 
 
 Constance and Anthony ... 29 
 
 Anne Aske t w, I am a woman poor and blind 38 
 
 A Rare Example of a Vertuous Maid, It 
 
 was a Lady's Daughter ... 43 
 
 The Rarest Ballad that ever was seen, of 
 the Blind Beggar's Daughter of 
 Bednal Green ... ... 48 
 
 The Batchelor's Pleasure and the Married 
 
 Man's Trouble ... ... 60 
 
 An Excellent New Medley by M. P., i.e., 
 
 Martin Parker ... ... 67 
 
 An Excellent New Medley ... '*..'. 74 
 
 The Bride's Good-morrow ... ... 82 
 
 Friendly Consaile (A faithful friend and a 
 
 flattering foe) ... "... 86 
 
 A Bill of Fare ... ... ... 93 
 
 Blew Cap for me ... ... ... ibp 
 
 A Pleasant New Court Song ... ... 107 
 
 A Pleasant Couhtrey New Ditty ... 113 
 
 The Catholick Ballad 120
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Cruell Shrow ; or The Patient Mans 
 
 Woe ... ... ... 127 
 
 The Cooper of Norfolke ; or A pretty 
 
 lest, &c. ... ... ... 134 
 
 Choice of Inuentions ... ... 142 
 
 The Country-mans new Care away ... 150 
 
 Come, buy this new Ballad, before you doe 
 
 goe, &c. ... . ... ... 157 
 
 A new Ballad, containing a communication 
 betweene the careful Wife and the 
 comfortable Husband, &c. ... 165 
 
 The Householders New-yeere's Gift, &c ... 169 
 
 Come worldlings see what 
 
 paines, &c. ... ... 175 
 
 Second part Come, Prodigals, your selves 
 
 &c. ... ... ... 181 
 
 The cunning Northerne Begger ... 186 
 
 The Life of Man ... . ... ... 193 
 
 Cuckold's Haven, &c. ... ... 201 
 
 Christmas Lamentation for the losse of his 
 
 Acquaintance, &c. ... .. 208 
 
 or, Cupid's wrongs vindi- 
 cated, &c. ... ... ... 214 
 
 The Countrey Lasse ... ... 221 
 
 The Complaint of a Lover forsaken of his 
 
 Love ... ... ... 227 
 
 The Constancy of True Loue, &c. ... 233 
 
 A Courtly New Ballad of the Princely 
 
 wooing, dec. ... ... 241 
 
 The faire Maid of London's answer, &c. ... 243 
 
 The Bride's Buriall ... ... 246 
 
 An excellent Ballad : The Constancy of 
 
 Susanna ... ... ... 252 
 
 A Compleate Gentle- woman ... ... 260 
 
 Clods Carroll ; or, A proper new ligg, to be 
 sung Dialogue wise, of a man and a 
 woman that would needs be married 265
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL I. Ill 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Constant, faire, and fine Betty, being the 
 Young-man's praise of a curious 
 
 Creature ... ... ... 273 
 
 The Constant Lover ... ... 280 
 
 A discourse of Man's life ... .... 286 
 
 The Dead Man's Song ... ... 292 
 
 A Dialogue between Master Guesright and 
 
 poore neighbour Needy ... 301 
 Doctor Do-good's directions to cure many 
 diseases both in body and minde, 
 lately written and set forth for the 
 
 good of infected persons ... 306 
 
 Death's loud Allarum, &c. ... ... 312 
 
 A delicate new Ditty, &c. ... ... 319 
 
 A merry Discourse ... ... 325 
 
 The Despairing Lover ... ... 332 
 
 The deceased Maiden-Louer ... ... 339 
 
 The Faithlesse Lover ... ... 342 
 
 The Desperate Damsell's Tragedy ... 345 
 
 The Story of David and Berseba ... 352 
 
 The Distressed Virgin, &c. ... ... 359 
 
 Death's Dance ... ... ... 365 
 
 The most rare and excellent History of the 
 
 Duchesse of Suffolke's Calamity ... 371 
 
 The discontented Married Man ... 379 
 
 A Pleasant new Dialogue, &c. ... 385 
 
 A lamentable ballad on the Earl of Essex's 
 
 Death ... ... ... 394 
 
 An excellent Ballad of a Prince of England's 
 
 Courtship ... ... ... 399 
 
 Song af an English Merchant, borne at Chi- 
 
 chester ... ... ... 409 
 
 An excellent Song, wherein you shall finde 
 
 great consolation for a troubled minde. 417 
 
 An excellent new Ditty, &c. ... ... 423 
 
 An excellent Sonnett, &c. ... ... 429 
 
 Faire fall all good Tokens, &c. ... 434
 
 IV 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL I. 
 
 A Friend's Advice. 
 
 The Four Wonders of this Land 
 
 "JThe Fox-Chace : Or, The Huntsman's 
 Harmony ... ... 
 
 A; Fayre Portion for a Fayre Mayd 
 
 Fayre Warning ... ... , L ... 
 
 Fond Love, why dost.thou. dally . ... 
 
 An excellent Ballad of St. George for Eng- 
 land . 
 
 439 
 445 
 
 453 
 459 
 465 
 
 477
 
 and ISallafcs: 
 
 Written on Various Subjects, 
 
 And 
 
 fiettoeen tlje gear MDLX an& MDCC. 
 CHIEFLY COLLECTED BY 
 
 ROBERT EARL OF OXFORD, 
 
 And purchased at the Sale of the late 
 
 MR. WEST'S LIBRARY in the Year 1773. 
 
 ENCREASED BY SEVERAL ADDITIONS. 
 
 In Two Volumes. 
 
 Vol. I. 
 
 STfjeae fceneraWe ancient 
 
 many a pitcfj aloUc out motrcrn U)rttcr0 : 
 numliero map fie more refin'fc tfjan tto^e, 
 iSut U)f)at toe'be gainelr in ber0e U)e'be Io0t tn pto0e. 
 STfjeir U)ortr0 no afntffi ing ircufile meaning fcneU) ; 
 Cfjeir 0peecfj Ujas f)otmlp, tut tljeir Ijearte tueretrue : 
 
 ROWE. 
 
 LONDON, 
 
 Arranged and Bound in the Year 1774.
 
 A new Yorkshyre Song, Intituled 
 
 Yorke, Yorke, for my monie ; Of all the Citties that ever I see, 
 For mery pastime and companie, Except the Cittie of London. 
 
 S I came thorow the North countrey, 
 The fashions of the world to see, 
 I sought for mery companie, 
 
 to goe to the Cittie of London : 
 And when to the Cittie of Yorke I came, 
 I found good companie in the same, 
 As well-disposed to euery game, 
 as if it had been at London. 
 
 Yorke, Yorke, for my monie, 
 Of all the Citties that ever I see, 
 For mery pastime and companie, 
 Except the Cittie of London. 
 
 And in that Cittie what sawe I then ? 
 Knightes, Squires, and Gentlemen, 
 A shooting went for Matches ten, 
 
 as if it had been at London. 
 And they shot for twentie poundes a Bowe, 
 Besides great cheere they did bestowe, 
 I neuer saw a gallanter showe, 
 
 except I had been at London. 
 
 Yorke, Yorke, for my monie,
 
 Yorke, Yorke, for my monie. 
 
 These Matches, you shall vnderstande, 
 The Earle of Essex tooke in hand, 
 Against the good Earle of Cumberlande, 
 
 as if it had been at London. 
 And agreede these matches all shall be 
 For pastime and good companie 
 At the Cittie of Yorke full merily, 
 
 as if it had been at London. 
 
 Yorke, Yorke, for my monie, 
 
 In Yorke there dwels an Alderman, which 
 Delites in shooting very much, 
 I neuer heard of any such 
 
 in all the Cittie of London. 
 His name is Maltbie, mery and wise 
 At any pastime you can deuise, 
 But in shooting all his pleasures lyes ; 
 
 the like was neuer in London. 
 
 Yorke, Yorke, for my monie, &c. 
 
 This Maltbie, for the Citties sake, 
 
 To shoote, himself, did vndertake, 
 
 At any good Match the Earies would make, 
 
 as well as they doe at London. 
 And he brought to the fielde, with him, 
 One Specke, an Archer proper and trim, 
 And Smith, that shoote about the pin, 
 
 as if it had been at London. 
 Yorke, Yorke, &c.
 
 Yorke, Yorke, for my monie. 
 
 Then came from Cumberland Archers three, 
 
 Best Bowmen in the North countree, 
 
 I will tell you their names what they may bee, 
 
 well knowne to the Cittie of London. 
 Wamsley many a man doth knowe, 
 And Bolton, how he draweth his Bowe, 
 And Ratcliffes shooting long agoe 
 
 well knowne to the Cittie of London. 
 Yorke, Yorke, &c. 
 
 And the Noble Earle of Essex came 
 To the fielde himself, to see the same, 
 Which shal be had for euer in fame, 
 
 as soone as I come at London. 
 For he shewed himself so diligent there 
 To make a mark and keepe it faire, 
 It is worthie memorie to declare 
 
 through all the Cittie of London. 
 Yorke, Yorke, 
 
 And then was shooting out of crye, 
 The skantling at a handfull nie, 
 And yet the winde was very hie, 
 
 as it is sometimes at London. 
 They clapt the Cloutes so on the ragges, 
 There was such betting and such bragges, 
 And galloping vp and downe with Nagges, 
 
 as if it had been at London. 
 Yorke, Yorke, &c.
 
 4 Yorke, Yorke, for my monie. 
 
 ^ And neuer an Archer gaue regarde 
 To halfe a Bowe, nor halfe a yarde, 
 I neuer see Matches goe more harde 
 
 about the Cittie of London. 
 For fairer play was never plaide, 
 Nor fairer layes was neuer laide, 
 And a weeke together they keept this trade, 
 as if it had been at London. 
 Yorke, Yorke, &c. 
 
 ^[ The Maior of Yorke, with his companie, 
 Were all in the neldes, I warrant ye, 
 To see good rule kept orderly, 
 
 as if had been at London. 
 Which was a dutifull sight to see, 
 The Maior and Alderman there to bee 
 For the setting forth of Archerie, 
 as well as they doe at London. 
 Y'orke, Yorke, &c. 
 
 ^[ And there was neither fault nor fray, 
 Nor any disorder any way, 
 But euery man did pitch and pay, 
 
 as if it had been at London. 
 As soone as euery Match was done, 
 Euery man was paid that won, 
 And merily vp and doune did ronne, 
 as if it had been at London. 
 Yorke, Yorke, &c.
 
 Yorke, Yorke, for my monie. 5 
 
 And neuer a man that went abroade 
 But thought his monie well bestowde ; 
 And monie layd on heape and loade, 
 
 as if it had been at London. 
 And Gentlemen there so franke and free, 
 As a Mint at Yorke againe should bee, 
 Like shooting did I neuer see, 
 
 except I had been at London. 
 Yorke, Yorke, &c. 
 
 At Yorke were Ambassadours three, 
 Of Russia, Lordes of high degree, 
 This shooting they desirde to see, 
 
 as if it had been at London : 
 And one desirde to draw a Bowe, 
 The force and strength thereof to knowe, 
 And for his delight he drewe it so 
 
 as seldome seene in London. 
 Yorke, Yorke, &c. 
 
 And they did maruaile very much 
 
 There could be any Archer such, 
 
 To shoote so farre the Cloute to tutch, 
 
 which is no newes to London. 
 And they might well consider than 
 An English shaft will kill a man, 
 As hath been proued where and whan, 
 
 and cronicled since in London. Yorke, gfc.
 
 Yorke, Yorke, for my monie. 
 
 The Earle of Cumberlands Archers won 
 Two Matches cleare, ere all was done, 
 And I made hast apace to ronne 
 
 to carie these newes to London ; 
 And Wamsley did the vpshot win, 
 With both his shafts so neere the pin 
 You could scant haue put three fingers in, 
 
 as if it had been at London. Yorke, &c. 
 
 I passe not for my monie it cost, 
 Though some I spent, and some I lost, 
 I wanted neither sod nor roast, 
 as if it had been at London. 
 For there was plentie of euery thing, 
 Redd and fallowe Deere for a King, 
 I neuer sawe so mery shooting 
 
 since first I came from London. 
 / 
 
 Yorke, Yorke, 
 
 God saue the Cittie of Yorke therefore, 
 
 That had such noble frendes in store 
 
 And such good Aldermen : send them more, 
 
 and the like good lucke at London*; 
 For it is not little ioye to see 
 When Lords and Aldermen so agree, 
 With such according Communaltie, 
 
 God sende vs the like at London. 
 
 Yorke, Yorke, &c.
 
 Yorke, Yorke, for my monie. 
 
 God saue the good Earle of Cumberlande, 
 His praise in golden lines shall stande, 
 That maintaines Archerie through the land, 
 
 as well as they doe at London. 
 Whose noble minde so courteously 
 Acquaintes himself with the Communaltie, 
 To the glorie of his Nobilitie, 
 
 I will carie the praise to London. 
 Yorke, Yorke, &c. 
 
 And tell the good Earle of Essex thus, 
 As he is now yong and prosperous, 
 To vse such properties vertuous 
 
 deserues great praise in London : 
 For it is no little ioye to see 
 When noble Youthes so gracious bee 
 To giue their good wllles to their Countree, 
 
 as well as they doe at London. 
 Yorke, 5 orke, &'c. 
 
 Farewell good Cittie of York to thee, 
 Tell Alderman Maltbie this from mee. 
 In print shall this good shooting bee 
 
 as soon as I come at London. 
 And many a Song will I bestowe 
 On all the Musitions that I knowe, 
 To sing the praises, where they goe, 
 
 of the Cittie of Yorke in London. 
 Yorke, Yorke, &c.
 
 8 . Yorke, Yorke, for my monie. 
 
 ^[ God saue our Queene and keep our peace, 
 That our good shooting male increase ; 
 And praying to God let vs not cease, 
 
 as well at Yorke, as at London. 
 That all our Countrey round about 
 May haue Archers good to hit the Clout, 
 Which England cannot be without, 
 no more then Yorke and London. 
 Yorke, Yorke, &c. 
 
 ^[ God graunt that (once) her Maiestie 
 Would come her Cittie of Yorke to see, 
 For the comfort great of that Countree, 
 
 as well as she doth to London. 
 Nothing shal be thought to deare 
 To see her Highnes Person there, 
 With such obedient loue and feare 
 as ever she had in London. 
 
 Yorke, Yorke, /or my monie. 
 
 Of all the Citties that euer I see. 
 For mery pastime and companie, 
 Except the Cittie of London. 
 
 From Yorke, by W.E, 
 
 Imprinted at London by 
 
 Richard lones : dwelling 
 
 neere Holbourne Bridge, 
 
 1584.
 
 A True Relation of the Life and Death 
 of Sir Andrew Barton, a Pyrate and 
 Rover on the Seas. 
 
 Tune, Come follow my Love, SLC. 
 
 " When Flora with her fragrant flowers 
 
 bedect the earth so trim and gay, 
 And Neptune with his dainty showers 
 
 came to present the month ot May, 
 King Henry would a-hunting ride ; 
 
 over the river of Thames past he, 
 Vnto a mountain top also 
 
 did walk some pleasure for to see :
 
 IO The Life and Death of Sir Andrew Barton, 
 
 Where forty Merchants he espyed, 
 
 with fifty sail, come towards him, 
 Who then no sooner were arriv'd, 
 
 but on their knees did thus complain : 
 " An't please your Grace we cannot sail 
 
 to France no voyage to be sure, 
 But Sir Andrew Barton makes us quail, 
 
 and robs us of our marchant-ware." 
 
 Vext was the King, and, turning him, 
 
 said to his Lords of high degree, 
 Have I ne'r a Lord within my Realm 
 
 dare fetch that Traytor unto me ?" 
 To him reply'd Charles Lord Howard, 
 
 I will, my Liege, with heart and hand, 
 If it please you grant me leave, he said, 
 
 " I will perform what you command." 
 
 To him then speak King Henry, 
 
 I fear, my Lord, you are too young. 
 No wit at all, my Leige, quoth he : 
 
 I hope to prove in valour strong : 
 The Scotch Knight I vow to seek, 
 
 in what place soever he be, 
 And bring ashore, with all his might, 
 
 or into Scotland he shall carry me."
 
 The Life and Death of Sir Andrew Barton. 1 1 
 
 A hundred Men, the King then said, 
 
 Out of my Realm shall chosen be, 
 Besides Saylers and Ship-boys, 
 
 to guide a great ship on the Sea ; 
 Bowmen and Gunners of good skill 
 
 shall for this service chosen be, 
 And they, at thy command and will, 
 
 in all affairs shall wait on thee." 
 
 Lord Howard call'd a Gunner then, 
 
 who was the best in all the Realm, 
 His age was threescore years and ten, 
 
 and Peter Simon was his name : 
 My Lord call'd then a Bowman rare, 
 
 whose active hands had gained fame, 
 A Gentleman born in Yorkshire, 
 
 and William Horsely was his name : 
 
 Horsely, quoth he, I must to Sea, 
 to seek a Traytor with good speed ; 
 
 Of a hundred Bowmen brave, quoth he, 
 I have chosen thee to be the Head. 
 
 " If you, my Lord, have chosen me 
 of a hundred Men to be the Head, 
 
 Vpon the main-mast I'll hanged be, 
 
 if twelvescore I miss one shillings breadth, 
 
 Lord Howard then, of courage bold, 
 went to the Sea with pleasant chear,
 
 1 2 'Ike Life and Death of Sir Andrew Barton. 
 
 Not curb'd with winter's piercing cold, 
 though it was the stormy time of year. 
 
 Not long he had been on the Sea, 
 
 on more in days than number three, 
 But one Henry Hunt there he espy'd, 
 
 a Merchant of New-castle was he. 
 To him Lord Howard call'd out amain, 
 
 and strictly charged him to stand, 
 Demanding then from whence he came, 
 
 or where he did intend to land. 
 
 The Merchant then made answer soon, 
 
 with heavy heart and careful mind, 
 " My Lord, my ship it doth belong, 
 
 unto New-castle upon Tine." 
 " Canst thou shew me," the Lord did say, 
 " as thou didst sail by day and night, 
 A Scotish Rover on the Sea, 
 
 his name is Andrew Barton, Knight ?" 
 
 Then the Merchant sigh'd and said, 
 
 with grieved mind and well-away, 
 " But over-well I know that Wight, 
 
 I was his Prisoner yesterday ; 
 As I, my Lord, did sail from France, 
 
 a Burdeaux-voyage to take so far, 
 I met with Sir Andrew Barton thence, 
 
 who rob'd me of my merchant-ware ;
 
 The Life and Death of Sir Andrew Barton,, 
 
 And mickle debts, God knows, I owe, 
 
 and every Man doth crave his own ; 
 And I am bound to London now, 
 
 of our gracious King to beg a boon." 
 " Shew me him," said Lord Howard then, 
 
 " let me once the Villain see, 
 And e'ry penny he hath from thee tane, 
 
 i'll double the same with shilling's three." 
 
 o 
 
 " Now God forbid," the Merchant said, 
 
 " I fear your aim that you will miss ; 
 God bless you from his tyranny, 
 
 For little you think what Man he is. 
 He is brass within and steel without, 
 
 his ship most huge and mighty strong, 
 With eighteen pieces of ordnance 
 
 he carrieth on each side along ; 
 
 With beams for his top-castle, 
 
 as also being huge and high, 
 That neither English nor Portugal 
 
 can Sir Andrew Barton pass by." 
 " Hard news thou shew'st," then said the Lordj 
 
 " to welcome Stranger to the Sea : 
 But, as I said, i'll bring him aboard, 
 
 or into Scotland he shall carry me."
 
 14 The Life and Death of Sir Andrew Barton. 
 
 The Merchant said, " If you will do so 
 
 take counsel then I pray withal, 
 Let no Man to his top-castle go, 
 
 nor strive to let his beams down fall : 
 Lend me seven pieces of ordnance then, 
 
 of each side of my ship," said he 
 " And to-morrow my Lord, 
 
 again I will your Honour see ; 
 
 A glass I'll set as may be seen, 
 
 whether you sail by day or night ; 
 And to-morrow, be sure, before seven, 
 
 you shall see Sir Andrew Barton, Knight," 
 The Merchant set my Lord a glass 
 
 so well apparent in his sight, 
 That on the morrow, as his promise was, 
 
 he saw Sir Andrew Barton, Knight. 
 
 The Lord then swore a mighty oath, 
 
 " Now, by the Heavens, that be of might 
 By faith, believe me, and by troth, 
 
 I think he is a worthy Knight." 
 Sir Andrew Barton seeing him 
 
 thus scornfully to pass by, 
 As though he cared not a pin, 
 
 for him and all his Company ;
 
 7 he Life and Death of Sir Andrew Barton. 15 
 
 Then called he his Men amain, 
 
 " Fetch back yon Pedler now," quoth he, 
 " And e're this way he comes again, 
 i'll teach him well his courtesie." 
 " Fetch me my lyon out of hand," 
 
 saith the Lord, " with rose and streamer high 
 Set up withal a willow wand, 
 
 that Merchant-like I may pass by." 
 
 Thus bravely did Lord Howard pass, 
 
 and on anchor rise so high ; 
 No top- sail at last he cast 
 
 but as a Foe did him defie : 
 A piece of ordnance soon was shot 
 
 by this proud Pirate fierely then 
 Into Lord Howard's middle deck, 
 
 which cruel shot kill'd fourteen Men. 
 
 He called then Peter Simon, he, 
 
 " Look how thy word do stand in stead, 
 For thou shall be hanged on main-mast, 
 
 ifthou miss twelvescore one peny breadth." 
 Then Peter Simon gave a shot, 
 
 which did Sir Andrew mickle scare, 
 In at his deck it came so hot, 
 
 kill'd fifteen of his Men of war ;
 
 l6 The Life and Death of Sir Andrew Barton. 
 
 " Alas !" then said the Pirate stout, 
 
 " I am in danger now I see ; 
 This is some Lord, I greatly fear, 
 
 that is set on to conquer me." 
 Then Henry Hunt, with rigour hot, 
 
 came bravely on the other side, 
 Who likewise shot in at his deck, 
 
 and killed fifty of his Men beside ; 
 
 Then " out, alas !" Sir Andrew cry'd, 
 
 " What may a Man now think or say 
 Yon Merchant-thief that pierceth me, 
 
 he was my Prisoner yesterday !" 
 Then did he on Gordian call 
 
 unto the top-castle for to go, 
 And bid his beams he should let fall, 
 
 for he greatly fear'd an overthrow. 
 
 The Lord call'd Horsely now in haste, 
 
 " Look that thy word now stand in stead, 
 For thou shalt be hanged on Main-mast, 
 
 if thou miss twelvescore a shilling breadth." 
 Then up mast-tree swerved he, 
 
 this stout and mighty Gordian, 
 But Horsely he most happily 
 
 shot him under the collar-bone.
 
 The Life and Death of Sir Andrew Barton. 1 7 
 
 Then call'd he on his Nephew then, 
 
 said, " Sister's Sons I have no mo, 
 Three hundred pound I will give thee 
 
 if thou wilt to top-castle go." 
 Then stoutly he began to climb, 
 
 from off the mast scorn'd to depart, 
 But Horsely soon prevented him, 
 
 and deadly pierced him to the heart. 
 
 His Men being slain, then up amain, 
 
 did this proud Pirate climb with speed ; 
 For armour of proof he had put on, 
 
 and did not dint of arrows dread ; 
 41 Come hither, Horsely," saith the Lord, 
 
 " see thou thy arrows aim aright, 
 Great means to thee I will afford, 
 
 and, if thou speed'st, i'll make the Knight." 
 
 Sir Andrew did climb up the tree 
 
 with good right will and all his main ; 
 Then upon the breast hit Horsely he, 
 
 till the arrow did return again ; 
 Then Horsely 'spied a private place, 
 
 with a perfect eye in a secret part, 
 His arrow swiftly flew apace, 
 
 and smote Sir Andrew to the heart ;
 
 1 8 The Life and Deaih of Sir Andrew Barton. 
 
 " Fight on, fight on, my merry Men all, 
 
 a little I am hurt yet not slain, 
 I'll but lye down and bleed a while, 
 
 and come and fight with you again. 
 And do not," said he, " fear English Rogues, 
 
 and of your Foes stand not in awe, 
 But stand fast by St. Andrew's Cross, 
 
 until you hear my whistle blow." 
 
 They never heard his whistle blow, 
 
 which made them all full sore afraid ; 
 Then Horsely said, " My Lord, aboard ! 
 
 ior now Sir Andrew Barton's dead." 
 Thus boarded they this gallant ship, 
 
 with right good will and all their main, 
 Eighteen-score Scots alive in it, 
 
 besides as many more was slain. 
 
 The Lord went where Sir Andrew lay, 
 
 and quickly thence cut off his head." 
 "I should forsake England many a day, 
 
 if thou wert alive as thou wert dead." 
 Thus from the wars Lord Howard came, 
 
 with mickle joy and triumphing, 
 The Pirate's head he brought along, 
 
 for to present unto our king ;
 
 The Life and Death of Sir A ndrew Barton. 1 9 
 
 Who briefly then to him did say, 
 
 before he knew well what was done, 
 "Where is the Knight and Pirate gay, 
 
 that I myself may give the doom ?" 
 4 'You may thank God," then said the Lord, 
 
 " and four Men in the Ship," quoth he, 
 "That we are safely come ashore, 
 
 sith you never had such an enemy ; 
 
 That is Henry Hunt, and Peter Simon 
 William Horsely and Peter's Son : 
 
 Therefore reward them for their pains, 
 For they did service at their turn." 
 
 To the Merchant then the King did say, 
 "In lieu of what he hath from the tane, 
 
 I give to thee a noble a day, 
 
 Sir Andrew's whistle and his chain. 
 
 To Peter Simon a crown a day ; 
 
 and half-a-crown a day to Peter's Son ; 
 And that was for a shot so gay 
 
 which bravely brought Sir Andrew down. 
 Horsely, I will make the a Knight, 
 
 and in Yorkshire thou shalt dwell ; 
 Lord Howard shall Earl Bury hight, 
 
 for this title he deserveth well.
 
 2O The Life and Death of Sir Andrew Barton. 
 
 Seven shillings to our English Men, 
 who in this fight did stoutly stand ; 
 
 And twelve-pence a day to the Scots, till they 
 come to my Brother- King's high land." 
 
 Printed by and for S23, , and sold by the 
 Booksellers of $p**corir an&
 
 Aniantium ircz Amor is redintegratio 
 
 est. 
 
 The falling out of Louers, is the renewing of Loue. 
 To the tune of the Meddow brow. 
 
 Come my best and deerest, 
 
 come sit thee downe by me ; 
 When thou and I am neerest 
 
 breeds my felicitie ; 
 To verifie the Prouerbe 
 
 would set my heart at rest, 
 Amantium iroz amoris 
 
 redintegratio est.
 
 22 
 
 Amantium irce. 
 
 My faire and chast Penelope, 
 
 declare to me thy minde : 
 Wherein I haue offended thee, 
 
 to make thee proue vnkinde ? 
 I never vrg'd the cause 
 
 in earnest or in iest : 
 Aman^tm irce amoris 
 
 redintegratio est. 
 
 Thy beauty gaue me much content, 
 
 thy vertue gave me more ; 
 Thy modest kinde ciuility, 
 
 which I doe much adore ; 
 Thy modest stately lesture 
 
 Hues shrined in my brest ; 
 Amantium irce amoris 
 
 redintegratio est. 
 
 How dearely I haue loued thee 
 
 thou wilt confesse and tell 
 More then my tongue can here expresse, 
 
 my fayre and sweetest Nell ; 
 Oh hadst thou bin but true in love 
 
 I had beene double blest : 
 Amantium irce amoris 
 
 redintegratio est.
 
 Amantium ir&. 23 
 
 And wilt thou then forsake me, loue, 
 
 and thus from me be gone, 
 Whom I doe hold my turtle doue, 
 
 my peerlesse Parragon 
 The Phoenix of the world 
 
 and pillow of my rest ? 
 Amantium irce amoris 
 
 redintegratio est. 
 
 Fayre Cynthia, the want of thee 
 
 doth breed my ouerthrow ; 
 My body in my agony, 
 
 doth melt away like snow. 
 The plagues of Egipt could no more 
 
 torment my tender brest ; 
 Amantium iroe amoris 
 
 redintegratio est. 
 
 Now I, like weeping Niobe, 
 
 may wash my hand in teares, 
 Whilst others gaine the loue of thee 
 
 I daunted am with feares ; 
 Now may I sigh and waile in woe, 
 
 disasterously distrest : 
 Amantium ircz amoris 
 
 redintegratio est.
 
 24- Amantium irce. 
 
 And thus in breuitie of time 
 
 I sadly end my ditty, 
 Which here am left to starue and pine 
 
 without remorse or pitty. 
 Yet will I pray that still thou maist 
 
 remaine among the blest; 
 Amantium irce amoris 
 
 redintegratio est.
 
 The Maydes Answer, 
 
 To the same tune. 
 
 Though falling out of faithfull friends 
 
 renewing be of loue. 
 A change of time will make amends, 
 
 a turtle I may proue : 
 And till that change of time, 
 
 with patience be thou blest : 
 Amantium iroz amor is 
 
 redintegratio est.
 
 26 The Maydes Answere. 
 
 The tryall of Penelope 
 
 in me is proued true, 
 Misdoubt thou not my constancie, 
 
 the turtle keepes her hew, 
 And to her chosen mate 
 
 doth bear a loyall brest : 
 Amantium irce amor is 
 
 redintegratio est. 
 
 The faithful knot of loue is bound, 
 
 I rest thy deare for euer, 
 Thy pining heart, with bleeding wound, 
 
 is cured by the giuer 
 The shaft of loue I shot 
 
 returnes into my brest : 
 Amantium irce amoris 
 
 redintegratio est. 
 
 I made but tryall of thy heart, 
 
 how constant it would be ; 
 And now I see thou wilt not start 
 
 nor fleet away from me ; 
 Though Cressida I proue, 
 
 yet Troylus thou wilt rest : 
 Amantium iro2 amoris 
 
 redintegratio est.
 
 The Maydes A nswere. 2 7 
 
 Account me for no woman kinde 
 
 if I vndoe the knot : 
 Or beare the false and faithlesse minde 
 
 to haue the same forgot 
 That once, betwixt vs two, 
 
 were sealed in each brest : 
 Amantium irce amons 
 
 redintegratio est. 
 
 The siluer Moone shall shine by day, 
 
 the golden Sunne by night ; 
 Ere I will go that wanton way 
 
 wherein some take delight. 
 But, for v^neas, I, 
 
 with Dido, pierce my brest : 
 Amantium irce amor is 
 
 redintegratio est. 
 
 Though I have beene vntrue vniust, 
 
 and changing like the Moone, 
 Yet in thy kindnesse doe I trust 
 
 that I may haue this boone : 
 That sweet forgiuenesse may 
 
 bring comfort from thy brest : 
 Amantium irce amoris 
 
 redintegratio est.
 
 28 The Maydes Answere. 
 
 You chrystall Planets, shine all cleer 
 
 and light a Louer's way : ' 
 Let me imbrace my louely deere, 
 
 which was I doubt a-stray : 
 If once I get the same 
 
 I'le feede it in my brest ; 
 Amantium irce amoris 
 
 redintegratio cst. 
 
 Come, mourne with me, each louing Lasse 
 
 That Cupid's darlings be, 
 Green loue will change like withered grasse, 
 
 the same behold in me ; 
 If I had stedfast beene, 
 
 then had my loue beene blest : 
 Amantium iroe amoris 
 
 reaintegratio est. 
 
 Finis. 
 
 Printed at London for H. Gosson.
 
 An Admirable New Northern Story 
 of two Constant Lovers. 
 
 Of two constant Lovers, as I understand, 
 
 Were born near Appleby, in Westmoreland ; 
 
 The Lad's name Anthony, Constance the Lass, 
 
 To Sea they went both, and great dangers did pass ; 
 
 How they suffer'd shipwrack on the coast of Spain ; 
 
 For two years divided, and then met again, 
 
 By wonderful fortune and case accident, 
 
 And now both live at home with joy and content. 
 
 The Tune is $ fcjouUJ tfjou Uoer't for
 
 30 Constance and Anthony. 
 
 
 
 Two Lovers in the North, 
 
 Constance and Anthony, 
 Of them I will set forth 
 
 a gallant history : 
 They lov'd exceeding well, 
 
 as plainly doth appear ; 
 But that which I shall tell, 
 
 the like you ne'r did hear. 
 Still she crys, " Anthony, 
 
 my bonny Anthony, 
 Gang thou by Land or Sea, 
 
 I'll wend along with tkee" 
 
 Anthony must to Sea, 
 
 his calling him did bind, 
 "My Constance dear," quoth he, 
 
 "I must leave thee behind : 
 I prithee do not grieve, 
 
 Thy tears will not prevail ; 
 I'll think on thee, my Sweet, 
 
 when the Ship's under Sail." 
 But still, &c. 
 
 " How may that be ?" said he, 
 " consider well the case :" 
 
 Quoth she, "sweet Anthony, 
 I'll bide not in this place.
 
 Constance and Anthony. 
 
 If thou gang, so will I, 
 
 Of the means do not doubt : 
 
 A Woman's policy 
 
 great matters may find out : 
 
 My bonny Anthony, 
 
 41 I would be very glad, 
 
 but prithee tell me how ?" 
 " I'll dress me like a Lad, 
 
 what say'st thou to me now ?" 
 '"The Sea thou can'st not brook,"- 
 
 " Yes, very well," quoth she, 
 " I'll Scullion to the Cook 
 
 for thy sweet company. 
 My bonny, &c. 
 
 Anthony's leave she had, 
 
 and drest in Man's array, 
 She seem'd the blithest Lad 
 
 seen on a Summer's Day. 
 O see what Love can do ! 
 
 at home she will not bide : 
 With her true Love she'll go, 
 
 let weal or woe betide. 
 My Dearest
 
 32 Constance and Anthony. 
 
 In the Ship 'twas her lott 
 
 to be the imder-Cook ; 
 And at the Fire hot 
 
 Wonderful pains she took ; 
 She served ev'ry one, 
 
 fitting to their degree : 
 And now and then alone, 
 
 She kissed Anthony. 
 "My bonny Anthony, 
 
 my bonny Anthony, 
 Gang thoit, by Land or Sea 
 
 Pit wend along with thee"
 
 A lack and weladay, 
 
 in Tempest on the main, 
 Their Ship was cast away 
 
 upon the coast of Spain ; 
 To the mercy of the Waves 
 
 they all committed were, 
 Constance her own self she saves, 
 Then she crys for her dear. 
 "My bonny Anthony, 
 
 my bonny Anthony, 
 Gang thou by Land or Sea, 
 
 Pie wend along with thee"
 
 34 Constance and Anthony. 
 
 Swimming upon a Plank, 
 
 at Bilbo she got ashore, 
 First she did heaven thank, 
 
 Then she lamented sore, 
 " O woe is me," said she, 
 
 " the saddest Lass alive, 
 My dearest Anthony, 
 
 Now on the Sea doth drive. 
 My bonny, 
 
 " What shall become of me, 
 
 why do I strive for shore, 
 Sith my sweet Anthony, 
 
 I never shall see more ?" 
 Fair^ Constance, do not grieve, 
 
 the same good providence 
 Hath sav'd thy lover sweet, 
 
 but he is far from hence. 
 Still, &c. 
 
 A Spanish Merchant rich, 
 
 saw this fair-seeming lad 
 That did lament so much, 
 
 and was so grevious sad, 
 He had in England been, 
 
 and English understood, 
 He having heard and seen, 
 
 he in amazement stood : 
 Still, &c.
 
 Constance and Anthony. 35 
 
 The Merchant asked her 
 
 what was that Anthony : 
 Quoth she, " my Brother, Sir, 
 
 who came from thence with me :" 
 He did her entertain, 
 
 thinking she was a Boy, 
 Two years she did remain 
 
 before she met her joy. 
 Still, &e. 
 
 Anthony up was tane 
 
 By an English Runagade, 
 With whom he did remain 
 
 at the Sea-roving trade : 
 I'th nature of a slave 
 
 he did i'th Galley row ; 
 Thus he his life did save, 
 
 but Constance did not know 
 Still she crys " Anthony, 
 
 my bonny Anthony, 
 Gang thou by Land or Sea, 
 
 F II wend along with thee." 
 
 Now mark what came to pass, 
 see how the fates did work, 
 
 A Ship that her Master's was, 
 surpriz'd this English Turk,
 
 36 Constance and Anthony. 
 
 And into Bilbo brought 
 all that aboard her were ; 
 
 Constance full little thought 
 Anthony was so near. 
 
 Still, &c. 
 
 When they were come on shore, 
 
 Anthony and the rest, 
 She who was sad before, 
 
 was now with joy possest, 
 The Merchant much did muse 
 
 at this so sudden change, 
 He did demand the News, 
 
 which unto him was strange ; 
 Now she, 
 
 Upon her knees she fell 
 unto her master kind, 
 
 And all the truth did tell 
 Nothing she kept behind : 
 
 At which he did admire, 
 
 And in a ship of Spain 
 Not paying for their hire 
 
 He sent them home again. 
 Now she,
 
 Constance and Anthony. 37 
 
 The Spanish Merchant rich 
 
 did ot's own bounty give 
 A sum of Gold, on which 
 
 they now most bravely live : 
 And now in Westmoreland, 
 
 they were joyn'd hand in hand, 
 Constance and Anthony, 
 
 they live in mirth and glee. 
 Now she says, " Anthony, 
 
 my bonny Anthony, 
 Good providence we see, 
 
 hath guarded thee and me." 
 
 Finis. 
 
 Printed for E23tUiam 
 at the Angel in 
 and
 
 An[ne] Askew, 
 
 Intituled, I am a Woman Poor and Blind. 
 
 I am a woman poor and blind, 
 
 and 'little knowledge remains in me, 
 Long 'have I sought, but fain would find, 
 What Herb in my Garden were best to be. 
 
 A Garden I have which is unknown, 
 which God of his goodness gave to me, 
 
 I mean my body, where I should have sown 
 The seed of Christ's true verity.
 
 Anne Askew. 39 
 
 My spirit within me is vexed sore, 
 my spirit striveth against the same, 
 
 My sorrows do encrease more and more, 
 my conscience suffereth most bitter pain. 
 
 I with myself being thus at strife 
 
 would fain have been at rest, 
 musing and studying, in mortal life, 
 
 what things I might do to please God best. 
 
 With whole intent and one accord, 
 
 unto a Gardiner that I did know, 
 I desired him, for the love of the Lord, 
 
 true seed in my garden for to sow, 
 
 Then this proud Gardener, seeing me so blind, 
 he thought on me to work his will, 
 
 And flattered me with words so kind, 
 
 to have me continue in my blindness still. 
 
 He fed me then with lies and mocks, 
 
 for venial sins he bid me go ; 
 to give my money to stones and stocks, 
 
 which was stark lies and nothing so 
 
 With stinking meat then was I fed, 
 
 for to keep me from my Salvation, 
 I had Trentals of mass, and balls of lead, 
 
 not one word spoke of Christ's passion.
 
 4 o 
 
 Anne Askew. 
 
 In me was sown all kind of feigned seeds, 
 with Popish Ceremonies many a one, 
 
 Masses of Requiem, with other juggling deeds, 
 still God's Spirit out of my garden was gone. 
 
 Then was I commanded most strictly, 
 if of my Salvation I would be sure, 
 
 To build some Chappel or Chauntry, 
 
 to be pray'd for while the world doth endure. 
 
 "Beware of new learning," quoth he, "it lyes, 
 
 which in the thing I most abhor, 
 Meddle not with it in any manner of wise, 
 
 but do as your fathers have done before." 
 
 My trust I did put in the Devil's works, 
 thinking sufficient my Soul to save, 
 
 Being worse than either lews or Turks, 
 Thus Christ of his merits I did deprave, 
 
 I might liken myself, with a woful heart, 
 unto the Dumb man, in Luke the eleven, 
 
 From whence Christ caused the Devil to depart, 
 but, shortly after, he took the other seven. 
 
 My time thus, good Lord, so quickly I spent, 
 alas ! I shall die the sooner therefore ; 
 
 O Lord, I find it written in thy Testament, 
 that thou hast mercy enough in store
 
 Anne Askew. 41 
 
 For such Sinners, as the Scripture saith, 
 
 that would gladly repent & follow thy word, 
 
 Which i'le not deny, whilst I have breath, 
 for prison, fire, faggot, or fierce sword. 
 
 Strengthen me, good Lord, thy truth to stand, 
 
 for the bloody butchers have me at their will, 
 With their slaughter knives ready drawn in 
 
 their hands, 
 my simple Carcass to devour and kill. 
 
 O Lord, forgive me my offence, 
 
 for I offended thee very sore ; 
 Take therefore my sinful body from hence, 
 
 then shall I, vile Creature, offend thee no more. 
 
 I would wish all creatures, and faithful friends, 
 for to keep from this Gardener's hands, 
 
 For he will bring them soon unto their ends, 
 with cruel torments of fierce fire brands. 
 
 I dare not presume for him to pray, 
 
 because the truth of him it was well known, 
 
 But, since that time, he had gone astray, 
 
 and much pestilent seed abroad he hath sown.
 
 42 Anne Askew. 
 
 Because that now I have no space 
 the cause of my death truly to show, 
 
 I trust hereafter that, by God's holy Grace, 
 that all faithful men shall plainly know. 
 
 To thee, O Lord, I bequeath my spirit, 
 that art the Work-master of the same, 
 
 It is thine, Lord, therefore take it of right, 
 my carcass on earth I leave, from whence it 
 came. 
 
 Although to ashes it be now burned, 
 
 I know thou canst raise it again 
 In the same likeness as thou it formed, 
 
 in Heaven with thee evermore to remain," 
 
 Printed by and for A: M. and sold by the 
 Booksellers of London.
 
 A Rare Example of a Vertuous Maid 
 
 in |Jart0, who was by her own Mother procured 
 to be put in Prison, thinking thereby to compel 
 her to Popery : but she continued to the end, 
 and finished her life in the fire. 
 
 Tune is, O Man of Desperation. 
 
 It was a Ladies Daughter 
 
 of Paris properly, 
 Her mother her commanded 
 
 to Mass that she should hie : 
 " O pardon me, dear mother," 
 
 her daughter dear did say, 
 " Vnto that filthy Idol 
 
 I never can obey." 
 
 With weeping and wailing 
 
 her mother then did go 
 To assemble her Kinsfolks, 
 
 that they the truth may know ; 
 Who, being then assembled, 
 
 they did this maiden call, 
 And put her into prison, 
 
 to fear her there withal.
 
 44 ft was a Lady$ Daughter. 
 
 But, where they thought to fear her, 
 
 she did most strong endure ; 
 Altho' her years was tender, 
 
 her faith was firm and sure ; 
 She weigh'd not their allurements, 
 
 she fear'd not firey flame, 
 She hop'd, thro' Christ her Saviour, 
 
 to have immortal fame. 
 
 Before the judge they brought her, 
 
 thinking that she would turn, 
 And there she was condemned 
 
 in fire for to burn. 
 Instead of golden bracelets, 
 
 with cords they bound her fast, 
 " My God, grant me with patience," 
 
 (quoth she) " to die at last" 
 
 And on the morrow after, 
 
 which was her dying day, 
 They stript this silly Damsel 
 
 out of her rich array ; 
 Her Chain cf Gold, so costly, 
 
 away from her they take, 
 And she again most joyfully 
 
 did all the world forsake.
 
 // was a Lady s Daughter. 45 
 
 Vnto the place of torment 
 
 they brought her speedily, 
 With heart and mind most constant, 
 
 she willing was to die. 
 But seeing many Ladies 
 
 assembled in that place, 
 These words she then pronounced, 
 
 lamenting of their case. 
 
 " You Ladies of this City, 
 
 mark well my words," (quoth she) 
 " Although I shall be burned, 
 
 yet do not pitty me ; 
 Yourselves I rather pitty, 
 
 and weep for your decay, 
 Amend your time fair Ladies, 
 
 ana do no time delay." 
 
 Then came her mother, weeping, 
 
 her daughter to behold 
 And in her hand she brought her 
 
 a book covered with Gold : 
 " Throw hence," quoth she, " that idol, 
 
 convey it from my sight, 
 And bring me hither my bible, 
 
 wherein I take delight. 
 
 D
 
 46 // was a Ladys Daughter. 
 
 But, my distressed mother, 
 
 why weep you ? be content, 
 You have to death delivered me, 
 
 most like an innocent. 
 Tormentor, do thy office 
 
 on me, when thou think'st best, 
 But God, my Heavenly Father, 
 
 will bring my soul to rest. 
 
 But oh ! my aged Father, 
 
 where-ever thou dost lye, 
 Thou know'st not thy poor daughter 
 
 is ready for to die ; 
 But yet, amongst the Angels, 
 
 in Heaven I hope to dwell 
 Therefore, my loving Father, 
 
 I bid thee now farewel. 
 
 Farewel, likewise, my mother, 
 
 adieu, my friends, also, 
 God grant that you by others 
 
 may never feel such woe ; 
 Forsake your superstition, 
 
 The cause of mortal strife, 
 Embrace God's true Religion > 
 
 for which I lose my life."
 
 It was a Ladys Daughter. 47 
 
 When all these words were ended, 
 
 then came the man of death, 
 Who kindled soon a fire, 
 
 which stopt this Virgin's breath : 
 To Christ, her only Saviour, 
 
 she did her Soul commend, 
 " Farewel" (quoth she) " good people !" 
 
 and thus she made an end." 
 
 Printed by and for A. M. and sold by the Booksellers 
 of London.
 
 The Rarest BALLAD that ever was seen, 
 
 Of the Blind BEGGER'S DAUGHTER of Bednal 
 Green. 
 
 It was a blind Beggar that long lost his sight, 
 He had a fair Daughter, most pleasant & bright, 
 And many a gallant brave suitor had she, 
 For none was so comely as pretty Bessee. 
 
 And though she was of favour most fair, 
 Yet, seeing she was but a Begger his heir, 
 Of ancient housekeepers despised was she 
 Whose sons came as suitors to pretty Bessee. 
 
 Wherefore, in great sorrow, fair Bessee did say, 
 " Good father and mother, let me go away 
 To seek out my fortune, where-ever it be." 
 The suit was then granted to pretty Bessee. 
 
 * 
 
 Thus Bessee that was of beauty most bright, 
 Then clad in gray russet, &, late in the night, 
 From father and mother alone parted she, 
 Who sighed and sobbed for pretty Bessee.
 
 The Blind Beggers Daughter of Bednal- Green. 49 
 
 She went till she came at Stratford at Bow, 
 Then knew she not whither, nor which way, to go ; 
 With tears she lamented her hard destiny, 
 So sad & so heavy was pretty Bessee. 
 
 She kept on her journey until it was day, 
 And went unto Rumford along the high-way, 
 And at the Kings-arms entertained was she, 
 So fair and well-favoured was pretty Bessee. 
 
 She had not been there one month to an end, 
 But master, & mistress, & all was her friend, 
 And every brave gallant that once did her see, 
 Was straightway in love with pretty Bessee. 
 
 Great gifts they did send her of silver & gold, 
 And in their songs daily her love they extold ; 
 Her beauty was blazed in every degree, 
 So fair & so comely was pretty Bessee. 
 
 The young men of Rumford in her had their joy, 
 She shew'd herself courteous, but never too coy, 
 At their commandment still would she be, 
 So fair & so comely is pretty Bessee. 
 
 Four suitors at once unto her did go, 
 They craved her favour, but still she said, " no ; 
 I would not wish Gentlemen to marry with me," 
 Yet ever they honoured pretty Bessee.
 
 50 The Blind Beggers Daughter of Bednal- Green. 
 
 The one of them was a gallant young knight, 
 And he came to her disguis'd in the night ; 
 The second a Gentleman of good Degree, 
 Who wooed & sued for pretty Bessee. 
 
 A Merchant of London, whose wealth was not small, 
 Was then the third suitor, & proper withal ; 
 Her master's own son the fourth man must be, 
 Who swore he would dye for pretty Bessee. 
 
 "And if thou wilt marry with me," quod the Knight, 
 " I'll make thee a Lady with joy and delight, 
 My heart is inthralled by thy beauty, 
 Then grant me thy favour, my pretty Bessee." 
 
 The Gentleman said, " Come marry with me, 
 In silks and in velvet my Bessee shall be, 
 My heart lies distressed, O hear me, " quoth he, 
 "And grant me thy love, my pretty Bessee." 
 
 " Let me be thy husband," the Merchant did say, 
 " Thou shalt live in London most gallant and gay, 
 My ships shall bring home rich jewels for thee, 
 And I will for ever love pretty Bessee." 
 
 Then Bessee she sighed, & thus she did say, 
 " My father and mother I mean to obey, 
 First get their good-will, and be faithful to me, 
 And you shall enjoy your pretty Bessee."
 
 The Blind Beggers Daughter of Bednal-Grcen. 51 
 
 To every one this answer she made, 
 Wherefore unto her they joyfully said, 
 "This thing to fulfill we all do agree, 
 But were dwells thy father, my pretty Bessee ?" 
 
 "My father" (quoth she) "is plain to be seen, 
 The silly blind begger of Bednal-green, 
 That daily sits begging for charity, 
 He is the good father of pretty Bessee." 
 
 His marks and his tokens are known full well, 
 He alwaies is led with a dog and a bell, 
 A silly old man, God knoweth, is he, 
 Yet he is the father of pretty Bessee." 
 
 " Nay then," (quoth the Merchant,) "thou art not 
 
 for me," 
 
 " Nor," (quoth the Inholder,) " my wife shall not be," 
 " I loath," (quoth the Gentleman,) "a begger's degree, 
 Therefore fare you well, my pretty Bessee." 
 
 " Why, then," (quoth the Knight,) " hap better or 
 
 worse, 
 
 I weigh not true love by the weight of the purse, 
 And beauty is beauty in every degree, 
 Then welcome to me, my pretty Bessee. 
 
 With thee to thy father forthwith will I go ;" 
 
 " Nay, soft," (quoth his kinsman,) "it must not be so, 
 
 A begger's daughter no Lady shall be, 
 
 Then take thy adieu of pretty Bessee."
 
 52 The Blind Begger s Daughter of Bednal-Green. 
 
 And soon after this, by break of the Day, 
 The knight had from Rumford, stole Betty away ; 
 The young men of Rumford, so sick as may be, 
 Rode after to fetch again pretty Bessee. 
 
 As swift as the wind to ride they were seen, 
 Vntil they came near to Bednal-green ; 
 And, as the knight lighted most courteously, 
 They fought against him for pretty Bessee. 
 
 But rescue came presently over the plain, 
 Or else the knight for his love there had been slain, 
 The fray being ended, then straight he did see 
 His kinsman come railing at pretty Bessee. 
 
 Then speak the blind begger, "altho' I be poor, 
 Rail not against my child at mine own door, 
 Tho' she be not deckt with velvet and pearl, 
 Yet will I drop angels with thee for my Girl ; 
 
 And then, if my gold will better her birth, 
 And equal the gold that you lay on the earth, 
 Then neither rail, nor grudge you lo see 
 The blind begger's daughter a lady to be ; 
 
 But first I will hear, and have it well known, 
 The gold that you drop shall be all your own." 
 With that they replie"d, " Contented we be" ; 
 "Then there's" (quoth the begger) "forpretty Bessee."
 
 The Blind Begger s Daughter of Bednal-Green. 53 
 
 With that an angel he cast on the ground, 
 
 And dropped in angels full three thousand pound, 
 
 And oftentimes it proved most plain, 
 
 For the gentleman's one the begger dropt twain 
 
 So as the place, whereas he did sit, 
 With gold was covered every whit : 
 The Gentleman having dropt all'his store, 
 Said, " Begger, hold ! for I have no more : 
 
 Thou hast fulfilled thy promise aright." 
 " Then marry my Girl," quoth he to knight, 
 " And here," quoth he, " I'l throw you down, 
 A hundred pound more to buy her a gown." 
 
 The Gentlemen all, that this treasure had seen, 
 Admired the Begger of Bednal-green ; 
 And those that were her suitors before, 
 Their flesh for very anger they tore. 
 
 Thus was their Bessee matcht to a knight, 
 
 And made a lady in others despight ; 
 
 A fairer lady there never was seen 
 
 Than the begger's daughter of Bednal-green. 
 
 But of her sumptuous marriage and feast, 
 And what brave Lords & Knights thither was prest, 
 The second part shall set forth to your sight, 
 With marvelous pleasure and wished delight.
 
 54 The Blind Beggers Daughter of Bednal-Green. 
 [PART II.] 
 
 Of a blind begger's daughter most fair and bright, 
 That late was betrothed to a young knight, 
 All the discourse thereof you may see, 
 But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee. 
 
 Within a gallant palace most brave, 
 Adorned with all the cost they could have, 
 This wedding was kept most sumptuously, 
 And all for the love of pretty Bessee.
 
 The Blind Beggers Daughter of Bednal-Green. 55 
 
 All kind of dainties and delicates sweet, 
 
 Was brought to their banquet as was thought meet, 
 
 Patridge, Plover, & venison most free, 
 
 Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee. 
 
 This wedding thro' England was spread by report, 
 So that a great number did thither resort 
 Of nobles and gentiles of every degree. 
 And all for the fame of pretty Bessee. 
 
 To church then went this gallant young Knight, 
 His bride followed after like a Lady most bright, 
 With troops of Ladies, the like was ne'er seen, 
 As went with sweet Bessee of Bednal-green. 
 
 This wedding being solemnised, then 
 With musick performed by skilful men, 
 The Nobles and Gentles sat down at that tide, 
 Each one beholding the beautiful bride. 
 
 But after their sumptuous dinner was done, 
 
 To talk & to reason a number begun 
 
 Of the blind begger's daughter most bright, 
 
 And what with his daughter he gave to the Knight. 
 
 Then speak the Nobles, " Much marvel have we, 
 The jolly blind begger we cannot here see." 
 " My Lords," quoth the bride, ' my father's so base, 
 He's loth with his presence these 'states to disgrace."
 
 5 6 The Blind Beggers Daughter of Btdnal- Green. 
 
 The praise of a woman in question to bring, 
 Before her own face were a flattering thing ; 
 " We think thy father's baseness," (quoth they) 
 " Might by thy beauty be clean put away." 
 
 They had no sooner these pleasant words spoke, 
 But in comes the begger with a silken cloak, 
 A velvet cap & a feather had he, 
 And now a Musician forsooth he would be ; 
 
 And being led in from catching of harm, 
 He had a dainty lute under his arm, 
 Said, " Please you hear any musick of me, 
 A song I will sing you of pretty Bessee." 
 
 With that his lute he twanged straightway, 
 And thereon began most sweetly to play, 
 And, after a lesson, was plaid two or three, 
 He strain'd out this song most delicately : 
 
 " A begger's daughter did dwell on the green, 
 Who for her beauty may well be a queen 
 A blith bonay Lass and dainty was she, 
 And many one called her pretty Bessee. 
 
 Her father had no goods nor no lands, 
 But begged for a penny all day with his hands, 
 And yet for her marriage gave thousands three, 
 Yet still had somewhat for pretty Bessee.
 
 7 he Blind Beggers Daiighter of Bednal-Green. 57 
 
 And if any one her birth do disdain, 
 Her father is ready, with might & main, 
 To prove she is come of a noble degree, 
 Therefore let none flout at my pretty Bessee." 
 
 With that the Lords & company round, 
 With hearty laughter was ready to sound ; 
 At last said the Lords, " Full well we may see, 
 The bride and the begger's beholden to thee." 
 
 W^ith that the bride all blushing did rise, 
 
 With the fair water all in her fair eyes ; 
 
 " Pardon my father, grave Nobles," (quoth she) 
 
 " That through blind affection thus doteth on me." 
 
 "If this be thy father," the Nobles did say. 
 " Well may he be proud of this happy Day ; 
 Yet by his countenance well we may see, 
 His birth with his fortune did never agree. 
 
 And therefore, blind begger, we pray thee bewray, 
 And look that the truth to us thou do say ; 
 Thy birth and thy parentage, what it might be, 
 Even for the love thou bearest to pretty Bessee." 
 
 " Then give me leave, you Gentles each one, 
 A song more to sing and then I'll be gone; 
 And if that I do not win good report, 
 Then do not give me a groat for my sport.
 
 58 The Blind Begger s Daughter of Bednal-Green. 
 
 When first our King his fame did advance, 
 And fought for his title in delicate France ; 
 In many places great perils past he, 
 But then was not born my pretty Bessee. 
 
 And in those wars went over to fight, 
 Many a brave Duke, a Lord, and a Knight, 
 And with 'em young Monford of courage so free ? 
 But then was not born my pretty Bessee. 
 
 And there did young Monford, with a blow o'th' face. 
 Lose both his eyes in a very short space ; 
 His life also had been gone with his sight, 
 Had not a young woman come forth i'th' night. 
 
 Amongst the slain men, her fancy did move 
 To search and to seek for her own true love ; 
 Who, seeing young Montford there gasping lie, 
 She saved his life thro' her charity. 
 
 And then all our victuals, in beggers' attire, 
 At hands of good people we then did require : 
 At last into England, as now is seen, 
 We came, and remained at Bednal-green. 
 
 And thus we have lived in fortune's despight, 
 Tho' poor, yet contented with humble delight : 
 And in my old Years, a comfort to be, 
 God sent me a daughter called pretty Bessee.
 
 The Blind Begger s Daughter of Bednal-Gretn. 59 
 
 And thus, you Nobles, my song I do end, 
 Hoping the same no man doth offend ; 
 Full forty long winters thus have I been, 
 A silly blind begger of Bednal-green." 
 
 Now when the company every one 
 Did hear the strange tale in song he had shown, 
 They were all amazed, as well they might be, 
 Both at the blind begger and pretty Bessee. 
 
 With that the fair Bride they then did imbraee, 
 Saying, " You are come to an honourable race, 
 Thy father likewise of a high degree, 
 And thou as worthy a Lady to be." 
 
 Thus was the feast ended with joy & delight, 
 A happy Bridegroom was made the young Knight, 
 Who lived in joy and felicity, 
 With his fair Lady, pretty Bessee. 
 
 Printed by and for fl* f&ilbourn, and sold by the 
 Booksellers of Pye-corner and London- Bridge.
 
 The Batchelor's Feast, 
 
 OR 
 
 The difference betwixt, a single life and a double ; 
 being the Batchelor's pleasure, and the married 
 Man's trouble. 
 
 To a pleasant new Tune called With a hie dildo, dilL 
 
 As I walkt forth of late, 
 
 where grasse and flowers spring, 
 I heard a Batchelor 
 
 within an Harbour sing.
 
 The Batchelor s Feast. 6 1 
 
 The tennor of his song 
 
 contain'd much melodic, 
 It is a gallant thing 
 
 to live at liberty : 
 With hie dilldo dill, 
 
 hie ho dildiirlie : 
 It is a delightfull thing 
 
 to live at liberty. 
 
 Wee Batchelors can flaunt 
 
 in Country and in Towne, 
 And in good company 
 
 may meryly spend a crowne ; 
 Wee may doe as wee list, 
 
 our lives from cares are free, 
 O 'tis a gallant thing 
 
 to live at liberty : 
 With hie dill, &c. 
 
 No cradle have wee to rocke, 
 
 nor children that doe cry, 
 No land-lords rent to pay, 
 
 no nurses to supply : 
 No wife to scould and brawle, 
 
 now we still keepe good company 
 With them that take delight 
 
 to live at liberty : 
 
 With hie dill, &c. 
 
 E
 
 62 The Batchelor*s Feast. 
 
 While married men doe lie 
 
 with wordly cares opprest, 
 Wee Batchelors can sleepe, 
 
 and sweetly take our rest : 
 O, married men must seeke 
 
 for gossips and a nurse, 
 Which heavie makes the heart, 
 
 but light it makes the purse. 
 With hie dill, &c. 
 
 For candell and for soape 
 
 and many knacks beside, 
 For clouts and swadling bands, 
 
 hee likewise must provide, 
 To pay for sops and wine 
 
 hee must also agree, 
 O 'tis a delightfull thing 
 
 to live at liberty : 
 With hie dill, &c. 
 
 A man that doth intend 
 
 to lead a quiet life 
 Must practise day and night 
 
 to please his longing wife ; 
 New fashions must bee had 
 
 as oft as shee them see,
 
 The Batchelors Feast. 
 
 O 'tis a pleasant thing 
 
 to live at liberty : 
 With hie dill do dill, 
 
 hie, hoe, dildurly : 
 It is a delightfull thing, 
 
 to live at liberty. 
 
 The taylor must be payd 
 for making of her gowne, 
 
 The shoemakers for fine shooes, 
 or else thy wife will frowne
 
 64 The Batchelors Feast. 
 
 For bands, fine ruffes, and cuffes, 
 thou must dispence as free : 
 
 O 'tis a gallant thing 
 to live at liberty : 
 
 With hie dill, &c. 
 
 A wife must also have 
 
 a beaver of the best, 
 That shee may flaunt it out 
 
 and gossip with the rest ; 
 Wrought quaiffes and cobweb lawne 
 
 her dayly weare must bee ; 
 O 'tis a lightsome thing 
 
 to live at liberty : 
 With hie, &c. 
 
 Yet all this pleaseth not, 
 
 except that thou dost burse 
 Both gold and silver coyne, 
 
 to carry in her purse ; 
 To Taverne then shee hies, 
 
 where shee will merry bee, 
 O 'tis a gallant thing 
 
 to live at liberty : 
 With hie, &c.
 
 The Batchelors Feast. 65 
 
 Some thinks a single life 
 
 to bee a dayly trouble, 
 But many men doe wed 
 
 and makes his sorrowes double ; 
 Therefore I wish young men 
 
 in time be rul'd by mee, 
 And learne to sing this song, 
 
 to live at liberty : 
 With hie, &c. 
 
 Except a vertuous wife 
 
 a young man chance to find, 
 That will industrious be 
 
 and beare a modest mind, 
 Hee better were to live 
 
 still single, as wee see, 
 For 'tis a gallant thing 
 
 to live at liberty : 
 With hie, &c. 
 
 Now will I heere conclude, 
 I will no one offend, 
 
 Wishing that every shrew 
 her qualities would amend, 
 
 And that all batchelors 
 may now be rul'd by mee,
 
 66 The Batchelors Feast. 
 
 To chuse a loving wife, 
 
 or live at liberty, 
 With hie dildo, dill, 
 
 hie ho dildurle : 
 
 It -is a gallant thing 
 
 to live at liberty. 
 
 Finis. L.P. 
 
 Printed at London at I. W. the younger, dwelling at 
 the upper end of the Old Bayly.
 
 An Excellent New Medley, 
 
 Which you may admire, (without offence) 
 For ev'ry line speaks a contrary sence. . 
 
 To the tune of Tarletoris Medley. 
 
 IN Summer time when folkes make Hay, 
 All is not true which people say, 
 The foole's the wisest in the play, 
 
 tush ! take away your hand : 
 The Fidler's boy hath broke his Base, 
 Sirs, is not this a pittious case ? 
 Most gallants loath to smell the Mace 
 of Woodstreet.
 
 68 An Excellent New Medley. 
 
 The Citty followes Courtly pride, 
 lone swears she cannot lohn abide, 
 Dicke weares a Dagger by his side. 
 
 come tell vs what's to pay. 
 The Lawyers thriue by others fall, 
 The weakest alwaies goes to th' wall, 
 The Shoomaker commandeth all 
 at 's pleasure. 
 
 The Weauer prayes for Huswiues store, 
 A pretty woman was lane Shore, 
 Kicke the base Rascalls out th' doore : 
 
 peace, peace, you bawling Curres. 
 A Cuckold's band weares out behinde, 
 'Tis easie to beguile the blinde, 
 All people are not of one minde, 
 hold Carmen. 
 
 Our women cut their haire like men, 
 The Cocke's ore mastred by the Henne, 
 There's hardly one good friend in ten, 
 
 turne there on your right hand : 
 But few regard the cryes o'th poore, 
 Will spendeth all vpon a whore, 
 The Souldier longeth to goe ore, 
 braue knocking.
 
 An Excellent New Medley. 69 
 
 When the fifth Henry sail'd to France, 
 Let me alone for a Countrey dance, 
 Nell doth bewaile her lucklesse chance, 
 
 fie on false-hearted men. 
 Dicke Tarleton was a merry wagge, 
 Harke how that prating asse doth bragge, 
 lohn Dory sold his ambling Nagge, 
 for Kicke-shawes. 
 
 The Saylor counts the Ship his house, 
 I'le say no more but dun's the Mouse, 
 He is no man that scornes a Louse, 
 
 vaine pride vndoes the Land : 
 Hard hearted men make Corne so deare, 
 Few Frenchmen love well English beere, 
 I hope ere long good newes to heare, 
 hey Lusticke. 
 
 Now hides are cheape the Tanner thriues, 
 Hang those base men that beate their wiues, 
 He needs must goe that the Deuill driues, 
 
 God blesse vs from a Gun : 
 The Beadles make the lame to runne, 
 Vaunt not before the battaile's wonne, 
 A Cloud sometimes may hide the Sunne, 
 chance medley,
 
 70 An Excellent New Medley. 
 
 The second part to the same tune. 
 
 The Surgeon thriues by fencing schooles, 
 Some for strong liquor pawne their tooles, 
 For one wise man ther's twenty fooles, 
 
 O when shall we be married ? 
 In time of youth when I was wilde, 
 Who toucheth Pitch must be defil'd, 
 Moll is afraid that shee's with childe, 
 peace Peter.
 
 An Excellent New Medley. 71 
 
 The poore still hope for better dales, 
 I doe not lone these long delayes, 
 All loue and charity decayes, 
 
 in the daies of old : 
 I'me very loth to pawne my cloake, 
 Meere pouerty doth me prouoke, 
 They say a scald head is soone broke, 
 poore trading-. 
 
 The Dutchmen thriue by Sea and Land, 
 Women are ships and must be man'd, 
 Let's brauely to our Colours stand, 
 
 Courage, my hearts of gold : 
 I read in moderne Histories, 
 The King of Sweden's Victories, 
 At Islington ther's Pudding pies, 
 hot Custards. 
 
 The Tapster is vndone by chalke, 
 
 Tush ! 'tis vaine to prate and talke, 
 
 The Parrat praties, " walke, knaues, walke," 
 
 Duke Humfry lies in Paul's, 
 The Souldier hath but small regard, 
 Ther's weekely newes in Paul's Churchyard, 
 The poore man cries the world growes hard, 
 cold Winter.
 
 72 An Excellent New Medley. 
 
 From Long-lane cloathe and Turnestile boots, 
 O fie upon these scabbed cootes, 
 The cheapest meat is Reddish rootes, 
 
 come, all these for a penny : 
 Light my Tobacco quickly heere, 
 There lies a pretty woman neere, 
 This boy will come to naught I feare, 
 proud Coxcombe. 
 
 The world is full of odious sinnes, 
 'Tis ten to one but this horse winnes, 
 Fcoles set stooles to breake wise men's shinnes, 
 
 this man's more knaue than foole : 
 lane oft in priuate meets with Tom, 
 Husband y'are kindly welcome home, 
 Hast any money ? lend me some, 
 I'me broken. 
 
 In ancient times all things were cheape, 
 'Tis good to looke before thou leape, 
 When corne is ripe 'tis time to reape, 
 
 once walking by the way. 
 A iealous man the Cuckoo loaths, 
 The gallant complements with oathes, 
 A wench will make you sell your cloaths, 
 run Broker.
 
 An Excellent New Medley. 73 
 
 The Courtier and the country man, 
 Let's Hue as honest as we can, 
 When Arthur first in Court began, 
 
 His men wore hanging sleeues. 
 In May when Grasse and Flowers be green, 
 The strangest sight that ere was scene, 
 God blesse our gracious King and Queene, 
 from danger. Amen. 
 
 Finis. M.P. 
 
 Printed at London for H. G.
 
 An excellent new Medley. 
 
 To the tune of the Spanish Pauin. 
 
 When Philomel begins to sing, 
 
 the grasse growes green and flowres spring, 
 Me thinks it is a pleasant thing 
 
 to walk on Primrose hill. 
 Maides, have you any Connie-skins 
 To sell for Laces or great Pinnes ? 
 The Pope will pardon veniall sinnes : 
 Saint Peter. 
 
 Fresh fish and newes grow quickly stale : 
 Some say good wine can nere want sale, 
 But God send poore folkes Beere & Ale 
 
 enough untill they die. 
 Most people now are full of pride, 
 The Boy said no, but yet he lyde, 
 His Aunt did to the Cuck-stoole ride 
 for scolding. 
 
 Within oure Towne faire Susan dwells : 
 Sure Meg is poyson'd, for she swells. 
 My friend, pull off your bozzard's bell::;, 
 
 and let the haggard fly. 
 Take heed you play not at Tray-trip, 
 Shorte heeles forsooth will quickly slip, 
 The beadle makes folke with his whip 
 dance naked.
 
 An Excellent New Medley. 75 
 
 Come, Tapster, tell us what's to pay, 
 lane frownd and cryde, " good Sir, away !" 
 She tooke his kindnesse, yet said " nay," 
 
 as Maidens vse to do : 
 The man shall have his Mare agen, 
 When all false knaues proue honest men, 
 Our Sisly shall be Sainted then, 
 true Roger. 
 
 The Butcher with his masty Dog, 
 At Rumford you may buy a Hog, 
 I' faith Raph Goose hath got a clog, 
 
 his wench is great with childe. 
 In pillory put the Baker's head 
 For making of such little bread, 
 Good conscience now-a-dayes is dead, 
 Pierce plowman. 
 
 The Cutpurse and his Companie, 
 Theeues nnde receivers presently ; 
 Shun Brokers, Bawdes and Vsury, 
 
 for feare of after-claps. 
 Lord, what a wicked world is this, 
 The stone lets Kate, she cannot pisse ; 
 Come hither, sweet, and take a kisse, 
 in kindenesse.
 
 76 An Excellent New Medley. 
 
 In Bath a wanton wife did dwell, 
 She had two buckets to a well, 
 Would not a dog for anger swell, 
 
 to see a pudding creepe ; 
 The Horse-leach is become a Smith, 
 When halters faile, then take a with : 
 They say an old man hath no pith, 
 Round Robin. 
 
 Simon doth suck up all the egges, 
 Franke neuer drinks without nutmegs, 
 And pretty Parnell shewes her legs, 
 
 as slender as my waste : 
 When faire Jerusalem did stand, 
 The match is made, giue me thy hand, 
 Maulkin must have a cambrick band, 
 blew starched. 
 
 The cuckow sung hard by the doore, 
 Gyll brawled like a butter-whore, 
 Cause her buckeheaded Husband swore 
 
 the Miller was a knave. 
 Good Poets leaue off making playes, 
 Let players seek for Souldiers' payes, 
 I doe not like the drunken fraies 
 in Smithfield.
 
 An Excellent New Medley. 77 
 
 Now Roysters spurs do gingle braue, 
 lohn Sexton play'd the arrand knaue 
 To digge a coarse out of the grave 
 
 and steal the sheet away. 
 The wandring Prince of stately Troy, 
 Greene sleeves were wont to be my ioy, 
 He is a blinde and paultry boy, 
 god Cupid. 
 
 Come hither friend and glue good eare, 
 
 A leg of mutton stuft is rare, 
 
 Take heed you do not steal my mare : 
 
 it is so hot it burns. 
 Behold the tryall of your loue, 
 He took a scrich-owle for a doue, 
 This man is like ere long to proue 
 A Monster. 
 
 'Tis merry when kinde Maltmen meet : 
 No cowards fight but in the street : 
 Mee thinks this wench smels very sweet 
 
 of muske, or somewhat else. 
 There was a man did play at Maw 
 The whilest his wife made him a daw, 
 Your case is altered in the law 
 quoth Ployden.
 
 78 An Excellent New Medley. 
 
 The Weaver will no shuttle shoote, 
 Goe bid the Cobler mend my boot, 
 He is a foole will go a-foot 
 
 and let his horse stand still ; 
 Old lohn a Nokes and lohn a Stiles 
 Many an honest man beguiles, 
 But all the world is full of wiles 
 and knauery. 
 
 Of treason and of Traytors spight, 
 The house is haunted with a sprit, 
 Now Nan will rise about midnight 
 
 and walke to Richards house : 
 You courtly states and gallants all, 
 Climbe not too hie for feare you fall ; 
 If one please not another shall, 
 King Pipping. 
 
 Diana and her darlings deere, 
 The Dutchmen ply the double beere, 
 Eoyes rings the bels and make good cheere, 
 When Kempe returnes from Rome. 
 
 O man, what meanes thy heavie looke ? 
 Is Will not in his Mistris booke ? 
 Sir Rouland for a refuge tooke 
 Horne-Castle.
 
 An Excellent New Medley. 79 
 
 Rich people haue the world at will, 
 Trades fade, but Lawiers flourish still, 
 lacke would be married unto Gyll ; 
 
 but care will kill a Cat. 
 Are you there, Sirrah, with your beares ? 
 A Barbers shop with nittie haires, 
 Doll, Phillis hath lost both her eares 
 for coozning. 
 
 Who list to lead a souldier's life ? 
 Tom would eat meat but wants a knife, 
 The Tinker swore that Tib his wife 
 
 would playe at uptailes all. 
 Beleeve my word without an oath, 
 The Tailor stole some of her cloath : 
 When George laysicke, & loane made himbroath. 
 with Hemlocke. 
 
 The Patron gelt the parsonage, 
 And Esau sold his heritage, 
 Now Leonard lack-wit is foole age 
 
 to be his Father's heire. 
 Ther's many scratch before it itch, 
 Saul did ask counsel of a Witch, 
 Friend, ye may haue a Bacon flitch 
 at Dunmow.
 
 So An Ex:ellent New Medley. 
 
 King David plaicTon' a^Welch Harpe, 
 This threed will neuer make a good warpe, 
 At wise mens word's each foole will carpe 
 
 and shoote their witlesse bolts. 
 lone, like a ram, wore homes and wooll. 
 Knew you my Hostis of the Bull ? 
 Squire Curio once was made a gull 
 in Shoreditch. 
 
 The blackamores are blabber-lipt, 
 At Yarmouth are the herrings shipt, 
 And at Bridewell the beggers whipt, 
 
 a man may Hue and learne. 
 Grief in my heart doth stop my tongue, 
 The poore man still must put up wrong, 
 Your way lies there, then walk along 
 to Witham 
 
 There lies a Lasse that I loue well, 
 The Broker hath gay clothes to sell 
 Which from the Hangmans budget fell, 
 
 are you no further yet ? 
 In Summer times when peares be ripe 
 Who would give sixpence for a tripe ? 
 Play, Lad, or else lend me thy pipe 
 and Taber.
 
 An Excellent New Medley. 8 1 
 
 Saint Nicholas Clarkes wil take a purse, 
 Young children now can sweare and curse, 
 I hope yee like me nere the worse 
 
 for finding fault therewith. 
 The servant is the Masters mate, 
 When gossips meet thers too much prate, 
 Poore Lazarus lies at Diues gate 
 halfe starued. 
 
 Make haste to Sea and hoyst up sailes, 
 The hogs were seru'd with milking pales : 
 From filthy sluts and from all ioayles, 
 
 good Lord, deliver us all ! 
 I scorne to ride a raw-boned iade, 
 Fetch me a mattocke and a spade, 
 A Gravesend toste will soone be made, 
 Saint Dennis. 
 
 But for to finish up my Song, 
 
 The Ale-wife did the brewer wrong, 
 
 One day of sorrow seems as long 
 
 as ten daies do of mirth. 
 My Medly now is at an end, 
 Haue you no bowles or trayes to mend ? 
 'Tis hard to finde so true a friend 
 as Damon. 
 
 FINIS. 
 Printed by the Assignes of Thomas Symcocke.
 
 The Bride's Good- Morrow. 
 
 To a Pleasant New Tune. 
 
 The night is passed, & ioyfull day appeareth 
 
 most cleare on every side ; 
 With pleasant musick we therefore salute you, 
 
 good morrow, Mistris Bride !
 
 The Brides Good-morrjw. 83 
 
 From sleepe and slumber now awake you out of hand : 
 
 your bridegroome stayeth at home, 
 Whose fancy, favour & affection still doth stand 
 
 fixed on thee alone : 
 Dresse you in your best array, 
 This must be your wedding day, 
 
 God almighty send you happy ioy, 
 In health and wealth to keep you still ; 
 And, if it be his blessed will, 
 
 God keepe you safe from sorrow and annoy ! 
 
 This day is honour now brought into thy bosome, 
 
 and comfort to thy heart : 
 For God hath sent you a friend for to defend you 
 
 from sorrow, care, and smart ; 
 In health and sicknes, for thy comfort day & night 
 
 he is appointed and brought 
 
 Whose love and liking is most constant, sure, and 
 right : 
 
 then love ye him as ye ought. 
 Now you have your hearts desire, 
 And the thing you did require. 
 
 God almighty send you happy ioy, 
 In health and wealth to keepe you still ; 
 And, if it be his blessed will, 
 
 God keepe you safe from sorrow and annoy !
 
 84 The Bride s Good-morrow. 
 
 There is no treasure the which may be compared 
 
 unto a faithfull friend ; 
 
 Gold soone decayeth and worldly [wealth] con- 
 sumeth, 
 
 and wasteth in the winde : 
 But love, once planted in a perfect & pure minde, 
 
 indureth weale and woe : 
 The frownes of fortune, come they never so unkinde, 
 
 cannot the same overthrowe. 
 A bit of bread is better cheare, 
 Where loue and friendship doth appeare, 
 then dainty dishes stuffed full of strife ; 
 For where the heart is cloyd with care, 
 Sower is the sweetest fare, 
 and death far better then so bad a life. 
 
 Sweet Bride, then may you full well contented 
 stay you, 
 
 and in your heart reioyce : 
 Sith God was guider both of your heart and fancy 
 
 and maker of your choice ; 
 And he that preferd you to this happie state 
 
 will not behold you decay, 
 Nor see you lack reliefe or help in any rate, 
 
 if you his precepts obay.
 
 The Brides Good-morrow. 85 
 
 To those that ask it faithfully 
 The Lord will no good thing deny ; 
 
 this comfort in the Scriptures may you finde : 
 Then let no worldly griefe and care 
 Vexe your heart with foule dispaire, 
 
 which doth declare the unbeleeuing minde. 
 
 All things are ready and euery whit prepared : 
 
 to beare you company 
 
 Your friends and parents do give their due attend- 
 ance 
 
 together courtously : 
 The house is drest and garnisht for your sake 
 
 with flowers gallant and green ; 
 A solem feast your comely cooks do ready make 
 
 where all your friends will be seen : 
 Youngmen and maids do ready stand, 
 With sweet Rosemary in their hand, 
 
 a perfect token of your virgins life : 
 To wait upon you they intend, 
 Vnto the Church to make an end : 
 
 and God make thee a ioyfull wedded wife. 
 
 FINIS. 
 Printed by the Assignes of Thomas Symcocke.
 
 Friendly Counsaile. 
 
 Or, 
 
 Here's an answer to all Demanders, 
 The which Tie declare to all By-standers, 
 Thereby to teach them how to know 
 
 A perfect Friend from a flattering Foe. 
 i 
 
 To THE TUNE OF, / could fancy pretty Nancy. 
 
 It was my chance, not long time since, 
 To be where was much conference ; 
 And amongst their questions all, 
 One did me to answer call, 
 Thus demanding how to know 
 A faithfull friend from a flattering foe.
 
 friendly Counsaile. 87 
 
 Being much amazed in my minde 
 
 How this Theame might be defin'd, 
 
 Yet I answer'd thus againe, 
 
 That I would resolue them plaine 
 In what kinde they well might know 
 A faithfull friend from a flattering foe. 
 
 If that thou haue a friend, be kinde 
 Here in true loue thou soone may finde 
 Hee'l not leaue thee in distresse, 
 But will helpe thee more or lesse ; 
 
 Hereby you may plainely know 
 
 A faithful^ &c. 
 
 On the contrary, marke my words, 
 Flattering tongues are worse than swords, 
 They'l speake you fair while you them feed, 
 But quite forsake thee in thy need : 
 
 These are perject signes to know 
 
 A faithfull, &c. 
 
 If you want meanes, and haue a friend, 
 Hee'l something giue, and something lend, 
 He will not see thee for to perish, 
 But will thee relieue and cherish : 
 
 Hereby yoii, may Jinde and know 
 
 A faithfull, &c.
 
 88 Friendly Counsaile. 
 
 The flatterer, whilst thou hast chinke, 
 Will proffer meate and giue thee drinke, 
 But for it thou shalt dearely pay, 
 For he will bring thee to decay : 
 
 Then I advise thee how to know 
 
 A faithfull, &c. 
 
 Thy friend will grieue to see thee lacke, 
 Hee'le speake thee faire behind thy backe, 
 In words and deeds hee'l still agree, 
 Hee'l grieue to see thy misery : 
 
 Hereby you may plainely know 
 
 A faithfull, &c. 
 
 Thy foe indeed is nothing so, 
 For hee'l reioyce still at thy woe, 
 And if thou once grow poore and bare, 
 Then for thee he no more will care : 
 
 Thus thou plainely here maist know 
 
 A faithfull, &c. 
 
 Thy friend will wish thee keep thy meanes, 
 And not to waste it on lewd Queanes, 
 Hee'l bid thee for to haue a care, 
 Cards, Dice and Whores, are dangerous ware 
 
 Hereby you may plainely know 
 
 A faithfull, &c.
 
 Friendly Coun~aile. 
 
 89 
 
 The other he will thee intice 
 
 To drunkennesse, Cards, Whores, and Dice ; 
 
 Hee'l aduise thee for to roare, 
 
 To spend thy meanes, and so be poore : 
 
 Thus thou here maist plainely know 
 
 A faithfull, &c 
 
 The Second Part, To the same tune. 
 
 Thy friend such lewdnesse soon will check 
 
 And tell thee thou art like to lacke, 
 
 Hee'l bid thee alwaies haue a care 
 
 Of that which thou dost little feare, 
 
 And that is, pouerty will grow, 
 
 Which thy true friend would not haue so.
 
 90 Friendly Counsaile. 
 
 The false and fained Flatterer 
 Will seeke to trap thee in his snare, 
 His words most sweet shall still appeare 
 To get thy money, wine, and beere ; 
 These are certaine signes to know 
 A fail/if "nil friend from a flattering foe. 
 
 If that thy friend be true indeed, 
 Hee'l riot forsake thee in thy need ; 
 Hee'l take thy part in weale and woe, 
 Thy flattering friend will not doe so ; 
 
 These are certaine signes to know 
 
 A faithfull, &c. 
 
 Now some perchance may this obiect, 
 And say they are of the true Sect, 
 But such Tie neuer trust, till I 
 Their inward thoughts doe proue and try : 
 Then I certaine am to know 
 A faithfull, &c. 
 
 If that you want, then, needs of force, 
 For your reliefe you'l take some course ; 
 Need stands behind, and bids you goe 
 The kindnesse of men's hearts to knowe ; 
 
 And where once you /iaue tryd it so, 
 
 Yoiil know your Jritnd, &c.
 
 Friendly Counsaile. 91 
 
 Thy friend will wondrous sorry be 
 To see thee fall to misery, 
 And, to his power, hee'l giue reliefe, 
 To ease thy dolour, woe and griefe : 
 
 These are certaine signes to know 
 
 A faithfull^ &c. 
 
 Your fair tongu'd fawning hypocrite 
 Will say that you were void of wit 
 To spend your meanes so foolishly, 
 And lacke so long before you dye. 
 
 These are certaine signes to know 
 
 A faithfull, &c. 
 
 Then this aduice take then of me, 
 Before need comes, goe thou and see ; 
 Try whilst thou hast of thine owne, 
 And see where fauour may be showne : 
 
 Then thoii soone shalt Jinde and know 
 
 A faithfull^ &c. 
 
 And looke, where thou didst fauour finde, 
 There be not wauering like the winde ; 
 If that thy friend proue iust and true, 
 Then doe not change him foi a new : 
 Thus to all men I doe show 
 The difference 'twix a friend and foe.
 
 92 Friendly Counsaile. 
 
 For my part, I may plainely say, 
 That friends are apt for to decay ; 
 In wealth a man shall haue great store, 
 But very few, if once growne poore ; 
 
 This I iv rite /or -men to know 
 
 A faithfull friend, &c. 
 
 When I had means, then I had friends, 
 But now I want, their friendship ends ; 
 Now but few will take my part, 
 Nor helpe release me of my smart : 
 
 This I have writ for men to know 
 
 A faithfully c. 
 
 Thus to conclude and end my Song, 
 Let me aduise both old -and young, 
 If thou doe wish for many friends, 
 Then haue a care and get some meanes ; 
 Thtnyou need not care to know 
 A faithfull friend from a flattering foe. 
 
 FINIS. C.R. 
 
 London : Printed for Richard Harper, in Smithfield.
 
 A Bill of Fare : 
 
 For A Saturday nights Supper, A Sunday morning 
 Breakfast, and A Munday Dinner, Described in 
 a pleasant new merry Ditie. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Cooke Laurell, OR, Michaelmas 
 Terme. 
 
 I'le tell you a lest which you'l hardly beleeue 
 No matter for that, you shall hear't, right or wrong 
 A hungry appetite may perhaps grieue 
 To heare such a Banquet set forth in a Song : 
 He rather would haue it then heare on't, hee'l say, 
 But I cannot promise him such a faire sight ; 
 All that I can doe, is with words to dispjay 
 What we had to Supper on Saturday night.
 
 94 A Bill of Fare. 
 
 Imprimis, foure Fancies, two boyld, and two roast, 
 
 A large dish of Endimions (good for one's drinke), 
 
 Six Pelican Chickens, as hote as a toast, 
 
 And six Birds of Paradise braue meate I thinke 
 
 A couple of Phoenix, a Cocke and a Hen, 
 
 That late from Arabia had tane their flight ; 
 
 I thinke such a Banquet was ne're made for men, 
 
 As we had to Supper on Saturday night. 
 
 Two paire of Elephants Pettitoes boyld 
 A greene Dragon Spitchcock (an excellent dish), 
 One messe by the Cooke was like to be spoil'd, 
 And yet, by good hap, 'twas to euery one's wish : 
 It was a Rhenoceros boyld in Alegant, 
 To all who did taste it gaue great delight : 
 ludge whether we haue not occasion to vaunt 
 Of this our rare Supper on Saturday night. 
 
 A Calues head was roast with a pudding i'th' belly 
 (Of which all the women did heartily feed), 
 A dish of Irish Harts' homes boyld to a lelly 
 (Which most men esteem'd as a good dish indeed), 
 I had almost forgotten to name sowc'd Owle 
 Brought vp to the Master o'th' Feast, as his right ; 
 He lou'd it, he said, aboue all other Fowle, 
 And this was our Supper on Saturday night.
 
 A BI II of Pare. 95 
 
 The next in due course was foure golden Horshooes, 
 
 Exactly dissolued through a Woodcock's bill, 
 
 Six Camelions in greene-sawce (Maids commonly 
 
 chuse 
 
 This dish euery day, if they may haue their will). 
 The chine of a Lyon, the haunch of a Beare, 
 Well larded with Brimstone and Quicksiluer bright : 
 ludge, Gentlemen, was not this excellent cheere 
 That wee had to Supper on Saturday night ? 
 
 A whole Horse sowst after the Russian manner, 
 Tweiue Pigs of a strange Capadocian Bitch, 
 Six dozen of Estridges rost (which a Tanner 
 Did send out of Asia by an Old Witch). 
 A Leg of an Eagle carbonadoed (in Snow) 
 The Pluck of a Grampoise stew'd till it was white ; 
 And thus in particular I let you know 
 What we had to Supper on Saturday night. 
 
 Then came in an Ell of a lackanapes taile, 
 Seru'd in vpon Sippets as dainty as may be ; 
 O that is a dainty, which rather then faile, 
 Might well serue to feast an Vtopian Lady ! 
 Twelve Maids were stew'd in the shell of a Shrimp 
 And cause it was meat that was held very light, 
 They had for their Sawce a salt-pickled Pimpe, 
 And this was our Supper on Saturday night.
 
 96 A Bill of Fare. 
 
 The second part, To the same tune. 
 
 Two Beares sowst pig fashion, sent whole to the 
 
 board, 
 
 And 4 black swans seru'd by 2 in a dish, 
 With a Lobster fried in steaks take my word, 
 I know not well whether it was Flesh or Fish. 
 Two Cockatrices, and three Baboones boyld, 
 Two dry Salamanders, a very strange sight ; 
 A loale of a Whale soundly butter'd and oyl'd ; 
 And this was our Supper on Saturday night. 
 
 A good dish of Modicums, I know not what, 
 
 In Barbary Vinegar boy I'd very soft ; 
 
 I mus'd how my Hostis became so huge fat, 
 
 I find 'tis with eating these Modicums oft : 
 
 A Grosse of Canary birds, roasted aliue, 
 
 That out of the dishes (for sport) tooke their flight, 
 
 And cuery one present to catch them did striue : 
 
 This was our rare Supper on Saturday night. 
 
 A shoale of Red-herrings with bels 'bout their 
 
 neckes, 
 
 Which made such rare sport that I saw such ; 
 They leaped and danced, with other fine tricks ; 
 A man may admire how they could doe so much.
 
 A Bill of Fare. 97 
 
 Two Porposes, parboil'd in May -dew and Roses, 
 That vnto the smell yeelded so much delighte, 
 Some (fearing to lose them) laid hold on their noses : 
 All this was at Supper on Saturday night. 
 
 Three dozen of Welsh Ambassadors bak't, 
 
 Which made such a noise it was heard through ye 
 
 town ; 
 
 Some, hearing the eccho, their foreheads so ak t, 
 That many a smile was orecome with a frowne ; 
 A dish of Bonitoes, or Fish that can flie, 
 That out of the Indies came hither by flight ; 
 To close vp our stomacks, a Gridiron Pye 
 We had to our Supper on Saturday night. 
 
 But what commeth after must not be forgotten, 
 The Fruit and the Cheese, as they follow by course, 
 A West Indian Cheese (not a bit of it rotten), 
 That's made of no worse then the milke of a Horse ; 
 A dish of Pine-apples, two bushels at least, 
 An hundred of Cokernuts for our delight : 
 The world may admire at this wonderful feast 
 Which we had at Supper on Saturday night. 
 
 Six Pumpians, codled with exquisite art, 
 To pleasure the palate of euery one there ; 
 Then we at the last had a great Cabbage Tart ; 
 Thus haue I exactly described our Cheere :
 
 gS A Bill of Fare. 
 
 What all this amounted to, I cannot tell, 
 
 It cost me nothing no, faith, not a mite ; 
 
 The Master o' th' Feast (whom I know very well) 
 
 Did pay for this Supper on Saturday night. 
 
 Wee rose from our mirth with the 1 2 a clock chimes, 
 Went euery one home as his way did direct, 
 And I, for my part, on the morning betimes, 
 Had a Breakfast prepar'd, which I did not expect : 
 My wife, because she was not bidden to Supper, 
 (It seemes by the story) she bare me a spight ; 
 The Breakfast she gaue me, to you I will vtter 
 It passed our Supper on Saturday night. 
 
 SUNDAY MORNING BREAKFAST. 
 
 First had I a dish of Maundering broath, 
 So scolding hote that I could not abide it, 
 But I, like a patient man (though I was loath) 
 Must swallow all down, 'cause my wife did prouide 
 
 it: 
 
 A many small Reasons she put in the same ; 
 Her Nose yeelded Pepper that keenly did bite: 
 Thought I, here's a Breakfast (I thank my good 
 
 dame) 
 That passes our Supper on Saturday night 
 
 A great Carpe Pye, and a dish of sad Pouts, 
 With Crocodile Vinegar, sawce very tart ;
 
 A Bill of Fare. 99 
 
 Quoth she,thou last night wastamong thy sound trouts, 
 Now fall to thy Breakfast, and comfort thy heart ; 
 Then had I a Cup full of stout Wormwood Beere, 
 (It seems that in Physicke she has good insight,) 
 This shewed me the difference 'twixt the homely cheere 
 And our dainty Supper on Saturday night. 
 
 MUNDAY DINNER. 
 
 On this sorry Fare all that day I did feed, 
 
 And on Munday morning, on purpose to win her, 
 
 I went and got money to furnish her need, 
 
 And now you shall heare what I had to my Dinner 
 
 A Pye made of Conies, with Ducks and Pigs eyes, 
 
 With a deale of sweet Hony, my taste to delight, 
 
 With sweet Lambe and Chicken my mind to suffice : 
 
 These passed my Supper on Saturday night. 
 
 Another Pye made with a many Sheepes eyes, 
 With sweet Sugar Candy, that pleased my pallet ; 
 These seuerall Banquets my Muse did aduise, 
 And with her assistance I made this mad Ballett : 
 There's no man that's wise will my paines reprehend, 
 For most married men will confesse I say right ; 
 Yet on no occasion this Ditie was pen'd, 
 But to show our rare Supper on Saturday night. 
 
 FINIS. M.P. 
 
 London. Printed by M. P. for Fr. Grove neere the 
 Sarazen's head without Newgate.
 
 Blew Cap for me : 
 
 Or, 
 
 A Scottish Lasse her resolute cruising, 
 
 Shee'l have bonny blew-cap, all other refusing. 
 
 TO A CURIOUS NEW SCOTTISH TUNE CALLED BUlV-CClp. 
 
 Come hither, the merri'st of all the nine, 
 
 come, sit thee down by me, and let vs be iolly, 
 And in a full cup of Apollo's wine 
 
 wee'll drowne our old enemy, mad melancholy : 
 Which when wee haue done, 
 wee'll betweene vs deuise 
 A dainty new ditty 
 with art to comprise ;
 
 B lew-cap for me. i o r 
 
 And of this new ditty, 
 
 the matter shall be 
 Gif ever I have a man, 
 
 B 'lew-cap for me. 
 
 There Hues a blithe Lasse in Faukeland towne, 
 and shee had some suitors, I wot not how many ; 
 But her resolution she had set downe, 
 that shee'd haue a Biew-cap gif e're she had any : 
 An English man, 
 
 when our good king was there, 
 Carne often vnto her, 
 
 and loued her deere : 
 But still she replide, " Sir, 
 
 I pray let me be, 
 Gif ever I haue a man, 
 Blew- cap for me" 
 
 A Welchman, that had a long sword by her side, 
 
 red pritches, red Tublet, red Coat, and red Peard, 
 Was make a creat shew with a creat deal of pride, 
 and tell her strange tale that the like was nere 
 
 heard ; 
 Was reckon her pedigree 
 
 long before Prute ; 
 No body was by her 
 that can her confute :
 
 i o 2 Blew -cap for me. 
 
 But still she replide, "Sir, 
 I pray let me be ; 
 
 Gif ever I have a man, 
 Dlew-cap for me" 
 
 A Frenchman, that largely was booted and spur'd, 
 
 long lock't, with a Ribon, long points and breeches* 
 Hee's ready to kisse her at euery word, 
 and for further exercise his fingers itches : 
 " You be pritty wench, 
 
 Mistris, par ma foy ; 
 Be gar, me doe loue you, 
 
 then be not you coy." 
 But still she replide, " Sir. 
 
 I pray let me be ; 
 
 Gif ever I have a man, 
 
 B lew-cap for me." 
 
 An Irishman, with a long skeane in his hose, 
 
 did tinke to obtaine her it was no great matter ; 
 Vp stayres to her chamber so lightly he goes, 
 that she ne're heard him vntil he came at her. 
 Quoth he, " I doe loue you, 
 
 by fate and by trote, 
 And if you will haue me, 
 experience shall shote."
 
 Blcw-cap for me. 
 
 But still she replide, " Sir, 
 
 I pray let me be ; 
 Gif ever I have a man, 
 
 Blew -cap for me. 1 ' 
 
 10 
 
 The second part, To the same tune. 
 
 A Dainty spruce Spanyard, with hairs black as jett 
 long cloak with round cape, a long Rapier and 
 Ponyard ;
 
 IO4 Blue-cap /or me. 
 
 Hee told her if that shee could Scotland forget, 
 hee'd shew her the Vines as they grow in the 
 
 Vineyard. 
 " If thou wilt abandon 
 
 this Country so cold, 
 He shew thee faire Spaine, 
 and much Indian gold." 
 But still she replide, " Sir, 
 
 I pray let me be ; 
 
 Gif ever I have a man, 
 
 B lew-cap for me." 
 
 A haughty high German of Hamborough towne, 
 a proper tall gallant, with mighty mustachoes ; 
 He weepes if the Lasse vpon him doe but frowne, 
 yet he's a great Fencer that comes to ore-match 
 
 vs. 
 
 But yet all his fine fencing 
 could not get the Lasse ; 
 She deny'd him so oft, 
 
 that he wearyed was ; 
 For still she replide, " Sir, 
 
 I pray let me be ; 
 
 Gif ever I have a man, 
 
 B lew-cap for me. "
 
 Blue-cap jor me. 105 
 
 A Netherland Mariner there came by chance, 
 
 whose cheekes did resemble two rosting Pom- 
 waters ; 
 To this Cany Lasse he his sute did aduance, 
 
 and, as taught by nature, he cunningly flatters : 
 " Isk, will make thee," said he, 
 
 " sole Lady o' th' Sea, 
 Both Spanirds and Englishman 
 
 shall thee obey." 
 But still she replide, " Sir, 
 
 I pray let me be ; 
 
 Gif ever I have a man, 
 
 B lew-cap jor mee" 
 
 These sundry Sutors, of seuerall Lands, 
 
 did daily solicite this Lasse for her fauour ; 
 And euery one of them alike vnderstands 
 
 that to win the prize they in vain did endeauour : 
 For she had resolued 
 
 (as I before said) 
 To haue bonny Blew-cap, 
 
 or else bee a maid. 
 Vnto all her suppliants 
 
 still replyde she, 
 ' Gif ever I have a man, 
 B lew-cap for mce"
 
 io6 Blue-cap for me. 
 
 At last came a Scottish-man (with a blew-cap), 
 
 and he was the party for whom she had tarry'd ; 
 To get this blithe bonny Lasse 'twas his gude hap, 
 they gang'd to the Kirk, & were presently 
 
 marry'd. 
 
 I ken not weele whether 
 it were Lord or Leard ; 
 They caude him some sike 
 
 a like name as I heard ; 
 To chuse him from au 
 
 she did gladly agree, 
 And stil she cride, " Blew-cap y 
 tit art welcome to mee" 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed at London for Thomas Lambert.
 
 A Pleasant new Court Song. 
 
 Betweene a yong Courtier and a Countrey Lasse. 
 
 To A NEW COURT TUNE. 
 
 Vpon a Summer's time, 
 
 in the middle of the morne, 
 A bonny Lasse I spide, 
 
 the fairest ere was borne ; 
 Fast by a standing poole, 
 
 within a meddow greene, 
 She laide herselfe to coole, 
 
 not thinking to be scene. 
 
 She gathered louely flowers, 
 and spent her time in sport, 
 
 And if to Cupid's bowers 
 she daily did resort
 
 io8 A pleasant new Court Song. 
 
 The fields afford content 
 vnto this maiden kinde, 
 
 Much time and paines she spent 
 to satisfie her minde. 
 
 The Cowslip there she cropt, 
 
 the Daffadill and Dazie ; 
 The Primrose lookt so trim, 
 
 she scorned to be lazie : 
 And euer as she did 
 
 these pretty posies pull, 
 She rose and fetcht a sigh, 
 
 and wisht her apron full. 
 
 I, hearing of her wish, 
 
 made bold to step vnto her ; 
 Thinking her loue to winne, 
 
 I thus began to wooe her : 
 " Faire maide, be not so coy, 
 
 to kisse thee I am bent' 5 
 " O fie," she cride, " away !" 
 
 yet, smiling, gaue consent. 
 
 Then did I helpe to plucke 
 of euery flower that grew ; 
 
 No herbe nor flower I mist, 
 but onely Time and Rue.
 
 A pleasant new Court Song. 109 
 
 Both she and I tooke paines 
 
 to gather flowers store, 
 Vntill this maiden said, 
 
 " kinde sir, He haue no more." 
 
 Yet still my Ion ing heart 
 
 did proffer more to pull ; 
 " No, sir," quoth she, " ile part, 
 
 because mine aprons full. 
 So, sir, ile take my leaue, 
 
 till next we meet againe :" 
 Rewards me with a kisse, 
 
 and thankes me for my paine.
 
 The Second part, To the same Tune. 
 
 It was my chance of late 
 
 to walke the pleasant fields, 
 Where sweet tun'd chirping birds 
 
 harmonious musicke yeelds. 
 I lent a listening eare 
 
 vnto their musicke rare ; 
 at last mine eye did glance 
 
 vpon a Damsell faire.
 
 A pleasant neiu Coiirt Song. 1 1 1 
 
 I stept me close aside, 
 
 vnder a Hawthorne bryer ; 
 Her passions laid her downe, 
 
 ore-rul'd with fond desire. 
 " Alacke, fond maide," she cride, 
 
 and straight fell a weeping, 
 "Why sufferest thou thy heart 
 
 within a false ones keeping ? 
 
 Wherefore is Venus Queene, 
 
 whom maids adore in mind, 
 Obdurate to our prayers 
 
 or, like her fondling, blinde, 
 When we doe spend our loues, 
 
 whose fond expence is vaine ? 
 For men are growne so false, 
 
 they cannot loue againe. 
 
 The Queene of loue doth know 
 
 best how the matter stands ; 
 And, Hymen knows, I long 
 
 to come within her bands. 
 My loue best knowes my loue, 
 
 and loue repaies with hate ; 
 Was euer virgin's loue 
 
 so much vnfortunate ?
 
 ii2 A pleasant new Court Song. 
 
 Did my loue fickle proue, 
 
 then had he cause to flye ; 
 But He be iudg'd by loue, 
 
 I lou'd him constantly." 
 I, hearing of her vowes, 
 
 set bashfulnesse apart, 
 And striu'd, with all my skill, 
 
 to cheere .this maiden's heart. 
 
 I did instruct her loue 
 
 where loue might be repaid : 
 "Could I," quoth she, "find loue, 
 
 I were an happy maid." 
 I straight, in loue, replide, 
 
 " in me thou Loue shalt finde ;" 
 So made the bargaine sure, 
 
 and eas'd the Maiden's mind. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed by the Assignes 6f Thomas Smycocke.
 
 A pleasant Countrey new Ditty ; 
 
 Merrily shewing how 
 To driue the cold Winter away. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF When Phoebus did rest, etc. 
 
 All hayle to the dayes 
 That merite more praise 
 
 then all the rest of the yeare ; 
 And welcome the nights, 
 That double delights 
 
 as well for the poore as the peere : 
 Good fortune attend 
 Each merry mans friend 
 
 that doth but the best that he may, 
 Forgetting old wrongs, 
 with Carrols and Songs, 
 
 to driue the cold winter away.
 
 H4 A pleasant Countrcy new Ditty, 
 
 Let misery packe, 
 
 With a whip at his backe, 
 
 to the deep Tantalian flood : 
 In the Lethe profound 
 Let enuy be drown'd 
 
 that pines at another mans good ; 
 Let sorrowes expence 
 Be banded from hence, 
 
 all payments of griefe delay : 
 And wholly consort, 
 With mirth and with sport, 
 
 to driue the cold winter away. 
 
 'Tis ill for a mind 
 To anger inclin'd 
 
 to ruminate iniuries now ; 
 If wrath be to seeke, 
 Do not let her thy cheeke, 
 
 nor yet inhabite thy brow. 
 Crosse out of those bookes 
 Maleuolent lookes 
 
 both beauty and youthes decay 
 And spend the long night 
 In honest delight, 
 
 to driike the cold winter away.
 
 A pleasant Countrey new Ditty. 115 
 
 The Court in all state 
 Now opens her gate, 
 
 and bids a free welcome to most ; 
 The City likewise, 
 Though somewhat precise, 
 
 doth willingly part with her cost ; 
 And yet, by report 
 From City and Court, 
 
 the Countrey gets the day : 
 More Liquor is spent, 
 And better content, 
 
 to driue the cold winter away. 
 
 The Gentry there 
 For cost do not spare, 
 
 the Yeomanry fast [but] in Lent ; 
 The Farmers, and such, 
 Thinks nothing too much, 
 
 if they keep but to pay their Rent. 
 The poorest of all 
 Do merrily call 
 
 (Want beares but a little sway,) 
 For a Song or a Tale 
 Ore a Pot of good Ale, 
 
 to driue the cold winter away.
 
 1 1 6 A pleasant Countrey new Ditty. 
 
 Thus none will allow 
 Of solitude now, 
 
 but merrily greets the time, 
 To make it appeare, 
 Of all the whole yeare, 
 
 that this is accounted the Prime. 
 December is scene 
 Apparel'd in greene, 
 
 and January, fresh as May, 
 Comes dancing along, 
 With a cup or a Sjng, 
 
 To driiie the cold winter away. 
 
 The second part, To the same tune.
 
 A pleasant Countrey new Ditty. 117 
 
 This time of the yeare 
 Is spent in good Cheare ; 
 
 kind neighbours together meet 
 To sit by the fire, 
 With friendly desire 
 
 each other in loue to greet : 
 Old grudges forgot 
 Are put in the pot 
 
 all sorrowes aside they lay ; 
 The old and the yong 
 Doth carroll his Song, 
 
 ty driue the cold winter away. 
 
 Sisley and Nanny 
 More iocund then any, 
 
 (as blithe as the month of lune) 
 Do caroll and sing 
 Like birds of the spring, 
 
 no Nightingale sweeter in tune : 
 To bring in content, 
 When summer is spent, 
 
 In pleasant delight and play ; 
 With mirth and good cheere 
 To end the old yeere, 
 
 A nd driue the cold winter away.
 
 1 1 8 A pleasant Countrey new Ditty. 
 
 The Shepheard, the Swaine, 
 Do highly disdaine 
 
 to waste out his time in care ; 
 And Clim of the Clough 
 Hath plenty enough, 
 
 if but a penny he spare 
 To spend at the night, 
 In ioy and delight, 
 
 now after his labours all day : 
 For better then Lands 
 Is helpe of his hands, 
 
 to driue the cold winter away. 
 
 To Maske and to Mum 
 Kind neighbours will come 
 
 with Wassels of nut-browne Ale, 
 To drinke and carouse 
 To all in this house, 
 
 as merry as bucks in the pale ; 
 Where Cake, Bread and Cheese, 
 Is brought for your fees, 
 
 to make you the longer stay 
 At the fire to warme 
 Will do you no harme, 
 
 to driue the cold winter away.
 
 A pleasant Countrey new Ditty. 119 
 
 When Christmas tide 
 Comes in like a Bride, 
 
 with Holly and luy clad, 
 Twelue dayes in the yeare 
 Much mirth and good cheare 
 
 in euery houshold is had : 
 The Countrey guise 
 Is then to deuise 
 
 some gambole of Christmas play ; 
 Whereas the yong men 
 Do best that they can 
 
 to driue the cold winter away. 
 
 When white-bearded Frost 
 Hath threatened his worst, 
 
 and fallen from Branch and Bryer, 
 Then time away cals 
 From Husbandry Hals, 
 
 & from the good Countryman's fire, 
 Together to go 
 To Plow and to sow, 
 
 to get vs both food and array : 
 And thus, with content, 
 The time we haue spent, 
 
 to driue the cold winter aivay. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed at London for H. G.
 
 The Catholick Ballad, 
 
 Or an Invitation to Popery upon Considerable 
 Grounds and Reasons. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Eighty eight. 
 
 Since Pop'ry of late is so much in debate, 
 And great strivings have been to restore it, 
 
 I cannot forbear openly to declare 
 That the Ballad-makers are for it. 
 
 We'll dispute no more then, these Heretical men 
 Have exposed our Booke unto laughter 
 
 So that many do say, 'twill be the best way 
 To sing for the Cause hereafter. 
 
 O, the Catholick Cause ! now assist me, my Muse, 
 
 How earnestly do I desire thee ! 
 Neither will I pray to St. Bridet to day, 
 
 But only to thee to inspire me. 
 
 Whence should Purity come, but from Catholic 
 Rome ? 
 
 I wonder much at your folly ! 
 For St. Peter was there, and left an old chair, 
 
 Enough to make all the world holy. 
 
 For this sacred old wood is so excellent good, 
 
 If our doctors may be believed, 
 That whoever sits there, needs never more fear 
 
 The danger of being deceived.
 
 The Catholick Ballad. 121 
 
 If the Devil himself should (God bless us) get up, 
 Though his nature we know to be evil, 
 
 Yet whilst he sat there, as divers will swear, 
 He would be an infallible Devil. 
 
 Now who sits in the seat but our father the Pope ? 
 
 Which is a plain demonstration, 
 As clear as noon-day, we are in a right way, 
 
 And all others are doom'd to Damnation. 
 
 If this will not suffice, yet, to open your eyes, 
 Which are blinded with bad education, 
 
 We have arguments plenty, and miracles twenty, 
 Enough to convince a whole nation. 
 
 If you give but good heed, you shall see the Host 
 bleed, 
 
 And, if any thing can persuade ye, 
 An image shall speak, or at least it shall squeak 
 
 In the honour of our Lady. 
 
 You shall see, without doubt, the Devil cast out, 
 
 As of old, by Erra Pater ; 
 He shall skip about and tear, like a dancing bear, 
 
 When he feels the Holy Water. 
 
 If yet doubtful you are, we have reliques most rare, 
 We can shew you the sacred manger ; 
 
 Several loads of the cross, as good as e'er was, 
 To preserve your souls from danger.
 
 122 
 
 The Catholick Ballad. 
 
 Should I tell you of all, it would move a stone-wall, 
 
 But I spare you a little for pity, 
 That each one may prepare, and rub up his ear, 
 
 For the Second Part of my Ditty. 
 
 The Second Part, To the same Tune. 
 
 Now listen again, to those things that remain, 
 They are matters of weight, I assure you ; 
 
 And the first thing I say, throw your Bibles away, 
 'Tis impossible else for to cure you. 
 
 O that pestilent Book ! never on it more look, 
 
 I wish I could sing it out louder, 
 It has done men more harm, I dare boldly affirm, 
 
 Than th' invention of guns and powder. 
 
 As for matters of faith, believe what the church saith, 
 But for Scripture, leave that to the learned ; 
 
 For these are edge-tools, and you laymen are fools, 
 If you touch them, y'are sure to be harmed. 
 
 But pray what is it for, that you make all this stir ? 
 
 You must read, you must hear, and, be learned : 
 If you'l be on our part, we will teach you an art, 
 
 That you need not be so much concerned.
 
 The Catholick Ballad. 123 
 
 Be the churches good son, and your work is half 
 
 done, 
 
 After that you may do your own pleasure : 
 If your beads you can tell, and say Ave Mary well, 
 Never doubt of the heavenly treasure. 
 
 For the Pope keeps the keys, and can do what he 
 please, 
 
 And without all, peradventure, 
 If you cannot at the fore, yet at the back-door 
 
 Of Indulgence you may enter. 
 
 But first, by the way, you must make a short stay 
 
 At a place called Purgatory, 
 Which, the learned us tell, in the buildings of Hell, 
 
 Is about the middlemost story. 
 
 1 Tis a monstrous hot place, and a mark of disgrace, 
 
 In the torment on't long to endure ; 
 None are kept there but fools, and poor pitiful souls 
 Who can no ready money procure. 
 
 For] a handsum round sum you may quickly be gon, 
 
 So the Church has wisely ordein'd, 
 And they who build crosses and pay well for masses, 
 
 Would not there be too long detein'd.
 
 124 The Catholick Ballad. 
 
 And that 'tis a plain case, as the nose on one's face, 
 
 They are in the surest condition, 
 Since none but poor fouls, & some niggardly owls, 
 
 Can fall into utter perdition. 
 
 [If] they fail you then, O ye great and rich men, 
 ['Tis] that you will not hearken to reason ; 
 
 For] as long as y' have pence, y' need scruple no 
 
 offence, 
 For murther, adultery, treason. 
 
 And ye sweet-natur'd women, who hold all things 
 common, 
 
 My addresses to you are most hearty ; 
 And to give you your due, you are to us most true, 
 
 And we hope we shall gain the whole party. 
 
 If you happen to fall, your pennance is small, 
 
 And although you cannot forgo it, 
 We have for you a cure, if of this you be sure, 
 
 To confess before you go to it. 
 
 There is one reason yet, which I cannot omit. 
 
 To those who affect the French nation, 
 Hereby we advance the religion of France, 
 
 The religion thats only in fashion.
 
 The Cat ho lick Ballad. 125 
 
 If these reasons prevail (as how can they fail ?) 
 
 To have Popery entertain'd, 
 You cannot conceive, and will hardly believe, 
 
 What benefits hence may be gain'd. 
 
 For the Pope shall us bless (that's no small happi- 
 ness), 
 
 And again we shall see restored 
 The Italian trade, which formerly made 
 
 This land to be so much adored. 
 
 O the Pictures and Rings, the Beads and fine things, 
 
 The good words as sweet as honey, 
 All this and much more shall be brought to our door, 
 
 For a little dull English money. 
 
 Then shall lustice and Love, and whatever can move, 
 
 Be restored again to our Britain ; 
 And Learning so common, that every old Woman 
 
 Shall say her Prayers in Latin. 
 
 Then the Church shall bear sway, and the State shall 
 
 obey, 
 
 Which is now lookt upon as a wonder ; 
 And the proudest of Kings, with all Temporal things, 
 
 Shall submit and trickle under. 
 
 I
 
 126 The Catholick Ballad, 
 
 And the Parliament too, who have tak'n us to do, 
 And have handled us with so much Terror, 
 
 May chance on that score ('tis no time to say more). 
 They may chance to acknowledge their Error. 
 
 If any Man, yet, shall have so little Wit 
 
 As still to be Refractory, 
 I swear by the Mass, he is a meer Ass, 
 
 And so there's an end of the Story. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 [London, printed for Henry Brome at the 
 Gun, the west end of St. Pauls Church- 
 yard, MDCLXXVIII. 
 
 Written by Walter Pope, A.M., of the Royal Society, 
 and sometime Fellow of Wadham College.]
 
 The Cruell Shrow ; 
 
 Or the 
 Patient Mans Woe. 
 
 Declaring the misery, and the great paine, 
 By his vnquiet wife he doth dayly sustaine. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Cu c kolds all arowe. 
 
 Come, Batchelors and Married men, 
 
 and listen to my Song, 
 And I will shew you plainely, then, 
 
 the iniury and wrong 
 That constantly I doe sustaine 
 
 by the vnhappy life, 
 The which does put me to great pain, 
 
 by my vnquiet wife.
 
 The Cruel Shrow. 
 
 She neuer linnes her bauling, 
 
 her tongue it is so loud ; 
 But alwaies shee'le be railing, 
 
 and will not be contrould ; 
 For shee the Bridies still will weare, 
 
 although it breedes my strife : 
 If I were now a Batchelor, 
 
 I'de neuer haue a Wife. 
 
 Sometime I goe i' the morning 
 
 about my dayly worke, 
 My wife she will be snorting, 
 
 and in her bed shy'le lurke 
 Vntil the Chimes do goe at Eight, 
 
 then she'le beginne to wake ; 
 Her morning's draught, well spiced straight, 
 
 to cleare her eyes, she'le take. 
 
 As soone as shee is out of bed 
 her Looking-glasse shee takes, 
 
 So vainely is she dayly led ; 
 
 her mornings worke shee makes 
 
 o 
 
 In putting on her braue atyre, 
 
 that fine and costly be, 
 Whilst I worke hard in durt and mire, 
 
 alacke ! what remedy ?
 
 The Cruel S/trow. 129 
 
 Then she goes foorth a Gossiping 
 
 amongst her own Comrades ; 
 And then she falls a bowsing 
 
 with all her merry blades. 
 When I come home from my labour hard, 
 
 then shee'le begin to scould, 
 And calls me Rogue, without regard, 
 
 which makes my heart full cold. 
 
 When I come home into my house, 
 
 thinking to take my rest : 
 Then she'le begin me to abuse 
 
 before she did but lest, 
 With " out, you Raskall ! you have beene 
 
 abroad to meet your Whoore !" 
 Then shee takes vp a Cudgel's end, 
 
 and breaks my head full sore. 
 
 When I, for quietnesse-sake, desire 
 
 my wife for to be still, 
 She will not grant what I require, 
 
 but sweares she'le haue her will. 
 Then if I chance to heaue my hand, 
 
 straight- way she'le murder ! cry : 
 Then iudge all men that here doe stand, 
 
 in what a case am I.
 
 The second Part, To the same Tune. 
 
 And if a friend by chance me call 
 
 to drinke a pot of Beere, 
 Then she'le begin to curse and brail, 
 
 and fight, and scratch, and teare, 
 And sweares vnto my work she'le send 
 
 me straight, without delay, 
 Or else, with the same Cudgels end, 
 
 shee will me soundly pay.
 
 Ike Cruel S/irotv. 
 
 And if I chance to sit at meat 
 
 vpon some holy day, 
 She is so sullen, she will not eate, 
 
 but vexe me euer and aye : 
 She'le pout, and loure, and curse, & baniv 
 
 this is the weary life 
 That I doe leade, poore harmelesse man, 
 
 with my most dogged wife. 
 
 Then is not this a pitteous cause ? 
 
 let all men now it trie, 
 And giue their verdits, by the Lawes, 
 
 betweene my wife and I ; 
 And judge the cause, who is to blame, 
 
 He to their Judgement stand, 
 And be contented with the same, 
 
 and put thereto my hand. 
 
 If I abroad goe any where, 
 
 my business for to doe, 
 Then will my Wife anone be there, 
 
 for to encrease my woe : 
 Straight way she such a noise wil make 
 
 with her most wicked tongue, 
 That all her mates, her part to take, 
 
 about me soone will thronge.
 
 132 The Cruel Shrow. 
 
 Thus am I now tormented still 
 
 with my most cruell Wife ; 
 All through her wicked tongue so ill, 
 
 I am weary of my life : 
 I know not truely what to doe, 
 
 nor how my selfe to mend ; 
 This lingring life doth breede my woe, 
 
 I would 'twere at an ende. 
 
 O that some harmelesse honest man, 
 
 whom Death did so befriend, 
 To take his Wife from off his hand, 
 
 his sorrowes for to end, 
 Would change with me, to rid my care, 
 
 and take my wife aliue 
 For his Dead wife vnto his share, 
 
 then I would hope to thriue. 
 
 But so it likely will nol be, 
 
 that is the worst of all ! 
 For, to encrease my dayly woe, 
 
 and for to breed my fall, 
 My wife is still most fro ward bent 
 
 such is my lucklesse fate ! 
 There is no man will be content 
 
 with my vnhappy state.
 
 The Cruel S/irow. 133 
 
 Thus to conclude and make an ende 
 
 of these my Verses rude, 
 I pray all wiues for to amende, 
 
 and with peace to be endude. 
 Take warning, all men, by the life 
 
 that I sustained long, 
 Be carefull how you'le chuse a Wife, 
 
 and so I'le ende my Song. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Arthur Halliarg. 
 
 London, Printed by M. P. for Henry Gossan, on 
 London Bridge, neere the Gate.
 
 The Cooper of Norfolke ; 
 
 Or, 
 
 A pretty lest of a Brewer and the Coopers Wife 
 And how the Cooper served the Brewer 
 in his kind. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF The Wiving Age. 
 
 Attend, my Masters, and listen well 
 Vnto this my Ditty, which briefly doth tell 
 Of a fine merry lest which in Norfolke befell. 
 A braue lusty Cooper in that Countie did dwell, 
 
 And there he cry'd, Worke for a Cooper ; 
 
 Maids, ha' ye any worke for a Cooper ?
 
 The Cooper of Norfolk. 135 
 
 This Cooper he had a faire creature to 's Wife, 
 Which a Brewer i'th Towne lou'd as deare as his 
 
 life ; 
 
 And she had a tricke which in some wiues is rife, 
 She still kept a sheath for another man's knife, 
 And often cornuted the Cooper, 
 While he cry'd, More worke for a Cooper. 
 
 It hapned one morning the Cooper out went, 
 To worke for his liuing it was his intent ; 
 He trusted his house to his wiues gouernment, 
 And left her in bed to her owne hearts content, 
 While he cry'd, What worke for a Cooper, 
 Maids, ha' ye any worke for a Cooper ? 
 
 And as the Cooper was passing along, 
 Still crying and calling his old wonted song, 
 The Brewer, his riuall, both-lustie and yong, 
 Did thinke now or neuer to doe him some wrong, 
 And lie with the wife of the Cooper, 
 Who better lov'd him than the Cooper. 
 
 So, calling the Cooper, hee to him did say, 
 Goe home to my house, and make no delay, 
 I haue so much worke as. thou canst doe to-day ; 
 What euer thou earnest, He bountifully pay. 
 These tidings well pleased the Cooper : 
 Oh, this was brave newes for the Cooper.
 
 136 The Cooper of Norfolk. 
 
 Away went the Cooper to th' house of the Brewer, 
 Who, seeing him safe at his worke to indure, 
 Thought he, now for this day the Cooper is sure ; 
 He goe to his wife, her green-sicknesse to cure ; 
 Take heed of your forehead, good Cooper, 
 For now I must worke for the Cooper. 
 
 So straightwaies he went to the Coopers dwelling ; 
 The goodwife to giue entertainment was willing; 
 The Brewer & she like two pigeons were billing ; 
 And what they did else they haue bound mee from 
 telling. 
 
 He pleaded the wife of the Cooper; 
 
 Who better lov'd him than the Cooper. 
 
 But marke how it happened now at the last : 
 The sunshine of pleasure was soone ouer-past ; 
 The Cooper did lacke one of 's Tooles, and in haste, 
 He came home to fetch it, and found the doore fast. 
 Wife, open the doore, quoth the Cooper, 
 And let in thy husband the Cooper. 
 
 Now when the good wife and the Brewer did heare, 
 The Cooper at doore, affrighted they were : 
 The Brewer was in such a bodily feare, 
 That for to hide himselfe he knew not where, 
 To shun the fierce rage of the Cooper : 
 He thought he should die by the Cooper.
 
 The Cooper of Norfolk. 137- 
 
 The good wife perceiuing his wofull estate, 
 
 She hauing a subtill and politicke pate, 
 
 She suddenly whelm'd downe a great brewing Vat, 
 
 And closely she couer'd the Brewer with that. 
 
 Then after shee let in the Cooper. 
 
 What's under this Tub ? quoth the Cooper. 
 
 The second Part, To the same Tune. 
 
 She hearing her husband that question demand, 
 She thought it was time to her tackling to stand : 
 " Take heed how you moue it," quod she, " with. 
 
 your hand, 
 
 For there's a Hue Pig, was sent by a friend : 
 Oh, let it alone, good Cooper." 
 Thus she thought to couzen the Cooper. 
 
 " Is it a Sow pig ?" the Cooper did say ; 
 
 " Let me hau't to my Supper " the good wife said, 
 
 " nay, 
 
 It is, sir, a Bore-pig," quoth she, " by my fay; 
 'Tis for my owne diet, 'twas giu'n me to-day. 
 
 It is not for you, lohn Cooper; 
 
 Then let it alone, lohn Cooper."
 
 138 7 he Cooper of Norfolk. 
 
 " I would it were in thy belly," quoth lohn. 
 " Indeed," quoth the goodwife, " so it shall be anon ; 
 What ere I do with it, faith, thou shalt haue none ; 
 Why stand'st thou here prating ? I prethee be gone : 
 
 Make haste to thy worke, lohn Cooper ; 
 
 Worse meat's good enough for a Cooper. 
 
 " Cannot a good wife haue a bit now and than, 
 But there must be notice tane by the good man ? 
 He hau't to my dinner, sir, doe what you can ; 
 It may be I long to haue all or none. 
 
 Then prethee content thyselfe, Cooper ; 
 
 Oh, goe to thy worke, lohn Cooper." 
 
 The Cooper mistrusted some knauerie to be 
 Hid vnder the brewing Vat, and therefore hee 
 Was fully resolu'd for his mind-sake to see. 
 Alas ! thought the Brewer, now woe be to me ; 
 
 Oh, what shall I say to the Cooper ? 
 
 I would I were gone from the Cooper. 
 
 "You whore," _ quod the Cooper; "is this your 
 Bore-pig ? 
 
 He has beene well-fed, for hee's growne very big : 
 
 He either of him haue an arme or a leg ; 
 
 He make him vnable his taile for to wrig ; 
 Before he gets hence from lohn Cooper 
 He make him remember the Cooper."
 
 The Cooper of Norfolk. 139 
 
 Oh, pardon me, Neighbour, the Brewer did say, 
 And for the offence I haue done thee this day 
 I am well contented thy wrath to allay, 
 And make restitution for this my foule play ; 
 O prethee forgive me, lohn Cooper, 
 And He be a friend to lohn Cooper. 
 
 " If from this offence thou wilt set me cleere, 
 My bounty and loue to thee shall appeare : 
 He freely allow thee and thine all the yeare, 
 As much as yee'l drink, either strong Ale or Beere. 
 Then prethee forgive me, lohn Cooper, 
 Accept of my proffer, lohn Cooper." 
 
 " Oh, no" quoth the Cooper, " I'de haue thee to 
 
 thinke, 
 
 That I with my labour can buy myselfe drinke ; 
 He geld thee, or lame thee, ere from me thou shrink." 
 These words made the Brewer with fear for to stink. 
 
 He feared the rage of the Cooper, 
 
 Yet still he intreated the Cooper. 
 
 The Cooper by no meanes would let go his hold ; 
 The Brewer cry'd out to the Cooper and told 
 Him, there was the key of his siluer and gold, 
 And gaue him free leaue to fetch what he would. 
 
 Oh, then he contented the Cooper ; 
 
 These tidings well pleased the Cooper.
 
 140 The Cooper of Norfolk. 
 
 *' It thou," quoth the Cooper, "' wilt sweare with an 
 
 oath, 
 
 To doe all thou tell'st me, although I am loath, 
 I will be contented to pardon you both." 
 *' Content," quoth the Brewer " I will, by my troth. 
 Here, take thou my key, lohn Cooper." 
 " Yea, with a good will," quoth the Cooper. 
 
 On this condition they both went their way, 
 Both lohn and the Brewer, but lohn kept the key 
 Which open'd the Coffer, where more money lay 
 Than lohn the Cooper had scene many a day. 
 
 This is a brave sight, thought the Cooper. 
 
 He furnish my selfe, thought the Cooper. 
 
 John was so farre in affection with that, 
 
 That he tooke up handfuls and filled his Hat. 
 
 "I will haue my bargaine," quoth lohn, "that is flat ; 
 
 The Brewer shall pay well for using my Vat ; 
 
 lie cry no more Worke for a Cooper; 
 
 Farewell to the trade of a Cooper." 
 
 Thus money can pacific the greatest strife; 
 
 For lohn never after found fault with his wife. 
 
 Hee left of his Adz, his Saw and his Knife, 
 
 And after liu'd richly all days of his life. 
 
 Hee cry'd no more, " Work for a Cooper ;" 
 Oh, he left off the trade of a Cooper.
 
 The Cooper of Norfolk. 141 
 
 And in his merry mood oft he would say, 
 "If that I had hoop't twenty tubs in one day, 
 I should not haue got so much wealth by my fay ; 
 Gramercie, kind wife, for thy wit found the way 
 
 To make a rich man of lohn Cooper. 
 
 Oh, what a good wife has lohn Cooper." 
 
 Let no marry'd couple, that hear this tale told, 
 
 Be of the opinion this couple did hold, 
 
 To sell reputation for siluer or gold 
 
 For credit and honesty should not be sold. 
 Thus ended the song of the Cooper, 
 That cry'd, Ha' ye any worke for a Cooper ? 
 
 M. P. 
 
 Finis. 
 
 Printed at London, for Francis Grove, on Snow-hill.
 
 Choice of Inuentions, 
 
 Or 
 
 Seuerall sorts of the figure of three, 
 That are newly compos'd as you may here see ; 
 Then lend your attention, you shall heare anon ; 
 It goes to the tune of Rock the Cradle, sweet John. 
 
 There were three men of Gotarn, 
 as I haue heard men say, 
 
 That needs would ride a hunting 
 vpon Saint Dauid's day.
 
 Choice of Inventions. 143 
 
 Though all the day they hunting were, 
 
 yet no sport could they see, 
 Vntill they spide an Owle, 
 
 as she sate in a tree. 
 The first man said it t'was a Goose. 
 
 the second man said nay, 
 The third man said it was a Hawke, 
 
 but his Bels were falne away : 
 There was an Ewe had three Lambes, 
 
 and one of them w'as blacke ; 
 There was a man had three sonnes, 
 
 leffery, lames, and lacke ; 
 The one was hangd, the other drown d, 
 The third was lost and never found, 
 The old man he fell in a sownd : 
 
 come, Jill vs a cup of Sacke. 
 
 There were three London Lasses 
 
 did loue a bonney Lad, 
 And either of these Wenchs thought 
 
 this young man to haue had. 
 These Damsels all together met, 
 
 and wrought a strange deuice, 
 That she should have the man that could 
 
 throw most vpon three Dice ; 
 Their maiden-heads must be the stake.
 
 144 Choice of Inventions. 
 
 now marke what did befall, 
 The young man threw the greatest cast, 
 
 and brauely wonne they all. 
 There was an Ewe, &c. 
 
 There were three good old women 
 
 that would not be contrould, 
 And each of them must take her cup, 
 
 to keepe them from the cold. 
 The one of them a Taylors wife, 
 
 the other was a Weauer, 
 The third a merry Coblers wife, 
 
 that praid for dirty weather ; 
 To sit and chat of this and that, 
 
 it was then their hearts desire ; 
 So long they staid till two were drunk, 
 
 the third fell in the fire. 
 There was an Ewe, &c. 
 
 The Piper pip't his wife a daunce, 
 
 and there sprung vp a Rose ; 
 The Cobler drunke strong Ale so long 
 
 till he had wrong'd his Hose ; 
 His wife came with a Broomstaffe, 
 
 and strooke him on the head, 
 That euery one did surely thinke 
 
 the Cobler had beene dead : 
 But being to his senses come,
 
 Choice of Inventions. 145 
 
 " sweet wife," said he, " be quiet, 
 This twelue months day lie take small Beere 
 
 or water for my diet," 
 There was an Ewe, &c. 
 
 A man that hath a sluttish wife 
 
 is in a beastly taking : 
 And he that hath a cleanly wife 
 
 is of another making ; 
 He that hath a dogged wife 
 
 my fancy cannot brooke, 
 But he that hath a vertuous wife 
 
 hath farre more better lucke : 
 He that hath a drunken wife, 
 
 that spends all at the Alehouse, 
 Were better take a Cord in hand, 
 
 and hang himselfe at the Gallowes. 
 TItere was a Ewe had three Lambs, 
 
 and one of them was blacke ; 
 There was a man had three sonnes, 
 
 leffery, lames, and lacke ; 
 The one was hang'd, the other drown d, 
 The third was lost and neuer found, 
 The old man he fell in a sownd ; 
 
 come, Jill vs a ciip of Sacke.
 
 The Second Part, to the same tune. 
 
 There was a lasse had three Louers, 
 
 the one of them a Taylor, 
 The second was a monied man, 
 
 the third a louiall Saylor : 
 The Taylor gaue his Loue a Gowne, 
 
 in loue and kinde good will ; 
 The Vsurer, with his money-bags, 
 
 her purse did often fill ;
 
 Choice of Inventions. 147 
 
 The Saylor in the Euening came 
 
 vnto his hearts delight, 
 And brauely carried the wench away, 
 
 the childe and all, by night. 
 There was a Ewe had three Lambes, 
 
 and one of them was blacke ; 
 There was a man had three sonnes, 
 
 leffery, lames, and lacke ; 
 The one was hang'd, the other drown d, 
 The third was lost and ncuer jound, 
 The old man he fell in a sownd : 
 
 come, fill vs a cup of Sacke. 
 
 There were three roaring F idlers 
 
 came lately out of France, 
 That light and nimbly can 
 
 teach maidens how to daunce. 
 In Turnbull-street and Clarkenwell, 
 
 Pickt- hatch, and faire Bloomsberry, 
 These ndlers taught their scholler there 
 
 to sing, daunce, and be merry : 
 Yet bid all F idlers haue a care 
 
 of dauncing in this kinde, 
 Lest they from Tiburne chance to fall, 
 
 and leaue the Crowd behinde. 
 There was, &c.
 
 148 Choice oj Inventions. 
 
 A man that hath a signe at his doore, 
 
 and keeps good Ale to sell, 
 A comely wife to please his guests, 
 
 may thriue exceedingly well ; 
 But he that hath a scolding wife, 
 
 his fortune is the worse, 
 For shee'll not onely brawle and chide, 
 
 but picke her husbands purse : 
 And he that hath a foole to his wife, 
 
 her neighbours oft will flout her ; 
 But he that hath a Whore to his wife, 
 
 were better be without her. 
 Ihere was, &c. 
 
 There were three lusty souldiers 
 
 went through a towne of late, 
 The one lou'd Besse, the other Sisse, 
 
 the third lou'd bouncing Kate. 
 These maidens were three Landresses, 
 
 to wash mens shirts and bands, 
 And for their pains these souldiers gaue 
 
 them wages in their hands. 
 The Gallants are to Sweathland gone 
 
 all this is truth I tell yee 
 And left these Lasses for to cry, 
 
 " woe and alas ! my belly !" 
 There was, &c.
 
 C twice of Intentions. 149 
 
 Three Gallants in a Tauerne 
 
 did brauely call for Wine ; 
 But he that loues those dainty Gates 
 
 is sure no friend of mine ; 
 Giue me a cup of Barley broth, 
 
 for this of truth is spoke, 
 These Gallants drunke so hard that each 
 
 was forct to pawne his Cloake : 
 The oyle of Barley neuer did 
 
 such iniury doe to none, 
 So that they drinke what may suffice, 
 
 and afterwards be gone. 
 There was a Ewe had three Lambes, 
 
 and one of them was blacke ; 
 There was a man had three sonries, 
 
 leffery, lames, and lacke ; 
 The one was hangd, the other drownd, 
 The third was. lost and never found, 
 The old man he Jell in a sownd: 
 
 come, fill vs a cup of Sacke. 
 
 Printed at London for F. Coles.
 
 The Country-mans new Care away. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Lone will find out the way. 
 
 If there were imployments 
 
 for men, as haue beene, 
 And Drun mes, Pikes, and Muskets 
 
 in th' field to be scene, 
 And euery worthy Sculdier 
 
 had truely their pay, 
 Then might they be bolder 
 
 to sing " Care, away !"
 
 Care, aiuay ! 
 
 If there were no Rooking, 
 
 but plaine dealing vsed, 
 If honest Religion 
 
 were no wayes abused ; 
 If pride in the Country 
 
 did not beare sway, 
 The poore and the Gentry 
 
 might sing " Care, away!" 
 
 If Farmers consider'd 
 
 the dearenesse of graine, 
 How honest poore Tradesman 
 
 their charge should maintaine, 
 And would bate the price on't 
 
 to sing " Care, away !" 
 We should not be nice on't 
 
 of what we did pay. 
 
 If poore Tenants Landlords 
 
 would not racke their rents, 
 Which oft is the cause of 
 
 their great discontents ; 
 If, againe, good-house-keeping 
 
 in th' Land did beare sway, 
 The poore that sits weeping 
 
 might sing " Care, away!"
 
 152 Care, away ! 
 
 If to Hue vprightly 
 
 all men were* concurring, 
 If Lawyers with Clients 
 
 would vse no demurring, 
 But kindly would vse them, 
 
 for what they did pay, 
 They need not sit musing, 
 
 but sing " Care, away !" 
 
 If Spendthrifts were carefull, 
 
 and would leaue their follies, 
 Ebriety hating, 
 
 Cards, Dice, Bowling-Alleyes, 
 Or with wantons to dally 
 
 by night or by day, 
 Their wiues might be merry 
 
 and sing " Care, away !"
 
 If Children to Parents 
 
 would dutifull be, 
 If Seruants with Masters 
 
 would deale faithfully, 
 If Gallants poore Tradesman 
 
 would honestly pay, 
 Then might they have comfort 
 
 to sing " Care, away !"
 
 154 Care, away ! 
 
 There is no contentment 
 
 to a conscience that's cleare ; 
 That man is most wretched 
 
 [who] a bad mind doth beare 
 To wrong his poor Neighbour 
 
 by night or by day : 
 He wants the true comfort 
 
 To sing " Care, away !' 
 
 But he that is ready 
 
 by goodness to labour 
 In what he is able 
 
 to helpe his poore Neighbour, 
 The Lord will euer blesse him 
 
 by night and by day ; 
 All ioyes shall possesse him 
 
 to sing " Care, away !" 
 
 Would wiues with their husbands, 
 
 and husbands with wiuejV], 
 In loue and true friendship 
 
 would so lead their hues 
 As best might be pleasing 
 
 to God night and day, 
 Then they, with hearts' easing, 
 
 might sing " Care, away!"
 
 Care, away ! 155 
 
 No crosse can be greater 
 
 o 
 
 vnto a good mind 
 Than a man to be matched 
 
 with a woman vnkind, 
 Whose tongue is never quiet, 
 
 but scolds night and day, 
 That man wants the comfort 
 
 to sing " Care, away !" 
 
 A vertuous woman 
 
 a husband that hath 
 That's giuen vnto lewdnesse, 
 
 to enuy and wrath, 
 "Who after wicked women 
 
 does hunt, for his prey, 
 That woman wants comfort 
 
 to sing " Care, away !" 
 
 Where there no resorting 
 
 to houses of vice, 
 Or were there no courting 
 
 a wench that is nice, 
 Yet, ere she will refuse it, 
 
 the wanton will play, 
 Poore men might be merry, 
 
 and sing " Care, away !'"
 
 56 Care, away ! 
 
 Like true subjects loyall, 
 
 to God let us pray, 
 Our good King so Royall 
 
 to preserue night and day : 
 With the Queen, Prince, and Nobles, 
 
 the Lord blesse them aye : 
 Then may we all haue comfort 
 
 to sing " Care, away !"
 
 Come, buy this new Ballad, before you doe goe 
 If you raile at the Author, I know what I know. 
 
 To the Tune of lie fell you but so. 
 
 It is an old saying, 
 
 that few words are best 
 And he that sayes little 
 
 shall Hue most at rest ;
 
 158 Come, buy this new Ballad. 
 
 And I, by experience, 
 doe finde it right so, 
 
 Therefore ile spare speech, 
 But I know, what I know. 
 
 Yet shall you perceiue well, 
 
 though little I say, 
 That many enormities 
 
 I will display. 
 You may gusse my meaning 
 
 by that which I show ; 
 I will not tell all, 
 
 but I know, &c. 
 
 There be some great climbers, 
 
 compos'd of ambition, 
 To whom better-borne men 
 
 doe bend, with submission : 
 Proud Lucifer, climbing, 
 
 was cast very low ; 
 Ile not stay these men, 
 
 but I know, &c. 
 
 There be many Foxes 
 
 that go on two legges 
 They steale greater matters 
 
 then Cocks, Hennes, and Egges ;
 
 Come, buy this new Ballad. 159 
 
 To catch many Guls 
 
 in Sheepes cloathing they goe ; 
 They might be destroy'd, 
 
 but I know, &c. 
 
 There be many men 
 
 that Deuotion pretend, 
 And make us beleeue 
 
 that true Faith they'le defend : 
 Three times in one day 
 
 to Church they will goe ; 
 They cozen the world, 
 
 but I know, &c. 
 
 There be many rich men, 
 
 both Yeomen and Gentry, 
 That for their owne priuate gaine, 
 
 hurt a whole Countrey 
 By closing free Commons ; 
 
 yet they'le make as though 
 'Twere for common good, 
 
 but I know, &c. 
 
 There be diuers Papists 
 that, to saue their Fine, 
 
 Come to Church once a moneth 
 to heare Seruice Divine,
 
 1 60 Come, buy this new Ballad. 
 
 The Pope giues them power, 
 as they say, to doe so ; 
 
 They saue money by't too, 
 but I know, &c. 
 
 There be many Vpstarts, 
 
 That spring from the Cart, 
 Who, gotten to th' Court, 
 
 Play the Gentlemans part : 
 Their fathers were plaine men ; 
 
 they scorne to be so ; 
 They thinke themselues braue, 
 
 but I know, &c. 
 
 There be many Officers, 
 
 men of great place, 
 To whom if one sue 
 
 for their fauour and grace, 
 He must bribe their seruants, 
 
 while they make as though 
 They know no such thing, 
 
 but I know, &c.
 
 The Second Part, To the same Tune. 
 
 There be many Women 
 
 That seeme very pure ; 
 A kisse from a stranger 
 
 they'le hardly endure. 
 They are like Lucretia 
 
 modest in show ; 
 I will accuse none, 
 
 but I know, &c.
 
 1 62 Come, buy this new Ballad. 
 
 Likewise there be many 
 
 dissembling men 
 That seeme to hate Drinking 
 
 and Whoring, yet when 
 They meet with a Wench, 
 
 to the Tauerne they'le goe, 
 They are ciuill all day, 
 
 but I know, &c. 
 
 There be many Batchelors 
 
 that, to beguile 
 Beleeuing kind Lasses, 
 
 vse many a wile ; 
 They all sweare that they loue 
 
 when they meane nothing so 
 And boast of these trickes, 
 
 but I know, 8ic. 
 
 There's many an Vsurer 
 
 that, like a Drone, 
 Doth idly Hue 
 
 vpon his moneys Lone ; 
 From Tens vnto Hundreds 
 
 his money doth grow ; 
 He sayes he doth good, 
 
 but I know, &c.
 
 Come, biiy this new Ballad, 1 63 
 
 There be many Gallants 
 
 that goe in gay Rayment 
 For which the Taylor 
 
 did neuer receiue payment ; 
 They ruffle it out 
 
 with a gorgeous show ; 
 Some take them for Knights, 
 
 but I know, &c. 
 
 There be many Rorers, 
 
 That swagger and rore 
 As though they in th' warres had befen] 
 
 seuen yeeres and more ; 
 And yet they neuer lookt 
 
 in the face of a Foe ; 
 They seeme gallant Sparkes, 
 
 but I know, &c. 
 
 There's many, both Women 
 
 an Men, that appeare 
 With beautifull Out-sides, 
 
 the World's eyes to bleare ; 
 But all is not Gold 
 
 that doth glister in show ; 
 They are fine with a Pox, 
 
 but I know, &c.
 
 164 Come, biiy this new Ballaa. 
 
 There's many rich Trades-men 
 
 who Hue by Deceit, 
 And in Weight and Measure 
 
 the poore they do cheat ; 
 They'le not sweare an Oath, 
 
 but indeed, I and No; 
 They " truely protest," 
 
 but I know, &c. 
 
 There be many people 
 
 so giuen to strife, 
 That they'le goe to Law 
 
 for a two-penny Knife : 
 The Lawyers nere aske them 
 
 why they doe so ; 
 He gets by their hate, 
 
 but I know, &c. 
 
 I know there be many 
 
 Will carpe at this Ballet, 
 Because it is like 
 
 sowre Sawce to their Pallet ; 
 But he, shee, or they, 
 
 let me tell ere I goe, 
 If they speake against this Song, 
 
 / know what I know. Finis. 
 
 Printed by the Assignes of Thomas Symcocke.
 
 A new Ballad, containing a communi- 
 cation between the carefull Wife and the com- 
 fortable Husband, touching the common cares and 
 
 charges of House-hold. 
 
 THE CAREFUL WIFE. 
 
 How shall we, good husband, now live, this hard 
 
 yeare, 
 
 This world is so queasie, and all things so deare, 
 And so little taking of money for ware, 
 Makes me lye waking with no little care :
 
 1 66 The Carefidl Wife. 
 
 Then had you need, Husband, to looke to the Fore, 
 Whose crafty conveyance will empty your bore, 
 With faire fawning speeches some credit to crave, 
 Or else to bee surety for more than you have. 
 
 Then, Husband, bee carefull and not over large, 
 For unto Hous-keeping there 'longeth a charge : 
 In wiving and thriving, it is an old song, 
 More then the bare legs to bed doe belong. 
 What you spend on mee, I take for my paine 
 For doing such duties as you would disdain ; 
 For dressing your dyet, in washing and wringing, 
 And much paines I take, man, with faire babies 
 bringing. 
 
 And what you doe get, Sir, that will I save ; 
 
 What better good will in a Wife can you have ? 
 
 Be sure of my promise " for better, for worse," 
 
 I will be a huswife, to husband your purse. 
 
 I must provide, man, for many an odde thing 
 
 That you never looke to buy or to bring ; 
 
 To welcome your neighbours, your Nurse, and your 
 
 friend, 
 To furnish a houshold 'longs many an odde end. 
 
 What need, man, such odding betwixt you and me ? 
 All shall bee even, man, if wee two agree ; 
 Even you, my good husband, and I, your good wife, 
 Will passe this hard yeere, man, without any strife ;
 
 The Carefull Wife. 167 
 
 And I, for my part, will doe what I may, 
 
 With Spinning and Reeling, to passe time away ; 
 
 Providing, and getting to pay for my flaxe, 
 
 That none shall come chatting to you for such lacks. 
 
 As just as you will, man, I will be content, 
 Pay you the Brewer and the Landlord his rent, 
 The Butcher, the Baker, and the Collier his score, 
 And then the Woodmonger, and I aske no more ; 
 Then a good Newyeers gift, good husband, give 
 
 mee, 
 
 And a good Newyeers gift I doe give thee : 
 Thou hast a good wife, that a huswife will bee, 
 Both this yeare and many to bee merry with thee. 
 
 THE COMFORTABLE HUSBAND. 
 
 Wife, as wee get little, so temper our dyet 
 With any small morsell to live and be quiet, 
 Though home be but homely, and never so poore, 
 Yet let us keepe, warily, the Wolfe from the doore. 
 Nay, there lay a straw Wife, I am not so mad ; 
 Well payd is well sold, wife ; a man may be glad 
 With any light gaine to fill up the purse, 
 Meane state to maintaine, but not make it worse.
 
 1 68 The Comfortable Husband. 
 
 I know it is true, goodwife, that you say, 
 He that doth marry, must cast much away ; 
 For looke, whatsoeuer I spend upon you, 
 Comes never againe, (wife), I think this is true. 
 Looke what you would haue, Wife, let mee know, 
 I grutch not at any thing that you bestow ; 
 Be content and pleased, lacke shall bee no let ; 
 He see your cares eased as fast as I get. 
 
 But looke no more in, wife, then I looke without ; 
 You looke in my purse, wife, too often, I doubt ; 
 But when you looke in, would you bring in as fast ? 
 Then, though you still look'd, the longer 'twould last. 
 Vpon the odds, wife, I perceive still you goe ; 
 With the oddes I have gotten a verry odde shrow ; 
 The oddes may sometimes, wife, make a faire lay, 
 And the oddes may hazard to make all away. 
 
 A merry new life makes a merry beginning ; 
 Let goe : this is past, wife ; be it losing or winning, 
 I will play the good husband the best that I can, 
 To live with good credit and pay every man. 
 Then shall wee lacke nothing, wife, I doe beleeve, 
 Nor no man shall take you or me by the sleeve 
 For scoring, or tallying, or taking on trust, 
 But cleare quittance making is ioyfull and iust.
 
 169 
 
 That I shall doe, wife, with a very good will, 
 
 To pay that I owe, my meaning is still, 
 
 And shall have to pay, I hope, while I live, 
 
 What old yeare affords not, the new yeere will give. 
 
 God grant it bee true all this that you say, 
 
 To his onely glory, to whom let us pray, 
 
 That wee in his feare may seem to amend 
 
 Our former sinnes passed unto our lives' end. 
 
 The Householders New-yeeres Gift, 
 
 containing a pleasant Dialogue betwixt the Hus- 
 band and Wife, pleasant to be regarded. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF, Where is my true love f 
 
 
 
 Grieve no more, sweet Husband, 
 
 to grieve it is in vaine ; 
 Little it availeth 
 
 to grieve or else complaine ; 
 Then shew thy need to no man, 
 
 for it doth breed disdame : 
 Now comes a good new yeare.
 
 1 70 The Householder s New Years Gift. 
 
 H. Alacke, and alas for woe ! 
 
 how can I chuse ? 
 The world is grown so cruell, 
 
 the friendship few doe vse ; 
 Flattery gets credit, 
 
 plaine troth is overthrowne: 
 O Lord, send a good new yeere ! 
 
 W. The world it is deceitfull, 
 
 then trust it not, my deare, 
 But take this comfort to thee, 
 
 thy saddest thoughts to cheare, 
 The Lord will never leave them 
 where true love doth appeare : 
 And God send a merry new yeare ! 
 
 H. What comfort can I take, Wife, 
 when sorrow is so great ? 
 
 Misery on all sides 
 
 doth us alwayes threat, 
 
 When labour is too little 
 to finde us bread and meat : 
 
 O Lord, send a good new yeare ! 
 
 Scarcitie is planted 
 
 in Village and in towne; 
 
 We see our neighbours' children 
 goe begging up and downe ;
 
 The Householder s New Years Gift. 171 
 
 Few persons doe relieve them, 
 but all of them doe frowne : 
 O Lord, send a good new yeare ! 
 
 W. Greedinesse is causer, 
 
 good husband, of this ill ; 
 
 Pride, that madding monster, 
 kind charitie doth kill : 
 
 Lord lesus, soone amend it, 
 according to thy will, 
 
 And send us a merry new yeare ! 
 
 H. Corne, in every Market, 
 
 So deare we dayly see, 
 Wee pay more for a bushell 
 
 then we were wont for three : 
 This cuts the heartc of poore men, 
 
 and this undoeth me : 
 O Lord, send a good new yeare ! 
 
 W. Why, husband, this hath caused 
 
 so many, at this day, 
 To pinch their pretty bellies 
 
 within their garments gay, 
 And all they thinke too little 
 
 upon themselves to lay : 
 Good Lord send a merry new yeere !
 
 172 The Householders New Years Gift. 
 
 H. Sweet wife, a thousand sorrowes 
 doe yet torment my minde, 
 
 To thinke for all my labour 
 how I am still behinde, 
 
 And for the same no remedy, 
 alacke ! that I can finde : 
 
 Good Lord send a merry new yeere ! 
 
 W. Take courage, gentle Husband, 
 and hearken what I say, 
 
 After freezing January 
 commeth pleasant May; 
 
 There is no storme so cruell, 
 but comes as faire a day : 
 
 Good Lord send a merry new yeere ! 
 
 H.- Gentle Wife, I tell thee, 
 
 my very heart is done ; 
 The worlds great calamitie 
 
 no way can I shunne ; 
 For still in debt and danger 
 
 more and more I runne : 
 Good Lord send a merry new yeere ! 
 
 W. Be content, sweet Husband, 
 
 and hearken unto mee : 
 The Lord is still as mercifull 
 as he was wont to bee :
 
 The Householder s New Years Gift. 1 73 
 
 Goe thou and ply thy labour, 
 
 and I will worke with thee : 
 Good Lord, send a merry new yeere ! 
 
 I will not be idle, 
 
 but I will Card and Spin ; 
 I will save together 
 
 that thou bringest in : 
 No man for debt is hanged, 
 
 then passe thou not a pin : 
 And God, send a merry new yeere ! 
 
 H. Deere Wife, thy gentle speeches 
 
 revive me at the heart, 
 To see thee take my poverty 
 
 in such a gentle part : 
 If God doe ever raise me, 
 
 thou shalt have thy desert : 
 And God send a merry new yeere I 
 
 W. Poverty, sweet Husband, 
 
 oft time hath been blamed, 
 But poverty with honesty 
 
 never yet was shamed : 
 The rich man discontented 
 
 may bee a poore man call'd : 
 But God, send a merry new yeere !
 
 i 74 The Householder s New Years Gift. 
 
 What thou want'st in riches 
 
 I will supply in love ; 
 Thou shalt be my honey, 
 
 and I thy Turtle Dove : 
 Thou art my beloved, 
 
 no sorrow shall remove : 
 And God send a merry new yeere ! 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 London, Printed for F. Coules, dwelling in Old- 
 Bayly.
 
 Come \vorldling[s] see what paines I here do take, 
 To gather gold while here on earth I rake. 
 
 What the Father gathereth by the Rake, the Sonne doth scatter with the Forke. 
 
 Come, come, my brave gold, 
 Which I love to beheld, 
 
 come to me, and He give you rest ;
 
 1 76 \Come worldlings sez what paines I here do take^\ 
 
 Where as you may sleepe, 
 And I safely will keepe 
 
 you lock't in my yron-bound chest ; 
 No thieves you shall feare 
 You in pieces to teare, 
 
 such care of you still I will take ; 
 Come to me, and flye, 
 Gold Angels, I cry, 
 
 And lie gather you all with my Rake. 
 
 Come, silver and all, 
 When as I doe call, 
 
 your beauties to me are so bright, 
 I love you so deare, 
 I pray you come neere, 
 
 and be you not wavering or light ; 
 Your weight so you have 
 Come, glistering and brave, 
 
 then you I will never forsake, 
 But heape you together 
 Against rainy weather, 
 
 And gather you all with my Rake, 
 
 Rich Jewels and plate 
 By no meanes I hate, 
 
 with Diamonds, Saphirs, or rings ;
 
 [Come worldlings see what paines I here do take^\ \ 77 
 
 The carbuncle red 
 Stands me in like stead, 
 
 or any other rich things ; 
 The Emerold, greene, 
 Like the spring that is scene, 
 
 gold chains, or the like, I wil take ; 
 I have a kind heart, 
 With my coyne I will part, 
 
 so I may get all with my Rake. 
 
 But yet, here me, friend, 
 No money He lend 
 
 without a good pawn you do bring; 
 But He tell to thee 
 How a knave cheated me 
 
 one time with a base copper Ring 
 With me it bred strife, 
 It neere cost me my life, 
 
 halfe a crowne on the same he did take, 
 But lie have more care 
 Of such knaves, to beware 
 
 how such copper together I rake, 
 
 On leases or lands, 
 On very good bands, 
 
 good security likewise provide ;
 
 \Come worldlings see ivhat paines I here do take.~\ 
 
 If we can agree, 
 
 Then my coyne it flyes free ; 
 
 if not, your could suit is deny'd. 
 To foe or to friend 
 No money He lend ; 
 
 as they brew, so let them bake ; 
 This rule I observe, 
 Let them hang, or starve, 
 
 if I cannot get ivith my Rake. 
 
 And those that doe lacke, 
 To the highth I doe racke, 
 
 I know that they money must have ; 
 Some morgage their lands 
 Which fall in my hands 
 
 to domineers and to goe brave. 
 If they faile of their day, 
 And have not to pay, 
 
 a seisure on all I doe make ; 
 Although I goe bare, 
 Yet I have a care 
 
 my gold and my silver to Rake. 
 
 Let the poore widdowes cry, 
 Let their children dye, 
 
 let their Father in prison goe rot ;
 
 Come worldlings see what paines I here do take.~\ 1 79 
 
 What is that to me ? 
 Their wealth is my fee, 
 
 for I have their livings now got 
 Whole Lordships and Lands 
 Are falne to my hands, 
 
 and use of them all I will make ; 
 My bags full of coyne, 
 And my purse I doe lyne 
 
 with that which together I rake. 
 
 Thus rich usury, 
 Ne're thinking to dye, 
 
 nor on his poore soule have a care, 
 With one foot in the grave, 
 Yet more wealth he doth crave, 
 
 and his backe and his belly doth spare ; 
 At whose cost he dine, 
 With good cheere and wine, 
 
 he cares not at whose hands he take ; 
 Not a penny hee'l spend, 
 Nor without a pawne lend, 
 
 The Dwell and all he will Rake. 
 
 But now comes grim death, 
 And ceaseth his breath, 
 his tree of life is wethered ;
 
 180 [Come worldlings see what paines I here do take.~\ 
 
 This wretch, so unkind, 
 His wealth leaves behind, 
 
 and is a poore worme, being dead. 
 But now pray give eare 
 To that you shall heare, 
 
 his heire what a course he will take : 
 That day he did dye, 
 In his grave he did lye, 
 
 And the Sexton the earth on him Rake.
 
 Second Part. 
 
 Come, Prodigals, your selves that loves to flatter, 
 Behold my fall, that with the Forke doth scatter. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF, To drive the cold winter away. 
 
 Roome, roome for a friend 
 That his money will spend, 
 
 old Flatcap is laid in his grave ; 
 Hee kept me full poore, 
 But now I -vill roare, 
 
 his lands and his livings I have.
 
 182 \ComeProdigalsyourselvesthatloves to flatterl\ 
 
 The tide of gold flowes, 
 And wealth on me growes, 
 
 hee's dead, and for that 'tis no matter; 
 Great use he did take, 
 And for me did rake, 
 
 which now with the forke / will scatter. 
 
 I now must turne gallant, 
 That have such a talent, 
 
 what need I to take any care 
 I tell thee, good friend, 
 'Tis mine owne which I spend, 
 
 for I was my Father's owne heire. 
 No Blade here shall lacke ; 
 Give us claret and sacke ; 
 
 hang pinching ! it is against nature ; 
 Let's have all good cheere, 
 Cost it never so deare, 
 
 for / with my forke will scatter. 
 
 Let me have a Lasse 
 
 That faire Venus doth passe ; 
 
 give me all delights that I may ; 
 He make my gold fly 
 Aloft in the skie, 
 
 I thinke it will never be day : 
 Let the welkin roare, 
 lie never give o're 
 
 Tobacco, and, with it, strong water ;
 
 {Come Prodigals your selves that loves to flatter^ 183 
 
 I meane for to drinke 
 Vntill I doe sinke, 
 for I with my forke will scatter. 
 
 And let musicke play, 
 To me night and day, 
 
 I scorne both my silver and gold ; 
 Braue gentlemen all, 
 He pay what you call, 
 
 with me I beseech you be bold : 
 Dice run low or high, 
 My gold it shall fly, 
 
 I meane for to keep a brave quarter ; 
 Let the Cards goe and come, 
 I have a great sum 
 
 that I with my forke will- scatter. 
 
 Let Carouses goe round 
 Till some fall to the ground, 
 
 and here's to my Mistresse her health ; 
 Then let's take no care, 
 For no cost wee'l spare, 
 
 hang money, I have store of wealth. 
 My Father it got, 
 And, now falne to my lot, 
 
 I scorne it as I doe morter ; 
 For coyne was made round, 
 To stand on no ground, 
 
 And I with my forke will scatter.
 
 84 \_Come Prodigals your selves that lores to flatter 
 
 My Lordships to sell 
 I thinke would doe well, 
 
 ill gotten goods never doe thrive : 
 Let's spend while we may ; 
 Each Dog hath his day ; 
 
 He want not while I am alive. 
 Come, Drawers, more sacke, 
 And see what we lacke, 
 
 for money He send a porter ; 
 Brave gallants, ne're feare, 
 For wee'l domineere, 
 
 For I with my forke will scatter. 
 
 Come, drinke to my friend, 
 And let the health end, 
 
 my Coffers and Pockets are empty ; 
 I now have no more, 
 That had wont to have store, 
 
 ther's scarcity where there was plenty. 
 My friends are all gone, 
 And left me alone, 
 
 I think I must now drink cold water : 
 There's nought but sad woe 
 Vpon me doth grow, 
 
 Because with my forke I did scatter. 
 
 Now this is the story 
 Of prodigall glory, 
 
 who thought that he never shold lack
 
 \Come Prodigals your selves that loves to flatter I~\ 185 
 
 No drink nor no meat 
 Now he hath to eate, 
 
 nor cloathes for to put on his back : 
 His friends they forsake him, 
 And woe doth o're take him, 
 
 because he was too free of nature, 
 That never did mind 
 How time comes behind, 
 
 who mows, though with theforke he did scatter. 
 
 His leaves they grew greene, 
 But they were not scene, 
 
 for Autumne them quickly did kill :' 
 Then let youth beware, 
 And have a great care, 
 
 and trust not too much to their will, 
 Least a prison them catch, 
 Or a house without thatch. 
 
 and glad of brown bread & cold water. 
 To God thanks lets give, 
 And in a meane live, 
 
 having a care how we doe scatter. 
 
 Finis. N. P. 
 
 London, Printed for Henry Gosson, dwelling on 
 London Bridge.
 
 The cunning Northerne Begger, 
 
 Who all the By-standers doth earnestly pray, 
 To bestow a penny upon him to day. 
 
 7o the Tune of Tom of Bedlam. 
 
 I am a lusty begger, 
 
 and live by others giving ; 
 I scorne to worke, 
 But by the highway lurke, 
 And beg to get my living : 
 I'le i'th wind and weather,
 
 The Cunning Nor theme Begger. 187 
 
 And weare all ragged Garments ; 
 Yet, though I'm bare, 
 I'm free from care, 
 A fig for high preferments. 
 For still will I cry good your worship, good sir, 
 Bestow one poor e denier, sir, 
 Which, when I've got, 
 At the Pipe and Pot 
 I soone will it casheere sir. 
 
 I have my shifts about me, 
 Like Proteus often changing, 
 My shape, when I will, 
 I alter still 
 
 About the Country ranging: 
 As soone as I a Coatch see, 
 Or Gallants by come riding, 
 I take my Crutch, 
 And rouse from my Couch, 
 Whereas I lay abiding. 
 And still doe I cry, &c. 
 
 Now like a wandring Souldier, 
 (That has i'th warres bin maymed 
 With the shot of a Gunne,) 
 To Gallants I runne. 
 And begg sir, helpe the lamed.
 
 1 88 The Cunning Nor theme Begger. 
 
 I am a poore old Souldier, 
 And better times once viewed, 
 Though bare now I goe, 
 Yet many a foe 
 By me hath bin subdued." 
 And therefore I cry, &c. 
 
 Although I nere was further 
 
 Then Kentish street in Southwarke 
 Nor ere did see 
 A Battery 
 
 Made against any Bulwarke ; 
 But, with my Trulls and Doxes, 
 Lay in some corner lurking, 
 And nere went abroad 
 But to beg on the road, 
 To keepe my selfe from working. 
 And alwaies to cry, &c. 
 
 Anon I'm like a saylor, 
 
 And weare old Canvas cloathing ; 
 
 And then I say 
 
 " The Dunkerks away 
 Took all, and left me nothing ; 
 Sixe ships set all upon us, 
 
 'Gainst which wee bravely ventur'd 
 
 And long withstood, 
 
 Yet could doe no good, 
 Our ship at length they enter'd."
 
 7 he Cunning Nor thcrne 
 
 189 
 
 And therefore I cry, good your worship, good sir, 
 Bestow one poo re denier, sir ; 
 which when I've got, 
 at the pipe and pot, &c. 
 
 The second part, To the same tune. 
 
 Sometimes I, like a Criple, 
 
 Vpon the ground lye crawling, 
 
 for money I begge, 
 
 as wanting a legge 
 To beare my corps from falling.
 
 190 The Cunning Nor theme Begger. 
 
 Then seeme I weake in body, 
 And long t' have been diseased, 
 
 And make complaint, 
 
 As ready to faint. 
 As of my griefes increased ; 
 And faintly I cry, good your worship good,\sir, 
 Bestow one poor e desire, sir, 
 
 which when Fve got, 
 
 at the Pipe and Pot 
 I soone will it casheerc, sirT 
 
 My flesh I so can temper 
 That it shall seem to feister, 
 And looke all or'e 
 Like a raw sore, 
 Whereon I sticke a plaister. 
 With blood I daub my face then, 
 to faigne the falling sicknesse, 
 That in every place 
 They pitty my case, 
 As if it came through weaknesse. 
 And then I doe cry, &c. 
 
 Then, as if my sight I wanted, 
 A Boy doth walke beSide me, 
 Or else I doe 
 Grope as I goe, 
 Or have a Dog to guide me :
 
 The Cunning Noriherne Beger. 191 
 
 And when I'm thus accounted, 
 To th' highway side I hye me, 
 and there I stand, 
 with cords in my hand, 
 And beg of all comes nye me. 
 And earnestly cry, good your worship good, sir, 
 Bestow one poore denier" &c. 
 
 Next, to some Country fellow 
 I presently am turned, 
 And cry alacke ! 
 With a childe at my backe, 
 " My house ann goods were burned." 
 Then me my Doxs followes 
 Who for my wife's believed, 
 and along wee two 
 together goe, 
 
 With such mischances grieved. 
 And still we doe cry, good your worship, &c. 
 
 What, though I cannot labour, 
 
 Shall I therefore pine with hunger 
 No, rather, than I 
 Will starve where I lye ! 
 Tie beg of the money monger ;
 
 192 The Cunning Nor theme Bcggcr. 
 
 No other care shall trouble 
 
 My minde, nor griefe disease me ; 
 Though sometimes the slash 
 I get or the lash, 
 'Twill but a while displease me : 
 And still I will cry, good your worship, good sir, 
 Bestow one" &c. 
 
 No tricks at all shall 'scape me, 
 But I will, by my maunding, 
 Get some reliefe 
 To ease my griefe 
 When by the highway standing: 
 'Tis better be a Begger, 
 
 And aske of kinde good fellowes. 
 And honestly have 
 What we doe crave, 
 then steale and goe to th' Gallowes. 
 Therefore Fie cry, "good your worship, good sir, 
 Bestowe one poor denier, sir, 
 Which, when Fvegot, 
 At the Pipe and Pi,t 
 I soonewill it cashecrc, sir." 
 
 Finis. 
 
 Printed at London for F. Coules.
 
 [The Life of Man.] 
 
 A comparison of the life of Man, 
 Concerning how fickle his estate doth stand, 
 Flourishing like a Tree, or Vine, or dainty flower, 
 Or like a ship, or raine, that's turn'd each houre. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Sir Andrew Barton. 
 
 As I lay musing all alone, 
 Great store of things I thought vpon, 
 And specially of man's estate, 
 And how hee's subject vnto Fate.
 
 194 The Life of Man. 
 
 First He compare him to a tree, 
 Which you sometimes all greene may see ; 
 But suddenly his leafes doe fall 
 That he was beautify'd withall. 
 
 The Tree likewise is known by's fruit 
 Better then by his fine greene sute ; 
 He may show comely to the eye, 
 Yet his fruit may taste bitterly. 
 
 So men sometimes make a faire showe ; 
 All Iresh and greene they seeme to growe ; 
 But when the winter of griefe and thrall 
 Doth on them seize, their greene leaues fall. 
 
 But for the difference of men's fruit, 
 I must indeed be something mute ; 
 But those that grow like Cedars tall, 
 Yield little fruit, or none at all. 
 
 Yet doe they flourish fresh and greene, 
 Much like the pleasant sommer Oueene; 
 They are bedect with fragrant flowers, 
 And they doe dwell in stately Towers. 
 
 But as the Tree is great and tall, 
 The great and mightier is his fall : 
 And as he falls, so doth he lye, 
 Vntill the builder him apply.
 
 The Life of Man. 195 
 
 What though a man haue store of wealth, 
 It cannot him assure of health ; 
 By his fruits he must sure be try'd, 
 Either .condemn'd or justify'd. 
 
 Againe, a man is like a Vine, 
 That from the earth doth flourish fme x 
 Adorn'd with nature's ornament, 
 With store of Grapes to giue content. 
 
 But with a knife, or such a thing, 
 The Vine is soone set a bleeding, 
 And then those Grapes will soone decay 
 And, piningly, will wast away. 
 
 Euen so stands the life of man ; 
 If that his blood from him be drawne, 
 Then suddenly his life doth yield, 
 And vnto death he is compell'd. 
 
 Man flourished! euen like a flower 
 Which Hues and dyes within an houre ; 
 He growes, perhaps, vntill his prime, 
 Or he may dye in's budding time. 
 
 He may chance Hue till hee is old, 
 And bide the brunt of Winters cold ; 
 But then heel lose the smell and shew, 
 And will no more be worth the view.
 
 196 The Life of Man. 
 
 So many men dye in their prime, 
 And some dye in their budding time ; 
 But he that Hues the longest life 
 Shall find but sorrow, care, and strife. 
 
 Mans life is like a ship o' th' Seas, 
 Which is sometimes as Fortune please, 
 Sometimes in safety ; yet not still so 
 Euen, as proud Boreas blasts doe blow. 
 
 When Winds are still and weather's faire, 
 Then Mariners are free from care ; 
 But when as stormes make dark the skye, 
 Then must each man his labour plye.
 
 The second part, To the same tune. 
 
 So is't with man the selfe same case ; 
 His life's a ship that seas doth trace, 
 And oft is like to goe to wracke 
 When winds and storms doe tacklings crack. 
 
 We men, when sicknesse doth assaile 
 Ourbodyes, and makes vs looke pale. 
 Then would we doe all things we may, 
 So that our health we might enjoy.
 
 198 The Life of Man. 
 
 But when the Fates on vs doe smile, 
 
 Like Saylers, we forget ourtoyle; 
 
 We hang out colours for a show, 
 
 But take them in when stormes doe grow. 
 
 I may compare a man againe 
 Euen like vnto a turning vaine, 
 That changeth euen as doth the wind. 
 Indeed so is mans fickle mind. 
 
 The mind of man doth often change ; 
 Hee's apt with euery gale to range 
 He standeth tottering to and fro, 
 Euen as his foolish fancies goe. 
 
 Againe, I may mans life compare 
 Like to a bird that flyes i' th' aire, 
 And suddenly she sees a bayt, 
 Which is to take her with deceit. 
 
 The bird no sooner is betray'd, 
 But comes me him that the bait lay'd, 
 And, hauing taken her in his Net, 
 She dyes, and he for more doth bait. 
 
 Euen so is man by cunning caught, 
 When as thereof he hath no thought ; 
 He soareth high, and feares no fall, 
 Yet then hee's in most danger of all.
 
 The Life of Man. 199 
 
 Make tryall of this, any one, 
 And you shall find that I haue showne 
 A prospect where you may behold 
 The difference in the earthy mold. 
 
 This life is fickle, fraile, and vaine ; 
 Seeke euerlasting life to gaine : 
 All worldly treasures soone decay, 
 And mortall man returnes to clay. 
 
 Before thou dyest bid pride adieu, 
 Which doth so often shape thee new ; 
 Call out for mercy with loud voice, 
 And let her be thy onely choice. 
 
 If thou have liu'd in gluttony, 
 Forgetting quite that thou shalt dye, 
 Then quickly charity imbrace, 
 That she may plead well in thy case. 
 
 If thou by couetousnesse haue liu'd 
 And hast thy neighbours poore deceiu'd, 
 Then suddenly restor't againe, 
 For feare thou feele hells burning paine. 
 
 Perchance in wrath thou hast shed blood, 
 Which wrath should alwayes be withstood ; 
 Yet arme thee with a patient heart, 
 And neuer more act such a part.
 
 2OO The Life of Man. 
 
 If thou hast enuy'd at thy : brother, 
 
 Repent with speed, that blacke sinne smother 
 
 And let true loue be thy delight, 
 
 Thou mayst depart with life this night. 
 
 If thou hast slothfull beene, and lewd, 
 Neglecting God's most holy word, 
 Apply thy selfe most speedily, 
 Redeeme thy time spent idly. 
 
 If thou lasciuious hast beene giuen, 
 Doe so no more, but pray to heauen ; 
 That hateful sinne God may forgiue ! 
 Chastise thy selfe, repent and grieue. 
 
 Thus to conclude, let me intreat 
 All those that heare what I relate, 
 That they seeke heauen's grace to find, 
 And alwayes beare an vpright mind. 
 
 Finis. R. C. 
 
 Printed at London jor Francis Coules.
 
 Cuckold's Haven : 
 
 Or, 
 
 The marry'd man's miserie, who must abide 
 
 The penaltie of being Hornify'd : 
 
 He unto his Neighbours doth make his case knowne, 
 
 And tels them all plainly, The case is their owne. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF The Spanish Gipsic. 
 
 Come, Neighbours, follow me, 
 
 that Cuckollized be, 
 That all the Towne may see 
 
 our slauish miserie :
 
 2O2 Cuckolds Haven. 
 
 Let every man who keepes a Bride 
 take heed hee be not hornify'd. 
 
 Though narrowly I doe watch, 
 and vse Lock, Bolt, and Latch, 
 
 My wife will me o're match, 
 my forehead I may scratch : 
 
 For though I wait both time and tide, 
 I oftentimes am hornify'd. 
 
 For now the time's so growne, 
 men cannot keepe their owne, 
 
 But every slaue, vnknowne, 
 will reape what we haue sowne : 
 
 Yea, though we keep them by our side, 
 we now and then are hornify'd. 
 
 They haue so many wayes 
 by nights or else by dayes, 
 
 That though our wealth decayes, 
 yet they our homes will raise : 
 
 And many of them take a pride 
 to keepe their Husbands hornify'd. 
 
 O what a case is this : 
 
 O what a griefe it is '! 
 My wife hath learn'd to kisse, 
 
 and thinkes 'tis not amisse : 
 Shee oftentimes doth me deride, 
 
 and tels me I am hornify'd.
 
 Cuckold's Haven. 203 
 
 What euer I doe say, 
 
 shee will haue her owne way ; 
 Shee scorneth to obey ; 
 
 Shee'll take time while she may ; 
 And if I beate her backe and side, 
 
 In spight I shall be hornify'd. 
 
 Nay, you would little thinke 
 
 how they will friendly link, 
 And how they'l sit and drink 
 
 till they begin to wink : 
 And then, if Vulcan will but ride, 
 
 some Cuckold shall be hornify'd. 
 
 A woman that will be drunk, 
 
 will eas'ly play the Punck ; 
 For when her wits are sunk 
 
 all keyes will fit her Trunk : 
 Then by experience oft is tride, 
 
 poore men that way are hornify'd. 
 
 Thus honest men must beare, 
 
 and 'tis in vaine to feare, 
 For we are ne're the neare 
 
 our hearts with griefe to teare : 
 For, while we mourne, it is their pride 
 
 the more to keepe us hornify'd.
 
 204 
 
 And be we great or small, 
 we must be at their call ; 
 
 How e're the Cards doe fall, 
 we men must suffer all : 
 
 Doe what we can, we must abide 
 the paine of being hornify'd. 
 
 The second part, To the same tune. 
 
 If they once bid vs goe, 
 we dare not twice say no,
 
 Cuckold's Haven. 205 
 
 
 
 Although too well we know 
 
 'Tis to our griefe and woe : 
 Nay, we are glad their faults to hide, 
 
 though often we are hornify'd. 
 
 If I my wife prouoke 
 
 with words in anger spoke, 
 Shae sweares shee'll make all smoke, 
 
 and I must be her Cloake : 
 Her basenesse and my wrongs I hide, 
 
 and patiently am hornify'd. 
 
 When these good Gossips meet 
 
 In Alley, Lane, or Street, 
 (Poore men, we doe not see't ! 
 
 with Wine and Sugar sweet 
 They arme themselues, and then, beside, 
 
 their husbands must be hornify'd. 
 
 Not your Italian Locks 
 
 which seemes a Paradox 
 Can keepe these Hens from Cocks, 
 
 till they are paid with a P : 
 So long as they can goe or ride, 
 
 They'l haue their husbands hornify'd. 
 
 The more you haue intent 
 the business to preuent, 
 
 N
 
 206 Cuckold's Haven. 
 
 The more her mind is bent 
 your will to circumuent : 
 
 Such secret meanes they can prouide 
 to get their husbands hornify'd. 
 
 For if we them doe blame, 
 or tell them of their shame, 
 
 Although the men we name 
 
 with whom they did the same, 
 
 They'l sweare who euer spake it ly'd 
 thus still poore men are hornify'd. 
 
 All you that single be 
 
 avoid this slauery : 
 Much danger is, you see, 
 
 in womens company ; 
 For he who to a wife is ty'd, 
 
 may looke still to be hornify'd. 
 
 Yet must I needs confesse 
 
 (though many doe transgresse) 
 
 A number numberlesse 
 which vertue doe possesse. 
 
 And to their Husbands are a guide, 
 by such no man is hornify'd. 
 
 They who are of that race, 
 this Ditie, in any case,
 
 Cuckold's Huven. 
 
 Is not to their disgrace ; 
 
 they are not for this place : 
 To such this onely is apply'd 
 
 by whom good men are hornify'd. 
 
 207 
 
 Finis. 
 
 Printed at London by M. P. for Francis Grove, neere 
 the Sarazens head without Newgate.
 
 Christmas Lamentation 
 
 For the losse of his Acquaintance, showing how he is 
 ^orst to leaue the Country, and come to London. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF, Now the spring is come. 
 
 Christmas is my name, farre haue 1 gone, 
 Haue I gone, haue I gone, haue I gone 
 
 without regard, 
 
 Whereas great men, by flockes, there be flowne, 
 There be flown, there be flown, there be flowne, 
 
 to London-ward. 
 
 Where they in pomp and pleasure doe waste 
 That which Christmas was wonted to feast, 
 
 Welladay !
 
 Christmas s Lamentation. 209 
 
 Houses where musicke was wont for to ring, 
 Nothing but Batts and Howlets doe sing ; 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 Welladay ! 
 where should I stay ? 
 
 Christmas beefe and bread is turn'd into stones, 
 Into stones, into stones, into stones 
 
 and silken rags ; 
 
 And Ladie money sleepes, and makes moanes, 
 And makes moanes, and makes moanes, and &c. 
 
 in Misers' bags. 
 
 Houses where pleasures once did abound, 
 Nought but a Dogge and a Shepheard is found ; 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 Places where Christmas Reuells did keepe, 
 Is now become habitations for sheepe ; 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 Welladay ! 
 where should I stay ? 
 
 Pan, the Shepheards god, doth deface, 
 Doth deface, doth deface, doth deface 
 
 Lady Ceres crcwne, 
 And tillage that doth goe to decay, 
 To decay, to decay, to decay 
 
 in euery Towne.
 
 2io Christmas s Lamentation. 
 
 Landlords their rents so highly inhance 
 
 That Pierce the Plowman barefoot may dance ; 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 And farmers that Christmas would entertain, 
 Haue scarce wherewith themselues to maintain. 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 Welladay f 
 
 Welladay ! 
 where should f stay f 
 
 Come to the Countryman, he will protest, 
 Will protest, will protest, will protest 
 
 and of bull-beefe lost ; 
 And for the Citizen, hee is so hot, 
 Is so hot, is so hot, is so hot 
 
 he will burne the rost. 
 
 The Courtier he good deeds will not scorne, 
 Nor will he see poore Christmas forlorn e ; 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 Since none of these good deeds will doe, 
 Christmas had best turne Courtier too. 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 Welladay ! 
 where should / stay ?
 
 The second Part, to the same Tune. 
 
 Pride and luxury they doe deuoure 
 Doe deuoure, doe deuoure, doe deuoure 
 
 house-keeping quite, 
 And beggery that doth beget, 
 Doth beget, doth beget, doth beget 
 
 in many a Knight. 
 
 Madam, forsooth, in her Coach she must wheell, 
 Although she weare her hose out at heele ; 
 
 Welladay !
 
 212 Christmas s Lamentation. 
 
 And on her backe weare that, for a weed, 
 Which me and all my fellowes would feed ; 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 Welladay / 
 
 Welladay ! 
 where should I stay ? 
 
 Since pride, that came vp with yellow starch, 
 Yellow starch, yellow starch, yellow starch, 
 
 poore folkes doe want, 
 
 And nothing the rich men will to them giue, 
 To them giue, to them giue, to them giue, 
 
 but doe them taunt ; 
 For charity from the Country is fled, 
 And in her place hath left nought but need. 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 And Corne is growne to so high a price, 
 It makes poore men cry with weeping eyes. 
 
 Welladay / 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 Welladay ! 
 where should I stay ? 
 
 Briefely for to end, here I doe find, 
 I doe find, I doe find, I doe find 
 
 so great vacation, 
 
 That most great houses seeme to attaine 
 To attaine, to attaine, to attaine 
 
 A strong purgation ;
 
 Christmas s Lamentation. 213 
 
 Where purging pills, such effects they haue shewed, 
 That forth of doores they their owners haue spewed ; 
 
 Welladay! 
 
 And where as Christmas comes by and calls, 
 Nought but solitary and naked walls : 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 Welladay ! 
 
 Welladay ! 
 where should I stay ? 
 
 Phelomes cottage was turn'd into gold, 
 Into gold, into gold, into gold 
 
 for harboring love ; 
 Rich men their houses for to keepe, 
 For to keepe, for to keepe, for to keepe 
 
 might their greatnesse moue. 
 But in the City they say they doe Hue, 
 Where gold by handfulls away they doe giue. 
 
 He away ! 
 
 And thither therefore I purpose to passe, 
 Hoping at London to finde the golden Asse. 
 
 lie away, 
 
 lie away, 
 
 lie away, 
 for heres no stay. 
 
 Printed at London for F. C. dwelling in the Old- 
 Bayly.
 
 Or, 
 
 Cupid's wrongs vindicated : 
 Wherein he that Cvipid's wiles did discover, 
 Is proved a false dissembling 1 Lover : 
 The Mayd shewes such cause that none can her 
 
 condemne, 
 But on the contrary the fault's layd on him. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Cnflid's criLell torments. 
 
 The guilefull Crocodile, 
 
 when he his prey would gain, 
 That none may spie his wile, 
 
 A mournfull noyse doth feigns
 
 Cupid's wrongs vindicated. 2 1 5 
 
 So thou, false Hypocrite, 
 
 Thy foule deceipt to couer, 
 Dost act the part aright 
 of a distracted Louer ; 
 
 But raile no more on Loue, 
 
 Nor doe young Cupid wrong , 
 For thou didst never proue 
 What doth to loue belong. 
 
 Hienna-like, thou feign'st 
 
 words of a dying man, 
 But falsely thou complain'st ! 
 
 with woe I proue it can : 
 For, like a cheating wretch 
 
 thou dost on me exclaime, 
 But this is but a fetch, 
 
 for thou deseru'st the blame. 
 Why dost thoit, mile on loue ? 
 Or doe, &c. 
 
 Thou knowst I lou'd thee well, 
 
 and purpos'd thee to haue, 
 Thy conscience this can tell, 
 
 thou false dissembling knaue ! 
 But when I did perceiue 
 
 thy fickle, wauering mind, 
 ' Twas time to take my leaue, 
 
 and serue thee in thy kind.
 
 216 Cupid's wrongs vindicated. 
 
 Then raile no more on loue, 
 Nor Cupid's cruell wrong, 
 
 For thou didst neuer proue 
 What doth to loue belong. 
 
 Let any one that will 
 
 be judge 'twixt thee and mee ; 
 Why should I loue thee still, 
 
 when thou lou'st two or three ? 
 Dost thinke He stand at stake 
 
 to helpe at the last cast * 
 When all doe thee forsake, 
 then I must serue at last ? 
 O raile no more on loue, 
 
 Nor Cupids cruell wrong, 
 For thou didst neuer proue 
 What doth to loue belong. 
 
 Thou com'st to me i'th' morne 
 
 and goest to Madge at night ; 
 Thy mind will quickly turne 
 
 to which comes next in sight. 
 Thou It promise and protest 
 
 thou wilt haue none but me ; 
 But when thou seest the rest, 
 
 those vowes forgotten bee. 
 Then raile no more on love, 
 Nor Cupid's, &c. 
 
 Dost thinke I cannot heare 
 
 how thou playst fast and loose ?
 
 Cupid's wrongs vindicated. 
 
 Long Mall gaue thee good cheere, 
 
 both Cony, Hen, and Goose ! 
 Alas ! man, I haue friends 
 
 that note thy actions well; 
 Thou lou'st for thine owne ends, 
 but I thy knauery smell. 
 Then raile no more on loue, 
 
 Nor C^tp^d's cruell wrong ; 
 For thou didst never proue 
 What doth loiie belong. 
 
 217 
 
 I saw, last Thurseday night, 
 when thou wentst to the Swan
 
 218 Cupid's wrongs vindicated. 
 
 With Kate and Winifrite, 
 
 and, after you, came Nan ; 
 I know what wine you had, 
 and also what was payd ; 
 Alas poore harmelesse lad, 
 wilt thou dye for a Mayd* ? 
 Fye raile no more on loue, 
 
 Nor Cupid's cruell wrong ; 
 For thou didst never proue 
 What does to loue belong. 
 
 I cannot choose but smile 
 to thinke how cunningly 
 Thou wouldst the world beguile 
 
 with foule hypocrisy ; 
 For I the wrong sustaine, 
 
 and thou from griefe art free, 
 Yet still thou dost complaine 
 that I am false to thee. 
 Fye neuer raile on love, 
 
 Nor Cupid's cruell wrong ; 
 For thou didst never proue 
 What does to loue belong. 
 
 To either man or Mayd 
 For censure He appeale, 
 
 Which of us may be sayd 
 disloyally to deale :
 
 Cupid's wrongs vindicated. 219 
 
 Did euer I seeme nice 
 
 till I was told for truth, 
 More oft then once or twice, 
 
 thou was't a faithlesse youth ? 
 Fye ! do not raile, &c. 
 
 Thou mak'st the world beleeue 
 
 thou for my loue dost pine ; 
 Indeed thou sore dost grieue 
 
 with wenches, Cakes, and wine. 
 For my part, 'tis my lot 
 
 to pray for patience still, 
 Vntill I haue forgot 
 
 thy ouer-reaching skill. 
 Then doe not raile, &c. 
 
 Yet though I suffer wrong, 
 
 I needs must prayse thy art ; 
 Sure thou hast study'd long 
 
 to apt a Mad-mans part. 
 Thou canst not sleep nor wake 
 
 for fancies in thy head ; 
 Now I doe thee forsake 
 
 I muse thou art not dead. 
 Fye ! doe not raile, &c.
 
 22O Cupid's wrongs vindicated. 
 
 That Lasse which shall haue thee, 
 
 Who ere has that ill hap, 
 Let her learne this of me, 
 
 shee's caught in follie's trap. 
 He that dissemble can 
 
 with one, in such a way, 
 Hee'l nere proue honest man, 
 beleeue me what I say. 
 Then doe not raile on loue, 
 
 Nor Ciipid's cruell wrong ; 
 .For thou didst neuer proite 
 What doth to loue belong. 
 
 Finis. M. P. 
 
 Printed at London for F. G
 
 The Countrey Lasse. 
 
 To a daintie new Note, Which if you can hit, 
 There's another tune will as well fit. 
 
 To the tune of, The mother beguild daughter. 
 
 Although I am a Countrey Lasse, 
 
 a loftie mind I beare a, 
 I thinke my selfe as good as those 
 
 that gay apparrell weare a ; 
 My coate is made of comely Gray, 
 
 yet is my skin as soft a, 
 As those that with the chiefest Wines 
 
 do bathe their bodies oft a. 
 
 o
 
 222 The Coiintrey Lasse. 
 
 Downe, downe dery, dery downe, 
 hey downe, a downe, a downe a, 
 
 A dery, dery, dery dery downe, 
 heigh downe, a down, a dery. 
 
 What though I keepe my Father's sheep 
 
 a thing that must be done a ; 
 A garland of the fairest flowers 
 
 shall shrewd me from the Sunne a : 
 And when I see them feeding be 
 
 where grasse and flowers spring a, 
 Close by a Crystall fountaine side 
 
 I sit me downe, and sing a, 
 Downe, &c. 
 
 Dame nature crownes vs with delight, 
 
 surpassing Court or Citie; 
 We pleasures take from morne to night 
 
 in Sports and pastimes pretty. 
 Your City Dames in Coaches ride 
 
 abroad for recreation, 
 We Countrey Lasses hate their pride, 
 
 and keepe the Countrey fashion. 
 Downe, &c. 
 
 Your City Wiues lead wanton Hues ; 
 
 and if they come i' th' Countrey, 
 They are so proud, that each one striues 
 
 for to outbraue our Gentry.
 
 The Countrey Lasse. 223 
 
 We countrey lasses homely be 
 
 for seat nor wall we striue not ; 
 We are content with our degree ; 
 
 our debtors we depriue not. 
 Downe, SLC. 
 
 I care not for the fane or Maske 
 
 when Titans heat reflected! ; 
 A homely Hat is all I aske, 
 
 which well my face protected! : 
 Yet am I, in my Countrey guise, 
 
 esteemed Lasse as pretty 
 As those that euery day deusie 
 
 new shapes in Court or City. 
 Downe, &c. 
 
 In euery season of the yeare 
 
 I vndergoe my labour, 
 No Showre nor Winde at all I feare, 
 
 my Limbes I do not fauour : 
 If Summer's heat my beauty staine, 
 
 it makes me nere the sicker, 
 Sith I can wash it off againe 
 
 with a Cup of Christmas Liquor. 
 Downe, downe dery, dcry downe, 
 
 heigh downe, a downe, a downe a, 
 A dery, dery, dery dery downe, 
 
 heigh downe, a downe, a dcry.
 
 The second part, To the same tune. 
 
 At Christmas time, in mirth and glee, 
 
 I dance with young men neatly ; 
 And who i' th' City, like to me, 
 
 shall surely taste compleatly ? 
 No Sport but Pride and Luxury 
 
 i' th' City can be found then ; 
 But the bounteous Hospitality 
 
 i' th' Countrey doth abound then. 
 Downe, &c. 
 
 V th' Spring my labour yeelds delight, 
 to walke i' th' merry Morning 
 
 When Flora is, (to please my sight,) 
 the ground with flowres adorning.
 
 The Countrey Lasse. 225 
 
 With merry Lads to make the Hay 
 
 I goe, and do not grumble, 
 My worke doth seeme to be but play, 
 
 when with young men I tumble. 
 Downe, &c. 
 
 The Larke & Thrush from Bryar to Bush 
 
 do leape, and skip, and sing a ; 
 And all this then to welcome in 
 
 the long and lookt for Spring a. 
 We feare not Cupid's arrowes keene 
 
 Dame Venus we defie a ; 
 Diana is our honored Queene, 
 
 and her we magnifie a. 
 Downe, SLC. 
 
 That which your City Damsels scorne, 
 
 we hold our chiefest Jewell ; 
 Without, to worke at Hay and Corne ; 
 
 within, to Bake and Brew well : 
 To keepe the Dayrie decently, 
 
 and all things cleane and neatly, 
 Your Citie Minions doe dene, 
 
 their scorne we weigh not greatly. 
 Downe, &c. 
 
 When we together a milking go 
 
 with payles vpon our heads a, 
 And walking ouer Woods and Fields 
 
 where Grasse and Flowers spreds a ;
 
 226 The Countrey Lasse. 
 
 In honest pleasure we delight, 
 which makes our labour sweet a, 
 
 And Mirth exceeds on euery side 
 when Lads and Lasses meete a. 
 
 Downe, &c. 
 
 Then do not scorne a countrey Lasse, 
 
 though she be plaine and meanely : 
 Who takes the Countrey Wench to Wife 
 
 (that goeth neat and cleanely) 
 Is better sped then if he wed 
 
 a fine one from the Citty ; 
 For then they are so nicely bred, 
 
 they must not worke for pitie. 
 Downe, &c. 
 
 I speake not this to that intent 
 
 (as some may well conjecture), 
 As though to Wooing I were bent, 
 
 no, I nere learn'd Louer's lectures 
 But what I sing is in defence 
 
 of all plaine Countrey Lasses, 
 Whose modest, honest innocence 
 
 all City Girles' surpasses. 
 Downe, downe dery, dery downe, 
 
 Printed by the Assignes of Thomas Symcocke'
 
 The Complaint of a Lover forsaken 
 
 of his Love. 
 To a pleasant new Tune. 
 
 A Poore Soule sate sighing by a Sicamore Tree, 
 
 O Willow, willow, willow ; 
 His hand on his bosome, his head on his knee, 
 
 O Willow, willow, willow, 
 
 O Willow, willow, willow ; 
 Sing, O the greene Willow shall be my Garland.
 
 228 The Complaint of a Louer Forsaken. 
 
 He sigh'd in his singing, and, after each groane, 
 
 O Willow, willow, willow, 
 " Adue to all pleasure, my true loue is gone. 
 
 O Willow, willow, willow, 
 
 O Willow, willow, willow, 
 
 Sing O the greene Willow shall be my Garland. 
 
 Oh, false she is turned ; vntrue she doth proue ; 
 
 O willow, Sic., 
 She renders me nothing but hate for my loue. 
 
 O willow, &c., 
 Sing O the greene, &c. 
 
 Oh, pitty me " (cride he), " you Louers each one, 
 
 O willow, &., 
 Her heart's hard as Marble, she rues not my moane." 
 
 O willow, Sac., 
 
 Sing O the greene, &c. 
 
 The cold streames ran by him, his eyes wept apace, 
 
 O willow, &c., 
 
 The salt teares fell from him, which drowned his 
 face ; 
 
 O willow, &., 
 
 Sing O the greene, Sic. 
 
 The mute Birds sate by him, made tame by his 
 
 moane, 
 
 O willow, &c., 
 The salt teares fell from him, which softned the 
 
 stone. 
 
 O willow, &., 
 
 Sing O the greene, &c.
 
 The Complaint of a Louer Forsaken. 229 
 
 " Let no body blame me, her scornes I doe 
 proue, 
 
 O willow, &., 
 She was borne to be false, and I dye for her loue. 
 
 O willow, &., 
 
 Sing O the greene, SLC. 
 
 that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard, 
 O willow, &c., 
 
 My true loue rejecting without all regard ! 
 O willow, Sac., 
 Sing O the greene, Sac. 
 
 Let Loue no more boast him, in Pallace or Bowre, 
 
 willow, &c., 
 For Women are trothlesse and fleet in an houre. 
 
 O willow, Sac., 
 
 Sing O the greene, S>LC. 
 
 But what helpes complaining in vaine I complaine ; 
 O willow, &c., 
 
 1 must patiently suffer her scorne and disdaine. 
 
 O willow, Sac., 
 
 Sing O the greene, SLC. 
 
 Come, all you forsaken, and sit downe by me, 
 
 O willow, &c., 
 
 He that plaineth of his false loue, mine's falser then 
 she. 
 
 O willow, SLC., 
 
 Sing O the greene, SLC.
 
 230 The Complaint of a Louer Forsaken. 
 
 The Willow wreath weare I, since my Loue did fleet 
 
 O willow, &c., 
 A garland for loners forsaken most meet." 
 
 O willow, &<:., 
 
 Sing O the greene Willow shall be my Garland. 
 
 Finis. 
 
 The second Part, To the same Tune. 
 
 " Low laycle by my sorrow, begot by disdaine, 
 
 O Willow, willow, willow, 
 Against her, too cruell, still, still I complaine : 
 
 Widow, wiUow, ivillow, 
 
 O Willow, willow, willow, 
 
 Sing O the greene Willow shall be my Garland.
 
 The Complaint of a Lcucr Forsaken. 231 
 
 O Loue too injurious ! to wound my poore heart, 
 
 O willow, &., 
 To suffer her triumph, and ioy in my smart. 
 
 O willow, &., 
 
 Sing O the greene, &. 
 O Willow, Willow, Willow, the Willow Garland, 
 
 O willow, &c., 
 A signe of her falseness, before me doth stand ; 
 
 O willow, &., 
 
 Sing O the greene, &c. 
 As heere lying, payned, it stands in mine eye, 
 
 O willow, &c. 
 So hang it, (friends,) ore me, in Graue where I lye : 
 
 willow, &., 
 
 Sing O the greene, &c. 
 In Graue when I rest me, hang this to the view 
 
 willow, &c., 
 Of all that doe know her, to blaze her vntrue : 
 
 O willow, &., 
 
 Sing O the greene, &c. 
 With these words ingrauen, as Epitaph meete, 
 
 O willow, &c., 
 
 ' Heere lyes one drunke Poyson, for potion most 
 sweete.' 
 
 willow, &c. 
 
 Sing O the greene, &c. 
 Though she thus vnkindly haue scorned my loue, 
 
 willow, &c.,
 
 232 The Complaint of a Louer Forsaken. 
 
 And carelesly smiles at the sorrowes I proue ; 
 
 O willow, &c., 
 
 Sing O the gttene, &LC. 
 
 I cannot against her unkindly exclaime, 
 willow, &., 
 
 Cause once well I loude her and honourde her 
 
 name : 
 
 O willow, &. 
 Sing O the greene, SLC. 
 
 The name of her sounded so sweet in mine eare, 
 
 O willow, &c, 
 It raisde my heart lightly the name of my deare. 
 
 O willow, &?., 
 
 Sing O the greene, Sac. 
 
 As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe, 
 
 O, willow, &c. 
 It now brings me anguish; then, brought me reliefe. 
 
 O willow, &c., 
 
 Sing O the greene, Sac. 
 
 Farewel, faire . false-hearted, plaints end with my 
 
 breath, 
 O, willow, &c. 
 
 Thou dost loth me, I loue thee, though cause of 
 
 my death." 
 
 O Willow, willow, willow, 
 O Willow, willow, willow, 
 Sing O the green Willow shall be my Garland. 
 
 Finis. 
 
 London, Printed by M. P. for Edward Wright at his 
 Shop, neere Christ- Church-gate.
 
 The Constancy of True Loue, 
 
 Or, 
 
 An Excellent Relation of the Vntimely Death of Two 
 Faithfull Louers. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Downe by a Forrest. 
 
 In that faire, fragrant month of May, 
 When earth her curtaines doth display, 
 I did by chance my corps repose 
 Vpon a banke, which Woods did close 
 With greene and leaury bowres about 
 A place to shunne the teadious rout 
 Of Tibs and Tomsfor this intent, 
 This flowrie seat I did frequent.
 
 234 The Constancy of Triie Loue. 
 
 Nature had stroue to shew her feate 
 In the composure of this seat ; 
 For in a Valley-plaine was found 
 This place by hills incircled round. 
 Both lofty Beech and Cedars tall 
 Did shelter this rich Siluan hall ; 
 Heere Satires and the Naiades, 
 Heere Siluans and the Driades ; 
 
 Here rurall gods and tripping Nymphs 
 Did bath their corps in the pure lymphs 
 And christal streams, which made a noise 
 Incompassing this place of ioyes : 
 No fairer place nor Fountaine found 
 Dian with golden tresses crown'd 
 And, Lady, guarded in this seate, 
 The whistling wind, cool'd summer's heat. 
 
 Here the nine Muses usde to dance ; 
 Here the kind graces usde to prance; 
 Here Phcebe his warbling harpe did tune 
 The lifesome monthes of May and lune ; 
 Here Philomel tun'd melody ; 
 Hither the chirping birds did fly; 
 Here the Thrush & blackbird fro their throats 
 Strain'd diners sundry pleasant notes.
 
 The Constancy of True Loue. 235 
 
 Here the Nymph Eccho, in hollow ground, 
 
 Did the last syllabe resound ; 
 
 What harbour could the world spare 
 
 More trim, more neat, more sweet, more rare ? 
 
 Here, as I sate musing alone, 
 
 Me thought I heard one grieue and groane, 
 
 " Ah me, poore wretch !" this creature said, 
 
 Whereat my senses grew afraid. 
 
 I started, looking here and there, 
 
 To viewe the subject of this feare ; 
 
 A Lady, obiect to mine eyes, 
 
 I found the effect of all these cryes. 
 
 I hasted to enquire the cause 
 
 Which did her weeping eyes amaze : 
 
 " Behold," quoth she, "my Loue (alas!) 
 
 Whose crimson blood here dyes the grasse." 
 
 " The sweetest creature here lyeth dead 
 
 That famous Europe euer bred ; 
 
 I haue my wronged Louer slaine, 
 
 His death shall be the death of twaine." 
 
 I praid her then for to relate 
 
 The cause of his vntimely fate : 
 
 She then, scarse fetching of her breath, 
 
 Beginnes the Story of his death.
 
 236 I lie Constancy of Trite Loue. 
 
 " Blinde Cupid" (quoth she) " with his dart, 
 
 In tender yeares did wound his heart, 
 
 Made subiect to the loue of me, 
 
 An actor of this tragedie. 
 
 His heart and mind together tried, 
 
 His loue and mine together tied ; 
 
 Our parents sought to crosse our will, 
 
 But we continued constant still. 
 
 Though time the disadvantage gaue, 
 And we no place for loue could haue, 
 Yet still we sought to recornpence 
 Loue with true loue, without offence. 
 We dwelt in neighbouring houses nie, 
 And, getting conference thereby, 
 We did appoint vnder this tree 
 To meet, but disapointed bee.
 
 " When bright Aurora peeped out, 
 And Phoebus newly look'd about, 
 I first (according to my vow) 
 made haste vnto this plighted bough ;
 
 238 The Constancy of True Loue. 
 
 Heere as I stayed for my Loue, 
 Whose comming over-late did proue, 
 A Lyon with inhumane pawes, 
 Came to that well to coole his jawes. 
 
 His mouth was all with blood besmear'd ; 
 This instrument of Death I fear'd : 
 I fled to hide myselfe for feare, 
 And left behind my mantle there. 
 The Lyon, hauing slak'd his thirst, 
 Ran where I left my garment first ; 
 But when he saw no place for prey, 
 He foul'd with blood my Liuerie. 
 
 And having musled thus the same, 
 Thither he went whence first he came ; 
 But I knew not that hee was gone, 
 And therefore stayd I hid alone. 
 In the mean time (Oh griefe !) came hee 
 Who promis'd had to meet with mee, 
 And vnder this our plighted bough, 
 He sought performance of our vow. 
 
 Hee found not mee but found my Coat 
 All bloudied by the Lyons throat ; 
 Which when he saw with bloud belay'd 
 My absence made him sore afraid :
 
 The Constancy of True Loue. 239 
 
 What should he thinke, but that some beast 
 Vpon my carkasse made his Feast ? 
 He thought that the grim Lyons whelpe 
 Devoured mee, being voyd of helpe. 
 
 While hee these events thus did brooke, 
 
 The instrument of death he tooke, 
 
 A naked sword, which by his side, 
 
 Ready for Combats, hee had tyed : 
 
 I haue, quoth hee, wrought my Loue's death ; 
 
 The end of her shall end my breath.' 
 
 And thereupon thrust to the hilt 
 
 His sword, and thus his blood he spilt. . 
 
 That the first Passenger might know 
 The dismall euents ol this woe, 
 He wrote, and pinn'd a note thereof 
 Vpon his Hatt to shew the proofe : 
 Which I, being voyd of feare at last, 
 And thinking all the danger past, 
 Returning from that hideous bed 
 Whereto I from the Lyon fled, 
 
 I found this Copie of his death, 
 And his dead carkasse, voyd of breath. 
 No sobs, no sighes, no grief es, on groanes, 
 No trickling tears, no mournfull moanes,
 
 240 The Contancy of Trite Loue. 
 
 No ejaculations, no cries, 
 No dolefull Dittie, or Elagies, 
 Shall serue for to bevvaile his end, 
 Which for my loue his life did spend. 
 
 In life his loue did mee pursue, 
 
 But by his death hee prou'd it true ; 
 
 If he then for my sake did die, 
 
 As much for him why should not I ? 
 
 Since death hath vs denied our right, 
 
 Then friendly death shall vs vnite, 
 
 And I will follow him in haste, 
 
 Who thought he followed me, being past," 
 
 These words as soone as shee had spoke, 
 Shee gaue her selfe a deadly stroke, 
 Shee drew the sword out of his breast, 
 And in her owne the same shee thrust : 
 And as in life their hearts were one, 
 So are their Hues together gone. 
 In spight of parents, time, or place, 
 Fond loue will runne his wished race ! 
 
 Thus have you heard a Tragedy 
 Acted by louers' constancy ; 
 God send such louers better speed, 
 Where feruency true love doth breed. 
 
 Finis. 
 
 Imprinted at London for Francis Coules, and are to 
 be sould at his shop in the Old-Bayley.
 
 A Courtly New Ballad of the 
 
 Princely wooing of the faire Maid of London by 
 King Edward. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Bonny sweet Robbin. 
 
 Faire Angell of England \ thy beauty most bright 
 Is all my heart's treasure, my ioy and delight ; 
 Then grant me, sweet Lady, thy true Love to be, 
 That I may say welcome, good fortune, to me. 
 
 The Turtle, so true and chast in her love, 
 By gentle perswasions her fancy will move ; 
 Then be not intreated, sweet Lady, in vaine, 
 For Nature requireth what I would obtaine. 
 
 What Phenix so faire, that liveth alone, 
 Is vow&d to chastity, being but one ; 
 But be not, my Darling, so chaste in desire, 
 Lest thou like the Phenix, do penance in fire. 
 
 But alas ! (gallant Lady) I pitty thy state, 
 In being resolved to live without mate ; 
 For if of our courting the pleasure you knew 
 You shall have a liking the same to ensue. 
 
 Long time have I sued the same to obtaine, 
 Yet I am requited with scornefull disdaine ; 
 But if you will grant your good will to me, 
 You shall be advanced to Princely degree.
 
 242 The Princely wooing of the jaire Maid. 
 
 Promotions and honours may often entice 
 The chastest that liveth, though never so nice : 
 What woman so worthy but will be content 
 To live in the Palace where Princes frequent ? 
 
 Two Brides, yong and princely, to Church have I 
 
 led; 
 
 Two Ladies most lovely have decked my bed ; 
 Yet hath thy love taken more root in my heart 
 Than all their contentments whereof I had part. 
 
 Your gentle hearts cannot men's tears much abide, 
 And women least angry when most they do chide ; 
 Then yeeld to me kindly, and say that at length 
 Men doe want mercy, and poore women strength. 
 
 I grant that faire Ladies may poore men resist, 
 But Princes will conquer and love whom they list ; 
 A King may command her to lie by his side, 
 Whose feature deserveth to be a King's Bride. 
 
 In granting your love you shall purchase renowne, 
 Your head shall be deckt with England 's fair crown, 
 Thy garment most gallant with gold shall be 
 
 wrought, 
 If true love for treasure of thee may be bought. 
 
 Great Ladies of honour shall 'tend on thy traine, 
 Most richly attired with scarlet in graine : 
 My chamber most Princely thy person shall keepe, 
 Where Virgins with musicke shal rock thee asleep.
 
 The Princely wooing of the fair e Maid. 243 
 
 If any more pleasures thy heart can invent, 
 Command them, sweet Lady, thy mind to content ; 
 For Kings' gallant Courts, where Princes do dwel, 
 Afford such sweet pastimes as Ladies love wel. 
 
 Then be not resolved to dye a true Maid, 
 But print in thy bosome the words I have said ; 
 And grant a King favour thy true love to be, 
 That I may say, welcome, sweet Virgin, to me. 
 
 The faire Maid of London's answer 
 
 to King Edward's wanton Love. 
 
 To THE SAME TUNE. 
 
 Oh, wanton King Edward, thy labour is vaine 
 To follow the pleasure thoit canst not attaine, 
 Which getting, thou losest, and having, dost wast it, 
 The which if thou purchase, is spoil'd if thou hast it. 
 
 But if thou obtainst it, thou nothing hast won ; 
 And I, losing nothing, yet quite am undone ; 
 But if of that Jewell a King doe deceive me, 
 No King can restore, though a Kingdom he give me. 
 
 My colour is changed since you saw me last ; 
 My favour is vanisht, my beauty is past ; 
 The Rose's red blushes that sate on my cheekes 
 To palenesse are turned, which all men mislikes.
 
 244 Th e Princely wooing of tlie faise Maid. 
 
 I passe not what Princes for love do protest, 
 The name ot a Virgin contenteth me best ; 
 I have not deserved to sleepe by thy side, 
 Nor to be accounted for King Edward's bride. 
 
 The name of a Princesse I never did crave, 
 No such tipe of honour thy hand-maid will have ; 
 My brest shall not harbour so lofty a thought, 
 Nor be with rich proffers to wantonnesse brought. 
 
 If wild wanton Rosamond, one of our sort, 
 Had never frequented King Henries brave Court, 
 Such heapes of deepe sorrow she never had scene, 
 Nor tasted the rage of a jealous )ueene. 
 
 All men have their freedome to shew their intent, 
 They win not a woman except she consent ; 
 Who, then, can impute to a man any fault, 
 Who still goes uprightly while women doe halt. 
 
 'Tis counted kindnesse in men for to try, 
 And vertue in women the same to deny ; 
 For women inconstant can never be prov'd, 
 Untill by their betters therein they be mov'd. 
 
 If women and modesty once doe but sever, 
 Then farewell good name and credit for ever ! 
 And, royall King Edward, let me be exilde 
 Ere any man knows my body's defil'd.
 
 The Princely wooing of the faire Maid. 245 
 
 No, no, my old Father's reverent teares 
 Too deepe an impression within my soul beares ; 
 Nor shall his bright honour that blot, by me, have 
 To bring his gray haires with griefe to the grave. 
 
 The heavens forbid that when I should dye, 
 
 That any such sinne upon my soule lye ; 
 
 If I have kept me from doing this sinne, 
 
 My heart shall not yeeld with a Prince to beginne. 
 
 Come rather with pitty to weepe on my Tombe, 
 Then, for my birth, curse my deare mother's Womb, 
 That brought forth a blossome that stained the tree 
 With wanton desires to shame her and me. 
 
 Leave me (most noble King), tempt not, in vaine, 
 My milk-white affections with lewdness to stain : 
 Though England will give me no comfort at all, 
 Yet England shall yeeld mee a sad burialL 
 
 Finis. 
 
 London Printed for Henry Gosson.
 
 The Bride's Buriall. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF ike Ladies fall. 
 
 Come, mourn, come mourn with me, 
 
 you loyall lovers all ; 
 Lament my losse in weedes of woe, 
 
 whom griping griefe doth thrall. 
 Like to the dropping vine 
 
 cut downe by gardner's knife, 
 Even so my heart, with sorrow slaine, 
 
 doth bleed for my sweet wife. 
 
 By Death (that grisly Ghost) 
 
 my turtle Dove is slaine, 
 And I am lost, unhappy man ! 
 
 to spend my daies in paine.
 
 T/i Bride s Burial. 247 
 
 Her beauty, late so bright, 
 
 like Roses in their prime, 
 Is wasted, like the mountaine's snow, 
 
 by force of Phce&us' shine. 
 
 Her faire red-coloured lips 
 
 now pale and wan ; her eyes 
 That late did shine like christall stars, 
 
 alas ! her light it dies : 
 Her pretty lilly hands, 
 
 with fingers long and small, 
 In colour lie like earthly clay, 
 
 yea, cold and stiffe withal. 
 
 When as the morning gray 
 
 her golden gate had spred, 
 And that the glistring sunne arose, 
 
 forth from faire Thetis bed, 
 Then did my loue awake, 
 
 most like a lilly flower, 
 And, as the louely Queene of heauen, 
 
 so shin'd she in her bower. 
 
 Attired she was then 
 
 like Flora in her pride, 
 As faire as braue Dianaes Nimphs 
 
 so lookt my louely Bride.
 
 248 The Brides Burial. 
 
 And as faire Hellens face 
 
 gaue Grecian Dames the lurch, 
 
 So did my deare exceed in sight 
 all Viro-ins in the Church. 
 
 When we had knit the knot 
 
 of holy wedlock's band, 
 Like Alabaster ioyn'd to iett, 
 
 so stood we hand in hand : 
 Then loe ! a chilling cold 
 
 struk every vitall part, 
 And griping griefe, like pangs of death, 
 
 seaz'd on my true Loves heart. 
 
 Downe in a s[w]ound she fell, 
 
 as cold as any stone. 
 Like Venus picture, lacking life, 
 
 so was my Love brought home. 
 At length arose a red 
 
 throughout her comely face, 
 As Phoebus' beames with wat'ry clouds 
 
 ore covered her face. 
 
 Then, with a grievous groane 
 and voyce most hoarse and dry, 
 
 Farewell! quoth shee, my loving friends, 
 for I this day must die :
 
 The Brides Burial. 249- 
 
 The messenger of God 
 
 with Golden Trumpe I see, 
 With many other Angels more, 
 
 doth sound and call for me. 
 
 Instead of musicke sweet, 
 
 goe tole my passing-bell, 
 And with these flowers strow my grave, 
 
 that in my chamber smell : 
 Strip off my Brides array, 
 
 my Corke-shooes from my feet ; 
 And, gentle mother, be not coy, 
 
 to bring my winding-sheet. 
 
 My Wedding-dinner drest 
 
 bestow upon the poore, 
 And on the hungry, needy, maim'd, 
 
 that craveth at the doore 
 Instead of Virgins young 
 
 my Bride-bed for to see, 
 Goe cause some cunning Carpenter 
 
 To make a chest for mee. 
 
 My Bride-laces of silke, 
 
 bestow'd on maidens meete, 
 May fitly serve, when I am dead, 
 
 to tie my hands and feete :
 
 250 The Brides Burial. 
 
 And thou, my Lover true, 
 my husband and my friend, 
 
 Let me intreate thee here to stay 
 untill my life doth end. 
 
 Now leave to talke of love, 
 
 and, humbly on your knee, 
 Direct your prayer unto God, 
 
 but mourne no more for me. 
 In love as we have lived, 
 
 in love let us depart ; 
 And I, in token of my love, 
 
 doe kisse thee with my heart. 
 
 stench thy bootlesse teares, 
 thy weeping is in vaine ; 
 
 1 am not lost, for we in heaven 
 shall one day meet againe. 
 
 With that she turn'd her head, 
 as one disposed to sleepe, 
 
 And like a Lambe departed life 
 while friends full sore did weepe. 
 
 Her true Love, seeing this, 
 did fetch a grievous groane, 
 
 As though his heart did burst in two, 
 and thus he made his moane :
 
 The Brides Burial. 251 
 
 O dismall, heavy day, 
 
 a day of griefe and care, 
 That hath bereft the Sun so high, 
 
 whose beames refresht the ayre. 
 
 Now woe unto the world, 
 
 and all that therein dwell ! 
 O that I were with her in heaven, 
 
 for here I live in hell ! 
 And now this Lover lives 
 
 a discontented life, 
 Whose Bride was brought unto the grave 
 
 a Maiden and a Wife. 
 
 A garland, fresh and faire 
 
 of Lillies there was made, 
 In signe of her Virginity, 
 
 and on her Coffin lain : 
 Sixe maidens, all in white, 
 
 did beare her to the ground ; 
 The Bells did ring in solemne sort, 
 
 and made a solemne sound. 
 
 In earth they laid her then, 
 
 for hungry wormes a prey : 
 So shall the fairest face alive 
 
 at length be brought to clay. 
 
 Finis. 
 London Printed for H. Gosson.
 
 An excellent Ballad 
 
 Intituled : The Constancy of Susanna. 
 
 TO AN EXCELLENT NEW TUNE. 
 
 There dwelt a man in Babylon, 
 of reputation great by fame ; 
 He tooke to wife a faire woman, 
 
 Susanna she was call'd by name ; 
 A woman faire and vertuous : 
 
 Lady, Lady, 
 
 Why should wee not of her learne thus 
 to Hue godly ? 
 
 Vertuously her life she led, 
 
 she feared God, she stood in awe, 
 
 As in the storie we haue read, 
 
 was well brought up in Moses Law.
 
 The Constancy of Susanna. 255 
 
 Her parents they were godly folke, 
 
 Lady, Lady ; 
 Why should we not then sing and talke 
 
 of this Lady ? 
 
 That yeare two Judges there was made, 
 
 which were the Elders of Babylon ; 
 To loachims house was all their trade, 
 who was Susannaes husband then : 
 loachim was a great rich man, 
 
 Lady, Lady ; 
 
 These Elders oft to his house came 
 for this Lady. 
 
 loachim had an Orchard by, 
 
 fast ioyning to his house or place, 
 Wherase Susanna commonly 
 
 her selfe did daily their solace : 
 And that these Elders soone espy'd, 
 
 Lady, Lady ; 
 
 And priuily themselues did hide 
 for that Lady. 
 
 Her chaste and constant life was tride 
 
 by these two Elders of Babylon ; 
 A time conuenient they espide 
 
 to have this Lady all alone, 
 
 Q
 
 2 54 The Cons fancy of Siisanna. 
 
 In his Orchard it came to passe, 
 
 Lady, Lady, 
 Where she alone her self did wash 
 
 her faire body. 
 
 These Elders came to her anon, 
 
 & thus they said, Fair dame, God speed 
 Thy doors are fast, thy Maids are gone, 
 
 Consent to vs and doe this deed ; 
 For we are men of no mistrust, 
 
 Lady, Lady, 
 
 And yet to thee we haue a lust, 
 O faire Lady. 
 
 If that to us thou dost say nay, 
 a testimoniall'we will bring; 
 Wee will say that one with thee lay, 
 
 how canst thou then auoid the thing ? 
 Therefore consent, and to us turne, 
 
 Lady, Lady ; 
 
 For we to thee in lust doe burne, 
 O fair Lady !" 
 
 Then did she sigh, and said, alas 
 now woe is me on euery side ; 
 
 Was euer wretch in such a case 
 shall I consent and doe this deed
 
 The Constancy of Susanna. 255 
 
 Whether I doe or doe it not, 
 
 Lady, Lady, 
 it is my death, right well I wot. 
 
 O true Lady ! 
 
 Better it were for me to fall 
 
 into your hands this day guiltlesse, 
 Then that I should consent at all 
 
 to this your shamefull wickednesse. 
 And euen with that (whereas she stood), 
 
 Lady, Lady, 
 
 Unto the Lord she cryed aloud 
 pitifully. 
 
 These Elders both likewise againe 
 
 against Susanna aloud they cry'd, 
 Their filthy lust could not obtaine, 
 
 their wickednesse they sought to hide ; 
 Unto her friends they then her brought, 
 
 Lady, Lady, 
 
 And with all speed the life they sought 
 of that Lady.
 
 On the morrow she was brought forth 
 
 before the people there to stand, 
 That they might heare & know the truth, 
 
 how these two Elders Susanna found. 
 The Elders swore, and thus did say, 
 
 Lady, Lady, 
 
 How that they saw a young man lay 
 with that Lady. 
 
 Judgement there was, for no offence, 
 Susanna causelesse then must dye ; 
 
 These Elders bore such euidence, 
 against her they did verifie,
 
 The Constancy of Susanna. 257 
 
 
 Who were belieu'd then indeed, 
 
 Lady, Lady, 
 Against Susanna to proceed, 
 
 that she should dye. 
 
 Susannaes friends that stood her by, 
 
 they did lament, and were full woe, 
 When as they saw no remedy, 
 
 but that to. death she then must goe. 
 r * % * * * *- -x- -| 
 
 Lady, Lady, 
 
 In God was all her hope and trust 
 to him did cry. 
 
 The Lord her voice heard, and beheld 
 
 the Daughters cry of Israel ; 
 His spirit he raised in a child, 
 
 whose name was call'd young Daniel, 
 Who cryed aloud whereas he stood, 
 
 Lady, Lady, 
 
 I am cleare of the guiltless blood 
 of this Lady. 
 
 Are you such fooles ? quoth Daniel then ; 
 
 in iudgement you haue not done well, 
 Nor yet the right way haue you gone 
 
 to iudge a daughter of Israel
 
 258 The Constancy of Susanna. 
 
 By this witnesse of false disdaine ; 
 
 Lady, Lady, 
 Wherefore to iudgement turne againe, 
 
 for that Lady. 
 
 And when to iudgement they were set, 
 
 he called for those wicked men, 
 And soone he did them separate, 
 
 putting the one from the other, then 
 He asked the first where he did see 
 
 that faire Lady ; 
 He said under a mulberry tree ; 
 who lyed falsely, 
 
 Thou lyest, said Daniel, on thy head 
 
 thy sentence is before the Lord ! 
 He bad that forth he might be led, 
 
 and bring the other that bore record, 
 To see how they two did agree 
 
 for this Lady ; 
 
 He said under a Pomgrannat tree ; 
 who lyed falsely. 
 
 Said Daniel, as he did before, 
 behold the messenger of the Lord 
 
 Stands waiting for you at the doore, 
 euen to cut thee with a sword.
 
 The Constancy of Susanna. 259 
 
 And, euen with that, the multitude 
 
 aloud did cry, 
 Giue thankes to God, so to conclude, 
 
 for this Lady. 
 
 They dealt like with these wicked men 
 
 according as the Scripture saith, 
 They did, as with their neighbour, then, 
 
 by Moses law were put to death ! 
 The innocent preserued was, 
 
 Lady, Lady, 
 
 As God by Daniel brought to passe 
 for this Lady. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed at London for lohn Wright, neere Pye- 
 corner.
 
 A Compleate Gentle-woman 
 
 Described by her feature ; 
 
 Her person slender, her beauty admirable, her wit 
 excellent, her carriage modest, her behaviour 
 chast, with her constancie in love. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Sabina 
 
 You Muses all your aide to mee assigne, 
 To speake in praise of the true loue of mine, 
 
 Strike up with ioy, 
 
 Strike up with ioy, 
 
 Strike up with ioy your instruments of mirth, 
 Till piercing Ecchoes ring 'twixt heaven and earth.
 
 A Compleate Gentle-woman. 261 
 
 Let Pan with speed prepare himselfe to play, 
 And sweetly chaunt my loue a roundelay, 
 
 While Satyres peepe, 
 
 While Satyres peepe, 
 
 While Satyres peepe to see her louely face, 
 Let Citterne, harpe, and lute her meeting grace. 
 
 Let all the Poets company combine 
 Their wits in one for my sweet Rosaline, 
 
 And say that shee, 
 
 And say that shee, 
 
 And say that shee Queene Venus doth excell, 
 For beauty, loue, and wit she beares the bell. 
 
 And to recite the substance of her feature, 
 That all may say shee is a comely creature, 
 
 From head to foot, 
 
 From head to foot, 
 
 From head to foot I will unfold aright 
 The shape of her which is my hearts delight. 
 
 First, is her haire like threds of golden wyre, 
 Upon her head is set a seemly tyre, 
 
 Which doth protect, 
 
 Which doth protect, 
 
 Which doth protect her crimson cheeks from wind, 
 From Titans heate and Boreas blasts unkinde.
 
 262 
 
 A Compleate Gentle-woman. 
 
 Her glistring eyes excell the diamond light : 
 When I behold her countenance by night, 
 
 I doe admire, 
 
 I doe admire, 
 
 I doe admire to see her beauteous brow, 
 In whom Diana chastnesse doth allow. 
 
 The second part, To the same tune. 
 
 Her rubie lips which doth inclose the tongue 
 From whence rare elegies are sweetly sung,
 
 A Compleate Gentle-woman. 263 
 
 That may amaze, 
 
 That may amaze, 
 
 That may amaze each rurall swaine to heare 
 Her Siren songs with voice so shrill and cleare. 
 
 Her luorie necke with golden gems compleate, 
 Her armes and shoulders framed fine and neate. 
 
 Her lilly hand, 
 
 Her lilly hand, 
 
 Her lilly hand and fingers long and small, 
 With slender wast and person some-what tall. 
 
 And farther to devulge some other parts 
 Wherein dame Nature shewes her chiefest arts, 
 
 I purpose to, 
 
 I purpose to, 
 
 I purpose to stoope downe unto the toe, 
 And so speake of the rest as up I goe. 
 
 Her pretty foot and nimble dapper heele, 
 
 Her shaking legge, haue showne such actius skill, 
 
 Both Coridon, 
 
 Both Coridon, 
 
 Both Coridon and Phillis blush't to see 
 Her amourous cariage when she bends the knee. 
 
 Not only this which Nature in her plac't, 
 But, Ladie, vertue hath her further grac't.
 
 264 A Compleate Gentle-woman. 
 
 In all respects, 
 
 In all respects, 
 
 In all respects each creature doth her finde 
 To passe the Pellican, shee is so kinde. 
 
 So constant in her actions still is shee, 
 Shee may compare with chast Penelope ; 
 
 Her minde once fix't, 
 
 Her minde once fix't, 
 Her mind once fix't, it neuer will remoue, 
 Shee'l rather die, like to the Turtle-doue. 
 
 Her will to chastitie is so appli'd, 
 
 Shee scornes ambition, lust, and hatefull pride, 
 
 Whereby shee gaines, 
 
 Whereby shee gaines, 
 
 Whereby shee gaines good wil of great and smal, 
 Strong, weak, high, low, rich, poore, they loue 
 
 her al. 
 
 But since my trembling hand and pen wants skil, 
 To write her fame compleate unto my will, 
 
 I here conclude, 
 
 I here conclude, 
 
 I here conclude, wishing each honest lad 
 May haue so true a choice as I haue had. 
 
 L. P. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 Clods Carroll ; 
 
 Or, 
 
 A proper new ligg, to be sung Dialogue wise, of a 
 man and a woman that would needs be married. 
 
 To a pleasant new Tune. 
 
 MAX. Now in the Garden 
 are we well met. 
 To craue our promise, 
 
 for promise is a debt. 
 
 WOM. Come, sit thee down all by my side, 
 and when that thou art set, 
 say what thou wilt unto mee. 
 
 M. Shew me unfaignedly, 
 
 and tell me thy mind, 
 For one may haue a yong wench 
 that is not ouer-kind.
 
 266 Clod's Carroll. 
 
 W. Seeke all the world for such a one, 
 then hardly shall you find 
 a Loue of such perfection. 
 
 M. This single life is wearisome : 
 
 faine would I marry, 
 But feare of ill chusing 
 makes me to tarry : 
 Some sayes that flesh is flexible, 
 
 and quickly it will vary, 
 W. It's very true, God mend them. 
 
 M. Why speak'st thou ill of women, 
 sith thou thyselfe art one ? 
 
 W. Would all the rest were constant 
 saue I myselfe alone ; 
 
 M. Faith, good or bad, or howsoe're, 
 I cannot live alone, 
 but needs I must bee married. 
 
 W. To marry with a yong wench, 
 
 shee'l make thee poore with pride 
 To marry with one of middle age, 
 
 perhaps she hath beene try'd : 
 To marry with an old one, 
 to freeze by fire side : 
 
 both old and young are faulty.
 
 Clod's Carroll. 267 
 
 M. He marry with a yong wench, 
 
 of beauty and of wit. 
 W. It is better tame a yong Colt 
 
 without a curbing bit. 
 M. But she will throw her rider downe. 
 W. I, true, he cannot sit, 
 
 when Fillies fall a wighing. 
 
 M. He marry one of middle age, 
 
 for she will love me well. 
 W. But if her middle much be us'd, 
 
 by heauen and by hell ! 
 Thou shalt find more griefes 
 than thousand tongues can tell : 
 Ah, silly man, God help thee. 
 
 M. He marry with an old wench 
 
 that knowes not good from bad. 
 
 W. But once within a fortnight 
 
 shee'l make her husband mad. 
 
 M. Beshrew thee for thy counsell, 
 for thou hast made me sad ; 
 but needs I must be married. 
 
 W. To marry with a young wench 
 me thinkes it were a blisse : 
 To marry one of middle age 
 it were not much amisse :
 
 268 Clod's Carroll. 
 
 I'de marry one of old age, 
 and match where money is ; 
 there's none are bad in chusing. 
 
 M. Then thou, for all thy saying, 
 commendst the single life. 
 
 W. I, freedome is a popish 
 banishment of strife. 
 
 M. Hold thy tongue, fond woman, 
 for I must haue a wife. 
 
 W. A Cuckold in reuerson. 
 
 When you are once married, 
 
 all one whole yeare, 
 Tell me of your fortune, 
 
 and meet with mee here ; 
 To thinke upon my counsell 
 
 thou wilt shed many a teare ; 
 till which time I will leave thee. 
 
 M. Were I but assured, 
 
 and of a Beggars lot, 
 Still to live in misery 
 
 and never worth a groat, 
 To haue my head well furnished 
 as any horned Goat : 
 
 for all this would I marry.
 
 Clod's Carroll. 
 
 9 
 
 Farewell, you lusty Batchelors, 
 
 to marriage I am bent ; 
 When I haue try'd what marriage is, 
 
 He tell you the euent, 
 And tell the cause, if cause there be, 
 
 wherein I doe repent 
 that ever I did marry. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 269 
 
 The second part, To the same tune. 
 
 W. Good-morrow to thee new married man, 
 how doest thou fare ? 
 
 R
 
 Clod's Carroll. 
 
 M. As one quite marr'd with marriage, 
 
 consum'd and kill'd with care : 
 Would I had tane thy counsell. 
 W. But thou wouldst not beware. 
 M. Alas ! it was my fortune. 
 
 W. What griefe doth most oppresse thee 
 
 may I request to know. 
 M. That I haue got a wanton. 
 W. But is she not a shrow ? 
 M. Shee's anything that euill is, 
 
 but I must not say so. 
 W. For feare that I should flout thee. 
 
 M. Indeed, to mocke at misery- 
 would adde vnto my griefe. 
 W. But I will not torment thee, 
 
 but rather lend reliefe : 
 And therefore in thy marriage 
 tell me what woes are chiefe ; 
 good counsell yet may cure thee. 
 
 W. Is not thy huswife testy, 
 
 too churlish and too sowre ? 
 
 M. The deuill is not so waspish, 
 
 shee's neuer pleas'd an hower. 
 
 W. Canst' thou not tame a deuill ? 
 lies not it in thy power ? 
 
 M. Alas ! I cannot coniure.
 
 Clod's Carroll. 
 
 W. What goeth she not a gossiping, 
 
 to spend away thy store : 
 M. Doe what I can, I promise you, 
 
 shee's euer out of dore ; 
 That were I nere so thrifty, 
 
 yet she would make me poore ; 
 
 ' woe's me ! I cannot mend it. 
 
 W. How goeth shee in apparell ? 
 delights she not in pride ? 
 M. No more than Birds doe bushes, 
 
 or harts the riuer side, 
 Witnesse to that, her looking-glasse, 
 where shee hath stood in pride 
 a whole fore-noone together. 
 
 W. How thinkst thou ? was she honest, 
 
 and loyall to thy bed ? 
 M. I thinke her legs doe fall away, 
 
 for spring-time keeping head ; 
 And were not homes inuisible, 
 I warrant you I were sped 
 with broad browed Panthers; 
 
 W. Thy griefe is past recouery ; 
 
 no salute will help but this 
 To take thy fortune patiently, 
 and brooke her what she is. 
 
 271
 
 Clod's Carroll. 
 
 Yet many things amended are 
 that have been long amisse, 
 and so in time 1 may she be. 
 
 M. I cannot stay here longer, 
 
 my wife, or this, doth stay ; 
 And he thats bound as I am bound, 
 
 perforce must needs obey. 
 W. Then farewell to thee, new-married man, 
 since you will needs away ; 
 I can but grieue thy fortune. 
 
 M. All you that be at libertie 
 
 and would be void of strife : 
 Ispeake it on experience, 
 ne're venture on a wife ; 
 For if you match, you will be matcht 
 to such a weary life, 
 
 that you will all repent you. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 London, Printed by A. M. for Henry Gosson.
 
 Constant, faire, and fine Betty. 
 
 Being 
 The Young-man's praise of a curious Creature. 
 
 Faire shee was, and faire indeed, 
 And constant alwayes did proceed. 
 
 To the Tune of, Peggy went over Sea with a Souldier. 
 
 Now of my sweet Bettie 
 I must speake in praise ; 
 
 I never did^see 
 such a lasse sinmy day :
 
 274 Constant, f air e, and fine Betty. 
 
 She is kind and loving, 
 and constant to me : 
 
 Wherefore I will speake 
 of my pretty Betty. 
 
 Betty is comely, 
 
 and Betty is kind ; 
 Besides, shee is pretty, 
 
 and pleaseth my mind : 
 She is a brave bony Lasse, 
 
 lovely and free ; 
 The best that ere was 
 
 is my pretty Betty. 
 
 Her haire it doth glister 
 
 like to threeds of gold ; 
 All those that doe meet her 
 
 Admire to behold : 
 Her they take for funo, 
 
 so glorious seemes shee, 
 More brighter then Luna 
 
 is pretty Betty, 
 
 Her eyes they do twinkle 
 like starres in the skie ; 
 
 She is without wrinkle 
 her forehead is high :
 
 Constant, faire, and fine Betty* 275 
 
 Faire Venus for beauty 
 
 the like cannot be ; 
 Thus I shew my duty 
 
 to pretty Betty. 
 
 She hath fine cherry cheekes 
 
 and sweet Corrall lips : 
 There is many one seekes 
 
 love with kisses and clips ; 
 But she, like Diana, 
 
 flies their company ; 
 She is my Tytana. 
 
 my pretty Bettie. 
 
 Her Chinne it is dimpled, 
 
 her visage is faire ; 
 She is finely templed ; 
 
 she is neat and rare : 
 It Hellen were living 
 
 she could not please me ; 
 I ioy in praise giving 
 
 my pretty Betty. 
 
 Her skinne white as snow, 
 her brest soft as doune, 
 
 All her parts below 
 
 they are all firme and sound
 
 Constant, faire, and fine Betty. 
 
 Shee's chaste in affection 
 
 as Penelope. 
 Thus ends the complexion 
 
 of pretty Bettie. 
 
 The Second Part, to the same Tune. 
 
 Now of her conditions 
 something He declare, 
 
 For some have suspitions 
 She's false, being faire :
 
 Constant, faire, and fine Betty. 277 
 
 But shee's not false hearted 
 
 in any degree ; 
 I'm glad I consorted 
 
 with pretty Betty. 
 
 Her words and her actions 
 
 they are all as one, 
 And all her affection 
 
 is on me alone : 
 She hates such a vary 
 
 from true constancy ; 
 Long I must not tarry 
 
 from pretty Betty. 
 
 Well met, my sweet Hony, 
 
 my ioy and delight! 
 O how hath my Cony 
 
 done ere since last night ? 
 Oh what saies my dearest, 
 
 what saist thou to me ? 
 Of all maids the rarest 
 
 is pretty Bettt. 
 
 Wo. Kind love, thou art welcome 
 
 to me day and night ; 
 Why came you not home ? 
 I did long for your sight :
 
 Constant, faire, and fine Betty. 
 
 My ioy and my pleasure 
 
 is onely in thee ; 
 Thou art all the treasure 
 
 of pretty Bettt. 
 
 Hadst thou not come quickly 
 
 I thinke I should dye ; 
 For I was growne sickly, 
 
 and did not know why. 
 Now thou art my doctor 
 
 and physicke to me ; 
 In love thou are proctor 
 
 for pretty Bette'. 
 
 Sweet, when shall we marry 
 
 and lodge in one bed ? 
 Long I cannot carry 
 
 not my maiden-head : 
 And there's none shall have the same, 
 
 but onely thee ; 
 'Tis thee that I crave 
 
 to love pretty Bette. 
 
 MAN. Besse, be thou contented, 
 wee'l quickly be wed ; 
 Our friends are consented 
 to all hath bin sed :
 
 Constant, faire, and fine Betty. 279 
 
 Thou shalt be my wife 
 
 ere much older I be, 
 And He lead my life 
 
 with my pretty Betti. 
 
 These lovers were married, 
 
 and immediately ; 
 And all was well carried ; 
 
 and liv'd lovingly : 
 Let faire maids prove constant, 
 
 like pretty Besse, 
 Fine Besse hath the praise an't, 
 
 and worthy is shee. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 R. a 
 
 London, Printed for lohn Wright the 
 dwelling at the upper end of the Old Daily.
 
 The Constant Lover, 
 
 Who his affection will not move, 
 Though he live not where he love, 
 
 To a Northern tune called Shall the absence of my 
 
 Mistresse. 
 
 You loyall Lovers that are distant 
 from your Sweet-hearts many a mile, 
 
 Pray come helpe me at this instant 
 in mirth to spend away the while
 
 The Constant Lover. 281 
 
 In singing sweetly, and compleately, 
 
 in commendation of my love ; 
 Resolving ever to part never, 
 
 though I live not where I love. 
 
 My love shee's faire and also vertuous ; 
 
 God grant to me she may prove true 
 Then there is naught but death shall part us, 
 
 and He nee're change her for a new : 
 And though the fates my fortunes hates, 
 
 and me from her doe farre remove, 
 Yet I doe vow still to be true, 
 
 though, &c. 
 
 My constancy shall ne're be failing, 
 
 whatsoe're betide me here : 
 Of her vertue He be telling, 
 
 be my biding farre or neere. 
 And though blind fortune prove uncertaine 
 
 from her presence to remove, 
 Yet lie be constant every instant, 
 
 though, &c. 
 
 Though our bodies thus are parted, 
 
 and asunder many a mile, 
 Yet I vow to be true-hearted, 
 
 and be faithfull all the while :
 
 282, The Constant Lover. 
 
 Though with mine eye I cannot spye, 
 for distance great, my dearest Love, 
 
 My heart is with her altogether, 
 though, &c. 
 
 When I sleepe I doe dreame on her ; 
 
 when I wake I take no rest ; 
 But euery moment thinke upon her ; 
 
 she's so fixdd in my brest : 
 And though farre distance may be assistance 
 
 from my mind her loue to moue, 
 Yet I will neuer or loue disseuer, 
 
 though, &c. 
 
 To thinke upon the amorous glances 
 
 that haue beene betwixt us twaine, 
 My constancy and love aduances, 
 
 though from her presence I remaine, 
 And makes the teares, with groanes & fears 
 
 from watery eyes and heart to moue, 
 And, sighing, say, both night and day, 
 
 Alas ! I Hue, &c.
 
 The Second Part, to the same Tune. 
 
 I, to her, will be like Leander 
 
 if Hero-like shee'le prove to me ; 
 For her sake through the world He wander, 
 
 no desperate danger I will flee ; 
 And into the Seas, with little ease, 
 
 the mountains great themselves shal move, 
 Ere faith I breake, let me ne're speake, 
 
 though, &c.
 
 284 The Constant Lover. 
 
 Penelope shall be unconstant, 
 
 and Diana prove unchaste, 
 Venus to Vulcan shall be constant, 
 
 and Mars far from her shall be plac't 
 The blinded boy no more shall ioy 
 
 with Arrowes keen lovers to moue, 
 Ere false I be, sweet-heart, to thee, 
 
 though, &c. 
 
 The Birds shall leave their Airy region ; 
 
 the fishes in the aire shal fly ; 
 All the world shall be at one religion ; 
 
 all living things shall cease to dye ; 
 Al things shal change to shapes most strange 
 
 before that I disloyall proue, 
 Or any way my loue decay, 
 
 though, &c. 
 
 If you lines doe come before her, 
 
 or doe deigne to touch her hand, 
 Tell her that I doe adore her 
 
 aboue all Maidens in the land ; 
 Remaining still at her good will, 
 
 and always to her loyall proue, 
 Till death with dart doe strike my heart, 
 
 though, c.
 
 The Constant Lover. 285 
 
 And tell my mistresse that a Louer 
 
 that loves perfect image beares, 
 As true as loue it selfe doe love her, 
 
 witnesse his farre-fetcht sighes and teares, 
 Which forth he groanes with bitter moanes, 
 
 and from his troubled breast he moues, 
 And day nor night takes no delight, 
 
 because, &c. 
 
 So with my duty to her commended, 
 
 her loyall seruant He be still, 
 Desiring I may be befriended 
 
 with loue againe for my good will ; 
 And wish that she as true may be, 
 
 as I to her will constant proue, 
 And night and day I still will pray 
 
 and wish I may live where I loue. 
 
 FINIS. P. L. 
 
 London, Printed for Henry Gosson.
 
 A discourse of Man's life. 
 
 Comparing him to things that quickly passe, 
 As bubble, shuttle, blossome, streame, and grasse. 
 To the Tune of Ayme not too high. 
 
 Now to the discourse of man I take in hand, 
 In what estate his fickle life doth stand. 
 Hee in this world is as a pilgrimage, 
 And maketh hast to trauaile to old age. 
 
 Mans life compared is unto a Flower 
 That grows and withers all within one houre ; 
 And like to grasse that groweth in the field. 
 Or like true courage, which is loath to yeeld. 
 
 The flower's cut, and now can beare no shew ; 
 The grasse is withered which was green to view ; 
 True courage wronged by o'er many foes, 
 And death doth make a man his life to lose. 
 
 Mans life is like the damaske Rose you see, 
 Or like the blossome that growes on the tree ; 
 Or like unto the dainty flowers in May ; 
 Or like the morning that begins the day.
 
 A discourse of Mans life. 287 
 
 The Rose is withered & the blossome blasteth, 
 The flowers fade, & fast the morning hasteth. 
 Euen such is man, whose thread is quickly spun, 
 Drawn out and cut, and suddenly is done. 
 
 Mans life is like the Sun, or like the shade, 
 Or like unto the gourd which lonas had ; 
 Or like an houre, or like unto a span, 
 Or like unto the singing of a Swan. 
 
 The Sun doth set, and fast the shaddow flies, 
 The gourd consumes, and man he quickly dies. 
 The houre is short, for and the span not long, 
 The swan neer death, man's life is quickly don. 
 
 Man's life is like the grasse that's newly spnmg, 
 Or like unto a tale that's new begun, 
 Or like the bird which we doe see to-day 
 Or like the pearlie dew that is. in May. 
 
 The grasse is wither'd, and the tale is ended, 
 The bifd is flowne, and up the dew ascended ; 
 Euen such is man, who liueth by his breath, 
 Is here, now there, still subiect unto death. 
 
 Mans life is like the bubble in the Brook, 
 Or like a glasse wherein a man doth look ; 
 Or like a shuttle in a Weauer's hand, 
 Or like the writing that is in the sand.
 
 288 A discourse of Man s life. 
 
 The buble's broke, and soone the looke's forgot ; 
 The shuttle's flung, for and the writings blot ; 
 Euen such is man, that liueth on the earth, 
 Hee's alwaies subiect for to loose his breath. 
 
 The Second Part, to the same Tune. 
 
 Mans life is like a thought, or like a dreame, 
 Or like the gliding of a running streame ; 
 Or like a race ; or like unto a goale ; 
 Or like the dealing of a rich mans doale. 
 
 The thought is past, for and the dreame is gone ; 
 The water glides, euen so mans life is done. 
 The race soon run, so is the goale soon won, 
 The dole soon dealt, mans life is quickly done, 
 
 Mans life is like an arrow from the bow, 
 Or like sweet course of waters that doth flow, 
 Or like the time betwixt the floud and ebbe, 
 Or like unto the Spider's tender web.
 
 A discourse of Man s life. 289 
 
 The arrowe's shot, for and the floud soon spent ; 
 The time's no time, the Spider's web is rent : 
 Euen such is man, and of as brittle state, 
 Hee's alwaies subiect unto Enuie's hate. 
 
 Mans life is like the lightning in the sky, 
 Or like a Post that suddenly doth hye ; 
 Or like a Quauer singing of a song, 
 Or like a iourney that's not very long. 
 
 The lightnings past, for and the Post must goe ; 
 The Note is short, and so's the iourney too : 
 Euen such is Man the which doth heap up sorow, 
 That Hues to-day, and dyes before to-morrow. 
 
 Mans like unto the snow when summer's come, 
 Or like a Peare, or like unto a Plum ; 
 Or like a tree that groweth fresh and green ; 
 Or like the wind which can no waies be seen. 
 
 The Peare doth rot, for and the Plum doth fall 
 The snow dissolues, and so wee must doe all ; 
 The tree's consum'd that was so fresh and faire ; 
 The wind's uncertaine that blowes in the ayre.
 
 290 A discourse of Mans life. 
 
 Mans like the seed put into the earth's womb, 
 Or like dead Lazarus that's in his Tombe, 
 Or like Tabitha being in a sleep, 
 Or like to lonas that was in the deep. 
 
 The seed it springeth, Lazarus now standeth; 
 Tabitha wakes, and lonas he hath landed : 
 Thus are wee certain life wee shall obtaine, 
 Though death doth kill, yet shall we Hue againe. 
 
 God, of his mercy, grant to us his grace, 
 That we may lead our Hues in such a case 
 That, when wee are departed hence away, 
 Wee then may Hue with him in ioy for aye. 
 
 Grant, Lord, that wee may please thy will divine ; 
 Lord, let thy louing favour on us shine, 
 And turne from us thy heauy wrath and ire, 
 And grant us mercy, Lord, wee thee require. 
 
 Lord, make us like the fruitfull Vines, 
 To bring forth fruits in our due tides & times, 
 Unto the honour of thy glorious name. 
 Amen, good Lord, grant we may doe the same.
 
 A discourse of Mans life. 291 
 
 Now to conclude, God blesse our gracious Charles, 
 With all his worthy Subiects, Lords and Earles ; 
 And grant us, Lord, true faith, with loue & peace, 
 And let thy Gospell more and more encrease. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 London, Printed for H. G.
 
 The Dead Mans Song. 
 
 Whose dwelling was neere unto Basings Hall in 
 
 London. 
 
 To the tune of Flying Fame. 
 
 Sore sick, deare friends, long time I was, 
 
 and weakely laid in bed ; 
 And for five hours, in all men's sight, 
 
 at length I lay as dead. 
 
 The bel rung out, my friends came in, 
 
 and I key-cold was found ; 
 Then was my carcasse brought from bed, 
 
 and cast upon the ground. 
 
 My loving wife did weepe full sore, 
 
 and children loud did cry ; 
 My friends did mourne, yet thus they said 
 
 All flesh is borne to dye.
 
 The Dead Man's Song. 293 
 
 My winding sheet prepared was, 
 
 my grave was also made, 
 And five long houres, by just report, 
 
 in this same case I laid : 
 
 During which time my soule did see 
 
 such strange and fearfull sights, 
 That for to heare the same disclos'd 
 
 would banish all delights. 
 
 Yet, sith the Lord restor'd my life, 
 
 which from my body fled, 
 I will declare what sights I saw 
 
 that time that I was dead. 
 
 Me thought along a gallant greene, 
 
 where pleasant flowers sprung, 
 I tooke my way, whereas I thought 
 
 the Muses sweetly sung. 
 
 The grasse was sweet, the trees full fair, 
 
 and lovely to behold, 
 And full of fruit was every twig, 
 
 which shin'd like glittering gold, 
 
 My chereful heart desired much 
 
 to taste the fruit so faire ; 
 But as I reacht, a faire young man 
 
 to me did fast repaire. s 2
 
 294 The Dead Man s Song. 
 
 Touch not (qd he) that's none of thine, 
 but wend and walke with me, 
 
 And see thou marke each sevarall thing 
 which I should show to thee. 
 
 I wondred greatly at his words, 
 
 yet went with him away, 
 Till, on a goodly pleasant banke, 
 
 with him he bad me stay. 
 
 With branches then of Lillies white 
 
 mine eyes there wiped he : 
 When this was done, he bad me look 
 
 what I farre off could see. 
 
 I looked up, and loe ! at last 
 
 I did a City see, 
 So faire a thing did never man 
 
 behold with mortal eye : 
 
 Of Diamonds, pearles, and precious stones 
 it seem'd the wals were made ; 
 
 The houses all with beaten gold 
 were til'd and overlaid. 
 
 More brighter than the morning Sun 
 
 the light thereof did show, 
 And every creature in the same 
 
 like crowned Kings did goe.
 
 The Dead Mans Song. 295 
 
 The fields about this City faire 
 
 were all with Roses set, 
 Gilly-flowers, and Carnation faire, 
 
 which canker could not fret : 
 
 And from these fields there did proceed 
 
 the sweet'st and pleasant' st smell 
 That ever living creature felt, 
 
 the scent did so excell. 
 
 Besides, such sweet triumphant mirth 
 
 did from the City sound, 
 That I therewith was ravished, 
 
 my ioy did so abound. 
 
 With musick, mirth, and melody 
 
 Princes did there embrace ; 
 And in my heart I long'd to be 
 
 within that ioyfull place : 
 
 The more I gaz'd, the more I might, 
 
 the sight pleas'd me so well ; 
 For what I saw in every thing 
 
 my tongue can no way tell. 
 
 Then of the man I did demand 
 
 what place the same might be 
 Whereas so many Kings do dwell 
 
 In ioy and melody ?
 
 2g6 The Dead Mans Song. 
 
 Quoth he, That blessed place is heaven, 
 where yet thou must not rest ; 
 
 And those that do like Princes walke 
 are men whom God hath blest. 
 
 Then did he turne me round about, 
 
 and on the other side 
 He bad me view, and marke as much 
 
 what things are to be spide. 
 
 With that I saw a cole-blacke den, 
 all tan'd with soot and smoake, 
 
 Where stinking Brimstone burning was, 
 which made me like to choake. 
 
 An ugly creature there I saw. 
 
 whose face with knives was slasht, 
 And in a caldron of poyson'd filth 
 
 his ugly corps were washt. 
 
 About his necke were fiery ruffes, 
 
 that flam'd on every side. 
 I askt, and lo ! the Young man said 
 
 that he was damm'd for pride. 
 
 Another sort then did I see, 
 
 whose bowels Vipers tore, 
 And grievously, with gaping mouth, 
 
 they did both yell and rore.
 
 The Second Part, to the same Tune. 
 
 A spotted person by each one 
 stood gnawing on their hearts, 
 
 And this was conscience, I was told, 
 that plagu'd their envious parts. 
 
 These were no sooner out of sight 
 but straight came, in their place, 
 
 A sort still throwing burning fire, 
 which fell against their face. 
 
 And ladles full of melted gold 
 were poured downe their throats, 
 
 And these were set (it seem'd to me) 
 in midst of burning boats.
 
 298 The Dead Mans Song. 
 
 The formost of this company 
 
 was ludas, I was told, 
 Who had, for filthy lucres sake, 
 
 his Lord and Master sold. 
 
 For covetousnesse these were condemn' d, 
 
 so it was told to me : 
 And then methought another rout 
 
 of H el-hounds I did see : 
 
 Their faces they seem'd fat in sight, 
 
 yet all their bones were bare ; 
 And dishes full of crawling Toades 
 
 was made their finest fare. 
 
 From armes, from hands, from thighs and feete, 
 
 with red hot pincers, then 
 The flesh was pluckt, even from the bone, 
 
 of those vile gluttonous men. 
 
 On cole-black beds another sort 
 
 in grievous sort did lye, 
 And, underneath them, burning brands 
 
 their flesh did burne and fry. 
 
 With brimstone fierce their pillowes eke 
 
 whereon their heads were laid, 
 And fiends, with whips of glowing fire, 
 
 their lecherous skins, off flaid.
 
 The Dead Mans Song. 299 
 
 Then did I see another come, 
 
 stab'd in with daggers thicke, 
 And filthy fiends with fiery darts 
 
 their hearts did wound and pricke. 
 
 And mighty bowles of corrupt blood 
 
 was brought for them to drink ; 
 And these men were for murther plagu'd 
 
 from which they could not shrlnke. 
 
 I saw, when these were gone away, 
 
 the Swearer and the Lier, 
 And these were hung up by the tongues 
 
 right over a flaming fire. 
 
 From eyes, from eares, from navell & nose, 
 
 and from the lower parts 
 The blood, methought, did gushing runne, 
 
 and clodded like men's hearts. 
 
 I asked why that punishment 
 
 was upon swearers laid : 
 Because, quoth one, wounds, blood, & heart, 
 
 was still the oath they made. 
 
 And there withall from ugly Hell 
 
 such shriekes and cryes I heard 
 As though some greater griefe and plague 
 
 had vext them afterward.
 
 3OO The Dead Mans Song. 
 
 So that my soule was sore afraid 
 
 such terrour on me fell. 
 Away then went the young man quite, 
 
 and bad me not farewell. 
 
 Wherefore unto my body straight 
 
 my spirit return'd againe, 
 And lively blood did afterwards 
 
 stretch forth in every veine. 
 
 My closed eyes I opened, 
 and, raised from my swound, 
 
 I wondred much to see my selfe 
 laid so upon the ground : 
 
 Which when my neighbours did behold, 
 great feare upon them fell, 
 
 To whom soone after I did tell 
 the newes from heaven and hell. 
 
 Printed at London for F. Coules.
 
 A Dialogue between Master Cues- 
 right and poore neighbour Needy, 
 
 Or, 
 
 A few proofes both reall and true, 
 Shewing what men for money will doe. 
 
 To a pleasant new tune, called, But I know what 
 I know. 
 
 Well met, neighbour Needy ; what ! walking alone, 
 How comes it, I pray, that you thus sigh and 
 
 groane 
 
 The cause by your physiognomic straight I can tell, 
 And know by the same that all is not well. 
 
 T
 
 302 A Dialogue betweene Master Gucsright 
 
 In truth, master Guesright, you speak very true ; 
 For money I want, and beleeve so do you ; 
 And therefore, eene say and do what you please, 
 I know you are sicke of my sore disease. 
 
 For me, Neighbour Needy, the world is so hard 
 That solely my selfe I now cannot guard ; 
 Besides, young and old loves coy ne so intire, 
 That have it they will, though out of the fire. 
 
 Nay, good neighbour Needy, I pray say not so, 
 For then you will wrong a many I know : 
 Besides, I no way perswaded can be 
 That money is loved in the highest degree. 
 
 Money, if you thinke so, I instant will prove 
 That few or none but money do love ; 
 And, when I have done, I know you will say 
 'Tis all reall truth : then harken I pray. 
 
 Imprimis, your Tailor is loving and kind, 
 Nor doe I with him any fault find ; 
 But rest you assured, and take it from mee, 
 That most he doth, he doth for his fee. 
 
 Your Mercer in courtesie, seldome forbeares 
 To show you the prime and best of his wares ; 
 But if that a reason you'd have me to show, 
 'Tis cause he would get by the bargatne, I know.
 
 and poor e neighbour Needy. 
 
 303 
 
 Your Barber most nimbly will trimme your fine 
 
 Patto, 
 
 And, if that you please, turne up your mouchatto ; 
 But marke you what folio wes, my kind loving 1 
 
 neighbour, 
 He lookes to be gratified well for his labour. 
 
 Your Vintner will spread you his linnen most fine, 
 And bring you both Sugar, Tobaco, and Wine ; 
 And, having so done, requires but this, 
 To pay him his shot, which you must not misse. 
 
 Againe, this is true as I do now tell yee, 
 A Cooke in Pye -Corner will fill up your belly ; 
 And when you are satisfied, he, like an Asse, 
 Desires no money but eene for his sawce. 
 
 he Second Part to the same Tune.
 
 304 A Dialogue betweene Master Guesright 
 
 Your Tapster is growne a right honest man, 
 For he will misreckon no more than he can, 
 For by his Jug, his Pot, and his Pipe 
 He has danc't himselfe an Officer ripe. 
 
 Your out-landish Doctour most ready will be 
 To cure you of your infirmity ; 
 Which being effected, he, for his skill, 
 Desires no more but a golden Pill. 
 
 Nay, what makes your Land-lord let housen by 
 
 lease 
 
 That you may live in 'em daily [in] peace, 
 But that he imagines, and has an intent, 
 You will not faile for to pay him his rent. 
 
 What makes your In-keeper to harbour the-poore, 
 And unto all comers set open his dore, 
 But that he intends, if [he] possibly can, 
 To have his reward, of every man ? 
 
 What makes the Usurer ever your friend, 
 And be so officious his money to lend, 
 But that he intends to bring you in thrall, 
 And get, if he can, the Devill and all ? 
 
 Nay, what makes your hang-man (I tell you but so) 
 
 Such a base office for to undergoe, 
 
 But that he hopes, and ever presages, 
 
 To have all their clothes, as well as his wages ?
 
 and poor c neighbour Needy. 305 
 
 What makes your Broker so often to cry 
 See what you lack, friend, what will you buy, 
 But that he would, as his neighbours all doe, 
 Get, if he could, for one penny, two ? 
 
 What makes you Carrier to traverse the land ; 
 Nay, what makes your Souldier fight while he can 
 
 stand ; 
 
 But that they intend, my owne deerest honey, 
 To gaine this same paultry thing called money ? 
 
 What makes your tooth-drawer to cut off your 
 
 corne ? 
 
 What makes your Sow-gelder to wind up his home ? 
 Nay, what makes the world to do as they doe, 
 But that they would purchase this same mony too ? 
 
 Nay, neighbour, there's more then all these are yet, 
 Which I, for brevitie's sake, doe omit ; 
 But these, I hope, will very well prove 
 That men doe more for money then love. 
 
 Well, neighbour Guesright, if this same be true, 
 Then home we will straight, without more adoe ; 
 And what we intend to none we will tell, 
 But keepe to our selves and so fare you well. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed at London for F. Coules. 
 
 E. F.
 
 Doctor Do -good's directions to cure 
 
 many diseases both in body aud minde, 
 
 lately written and 
 set forth for the good of infected persons. 
 
 To the tune of The Golden Age. 
 
 If any are infected, give audience awhile, 
 
 Such Physick He teach you shal make you to smile,
 
 Doctor Do-good 's directions, &c. 307 
 
 It is wholsome and toothsome, and free from all 
 
 guile, 
 Which shall breed good blood, and bad humors 
 
 exile. 
 
 Although it may seeme most strange, 
 Yet this is most true and strange. 
 
 If any man be troubled with uncomely long hayre, 
 Which on his fooles forehead unseemly doth stare, 
 I have a medicine will cure him, to prove it I dare, 
 Let him take a Razor and shave his head bare, 
 
 He shall be cured most strange, 
 
 O this is a wonderfull change. 
 
 If any be troubled with an idle drousie head 
 Whose chiefest delight is to sleepe in his bed, 
 With glutting his stomack this folly first bred, 
 Let him fall to his worke, and be slenderly fed, 
 
 And he shall be cured m.ost strange, 
 
 O this is most true and strange. 
 
 If any man be troubled with a very shallow brayne, 
 Whose giddy apprehension can no wisedom attaine, 
 If he will be eased of this kinde of paine, 
 Strong Beere and hot waters then let him refraine, 
 
 And he shall be cured most strange, 
 O this is most true and strange.
 
 308 Doctor Do-good's directions 
 
 If any man be troubled with a fiery hot nose, 
 Which in the midst of cold winter is as red as a 
 
 Rose, 
 
 It proceeds from drinking old Sack, I suppose ; 
 Small Beere and fayre water, let him drink none but 
 
 those, 
 
 And he shall be cured most strange, 
 O this is most true and strange. 
 
 If any man be troubled with outragious teeth, 
 Which eat up his riches and make him play the 
 
 theef, 
 
 If he will be cured of this kinde of griefe, 
 Let him sew up his lips, and he shall finde releefe, 
 
 And this is a cure most strange, 
 
 O this is most true and strange. 
 
 If a woman be troubled with a tatling tongue, 
 Whose too much vaine babling her neighbours doth 
 
 wrong, 
 
 I iudge for her mouth it's something too long, 
 Therefore she must cut [it] short while she is yong, 
 
 And she shall be cured most strange, 
 >' O this is most true and strange. 
 
 If a man have light fingers that he cannot charme, 
 Which will pick men's pockets, and do such like 
 harm,
 
 to cure many diseases, &c. 
 
 39 
 
 He must be let bloud, in a scarfe beare his arme, 
 And drink the herbe Grace in a possit hike warme, 
 
 And he shall be ciired most strange, 
 
 O this is most true and strange. 
 
 The Second Part, to the same Tune. 
 
 If a man with false dealing hath infected his breast, 
 Or^hath no good motion in his bosome possest, 
 Two'handfull of honesty he must eat at the least, 
 And hate all vaine glory, and falshood detest, 
 w And he shall be aired most strange, 
 O this is most true and strange. 
 
 T 2
 
 3 1 o Doctor Do-good's directions 
 
 If any mayd be sick of the sullen disease, 
 Or grown out of temper that none can her please, 
 She must be kept fasting the space of three dayes, 
 And no man speak to her whatsoever she sayes, 
 
 And she shall be cured most strange, 
 
 O this is most true and strange. 
 
 If any man be troubled with false hollow heart, 
 
 To cure such a fellow exceedeth my Art, 
 
 But yet my good counsell to him He impart, 
 
 Let him take heed he rides not to Tyburn in a Cart, 
 
 For then heele be cured most strange, 
 O this is most true and strange. 
 
 If a mayd be infected with the falling away, 
 Which proceeds from, a longing desire, some say, 
 If she will be preserved and kept from decay, 
 She must get her a husband without all delay, 
 
 And she shall be cured most strange, 
 
 O this is most true and strange. 
 
 If a man have an ach in his bones at any tide, 
 That to do any labour he cannot abide, 
 With the oyle of old Holly annoynt well his side, 
 And he shall be cured, this thing hath been tride, 
 
 And it is a cure most strange, 
 
 O this is most true and strange.
 
 to cure many diseases, &c. 311 
 
 If a man have a conscience that doth him torment, 
 If it be for sinne, then let him repent ; 
 He must be right sorry for the time he mispent, 
 And drink brinish teares when his heart doth relent, 
 
 And he shall be cured most strange, 
 
 O this is most true and strange. 
 
 If any man's knees are grown stiffe and so sore, 
 That he cannot kneele downe to pray any more, 
 His heart is right stony ; it is fitting, therefore, 
 He get grace and mercy heaven's name to adore, 
 
 And he shall he cured most strange, 
 
 O this is most true and strange. 
 
 If a man be troubled with exceeding light toes, 
 Which will run to the Alehouse in spight of his nose, 
 If he spend all his mony his credit to lose, 
 He shall in close prison be cast by his foes, 
 
 And then heele be cured most strange, 
 
 O this is most true and strange. 
 
 Now you that reap profit by the fruit of my quill, 
 Give thanks to the Doctor that taught you this skill, 
 For sure he deserveth praise for his good will, 
 That taught you this Physick your minds to fulfill, 
 
 For this is a thing most strange, 
 
 O this is most hue and strange. 
 
 FINIS. I.D. 
 
 London, Printed for Richard Harper.
 
 Death's loud Allarum : 
 
 v Or, 
 
 A perfect description of the frailty of Man's life, 
 with some admonitions to warne all men and wo- 
 men to repentance. 
 
 To the Tune of Aime not too high. 
 
 Lament your sinnes, good people all, lament, 
 You plainely see the Messenger is sent, 
 I meane grim Death, and he doth play his part ; 
 He stands prepar'd to strike you to the heart ; 
 How suddenly, alas ! there's none doth know ; 
 We all must yeeld to Death, this death we owe.
 
 Deattis loud Allarum. 
 
 Our time is short, we have not long to stay ; 
 We are not sure to live one night nor day, 
 No, nor one houre, or minut, which is lesse, 
 As God doth please, our time is more or lesse. 
 We are all mortall that live here below, 
 And all must dye, that is the death we owe. 
 
 No strength nor valour can this death prevent, 
 Nor can faire beauty hinder his intent ; 
 Both rich and poore must all prepare to dye ; 
 No King nor Subject can proud Death denye : 
 Death feares no friend, nor doth he dread a foe ; 
 We all must dye, that is the debt we owe. 
 
 Behold and see, all you that smile at death, 
 You plainely see how fickle is your breath, 
 To-day alive, to-morrow clad in clay, 
 Therefore prepare, repent, weep, fast, and pray. 
 Our sinnes doe cause the Lord to send us woe : 
 We all must die, that is the debt we owe. 
 
 Thy brother's dead, and buryed in the ground ; 
 Prepare thy self, the mournfull Bell doth sound ; 
 The grave stands open ready to receive 
 Whom death doth strike, prepare to take thy 
 
 leave. 
 
 The day nor houre there is none that doth know ; 
 We all must die, that is tne debt we owe.
 
 314 Deattts loud Allarum. 
 
 Then why doe we so vainely spend our time, 
 And unto wickednesse so much incline ? 
 We live as though we never meant to die, 
 Spending our dayes most lewd and wantonly ; 
 All wickednesse doth daily in us grow, 
 Yet all must die, that is the debt we owe. 
 
 In pride and lust we daily doe abound ; 
 What wicked sinnes but in us may be found ? 
 Wrath and revenge, with beastly gluttony, 
 With drunkennesse, deceit, and flattery : 
 All this appeares apparantly in show, 
 Yet all must die, that is the debt we owe. 
 
 The hearts of men are growne as hard as stone ; 
 They'l not give eare unto the griefe and mone 
 Which their poore brethren make, being opprest : 
 Take heed, hard heart ! for death will thee arrest, 
 And then 'tis doubtfull, will begin thy woe, 
 For all must die, that is the debt we owe.
 
 The Second Part, to the same Tune. 
 
 It is our sinnes doth cause God's wrath to fall, 
 For we offend ev'n generally all, 
 Both rich and poore, with yong and old also ; 
 Let us repent, least God increase our woe : 
 If we repent, the Lord will mercy show: 
 We all must die, that is the debt we owe. 
 
 Some seeme to murmur aud to make complaint, 
 But they are those whose faith is weake and faint 
 They do not truly feare nor serve the Lord, 
 Nor doe they note his blessed holy Word. 
 Upon repentance he will mercy show ; 
 But all must die, that is the debt we owe.
 
 316 DeatJis loud Allarum. 
 
 God's mercy goes before his justice still ; 
 He's alwayes sure to punish us for ill ; 
 He lets us 'scape, in hope we may amend, 
 Thus he's to us a father and a friend ; 
 But we to him ungracelesse children grow ; 
 We all must die, that is the debt we owe. 
 
 What can a father do more for a sonne 
 
 Then our good Father and our God hath done ? 
 
 He made us from the brittle earth and clay, 
 
 And gave us breath, yet him we disobay : 
 
 O wretched creatures ! why should we do so ? 
 
 We all must die, that is the debt we owe. 
 
 Over all creatures man a ruler is ; 
 
 Hath not the Lord done much in doing this ? 
 
 O thinke on this, and praise him for the same ; 
 
 Give laud and glory for his holy name, 
 
 All men that's living ought for to doe so : 
 
 We all must die, that is the debt we owe. 
 
 But we forget our duties to our God, 
 Wherefore he now doth scourge us with his rod ; 
 His punishment we now are like to feele ; 
 He shoots his Arrows from his Bow of steele, 
 Which Bow doth seeme to strike a deadly blow ; 
 We all must die, that is the debt we owe.
 
 Deatlis loud Allarum. 
 
 What father alwayes will forgive his child 
 
 That disobays his will and is most vild ? 
 
 Correction doth bent a wicked son ; 
 
 'Tis true we must confesse the same, each one : 
 
 Now God corrects us by one blow, 
 
 In hope thereby that we will better grow. 
 
 Then let's amend our lives most speedily ; 
 We may live long, or suddenly may die ; 
 Let us prepare ourselves for to repent. 
 It cannot be long ere our glasse be spent : 
 Our time is short, for certaine it is so, 
 We all must die, that is the debt we owe. 
 
 Happy's the man that is for death prepar'd ; 
 Although he die, heaven is his reward ; 
 He lives to die, and dies to live againe, 
 In joyes eternally for to remaine ; 
 Thrice blessed's he that lives and dieth so : 
 We all must die, that is the debt we owe. 
 
 Then seeing all must die, as that we must, 
 While we live here, in God let's put our trust ; 
 Then shall we live to die with him in joy 
 And happinesse which never will decay : 
 Let all true Christians wish it may be so, 
 For all must die, that is the debt we owe. 
 
 u
 
 318 Death's loud Allarum. 
 
 Looke not upon thy pleasures and thy pride, 
 But for thy silly soule doe thou provide ; 
 Minde not this world, 'tis vaine and transitory ; 
 Minde heaven on high, which is a place of glory ; 
 Unto which place, Lord, grant that we may goe 
 When we do die : Amen, let all say so. 
 
 FINIS. R. C. 
 
 Printed at London for JOHN WRIGHT the youngfer], 
 
 are to be sold at his shop at the upper end of the 
 
 Old-Bayley.
 
 A delicate new Ditty 
 
 composed upon the Posie of a Ring : being, "/ 
 fancy none but thee alone:" sent as a New-year's gift 
 by a Lover to his Sweet-heart, 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Dulcina. 
 
 Thou that art so sweet a creature, 
 
 that above all earthly joy 
 I thee deeme, for thy rare feature, 
 kill me not by seeming coy : 
 nor be thou mute 
 when this my suit
 
 320 A delicate new Ditty, being 
 
 Into thy eares by love is blowne, 
 
 but say by me, 
 
 as I by thee, 
 1 fancie none b^it thee alone. 
 
 Hadst thou Cupid's mother's beauty, 
 
 and Dianaes chaste Desires, 
 Thinke on that which is thy duty, 
 to fulfill what love requires ; 
 
 'tis love I askc, 
 
 and 'tis thy taske 
 to be propitious to my moane, 
 
 for still I say, 
 
 and will for aye, 
 I fancie none but thee alone. 
 
 Let not selfe-conceit ore-straine thee ; 
 
 woman was at first ordained 
 To serve man, though I obey thee, 
 being by love's law constrayned ; 
 
 my sobs and teares 
 
 true witnesse beares 
 of my hearts griefe and heavy moan ; 
 
 let not thy frown 
 
 then me cast downe, 
 Who fancies none but thee alone.
 
 " I fancy none but thee alone" 321 
 
 Think what promise thou didst give me 
 
 when I first did thee behold 
 There thou vow'dst thou wouldst not leave me 
 for a masse of Indian gold ; 
 
 but now I find 
 
 thou art unkind, 
 all former vowes are past and gone ; 
 
 yet, once againe, 
 
 him entertaine 
 Who fancies none but thee alone. 
 
 Let my true affections move thee 
 
 to commiserate my paine ; 
 If thou knew'st how deare I love thee, 
 sure thou wouldst love me againe : 
 
 I thee affect, 
 
 and more respect 
 thy welfare then I do mine owne ; 
 
 let this move thee 
 
 to pitty me, 
 Who fancies none but thee alone. 
 
 Why should women be obdurate, 
 
 and men's proffers thus despise ? 
 Deare, be rul'd, we have a Curate, 
 nuptiall rites to solemnize : 
 thou Marigold, 
 whose leaves unfold
 
 322 A delicate new Ditty. 
 
 when Tytans rays reflect thereon, 
 on thee He shine, 
 for thou art mine, 
 
 1 fancie none but tkee alone. 
 
 The Second part, Or, the Maidens 
 kind Reply. 
 
 To THE SAME TUNE. 
 
 Dear, I have receiv'd thy token, 
 and with it thy faithfull love ; 
 Prethee let no more be spoken, 
 I to thee will constant prove ; 
 
 doe not despaire, 
 
 nor live in care 
 for her who vowes to be thine owne ; 
 
 though I seeme strange, 
 
 I will not change, 
 I fancie none but thee alone. 
 
 Thinke not that I will forgoe thee, 
 
 though I'm absent from thy sight ; 
 When I find my selfe kept from thee, 
 I'd be with thee day and night ; 
 but well thou know'st 
 how I am crost,
 
 " I fancy none biit thee alone' 1 323 
 
 else should my love to thee be showne 
 
 with free accord ; 
 
 yet, take my word, 
 I fancie none but thee alone. 
 
 This Proverbe hath oft beene us&d, 
 
 she that's bound must needs obey ; 
 And thou seest how I'm inclused 
 from thy presence night and day ; 
 
 I dare not show 
 
 what love I owe 
 to thee, for feare it should be knowne ; 
 
 yet still my minde 
 
 shall be inclinde 
 To fancie none but thee alone. 
 
 Though my body, for a season, 
 be absent from thee perforce, 
 Yet, I pray thee, judge with reason, 
 that I love thee nere the worse. 
 
 Oh, that I might 
 
 enjoy thy sight ! 
 then should my love to thee be showne .; 
 
 then do not thinke 
 
 her love to shrinke 
 Who fancies none but thee alone.
 
 324 A delicate new Ditty. 
 
 Many times I thinke upon thee 
 
 in my melancholy fits ; 
 When I find myselfe kept from thee, 
 it deprives me of my wits : 
 
 oft-times I weepe 
 
 when others sleepe, 
 producing many a grevious groane ! 
 
 then thinke on me 
 
 as I on thee, 
 Andfancie none but me alone. 
 
 No fastidious motions move me 
 to be from thy sight so long; 
 Doe not then (my deare) reprove me, 
 nor suspect I doe thee wrong ; 
 
 for, be thou sure 
 
 I doe indure 
 in constancie, surpast by none : 
 
 I long to see 
 
 the time that we 
 shall of two bodies be made one. 
 
 FINIS. 
 Printed at London for H. Gosson on London- Bridge.
 
 or, 
 
 A merry discourse 'twixt him and his loane, 
 That sometimes did live as never did none ; 
 But now at the last she proves very kinde, 
 And doth what hee'd have her, as here you may 
 finde. 
 
 To THREE SEVERALL TUNES, CALLED But I knOW what 
 
 I know, Captain Ward, AND Gilty Coate Peggy. 
 
 THE TUNE, But I know, &c. 
 
 MAN. 
 Come, Joane, by thy owne deerest husband sit 
 
 downe, 
 And cast away from thee this impudent frowne ;
 
 326 \_A merry Discourse."] 
 
 You know I doe love thee as deere as I doe, 
 Forbeare with a [Tinker] that's honest and true. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Away ! thou dissembling varlot, away ! 
 And leave this thy prating and cogging, I say ; 
 For whilst like a drunkard thou thus dost remaine, 
 I never shall love thee, I tell thee againe. 
 
 [TuNE,] Captaine Ward. 
 
 MAN. 
 Oh, Wife, what would'st thou have me doe 
 
 More then I now have done ? 
 Did not I pawne my cloathes for thee, 
 
 And likewise sould my shune ? 
 Put my shirt in lavender ? 
 
 My cloake is likewise sould : 
 Why dost thou, Joane, for all this love, 
 
 Begin with Jacke to scould ? 
 
 WOMAN. 
 Why, thou deboist drunken sot ! 
 
 did'st doe all this for me, 
 Or for the love you always bare 
 
 to evill company ? 
 And therefore hold thyselfe content, 
 
 and leave this idle prate, 
 Or, as I am thy honest wife, 
 
 He lay the o're the pate.
 
 [A merry Discourse^ 327 
 
 TUXK, Gilty Coate Peggy. 
 
 MAN. 
 Come, chucke, no more of this, but sit thee downe 
 
 by me, 
 
 And then what is amisse He mende, in verity ; 
 My money I will save out of the Cup and Can, 
 And keepe thee fine and brave, as I am an honest 
 
 man : 
 Then chide no more, my deere, but all my faults 
 
 remit, 
 And then, as I am here, He mend my drunken fit. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 How many times hast thou this promised unto me, 
 And yet hast broke thy vow ? the more's the shame 
 
 for thee ; 
 And therefore He be wise, and take your word no 
 
 more, 
 
 But scratch out both your eyes if you go out of dore; 
 And therefore sit you still, and stirre not for your 
 
 life; 
 I once will have my will, although I am your wife.
 
 The Second Part, to the same Tunes. 
 
 TUNE, But I know what, &c. 
 
 
 
 MAN. 
 
 Well, do what thou wilt, I am thine at command, 
 But let not my neighbours of this understand ; 
 For that if thou dost, I know it will be 
 A shame to thy selfe disgrace unto me. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 No matter for that, He make you to know 
 What 'tis for to injure a loving wife so, 
 In pawning her goods, and making her be 
 A scorne to her neighbours, and all long of thee. 
 
 TUNE, Captaine, &c. 
 
 MAN. 
 Come, Joane, be satisfied, I pray, 
 
 forgive me what is past, 
 And I will thee never offend, 
 
 whilst life and breath doth last ; 
 My pots, and my Tobacco too, 
 
 He turne, for to be briefe, 
 Into a dainty house-hold loafe 
 
 and lusty powder-beefe.
 
 [A merry Discourse^ 329 
 
 WOMAN. 
 Well if I thought all this were true, 
 
 and that thou didst 'intend 
 To doe as thou relates to me, 
 
 I then should be thy friend ; 
 But I am, Jacke, so fearfull growne 
 
 of thy relaps againe, 
 That I can little credit give 
 
 to what you now maintaine. 
 
 TUNE, Gilty Coate Peggy, &c. 
 
 MAN. 
 Here's my hand, sweet Ducke ; what I have said to 
 
 thee 
 
 He keepe, if I have lucke, till such time that I dye ; 
 And, 'fore that I am dead, my love I will unfold, 
 To helpe thee in thy need, if that thou wilt not 
 
 scould ; 
 
 I will not cossened be, I tell thee, gentle Joane, 
 But I will bring to thee my sheete, and He have none. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 Why, then, sweet-heart, forgive the words that I 
 
 have said, 
 
 For surely, while I live, He never thee upbraid ; 
 I will not scould nor brawle, but keepe my clapper 
 
 still 
 And come when thou dost call, do all things to thy 
 
 will :
 
 330 [A merry Discourse?^ 
 
 Then, Jacke,, forgive thy Joane, that is to thee so 
 
 kinde, 
 Or else as hard as stone I surely shall thee finde. 
 
 TUNE, Biit I know, &c. 
 
 MAN. 
 
 Why, here is my hand ; I am pacified, Joane ; 
 And as I will live with thee never lived none ; 
 Then be but as kind as I carefull to thee, 
 And then none new married shall better agree ; 
 For thou with thy kitchin-stuffe, I with my toyes, 
 My Hammer and Kittle, will make such a noyse, 
 That all that does heare me shall tell it for true, 
 I mend well their worke, and pleasure um too. 
 
 TUNE, Captaine, &c. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 Then, Jacke, take up thy budget straight, 
 
 thy kettles, brasse enough, 
 And I will follow thee and cry, 
 
 Maides, have you any kitchen-stuffe ? 
 And then the neighbours, seeing- us 
 
 o ^> 
 
 so friendly for to goe, 
 Will say that they are loving growne, - 
 who thought it would be so ?
 
 \_A merry Discourse^ 331 
 
 TUNE, Gilty Coate, &c. 
 
 MAN. 
 
 Then to the Ale-house we will go with mighty speed, 
 And scale up presently what we have now decreed; 
 A full pot of the best, a crust, and so away, 
 And then we will protest we can no longer stay : 
 This is a thriving course, if I do not mistake, 
 I am sure I have done worse, but now amends He 
 make. 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Well, say no more, sweet-heart, but let us both away, 
 For friends, you know, must part, though ne'er so 
 
 long they stay ; 
 Go you through Cannon-street, He take the lanes & 
 
 Row, 
 And when at night wele meet, at home, for ought 
 
 we know : 
 
 But if I be not, Jacke, at home so soone as you, 
 It shall but little lacke ; and so, sweet-heart, adieu ! 
 
 TUNE, BiU I know, &c, 
 
 And thus you have heard an end of my song, 
 Which I would be loath that any should wrong ; 
 But if that you do, I tell you but so, 
 I little will say but I know, what I know. 
 
 FINIS. Ed. Ford. 
 
 Printed at London for F. Coules.
 
 The Despairing Lover : 
 
 Whose minde was much tormented 
 
 Because of his True- Love 
 
 Hee thought hee was prevented. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Aime not too high. 
 
 Breake, heart, and dye ! I may no longer live ; 
 To enjoy this world nothing that I will give : 
 I live forlorne ; my hopes are from me fled ; 
 I have lost my love ; alacke ! my heart is dead.
 
 T/ie Despairing Lover. 
 
 Each thing on earth continueth with his Love, 
 The pretty Pigeon and the Turtle Dove ; 
 And divers others in the world I know, 
 But my Love will not seeme to love me so. 
 
 I little thought what now I true do finde ; 
 I did not deeme my Love would be unkind ; 
 But 'tis no newes, for many prove untrue, 
 And so doth mine, for she bids me adieu. 
 
 Seeing 'tis so, He turne a Palmer poore, 
 And will range abroad the world halfe ore, 
 To see if I can find some dismall Cave, 
 There will I dwell ! there will I make my grave ! 
 
 I will goe travell in some other Land, 
 To France to Spaine to Turkie, out of hand ; 
 Where, unto strangers, there will I complaine 
 How that my Love hath me unkindly slaine. 
 
 If I doe land upon some other shore, 
 Whereas no man did ever land before, 
 Then shall I thinke my selfe a happy man, 
 Because my death no man shall understand. 
 
 There will I write my fill of my true Love : 
 Did I say true. What fury did me move 
 To count her true that alwayes proves unkind, 
 And is as fickle as the wavering wind ?. 
 
 v
 
 334 The Despairing Lover. 
 
 Since she was faire, and lovely in my sight, 
 She was my joy and all my heart's delight. 
 But now her smiles are turn'd from frownes & ire 
 To kill my heart with woe is her desire. 
 
 Bright Phoebus beames are darkened in the skies 
 When as the stormes of Boreas doe arise ; 
 Yet he doth quickly shine (after the raine), 
 But my coy Mistris will not love againe. 
 
 I would I were i'th' middest of the Seas, 
 In some broken Vessell, if the Fates did please, 
 Where neither love nor comfort can be found, 
 But every hour expecting to be drown'd. 
 
 My speech- call doe but prolong my paine, 
 For I did never saile the ocean maine ; 
 Nor will I suffer life in me to bide 
 So long to wait the time of winde or tide. 
 
 Seeing 'tis so, to th' Wilderness He hie, 
 Among wild beasts, where I intend to dye, 
 Where Lyons, Bears, and other wild beasts mourne 
 The Dragon, Elephant, and Unicorne. 
 
 Thus, many wishes have I wisht in vaine, 
 But none of those will rid me out of paine : 
 This piercing poniard now shall end the strife, 
 And kill my heart, that loathes this mortall life.
 
 7 lie Despairing Lover. 
 
 This being spoken' forth his love did rush, 
 Behold him with many a changing blush ; 
 O, hold ! quoth she, and hear what I must say 
 Doe not despaire, nor worke thy live's decay. 
 
 You maidens faire, I pray come lend a eare, 
 And you shall heare how true she doth appeare 
 She gave him comfort in his troubled mind, 
 And ever after proved loving kind. 
 
 [ The Second Part. ] 
 
 A constant and a kinde maid, 
 
 Which saved a proper young man's life, 
 
 And after proved his loving wife. 
 
 To THE SAME TUNE. 
 
 Content thy selfe, my love, and doe not dye ; 
 Thy life I love, thy death I doe defie ! 
 Live, then, in joy, and seeke to banish paine, 
 Take a good heart, and I will love againe. 
 
 All things on earth doth love its chosen Mate, 
 And thou contemnest me, and sayest I hate : 
 Men love by fancie Birds they love by kind 
 Then fancie me, and thou shalt favour finde.
 
 336 The Despairing Lover. 
 
 For all the gold that ever Croesus wonne, 
 I will not seeme to leave my love alone ; 
 No, no, my Love, I will not prove untrue, 
 Nor will I change my old friend for a new. 
 
 Thou shalt not need to turne a Palmer poore, 
 For I for thee have Gold and Silver store ; 
 Instead of finding out a desart place, 
 Thou shalt have me within thine armes t' imbrace. 
 
 Thou shalt not travcll to another land, 
 
 For I am she that am at thy command : 
 
 Thou shalt, my deare, have no cause to complaine, 
 
 For I with joy thy love will entertaine. 
 
 If thou hadst landed on some forreine shore, 
 Then I would never have enioy'd thee more : 
 But being thou art here arriv'd, with me, 
 Thou shalt not goe hence dangers for to see. 
 
 What wouldst thou write of me, thine own true love ? 
 Feare not, my Love, for I will constant prove : 
 I am thine owne, and so thou still shalt find- 
 To thee I will be loving, true, and kinde. 
 
 As I was faire and lovely in thy sight, 
 So will I prove thy joy and heart's delight ; 
 I will not seeke my dearest love to kill, 
 But I will yeeld unto thy wished will.
 
 The Despairing Lover. 337 
 
 Sweet, I have listened to thy moanes and cryes ; 
 Weepe thou no more, but dry thy watred eyes : 
 The stormes are past, and Sun shines after raine, 
 And I doe vow to love thee once againe. 
 
 If thou wert in the raging Seas so wide, 
 Upon a Dolphin's back faine wouldst thou ride, 
 Desiring Neptune's succour, out of hand, 
 To be thy Pilot to some certaine Land. 
 
 Sweet Love, much danger doth abroad ensue ; 
 The Seas and wilderness bid thou adue ; 
 Nere seeke to write, or^thinke, of winde or tide, 
 But live with me, and I will be thy bride. 
 
 Oh, stay at home, sweet Love, and goe not there ; 
 Wilde Beasts in pieces will thy body teare : 
 When I behold them for to sucke thy blood, 
 They shall have mine, my Love to doe thee good 
 
 Loe, thus to thee my love I doe make knowne, 
 'Vowing hereafter I will be thine owne ; 
 O stay thy hand, my Love, and doe not kill 
 Thy gentle heart, that I could love so well. 
 
 Then strait he tooke his Love into his armes, 
 Which had preserv'd him from such dangerous harms; 
 Welcome (quoth he), I love thee as my life ; 
 And quickly after he made her his wife.
 
 338 The Despairing Lover. 
 
 Thus have you heard my song of woe and joy ; 
 Let Maids and young men listen to 't, I pray : 
 Make you no vowes, but have a speciall care, 
 For fear you wound your mates with deep despair. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 London, Printed for F. Coules, dwelling in the 
 Old-Bayly.
 
 The deceased Maiden- Lou er. 
 
 Being a pleasant new Court-Song. 
 
 To AN EXCELLENT NEW TUNE : OR TO BE SUNG TO 
 
 THE TUNE OF Bonny Nell. 
 
 As I went forth one Summer's clay 
 To view the Meddows fresh & gay, 
 A pleasant Bower I espicle 
 Standing hard by a River side, 
 
 And in't a Maiden I heard cry 
 Alas ! there's none ere lov'd like I.
 
 340 T/ie deceased Maiden- Loiter. 
 
 I couched close to heare her mone, 
 With many a sigh and heavie grone, 
 And wisht that I had been the wight 
 That might have bred her heart's delight ; 
 But these were all the words that she 
 Did still repeate, None loves like me. 
 
 Then round the Meddowes did she walke. 
 Catching each Flower by the stalke, 
 Such as within the Meddowes grew, 
 As Dead-man -thumb and Harebel blew, 
 
 And, as she pluckt them, still cri'd she, 
 Alas ! there's none ere lov'd like me. 
 
 A Bed therein she made, to lie, 
 Of fine greene things that grew fast[by, 
 Of Poplars and of Willow leaves, 
 Of Sicamore &i\& flaggy sheaves, 
 
 And, as she pluckt them, still cride she, 
 Alas ! there's none ere lov'd like me. 
 
 The little Larke-foot shee'd not passe, 
 Nor yet the flowers of Three-leavd grasse. 
 With Milkmaids Hunny-suckles phrase, 
 The Crowds-foot^ nor the yellow Crayse, 
 
 And, as she pluckt them, still cride she, 
 Alas ! there's none ere lov'd like me. 
 
 The pretty Daisie, which doth 'show 
 Her love to Phcebus, bred her woe ;
 
 The deceased Maiden- Louer. 341 
 
 (Who joyes to see his chearefull face, 
 And mournes when he is not in place.) 
 Alacke ! alacke ! alacke ! quoth she, 
 There's none that ever loves like me. 
 
 The flowers of the sweetest scent, 
 She bound them round with knotted Bent, 
 And, as she laid them still in bands, 
 She wept, she wail'd, and wrung her hands ; 
 Alas ! alas ! alas ! quoth she, 
 There's none that ever lov'd like me. 
 
 False man ! (quoth she) forgive thee heaven ! 
 
 As I do wish my sinnes forgiven. 
 
 In blest Elizium I shall sleep 
 
 When thou with perjur'd soules shalt weepe, 
 Who, when they lived, did like to thee ! 
 That lov'd their loves as thou dost me. 
 
 When shee had fil'd her apron full 
 
 Of such sweet flowers as she could cull, 
 
 The green leaves serv'd her for her bed, 
 
 The flowers pillowes for her head ; 
 
 Then down she lay, nere more did speak, 
 Alas ! with love her heart did breake. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed by the Assignes of Thomas Symcocke. 
 
 v 2
 
 [Second part.] 
 
 The Faithlesse Louer. 
 
 TO THE SAME TUNE. 
 
 When I had seen this Virgin's end 
 I sorrowed as became a friend, 
 And wept to see that such a maid 
 Should be by faithlesse love betraid ; 
 
 But woe (I feare) will come to thee 
 That was not true in love as she. 
 
 The Birds did cease their harmony, 
 The harmlesse Lambes did seem to cry, 
 The Flowers they did hang their head, 
 The Flower of Maidens being dead, 
 
 Whose life by death is now set free, 
 And none did love more deare then she. 
 
 The bubling Brooks did seem to mone, 
 And Eccho from the vales did prone ; 
 
 i O 
 
 Diana s Nimphs did ring her knell, 
 And to their Queene the same did tell, 
 Who vowed, by her chastitie, 
 That none should take revenge but she. 
 
 When as I saw her corpes were cofd, 
 I to her lover went, and told
 
 T/ic Faitklesse Loiter. 343 
 
 What chance unto this Maid befell : 
 Who said, I'm glad she sped so well ! 
 
 D'ee thinke that I so fond would be 
 
 To love no Maid but onely she ? 
 
 I was not made for her alone ; 
 I take delight to heare them mone ; 
 When one is gone I will have more ; 
 That man is rich that hath most store ; 
 
 I bondage hate ; I must live free ; 
 
 And not be tied to such as she. 
 
 O Sir ! remember (then quoth I) 
 
 The power of Heaven's all-seeing eye, 
 
 Who doth remember vowes forgot, 
 
 Though you deny you know it not ! 
 Call you to minde this maiden free, 
 The which was wrong' d by none but thee. 
 
 Quoth he, I have a love more faire ; 
 Besides, she is her father's heire ; 
 A bonny Lasse doth please my minde, 
 That unto me is wondrous kinde : 
 
 Her will I love, and none but she 
 
 Who welcome still shall be to me. 
 
 False-minded man that so would prove 
 Disloyall to thy dearest Love ;
 
 344 The Faithlesse Loner. 
 
 Who at her death for thee did pray, 
 And wisht thee many happy day : 
 
 I would my Love would but love me 
 Even halfe so well as she lov'd thee ! 
 
 Faire Maidens will example take ; 
 
 Young men will curse thee for her sake ; 
 
 Theyle stop their eares unto our plaints, 
 
 And call us devils, seeming Saints : 
 
 Theyle say to day that we are kind, 
 To morrow in another mind. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed by the Assignes of Thomas Symcocke.
 
 The Desperate Damsell's Tragedy 
 
 Or, 
 
 The faithlesse young Man. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Dulcina. 
 
 
 In the gallant month of lime, 
 
 When sweet roses are in prime, 
 
 And each bird, with a severall tune, 
 
 Harmoniously salutes the time, 
 
 then, to delight 
 
 my appetite,
 
 346 The Desperate Damsell's Tragedy. 
 
 I walkt into a meddow faire, 
 and, in a shade, 
 I spyed a maide, 
 
 Whose love had brought her to dispaire. 
 
 Shee her hands sate sadly wringing, 
 
 Making piteous exclamation 
 Upon a false young man for bringing 
 Her into this great vexation : 
 
 Quoth she, False youth, 
 
 Is there no truth 
 In thee ? of Faith hast thou no share ! 
 
 No, thou hast none ! 
 
 'tis to[o] well knowne 
 By me, poore wretch, now in despaire. 
 
 How oftentimes hast thou protested 
 
 That thou lovest me well indeed ? 
 And I performed what was requested, 
 Too much trust my woe doth breed. 
 I let thee have 
 what thou didst crave, 
 Seducdd by thy speeches faire ; 
 and, having had 
 thy will, false lad, 
 At last thou leffst me in despaire.
 
 The Desperate Damsell's Tragedy. 347 
 
 My dearest Jewell thou hast taken, 
 
 Which should stand me in great stead ; 
 And now thou hast me quite forsaken, 
 And art, like false sEneas, fled 
 
 from Dido true. 
 
 What can insue 
 This faithles deed, but to end my care ? 
 
 like her, a knife 
 
 must end my life, 
 For /, like her, am in despaire. 
 
 Then, sith 'tis so, come, gentle Death, 
 
 I yeeld my selfe unto thy power, 
 Most willing to resigne my breath 
 I am, this instant time and howre ; 
 
 let thy keene dart 
 
 such force impart 
 That I may die, oh, doe not spare 
 
 from earth I came, 
 
 and willing am 
 Hence to retiirne, with grim despaire. 
 
 When she these bitter words had spoken 
 From her minde, so fraught with woe, 
 Her heart was in her bosome broken, 
 Teares aboundantly did flow 
 from her faire eyes ; 
 then to the skies
 
 348 The Desperate Damsel 'I 's Tragedy. 
 
 She did direct her hands with prayer, 
 and seem'd to move 
 the pow'rs above 
 
 To scourge the cause of her despaire. 
 
 The Second Part, To the same tune. 
 
 You Gods ! (quoth she), I invocate, 
 
 That, as your judgements still are just, 
 My wrongs I pray you vindicate ! 
 
 O may no Mayde that young man trust ! 
 
 henceforth may he 
 
 so wretched be 
 That none for him at all shall care : 
 
 but that he may, 
 
 for his foule play, 
 Be brought, like me, to grim despaire. 
 
 Having made an end of praying, 
 
 Suddenly she drew a knife, 
 And I, that neere, unseene, 'was staying, 
 
 Ran in hast to save her life ;
 
 The Desperate DamsclL 's Tragedy. 349 
 
 but ere that I 
 
 to her could cry, 
 That her owne life she might forbeare, 
 
 shee, Dido-like, 
 
 her heart did strike : 
 Thus dyde the Damsell in despaire. 
 
 With such force her selfe she stabbed, 
 
 Blood ranne out abundantly ; 
 My heart within my bosome throbbed 
 To behold this Tragedy : 
 
 Yet, though she bled, 
 she was scarce dead, 
 But gasping lay with her last ayre, 
 and unto me 
 shee spake words three, 
 
 Which shewed the cause of her despaire. 
 
 - 
 
 Sir, (quoth she) weepe not to see me 
 
 Desperatly myselfe to slay, 
 For [tjhis fatall stroke doth free me, 
 From disgrace another way : 
 
 my honour's dead, 
 
 my credit's fledd, 
 Why, therefore, should I live in care ? 
 
 this being spoke, 
 
 her heart strings broke 
 Thus dyed the Damsell in despaire.
 
 350 The Desperate Damsell 's Tragedy. 
 
 When Death had done his worst unto her, 
 
 I did wishly on her looke, 
 And by her favour I did know her, 
 Therefore I my journey tooke 
 
 Unto the Towne 
 
 where shee was knowne, 
 And to her friends I did declare 
 
 what dismall fate 
 
 had hapt of late 
 Unto this Damsell in despaire. 
 
 With brinish teares her friends lamented 
 To heare of her timelesse end, 
 
 And every one in griefe consented, 
 And with me along did wend 
 Unto the place 
 where lay that face, 
 
 That late, alive, was fresh and faire, 
 now wanne and pale, 
 'cause life did faile 
 
 Her life she ended in despaire. 
 
 When this was told to her false Lover, 
 
 He was of his wits bestraught, 
 And wildly ran the Country over, 
 Home hee'd by no meanes be brought. 
 Let this tale, then, 
 warne all young men
 
 The Desperate Damsell 's Tragedy. 351 
 
 Unconstancy still to forbeare ; 
 
 For he betraide 
 
 this harmelesse Mayde 
 Vnto her death, through grim despaire. 
 
 FINIS. M. P. 
 
 London. Printed for H. G.
 
 The Story of David and Berseba. 
 
 TO A PLEASANT NEW TUNE. 
 
 When David in Jerusalem 
 
 as royall King did rule and raigne, 
 Behold what hapned unto him, 
 
 that afterward procur'd his paine ! 
 
 On the top of all his Princely Place, 
 
 a gallant prospect there had he, 
 From whence hee might, when 't pleas'd his Grace, 
 
 many a gallant Garden see.
 
 The Story of David and Berseba. 353 
 
 It chanced so, upon a clay, 
 
 the King went forth to take the ayre, 
 All in the pleasant moneth of May, 
 
 from whence he spide a Lady faire. 
 
 Her beauty was more excellent 
 
 and brighter than the morning Sunne, 
 
 By which the King, incontinent, 
 was to her favour quickly wonne. 
 
 She stood within a pleasant Bower, 
 
 all naked, for to wash her there ; 
 Her body, like a Lilly Flower, 
 
 was covered with her golden haire. 
 
 The King was wounded with her love, 
 
 and what she was he did enquire ; 
 He could not his affection move, 
 
 he had to her such great desire. 
 
 She is Vriahs Wife, quoth they, 
 
 a Captaine of your Princely Traine, 
 That in your Warres is now away, 
 
 and she doth all alone remaine. 
 
 Then, said the King, Bring her to me, 
 
 for with her love my heart is slaine ; 
 The Prime of beauty sure is she, 
 
 for whome I doe great griefe sustaine.
 
 354 The Story of David and Lerseba. 
 
 The Servants they did soone prepare 
 to doe the message of the King ; 
 
 And Berseba, the Lady faire, 
 
 unto the Court did quickly bring. 
 
 The King rejoyced at her sight, 
 and won her love, and lay her by 
 
 Till they in sport had spent the night, 
 and that the Sun was risen high. 
 
 The King his leave most kindly tooke 
 
 of the faire Lady at the last ; 
 And homeward then she cast her looke, 
 
 till that three moneths were gone and past. 
 
 And then, in Berseba so faire, 
 
 she found her former health exilde, 
 
 By certaine tokens that she saw, 
 
 The King had gotten her with childe. 
 
 Then to the King she made her mone, 
 and told him how the case did stand ; 
 
 The King sent for her Husband home, 
 to cloake the matter out of hand. 
 
 When from the Camp Vriah came, 
 the King receiv'd him courteously, 
 
 Demanding how all things did frame 
 concerning of the Enemy.
 
 The Story of David and Bcrseba. 355 
 
 Vriah shew'd his Highnesse all, 
 
 the accident of warlike strife ; 
 Then, said the King, this night you shall 
 
 keepe company with your owne wife. 
 
 The Arke of God ( Vriah said) 
 
 with Judah's Host and Israel, 
 Keepe in the Fielde, and not a man 
 
 within the house where they doe dwell. 
 
 Then should I take my ease, quoth he, 
 in beds of Downe with my faire wife ? 
 
 O King, he said, that must not be 
 so long as I enjoy my life. 
 
 Then did the King a Letter frame 
 
 to Joab, Generall of the Host, 
 And by Vriah sent the same, 
 
 but certainely his life it cost.
 
 The Second Part, to the Same Tune. 
 
 And when the Kino- for certaine knew 
 
 o 
 
 Vriah thus had murdered beene, 
 Faire Berseba to Court he drew, 
 and made of her his royall Oueene. 
 
 Then God, that saw his wicked deed, 
 was angry at King Davids sinne : 
 
 The Prophet Nathan then with speed 
 came thus complaining unto him : 
 
 O David, ponder what I say, 
 a great abuse I shall thee tell ; 
 
 For thou that rul'st in equity, 
 
 shouldst see the people ruled well.
 
 The Story of David and Berseba. 357 
 
 Two men within the City dwell, 
 
 the one is rich, the other poore ; 
 The rich in Cattell doth excell, 
 
 the other nothing hath in store. 
 
 Saving one silly little Sheepe, 
 
 which yong he did with money buy ; 
 With his owne bread he did it feed, 
 
 amongst his Children, tenderly. 
 
 The rich man had a stranger came 
 
 unto his house, that lov'd him deare, 
 The poore man's Sheepe therefore he tooke, 
 
 and thereof made his friend good cheere. 
 
 Because that he his owne would save, 
 
 he us'd the man thus cruelly : 
 Then, by the Lord, the King did sweare, 
 
 the rich man for that fault should die. 
 
 Thou art the man ! the Prophet said ; 
 
 the Princely. Crowne God gave to thee : 
 Thy Lord's wives thou thine owne hast made, 
 
 and many more of faire beauty. 
 
 Why hast thou so defilde thy life, 
 
 and slaine Vriah with the sword, 
 And taken home his wedded Wife, 
 
 regarding not God's holy Word ? 
 
 w 2
 
 358 The Story of Daidd and Berseba. 
 
 Therefore behold, thus saith the Lord, 
 great warres upon thy house shall be, 
 
 Because thou hast my Lawes abhor'd, 
 much ill, be sure, He raise on thee. 
 
 He take thy wives before thy face, 
 and give them to thy neighbours use ; 
 
 And thou thereby shalt have disgrace, 
 for men shall laugh at thine abuse. 
 
 Then David cryed out pittiously, 
 
 Sore have I sinned against the Lord ! 
 
 Have mercy, God, therefore on me ! 
 let not my prayers be abhor'd ! 
 
 But as the Prophet told to him, 
 
 so did it after chance indeed, 
 For God did greatly plague his sinne, 
 
 as in the Bible you may read. 
 
 The scourge of sinne thus you may see 
 
 for murther and adultery. 
 Lord grant that we may warned be 
 
 such crying sinnes to shun and flie. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed at London for J. Wright, dwelling in Gilt- 
 spurre street, neere New-gate.
 
 The Distressed Virgin ; 
 
 Or, 
 
 The false Young-man, and the constant Maid, 
 The qualities of them both displaid. 
 
 To AN EXCELLENT NEW TUNE. 
 
 A thousand times my love commend 
 
 to him that hath my heart in hold ; 
 I .tooke him for my dearest friend ; 
 
 his Love I more esteem'd than Gold. 
 When that mine eyes did see his face, 
 
 and that mine eares had heard his voyce, 
 His Love I freely did embrace, 
 
 my heart told me he was my choice. 
 
 O had he still continued true, 
 
 and in affection permanent, 
 Had hee performed what was due, 
 
 then had I found true heart's content : 
 But hee, regardlesse of his vow, 
 
 which he did make to me before, 
 Hath thus in sorrow left me now, 
 
 my former follies to deplore. 
 
 Would I had never scene those eyes 
 
 that (like attractive Adamants), 
 Did my poore heart with love surprize, 
 
 the power of Love so me enchants.
 
 360 The Distressed Virgin. 
 
 I have no power to leave his love, 
 
 though with sterne hate he me pursue, 
 
 To him I will most constant prove, 
 though he be faithlesse and untrue. 
 
 I put my finger unto the bush, 
 
 thinking the sweetest Rose to find, 
 I prickt my finger to the bone, 
 
 and yet I left the Rose behind : 
 If Roses be such prickling flowers, 
 
 they must be gathered when tha're green ; 
 But she that loves an unkind Love, 
 
 alas ! she rowes against the streame. 
 
 Oh ! would he but conceive aright 
 
 the griefe that I for him sustaine, 
 He could not chuse but change his spight 
 
 to faithfull love, and leave disdaine. 
 I love to have him still in place, 
 
 his too long absence makes me mourne ; 
 Yet he disdaines to see my face, 
 
 and holds my company in scorne. 
 
 It grieves my heart full sore to thinke 
 that he whom I so dearely love, 
 
 Should thus refuse with me to drinke, 
 yet can my passion ne're remove !
 
 The Distressed Virgin. 361 
 
 Though he, I know, could wish my death, 
 
 so great is his inveterate hate, 
 Yet I could sooner lose my breath 
 
 than see him wrong' d in name or state. 
 
 Ill hap had I to come in place 
 
 where first I saw his tempting looke ; 
 As soone as I beheld his face, 
 
 I Cupid's prisoner straight was tooke : 
 And never since that fatall houre 
 
 I have enjoyed one minute's rest ; 
 The thought of him is of such power, 
 
 it never can forsake my brest. 
 
 Then was I strucke with Cupid's Dart ; 
 
 then was my fancie captivated ; 
 Then did I vow that still my heart 
 
 should rest with him, though me he hated. 
 Then did he make a shew of love, 
 
 which did much more my heart enflame ; 
 But now he doth perfidious prove, 
 
 and gives me cause his love to blame.
 
 The Second Part to the same Tune. 
 
 Nay more, he made a vow to me 
 
 that I should be his wedded wife, 
 And he forsakes me now, I see, 
 
 which makes me weary of my life : 
 I little thought what now I finde, 
 
 that Young-men could dissemble so ; 
 Sure he's the falsest of his kinde, 
 
 ill hap have I to prove him so ! 
 
 Could any man be so hard-hearted 
 
 to leave a harmelesse Maid in griefe ; 
 From me all comfort cleane is parted, 
 
 unlesss his favour grant reliefe. 
 Hee is the man that bred my paine ; 
 
 he is the man whose love alone 
 Must be the slave to cure my paine, 
 
 or else my life will soon be gone. 
 
 O faithlesse wretch ! consider well 
 
 that Heaven abhorreth perjury ; 
 Great torments are prepar'd in Hell 
 
 for them that thus will sweare and lye. 
 Oh ! hast thou never made a show 
 
 of love, thou hadst excus'd thy blame ; 
 But thy false heart full well doth know 
 
 what oaths thy perjur'd tongue did frame.
 
 The Distressed Virgin. 36; 
 
 That obstacle that hinders me 
 
 is that, which I suspect full sore, 
 His fruit grows on some other tree, 
 
 and he's seduced by some whore : 
 Or else he hath some other Lasse, 
 
 perhaps, like me, a harmlesse Maid, 
 Whom he may bring to such a passe 
 
 as I am brought, by Cupid's aide. 
 
 Oh Heavens ! forbid that any one 
 
 that bears an honest loving mind 
 Should thus have cause to grieve and moan 
 
 for such a knave, that shames his kind ! 
 But why should I, as passions move, 
 
 with bitter words upon his raile, 
 Whom I am ever bound to love 
 
 untill my vitall spirits faile ? 
 
 Sweet love forgive my lavish tongue, 
 
 if I offend in any sort : 
 To recompence thee for that wrong 
 
 He always give thee good report : 
 Although to me thou art unkind, 
 
 who never gave thee any cause, 
 Yet I am still resolv'd, in mind, 
 
 never to break God Cupid's Lawes.
 
 364 Ihc Distressed Virgin. 
 
 And if I never be thy wife 
 
 (which is the thing I justly climae), 
 I vow to live a single life, 
 
 and never thinke of Lovers' game : 
 But why speake I of life, when death 
 
 doth every minute claime his due ? 
 I cannot long retaine my breath, 
 
 having a Lover so untrue. 
 
 Let all true Lovers judge aright 
 
 in what a case, poore soule, am I ; 
 Come, Gentle Death ! and worke thy spight, 
 
 for now I am prepar'd to dye : 
 O Heaven ! forgive thy Love is wrong 
 
 none unto me, a Maiden pure, 
 Who for his sake must dye ere long, 
 
 for long my life cannot endure. 
 
 FINIS. M. P. 
 
 Printed at London for F. Coules.
 
 Death's Dance. 
 
 TO BE SUNG TO A PLEASANT NEW TUNE, CALI/E 
 
 Oh no, no, no, not yet, OR The Meddow brow. 
 
 If death would come and shew his face, 
 
 as he dare shew his power, 
 And sit at many a rich man's place 
 
 both every day and houre, 
 
 x
 
 366 Death 's Dance. 
 
 He would amaze them every one 
 
 to see him standing there, 
 And wish that soone he would be gone 
 
 from all their dwellings faire. 
 
 Or, if that Death would take the paines 
 
 to goe to the Water side, 
 Where Merchants purchase golden gains, 
 
 (to prank them up in pride,) 
 And bid them thinke upon the poore, 
 
 or else He see you soone ! 
 There would be given then at their doore, 
 
 good almes both night and noone. 
 
 Or walke into the Roy all- Exchange 
 
 when every man is there, 
 No doubt his comming would be strange, 
 
 to put them all in feare 
 How they do worldly buy and sell, 
 
 to make their markets good ; 
 Their dealings all would prosper well 
 
 if so the matter stood. 
 
 
 Or, if Death would take the paines 
 
 to go to Paul's one day, 
 To talke with such as their remaines 
 
 to walke, and not to pray :
 
 DeatKs, Dance. 367 
 
 Of life they would take lasting Lease, 
 
 though nere so great a Fine, 
 What is not that but some would give 
 
 to set them up a Shrine ? 
 
 If death would go to Westminster, 
 
 to walke about the Hall, 
 And make himselfe a Counsellor 
 
 in pleas, amongst them all, 
 I thinke the Court of Conscience 
 
 would have a great regard, 
 When Death should come, with diligence 
 
 to have their matters heard. 
 
 For Death hath been a Checker man 
 
 not many yeeres agoe, 
 And he is such a one as can 
 
 bestow his checking so 
 That never a Clarke within the Hall 
 
 can argue so his case 
 But Death can over-rule them all 
 
 in every Court and place. 
 
 If Death would keepe a tipling house 
 
 where Roysters do resort, 
 And take the cup, and drinke, carowse, 
 
 when they are in their sport,
 
 368 DeatJis Dance. 
 
 And briefly say, My Masters all, 
 
 Why stand you idle here 
 I bring to you Saint Gibs his bowle ! 
 
 'twold put them all in feare 
 
 If Death would make a step to dance 
 
 where lusty Gallants be, 
 Or take Dice and throw a chance 
 
 when he doth gamesters see, 
 And say, My Masters, Have at all ! 
 
 I warrant it will be mine ! 
 They would in amazement fall 
 
 to set him any Coyne. 
 
 If Death would Gossip now and then 
 
 amongst the crabbed Wives 
 That taunts and railes at their good men, 
 
 to make them weary lives, 
 It would amaze them, I might say, 
 
 so spightfully to boast 
 That they will beare the swing and sway, 
 
 and over-rule the roast 
 
 If Death would quarterly but come 
 amongst the Landlord's crue, 
 
 And take a count of every sum 
 that rises more than due,
 
 DeatJis Dance. 
 
 As well of Income as of Fine, 
 
 above the old set Rent, 
 They would let Leases without Coyne, 
 
 for feare they should be shent. 
 
 If Death would take his dayly course 
 
 where Tradesmen sell their Ware, 
 His welcome sure would be more worse 
 
 then those of monyes bare ; 
 It would affright them for to see 
 
 his leane and hollow lookes, 
 If Death should say, Come, shew to me 
 
 my reckoning in your bookes. 
 
 If Death would thorow the markets trace, 
 
 where Conscience us'd to dwell, 
 And take up there a Huckster's place, 
 
 he might do wondrous well. 
 High prizes would abated be, 
 
 and nothing found too deare, 
 When Death should call, Come, buy of me ! 
 
 would put them all in feare. 
 
 If Death would proove a Gentleman, 
 and come to Court our Dames, 
 
 And do the best of all he can 
 to blazen forth their names,
 
 370 Deattis Dance. 
 
 Yet should he little welcomes have 
 
 amongst so fayre a crew, 
 That daily go so fine and brave 
 
 when they his face do view. 
 
 Or if he would but walke about 
 
 our City Suburbs round, 
 There would be given him, out of doubt, 
 
 full many a golden pound 
 To spare our wanton femall crew, 
 
 and give them longer day ; 
 But Death will grant no Leases new, 
 
 .but take them all away. 
 
 For Death hath promised to come, 
 
 and come he will indeed ; 
 Therefore I warne you, all and some, 
 
 beware, and take good heed ; 
 For what you do, or what you be, 
 
 hee's sure to find, and know you ; 
 Though he be blind, and cannot see, 
 
 in earth he will bestow you. 
 
 FINIS. 
 Printed at London for H. Gosson.
 
 The most rare and excellent History 
 
 of the Dutchesse of Suffolke's Calamity. 
 To THE TUNE OF Queene Dido. 
 
 When God had taken, for our sinne, 
 
 that prudent Prince, King Edward, away, 
 
 Then bloody Banner did begin 
 his raging malice to bewray ; 
 
 All those that did God's Word professe 
 
 He persecuted more or lesse. 
 
 Thus, whilst the Lord on us did lowre, 
 
 many in prison he did throw, 
 Tormenting them in Lollards' Tower, 
 
 whereby they might the truth forgoe ; 
 Then Cranmer, Ridley, and the rest, 
 Were burn'd in fire, that Christ protest.
 
 372 The Dutchesse of Suffolkes Calamity. 
 
 Smithfield was then with fagots fill'd, 
 and many places more besides, 
 
 At Coventry was Sounders kill'd, 
 at Worster eke good Hooper dy'd ; 
 
 And, to escape this bloody day, 
 
 Beyond Seas many fled away. 
 
 Amongst the rest that sought release, 
 and for their faith in danger stood, 
 
 Lady Elizabeth was chiefe, 
 
 King Henries daughter of royall blood, 
 
 Which in the Tower did prisoner lye, 
 
 Looking each day when shee should dye. 
 
 The Dutchess of Suffolke seeing this, 
 whose life likewise the tyrant sought, 
 
 Who, in the hope of heavenly blisse, 
 
 within Gods Word her comfort wrought, 
 
 For feare of Death was faine to flye, 
 
 And leave her house most secretly. 
 
 That, for the love of God alone ; 
 
 her land and goods she left behind, 
 Seeking still for that precious stone, 
 
 the Word of Truth, so rare to find. 
 She, with her nurse, husband, and child, 
 In poor array their sights beguild.
 
 The Dutchesse of Suffolkes Calamity. 375 
 
 Thus through London they past along, 
 each one did take a severall street; 
 
 Thus, all along escaping wrong, 
 at Billingsgate they all did meete : 
 
 Like people poore, in Gravesend Barge 
 
 They simply went with all their charge. 
 
 And all along from Gravesend towne, 
 with journies short, on foot they went ; 
 
 Unto the Sea-coast they came downe 
 to passe the Seas was their intent ; 
 
 And God provided so that day, 
 
 That they tooke ship and sail'd away. 
 
 And, with a prosperous gale of wind, 
 
 in Flanders safe they did arive ; 
 This was to theire great ease of minde, 
 
 and from their heart much woe did drive ; 
 And so, with thankes to God on hie, 
 They tooke their way to Germany. 
 
 Thus as they travell'd, still disguis'd, 
 
 upon the high way, suddenly 
 By cruell theeves they were surpriz'd, 
 
 assailing their small company. 
 And all their treasure and their store 
 They tooke away, and beat them sore. 
 
 x 2
 
 374 The Dutchcssc of Suffolkes Calamity. 
 
 The Nurse, in middest of their fight, 
 laid downe the child upon the ground ; 
 
 She ran away out of their sight, 
 and never, after that, was found. 
 
 Then did the Dutches make great mone, 
 
 With her good husband all alone. 
 
 The theeves had there their horses kill'd, 
 and all their money quite had tooke, 
 
 The. pretty Baby, almost spoil'd, 
 was by the nurse likewise forsooke ; 
 
 And they far from their friends did stand, 
 
 And succourless, in a strange land. 
 
 The Second Part, to the Same Tune. 
 
 ^ S.de lUewiss bsgan to scowle, 
 it hail'd a:iJ rain'd in pittious sort,
 
 Ike Dutches se of Suffjlkc s Calamity. 375 
 
 The way was long and wonderous foule ; 
 
 then (may I now full well report) 
 Their griefe and sorrow was not small 
 When this unhappy chance did fall. 
 
 Sometimes the Dutches bore the child, 
 
 all wet as ever she could be, 
 And when the Lady, kind and mild, 
 
 was weary, then the child bore he : 
 And thus they one another eas'd, 
 And with their fortunes were well pleas'd. 
 
 And after many a weary step, 
 
 all wet-shod both in durt and mire, 
 
 After much griefe their hearts yet leap 
 for labour doth some rest require, 
 
 A towne before them they did see, 
 
 But lodg'd therein they could not bee. 
 
 From house to house then they did goe, 
 seeking that night where they might lie ; 
 
 But want of money was their woe, 
 
 and still their babe with cold did crie : 
 
 With cap and knee they curtesie make, 
 
 But none on them would pitty take. 
 
 Loe ! here a Princesse of great blood 
 doth pray a peasant for reliefe
 
 376 The Dutches se of Suffolkes Calamity. 
 
 With teares bedewed, as she stood, 
 
 yet few or none regards her griefe. 
 Her speech they could not understand, 
 But gave her money in her hand. 
 
 When al in vaine their paines were spe't, 
 and that they could no houseroome get, 
 
 Into a Church-porch then they went, 
 to stand out of the raine and wet ; 
 
 Then said the Dutchesse to her deere, 
 
 O that we had some fire here. 
 
 Then did her husband so provide 
 that fire and coales he got with speed, 
 
 She sate downe by the fire side, 
 
 to dresse her daughter, that had need ; 
 
 And while she drest it in her lap, 
 
 Her husband made the infant pap. 
 
 Anon the Sexton thither came, 
 and finding them there by the fire, 
 
 The drunken knave, all voyd of shame, 
 to drive them out was his desire ; 
 
 And spurning forth the Noble Dame, 
 
 Her husband's wrath it did inflame. 
 
 And, all in fury as he stood, 
 
 he wrung the Church keyes out his hand,
 
 The Dutchesse of Suffolkes Calamity. 377- 
 
 And strucke him so that all of blood 
 
 his head ran downe, where he did stand ; 
 Wherefore the Sexton presently 
 For helpe and aid aloud did cry. 
 
 Then came the officers in haste, 
 
 and tooke the Dutches and her child, 
 
 And with her husband thus they past, 
 like Lambes beset with Tygers wilde, 
 
 And to the Governour were brought, 
 
 Who understood them not in ought, 
 
 Then master Bartu, brave and bold, 
 
 in Latine made a gallant speech, 
 Which all their misery did unfold, 
 
 and their high favour did beseech. 
 With that a Doctor, sitting by, 
 
 Did know the Dutches presently, 
 
 And thereupon arising straight, 
 
 with words abashed at this sight, 
 Unto them all that their did wait, 
 
 he thus brake forth in words aright : 
 Behold within, your sight, quoth he, 
 A Princesse of most high degree 
 
 With that the Gouernour and the rest 
 were all amazed the same to heare,
 
 378 The Dutchesse of Suffolkes Calamity. 
 
 Who welcomed this new-come guest 
 
 with reverence great and princely cheere, 
 And afterward convey'd they were 
 Unto their friend, Prince Cassimer. 
 
 A sonne she had in Germany, 
 
 Peregrine Bartu call'd by name, 
 Surnam'd the good Lord Willoughby, 
 
 of courage great and worthy fame : 
 Her daughter yong, which with her went, 
 Was afterwards Countesse of Kent. 
 
 For when Queene Mary was deceast 
 the Dutches home returned againe, 
 
 Who was of sorrow quite releast 
 
 by Queene EhzabetJis happy raigne ; 
 
 Whose godly life and piety 
 
 Wee all may praise continually. 
 
 FINIS 
 
 London, Printed for Edward Wright Dwelling at 
 Christ Church gate.
 
 The discontented Married Man : 
 
 Or, 
 
 A merry new Song that was pen'd in foule weather, 
 Of a Scould that could not keep her lips together. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Shee cannot keepe /ier,'&c. 
 
 A yong man lately wedded was 
 
 To a faire and comely creature, 
 She was a blithe and bonny Lasse 
 As ere was framed by Nature, 
 Wiih rolling eye, 
 And forehead high, 
 And all good parts Nature could give her :
 
 380 The discontented Married Man. 
 
 But she had learned such a note, 
 She could not keepe her 1. together. 
 
 A lusty youth, of Cupids straine, 
 
 That might the Queen of Love contented, 
 Came unto her, her love to gain, 
 And freely she her love consented : 
 But, to be short, 
 In Cupids Court 
 
 He usde her well when he came thither, 
 And plaid his part in such^an art, 
 She could not, &c. 
 
 When her Husband he heard tell 
 
 Of her tricks, with true relation, 
 He complained to himselfe 
 
 Very sadly in this fashion : 
 Quoth he, I would give twenty pound, 
 
 Thats ten more then I had with her, 
 Her mother would take her home againe, 
 
 And make her keepe her, &c. 
 
 Sonne, be thou of patient mind, 
 
 Let not thoughts thy fancies trouble ; 
 For I to the will still prove kind, 
 And her portion I will double, 
 Time and age 
 Will ass wage,
 
 The discontented Married Man. 381 
 
 And the fairest flower will wither, 
 And I such counsell will her give 
 Shall make her keepe her 1. togethe. 
 
 4 
 
 Henceforth, therefore, lie forsake her, 
 
 And her mother shall take her, 
 And, for shame ! let her better make her, 
 
 Or I againe will never take her, 
 Pure modesty she doth defie, 
 
 Besides, she's fickle as the weather, 
 And her scoulding plainly shews 
 
 She cannot keepe her 1. together. 
 
 Then He leave off to find another, 
 
 Though't may adde unto my lustre, 
 For brave spacious England wide 
 I am sure affords a cluster : 
 Good and bad 
 Are to had ; 
 
 love speed me well ! though long I tarry, 
 For, ere that He have such a Mate 
 I never more intend to marry.
 
 The second part to the same Tune, 
 
 Shee is gone a wandring forth 
 
 Wanton wenches will be ranging 
 With two gallants of great worth : 
 Such as they affect a changing. 
 She is bent 
 To consent 
 
 For to go she knowes not whether : 
 They will- teach her such a trick 
 She will not keep her 1. together.
 
 The discontented Married Man. 385 
 
 To the dancing-schoole she goes, 
 
 There she spends her husband's treasure, 
 On each Shoo she weares a Rose, 
 For to shew she's fit for pleasure ; 
 And resort 
 To Cupids Court. 
 And no sooner she comes thither, 
 She learns so much of that same sport, 
 She cannot keepe her 1. together. 
 
 To the tavern she repaires, 
 
 Whilst her husband sits and muses, 
 Their she domineeres and sweares, 
 'Tis a thing she often uses ! 
 And, being fine, 
 She, for wine, 
 
 Will both pawne her hat and feather ; 
 Which doth shew that it is true 
 She cannot keep her 1. together. 
 
 He's a Coxcombe that doth greive 
 
 And knowes not how to court this creature, 
 For he may pin her to his sleeve, 
 She is of so kind a nature : 
 She will play 
 Every way, 
 
 And is as nimble as a feather, 
 But she will often go astray, 
 She cannot keep her 1. together.
 
 384 The discontented Married Man. 
 
 Thou that hast a wife that's civill, 
 
 Love her well and make much of her ; 
 For a woman that is evill 
 
 All the town, thou seest, will scoffe her. 
 Love thy wife ; 
 As thy life, 
 
 Let her not go thou know'st not whither; 
 For you will alwayes live in strife 
 If she keep not her 1. together. 
 
 Maidens faire, have a care 
 
 Whom you love and whom you marry ; 
 Love not those that jealous are, 
 Longer you had better tarry ; 
 For offence 
 Springs from hence 
 You will go you know not whether, 
 Till you lose both wit and sence, 
 And cannot keep your 1. together. 
 
 London, Printed for Richard Harper in Smithfield
 
 A Pleasant new Dialogue ; 
 
 Or, 
 
 The discourse between the Serving-man and the 
 Husband-man. 
 
 The lofty pride must bat^<i bee. 
 And praise must goe in ri^ht ic;;ree. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF I have for all <;<>(><{ -icives a 
 
 As I went through the meddowes greene, 
 that are mostly lovely to be seene. 
 
 I heard two men in great disco urse 
 of many things, better or \\orsr ;
 
 386 The Serving-man and the Husband-man. 
 
 The one a Serving-man, and he 
 
 stood much upon his bravery ; 
 The other was a Husband man, 
 
 Which no man speake against him can. 
 
 The Serving-Man } s Speech, 
 
 I am a Serving-man that's fine, 
 
 and feed on dainties, and drinke wine, 
 I am for Ladies company, 
 
 who can have pleasures more than I ? 
 I have the love of Maidens faire 
 
 that are their Parents onely heire ; 
 Although they goe in garments gay, 
 
 with me they'l yeeld to sport and play. 
 
 The Plough-man. 
 
 Though you in garments goe most brave, 
 
 yet you must yeeld to what I crave ; 
 No serving-man shall make me yeeld, 
 
 He shew the cause whereon I build. 
 A Serving-man cannot come nie 
 
 to that which I will verifie : 
 A young Serving-man may compare 
 
 to be and old begger-man's-heire. 
 
 The Serving-man. 
 
 I wait on Ladies, Lords, and Knights, 
 
 where pleasure flowes, with much delights ;
 
 The Serving-man and the. Husband-man, 387 
 
 My time I spend with Venus Nymphs, 
 whose features rare Desire attempts. 
 
 We serving-men have pleasure at will, 
 and Plough-men they have labour still ; 
 
 Then how can they with us compare, 
 
 seeing we have pleasure, and they have care? 
 
 The Plough-man. 
 
 Though you in pleasure do exceed, 
 
 wh6 is it doth serve your need ? 
 You might goe pine and starve with want, 
 
 then. at a Plough-man do not taunt. 
 We till the ground which brings increase, 
 
 and all would lack if we should cease ; 
 Such bragging Jacks might doe full ill, 
 
 then to the Plough-man yeeld thee skill. 
 
 The Serving-man. 
 
 Our 'parell many times is silke, 
 
 our shirts as white as any milke ; 
 Our fare is of the very best, 
 
 and that which is most neatly drest; 
 And often, when we sup or dine, 
 
 we taste a dainty cup of wine : 
 Our Master's Cellars yeeld good beere, 
 
 and in his Hall we finde good cheare.
 
 388. The Serv'uig-inan and the Husband-man. 
 
 The Plough-man. 
 
 'Tis true : there many goes in silke 
 
 and have their linnen white as milke, 
 ' And yet perhaps not worth a groat, 
 
 but, much like you, will lye and prate ; 
 The Proverbe of a Serving-man, 
 
 as alwaves 1 doe understand, 
 In prime of v ceres hee'l roare and swagger, 
 
 And, being growne old, he turnes a begger. 
 
 T/ie Serving-man. 
 
 Why should a Plough-man me deface, 
 
 and urge me with such foule disgrace 
 I dare to challenge you, sir foole, 
 
 to meet me at the Fencing-schoole : 
 I will not so out-braved be, 
 
 nor rankf- \\ith such base pedigree; 
 I am a man of courage bold, 
 
 by Plough-men He not be control'd.
 
 The Plough-man. 
 
 Indeed, you are of perfect mettle ; 
 
 your nose shines like a copper kettle ; 
 'Tis true you are of courage bold, 
 
 the pipe and pot you will uphold ; 
 You hold it rare to drinke and smoake 
 
 all this is true which I have spoke, 
 But 'tis a Husbandman's delight 
 
 to worke all day, and sleepe all night 
 
 Y 2
 
 390 The Serving- man and the Husband-man. 
 
 The Serving-man. 
 
 We have no labour, toyle, and care, 
 
 we Serving-men no drudges are ; 
 Our care is for the chiefest pleasure, 
 
 which seemes to us a daily treasure : 
 My Ladies Waiting-maid most fine 
 
 with us doth often sup and dine ; 
 Sometimes a courtesie we crave, 
 
 a kisse or so, and this we have. 
 
 The Plough-man. 
 
 If you the Proverb truly mark, 
 
 loane is as good as my Lady in th' dark ; 
 A Country Lasse in russet gray, 
 
 with her I love to sport and play : 
 O she will dance, and sweetly sing, 
 
 much like the Nightingale in Spring; 
 She's fresh and faire, and firm and sound ; 
 
 in her much pleasure may be found. 
 
 The Serving-man. 
 
 Well, Countrie-man, my mind is brave, 
 I will not yeeld to what you crave ; 
 
 No plough-man ere shall make me yeeld, 
 I will not so much be compeld :
 
 The Serving-man and the Husband-man. 391 
 
 My youthfull dayes yeelds me much joyes, 
 my nights I passe with merry toyes ; 
 
 My time is pleasure and delight, 
 
 which I doe spend with Ladies bright. 
 
 The Plough-man. 
 
 O, hold thy peace ! thy fond delight 
 
 doth passe away like day or night ; 
 Thy aged head appearing gray, 
 
 then doth thy pleasure soone decay ; 
 Then from thy service must thou packe, 
 
 and all things quickly wilt thou lacke : 
 Then warning take ere it be long, 
 
 and learne to worke while thou art young. 
 
 The Serving-man. 
 
 Why should I labour, toyle, or care, 
 
 since I am fed with dainty fare ? 
 My Gelding I have for to ride, 
 
 my cloake, my good sword by my side, 
 My bootes and spurres shining like gold, 
 
 like those whose names are high inrol'd : 
 What pleasure more can any crave 
 
 then such content as I now have ?
 
 392 The Serving-man and the Husband-man. 
 
 The Plough-wan. 
 
 'Tis true, indeed thy pleasure's great, 
 
 and I have what I get by sweat ; 
 My labour gives my heart content, 
 
 and I doe live in merriment : 
 He that true labour takes in hand 
 
 doth farre surpasse the Serving-man ; 
 He passeth some with house and lands ; 
 
 when that decayes, he cryes Helpe, hands. 
 
 The Serving-man. 
 
 Thy reasons I have understood, 
 
 and what thou speak'st is very good ; 
 
 I would I were, a Plough-man now, 
 and labour could at Cart and Plough ; 
 
 o ' 
 
 Then would I work and till the land, 
 and never more be Serving-man ; 
 
 For what they have is truly got, 
 they are contented with their lot. 
 
 Thus to conclude and make an end, 
 let none with Husband-men contend : 
 
 You see, here yeelds a loftie mind, 
 and to good counsell is inclin'd.
 
 The Serving-man and the ^isband-man. 393 
 
 Thus will we all, like lovers, 'gree, 
 the painfull man shall praised be ; 
 
 For by the labour of the hand 
 
 we doe receive fruits from the land, 
 
 FINIS. R. 0. 
 
 Printed at London for F. Coules dwelling- in the 
 
 Old-Baily.
 
 A lamentable ballad on the Earl of 
 
 Essex's Death. 
 Tune is, Essex last Goodnight. 
 
 All you that cry O hone, O hone, 
 
 come now and sing O hone with me, 
 For why our jewel is from us gone, 
 
 the valiant Knight of Chivalry. 
 Of rich and poor belov'd was he, 
 
 in time an honourable Knight, 
 When by our Laws condemn'd to die 
 
 He lately took his last goodnight.
 
 A lamentable Ballad, &c. 395 
 
 Count him not like to Champion 
 
 those traiterous men of Babington 
 Nor like the Earl of Westmoorland, 
 
 by whom a number were undone, 
 He never yet hurt Mothers son, 
 
 his quarrel still maintains the right, 
 Which the tears my face down run, 
 
 When I think on his last goodnight. 
 
 The Portugals can witness be, 
 
 his Dagger at Lisbon gate he flung, 
 And like a Knight of Chivalry, 
 
 his Chain upon the Gate he hung ; 
 I would to God that he would come, 
 
 to fetch them back in order right, 
 Which thing was by his honour done, 
 
 yet lately took their last goodnight. 
 
 The French-men they can testifie, 
 
 the town of Gourney he took in, 
 And marcht to Rome immediately, 
 
 not caring for his foes a pin : 
 With Bullets then he pierc'd his skin, 
 
 and made them fly from his sight : 
 He there that time did credit win, 
 
 and no'jj hath tane his last goodnight.
 
 396 A lamentable Ballad on the 
 
 And stately Cales can witness be, 
 
 even by his Proclamation right, 
 And did command them all straightly, 
 
 to have a care of Infants lives, 
 And that none should hurt man or wife 
 
 which was against their right ; 
 Therefore they pray'd for his long life, 
 
 which lately took his last goodnight. 
 
 Would God he ne'er had Ireland known, 
 
 nor set one foot on Flanders ground, 
 Then might we well injoy'd our own, 
 
 where now our jewel will not be found, 
 Which makes our foes still abound ; 
 
 trickling with salt teares in our sight, 
 To hear his name in our ears to sound, 
 
 Lord Devereux took his last goodnight. 
 
 Ash Wednesday that dismal day, 
 
 when he came forth his Chamber door, 
 Upon the Scaffold there he saw, 
 
 his Headsman standing him before : 
 His Nobles all they did deplore ; 
 
 shedding salt tears in his sight 
 *He said farewell to rich and^poor, 
 
 at his good morrow and goodnight.
 
 Earl of Essex s Death. 397 
 
 My Lords said he, you stand but by, 
 
 to see performance of the law, 
 It is I that have deserv'd to die, 
 
 and yield myself unto the blow : 
 I have deserv'd to die I know 
 
 but ne'er against my Countries right, 
 Nor to my Queen was ever foe, 
 
 upon my death at my good night. 
 
 Farewell, Elizabeth, my gracious Queen, 
 
 God bless thee with thy Council all ; 
 Farewell my Knights of Chivalry, 
 
 farewell my Souldiers stout and tall, 
 Farewell the Commons great and small, 
 
 into the hands of men I light, 
 My life shall make amends for all, 
 
 for Essex bids the world good night. 
 
 Farewell dear wife, and children three, 
 
 farewell my kind and tender son ; 
 Comfort yourselves, mourn not for me, 
 
 although your fall be now begune, 
 My time is come, my glass is run, 
 
 comfort yourself in former light, 
 Seeing by my fall you are undone, 
 
 your Father bids the world good night.
 
 398 A lamentable Ballad, CTT. 
 
 Derick, thou know'st at Cales I sav'd 
 
 thy life, lost for a Rope there done, 
 As thou thyself canst testifie, 
 
 thine own hand three and twenty hung, 
 But now thou seest myself is come, 
 
 by chance unto thy hands I light, 
 Strike out thy blow, that I may know, 
 
 thoit, Essex lovd at his goodnight. 
 
 When England counted me a Papist, 
 
 the works of papists I defie, 
 I ne're worshipt Saint nor Angel in Heaven, 
 
 nor the Virgin Mary I ; 
 But to Christ, which for my sins did die, 
 
 trickling with salt tears in his sight 
 Spreading my arms to God on high, 
 
 Lord Jesus receive my soul this night. 
 
 Printed by and for A. M. and sold by the booksellers 
 of London.
 
 An excellent Ballad of a Prince of 
 
 England's Courtship to the King of Frances 
 Daughter, and how the Prince was disasterously 
 slain ; and how the aforesaid Princess was after- 
 wards married to a Forrester. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Crimson Velvet. 
 
 In the days of Old, 
 
 when fair France did flourish, 
 Stories plainly told, 
 
 Lovers it annoy : 
 The King a Daughter had, 
 
 beauteous, fair, and lovely 
 Which made her father glad, 
 
 she was his only joy.
 
 400 Ballad of a Prince of England's Courtship. 
 
 A Prince of England came, 
 Whose Deeds did merit fame ; 
 
 he woo'd her long, and loe ! at last, 
 And what he did require, 
 She granted his desire ; 
 
 their hearts in one were linked fast. 
 Which, when her father proved, 
 Lord ! how he was mov&d 
 
 and tormented in his mind ! 
 He sought for to prevent them ; 
 And to discontent them 
 
 Fortune crossed Lovers kind. 
 
 When these Princes twain 
 
 were thus bar'd of pleasure, 
 (Through the King's Disdain, 
 
 which their joys withstood,) 
 The lady lockt up close 
 
 her jewels and her treasure ; 
 Having no remorse 
 
 of State and Royal blood : 
 In homely poor array 
 She went from Court away, 
 
 to meet her love and heart's delio-ht ; 
 
 o 
 
 Who in a Forrest great 
 Had taken up his seat, 
 
 to wait her coming in the night. 
 But, loe, what sudden Danger
 
 Ballad of a Prince of England s Courtship. 401 
 
 To this Princely Stranger 
 
 chanced as he sat alone ! 
 By Out-laws he was robbed, 
 And with Poinard stabbed, 
 
 uttering many a dying Groan. 
 
 The Princess, armed by him, 
 
 and by true Desire, 
 Wandring all that night 
 
 without dread at all : 
 Still unknown she past, 
 
 in her strange attire : 
 Coming at last 
 
 within echoes call 
 You fair wood, quoth she, 
 Honoured may you be, 
 
 harbouring my heart's delight ; 
 Which doth incompass here 
 My Joy and only Dear, 
 
 my trusty friend & comely Knight 
 Sweet, I come unto thee 
 Sweet, I come to woo thee, 
 
 that thou maist not angry be 
 For my long delaying 
 And thy courteous staying 
 
 amends, for all, I'll make to thee I
 
 4O2 Ballad of a Prince of England's Courtship. 
 
 Passing thus alone 
 
 through the silent Forrest, 
 Many a grievous groan 
 
 sounded in her ear ; 
 Where she heard a man 
 
 to lament the sorest 
 Chance that ever came 
 
 forc'd by Deadly strife, 
 Farewel (my Dear) quoth he, 
 Whom I shall never see, 
 
 for why my life is at an end, 
 For thy sweet sake I dye, 
 Thro' Villians cruelty, 
 
 to show I am a faithful friend 
 Here I lie a bleeding, 
 While my thoughts are feeding 
 
 on the rarest beauty found : 
 O hard hap ! that, may be, 
 Little knows my Lady 
 
 my heart blood lies on the ground. 
 
 With that he gave a Groan, 
 that did break in assunder 
 All the tender fixings 
 of his gentle heart : 
 She, who knew his voice, 
 at his tale did wonder ;
 
 Ballad of a Prince of England's Courtship. 403 
 
 All her former joys 
 
 did to grief convert. 
 Straight she ran to see 
 
 who this Man should be, 
 That so like her love did speak ; 
 
 and found, when as she came, 
 Her lovely Lord lay slain, 
 
 smear'd in blood, which life did break. 
 Which when that she espyed, 
 Lord how sore she cried 
 
 sorrows could not counted be ; 
 Her eyes like fountains running, 
 While she cry'd out, My Darling, 
 
 Would God that I had dy'd for thee. 
 
 His pale lips, alas 
 
 twenty times she kissed, 
 And his face did wash 
 
 with her brinish tears ; 
 Ev'ry bleeding wound 
 
 her fair face bedewed, 
 Wiping off the blood 
 
 with her golden hair : 
 Speak, my Lord (quoth she) 
 Speak, fair Prince, to me 
 
 one sweet word of comfort give ! 
 Lift up thy fair eyes, 
 Listen to my cries'
 
 404 Ballad of a Prince of England's Courtship. 
 
 think in what great grief I live ! 
 All in vain she sued, 
 All in vain she wooed, 
 
 the Prince's life was fled and gone ; 
 There stood she, still mourning, 
 Till the Suns approaching, 
 
 & bright day was coming on. 
 
 In this great Distress, 
 
 quoth this Royal Lady, 
 Who can now express 
 
 what will become of me, 
 To my Father's Court 
 
 Never will I wander, 
 But some service seek 
 
 where I may placed be. 
 Whilst she thus made her mone, 
 Weeping all alone, 
 
 in this deep & deadly fear : 
 A Forrester, all in green, 
 Most comely to be seen, 
 
 ranging the wood, did find her there, 
 Round beset with sorrow : 
 Maid (quoth he) good morrow !
 
 Ballad of a Prince of England's Courtship. 405 
 
 what hard hap hath brought ye here ? 
 Harder hap did never 
 Chance to a Maiden ever ; 
 
 here lies slain my Brother dear. 
 
 Where might I be plac'd ? 
 
 gentle Forrester, tell me, 
 Where might I procure 
 
 a service in my need ? 
 Pains will I not spare, 
 
 but would do my duty ; 
 Ease me of my care, 
 
 help my extream need. 
 The Forrester, all amazed, 
 On her beauty gazed, 
 
 till his heart was set on fire : 
 If, fair maid, (quoth he) 
 You will go with me, 
 
 you shall have your heart's desire. 
 He brought her to his mother, 
 And above all other 
 
 he set forth this maiden's praise : 
 Long was his heart inflamed ; 
 At length her love he gained, 
 
 so fortune did his fortune raise. 
 
 Thus unknown he matcht 
 
 with the Kings fair Daughter ; 
 
 Z 2
 
 406 Ballad of a Prince of England 's Courtsliip. 
 
 Children seven he had 
 
 e're she to him was known : 
 But when he understood 
 
 she was a Royal Princess, 
 By this means at last 
 
 he shews forth her fame. 
 He cloathed his children then 
 Not like to other men, 
 
 in partly colours, strange to see ; 
 The right side cloth of gold, 
 The left side, to behold ! 
 
 of woollen cloth still framed he, 
 Men thereat did wonder 
 Golden Fame did thunder 
 
 This strange Deed in every place : 
 The King of France came thither, 
 Being pleasant weather, 
 
 in these woods the hart to chase.. 
 
 The Children there did stand 
 
 as their mother willed, 
 Where the Royal King 
 
 must of force come by. 
 Their mother richly clad 
 
 in fair Crimson Velvet, 
 Their father all in gray, 
 
 most comely to the eye.
 
 Ballad of a Prince of England's Courtship. 407 
 
 When this famous king, 
 Noting every thing, 
 
 did ask how he durst be so bold 
 To let his wife to wear, 
 And deck his Children there, 
 
 in costly Robes of pearl & gold. 
 The Forrester bold replyed, 
 & the cause Descried ; 
 
 & to the king he thus did say : 
 Well may they, by their mother, 
 Wear rich cloaths with other, 
 
 being by birth a Princess gay. 
 
 The king, upon these words, 
 
 more needfully beheld them, 
 Till a crimson blush 
 
 his conceit did cross ; 
 The more I look (quoth he) 
 
 upon thy wife and children, 
 The more I call to mind 
 
 my daughter whom I lost. 
 I am that child (quoth she), 
 Falling on her knee, 
 
 pardon me, my Soveraign Liege. 
 The king perceiving this, 
 His Daughter dear did kiss, 
 
 till joyful tears did stop his speech ;
 
 408 Ballad of a Prince of England's Courtship. 
 
 With his train he turned, 
 And with her sojourned, 
 
 straight he dub'd her husband knight ; 
 He made him Earl of Flanders, 
 One of his chief Commanders : 
 
 thus was their sorrow put to flight. 
 
 Licensed and Entered according to Order. 
 
 Printed by and for Alex. Milbourn, and sold by the 
 Booksellers of Pye-corner and London-Bridge.
 
 Song of an English Merchant, borne 
 
 at Chichester. 
 
 To AN EXCELLENT NEW TUNE. 
 
 A rich Merchant man 
 
 That was both grave and wise, 
 
 Did kill a man at Emden Towne, 
 
 Through quarrels that did rise. 
 
 Through quarrels that did rise 
 
 The German hee was dead, 
 
 And for this fact the Merchant man 
 
 was judg'd to lose his head. 
 A sweet thing is love, 
 It rules both heart and mind ; 
 There is no comfort in the world 
 
 to women that are kind.
 
 4IO Song of an English Merchant 
 
 A Scaffold builded was 
 
 Within the Market-place, 
 
 And all the people, farre and neere, 
 
 Did thither flocke apace : 
 
 Did thither flocke apace 
 
 This dolefull sight to see, 
 
 Who, all in velvet, blacke as Jet, 
 
 unto the place came hee. 
 A sweet thing is love, &c. 
 
 Bare-headed was hee brought, 
 
 His hands were bound before, 
 
 A Cambricke Ruffe about his necke, 
 
 As white as milke hee wore : 
 
 His Stockings were of silke, 
 
 As fine as fine might be ; 
 
 Of person and of countenance 
 
 a proper man was hee. 
 A sweet thing is love, &c. 
 
 When hee was mounted up 
 
 Upon the Scaffold high, 
 
 All women said great pity 'twas 
 
 So sweet a man should die, 
 
 The Merchants of the Towne, 
 
 From death to set him free, 
 
 Did proffer there two thousand pound, 
 
 but yet it would not be. 
 A sweet thing is love, &c.
 
 borne at Chichester. 411 
 
 The Prisoner hereupon 
 
 Began to speake his mind : 
 
 Quoth hee, I have deserved death 
 
 In conscience I doe find ; 
 
 Yet sore against my will 
 
 This man I kild, quoth hee, 
 
 As Christ doth know, which of my soule 
 
 must onely Saviour be. 
 A sweet thing is love &c. 
 
 With heart I doe repent 
 
 The most unhappy deed, 
 
 And for his wife and children small 
 
 My very soule doth bleed : 
 
 This deed is done and past ; 
 
 My hope of life is vaine ; 
 
 And yet the losse of this my life 
 
 to them is little gaine. 
 A sweet thing is love, &c. 
 
 Unto the widow poore 
 
 And her two Babes, therefore, 
 
 I give a hundred pound a piece, 
 
 Their comfort to restore ; 
 
 Desiring at their hands 
 
 No one request but this, 
 
 They will speake well of Englishmen 
 
 though I have done amisse." 
 A sweet thing is love, &c.
 
 412 Song of an English Merchant, &c. 
 
 This was no sooner spoke, 
 
 But that, to stint his griefe, 
 
 Ten goodly Maids did proffer him 
 
 For love to beg his life : 
 
 This is our law, quoth they, 
 
 We may your death remove, 
 
 If you, in lieu of our good will, 
 
 will grant to us your love. 
 A sweet thing is love, &c. 
 
 Brave Englishman, quoth one, 
 'Tis I will beg thy life ! 
 Nay, quoth the second, it is I, 
 If I must be thy wife ! 
 'Tis I ! the third did say ; 
 Nay, quoth the fourth, 'tis I 
 So each one after other said, 
 
 still waiting his reply. 
 A sweet thing is love, 
 It rules both heart and mind ; 
 There is no comfort in the world 
 
 to women that are kind.
 
 The Second Part, to the Same Tune. 
 
 Faire Maidens all, quoth hee, 
 I must confesse, and say 
 That each of you full worthy is 
 To be a Lady gay ; 
 And I unworthy, farre, 
 The worst of you to have, 
 Though you have offered willingly 
 
 my loathed life to save. 
 A sweet thing is love, 
 It rules both heart and mind; 
 There is no comfort in the world 
 
 to women that are kind. 
 
 Then take a thousand thanks 
 
 Of mee, a dying man, 
 
 But speake no more of love nor life, 
 
 For why, my life is gone. 
 
 To Christ my love I give, 
 
 My body unto death, 
 
 For none of you my heart can love, 
 
 though I doe lose my breath, 
 A sweet thing is love, &c. 
 
 Faire Maids, lament no more 
 Your Country Law is such, 
 It takes but hold upon my life, 
 My goods it cannot touch : 
 
 AA
 
 414 Song of an English Merchant, 
 
 Within one chest I have 
 In gold a thousand pound, 
 I give it equall to you all, 
 
 for love which I have found. 
 A sweet thing is love, Sac, 
 
 And now, deare friends, farewell ! 
 Sweet England eake, adieu ! 
 And Chicester, where I was borne, 
 Where first this breath I drew ! 
 And now, thou man of death, 
 Unto thy weapon stand. 
 Ah, nay, another Damsell cry'd, 
 
 sweet Headsman, hold thy hand. 
 A sweet thing is love, &c. 
 
 Now heare a Maiden's plaint, 
 
 Brave Englishman, quoth shee, 
 
 And grant her love, for love againe, 
 
 That craves but love of thee : 
 
 I wooe and sue for love, 
 
 That have beene wooed ere this, 
 
 Then grant mee love and therewithall 
 
 shee proffers him a kisse. 
 A sweet thing is love, &c.
 
 borne at Chichester. 415 
 
 And die within mine armes, 
 If thou wilt die, quoth shee ; 
 Yea, live or die, sweet Englishman, 
 He live and die with thee. 
 But can it be, hee said, 
 That thou dost love mee so ? 
 'Tis not by long acquaintance, sir, 
 whereby true love doth grow ! 
 A sweet thing is love, &c. 
 
 Then beg my life, 'quoth hee, 
 
 And I will be thine owne ! 
 
 If I should seeke the world for love, 
 
 More love cannot be showne. 
 
 The people, on that word, 
 
 Did give a joyfull cry, 
 
 And said it had great pitie been 
 
 so sweet a man should die. 
 A siveet thing is love, &c. 
 
 I goe, my Love, shee said, 
 
 I run, I fly for thee ! 
 
 And, gentle Headsman, spare a while 
 
 My Lover's life for mee ! 
 
 Unto the Duke shee went, 
 
 Who did her griefe remove ; 
 
 And, with an hundred Maidens more, 
 
 shee went to fetch her Love. 
 A sweet thing is love, &c
 
 1 6 Song of an English Merchant, 
 
 With musicke sounding sweet, 
 
 The formost of the traine, 
 
 This gallant Maiden, like a Bride, 
 
 Did fetch him backe againe: 
 
 Yea, hand in hand they went 
 
 Unto the Church that day, 
 
 And they were married presently 
 
 in sumptuous rich array. 
 A sweet thing is love, &c. 
 
 To England came hee then 
 
 With this his lovely Bride, 
 
 A fairer woman never lay 
 
 By any Merchant's side : 
 
 Where I must leave them now, 
 
 In pleasure and delight ; 
 
 But of their name and dwelling-place 
 
 I must not here recite. 
 A sweet thing is love, 
 It 'rules both heart and mind ; 
 There is no comfort in the world 
 
 to women that are kind. 
 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed at London for Francis Coules, 
 in the Old-Bayley.
 
 An excellent Song, wherein you shall fmde 
 Great consolation for a troubled minde. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Fortune my Foe I 
 
 Ayme not too hie in things above thy reach ; 
 Be not too foolish in thine owne conceit ; 
 As thou hast wit and wordly wealth at will, 
 So give him thanks that shall encrease it still.
 
 4i 8 An Excellent Song, Wherein you shall find, 
 
 Re ware of pride, the mother of mishap, 
 Whose sugred snares will seeke thee to entrap ; 
 Be meeke in heart, and lowly minded still, 
 So shalt thou Gods Commandements fulfill. 
 
 Cast all thy care upon the Lord, and he, 
 In thy distresse, will send to succour thee ; 
 Cease not, therefore to serve him every day 
 Who with his blood thy ransome once did pay. 
 
 Drive from thy heart ill thoughts that may offend ; 
 Desire of God his holy spirit to send, 
 Which will direct thy life in such a sort 
 As thou thereby shalt find joy and comfort. 
 
 Expect each day and houre when Christ shall come 
 With power to judge the world both all and some ; 
 Be ready then, and with the Bridegroome Christ, 
 Receive reward in heaven amcng the highest. 
 
 Feare to offend his heavenly Majestic ; 
 Faith doth confirme true love and loyaltie ; 
 Without which faith, as holie Scriptures say. 
 No man to heaven can find the perfect way. 
 
 Great is the Lord and merciful!, doubtlesse, 
 To those that with true zeale their faults confesse ; 
 But unto those in mischiefe dayly runnes, 
 He lets alone to taste what after comes.
 
 Great Consolation for a troubled Mind. 419 
 
 Hope in the Lord, on him repose thy trust; 
 
 Serve him with feare, whose judgements are most 
 
 just ; 
 
 Desire of him thy life so to direct 
 That to thy soule he may have good respect. 
 
 Injure no man, but love thine enemie, 
 Though to thy hurt, yet take it patiently, 
 And thinke the Lord, although he suffer long, 
 When time shal serve, will soon revenge thy wrong. 
 
 Keepe thou no ranckor hidden in thy heart ; 
 Remember well the word Christ did impart, 
 That is, Forgive offences over-past, 
 As thou thy selfe wilt be forgiven at last 
 
 Lay not thy treasure up in hoarding sort, 
 But therewithall the poore feed and comfort ; 
 If thou cold water give in Christ his name, 
 Thrice double told, he will reward the same. 
 
 Misorder not thyselfe in any wise, 
 In meat and drinke let reason still suffice : 
 Moderate thy mind, and keepe thy selfe content ; 
 So shalt thou please the Lord Omnipotent
 
 The second Part, to the same Tune. 
 
 No man can say that he is voyd of sin, 
 For, if he doe, he's much deceiv'd therein ; 
 The Lord doth say The just seven times a day 
 Committeth sin, and runneth oft astray. 
 
 Obey his will who, to redeeme thy losse, 
 Did shed his blood for us upon the Crosse ; 
 Such was the love that Christ did shew to man ; 
 Why should we be ungratefull to him than ? 
 
 Pittie the poore with such as God hath sent, 
 And be not proud with that which he hath lent ; 
 Remember well what Christ hath said to thee 
 Doe this as though thou didst it unto mee. 
 
 Quench fond desires, and pleasures of the flesh ; 
 Flie gluttonie, the Mother of excesse ; 
 For whoordome is the very sinke of sin, 
 In which the wicked daily wallow in. 
 
 Root from thy heart malicious thoughts, be sure, 
 Which are a meanes Gods judgements to procure ; 
 For, be assur'd, when envie beareth sway, 
 The feare of God departeth soone away.
 
 An excellent Song. &c., 421 
 
 Subdue thy selfe ; let wisedome be thy guide ; 
 Suppresse ill thoughts ; beware of hatefull pride ; 
 Despise the world, a vaile of vanities, 
 Lest hedlong thou runst on in miseries. 
 
 Turne unto me, our Saviour Christ doth say, 
 And I will heare thy prayers every day : 
 If any thing thou aske in Christ his name, 
 Be well assur'd thou shalt obtaine the same. 
 
 Vaine exercise abolish from thy sight ; 
 Desire of God his faith and holy Spirit ; 
 Who will direct thee in the perfect way 
 That leads to life, asholy Scriptures say. 
 
 When Satan seekes to tempt thee any way, 
 Call upon God, thy onely strength and stay ; 
 And be assur'd, from out his holy hill, 
 He will preserve thy life from danger still. 
 
 Experience of his love, that lends thee life, 
 Must make thee seeke to live devoyd of strife ; 
 Let His love be thy rule, who so lov'd thee, 
 That death he underwent to set thee free. 
 
 Yong men and maids, old men and babes, repent, 
 Lest for your sins you, at the last, be shent : 
 Be wise, take heed, doe not the time delay, 
 For Christ must be our Judge at the last day. 
 
 AA 2
 
 422 Wherein you shall, &c. 
 
 Zeale like to fire ! our good works let make bright, 
 That others thereof may behold the light : 
 Light up your Lamps, and, with the Virgins five, 
 Have oyle in stoore to keepe your Lamps alive. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed at London by the Assignes of Thomas 
 Symcocke.
 
 An excellent new Ditty : 
 
 Or, 
 
 Which proveth that women the best.Warriers be, 
 For they made the Devill from earth for to flee. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF DeatJis Dance. 
 
 Old Beelzebub, merry 
 
 disposed to be, 
 To earth hee did hurry, 
 
 some pastime to see. 
 A Landlord he proved, 
 
 and Leases would let 
 To all them that loved 
 
 a long life to get. 
 
 Come hither, all mortalls, 
 
 (quoth the Devill of Hell) 
 Come long-tailes and curtailes, 
 
 now unto my Cell ; 
 To you I here proffer 
 
 a bargaine to buy ; 
 If you'l take my offer 
 
 you never shall dye.
 
 424 An Excellent new Ditty, 
 
 This bargaine them pleased ; 
 
 they long'd it to game ; 
 The sicke and diseased 
 
 came thither amaine, 
 And, though they were crasie, 
 
 they hither could flye ; 
 The sluggard and lazy 
 
 this bargaine would buy. 
 
 The Gallants and Gentry, 
 
 his loue to imbrace, 
 From City and Country 
 
 flockt hither apace ; 
 Long life they desired, 
 
 with much jollity ; 
 Their hearts they were fired 
 
 this bargaine to buy. 
 
 The Dames of the City 
 
 came hither with speed ; 
 Your, Merchant- wives pretty 
 
 would scale to this deed. 
 To live with a Lover 
 
 and never to dye ; 
 Here Courtesans hover, 
 
 this bargaine to buy.
 
 Or, "Woman the best Warriers. 425 
 
 No females there wanted, 
 
 But hither they came ; 
 They came till they panted, 
 
 To purchase the same ; 
 Wives, Widdowes, and Maidens 
 
 to the Devill did hye 
 Brave Lasses and Ladies 
 
 this bargaine would buy. 
 
 The Lecher, which viewed 
 
 such pretty ones there, 
 His love was renewed, 
 
 and hee'd have a share ; 
 And here he sojourned, 
 
 cause never hee'd dye ; 
 His heart it was burned 
 
 this bargaine to buy. 
 
 Now wicked sonnes, roaring, 
 
 that had their meanes spent 
 In Dicing and Whoring, 
 
 to this office went ; 
 Apace they here gather, 
 
 because they'd not dye, 
 But, to outlive their r ather, 
 
 this bargaine they'd buy.
 
 The second part, to the same Tune. 
 
 Next comes the Shoemaker 
 
 to crave a long life, 
 Here, to be partaker, 
 
 he brought his fine wife ; 
 The Taylors attend here, 
 
 for money they cry, 
 And follow the spender 
 
 this bargaine to buy. 
 
 The Usurers follow, 
 
 that pawnes have in hand ; 
 With whoop and with hollow 
 
 they call for the Land 
 Which spend-thrifts pawne to them 
 
 while for cash they hye ; 
 To live to undoe them 
 
 this bargaine they'l buy. 
 
 Next came these rich Farmers 
 
 that coozin the poore ; 
 And hoord up in corners 
 
 provision and store ; 
 To live till a deare yeere, 
 
 and never to dye, 
 These greedy corn-mizers 
 
 this bargaine would buy.
 
 Or, Woman the best Warriers. 
 
 Now Brokers came hither, 
 
 that in their hands had 
 Pawnes heaped together , 
 
 both good ones and bad ; 
 To live till they view them 
 
 all forfeited lye, 
 To the Deuill they sue, then, 
 
 this bargaine to buy. 
 
 This purchase contented 
 
 the Deuill of Hell ; 
 To see such flockes enter 
 
 all into his Cell ; 
 Yet still he proclaimed 
 
 they never should dye, 
 Who ere it was aimed 
 
 this bargaine to buy. 
 
 Next came the poore women 
 
 that cry fish and Oysters ; 
 They flocke here in common, 
 
 and many great clutsers ; 
 They ran hither scolding, 
 
 and to the Deuill cry, 
 Sir, wee'd be beholding 
 
 this bargaine to buy. 
 
 427
 
 428 An Excellent new Ditty. 
 
 But when these came hither 
 
 they kept such a noyse, 
 Each brabled with other 
 
 which first should have choise, 
 As that their noyse frighted 
 
 the Deuill of Hell ; 
 No more he delighted 
 
 such bargaines to sell. 
 
 Quoth he, I must from them, 
 
 for, should I stay here, 
 In pieces, amcng them, 
 
 my body they'l teare 
 (Quoth he) I am willing 
 
 to deale among men, 
 But nere will have dealing 
 
 'mongst women agen. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed at London for H. G.
 
 An excellent Sonnet : 
 
 or, 
 
 The Swaine's complaint, whose cruell doome 
 It was to love hee knew not whom. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Bodkins Galiard. ' 
 
 You gentle Nimphs, that on the Meddowes play, 
 and oft relate the Loves of Shepheards young, 
 
 Come, sit you downe, if that you please to stay, 
 now may you heare an uncouth passion-song : 
 
 A Lad there is, and I am that poore groome, 
 That ' s fal'n in love, and cannot tell with whom. 
 
 Oh, doe not smile at sorrow as a jest ; 
 
 with others' cares good natures moved be ; 
 And I should weepe if you had my unrest, 
 
 then at my griefe how can you merry be ? 
 Ah ! where is tender pitty now become ? 
 
 / am in love, and cannot tell with whom. 
 
 I, that have oft the rarest features view'd, 
 and beauty in her best perfection seene ; 
 
 I, that have laugh't at them that love pursu'd, 
 and ever free from such [af]fections beene, 
 
 Loe ! now, at last so cruell is my doome ; 
 / am in love, and cannot tell with whom. 
 
 BB
 
 430 An excellent Sonnet \ 
 
 My heart is full nigh bursting with desire, 
 
 yet cannot tell from whence these longings flow; 
 
 My brest doth burne, but she that light the hre 
 I never saw, nor can I come to know ; 
 
 So great a blisse my fortune keeps me from, 
 That, though I dearely love, I know not whom. 
 
 Ere I had twice foure Springs renewed scene, 
 the force of beauty I began to prove ; 
 
 And, ere I nine yeeres old had fully beene, 
 it taught me how to frame a sound of love ; 
 
 And little thought I this day should have come, 
 Before that I to love had found out whom. 
 
 For on my chin the mossy downe you see, 
 
 and in my vaines well heated blood doth gloe ; 
 
 Of Summers I have scene twice three times three, 
 and fast my youthfull time away doth goe ; 
 
 That much I feare, I aged shall become 
 
 And still complaine I love I know not whom. 
 
 O why had I a heart bestow'd on me 
 to cherish deare affections so inclin'd ? 
 
 Since I am so unhappy borne to be, 
 no object for so true a love to find. 
 
 When I am dead it will be mist of some, 
 Yet, now I live, I love I know not whom.
 
 The Swaines Complaint. 431 
 
 I to a thousand beauteous Nimphs am knowne ; 
 
 a hundred Ladies favours doe I sweare ; 
 I with as many half in love am growne, 
 
 yet none of them I find can be my deare. 
 Methinks I have a Mistresse yet to come. 
 
 Which makes me sing, I Love I know not whom. 
 
 The Second Part, to the Same Tune. 
 
 There lives no swaine doth stronger passion prove 
 for her, whom most he coverts to possesse ; 
 
 Then doth my heart that, being full of love, 
 knowes not to whom it may the same professe. 
 
 For he that his despis'd hath sorrow some, 
 
 But he hath more, that loves and knowes not whom. 
 
 Knew I my love, as many others doe, 
 
 to some one object might my thoughts be bent ; 
 So they, divided, wandring should not goe, 
 
 untill the soule's united force be spent ; 
 As he that seekes and never finds a home, 
 
 Such is my rest> that love and knowe not whom.
 
 432 An Excellent Sonnet. 
 
 Those whom the frownes of jealous friends divide, 
 may live to meet, and descant of their woe ; 
 
 And he hath gain'd a Lady for his Bride 
 
 that durst not wooe his Maide a while agoe : 
 
 But oh ! what ends unto my hopes can come, 
 That am in love, and cannot tell with whom. 
 
 Poore Collin grieves that he was late disdain'd, 
 and Chloris doth for Willies absence pine ; 
 
 Sad Thyrsis weepes, for his sicke Phoebe pain'd, 
 but all their sorrowes cannot equall mine : 
 
 A greater care on me, alas ! -is come 
 
 / am in love, and cannot tell with whom. 
 
 Narcissus-Vike, did I affect my shade, 
 some shadow yet I had to dote upon ; 
 
 Or did I love some Image of the dead, 
 
 whose substance had not breathed long agoe, 
 
 I might despaire and so an end would come; 
 
 But ok / I love, and cannot tell with whom. 
 
 Once in a dreame methought my love I view'd, 
 but never waking could her face behold ; 
 
 And doubtlesse that resemblance was but shew'd, 
 that more my tired heart torment it should : 
 
 For, since that time, more griev'd I am become, 
 
 And more in love, I cannot tell with whom.
 
 The Swaines Complaint. 433 
 
 When on my bed at night to rest I lye, 
 
 my watchfull eyes with teares bedew my cheekes; 
 
 And then Oh, would it once were day ! I cry, 
 yet when it comes I am as farre to seeke : 
 
 For who can tell, though all the earth he rome, 
 
 Or when, or where, tofinde he knowes not whom. 
 
 Oh ! if she be amongst the beauteous traines 
 of all the Nimphs that haunt the severall Kills, 
 
 Or if you know her, Ladies of the plaines, 
 or you that have your Bowers on the Hills, 
 
 Tell, if you can, who will my love become, 
 
 Or I shall die, and never know for whom. 
 
 Printed at London for /. Wright, dwelling in Gil- 
 spurre street, neere New-gate. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 Faire fall all good Tokens, 
 
 Or, 
 
 A pleasant new Song, not common to be had, 
 "Which will teach you to know good tokens from 
 bad. 
 
 To A PLEASANT NEW TUNE. 
 
 To you that have bad tokens 
 
 this matter I indight, 
 Yet nothing shall be spoken 
 
 that shall your minds afright : 
 Be silent, therefore, and stand still ! 
 
 marke what proceedeth from my Quill ; 
 I speake of tokens good and ill, 
 
 and such as are not right. 
 
 
 But first He have you understand, 
 
 before that I doe passe, 
 That there are many tokens 
 
 which are not made of brasse ; 
 It is a token of my love 
 
 that I to you this matter move ; 
 For many tokens bad doe proove, 
 
 we see in every place.
 
 Fair e fall all good Tokens. 435 
 
 Yet by all signes and tokens, 
 
 as I may judge or thinke, 
 The man that hath lost both his eyes, 
 
 he cannot chuse but winke. 
 But some will winke when they may see 
 
 but that is nothing unto me : 
 Some shut their eyes to have a fee, 
 
 which are in love with chinke. 
 
 He that hath gain'd much silver, 
 
 and doth possesse much gold, 
 It 's a token that he shall be rich, 
 
 if he his substance hold : , 
 
 But he that hath but little store, 
 
 and spendeth all and something more, 
 It's a token that he shall dye poore, 
 
 to say't you may be bold. 
 
 He that is a very foole, 
 
 and wisedome doth despise, 
 It 's a token that be shall be old 
 
 if he live till he be wise : 
 And he that hath great store of wit, 
 
 and maketh no right use of it, 
 It 's a token that he is unfit 
 
 in honour to arise.
 
 436 Fair e fall all good Tokens. 
 
 But this is a bad token, 
 
 marke well what I shall say 
 When a young man hath a handsome wife, 
 
 and lets her run astray, 
 It is a token she will be naught, 
 
 and quickly unto lewdnesse brought ; 
 If that she be no better taught, 
 
 shee'll bring him to decay. 
 
 The second part, to the same Tune. 
 
 He that hath a fiery nose, 
 
 which lookes like Claret red, 
 It 's a token then he doth consume 
 
 in drinke more then in bread ; 
 For if his nose be fiery hot, 
 
 it's a token that he loves the pot ; 
 He hates small drinke, and loves it not, 
 
 he hath not so beene fed. 
 
 Then faire fall all good tokens ! 
 
 now it comes into mind 
 Marke which way sits the Wether-cocke, 
 
 and that way blowes the wind : 
 Marke which way rowles a Wantons eye, 
 
 and something you may see thereby ; 
 Or, if you please, then you may trie, 
 
 and so the truth may finde.
 
 Faire fall all good Tokens. 437 
 
 He that hath liv'd in wickednesse, 
 
 and doth in vice remaine, 
 It is a token he hath no care 
 
 to free his soule from paine. 
 When conscience doth on Crutches creepe, 
 
 'its a token Truth is lull'd asleepe, 
 Which makes poore men, in dangers deepe, 
 
 to call and cry in vaine. 
 
 But this is a token of a truth 
 
 which doth betoken ill : 
 An angry wife will worke much woe, 
 
 but shee will have her will ; 
 For if she chance to bend her browe, 
 
 or seeme to looke I know not how, 
 It 's a token she will scold, I vow, 
 
 her tongue will not lye still. 
 
 But this is a true token, 
 
 then marke my word aright ! 
 When Sol is setting in the West 
 
 the world will lose her light 
 So when an old man's head growes gray, 
 
 he may thinke on his dying day, 
 For to the grave he must away, 
 
 and bid the world good night. 
 
 BB 2
 
 Fair e fall all good Tokens. 
 
 He that hath a wand'ring eye, 
 
 and loves lewd women deare, 
 It's a token that heele prove a knave ; 
 
 But He tell you in your eare, 
 For sure you never saw the like, 
 
 a Souldier loves to tosse a pike ; 
 The Tapster draws, but dares not strike, 
 
 which doth betoken feare, 
 
 Then faire fall all good tokens 
 
 and well fare a good heart 
 For by all signes and tokens 
 
 'tis time for to depart. 
 And now it 's time to end my song, 
 
 I hope I have done no man wrong ; 
 For he that cannot rule his tongue 
 
 shall feele a greater smart. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed at London for Henry Gossan.
 
 A Friend's Advice, 
 
 in an excellent Ditty, concerning the variable 
 changes in this Life. 
 
 To A PLEASANT NEW TUNE. 
 
 What, if a day, or a month, or a yeare, 
 
 Crown thy desires with a thousand wisht con- 
 
 tentings 
 
 Cannot the chance of a night, or an houre, 
 Crosse thy delights with as many sad tormentings ? 
 Fortunes, in their fairest birth, 
 Are but blossoms dying ; 
 Wanton pleasures, doting mirth, 
 Are but shadowes flying : 
 All your joyes are but toyes, 
 Idle thoughts deceiving ; 
 None hath power of an houre 
 
 In our lives bereaving. 
 
 i* 
 What, if a smile, or a becke, or a looke, 
 
 Feed thy fond thoughts with many a sweet conceiv- 
 ing 
 
 May not that smile, or that beck, or that looke, 
 Tell thee as well they are but vain deceiving ? 
 Why should beauty be so proud 
 In things of no surmounting ? 
 All her wealth is but a shroud 
 Of a rich accounting !
 
 44O A Friend's Advice. 
 
 Then in this repose no blisse, 
 Which is so vaine and idle : 
 Beauties' flowers have their houres, 
 Time doth hold the bridle. 
 
 What, if the world, with allures of her wealth , 
 
 Raise thy degree to a place of high advancing ! 
 
 May not the World, by a check of that wealth, 
 
 Put thee again to a low despised chancing ? 
 
 Whilst the Sun of wealth doth shine 
 
 Thou shalt have friends plenty ; 
 
 But, come Want, then they repine, 
 
 Not one abides of twenty. 
 
 Wealth and Friends holds, and ends, 
 
 As your fortunes rise and fall ; 
 
 Up and downe, smile and frowne, 
 
 Certaine is no state at all. 
 
 
 
 What, if a grief, or a straine, or a fit, 
 
 Pinch thee with pain, or the feeling pangs of sick- 
 
 nes 
 
 Doth not that gripe, or that straine, or that fit, 
 Shew thee the form of thy own true perfect likenes 
 Health is -but a glimpse of ioy, 
 Subject to all changes ; 
 Mirth is but a silly toy 
 Which mishap estranges.
 
 A Friend's Advice. 441 
 
 Tell me, than, silly Man, 
 Why art thou so weak of wit 
 As to be in jeopardy 
 When thou mayest in quiet sit 
 
 Then, if all this have declar'd thine amisse, 
 
 Take it from me as a gentle friendly warning ; 
 
 If thou refuse, and good counsell abuse, 
 
 Thou maist hereafter dearly buy thy learning ; 
 
 All is hazard that we have, 
 
 Here is nothing bideing ; 
 
 Dayes of pleasure are like streams 
 
 Through faire Medows gliding. 
 
 Wealth or woe; time doth goe, 
 
 There is no returning ; 
 
 Secret Fates guide our states 
 
 Both in mirth and mourning. 
 
 The Second Part, to the Same Tune. 
 
 Man's but a blast, or a smoak, or a cloud, 
 That in a thought, or a moment, is dispersed : 
 Life's but a span, or a tale, or a word, 
 That in a trice, or suddaine, is rehearsed :
 
 442 A Friend's Advice. 
 
 Hopes are chang'd, and thoughts are crost, 
 
 Will nor skill prevaileth : 
 
 Though we may laugh and live at 'ease, 
 
 Change of thoughts assayleth. 
 
 Though awile Fortune smile, 
 
 And her comforts crowneth, 
 
 Yet at length fails her strength, 
 
 And, in fine, she frowneth. 
 
 Thus are the joyes of a yeare in an hower, 
 
 And of a month in a moment, quite expired, 
 
 And in the night, with the word of a noyse, 
 
 Crost by the day, of an ease our hearts desired 
 
 Fairest blossoms soonest fade, 
 
 Withered, foule, and rotten, 
 
 And, through grief, oui greatest joyes 
 
 Quickly are forgotten : 
 
 Seeke not, then, (mortall men !) 
 
 Earthly fleeting pleasure, 
 
 But with paine strive to gaine 
 
 Heavenly lasting treasure. 
 
 Earth to the World, as a Man to the Earth, 
 Hath but a point, and a point soon defaced : 
 Flesh to the Soule, as a Flower to the Sun, 
 That in a storme or a tempest is disgraced.
 
 A Friend's Advice, 443 
 
 Fortune may the Body please, 
 Which is onely carnall, 
 But it will the Soule disease, 
 That is still immortal, 
 Earthly joyes are but toyes 
 To the Soules election ; 
 Worldly grace doth deface 
 Man's divine perfection. 
 
 Fleshly delights to the earth, that is fleshly, 
 
 May be the cause of a thousand sweet contentings ; 
 
 But the defaults of a fleshly desire 
 
 Brings to the soule many thousand sad tormentings. 
 
 Be not prjud, presumptuous Man ! 
 
 Sith thou art a point so base 
 
 Of the least and lowest Element 
 
 Which hath least and lowest place : 
 
 Mark thy fate and ihy state, 
 
 Which is onely earth and dust, 
 
 And asgrasse, which, alasse 
 
 Shortly surely perish must. 
 
 Let not the hopes of an earthly desire 
 
 Bar thee the joyes of an endlesse contentation, 
 
 Nor let not thy eye on the world be so fixt, 
 
 To hinder thy heart from unfained recantation.
 
 444 <A Friend's Advice. 
 
 Be not backward in that course 
 That may bring the Souls delight, 
 Though another way may seem 
 Far more pleasant to thy sight ; 
 Doe not goo, if he sayes no, 
 That knowes the secrets of thy minde ; 
 Follow this, thou shalt not misse 
 An endless happinesse to finde. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed by the Assignes of Thomas Syrncocke.
 
 The FOUR WONDERS of this Land, 
 
 Which unto you we will declare : 
 The Lord's great Mercy it is great ; 
 
 God give us Grace to stand in fear, 
 And watch and pray both Night and Day, 
 
 That God may give us all his Grace, 
 To repent our Sins then every one, 
 
 Our time is going on apace. 
 
 , * 
 
 TUNE OF Dear Love, regard my Grief, &c. 
 
 Licensed according to Order. 
 
 WEET England, call for grace 
 with speed leave off thy Sin, 
 And with a contrite heart 
 to prayers now begin. 
 
 cc
 
 446 The four Wonders of this Land. 
 
 For sure the time is come 
 that Christ our Saviour told ; 
 
 Towards the latter Day 
 we wonders shall behold. 
 
 And now strange Wonders rare 
 the Lord from Heaven doth send, 
 
 In earth and in the Air, 
 because we should amend. 
 
 Great Lights within the Skie 
 hath oft been seen, we hear, 
 
 To many People's view, 
 in Countries far and near. 
 
 But what it doth presage 
 
 no Man on Earth do's know ; 
 
 None but the living God 
 
 such Wonders strange can show. 
 
 But to the Subject now 
 
 which I do mean to write, 
 The strangest News I'll tell 
 
 which Time has brought to light. 
 
 N London now doth live 
 one Mr. Clark, by name, 
 
 A Taylor by his trade, 
 of good Report and Fame.
 
 The four Wonders of this Land. 447 
 
 His Wife being with Child, 
 
 unto her Grief and Woe, 
 She with a Neighbours Wife 
 
 fell out the Truth is so. 
 
 And, after many Words, 
 
 to fighting then they go ; 
 This Woman, being with Child, 
 
 received a grievous Blow 
 
 Upon her Belly ; then 
 
 (which makes my Heart to bleed) 
 That she went home, and sent 
 
 for Midwife's help, with speed. 
 
 In hast the Midwife came, 
 
 and other Women store 
 Which by the help of God, 
 
 she Seven Children bore ! 
 
 Seven dainty Boys she had, 
 
 all which were born in sight, 
 All fram'd with perfect Shape, 
 
 with Joints and Limbs aright. 
 
 But they were all Still-born, 
 
 which griev'd their Parents sore ; 
 But of the Works of God 
 
 in this they do deplore.
 
 448 The four Wonders of this Land. 
 
 The Woman now doth mend, 
 
 whereby God's Works are known ; 
 
 And now this wondrous News 
 both far and near is shown. 
 
 HE Second News I tell 
 
 comes from brave Yorkshire 
 
 A Monster there was born, 
 the like you ne'er did hear. 
 
 Three miles from Pomfret lived 
 a woman of great Worth, 
 
 In travail fell, and brought 
 to light a monstrous Birth : 
 
 Just the shape of a Colt, 
 
 to all the Peoples sight ; 
 Which bred Amazement great, 
 
 with Tears and with Fright 
 
 To see this Woman's Grief, 
 and Trouble of her mind 
 
 In bringing forth a Colt, 
 contrary unto kind. 
 
 Long Legs, round Feet, long Nose, 
 and Headed like a Horse ; 
 
 Which fill'd these Women's Hearts 
 with pity and Remorse
 
 The four Wonders of this Land. 449 
 
 This Woman now doth mend, 
 
 whereby God's Works are known : 
 And now this wondrous newes 
 
 both far and near is shown. 
 
 ND the Third News most rare, 
 the which I have to tell, 
 
 London can witness true, 
 that there a Monster fell. 
 
 In Christ-Church Parish lived 
 a Woman known full well, 
 
 Of honest Carnage, which 
 her Neighbours all can tell. 
 
 This Woman being with Child, 
 which Grief and Sorrow bred, 
 
 Into the World she bore 
 a Child without a Head. 
 
 The Face was in the Breast, 
 To all the People's view ; 
 
 But it died suddenly : 
 this is approved true. 
 
 It is for certain true, 
 and is approved plain ; 
 
 From Earth, I say, it came, 
 and to Earth it turn'd again.
 
 450 The four Wonders of this Land. 
 
 These Woman now all three 
 
 are on the mending hand : 
 But Three such monstrous Births 
 
 was ne'er in fair England. 
 
 HE Fourth News most rare, 
 the which I have to tell 
 
 In famous Gloucestershire 
 a wondrous Shower fell. 
 
 Not far from Gloiicester Town, 
 a Place is call'd Brandwood, 
 
 Upon a Hedge of Cloaths, 
 for truth, it rained Blood. 
 
 A Maid being starching there, 
 as Reason doth require, 
 
 She went to fetch in Wood 
 Wherewith to make a Fire : 
 
 And having on such Cuffs 
 as Starchers oft doe use, 
 
 Upon them fell some drops 
 of Blood made her to muse. 
 
 And holding up her Head, 
 which made her wonder more, 
 
 She saw the Hedge of Cloaths 
 with Blood besprinkl'd o'er.
 
 The four Wonders of this Land. 451 
 
 Then she throw'd down the Wood, 
 
 and, with amazement great, 
 She went into the House, 
 
 and this News did repeat. 
 
 The People then came forth, 
 
 and found the News was true, 
 They saw the Hedge of Cloaths 
 
 with Blood besprinkl'd to their view. 
 
 Then they took in the Cloaths, 
 
 and wash'd them that same Day ; 
 But Water, Leez, nor Soap, 
 
 could take the Blood away. 
 
 We are so wicked grown, 
 
 the Heavens do for us bleed, 
 And Wonders strange are shown 
 
 all this is true indeed. 
 
 Sodom was warn'd afore, 
 
 so was Jerusalem, 
 And many Places more, 
 
 whom God did plague for Sin. 
 
 But we are like the Jews, 
 
 our Hearts are now so hard 
 That we will not believe, 
 
 nor yet God's Word regard.
 
 452 7 he four Wonders of this Land. 
 
 Now think upon each Sin, 
 
 Pride, Whoredom, Drunkenness, 
 
 Swearing, Deceit, and Lyes, 
 and vile Covetousness. 
 
 Then we shall see our God 
 
 will take us for his own, 
 If we believe these Signs 
 
 and Tokens God hath shown. 
 
 Concluding thus my News, 
 The God of Truth and Peace 
 
 Grant that the Gospel may 
 continually encrease. 
 
 Drmtrtj for Hi. lirooliefcy, at tljr tSoiDr n iSaU in 
 
 (jTorncr,
 
 The Fox-Chace : 
 
 Or, 
 
 The Huntsman's Harmony, 
 
 By the 
 
 Noble Duke of Buckingham's Hounds, &c. 
 
 To AN EXCELLENT TUNE MUCH IN REQUEST. 
 
 Liccnsd and entered according to Order. 
 
 All in a Morning fair, 
 
 o 
 
 As I rode to take the Air,
 
 454 The Fox Chase. 
 
 I heard some to holloo most clearly ; 
 
 I drew myself near, 
 
 To listen who they were 
 That were going a Hunting so early. 
 
 I saw they were some Gentlemen 
 
 Who belong'd to the Duke of Buckingham, 
 That were going to make there a Tryal 
 
 To run the Hounds of the North, 
 
 Being of such fame and Worth, 
 England has not the like, without all Denial. 
 
 Then in Wreckledale Scrogs 
 
 We threw off our Dogs, 
 In a place where his Lying was likely ; 
 
 But the like ne'er was seen 
 
 Since a Huntsman I have been, 
 Never Hounds found a Fox more quickly. 
 
 There was Dido, and Spanker, 
 
 And Younker was there, 
 And Ruler, that ne'er looks behind him ; 
 
 There was Rose, and Bonny Lass, 
 
 Who were always in the chace ; 
 These were part of the Hounds that did find him. 
 
 Mr. Tybbals cries Away, 
 Heark away ! heark away !
 
 The Fox Chase. 
 
 With that our Foot huntsmen did hear him ; 
 
 Tom Mossman cries Codsounds, 
 
 Uncouple all your hounds, 
 Or else we shall never come near him. 
 
 Then Caper, and Countess, 
 And Comely, were thrown off, 
 
 With Famous, Thumper, and Cryer, 
 And several Hounds beside, 
 Whose Stoutness there was try'd, 
 
 And not one in the Pack that did tire. 
 
 455 
 
 Our Hounds came in apace, 
 
 And we fell into a Chace, 
 And thus we pursu'd this poor Creature ; 
 
 With English and French Horn 
 
 We encourag'd our Hounds that Morn, 
 And our Cry it was greater and greater.
 
 456 The Fox Chase. 
 
 It could not be exprest 
 
 Which Hound ran the best, 
 For they ran on a breast all together ; 
 
 They ran at such a rate 
 
 As you have not heard of late, 
 When they chac'd him i'th' Vallies together. 
 
 Then to the Moor he twin'd, 
 
 Being clean against the Wind, 
 Thinking he might ha' cross'd it over ; 
 
 But our Hounds ran so hard, 
 
 They made this Fox afraid, 
 And forc'd him to turn to his Cover. 
 
 Up the Hills he runs along, 
 And his Cover was full strong, 
 
 But I think he had no great Ease on't, 
 For they ran with such a Cry, 
 That their Echoes made him fly ; 
 
 I'll assure you our Sport it was pleasant. 
 
 Then homeward he hies, 
 
 And in Wreckledale he lies, 
 Thinking the Wind it might save him ; 
 
 But our Hounds ran him so near, 
 
 That they posted him with Fear, 
 And our Horsemen they did deceive him.
 
 The Fox Chase. 457 
 
 For Squire Whitcliffe rode amain, 
 
 And he whipt it o're the Plain ; 
 Mr. Watson his Horse did not favour ; 
 
 They rode up the highest Hills, 
 
 And down the steepest Dales, 
 Expecting his Life for their Labour. 
 
 Mr. Tybbals rode his Part ; 
 
 Although this Chace was smart, 
 Default they were seldom, or never ; 
 
 But ever by and by 
 
 To the hounds he would cry, 
 Halloo, Halloo, halloo ! Heark away all together. 
 
 Tom Mossman he rode short, 
 
 Yet he help'd us in our Sport, 
 For he came in both Cursing and Swearing ; 
 
 But when 't was in his Power, 
 
 He cry'd out, That's our Lilly, Whore, 
 Heark to Caperman, now Slaughter-man runs near 
 him ! 
 
 Then t.o Skipland Wood he goes, 
 
 Being pursued by his foes, 
 The Company after him did follow ; 
 
 An Untarpage there we had, 
 
 Which made our Huntsmen full glad, 
 For we gave him many a Holloo.
 
 45 8 The Fox Chase. 
 
 So the Sport being almost done, 
 
 And the Chace being almost run, 
 He thought to ha' cross'd the River ; 
 
 But our Hounds being in, 
 
 They after him did swim, 
 And so they destroy 'd him for ever. 
 
 Then Leppin took a Horn, 
 
 As good as e're was blown ; 
 Tom Mossman bid him wind his Death then ; 
 
 The Country People all 
 
 Came flocking to his Fall ; 
 This was Honour enough for a French Man. 
 
 Q we proclaim'd, 
 God bless the Noble Duke of Buckingham, 
 
 For our Hounds then had gain'd much Glory ; 
 This being the sixth Fox 
 That we kill'd above the Rocks, 
 
 And there is an end of the Story. 
 
 London. Urmtitr tip an& fur W. O. antr aol& ftp tyt 
 
 ^corner and
 
 A Fayre Portion for a Fayre Mayd 
 
 Or, 
 
 The thriftie Mayd of Worstersheere, 
 Who lives at London for a Marke a yeare ; 
 This Marke was her old Mother's gift, 
 Shee teacheth all Mayds how to shift. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Gramercy Penny. 
 
 Now all my friends are dead and gone 
 
 alas ! what shall betide me ? 
 For I, poore maid, am left alone, 
 
 without a house to hide me : 
 Yet still He be of merry cheere, 
 
 and have kind welcome every where, 
 Though I have but a Marke a yeare, 
 
 and that my mother gaue me. 
 
 I scorne to thinke of poverty, 
 
 or wanting food or cloathing ; 
 He be maintayned gallantly, 
 
 and all my life want nothing ; 
 A frolicke minde He alwayes beare, 
 
 my poverty shall not appeare, 
 Though I have but a marke a yeare, 
 
 And that my mother gaue me.
 
 460 A Fayre Portion for a Fay re Mayd. 
 
 Though I am but a silly Wench, 
 
 of countrey education, 
 Yet I am woo'd by Dutch and French, 
 
 and almost every nation : 
 Both Spaniards and Italians sweare 
 
 that with their hearts they love me deare 
 Yet I have but a Marke a yeare, 
 
 and that my mother gaue me. 
 
 The Welch, the Irish, and the Scot, 
 
 since I came to the Citie, 
 In loue to me are wondrous hot, 
 
 they tell me I am pretty : 
 Therefore to live I will not feare, 
 
 for I am sought with many a teare ; 
 Yet I have but a Marke a yeare, 
 
 audthat my mother gaue Me. 
 
 This London is a gallant place 
 
 to raise a Lasses fortune ; 
 For I, that came of simple race, 
 
 brave Roarers doe importune ; 
 I little thought, in Wostersheere, 
 
 to find such high preferment here : 
 For I have but a Marke a yeare, 
 
 and that my mother gaue Me.
 
 A Fay re Portion for a Fay re Mayd. 461 
 
 One gives to me perfumed Gloves, 
 
 the best that he can buy me ; 
 Live where I will, I have the loves 
 
 of all that doe live nigh me : 
 If any new toyes I will weare, 
 
 I have them, cost they ne're so deare, 
 And this is for a Marke a year e, 
 
 And that my mother gaue me. 
 
 My fashions with the Moone I change, 
 
 as though I were a Lady ; 
 All quaint conceits, both new and strange, 
 
 He have as soon as may be ; 
 Your courtly Ladies I can jeere ; 
 
 In cloaths but few to me come neare, 
 Yet I have but a Marke a yeare, 
 
 And that my mother gaue me. 
 
 The second Part, to the same Tune. 
 
 French gownes, with sleeves like pudding bags, 
 
 I have at my requesting : 
 Now I forget my countrey rags, 
 
 and scorne such plaine investing : 
 My old acquaintance I casheere, 
 
 and of my kin I hate to heare, 
 Though I have but a marke a yeare, 
 and that my mother gaue me. 
 
 DD
 
 462 A Fay re Portion for a Fay re Mayd. 
 
 My Petty-coats of Scarlet brave, 
 
 of Velvet, silke, and sattine ; 
 Some students oft my love doe crave, 
 
 that speake both Greeke and Latine ; 
 The Souldiers for me Momineere, 
 
 and put the rest into great feare ; 
 All this is for a Marke a year e, 
 
 and that my mother gaue me. 
 
 The Precisian sincerely woes 
 
 and doth protest he loves me ; 
 He tires me out with les and noes, 
 
 and to impatience moves me : 
 Although an oath he will not sweare, 
 
 to lye at no time he doth feare ; 
 All this is for a marke a year e, 
 
 and that my mother gaue me. 
 
 My Coach, drawne with foure Flanders mares, 
 
 each day attends my pleasure ; 
 The water-men will leave their fares, 
 
 to waite upon my leasure : 
 Two Lackies labour every where, 
 
 and, at my word, run farre and neere ; 
 Though I have but a marke ayeare, 
 
 And that my mother gaue me.
 
 A Fayre Portion for a Fay re Mayd. 463 
 
 I'th pleasant'st place the Suburbs yeelds 
 
 my lodging is prepared ; 
 I can walke forth into the fields, 
 
 where beauties oft are aired ; 
 When Gentlemen doe spy me there, 
 
 some complements I'me sure to heare ; 
 Though I have but a marke a yeare, 
 
 And that my mother gaue me, 
 
 Now, if my friends were living still, 
 
 I would them all abandon, 
 Though I confesse they lov'd me well, 
 
 yet I so like of London 
 That, farewell ! Dad and Mammy deare, 
 
 and all my friends in Worstershire 
 I live well with a marke a yeare, 
 
 Which my mother gaue me. 
 
 I would my sister Sue, at home, 
 
 knew how I live in fashion, 
 That she might up to London come, 
 
 to learne this occupation ; 
 For I live like a Lady here, 
 
 I weare good cloths and eat good cheare, 
 Yet I have but a Marke a yeare, 
 
 And that my mother gaue me.
 
 464 A Fay re Portion for a Fayre Mayd. 
 
 Now, blessed be that happy day 
 
 that I came to the Citie ! 
 And for the Carrier will I pray, 
 
 before I end my Ditty. 
 You Maidens that this Ditty heare, 
 
 though meanes be short, yet never feare, 
 For I live with a Marke a yeare, 
 
 Which my old mother gaue me. 
 
 M. P. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 London, Printed for F.G.
 
 Fay re Warning, 
 
 Or, 
 
 Happy is he whom other men's harmes 
 
 Can make to beware, and to shun Satans charmes. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Packingtoiis pound.
 
 466 Fay re Warning. 
 
 The World is orerun with enormous abuse ; 
 Pure vertue and honesty now do decrease ; 
 One vice on the neck of another pursues, - 
 'Tis growne to a custome that hardly will cease ; 
 but blessed is he, 
 who, when he doth see 
 Such vices in others, reformed will be ; 
 For happy is he whom other meris harmes 
 Can make to beware, and to shun Satans charmes. 
 
 Then be well advis'd, whoever thou art, 
 By other men's danger their wayes to forsake ; 
 And when thou seest any for his folly smart, 
 Then see that good use of the same thou dost make: 
 and when thou dost see 
 how bad others bee, 
 
 Say thou to thy selfe, here's example for mee. 
 O happy is he whom other mens harmes 
 Can make to beware, and to shun Satans charmes. 
 
 If thou see a man who is proud and ambitious, 
 Like soaring Phaeton strive to aspire, 
 Presuming his Fates will be ever auspicious, 
 He boldly will clime till he can go no higher : 
 
 if fortune should frowne, 
 
 he may tumble downe, 
 Then hee'le be derided of every clowne :
 
 Fayre Warning. 
 
 467 
 
 Thus happy is he whom other men's harmes 
 Can make to beware, and to shun Satans charmes. 
 
 If thou see a Gentleman strive for the wall, 
 And hazard his life for a phantasie vaine, 
 This is the occasion of many a brawll ; 
 But he that's a wise man from that will refraine : 
 'tis better give place 
 to one that's more base, 
 Then hazard thy life in so desperate a case. 
 O happy is he whom other men s harmes 
 Can make to beware, and to shun Satans cliarmes. 
 
 If thou see a whoremonger passing at leasure, 
 Halfe fearfull his legs will drop off by the knees,
 
 468 Fay re Warning. 
 
 When every justle may do him displeasure, 
 He hath been so stung with the Turnbull-street 
 Bees : 
 
 when thou seest his case, 
 beware of that place, 
 
 Which brings a man nothing but, shame and dis- 
 grace. 
 
 O happy is he whom other meris harmes 
 Can make to beware, and to shun Satans charmes. 
 
 If thou see a man, who hath been an ill liver, 
 By hanging himselfe, to kill body and soule, 
 'Tis fit his example should make thee endeavour 
 That thy heart nere harbour a project so foule. 
 O what a vile shame 
 he brings on his name ! 
 
 His children will after be twit with the same : 
 O happy is he whom other men's harmes 
 Can make to beware, and to shun Satans charmes. 
 
 If thou seest a Judge malefactors condemne 
 For rapine or murder, or such haynous acts, 
 'Tis fit thou shouldst take an example by them, 
 Who must by the Law suffer death for their facts : 
 their wayes thou mayst flee, 
 because thou dost see 
 
 The reason, and therefore they hanged must be. 
 O happy is he whom other mens harmes 
 Can make to beware, and to shun Satans charmes.
 
 Fay re Warning. 469 
 
 If thou seest a drunkard come reeling i' th' street, 
 And cutting crosse capers oft times through the durt, 
 Still ready to quarrell with all he doth meet, 
 Whereby he goes seldome to bed without hurt ; 
 O then thou mayst think, 
 Conies all this through drink ? 
 
 Sure I from the Alehouse in good time will shrink. 
 O Happy is he whom other, &c. 
 
 If thou see a rogue to the Pillory brought 
 For perjury, or else some cousening feat, 
 To looke on his punishment thou mayst be taught 
 To live more uprightly, and use no deceit, 
 if thou love thine eare, 
 then do not come there, 
 To looke upon him may make thee to feare. 
 O Happy is he whom other mens harmes 
 Can make to beware, and to shun Satans charmes. 
 
 If thou see a wealthy man grow very poore, 
 By passing his credit for other men's debts, 
 Whereby he's constrayned to keepe within doore, 
 For feare lest a Sergeant in's clutches him gets 
 be therefore aware 
 of this cruell snare ; 
 By suretiship many men begger'd are. 
 O happy is he whom other mens harmes 
 Can make to beware, and to shun Satans charmes. 
 
 D U 2
 
 4/o Fayre Warning. 
 
 Thus every man, who is willing to learn, 
 Of other men's follies may make a good use, 
 And by their just punishment he may return 
 From vice unto vertue, reforming abuse : 
 the which, if he can, 
 he is a blest man ; 
 
 And thus He conclude with the same I began, 
 That happy is he whom other meris harmes 
 Can make to beware, and to shun Satan s charmes. 
 
 FINIS. M.P. 
 
 London, Printed for Richard Harper.
 
 Fond Love, why dost thou dally : 
 
 Or, 
 
 The passionate Louer's Ditty, 
 In praise of his Loue, that's faire and witty. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF The mocke Widdow. 
 
 Fond Love, why dost thou dally, 
 
 And mocke my passions with thy disdaine ? 
 
 there is no blisse 
 
 where coynesse is, 
 
 Seeke not thy pleasure in my paine ; 
 But let the chast torments of my desire 
 Kindle in thee propitious fire : 
 So shall the pleasures of thy sweet imbraces 
 Conquer the griefe of my former disgraces ; 
 Then, those stormes past, shall mercie appeare, 
 And thou of cruelty goe quit and cleare. 
 
 If not, thou art accused, 
 
 For being a lure of my griefe and care ; 
 
 for, from thy sight 
 
 comes my delight, 
 
 Thy frowne onely procures despaire : 
 But in thy smiles there dwell eternall joyes, 
 Which from my heart all flouds of woes destroies.
 
 47 2 Fond Love, why dost thou dally ? 
 
 Then be not thou obdurate unto me, 
 Seeing thou art my chiefe felicity : 
 Thou seest how passionate I am for thee, 
 O then, grant Love, forgetting cruelty. 
 
 Sweet love ! thou art my goddesse, 
 To whom my heart I soly dedicate ; 
 
 then mercie send 
 
 to me, thy friend, 
 My sad griefe to abreviate ; 
 Then shall I praise thy good tresses, 
 Shining like gold, as all the Gods confesses, 
 And eke the splendour of thy comely face, 
 Which doth so well thy compleat body grace, 
 As thou appear'st like Cynthia in her spheare, 
 Or like Apollo in the dayes bright chaire. 
 
 Never was framed by nature 
 
 A Mayd of rarer forme and beauty 
 
 as in my Loue, 
 
 to whom He prove 
 Officious in my duty. 
 
 Her breath more sweeter farre than Civet can be, 
 Delicious honey, or rare Sugar-Candy ; 
 Her rosie Cheekes most comely to the view, 
 Which causeth me her Love for to pursue, 
 And for Lorina languish I in griefe, 
 For from her smiles my pleasures come in briefe.
 
 Fond Love, why dost thou dally f 473 
 
 Come, sweet ! sit thee downe by me, 
 And pay just tribute for our true love ; 
 
 come ! let's cout 
 
 and merrily sport, 
 Here is the pleasant shady grove, 
 Where nothing is wanting that pleasures may bring, 
 Where nature's harmonious Musicioners sing, 
 And Philomel amongst them the sweetest, 
 To love recording those notes that are meetest, 
 Where soft winds murmure the joy of our blisse, 
 And, glyding by thy lips, oft steale a kisse. 
 
 Here the nimble Faunes caper, 
 
 And old Silvanus traine doth trip, and dance ; 
 
 thy forme to grace 
 
 in this faire place, 
 
 Woods Nymphs doe their notes advance. 
 Here all pleasure and content doth dwell ; 
 Joy doth all sorrow from this place expell : 
 O, I could surfet with this goodly sight, 
 Wherein my heart and senses take delight ; 
 Thou art the Soueraigne of my love-sicke mind, 
 In whom a Map of vertues are inshrin'd.
 
 The Second Part, to the Same Tune. 
 
 O, how I am astonisht 
 
 To view the features of my true love ! 
 
 thy sweet face 
 
 and comely grace 
 Would in an angel envy move ! 
 Thy eyes give luster, these shadowes ore-spread, 
 And thy sweet language would waken the dead ; 
 The musicke of the spheares is but a dull noise, 
 When we shall hear thee, in thy sweetest voyce ; 
 Curious wonders within thee doe shine, 
 Which doe perswade me that thou art divine. 
 
 Juno, the Queene of glory, 
 
 Cannot come neare thee for thy vertuous grace ; 
 
 thou art more faire, 
 
 in beauty rare, 
 
 And dost deserve as well that place 
 Wherein Joves darling in her glory moues ; 
 Thy hands farre whiter then faire Venus s Doues, 
 And thou thy self compleat in each degree ; 
 Upon thy forehead dwels rare Majestic ; 
 Thou art indeed a lampe of heavenly wonder, 
 And, for thy vertues, keepst all creatures under.
 
 Fond Love, why dost thou dally ? 475 
 
 All earthly joyes and pleasures 
 Are to be had in thy society ; 
 
 Lorinas name 
 
 deserves true fame, 
 She is indued with pietie : 
 Fairer she is, by ods, then rocks of pearle ; 
 Jove till this time nere saw a braver Girle. 
 The Phenix rare makes not a gayer show, 
 Nor yet the Lillies on the banks of Poe; 
 She is indeed the mirror of our age, 
 And with Joves Queene may walke in equipage. 
 
 Wherefore should I dally then 
 
 To court this glory, and to imbrace 
 
 even in thee 
 
 all blisse I see 
 
 Lively depainted in thy/ace. 
 Come, then ! let's dally, and, to the wanton ayre, 
 Chang-elove's deliofhtments, so shall we declare 
 
 o o 
 
 Our loves by our kisses, whilst I, nothing fearing, 
 Breath my best wish in my wisht beauties hearing, 
 Which when I have done, thy captive He be, 
 Yet thinke I have a glorious liberty. 
 
 Come, then ! come, my Lorina 
 
 And yeeld that treasure, which who so knowes, 
 
 knows a blisse 
 
 by which he is 
 Eternally exempt from woes.
 
 476 Fond Love, wky dost thou daily ? 
 
 Should Love himselfe envy at our best delight, 
 These joyes weele enjoy still, in envies despight : 
 Nay, should his anger descend so upon me, 
 As, my Lorina, to rauish thee from me, 
 Ide flye in my fury as high as his spheare, 
 And snatch thee from his armes, or perish there. 
 
 Come, then let me enjoy thee, 
 
 Whilst beauties florish on thee doth dwell ; 
 
 Colour fades, 
 
 and foolish Mayds 
 That so dye, lead Apes in hell : 
 O, then be wiser, and grant my desire ! 
 In thy snow white bosome quench my love's quick 
 
 fire 
 
 Let not unfaigned love goe unrewarded, 
 Nor true affections be sleigh tly regarded ; 
 So shall I still live, and all sorrowes defie, 
 Or else a Martyre to thy beauty dye. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Printed at London for Francis Coules.
 
 An excellent Ballad of St. GEORGE 
 
 for England, and the King of Egypt's Daughter, 
 whom he Delivered from Death, and how he slew 
 a monstrous Dragon, &c. 
 
 To THE TUNE OF Flying Fame, etc. 
 Licensed and Entered according to Order. 
 
 o 
 
 Of Hector s Deeds did Homer sing 
 and of the sack of stately Troy, 
 
 What grief fair Hellen did them bring, 
 which was Sir Paris only joy : 
 
 And with my pen I must recite 
 
 St. Georges Deeds, an English Knight. 
 
 EE
 
 478 An excellent nallad : 
 
 Against the Sarazens full rude 
 
 fought he full long, & many a day ; 
 
 Where many a Gyant he subdu'd, 
 in honour of the Christian sway ; 
 
 And, after many adventures past, 
 
 To Egypt Land he came at last. 
 
 And, as the Story plain doth tell, 
 within that Country there did rest, 
 
 A dreadful Dragon, fierce and fell, 
 whereby they were full sore opprest ; 
 
 Who, by his poisoned breath, each Day 
 
 Did many of the city slay. 
 
 The Grief whereof did go>w so great 
 throughout the limits ot the Land, 
 
 That they their wise-men did intreat 
 to shew their cunning, out of hand ; 
 
 Which way they might this Dragon 'stroy 
 
 That did their Country so annoy. 
 
 The wise-men all, before the King, 
 fram'd this Matter, incentinent : 
 
 The Dragon none to death might bring 
 by any means they could invent : 
 
 His skin more hard than brass was found, 
 
 That sword or speare could pierce or wound.
 
 "St. George for England" &c. 479 
 
 When this the people understood, 
 
 they cryed out most piteously ; 
 The Dragons breath infected their blood, 
 
 that they each day in heaps did Dye ; 
 Amongst them such a Plague it bred 
 The Living scarce could bury the Dead. 
 
 No means there was, that they could find, 
 for to appease the Dragon's rage, 
 
 But by a virgin pure and kind, 
 whereby he might his fury 'swage ; 
 
 Each Day he should a Maiden eat 
 
 For to allay his Hunger great. 
 
 This thing, by art, the Wisemen found, 
 
 which truly must observed be ; 
 Wherefore, throughout the City round, 
 
 a virgin pure, of good Degree, 
 Was by the King's Commission still 
 Took up, to serve the Dragons will. 
 
 Thus did the Dragon every day 
 
 a maiden of the town devour, 
 Till all the Maids were worn away, 
 
 and none were left, that present hour, 
 Saving the king's fair Daughter bright, 
 
 Her Father's joy, and hearts Delight
 
 480 An excellent Ballad : 
 
 Then came the Officers to the king 
 this heavy Message to declare, 
 
 Which did his heart with sorrow sting ; 
 She is (quoth he) my Kingdoms Heir 
 
 O let us all be poisoned here, 
 
 E'er she should dye, that is my dear" 
 
 Then rose the People presently, 
 and to the King in rage they went ; 
 
 Who said His Daughter dear should die 
 the Dr agones fury to prevent : 
 
 Our daughters all are dead, quoth they, 
 
 And have been made the Dragons prey : 
 
 And by their blood thou hast been blest, 
 and thou hast savd thy life thereby ; 
 
 And now in Justice it doth rest 
 for us thy Daughter so should dye. 
 
 O, save my Daughter /" said the king, 
 
 And let me feel the Dragon's sting. 
 
 Then fell fair Sabrine on her knee, 
 and to her father then did say : 
 
 O Father ! strive not thus for me, 
 but let me be the Dragons prey ; 
 
 It, may be for my sake alone 
 
 This Plagiie upon the land was shoiv .
 
 "-5V. George for England'' &c. 481 
 
 ' Tis better I should die (she said}) 
 than all your subjects perish quite, 
 
 Perhaps the Dragon here was laid 
 for my offence to work this spight ; 
 
 And after he hath suckt -my gore, 
 
 Your land shall know the grief no more" 
 
 What hast thou done (my daughter dear) 
 
 for to deserve this heavy scourge 
 It is my fault, it shall appear, 
 
 which makes the Gods our state to grudge ; 
 Then ought I die, to stint the strife, 
 And to preserve thy happy life. 
 
 Like mad men, all the people cryd, 
 
 thy death to us can do no good ; 
 Our safety only doth abide 
 
 to make thy Daughter Dragons food. 
 Lo ! here I am (O then qiwth she), 
 Therefore do what you will ivith me. 
 
 Nay, stay, dear daughter, (quoth the Queen), 
 
 and as thou art a Virgin bright 
 That hath for vertue famous been, 
 
 so let me cloath thee all in white, 
 And crown thy head with flowers sweet, 
 An ornament for Virgins meet.
 
 482 An excellent Ballad: 
 
 And when she was attired so, 
 According to her Mothers mind, 
 
 Unto the stake then did she go, 
 to which they did this virgin bind : 
 
 And being bound to stake and thrall, 
 
 She bid farewel unto them all. 
 
 Farewel, dear Father (then quoth she), 
 and my sweet mother, meek and mild; 
 
 Take you no thought or care for me, 
 for you may have another child ; 
 
 Here for my countries good lie dye, 
 
 Which I receive most willingly. 
 
 The King and Queen, with all their train, 
 with weeping eyes then went their way, 
 
 And let their Daughter there remain 
 to be the hungry Dragons prey ; 
 
 But as she there did weeping lie, 
 
 Behold St. George came riding by. 
 
 And seeing there a Lady bright 
 fast tyed to the stake that day, 
 
 Most like unto a valiant Knight, 
 straight unto her did take his way : 
 
 Tell me, sweet Maiden, then quoth he, 
 
 What person thus abused thee f
 
 "St. George for England," &c. 483 
 
 And lo, by Christ his \cross~\ I vow 
 (which here is figured on my breast), 
 
 I will revenge it on his draw, 
 
 and break my launce upon his crest. 
 
 And speaking thus whereas he stood, 
 
 The Dragon issu'd out of the wood. 
 
 The Lady, that did first espy 
 
 the dreadful Dragon coming so, 
 Unto St. George aloud did cry, 
 
 and willed him away to go : 
 Here comes that ugly Fiend, quoth she, 
 That soon will make an end of me!' 
 
 Si. George then looking round about, 
 
 the fiery Dragon soon espy'd, 
 And, like a knight of courage stout, 
 
 against him he did fiercely ride ; 
 And with such blows he did him gre^et 
 That he fell under his horse's feet. 
 
 For with a Launce that was so strong, 
 
 as he came gaping in his face, 
 In at his mouth he thrust it long, 
 
 the which could pierce no other place; 
 And there, within this Lady's view, 
 This dreadful Dragon then he slew.
 
 484 An excellent Ballad: 
 
 The savour of his poisoned breath 
 
 could do this Christian knight no harm ; 
 
 Thus he did save this Lady from Death, 
 and home he led her by the arm ; 
 
 Which when \YJu\g\Ptolemy did see, 
 
 There was great Joy and Melody. 
 
 When as this famous Knight, St. George, 
 had slain the Dragon in the field, 
 
 And brought the lady to the Court, 
 
 whose sight with joy their hearts then fill'd, 
 
 He in the ^Egyptian court then staid, 
 
 Till he most falsly was betray'd. 
 
 The La4y Sabrine lov'd him well ; 
 
 he counted her his only Joy ; 
 But when their loves was open known, 
 
 it prov'd St. Georges great annoy; 
 The Morocco King was then in Court, 
 Who to the Orchard did resort 
 
 Daily to take the pleasant air, 
 
 for pleasure sake he used to walk 
 Under the wall, whereas he heard 
 
 ' St. George with fair Sarabrine talk; 
 Their loves he revealed to the King, 
 Which to St. George great woe did bring.
 
 "St. George for England" &c. 485 
 
 These Kings together did devise 
 
 to make this Christian knight away ; 
 With letters hint Ambassador 
 
 they straightway sent to Persia, 
 And wrote to the Sophy him to kill, 
 And treacherously his blood to spill. 
 
 Thus they for good did him reward 
 
 with evil, and, most subtilty, 
 By such vile means they did Devise 
 
 to work his Death most cruelly. 
 While he in Persia abode, 
 He straight destroy'd each idol-god ; 
 
 Which being done, he straight was flung 
 
 into a Dungeon dark and deep ; 
 But when he thought upon his wrong, 
 
 he bitterly began to weep ; 
 Yet, like a knight of Courage stout, 
 Forth of the Dungeon he got out ; 
 
 And in the night three Horse-keepers 
 this valiant Knight by power slew, 
 
 Although he fasted many a day ; 
 and then away from thence he/lew 
 
 O;i the best steed the Sophy had ';' 
 
 Which when he knew, he was full sad.
 
 486 An excellent Ballad : 
 
 Then into Christendom he came, 
 
 and met a Giant by the way ; 
 With him in combat he did fight 
 
 most valiantly, a summer s day ; 
 Who yet, for all his batts of steel, 
 
 Was fore d the sting of death to feel. 
 
 From Christendom this valiant knight 
 then with warlike souldiers past, 
 
 Vowing upon that Heathen Land 
 to work revenge ; which at the last, 
 
 E'er thrice three years was gone and spent, 
 
 He did, unto his great content. 
 
 Save only s%ypt land he spar'd 
 for Sabrine bright her only sake, 
 
 And ere his rage he did suppress, 
 he meant a tryall kind to make ; 
 
 Ptolemy did know his strength in field. 
 
 And unto him did kindly yield. 
 
 Then he the Morocco king did kill, 
 and took fair Sabrine to his wife ; 
 
 And afterwards, contentedly, 
 
 with her St. George did leed his life ; 
 
 Who, by the vertue of a Chain, 
 
 Did still a Virgin pure remain.
 
 "6V. George for England" &c. 487 
 
 To England then St. George did bring 
 
 This gallant lady, Sabrine bright, 
 An Eunuch also came with him, 
 
 in whom the Lady did delight : 
 None but these three from Egypt came. 
 Now let me Print St. Georges fame. 
 
 When they were in the forrest great, 
 
 the Lady did desire to rest ; 
 And then St. George to kill a deer, 
 
 to feed thereon, did think it best ; 
 Left Sabrine and the Eunuch there, 
 While he did go and kill a Deer. 
 
 The mean time, in his absence, came 
 two hungry Lyons, fierce and fell, 
 
 And tore the Eunuch presently 
 in pieces small, the truth to tell ; 
 
 Down^by the Lady then they laid, 
 
 Whereby it seem'd she was a maid. 
 
 But when St. George from hunting came 
 and did behold this heavy chance, 
 
 Yet, for this lovely virgin pure, 
 his courage stout he did advance ; 
 
 And came within the Lions' sight, 
 
 who run at him with all their might
 
 488 An excellent Ballad: &c. 
 
 He being by them no whit dismaid, 
 but like a stout and valiant knight 
 
 Did kill the hungry Lions both, 
 within the Lady Sabrines sight ; 
 
 But all this while, sad and demure, 
 
 She stood there, like a virgin pure. 
 
 But when St. George did truly know 
 
 his lady was a virgin true. 
 Those doleful thoughts that e'er was dumb, 
 
 began most firmy to renew : 
 He set her on a Palfrey steed, 
 And towards England came with speed. 
 
 Where he arrived in short time 
 unto his Father's Dwelling-place, 
 
 where with his Dearest Love he lived, 
 When Fortune did their Nuptials grace : 
 
 They many years of Joy did see. 
 
 And led their lives at Coventry. 
 
 Printed by and for Alex. Mil[bourn at] 
 
 the Stationers Arms in G[reen Arbor] 
 
 Court in the Little Old [Bailey.]
 
 INDEX TO VOL I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Courtly new ballad of the Princely wooing 241 
 
 A delicate new ditty composed upon the Posie of a Ring 319 
 
 A Dialogue between Master Guesright and neighbour Needy 301 
 
 Aim not too high in things above thy reach 417 
 
 All hail to the days that merit more praise 113 
 
 All in a morning fair, as I rode to take the air 453 
 
 All you that cry. " O hone, O hone" 394 
 
 Although I am a country lass 221 
 
 Amantium iras amoris redintegratio est 21 
 
 A merry discourse 'twixt Jack and his Joan 325 
 
 A Monday dinner : described 93 
 
 An admirable new Northern Story 29 
 
 A new ballad between Wife and Husband 165 
 
 A new Yorkshire Song I 
 
 Anne Askew 38 
 
 A poor soul sate sighing by a sycamore tree 227 
 
 A pleasant Country new ditty 113 
 
 A pleasant new Court Song 107 
 
 A Pleasant new Dialogue, &c 385 
 
 A pretty jest of a Brewer and the Cooper's wife 134 
 
 A Prince of England's Courtship to the King of France's daughter 399 
 
 A rare example of a virtuous maid 43 
 
 A rich Merchant man [there was] 409 
 
 A Saturday nights supper : described 93 
 
 As I came thoro w the North country I 
 
 As I lay musing all alone 193 
 
 As I walked forth of late, where grass and flowers spring 60 
 
 As I went forth one Summer's day 339 
 
 As I went through the Meadows green 385 
 
 A Sunday morning breakfast : described 93 
 
 A thousand times my love commend 359 
 
 A true relation of the life and death of a pirate, &c 9 
 
 Attend my masters, and listen well 134 
 
 A young man lately wedded was 379 
 
 Barton (Sir Andrew) 9 
 
 Batchelor's Feast (The) 60 
 
 Bill of fare (A) 91 
 
 Blind beggar's daughter of Bethnal Green (The) 48 
 
 Blue cap for me 100 
 
 Break heart, and die ! I may no longer live 33 2 
 
 Bride's Burial (The) 246 
 
 Bride's Good-morrow (The) 82
 
 4QO INDEX TO VOL I. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Care, away ! 150 
 
 Careful wife, and comfortable husband 165 
 
 Catholic Ballad (The) or, "The Patient Man's Woe" 120 
 
 Choice of inventions 142 
 
 Christmas's Lamentation 208 
 
 Clod's Carol 265 
 
 Come, buy this new ballad, before you do go 157 
 
 Come bachelor's and married men 127 
 
 Come, come, my brave gold 175 
 
 Come hither, the merriest of all the nine 100 
 
 Come Joan, by thy own dearest husband sit down 325 
 
 Come, mourn, come mourn with me 246 
 
 Come my best and dearest 21 
 
 Come, neighbours, follow me 201 
 
 Come Prodigals yourselves that love to flatter 181 
 
 Come Worldings, see what pains I here do take 175 
 
 Complaint of a lover forsaken (The) 227 
 
 Complete gen f le-woman (A) 260 
 
 Constancy of Susanna (The) 252 
 
 Constancy of true Love (The) 233 
 
 Constance and Anthony 29 
 
 Constant, fair, and fine Betty 273 
 
 Constant Lover (The) 280 
 
 Cooper of Norfolk (The) 134 
 
 Country Ditty: a Pleasand new 113 
 
 Country Lass (The) 221 
 
 Countryman's new "Care away!" (The) 150 
 
 Courtly Ballad (A) 241 
 
 Court Song (A) between a Courtier and a Country lass 107 
 
 Cruel Shrew (The) 127 
 
 Cuckold's Haven (The) 2OI 
 
 Cunning Northern Beggar (The) 186 
 
 Cupid's wrong's vindicated 214 
 
 David and Berseba (The Story of) 352 
 
 Dead Man's Song (The) 292 
 
 Death's Dance 365 
 
 Death's loud alarum 312 
 
 Deceased Maiden Love (The) 339 
 
 Desperate Damsel's Tragedy (The) 345 
 
 Discourse of Man's Life (A) 286 
 
 Disparing Lover (The) 332 
 
 Distressed Virgin (The) 359 
 
 Doctor Do-good's directions to cure many diseases 306 
 
 English Merchant of Chichester (The) 409 
 
 Essex's Last Good-night 394 
 
 Fair Angel of England ! 24! 
 
 Fair fall all Good Tokens 434 
 
 Fair Maid of London's Answer (The) 243 
 
 Fair Portion for a Fair Mad (A) 559 
 
 Fair Warning 465 
 
 Fond love, why dost thou dally? 471 
 
 Four Wonders of this Land (The) 445
 
 INDEX TO VOL I. 
 
 491 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Fox Chase (The) 453 
 
 Friendly Counsel gg 
 
 Friend's Advice (A) 439 
 
 Faithless Lover (The) 342 
 
 Grieve no more, sweet husband 169 
 
 How shall we, good husband, now live, this hard year 165 
 
 How the Cooper served the Brewer 134 
 
 Householder's New Year's Gift (The) \". 169 
 
 I am a lusty beggar, and live by others giving 186 
 
 I am a woman poor and blind 38 
 
 If any are infected, give audience awhile 306 
 
 I fancy none but thee alone 319 
 
 If Death would come and shew his face 365 
 
 If there were employmeut for men, as have been 150 
 
 I'll tell you a jest which you'll hardly believe 93 
 
 In days of old when fair France did flourish 399 
 
 In that fair, fragrant month of May 233 
 
 In that gallant month of June 345 
 
 In summer time when folks make hay 67 
 
 It is an old saying, that few words are best 157 
 
 It was a blind beggar that long lost his sight 48 
 
 It was my chance not long time since 86 
 
 It was a lady's daughter of Paris properly 43 
 
 Lament your sins, good people, all lament 312 
 
 Life of Man (The) 193 
 
 Medley (An Excellent new) 67 
 
 Miser (The) 175 
 
 Now all my friends are dead and gone 459 
 
 Now of my sweet Betty I must speak in praise 273 
 
 Now in the garden are we well met . 265 
 
 Now to the discourse of Man, Itakeinhand 286 
 
 Oh, wanton King Edward thy labour is Vain 243 
 
 Old Beelzebub merry disposed to be 423 
 
 Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing 477 
 
 Prodigal (The) 181 
 
 Room, room for a friend, that his money will spend 181 
 
 Saint George and the Dragon (St. George of England) 477 
 
 Since Popery of late is so much in debate 120 
 
 Sir Andrew Barton 9 
 
 Sore, sick, dear friends, longtime I was 292 
 
 Susanna (The constancy of) 252 
 
 Swain's Complaint (The) 429 
 
 The discontented Married Man 379 
 
 The faithless young man 345 
 
 The false young man, and the constant virgin 359 
 
 The frailty of Man's life .- 312 
 
 The guileful crocodile 214
 
 1,1 
 
 492 INDEX TO VOL I. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 The History of the Duchess of Norfolk's Calamity 371 
 
 The Huntsman's Harmony 453 
 
 The night is passed and joyful day appeareth 82 
 
 The Passionate Lover's Ditty 471 
 
 The Princely wooing of the fair maid of London by King Edward 141 
 
 The Serving-man and the Husband-man ; 385 
 
 The Story of David and Berseba 352 
 
 The thrifty Maid of Worcestershire 459 
 
 The World is overun with enormous abuse 466 
 
 The young man's praise of a curious creature 273 
 
 There be many women that seem very poor 161 
 
 There dwelt a man in Babylon, of reputation great by fame 252 
 
 There were three men of Gotham, as I have heard men say 142 
 
 Though falling out of faithful friends 25 
 
 Thou that art so sweet a creature 319 
 
 To you that love bad tokens 434 
 
 Two lovers in the North 30 
 
 Upon a summer's time, in the middle of the morn 105 
 
 Well met, neighbour Needy: What! walking alone 301 
 
 What, if a day, or a month, or a year 439 
 
 When David in Jerusalem as Royal King did rule and reign 352 
 
 When Flora, with frarant flowers bedecked the earth 9 
 
 When God had taken for our sin King Edwerd away 371 
 
 When I had seen this Virgin's end 342 
 
 When Philomel begins to sing 74 
 
 Wife, as we get little, so temper our diet 167 
 
 Women the best warriors..-. 423 
 
 York, York, for my money I 
 
 You gentle Nymphs that on these meadows play 429 
 
 You loyal lovers that are distant from your sweet hearts many a mile 280 
 
 You Muses all, your aid to me assign -260
 
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