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T O R O N T O 



What here? Ballads? I love a ballad in print, or a lire, 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 ata burden ; and how 
she long'd to eat adder's heads, and toads Calbonado'd, it is true, 
and but a month old. Here's the midwive's nanle to't, one 
Mistress Talellorter, and rive or six honest wive t'xat were present, why should 
I carry hes abroad ? ttere'» another ballad, of a fish that appear'd upon the 
toast, onlVed,eadaj the fourscore of Aril, 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 hOt exchange flesh 
with one that lov'd her. The ballad is very pitiful, and as tme--five justice 
hands at it ; and witnesses» more than my pack will hold. 






£'ditor of " .T/te Old Bool ,lleetor's Miseellany : or, a Collection of 
l?eadable l?eyrints of Literary l?arities," " ll'orh of John 
aylor--the ll'ater-Poet," " Tle Catnacl Press" " 
Curiosities of 8treet Literature," " l BI of 
eady.made Speeehes," " Nron'n, 
dones and Robinson" 
etc., etc.» 





« I knew a very wise man that believcd that, if a man were permitted fo 
nmke ail the ballads, he need hot care who should make the laws of a nation." 
Andrev Fletclter of Salteun (1653-1716). 
.HE Collection of Ancient Songs and Ballads, written on various 
- now known as the ROXBURGHE BALLADS, consits of three 
large volumes in folio, and embraces above thirteen hundred broadsides 
mostly in ],lflt' ]}.l'|lfl', and are, with but few exceptions, ail in a very 
good state of preservation. ïhere are several ballad% of whiclx there are 
duplicates--and even triplicates, of considerable later dates than the or;ginal 
copy ; and into the edition or editions of later date are inserted lines and 
stanzas hot round 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 tbe 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 Arme in 7, as Baron /larley, of Wig- 
more, in the County of Hereford. Earl of Oxford, and Earl Mortimer, 
and after a busy and chequered political lire, spent the remaining 
portion in retirement, associating with scholars and men of faste, and so 
bedaine the founder of a large collection of scarce, curious and entertaining 
pamphlets and tracts, subsequently collected and published as "The Harleian 
Iiscellany." And also of an extensive collection of IISS., which now forms 
one of the greatest treasures in the British Museum, and well known to every 
loyer of literature as the Harleian Collection of Ianuscripts, a catalogue  
which wasarranged and published by H. Wanley, London, 1759-63, folio, 
 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 STatUT, built 1637, and so called *' as running in shape of a bent 
bow." Strype, who relis 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 mo»t of the other streets in this parish." This was in 17o ; and it ceased 
to be " well inhabited about rive years afterwards." The Theatre (Covent- 
garden Theatre) was built in 173 , and the Bow-street Police-otce, celebrated 
in the armais of crime, established in ,749.--Cunnilla*n' Hand-Book of 
London, Past and Present. 


Collection of MSS. in the British Museum, with Indexes of Persons, Places 
and Matters, 8o8-z, folio, 4 vols, at £8 Ss. The indexes, compiled by the 
Rev. T. H. Home, are published separately at £z zs. 
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. Ai the death of West, his " curious and valuable library" was sold 
by auction by Messrs. Langford, "at Mr. West's Dwelling-House, n ing. 
treet, Co'ent Garàen, on Monday, the z9th of Match, 1773, and the 23 
following days, Sundays excepted." The ballads formed Lot zttz, and are 
described in the sale-catalogue as "A curious Collection of Old Ballads, in 
umber abore 2oo, b [lack] 1 [etter], with humorous frontispieces, 3 vol." 
/vlajor Thomas Pearson was the purchaser of the collection at £zo!! 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 round at the commencement of out reprint. 
Althougb tbe sale-catalogue of West's library stated tbe number of ballads 
to be "ab,ve ,zoo" and Major Pearson had "ruade several additions," yet 
the total number included in the 2rinted 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. 48t, 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 ruade, either by him or 
by subsequent possessors, to the number of 4 ballads in the first volume, and 
6 in the second. The first lines of these are added to the indexes in 
The next appearance in public of the collection was at the sale of the 
library of "Thoms Pearson, Esq., deceased, in 1788, by T. and J. EGERTON, 
Booksellers, at their ROOM in SCOTLAlgD YARD opposite the 
on Monday, I4th of Apil and 22 foLlowing days--Sundays excpted." The 
ballads were Lot 27xo, and described thus 
gTIO ANCIENT SONGS AND ]ALLADS, vritten on ¢ariou subeet#, and 
printed betn'eea tlie Yea,' 56o and tTOO.--Cltiefly coZZecfed by 
Robert, Earl of Oxford. and 2urel, aed at the ale of the library o.f 
James Wes., Esq., in 773--inc'eaed b¥ everal -4ddition#» 2 vol. 
bound in 2¢uia leatl, er. 


To which the Auctioeers added the following note :-- 
"N.B.--The prcceding numerous aud matchlcss Cullecion of Old 
Ballads are ail printed in 131ack Letter, and decorated with many llundrcd 
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 rime they were purchased at Mr. West's." 
It was at this auction that they were purchased for John, Duke of Rox- 
hurghe, for f36 4s. 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 i., made in the name of the Roxhurghe Club. 
Grace's library in St. James' Square comprised upward» of ten thouand 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 Eten.,ive Library of the late John, 
Duke of Roxburghe," which was presided over by R. H. Evans for 46 days in 
,8,, The Ballads are set forth as follows:--Lot 
3o A Curiotts Collection of some thousand Ancient 13allads, 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 ail literary rarities, 
and the Duke's "curious and extensive" collection being well-known, attracted 
much attention. It was at this celebrated sale that 13occaccio's sDeeamervne, 
printed by Valdarfer at Venice in 47, produced the largest sum ever given 
for a single volume, riz., f,u6c*. 
*The work was purchased, at the above sum by the .Marquis of Blandford, 
Earl Spencer being the under bidder at f,5 o. Dr. Dibdin's accourir of the 
sale, or as he chooses to call it, the jqht, is in an exaggerative style, and ex- 
tremely amusing. Dibdin had afterwards occasion in his "' Remini5cences of a 
Literary Life" to make the following addition to the history of this precious 
volume :" Of all EXTRAORDINAR¥ RI.'SULTS, what could exceed that of tb.e 
Boccaccio of '47', coming eventually into the possession of the for»er noble- 
man {Earl Spencer) at a price less than Og-ALV ofthat for which he had 
originally contended with the latter, who had become its first purchaser at tbe 
above sale ? Such, however, is the FACT. At the sale of the lIarquis of 
]31andford's library in ,8, 9, this volume was purchased by the house of Long- 
man and Co. for Z'98, it having cost the lIarquis f,6o. It came fromthem 
to Lord Spencer at that price, and is now in the beautiful library at Althorpe, 


The first portion, or nucleus of the collection of balladsoand with which 
the naine of the Duke is nov permanently associated, had been obtalned al a 
public auction hventy-four years previous for less than £37--that is the two 
volumes, to which the Duke added seven ballads, printed in Edinburgh in 
157o , and hd increased the collection by  third volume. This thixd volume 
is much the largest---containing, as it does, 564 ballads, and far too bulky 
for handling--but is hot quite in keeping with the rest. The latter hall of it 
indudes many whi'e-letter baIlads, chiefly of the last century, and, in some 
cases, so late in the century as to number within it a song by Burns.  The 
three volumes were bought by Harding, the bookseller, for £447 1Ss., and 
were re-sold to the late Benjamin Heywood Bright--second son of Richard 
Bright, of Haro Green, near Bristol, and of ColwaI1, in Herefordshire, for 
£6oo, 9 who studiously kept them out of sight, heing afraid lest anybody should 
even know that he possesse.d 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 al Haro Green on the 4th of August, I843, and the first 
portion of his "most extensive collection of valuable, rare, and curious book% 
in ail classes of literature," was sold by auction y S. Leigh Sotheby and Co., 
Anctioneers of Literary Property and works illustrtive of the Fine Arts, at 
their bouse, Wellington Street, Strand. It was altogether a thirty days' sale» 
commencing on Monday, March 3, I$45, and continuing at intervals until the 
following July. 
The three volumes of ballads were :--Lot 
,VITH SOM] FEW OF LATER )ATE» bound in thre¢ volumes, folio : 
To which description th¢ Auctioneers appended :-- 
"This collection was begun by Rob. Harley Earl of Oxford, from whos¢ 
libraxy it passed successively to thos¢ of [:James] West, Major Pear- 
son, and the Duke of Roxburghe, by each of whom il was increased ; 
and we bave the highest authority for asserting, that il is th¢ most 
extensive in existence ; those in the black letter amounting to nine 
hundred in number, exclusive of second parts. 
" I love a ballad in print," are the words put by Shakesp¢are into th¢ 
mouth of one of his characters, and, from his evident fondness for them, 
Mr. W. Chappell. 9The Athenoeum (I845.) J. Payne Collier 


we may infer that he is conveylng his own feelings through the mouth 
of the speaker. Another great writer of out 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 bave passed :hrough, 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 work, 
hot less interesting than any that bave preceded it. 
"The extent of the collection precludes out givinga 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 eæteso 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 lute 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 B^LLADS. A collection of Eighty-five broadside Ballads, Romantic, 
ttistorical, Amatory, and Satirical: the whole of them in 111tI1 
|fllfl and ornamented with woodcuts. They are of the rime 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. 
TheChristian Conquest ; overthrow 
of the Turks. 
The Virgin Race, or Yorkshire's 
News for young men and maids. 
Poor Tom the taylor, his lamen- 
Love's unspeakable passion. 
The Depfford fxolic. 

Tyrarmick love. 
The ballad of the cloak. 
The Suffolk miracle. 
Advice fo batchelors. 
A farewel to Graves-end. 
Unfortunate jockey. 
Colonel Sidney's overthrow. 
Cupid's delight. 
The confined loyer. 
The disdainful virgin led captive. 
The love-sick maid of Portsmouth 
Wavering Nat and kind Susan. 
The seaman's sorrowful bride. 
Coy Jenn 7. 


The teaman's adieu. 
The seaman's renown. 
Tlxe 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 truc 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 lxealtlx. 
The doubting virgin. 
The doubting virgin's satisfaction 
The more haste the worsc 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 felIows frolick. 
The merry boys of Christmas. 
The lire and death of George of 
Gallantry ail-a-mode, or the bully to 
the lire. 

The three worthy butchers of the 
Jem's lamentation. 
The courtier's health. 
London's wonder in the breaking o! 
this mighty.frost. 
Sir Thomas Armstrong's fare-ell. 
The Scotch wooing. 
The mournful shepherd. 
Young Jenny, or the princely shep- 
The dothier's ddiglxt. 
The Algier-slave's rdeasement. 
The Benjamin's lamentation. 
Repentance too late. 
The two faithfull lover. 
The power and pleasure of love. 
The dumb maid, or the young gal- 
lant traplann'd. 
Tom Tell-Truth. 
England's gentle admonition. 
The dying lover's compla'mt. 
The country innocence. 
The love-sick maid quickly reviv'd. 
Truc love rewartted 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 foIly. 

"Lot 297" was also bought for tlxe trustees of the British Museum by 
Mr. Rodd for :25 Ss. The remaining lots in connection with Ballads were as 
under, which we reprint v¢rbatim from the Catalogue, togetler with the 
names of the purchasers and the prices realized : 
298 BALLADS. The Seaman's folly--The Iove-sick Maid--A most excellent 
song of the love of younq Palinus and fair Sheldra, all t]lacI 


299 ]3XLXS. .An excellent Ba]lad, intitu]ed The constancy of Susanna. 
• 7is  the ballad of'hicl some lines are sug by ,Sir 7bby telel 
in Tn'elftk Aïght.mThe lamentable tragieal History of Titus 
Andronicus, botk [If l:tt:l: :--Rodd, ios. 
300 B^LL^DS. A Friend's Advice, [l[I[ [f|[fl, circa 165o--The Loyal 
Torie's delight, cith mvsîcwVienna's Triumphs, vith music, 1683 
mThe Scotch Lasses Constancy, witk the music, 682 ; and five 
me :Rd, 16s. 
3o BALAS, GaxDS, &c. The Aming GadandThe Crafty Loyer, 
or a Windsor Miser OutwittedJokes of John Falkirk--The Derby- 
sbire Tragedy--e Horn-fair GarlandThe Northumberland 
GarldPortsmouth Jack's GarlandThe Unnatur Father, an 
account of Theophilus Mkali, of Doetshiree Worcestershire 
GarlandThe Winchester GarlandRelation of a Melaid that was 
seen and spoke with on the Black Rock, nigh Liverpool, by John 
Robinson ; with upwards of seventy other popular Songs, Stofies, 
and Glands :Pocock, £3 9s. 
3o2 Ballads, Broaid, Slip-songs, &c., a parcel, moderg :Sir F. Madden, 
3o3 Ballads. A edlection of Old Ballads, coected om the best and most 
ancient copi extt, illustratoe th copper plat, red oroeeo, 
ilted, 3 vol :Rodd, £3 3s. 
3o4 Evs {Thos.) Old Bang by R. H. Evans, best edition, 4 vol. 
etra :Pocock, £ 6s. 8o 
"On the rarity of the Ballads in th collection, it is" {says J. P. Cdlier) 
"supeuous to enlarge ; in many instances the broadsid are ique : no 
duplioetes of them are to be met with in public or private libres ; d it is 
easy to accourir for th circumstance, if we reflect that they were seldom 
printed in a form ca1lated for preseation. Thom Deloney and Richard 
Johnson were almost the only ballad-writers of that e, who subsequently 
broht tother their scattered broadsides in small volumes, while hundoeds 
of sihr pieces by other popular authors were allowed to perish. The more 
generally acceptable a ballad oeme, the more it was exposoe to the danger 
of destction." 
e consequence h been that ve few BallaO,  they oeme from 
the hands of those who may be calloe out elder printe, have dcded to 
our day ; and my of the best in the collection would have been irretevably 
lost but that the constant demd for them induced typoaphers in the i 


of J'ames and Charles, in particular, to re-publish them. The year, whether 
of impression or re-impressson, is very rardy 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'fonn a judgment 
as to the age of productions of their presses. The rimes when reprinted 
Ballads were first composed and issued mu»t often be matter of mere con- 
jecture, depending much upon internal evidence, and even this is rendered 
more uncertain by interpolations, not unfrequently ruade in order that the 
work should be more wdcome 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 
naine of Samuel Pepys, the diarist, which is in the library of Magdalene 
College, Cambridge. The latter is in rive volumes, containing 1,$oe ballads, 
of which 1376 are in t)[l£l [t|[t'l. This famed collection was commenced 
by the learned Selden. 
John Selden died 1654, and Pepys continued collecting till near the time 
ot his death in 17o 3, which fact he records on the trie page of his volumes 
thus--"/y 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 177o, 
when the Form, till then peculiar thereto, riz., 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 Coilege an invaluable 
collection of manuscript naval memoirs, of prints, ancient English poetry, and 
three volumes of « Penny/1erriments." These amount in number to 11z, and 
some of them are ïarlands, that contain many ballads in each. 
The followingare Pepys' directions for the disposition of his library--taken 
from M,S., //arl, «Vo. 7,o3h which we deem of sufficient general interest to 
print in eoetenso : 
'" For the further settlement and preservation o! my said library, afier 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 hot 
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 redudng the same to the state it now is, I cann 

1 :,"/'IODUCT [ON. ix 

but be great]y solicitous that ail possible provision should be ruade for ils 
unalterable preservation and prepetual security against the ordinary rate of 
such collections, falling into the hand» 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 alpearance of being myself restored to a 
condition of concerting the necessary measures for attaining these ends, I 
must and 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 forem¢ntion¢d will r¢lating hereto, requiring that the saine be brought 
to a d=termiuation in twelve months rime after my decca»e, and that special 
regard be had thcr¢in to the following particulars, which I declare to be my 
prescrit thoughts and prevailing inclination» in this marrer, riz. : 
" t. That afier the dcath bf my said nephew, my said library be placcd and 
for evcr settled in one of out universities, and rather in that of Cambidge 
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 ail others. 
"4. And of these two, eœeteri, paribu,, rather in the_latter, for the sake 
of my own and nephew's education therein. 
"5- That in ss hich soever of the two it is, a fait roome 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 said 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 .Bibliotleca Pe, pviana. 
" Io. That this .Bibl,oteca .Pe, pl/,iamz be under the sole power and 
custod 7 of the ma»ter of the college for the rime being, who »hall neither 
himself convey, nor surfer to be conveyed by others, any o[ the said books from 
thence to any other place, except to his own lodge in the said college, nor 
there bave more than ten of them at a rime ; 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 providcd, and remain in thc said librar for that 


*' 1 l. That belote my said library be put into the possession of either of 
the said colleges, that eollege for which it shall be designed, first enter into 
eonvenants for performance of the foregoing articles. 
°" z. 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 
eollege which shall be in prescrit possession of the said library, be subject to 
an annual visitation trom the other, and to the forfeiture thereof to the life, 
possession, and use of the other, upon conviction of any breach of their said 
We print the following notices of the Roxburghe Ballads from 
.t«noemof August z3rd and 3oth, 845 
"We are about to give some account of the contents of the three folio 
volumes of Ballads soldat the Duke of Roxburghe's sale for £4oo, bought 
privately by Mr. Bright, we believe, for £6oo, and purchased for the British 
Museum a few months ago, at the price of £535- The collection is hot yet 
accessible to the readers at that institution, but they will probably ere long be 
enabled to refer toit ; and, in the meantime, extracts from, with remarks and 
criticisms upon the principal productions in it, may hot be unacceptable. 
the whole there are hot fewer than twelve hundred separate pieces of popular 
poetry, including only a small nuraber of duplicates ; of many of them no 
other copies exist» and..the rest are of the ntmost rarity. Nealy al1 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. Heb.r's sale lots of ten or fifteen ballads were soldat from 
each lot ; whereas itis evident that the ballads at Mr. Bright's auction on the 
average did hot 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 tobe found 
at Oxford. or Cambridge. We are to be understood here as speaking of mere 
bros4sid¢s : Oxford bas rater poeti¢al tracts» Carabridge a more valuable s¢ri¢ 


of penny histories ; but bi what arc properly tcrm:d broad»Me ballads neither 
of them can at this tlme 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 ofthese belong 
to persons 'ho are just as unwilling to let them sec 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 : tbe two 
first may be somewhat ashamed of the smallness of their acquisitions in this 
dcpartment, consldering their opportunitie% and I,y keeping up a sort of 
mystery may lead those who know little of the marrer 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. 
'Gtri *etere reru» ,chi ,unt? 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 ail been 
lost by the age of Augustus. With us the case is almost as bad: the songs 
that our minstrels used fo accompany on the harp have neafly ail perished, 
and even of those which out ballad-singers, two or three hundred years ago, 
were accu, tomed to chant in out streets and higlways, comparatively few 
remain : many must bave been lost, to one that bas corne down to us. One 
of the earliest traces of what may properly be ¢alled ballad-singing is to be 
found in a letter dated in i537, 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 Igorfolk 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 hxve take this to stay 
My Lord of Norfolk, Lord of Surray, 
And my Lord of Shrewsbur : 
The Duke of Suffolk might bave ruade England merry. 
«, This relic was unknown to ail the ¢ollectors 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 1Rolls CbapeL 
"There is probably nothing as old as this in the three volumes known as 
the 1Roxburghe Collection ; but it is often very difficult to decide on the date 
of particular pieces. It sometlmes 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 
lizabeth and ma' be proved to b¢ so from internal evidence. The fach no 

xii ] NTRODUC l iN. 

doubt, was, that the ballad was frequently reprinted on accourir of its popu- 
larity, and that ail the older editions have been lost. At other rimes we bave 
editions in regnlar succession: for instance, a capital 2Esopian apologne of 
' The Lark and her Family' was, as far as we know, first printed in 1563, with 
the naine of the versifyer, Arthur Bourcher, at the end ; but we are acquainted 
with copies ofit in I571, 579, 586, I6°3, 624, 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 I1., or perhaps even his successor, was on 
the throne. This, however, is a cae of rare occmrence : of very few ballads 
so many and such ancient impressions are known, and we are frequ¢ntly mo»t 
glad to content ourselves with af. edition of a broadside between 166o and 
169o, 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 bave been ' Printed at London by H. Gosson,' who sueceeded his 
father» Thomas Gosson» as a publisher of many ephemeral productions. Mr. 
Douce, had he lived till now, would bave grieved bitterly at the omission of 
this satirical ballad in his book ; and had not the late Mr. Bright been so char,/ 
of his three volumes, and so afraid lest anybody should even know that he 
possessed them, Mr. Douce's ' Dissertation on the Dance of Death' would hot 
bave been left thus incomplete. Our reason for mentioning this ballad  
because it is unquestionably much more ancient than the time {about 164o } 
when the undated impression was published by Henry Gosson : it is one of 
many pieces of the kind which must bave been written considerably more than 
fifty years before the period of the sole existing copy in the Roxburghe Collec- 
tion. It opens as follows :m 
'° If Death would corne to shew his face 
as he dare shew his powre, 
And sit at every rich man's places 
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 ail their dwellings faire. 
" Or il 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 ' Ile sec you soone,' 
There would be given then at their door¢ 
good altos both night and noone, 


"Afterwards the writer (vhose naine 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 rime ; but he is particularly severe upon persons in trade :-- 
" If Death would take his dayly course 
where tradesmen sell their ware, 
I|is welcome, sure, would be more worse 
than those of monyes bure : 
It would affright them for to sec 
his leane and hollow lookes, 
If Death would say, ' Corne, 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 round too deare ; 
When Death should call ' Corne buy of me !" 
'twould put them ail in feare. 
"Just afterwards we meet with the subsequent stmaza : 
"Il Death would prove a gentleman, 
and corne to court our dames, 
And do the best of all he 
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 waz printed,) waz probably brother to Stephen Gosson, the 
puritanical enemy of dramatic performances, whb published his ' School oi r 
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 waz indisputably a very clever and powerful writer. 
We are without any external evidence, but we feel persuaded that this ballad 
of ' Death's Dance' waz 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 corne, 
and corne he will indeed ; 
Therefore, I warne you, ail and some, 
beware and take good heed ; 


For what ou 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, o! coure, 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 
own day. 
"It now and then happens that the period when a Ballad was w-ritten 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 bas no printer's name, but merely the word Finis at the close ; 
and fhe 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 al1 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, if 
must have been originally published as early as 1577 or 1"578. Death speaks : 
"Think you on the solemn 'Sizes past, 
How suddenly in Oxfordshire 
I came, and ruade the Judges al1 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. 
" Stow's ' Annals' (edit. 16o 5, 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 lV[useum. There are 
several ballads, of which there are duplicates, if hot 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 the re- 
print was published. W¢ may select one proof of thi assertion from a 


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 
]uilt almes houses and spittles store, 
Which now are ail dow falling ; 
And few men seeke them to repaire, 
Nor is there one among twenty. 
That in good deeds will take any care, 
While Mock-begga" ttall 8tands em2oty. 
The line is the burden of the song, and is repeated af the end of every 
staff, although the author nowhere explains preeisely what .he means by ' Mock- 
beggar Hall.' It seems fo bave reference fo some lost production of the saine 
kind, in whieh it was introdueed and eelebrated. The following stanza is now 
in the later of the two copies, and satirieally refers fo the then modern practiee 
of riding in coaches :-- 
"bfethinks if is a great reproaeh 
To those that are nobly descended, 
Who for their pleasures eannot have a coach, 
Wherewith they might be attended, 
But every beggarly Jaeke and Gill, 
That eat searee a good meal in twenty, 
Must through the streets be jolted still, 
lVhile Mock-be##a" ttall stand emptt. 
Another stanza, hot entirely new, but with some important changes from the 
older eopy (to which we shall advert presently), is thus :-- 
«, There's some are rattled through the streets, 
Procatum est, I tell if, 
Whose names are wrapt in parehment sheets ; 
If grieves my heart fo spell it : 
They are hot able two men to keepe, 
With a coaehman the 7 must content be, 
Whieh af playbouse doores in lais box lies asleep, 
While Moch-be##ar Hall stands emflty. 
Out iast two quotations are from the eopy of ' The Map of Mock-beggar Hall,' 
which was ' printed at London for Richard Harper, neere fo the Hospitall gate 
in Smithfield,' which is the most modern of the two by perhaps thirty or forty 
years, for neither broadside bas any distinct date. We know that about 163o , 
or a little later, the eustom of riding to theatres on horseback was generally 
abandoned in favour ofbeingdriven there in coaehes, so mueh so that the Lord 
Mayor of London and the Court were called upon fo interfere to prevent the 
stoppage of the streets. To this public inconvenience the most recent cop7 


of the ballad makes aPusion, and on this account we may fix its date about 
x635. The more ancient copy was probably printed quite early inthe reign 
of James I. ; but in out 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 hot at ail follow, that because ballads con- 
tain temporary allusions, they were hot older than such allusions. Thus, in a 
cotait ballad, "printed at London for G. H." i.e., Henry Gosson, entifled 
• There's lothing tobe had without Money,' we [meet with the following 
stanzas :-- 
All parts of London I have tride, 
Where merchants' wares are plenty, 
The PoyaI Exchange and faire Cheapsidœe, 
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, 
ut God a mercy, penny. 
For my contentment once  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 merc.¥, penny. 
It is quite certain, therefore, that this last part of the staza was written fter 
the death of Elizabeth ; but there are other copies (hot in the Roxburghe 
volumes, but in private hands) of the saine ballad that bave no allusion to the 
lIew Exchange. One of them gives the last three lines as follo,s :-- 
Sometimes my humour is to land 
From boat at Temple or the Strand, 
To see the sights on every hand. 
Another in these terres :-- 
Sometimes my humour is to go 
To Temple, Strand, or Pimlico, 
To drink good ale or Charnico. 
To find  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 bas written on the subject of our early popular. 
poetry, bas remarked. The burden of the ballad will remind the reader of 
the song ' Gmmercy, mine own Purse,' attributed to Dame Juliana Berners» 
and inserted in Ritson's ' Ancient Songs,' Vol. II. edit. x829. 
There is a fine old satirical broadside in the Collection now deposited in 
the I¢iuseum, of which, if we mistake hOt, there is an erlier (and perhaps  
better) copy in the Pepysian Librar F at Cambridge ; but an introduction to 


that edifice is so dictdt to be obtained, and the mcans of examination, fo 
those who are admitted, so insufficient, that we cannot pretend fo 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 hot, itis a severe rebuke to 
ail who formerly neglected Christmas hospitality and charity. If is entitled 
' Christmas Lamentation for the Losse of his Acquaintance, showing how he is 
forst to leave the Country, and come to London.' Itis in a very peculiar, but 
striking measure, and is said to be sung "to the tune of Now Spring is corne." 
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 raakes moanes, and makes moanes, 
In miser's bags. 
I11 bouses 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 round, in its more ancient state, in the copy Pepys bequeathed. 
Since pride came up with yellow starch, 
.'ellow starch, yellow starch, yellow starch, 
Poore folkes doe want, 
And nothing the rich man will to them give, 
To them give, to t.hem give, to them give, 
But doe them taunt. 
For charity from the country is fled, 
And in her place bath nought left but need» 
Welladay I 
And corne is growne to so high a price, 
It makes poore men cry with weeping eyes, 
Welladay, welladay, welladay ! 
Where should I stay ? 
The copy we have used purports to bave been "printed at London for F. 
C., dwelling in the Old Bayly," F. C. being the initiais 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 x845 : in x873 we may add :--and so daran'd uncivil as hot 
to answer a leRer writtea in reference to the Pepyiau Collection. 


burghe volmnes: 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 succeede,l the old scriptural dramas, and preceded 
plays founded upon lire and history. Poor Robin, dreaming, fancies that he 
ecs 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, xvhether 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 which, according to Henslowe's Diary (Shakespeare Society's 
impression, p. 67), he was introduced in the year 16oo :-- 
" The first that acted, I protest, 
,Vas Time, with a glass and a scithe in his hand, 
With the globe of the wodd 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 ca.Il us ail away. 
Conscieuee, who next enters, is thus spoken of :-- 
" Conscience in order takes his place, 
And very gallantly plays his part ; 
Ite fears hot to fly in a ruler's face, 
Although it cuts him to the heart : 
Ile tells them ail 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 bave harbour and quietly rest, 
For dissemblers and turn-coats fare the best. 
Then cometh in poor Charity : 
Methinks she looketh wondrous old ; 
.'qhe quiver'd and she quak'd most piteously, 
It griev'd me to think she was grown so cdd. 
.'qhe had been in the city and in the country, 
Amongt the lawyers and nobility ; 
13ut there was no room for poor Charity. 
" The impression from which our extracts are taket is obviously a com- 
paratively modem one, and pro'ports to bave been " Printed by J. Lock, for . 
j. Clank, at the Harp and Bible in West Smithfi¢ld." There is no date of 


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 
' XValton's Angler.'" 
"We continue out 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 vehlcles of the opinions of the mass of the people upon the 
topics of the day : they are so even in our osvn time, and were much more so 
among out ancestors before the invention of newspapers ; and, as has been sald 
by a great authority, ' they contain more real history, as far as the multitude is 
concerned, than ail our annals, which treat of kings, princes and nobles.' 
]]allads may be but 'straws to show which svay the wind blows,' to use 
Selden's expression, but they show it in its under-currents xvith 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 
Ioxburghe collection (and it may possibly be done hereafter by a patient ex- 
amination, which we cannot pretend to have bestoxved upon them), we should 
possess more valuable materials for a history of national opinions, prejudices, 
and manners, for about 2o0 years, than we hope to derive fl'om 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 :o the period when they were xvritten : out oldest specimerrs 
were adapted to a state of society in which strong thoughts and natural feelings 
predominated» because the modes and habits of artificial lire were not under- 
stood and introduced ; but the great majority of the twelve hundred pieces in 
the volumes under ¢onsideration were ¢omposed 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, IOaniel, 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 amu»emcnts for the multitude either entirely put down or grievousl), 


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 naine 
of Martin Parker wil] be familiar to many readers of the class of productions 
to which xve 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.' lobody can have forgotten the three 
songs in Chapter IV. of that work, one by Marloxve, 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 j, ou and yom" 
cousin Betty.' 
" ' Matd.--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 xvordly estate. 
But oh ! the green sickness 
Soon changed her likeness, 
And ail her beauty did rail. 
But 'tis not so 
XVith those that go 
Through frost and snow, 
As all men knoxv, 
Aad carry the milking-pail. 
"In notre 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 bas 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 
initiais at the end of them : one of which bears the following title .-- 
A'ee_p a good 'ongue in /our Jlead : 
|Iere's a very good woman, in every respect 
But only her tongale breeds all the defect. 


"It opens with a stanza, only the first rive lines of which were employed, 
with some slight changes, by Walton. 
" I man'y'd a wife of late, 
The more's my unhappy rate : 
I tooke ber for love, 
As fancy did me move, 
And not for ber worldly state. 
For qualities rare 
Few with ber compare ; 
Let me doe ber no wrong. 
I must confesse, 
Her chiefe amisse, 
Is onely this, 
As some wives is, 
She cannot rule ber 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 saine writer (whom he novhere names), which is thus headed 
in the original copy :-- 
he JlIilke-maid's .Lire ; 
A pretty nev 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 
present]y), but as SValton 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 cornes the 
. . green sicknesse 
And changeth their likenesse, 
Ail this for want of good sale ; 
But 'tis not so, 
As proofe doth show 
By them that goe 
In frost and SHOW, 
To carry the milking paile. 
"Both these ballads were written tobe sung to the saine 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. 
lqeither 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 
haz merelï ' Printed at London for T. Lambert.' Both axe in black-letter i 


and as Walton has thought them worth quoting, another specimcn or two from 
each may hot be unacceptable. The following is the thh'd 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 SHOW, 
Between her round chin and ber nose. 
Her shoulders are decent, 
Her armes white and pleasant, 
Her fingers small and long. 
1o fault I find, 
]3ut in my minde 
Most womenkind 
Must corne behind, 
O ! that she could rule her tongue. 
"Of ber 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 tan tell. 
Her fingers apace 
At weaving bone lace 
She useth all day long : 
Ail arts that be 
So women free 
Of each degree, 
Performeth she. 
O ! that she could fuie her tongue. 
"From the other ballad, 'The Milk-maid's L;.fe,' 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 glilk-maids. 
" The bravest lasses gay 
Live hot merry so as they. 
In honest civil sort 
They make each other sport, 
As they trudge on their way. 
Corne faire or foule weather, 
They're fearfull of neither, 
Their courages never quaile : 
In wet or dry, 
Though winds be hye. 
A:d darke to sky, 
Tlley ne'er deny 
To carr,/the milking paile. 


Their hearts are free from care, 
They never will dispaire ; 
Whatever them befall, 
They bravely beare out ail, 
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 tnow, 
They merrily goe, 
Along with the milking paile. 
" Surely those who love poetry, and who sometimes unreasonably expect 
to meet with it in old ballads of a comparativoly modern date, must be satisfied 
with this sweet, cheerful, pastoral rein of Martin Parker. To us it is 
wonder that he was quoted by Izaac Walton ; our wonder rather is that 
Walton did hot 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 I653. 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 if, 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 more ; 
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 of the writer (whose naine or initiais nowhere 
appear) is stated in thir introductory couplet :-- 
" Proving that ail men are Intanglers, 
And ail professions are tumed Anglers 
In this spirit we as follows : 
" Upon the Exchange, twixt twelve and one, 
Meets many a aeat intangler : 
Most merchant men, hOt one in ten, 
But is a cmming Angler : 



And, like the fishers in the brooke, 
B"other doth fish for brother : 
A golden bait hangs at the hooke, 
Aad 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 Cltlzen must look tot th .n, 
Or the fish will catch the Angler. 

" Several circumstances show that this song was hot 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 bec.ame between twelve 
and one, and soit 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 lunebriz llorœe took place. In the Roxburghe collection 
are seveml 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 for.dness. 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 sve bave used was ' printed at London, by J. Wright, junior, dwelling at the 
upper end of the Old Bai]y,' perhaps about 165o or 66o. 
" Now Pari 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 lIay. 
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 barley-breake : 
Good lack ! what paines they tak¢ 
For their green gownes. 



" It is quite evident from the run ofthe lines, that the tune of Room for 
Company,' was the saine as was afterwards called ' Hunting the Hale.' In 
fact, 'Hunting the Hare,' was also known by the naine 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 saine 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 bas it, we believe, been remarked upon by any of our poetical antiquaries. 
We allude to the ' ][edley,' which consists of stanzas formed from single lines 
or fragments of other popular compositions, well known at the rime, 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 corne 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 o.f 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 I588. ' Tarlton's Medley' must 
bave 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. 
A excellent Iedle¢, 
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 peri_,hed), and afterwards for F. Coles, T. Vere, 
and J. Wright. It opens with this stanza, and it will be observed that no one 
line bas an)" connexion in point of sense with-another :-- 
"In summer time when folks make hay, 
Ail is hot true that people say, 
The fool's the wisest in the play. 
Tush ! take away your hand. 


The fiddler's boy hath broke his base ; 
Sirs, is hot this a piteous case ? 
Most gallants loath to smell the mace 
Of V¢ood-street." 
Here we find fragments of seven or eight 6ifferent ballads, and so of the other 
stanzas, nineteen in number, of which the medley consists : thus. supposing 
each stanza tobe 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  33 popular songs. Some, though only a few, bave 
survived to our own day : thus, in the following stanza, we only know ofthat 
performance in  hich John Dory is mentioned : 
" Vhen the fifth LIarry sail'd to France, 
Let me alone for a countrey dance, 
/ ell will bewail ber 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-sbaws. 
The ballad of John Dory bas 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 hot 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 accountetl 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 ber barge :-- 
"Now hides are cheap, the tanner thrives, 
tIang those base knaves that beat their wives, 
He needs must go that the devil drives ; 
God bless us from a gain ! 
The beadles make the lame to run ; 
Vaunt hot 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 himselfat liberty to add-to, or alter it, in order that it might better 
suit his own day ; and we learn, from the testimony in our handg, that such 
,vas the custom with Martin Parker, whose initiais at the end of a ballad seem 
to bave 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 


is proved by many of those tmder our notice), which cannot but be deemed 
high, when we recollect that it was equal to about sixpenee of our present 
The late George Daniel, of Canonbury Square, Islington, near London, 
who formerly possessed the "ELIZABETIAN GARLAND," which consists of 
Seventy Ballads, printed between the Years I559 and 597,--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 Lagt .Labour" 2Vot 
Zot :"--" If any portion of English Literatre be more generally interesting 
than another, it is ancient ballad-lore. Battles have been fought and heroes 
immortalised in its inspiring strains. It has ruade us familiar with the manly 
virtues, sympathies, sports, pastimes, traditions, the very language of out tore- 
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 geins 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 ruade to a 
' mistress's eyebrow ;' in war, it was the trumpet sounding ' to arms !' or the 
mued drain rdling forth the warrior's requiem. 
"The merit of out old English Border Ballads was long ago acknow- 
ledged far beyond sea-girt land. Joseph Scaliger, when he visited England 
x566 , among many minute observations recorded in his entertainiug Table Talk, 
particularly notices the excellence of out Border Ballads, the beauty of Mary 
Stuart, and out burning coal instead ofwood in the north. 
"The tune s to which these ballads were sung are centuries older than the 
ballads themselves. Many of them are lost in antiquity. ' fFhe .B'ide'8 good 
morron" ; ' 2"lte f/rst Atelles,' ' 19aton ad Pithias ; ' A new lust/ gallant,' 
' lhe nine Muses; ' Petter s blacke,' ' Zi9htie Zore; ' Blaok Almaine, 
tton 8cissilia,' ' Zabandalashotte,' ' Bragandar/ ; ' 17e I|'aaton ll'ije, ' 
' In 8oraertirae; and ' Please one and lolease all,' were among the most 
popular. Many ballads quoted by Shakespeare, Beaumont and Fletcher, and 
Samuel Rowlands (' Crew of I£in 9 ¢7ossits) extend hot beyond a single verse, 
or even a single line ; yet how suggestive are theyl 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 


of fascination may be learnt from the varlet's om 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 rime 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 aie house, where they would find a 
cleanly room, lavender in the windows, and t«'entj ballads stuck about the 
wall.' ' When I travelled,' says the Spectator, ' I took a particular delight in 
hearing the songs and fables that are corne from father to son, and are most in 
vogue among the common people of the countries through which I passed.' 
The heart-music ofthe peasant was his native minstrelsy, his blithesome c.aml 
in the cottage and in the field." 
In respect to the "wooden prints" which "adorn" the ballads here re- 
printed, our readers will hot fail to see ata glance how often the saine cuts are 
repeated, and ruade to change sides with one another, and that simply to make 
a little variation from a ballad that had been printed at the saine 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 marrer. 
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 balhds on a given number of pages 
than we otherdse could have done, as we considered it a waste of space to 
repeat over and over again to the end of the chapter the saine old, and in mauy 
cases ilmppropriate " wooden prints." 
With these remarks, we place before the public the first volume of our 
reprint of-- 


New Yorkshyre Song, intituled : Yorke, 
Yorke, for my Monie ......  
True Relation of the Life and Death of 
Sir Andrew Barton, a Pyrate and 
Rover on the Seas ... --- 9 
Amantium iroe Amoris redintegratio est" 
The falling out of Lovers is the re- 
newing of Love ...... 2 
The Maydes Answere ...... 25 
An Admirable New Northern Story of 
Constance and Anthony ... 29 
Arme Askew, I am a woman poor and blind 38 
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.c., 
Martin Parker ...... 67 
An Excellent New Medley ...... 74 
The Bride's Good-morrow ... 82 
Friendly Consaile (A faithfu'l'i'riend and a 
flattering foe) ...... 86 
Bill of Fare ......... 93 
Blew Cap for me ......... zoo 
Pleasant New Court Song ...... o7 
Pleasant Countrey New Ditty ---  3 
The Catholick Ballad ......  20 


The Cruell Shrow; or The Patient Mans 
Woe ...... 
The Cooper of "lorfolke ; or A pretty 
Iest, &c .......... 
Choice of Inuentions ...... 
The Country-mans new Care away ... 
Corne, buy this new Ballad, belote you doe 
goe, &c .......... 
A new Ballad, containing a communication 
betweene the careful Wife and the 
comfortable Husband, &c .... 
The Householders New-yeere's Gift, &c ... 
Corne worldlings see vhat 
paines, &c ....... 
Second part--Corne, Prodigals, your selves 
The cunning Northerne Begger ... 
The Lire of Man ......... 
Cuckold's Haven, &c .... ... 
Christmas Lamentation for the losse of his 
Acquaintance, &c ........ 
or, Cupid's vrongs vindi- 
cated, &c .......... 
The Countrey Lasse ...... 
The Complaint of a Lover forsaken of his 
Love ......... 
The Constancy of True Loue, &c .... 
A Courtly New Ballad of the Princely 
wooing, &c ....... 
The faire Maid of London's answer, &c .... 
The Bride's Buriall ...... 
An excellent Ba]]ad" The Constancy of 
Susanna ......... 
A Compleate Gentle-woman ...... 
Clods Carroll; or, A proper new Iigg, to be 
sung Dialogue wise, of a man and a 
woman that would needs be married 


2 4 



Constant, faire, and fine Betty, being .the 
Young-man's praise of a curlous 
Creature ......... 
The Constant Loyer ...... 
A discourse of Man's life ....... 
The Dead Man's Song ...... 
A Dialogue between Master Guesright and 
poore neighbour Needy ... 
Doctor Do-good's directions to cure many 
diseases both in body and minde, 
lately written and set forth for the 
good of infeeted persons ... 
Death's loud Allarum, &c ....... 
A delicate new Ditty, &C ....... 
A merry Discourse ...... 
The Despairing Loyer ...... 
The deceased Maiden-Louer ...... 
The Faithlesse Loyer ...... 
The Desperate Damsell's Tragedy ... 
The Story of David and Berseba ... 
The Distressed Virgin, &c ....... 
Death's Dance ......... 
The most rare and excellent H istory of the 
Duchesse of Suffolke's Calamity ... 
The discontented Married Man ... 
A Pleasant new Dialogue, &c .... 
A lamentable ballad on the Earl of Essex's 
Death ......... 
An excellent Ballad of a Prince of England's 
Courtship ......... 
Song af an English Merchant, borne at Chi- 
chester ......... 
An excellent Song, wherein you shall finde 
greatconsolation for a troubled minde. 
An excellent new Ditty, &c ....... 
An excellent Sonnett, &c .... ... 
Faire fall all good Tokens, &c .... 











A Friend's Advice ....... 
The Four Wonders of this Land 
The Fox-Chace: Or, The Huntsmar; 
Harmony ...... 
A Fayre Portion for a Fayre "layd ... 
Fayre Warning ......... 
Fond Love, why dost thou dally ... 
An excellent Ballad of St. George for Eng- 
land ......... 




 2"emorar IVolice. 


HE Collection of Ballads long known as the 
Roxburghe Ballads, consists of two 
large volumes in folio, and embraces 
nearly a thousand broad-sides in Ilad ttrr, and 
are all in a very good state of preservation. Some 
of these are repetitions of the same production by 
different printers. 
The Collection was commenced by Harley, 
Earl of Oxford, and was augmented by Vffest and 
Pearson, but especially by the Duke of Roxburghe, 
at whose sale it was bought for the late Mr. Bright ; 
who for many years kept the volumes out of sight, 
but they were necessarily brought to light at his 
death, when they were judiciously secured by the 
British Museum, where they are accessible, and 
where means of collation are afforded. 
" On the rarity of the Ballads in the Collection 
it is superfluous (says John Payne Collier) to enlarge; 
in many instances the broadsides are unique: no 

duplicates of them are to be met with in public or 
private libraries, and itis easy to account for this 
circumstance, if we reflect that they were sèldorn 
printed in a form calculated for preservatior. The 
more generally acceptable a ballad became, the 
more it was handed about for perusal or performance, 
and the more it was exposed to the danger of 

" IIIt; and 
,Vritten on Various Subjects, 
Orint ¢t¢¢n te far IDLX n NDCC. 
And purchased at the Sale of the late 
MR. WEST'S LBRAR in the Year 773. 
In Two Volumes. 
Vol. I. 

Arranged and Bound in the Year I774. 

A new Yorkshyre Song, Intituled" 
3forke, 3forke, for my monie ; Of ail the Citties that ever I see, 
For mery pastime and companie, Except the Citde 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 gaine, 
as if it had been at London. 
For/ce, Yorke, for my monie, 
Of all lte Ciies lmt ever I see, 
For mery astime and comanie, 
Excel lire Ciltie of London. 

¶ And in that Cittie what sawe I then ? 
Knightès, 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, d¢c. 

These Matches, you shall vnderstande, 
The Earle of Essex toake 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. 
kZorZ'c, 1 "orZ'e, for ¢y uouie, _c. 
In Yorke there dwels an Alderman, which 
Delites in shooting very much, 
I neuer heard of any such 
in all the Cittie of London. 
Itis naine is Maltbie, mery and vise 
At an 3" pastime 3'ou can deuise, 
But in shooting ail lais pleasures lyes; 
tbe like was neuer in London. 
l'otite, k'orl«e, for 9' monie, &c. 
This Maltbie, for the Citties sake, 
To shoote, himself, did vndertake, 
At any good Match the Earles vould make, 
as well as they doe st 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. 
J'orke, J'orbe, 

Ior/«e, lorke, for 0' monie. 

¶ Then came from Cumberland A rchers three, 
Best Bowmen in the North countree, 
I will tell you their names what they may bee, 
well knowne to the Cittie of London. 
\Vamsley many a man doth knowe, 
And Bolton, how he draweth lais Bowe, 
And Ratcliffes shooting long agoe 
well knowne to the Cittie of London. 
Yorke, Iorke, 
¶ And the Noble Earle of Essex came 
To the fielde himself, to see the same, 
Which shal be had for euer in faine, 
as soone as I corne 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, &c. 
¶ 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. 
J'«:'.:'r, J'°:',r.'r,  ";. 


Yoroee, YorAe, 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. 
'orke, 'orke, 
¶ The Maior of Yorke, with his companië, 
Were all in the fieldes, 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. 
Vorke, Iorke, '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. 
Jorke, Iorke, 

1orke, ]'orke, fÇr my monie. 


¶ And neuer a man that went abroade 
But thought his monie well bestowde ; 
And monie layd on heape and loade, 
as if it had beer at London. 
And Gentlemen there so franke and free, 
As a Mint at Yorke agaire should bee, 
Like shooting did I neuer see, 
except I had been at London. 
Yorke, Yorke, Cc. 

¶ At Yorke were Ambassadours three, 
Of Russia, Lordes of high dêgree, 
This shooting they desirde to see, 
as if it had been at London : 
And one desirde to draxv a Bowe, 
The force and strength thereof to knowe, 
And for his delight he dreve it so 
as seldome seene in London. 
Yorke, Yorke, 

¶ 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. Jorke, &¢. 


¶ The Earle of Cumberlands Archers won 
Two Matches cleare, ere all was done, 
And I ruade 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, 

¶ I passe hOt for my monie it cost, 
Though some I spent, and some I Iost, 
I wanted neither sod nor roast, 
as if it had been at London. 
For there was plentle of euery thing, 
Redd and fallowe Deere for a K ing, 
I neuer sawe so mery shooting 
since first I came from London. 
l'orke, Iorke, &c. 
¶ 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 hOt little ioye to see 
When Lords and Aldermen so agree, 
With su,:h aecording Communaltie, 
God sende vs the like at London. 
J'orZ'e, I"orZ'e, &c. 

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 lraise to London. 
I"orZ'e, 1/'orZ'e, &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 
Wlaen noble ¥outhes so gracious bee 
To giue their good willes to their Countree, 
as xvell as they doe at London. 
YorZ'e, } orbe, OEc. 
Farewell good Cittie of York to thee, 
Tell Alderman Maltbie this from mee. 
In print shall this good shooting bec 
as soon as I come at Lond6n. 
And many a 8ong will I bestowe 
On ail the Musitions that I knowe, 
To sing the praises, where they goe, 
of the Cittie of Yorke in London. 
l'orc, l'orZ'c, 


Yorke, Yorke, for my nonle. 

¶ God saue our Queene and keep our peace, 
That our good shooting maie increase ; 
And praying to G0d let vs not cease, 
as well at Yorke, as at London. 
That all our Countrey round about 
lIay haue Archers good to hit the Clout, 
Which England cannot be without, 
no more then Yorke and London. 
l'orke, Yorke, 
¶ God graunt that (once) ber l.iaiestie 
Would came her Cittie of Yorke to sec, 
For the comfort great of that Countree, 
as well as she doth to London. 
1Nothing shal be thought to deare 
To sec her Highnes Persan th'ere, . 
With such obedient loue and feare 
as ever she had in London. 
Yorke, çorke,/or ny manie. 
Of all the Çillies lhat euer [ sec, 
For ery astime and conanie, 
Eaccet t/te Citlie of l_.ondon. 
From Yorke, by W.E. 

Inrinted at Zondon by 
Richard [ones : dwelliȂ 
neere Hol6ourne Bridge, 

A True Relation 0fthe Lire and Death 
of Sir ' «arew JTarLou, a Pyrate and 
Rover on the Seas. 

Tune, Come follow ruy Love, &c. 

"When Flora with ber fragrant flmvers 
bedect the earth so trim and gay, 
And Neptune with his dainty shovers 
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 Tke Lire and Deatk of Sir Andrew 17arton, 

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 Andrexv Barton makes us quail, 
and robs us of our marchant-ware." 

Vext was the Kin K, 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 vo,v to seek, 
in what place soever he be, 
And bring ashore, with all his might, 
or into Scotland he shall carry me." 

?lte Lire and Z)eat]t of Sir tndrew t?arton. I I 

A hundred Men, the K ing 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 gaindd lame, 
/k Gentleman born in Yorkshire, 
and William Horsely was his name : 

H orsely, 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-toast l'Il hanged be, 
if ,elvescore I miss one shillings breadth. 
Lord Howard then, of courage bold, 
went to the Sea with pleasant chear, 

x  rke Life and 13eath of Sir Mndrew Barlon. 

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, 
emanding 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 ; 

;lire Li./è and Deat/ of Sir Andrew ttarlo,t, a  

And mickle debts, God knows, I owe, 
and every Man doth crave his own; 
And I ara bound to London now, 
of out gracious K ing to beg a boon." 
" Shew me him," said Lord Howard then, 
"let me once the Villain see, 
And e'ry penny he bath from thee tane, 
l'Il double the saine with shillings three." 

" Now God forbid," the Merchant said, 
" I fear your aire that you will miss; 
God bless you froln lis tyranny, 
For little you thmk what Mari he is. 
He is brass within and steel without, 
his ship most huge and mighty strong, 
With eighteen pieces of orclnance 
he carrieth on each side along ; 

With beams for his top-casde, 
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 Lord, 
" to welcome Stranger to the Sea : 
But, as I said, i'll bring him aboard, 
or into S¢otland he shall carry me." 

14 Thc Lire atd De«th of Szr /.ndrcw )arton. 

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; 

/k glass l'll set as may be seen, 
whether you sail by day or night ; 
And to-morrow, be sure, before seven, 
you sha]l 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 Gir Andrew Barton, Knight. 

The Lord then swore a mighty oath, 
" Now, by the I-Ieavens, that be of might-- 
13y faith, believe me, and by troth,-- 
I think he is a worthy Knight." 
Sir Andrew Barton sehing him 
thus scornfldly to pass b), 
As though he cared hot a l,in, 
for him and ail his Company ; 

Tke Lire and Dcath of Sir Andrew l?arton.  5 

Then called he his Men main, 
" Fetch back yon Pedler now," quoth he, 
" And e're this way he cornes again, 
i'll teach him xvell 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-toast, 
if thou 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; 

O lhc Li_/'c amt Dealk ,oE .-'ir MJtdrew BartoJt. 

" Alas !" then said the Pirate stout, 
" I ara 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. 

The Lord call'd Horsely now in haste, 
" Look that thy word now stand in stead, 
For thou shalt be banged on Main-toast, 
if thou mlss twelvescore a shilling" breadth." 
Then up ma..,t-t,'ee swerved he, 
this stout and mighty Gordian, 
But Horsely he most happily 
shot him u'nder the collar-bone. 

ñ Lijé m{ Dc«th o/.çir .4udrew Baril,n.  7 

Then calrd 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 toast 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 ; 
" Corne hither, Horsely," saith the Lord, 
" see thou thy arrovs aim aright, 
Great means to thee I xvill 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, 
611 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 ; 

18 The Lire and Dcailt oJ Sir Azdrew Bartan. 

" Fight on, fight on, my merry Men ail, 
a little I am hurt yet not slain, 
I'll but lye down and bleed a while, 
and corne 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, 
xvhich made them ail full sore afraid ; 
Then Horsely said, " My Lord, aboard ! 
tor now Sir Andrew Barton's dead." 
Thus boarded they this gallant ship, 
with right good will and ail 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 out king; 

T]e Lire and Deat]t of Sir Indrew Barton. 

Who briefly then to him did say, 
before he knev well vhat was done, 
"Where is the Knight and Pirate gay, 
that I myself may give the doom ?'; 
"You may thank God," then said the Lord, 
" and four Men in the Ship," quoth he, 
"That we are safely corne 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 xvhat he hath from the tarte, 
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. 

20 The Lire and Death of Sir Andrew larlon. 

Seven shillings to our English Men, 
who in this fight did stoutly stand ; 
And twelve-pence a day to the Scots, till they 
corne to m" Brother-King's high land." 

Printed by and for il. ®. and sold by the 
Booksellers of gletorn,r an .onorbribg,. 

.//mam'ztm irce ./1 moris redinlegraEo 
The falling out of Louers, is the renewing of Loue. 
To tAe tune ol c Ae 2Ieddow row. 

Corne my best and deerest, 
corne 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 iroe amoris 
redineffratio est. 

4mantium irœe. 

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 earne,t or in lest : 
A mantium irw amoris 
redintegratio est. 

-hy beauty gaue me much content, 
thy verrue gave me more; 
Thy modest kinde ciuility, 
which I doe much adore ; 
Thy modest stately Iesture 
liues shrined in my brest ; 
A mantium iroe 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 : 
.4mantium irœe amoris 
redintegratio esL 

24mantium irœe. 

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 
an.-I pillow of my rest ? 
l tattiztt irw amoris 
redinlegralio esL 


Fare Cynthia, the want of thee 
doth breed my ouerthrow ; 
lIy body in my agony, 
doth melt away like snow. 
The plagues of Egipt could no more 
torment my tender brest ; 
.dl manlittt ire amoris 
redinleralio esL 

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 : 
./l manlium irte amoris 
redinleralio est. 


4manlium irte. 

And thus in breuitie of time 
I sadly end my ditty, 
Which here ara left to statue and pine 
without remorse or pitty. 
Yet will I pray that still thou maist 
remaine among the blest; 
4 manth«m irce amoris 
redinleralio esl. 

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 irw amoris 
red'nteq'rat[o est. 


7"he 21rayde's Vswere. 

The tryall of Penelope 
in me is proued true, 
Misdoubt thou not my constancie, 
the turfle keepes her hew,. 
And to her chosen mate 
doth bear a loyall brest : 
A»zantium iroe amoris 
redbztex rat io'.es t. 

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 : 
.4 maliu iree a».,.oris 
redbtegratio 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 test : 
A zanlium iroe a»,or«s 
redinteoratio est. 

7he 3Iaydds Vnswere. 

Account me for no xvoman kinde 
if I vndoe the knot : 
Or beare the false and faithlesse minde 
to haue the same forgot 
That once, betwixt vs tvo, 
were sealed in each brest : 
A mantium irœe amoms 
redinteralio est. 

The siluer Moone shall shine by day, 
the golden Sunne by night ; 
Ere I will go that wanton xvay 
wherein some take delight. 
But, for 2Eneas, I, 
with Dido, pierce my brest : 
.4 mantium irw amoris 
redintegratio esl. 

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 : 
Mmanlium D'oe amoris 
redinleôr«lio csL 


The Mayde's M nswere. 

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 
l'le feede it in my brest ; 
A mantium irce amoris 
redintegratio esl. 

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 : 
Amanliu» irw amoris 
redinterratio eçt. 


Printed at London for H. Gosson. 

An Admirable Nexv Northern 
of two Constant Lovers. 


Of two constant Loyers, 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  oulll tljou trr't for $rrWlmr. 

3 o 

Constance and Anthony. 

Two Loyers in the N orth, 
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 site crys, "A nlkony, 
 &onny Anthony, 
Gan tkou 3y Zand or Sea, 
l'll wend alonff with thee." 

Anthony must to Sea, 
his calling him did bind, 
" My Constance dear," quoth he0 
"I must leave thee behind : 
I prithee do not grieve, 
Thy tears will not prevail ; 
l'll think on thee, my Sweet, 
when the Ship's under Sail." 
2ut still, &c. 

'° How may that be ?" said he, 
" consider well the case :" 
Quoth she, "sweet Anthony, 
I'II bide not in this place. 

Constance and Mntony. 

If thou gang, so will I, 
Of the means do not doubt : 
A Woman's policy 
great matters may find out: 
.M'y &onny .dnthony, .'«. 

3 ! 

" I would be very glad, 
but prithee tell me how ?"-- 
" I'I1 dress me |ike 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. 
IWy &onny, 'c. 

Anthony's leave she had, 
and drest in Man's array, 
She seem'd the blithest Lad 
seen on a Summer's Day. 
0 see what Love can do ! 
at home she wili not bide : 
With her true Love she'll go, 
let weal or woe betide. 
My Dearest 

3 2 

Constance. and Antlwny. 

In the Ship 'twas her lott 
to be the under-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. 
")Iy onny Mnttwny, 
my onny A nthony, tAou ky Zand or Sea 
l'll wend along with thee." 

A Iack and weladay, 
in Tempest on the main» 
Their Ship was cast away 
upon the coast of Spain 1 
To the mercy of the Waves 
they ail committed were, 
Constance her own self she saves, 
Then she crys for her dear. 
"34y onny Antkouy, 
my 3onny .zl nthony, 
Gang thou by Land or Sea, 
l'le wend along witlt lace," 


Comtance an4 

Swimming upon a Plank, 
at Bilbo she got ashore, 
First she did heaven thank, 
Then she lamented sore, 
" 0 woe is me," said she, 
" the saddest Lass alive, 
My dearest Anthony, 
Now on the Sea doth drive. 
1PIy onny, 

" 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 saine good providence 
Hath sav'd thy loyer sweet, 
but he is far from hence. 
Still, c. 

A Spanish Merehant rieh, 
saw ths fair-seeming lad 
That did lainent so rnuchj 
and was so grevioùs sadj 
l-le had in England been, 
and Ëngllsh understood, 
He having heard and seen, 
he in amazement stood : 

Constance and Anthony. 

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, g_ce. 

Anthony up was tane 
By an English Runagade, 
With whom he did remain 
at the Sea-roving trade : 
l'th nature of a slave 
he dicl i'th Galley row ; 
Thus he his life did sàve, 
but Cnstance did not know : 
till site crys ".4ntitony, 
my bony A nthoy, 
Gazg lhou by Land or Sea, 
l'll wend along wilh thee." 

lqow mark what came fo 
see how the fates did work, 
A Ship that ber Master's was, 
surpriz'cl this English Turk 


Çanslance and Mnl/wny. 

And into Bilbo brought 
all that aboard her were ; 
Constance full little thought 
Anthony was so near. 

When they were eome on shore, 
Anthony and the test, 
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, .c. 

Upon ber knees she fell 
unto ber toaster kind, 
And all the truth dld tell 
Nothing she kept behind : 
At which he did admire, 
And in a ship of Spain 
Not paying tor their hire 
He sent them home again. 
2Vow che, 

Conslance and Aut]zooE. 

The Spanish Merchant rich 
did ot's own bounty give 
A sum of Gold, on which 
they now most bravely lire • 
And now in Westmoreland, 
they were joyn'd hand in hand, 
Constance and Anthony, 
they live in mirth and glee. 
Now she says, "Anthap, 
n onny Antho, 
Goocl providence we see, 
bath g'uarded t/zee azd me." 



Printed for ililliam 
at the Angel in 
and l. 

An[ne] Askew, 

Intituled, I ara a IUoman Poor and Blind. 

I ara a woman poor and blind, 
and little knowledge remains in me, 
Long bave I sought, but fain would find, 
What Herb in my Garden were best tobe. 

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, 

Mnne Mskew. 


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 xvith myself being thus at strife 
xvould 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, 
truc 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 m 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, 
had Trentals of mass, and balls of lead, 
not one word spoke of Christ's passion. 

4 o 

Arme Askew. 

In me was sown ail 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," 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 Iews 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 e|even, 
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 

Mnne Mskew. 4  

For such Sinners, as the Scripture saith, 
that would gladly repent & follow thy word, 
Which l'le hot deny, whilst I have breath, 
for prison, tire, faggot, or tierce 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. 

0 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 tierce tire brands. 

I date not presume for him to pray, 
because the truth of him it was well known, 
But, since that rime, he had gone astray, 
and much pestilent seed abroad he hath so,,vn. 

Arme Askew. 

Beeause that now I have no space 
the cause of my death truly to show, 
I trust hereafter that, by God's holy Graee, 
that all faithful men shall plainly know. 

To thee, 0 Lord, I bequeath my spirit, 
that art the Work-master of the saine, 
It is thine, Lord, therefore take it of right, 
my carcass on earth I love, from whenee it 

Although to ashes it be now burned, 
I know thou canst raise it again 
In the saine 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 tt'i, who was by ber own Mother procured 
to be put in Prison, thinking the.reby to compel 
her to Popery : but she continued to the end, 
and finished her life in the tire. 

Tune is, 0 Man of Desperation. 

It was a Ladies Daughter 
of Paris properly, 
Her mother her commanded 
to Mass that she should hie : 
" 0 pardon me, dear mother," 
ber daughter dear did say, 
"Vnto that filthy Idol 
I never 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. 


Il was a Lady's Daug]tr. 

But, where they thought to fear her, 
she did" most strong endure ; 
Altho' ber years was tender, 
her faith was firm and sure ; 
She weigh'd hOt their allurements, 
she fear'd hOt firey flame, 
She hop'd, thro' Christ ber Saviour, 
to bave immortal lame. 

Before the judge they brought her, 
thinking that she would turn, 
And there she was condemned 
in tire for to burn. 
I nstead of golden bracelets, 
with cords they bound ber fast, 
" My God, grant me with patience," 
(quoth she) "to die at last." 

And on the morrow af ter, 
which vas heï dying day, 
They stript this silly Damsel 
out of her rich ai ray ; 
Her Chain, f Gold, so costly, 
away from her they take, 
And she again most joyfully 
did all the world forsake. 

Il was a Lady's 13aughter. 

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 fait Ladies, 
and 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. 


4 6 

Il was a Lady's l)augler. 

But, my distressed mother, 
why weep you ? be content, 
You bave 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 lire," 

Il was a Lady's 1)aughter. 

When ail these words were ended, 
then came the man of death, 
Who kindled soon a tire, 
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 B,I.a) that ever xvas seen, 

Of the Blind BEGGER'S DAUGHTER oft?cdnal 

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 tbough she was of faveur 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 sa3", 
" 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 t?ewer's Dauhtcr of tcdimL Grccn. 49 

She we,lt till she came at Stratford at Bow, 
Then knew she not whither, nor which way, to go ; 
Vith tears she lamented ber hard destiny, 
So sad & so heavy was pretty Bessee. 

She kept on her journey until it xvas day, 
And went unto Rumford along the high-xvay, 
And at the Kings-arms entertained was she, 
So fait and well-favoured was pretty Bessee. 

She had not been there one month to an end, 
But master, & mistress, & ail 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 fait & so comely was pretty Bessee. 

The young men of Rumford in her had thelr joy, 
She shmv'd herself courteous, but never too coy, 
At their commandment still would she be, 
So fait & so comely is pretty Bessee, 

Four suitors at once unto her did go, 
They craved her favour, but sti!l she said, "no ; 
I would hot wish G«ntlemen to marry with me," 
Yet ever they honoured pretty Bessee0 

50 The 1311ncl Beçer's Dau.hter of l?edual-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 thé 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, 
" Fil make thee a Lady with joy and delight, 
My heart is inthralled by thy beauty, 
Then grant me thy favour, my pretty 13essee." 

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 nost gallant and gay, 
My ships shall bring home rich jewels for thee, 
And I will for ever love pretty Bessee." 

Then Bessee she slghed, & 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 teyger's Daughter of teduaLGr«en. 5  

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 tather of pretty Bessee." 
"Nay then," (quoth the Merchant,) "thou art rtot 
for mej" 
" 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 
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." 

5 2 The Bhnd tegger's Daughter oft?ednaLGreot. 

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. 

B]at 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 corne railing at pretty Bessee. 

Then speak the blind begger, "altho' I be poor, 
Rail hOt against my child at mine own door, 
Tho' she be not deckt with velvet and pearl, 
Yet will I drop angels with thee fcr my Girl ; 

And then, if my gold will better ber birth, 
And equal the gold that you lay on the earth, 
Then neither rail, nor grudge you fo see 
The blind begger's daughter a lady to be ; 

But first I will hear, and have it well knmvn, 
The gold that you drop shall be all your own." 
With that they replied, " Contented we be" ; 
"Then there's" (cluoth the begger) «for pretty 

The Blinrt 27egger's Daughter of ]ednaL Grccn. 5 3 

With that an angel he cast on the ground, 
And dropped in engels full three thousand pound, 
And oftentimes it proved most plain, 
For the gentleman's one the begger dropt twain 

So as the place, xvhereas he did sit, 
With gold was covered every whit : 
The Gentleman having dropt ail 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 ber a gown." 

The Gentlemen ail, 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 l?lind l?eer's Dauhter of l?ednal-Green. 


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 cornes the wedding of pretty Bessee. 

W'ithin a gallant palace most brave, 
Adorned with ail the cost they could have, 
This wedding was kept most sumptuously, 
And ail for the love of pretty Bessee. 

The Blind teffff er's l)auffhter o f tednal-Green. 55 

AIl kind of dainties and delicates sxveet, 
Was brought to their banquet as was thought meet, 
Patridge, Ployer, & 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 faine of pretty Bessee. 

To church then went this gallant young Knight, 
His bride followed af ter 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 ride, 
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, 
Thejolly 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 Te Tlind tcge/s Dauhtcr of t.dnal-Green. 

The praise of a woman in question to bring, 
I3efore 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 cornes 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 bad a dainty lute under his arm, 
Said, " Please you hear any musick of xne, 
A soag 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 dclicately - 

" 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 somewl-,at for prett Bessee. 

2 he 131ind t?egger's Daugter of t?ednaLGreen. 5 7 

And if any one her birth do disdain, 
Her father is ready, with might & main, 
To prove she is corne of a nol;le degree, 
Therefore let none flout at my pretty Bessee." 

W ith that the Lords & company round, 
With hear:y laughter was ready to sound ; 
At last said the Lords, " Full well we may see, 
The bride _and the begger's beholden to thee." 

With that the bride all blushing did fise, 
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 prett)" Bessee." 

"Then give me leave, you Gentles each one, 
A song more to sing and then l'll be gone; 
And if that I do not win good report, 
Then do not give me a groat for my sport. 

5 8 The Blind Begger's Daughter of BednaLGreen. 

When first out King his faine did advance, 
And fought for his title in delicate France; 
In many places great perils past he, 
]3ut then was hot 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 hot born my pretty ]3essee. 

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 hot a young woman corne 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' ber charity. 

And then ail our vlctuals, 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, 
Tbo' poor, yet contented with humble delight : 
And in my old Years, a comfort to be, 
God sent me a daughter called prett 13essee. 

The Blind BegEer's Daughter of BednaLGreen. 59 

And thus, you Nobles, my song I do end, 
H oping the saine 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 corne 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, 
happy Bridegroom was ruade the young Knight, 
Who lived in joy and felicity, 
With his fait Lady, pretty Bessee. 

Printed by and for . ill0urn, and sold by the 
Booksellers of t'ye-corner and Londo,-Briclge. 

The Batchelor's Feast, 


The difference betwixt, a single lire and a double; 
being the Batchelor's pleasure, and the married 
Man's trouble. 

To a pleasant new Tune called lVith a hie dildo, dill. 

As I walkt forth of late, 
where grasse and flowers spr, ng, 
I heard a Batchelor 
within an Harbour sing. 

The talchelor's Feasl. 

The tennor of his song 
contain'd much melodie, 
It is a gallant thing 
to lire at liberty : 
IVitk kie dilldo dill, 
hie ho dildurlie : 
Il is a delthlfull thinff 
ta lire at li3erty. 

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, 
0 'tis a gallant thing 
to live at liberty : 
With hie dill, dæ. 

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 hte dill, d. 




The tatchelor's fi'east. 

While married men doe lie 
with wordly cares opprest, 
Wee I3atchelors 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. 
lVillt lde 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 vine 
hee must also agree, 
0 'tis a delightfull thing 
to live at liberty : 
[Vit] hie dill, 

A man that doth intend 
to lead a quiet life 
Must practise day and night 
to please his longing wife ; 
Nev fashions must bee had 
as off as shee them see, 

The i3atchelor's Feast. 

0 'tis a pleasant thing 
to live at liberty : 
Witk kie dill do dill, 
hie, hoe, dildurly : 
Itis a delhtfull tking, 
to lire at lierty. 


The taylor must be payd 
for making of her gowne, 
The shoomakers for fine shooes, 
or else thy wife will frowne ; 


The tatch¢lor's Feast. 

For bands, fine ruffes, and cuffes, 
thou must dispence as free : 
O 'ris a gallant thing 
to lire at liberty : 

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 'ris a lightsome thing 
to lire at liberty : 
Vitk kie, 

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 'ris a gallant 
to lire at liberty : 
Vith hie, 

The iRatchelor's Feast. 

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 lire at liberty : 
IUilh hie, d:yc. 


Except a vertuous xvife 
a young man chance to find, 
That will industrious be 
and beare a modest mind, 
H ee better were to lire 
still single, as wee see, 
For 'ris a gallant thing 
to lire at liberty ; 
With hie, 

Now will I heere conclude, 
I will no one offend, 
Wishing that every shrew 
ber qualities would amend, 
And that all batchelors 
may now be rul'd by mee» 


The tatchelor's Fcast. 

To chuse a loving wife, 
or live at liberty, 
14/'itk hie dildo, dill, 
kie ko dildurle : 
Il is a gallant thing 
fo lire 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 IIedley, 
Which you may admire, (without offence) 
For ev'ry line speaks a contrary sence. 
To the tune of 7arle/on's Jl[edley. 

IN Summer rime when folkes make Hay» 
Ail is not truc 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 hot this a pittious case ? 
Most gallants loath to smell the Mace 
of Woodstreet, 


.,.4 n E.,collerai New l'cd@. 

The Citty followes Courtly pride, 
Ione swears she cannot Iohn abide, 
Dicke weares a Dagger by his side. 
corne tell vs what's to pay. 
The Lawyers thriue by others fall, 
The weakest alwaies goes to th' xvall, 
The Shoomaker commandeth all 
at's pleasure. 

The Weauer prayes for Huswiues store, 
A pretty woman was Iane 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, 
/kll people are hOt of one minde, 
hold Carmen. 

Out women cut their haire like men, 
The Cocke's ore mastred by the Henne, 
There's hardly one good frlend in ten, 
turne there on your right hand : 
But few regard the cryes o'th poore, 
Will spendeth ail vpon a whore, 
The Souldier longeth to goe ore, 
braue knocking. 

Mn E.z'celleJtt New 3[edlcy. 

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, 
Iohn Dory sold his ambling Nagge, 
for Kicke-shawes. 


The Saylor counts the Ship his house, 
l'le say no more but dun's the Mouse, 
He is no man that scornes a Louse, 
vaine pride ,,'ndoes 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 thrlues, 
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, 


 t t?xcellent New Iediey. 

The second part to the same tune. 

The Surgeon thriues by fencing schooles, 
$ome for strong liquor pawne their tooles, 
For one wise man ther's twenty fooles, 
0 when shall we be married ? 
in time of youth when I was wilde, 
Who toucheth Pitch must be defil'd, 
Mollis afraid that shee's with childej 
peace Peter. 

Excellent New Iedly. 

The poore still hope for better daies, 
I doe not loue these long delayes, 
All loue and charity decayes, 
in the daies of old : 
l'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 pratles, "walke, knaues, walke, 'j 
Duke Humfry lies in Paul's, 
The Souldier hath but small regard, 
Ther's weekely newes in Paul's Churchyardj 
The poore man cries the world growes hard 
¢old Winter. 


Excellent New 3Iedley. 

From Long-lane cloathe and Turnestile boots, 
O fie upon these scabbed cootes, 
The cheapest rneat is Reddish rootes, 
corne, all these for a penny : 
Light rny Tobacco quickly heere, 
There lies a pretty woman neere, 
This boy will corne 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 breakewise men's shinnes, 
this man's more knaue than foole : 
Iane oft in priuate rneets xvith Tom, 
Husband y'are kindly welcome home, 
Hast any money ? lend rne some, 
l'me broken. 

In andent tlmes 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 rnan the Cuckoo loaths, 
The gallant complernents vith oathes, 
A wench will rnake you sell your cloaths, 
run Broker. 

2qn txcdlent 2Vew Iedley. 


TJae Courtier and the country man, 
Let's liue as honest as we can, 
When Arthur first in Court began, 
His men wore hanging sleeues. 
In May when Grasse and Flowers be 7,reen, 
The strangest sight that ere was seene, 
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 itis 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 xvine 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 bells, 
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. 

.In t?xcelleut iVoe, a lIedle_y. 

Corne, Tapster, tell us what's to pay, 
Iane frownd and cryde, "good Sir, away !" 
She tooke his kindnesse, )'et said " nay," 
as Maidens vse to do: 
The man shall bave 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 hat'h 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 finde 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; 
Corne hither, sweet, and take a kiss,e 
in kindenesse. 

7 6 

Excellent New 21Iedley. 

In Bath a wanton vife did dwell, 
She had two buckets to a well, 
Would hot 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 Ierusalem did stand, 
The match is ruade, giue me thy hand, 
Maulkin must have a cambrick band, 
blew starched. 

The cuckow sung hard by the doore0 
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 2Vew ]redly. 

Now Roysters spurs do gingle braue, 
Iohn 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 giue good eare, 
A leg of mutton stuft is rare, 
Take heed you do not steal my mare : 
itis 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 cov¢ards 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 ruade him a daw, 
Your case is altered in the law 
quoth Ployden. 


An Ewcellen! 2Vew .Iedley. 

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 Iohn a Nokes and Iohn 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 si,rit, 
Now Nan will rise about midnight 
and walke to Richards house : 
You eourtly states and gallants all, 
Climbe not too hie for feare you fall; 
If one please hot another shall, 
King Pipping. 

Diana and her darlings deere, 
The Dutchmen ply the double beere, 
t3oyes rings the bels and make good cheere, 
When Kempe returnes from Rome. 
0 man, what meanes thy heavie looke ? 
Is Will hot in his Mistris booke ? 
Sir Rouland for a refuge tooke 

Rich people haue the xvorld at will, 
Trades fade, but Lawiers flourish still, 
Iacke 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 bath lost both her eares 
for coozaing. 


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 : 
W hen George lay sicke, & I oane ruade hirn broath 
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. 


Mn Excellent New ]edley. 

King David plaid on 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. 
Ione, like a rare, wore hornes and wooll. 
Knew you my Hostis of the Bull ? 
Squire Curio once was ruade a gull 
in Shoreditch. 

The blackamores are blabber-lipt, 
At Yarmouth are the herrings shipt, 
And at Brldewell the be.ger w2ipt, 
a man may liue an, t learne. 
Grief in mv heart doth stop taï tons, e, 
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 Tabex. 

tu Eaccellent New 3Iedley. 

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 gare 
halle starued. 

Make haste to Sea and hoyst up salles, 
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 Jade, 
Fetch me a mattocke and a spade, 
A Gravesend toste will soone be ruade, 
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 tmyes to mend ? 
'Tis hard to finde so true a friend 
as Damon. 
Prlnted by the Assignes of Thomas Symcocke, 


Bride's Good-Morrow. 
To a Pleasant New Tune. 

The nlght is passed, & ioyfull day appeareth 
most cleare oh every side ; 
With pleasant musick we therefore salure you 
good rnorrow lIistris Bride I 

The ridc's Goocl-morrow. 


From sleepe and slumber now awale )-ou 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 3"ou happy ioy, 
In health and wealth to keep you still ; 
And, if it be his blessed will, 
God keepe you sale from sorrow and annoy ! 

Thls day is honour now brought into thy bosome, 
and comfort to thy heart : 
For God hath sent you a friend for to defend )'ou 
from sorrow, care, and smart ; 
In health and sicknes, for thy comfort day 
he is appointed and brought 
Whose love and liking is most constant, 
right : 
then love ye him as ye ought. 
Now you bave your hearts desire, 
And the thing you did require. 
God almighty send you happy ioy, 
In health and wealth to l:eepe you still ; 
And, if it be his blessed will, 
God keepe ),ou safe from sorrow and anno]t I 

& night 

sure, and 


çe rMe's Good-or'ow. 

There is no treasure the which may be compared 
unto a faithfull friend ; 
Gold soone decayeth and worldly I-wealth-] con- 
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, 
\Vhere loue and friendship doth appeare, 
then dainty dishes stuffecl full of strife ; 
For where the heart is c!oyd with care, 
Sower is the sweetest fare, 
and death far better then so bad a lire. 

Sweet Bride, then may you full well 
stay you, 
and in your heart reioyce : 
Sith God was guider both of your heart and 
and maker of your choice ; 
And he that preferd you to this happie state 
will not behold you decay, 
Nor see you lack rœeliefœe or help in an), rate, 
if ),ou his precepts obay. 



Te t?ridds Good-mor,ow. 

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. 


A!I things are ready and euery whit prepared : 
to beare you company 
Your friends and parents do give their due attend- 
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 lire : 
To wait upon you they intend, 
Vnto the Church to make an end : 
and God make thee a ioyfull wedded wife. 


Printed by the Assignes of Thomas Symcocke, 

Friendly Counsaile. 
Here's an answer to all Demanders, 
The which l'le declare to all By-standers, 
Thereby to teach them how to know 
A perfect Friend from a flattering Foe. 

To TIIE TUllE or, [ could fancy ibretty 2Vancy. 

It was my chance, hOt long time s!nce, 
To be where was much conference ; 
And amongst their questions all, 
One did me to answer call, 
Thur demanding ttow la knaw 

Belng much am.azed in my minde 
How this Theame might be defin'd, 
Yet I answer'd thus againe, 
That I would resolue them plaine 
]'n what kinde lhcy well migkl know 
A failhfutlfriendfrom aJ,'atteringfoe. 


If that thou haue a friend, be kinde-- 
Here in true loue thou soone may finde 
Hee'l hot leaue thee in distresse, 
But will helpe thee more or lesse ; 
t-]ere3y you may ptainely know 
A fffthfitll, &c. 

On the contrary, marke my words, 
Flattering tongues are worse than swords, 
They'l speake you fait while you them fe'ed, 
But quite forsake thee in thy need : 
Fhesc are pcr_/cct signes to kuow 
A ffflhfull, &c. 

If you want meanes, and haue a friend, 
Hee'l something giue, and something lend, 
He will hot see thee for to perish, 
But will thee relieue and cherish : 
ttere@ you ma flnde and/now 
,4 la,lb/uit, &, 


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 lkee low to know 
A fait]full, &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 : 
I-tereby you may plainely know 
A faithfull, &c. 

Thy foe indeed is nothiv.g so, 
For hee'l reioyce still at thy woe, 
And if thou once grow poore and bare, 
Then for thee he no mor will care: 
Thus thou iblainely he'é maisl know 
A faitlŒEEull, 

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 : 
tterey you may plaiaely kuow 
A faitkfull, &c. 

Frlendly Coun aile. 


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 lhou here maist 2blainel ), know 
.,4 faithfull, &c. 

The Second Part, To the saine tune. 

Thy friend such lewdnesse soon will check 
And tell thee thnu 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. 

9 ° 

Friendlk, 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 ccrlaine signes to know 
A faitkf«llfriendfrom a flattering)Coe. 

If that thy friend be true indeed, 
Hee'l not forsake thee in thy need ; 
Hee'l take thy part in weale and woe, 
Thy flattering friend will not doe so ; 
These are c'rtaine signes to know 
A failhjul,; &c. 

Now some perchance may this obiect, 
And say they are of the true Sect, 
But such l'le neuer trust, till I 
Their inward thoughts doe proue and try: 
Then I certaine am lo know 
A faithful[, &c. 

If that yon 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 ; 
M nd where once you haue h'.y'd it so, 
You'l know your.lriend, &c. 

Friendly Cou nsai!e. 

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 : 
Th«se are cerlaine stnes lo 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. 
7hese are cerlaite sçues la know 
A failhfull, &c. 

Then this aduice take then of 
Before need cornes, goe thou and sec; 
Try hilst thou hast of thine owne, 
And sec where fauour may be showne : 
T/ten l/toit soone s/tall flndc and know 
A failkfull, &c. 

And looke, where thou didst fauour finde, 
There be not wauering like the winde ; 
If that thy friend proue iust and truc, 
Then doe hOt change him tot a new : 
T/tus to al/men Z doe s/tow 
The difference 'twix a friend and foc. 

9 2 

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 write for mez fo know 
A faitkfullfriend, &c. 

When I had means, then I had friends, 
But now I want, their friendslfip ends; 
Now but few will take my part, 
Nor helpe release me of my smart : 
Tkis I bave wril for ment lo know 
A faithfull, ac. 

Thus to conclude and end my Song, 
Let mê aduise both old and young,-- 
If thou doe wish for many friends, 
Then haue a care and get some meanes ; 
T/ten you tced nol care la know 
A/aithfi, ll f«i«nd front a flatt«ring foc. 


London : Printed for tichard l-[areJ; 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, )richaelmas 
l'le tell you a Iest which you'l hardly beleeue 
No matter for that, you shall hear't, right or wrong 
A hung W appetite may perhaps gfieue 
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 ; 
Ail that I can doe, is with words to display 
What we had m Supper on Saturday nigh. 


A ill of Fare. 

[mprimis, 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 ruade 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 : 
Iudge 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' hornes boyld to a Ielly 
(Which most men esteem'd as a good dish indeed). 
I had almost forgotten to naine sowc'd Owle 
Brought vp to the Master o'th' Feast, as his right ; 
H e lou'd it, he said, aboue all other Fowle, 
Aud this was out Supper on Saturday night. 

A Btll ofare. 


The next in due course was foure golden Horshooes, 
Exactly dissolued through a Woodcock's bill, 
Six Camelions in greene-sawce (Maids commonly 
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 • 
Iude, Gentlemen, was not this excellent cheere 
That wee had to Supper on Saturday night ? 

A whole Horse sowst after the Russian manner, 
Twdue Pigs of a strange Capadocian Bitch, 
Six dozen of Estridges rost (which a Tanner 
Did send out of Asia by an Old \Vitch). 
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 Iackanapes 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 8hrimp 
And cause it was meat that was held very light, 
They had/or their Sawce a salt-pickled Pimpe, 
And this was our Supper on Saturday night. 


M Bll of Fare. 

The second part, To the saine tune. 

Two Beares sowst pig fashion, sent whole to 
And 4 black swans seru'd by , in a dish, 
With a Lobster fried in steakstake 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 Ioale of a Whale soundly butter'd and oyl'd ; 
And this was out Supper on Saturday night. 


A good dish of Modicums, I know not what. 
In Barbary Vinegar boyl'd very sort ; 
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 euery one present to catch them did striue : 
This was our rare Supper on Saturday night. 

A shoale of Red-herrings with bels 'bout their 
Which made such rare sport that I saw such ; 
They leaped and danced, with other fine trcks ; 
A man ma), admire how they could doe so much. 


Two Porposes, parboil'd in May-dcw and Roses, 
That vnto the smell yeelded so much delighte, 
Some (fearing to lose them) laid hold on their noses : 
All this was st Supper on Saturday night. 

Three dozen of Welsh Ambassadors bak't, 
Which made such a noise it was heard through 
town ; 
Some, hearing the eccho, their forcheads so ak t, 
That many a smile was orecome with a frowne ; 
A dish of Bonitoes, or Fish that can file, 
That out of the Indies came hither by flight ; 
To close vp out stomacks, a Gridiron Pye 
We had to our Supper on Saturday night. 

But what commeth af ter must not be forgotten, 
The Fruit and the Cheese, as they follow by course, 
A West Indian Cheese (hOt a bit of it rntten), 
That's made of no worse then the milke of a Horse ; 
A dish of Pine-apples, two bushels st least, 
An hundred of Cokernuts for our delight : 
The world may admire st this wonderful feast 
Which we had st Supper on Saturday night. 

Six Pumpians, codled with exquisite art, 
To pleasure the palate of euery one there ; 
Then we st the last had a great Cabbage Tart; 
ŒEhu haue I exactl)' described cur Claecre, ; 



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 12 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 hOt expect : 
My wife, because she was hot bidden to Supper, 
(It seemes by the stor)') she bare me a spight ; 
The Breakfast she gaue m% to you I will vtter-- 
It passed out Supper on Saturday night. 


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 
A many small Reasons she put in the saine; 
Her Nose yeelded Pepper that keenly did bite: 
Thought I, here's a Breakfast (I thank my good 
That passes our Supper on Saturday night. 
A great Carpe Pye, and a dish of sad Pouts, 
With Cocodile Vinegar,--sawce very tart ; 

24 lill of Fare. 


Quoh she, thou last nightwastamong thysound trouts, 
Now fall to thy Breakfast, and comfort thy heart ; 
Then had I a Cup full of stout \Vormwood Beere, 
(It seems that in Physicke she has good insight,) 
This shewed me the difference'twixt thehomelycheere 
And out dainty Supper on Saturday night. 

On this sorry Farc all that day I did feed, 
And on Munday moraing, on purpose to win ber, 
I went and got m6ney to furnish ber need, 
And now you shall hcare what I had to my Dinner 
A Pye ruade of Conies, with Ducks and Pigs eyes, 
With a deale of sweet Hony, my tate to delight, 
With sweet Lambe and Chicken my mind to sufflce : 
These passed my Supper on Saturday night. 
Another Pye ruade with a many Sheepes eyes, 
With sweet Sugar Candy, that pleased my pallet ; 
These seuerall Banquets my Muse did aduise, 
And with ber assistance I ruade 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 occasioa this Ditie was pen'd, 
But to show out rare Supper on Satul:day night. 
London. Printed by/[, P, for Ff. (ïroçg neere the 
Sarazen's hcad without Newgate, 

Blew Cap foi" me: 
A Scottish Lasse ber resolute chusing', 
Shee'l have bonny b]ew-cap, all other refusing. 


Come hither, the merri'st of all the nine, 
corne, 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 : 
W hich when wee haue done, 
wee'll betweene vs deuise 
A dainty new ditty 
with art to çomprise ; 


And of this new ditty, 
the matter shall hem 
Gif e,,er I ha:,e a man, 
Blew-cap for me. 


There liues 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 Blew-cap gif e're she had any : 
An English man, 
when our good king was there, 
Came often vnto ber, 
and loued her deere : 
But still she replide, "Sir, 
I pray let me be; 
Gif ever I haue a man, 
t?lew-¢ap 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 ; 

2le',v«ap for ,ne. 

But still she replide, "Sir, 
I pray let me be ; 
Gif ever I bave a man, 
t?lew-ca for me." 

A Frenchman, that largely xvas 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 : 
" ¥ou 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 ez'cr I bave a man, 
tlcw-cap r roc." 

An Irishman, with a long skeane in his hose, 
did tinke to obtaine ber it was no great matter ; 
Vp stayres to her chamber so lightly he goes, 
that she ne're heard him vntil he carae at her. 
Quoth he, " I doe loue you, 
by rate and by trote, 
And if you will haue me, 
experience shall shote." 

Bew-ca for me. 


But still she replide, "Sir, 
I pray let me be; 
Gif eeer Z bave a ruait, 
.Blew-ca]) for me." 

The second part, To the saine tune. 

Dainty spruce Spanyard, with haire black as jett 
long cloak with round cape, a long Rapier and 


lue-ca /or me. 

Hee told her if that shee could Scotland forget, 
hee'd shew her the Vines as they grow in the 
" If thou wilt abandon 
this Country so cold, 
Ile shew thee faire Spaine, 
and much Indian gœed." 
But still she replide, "Sir, 
I pray let me be ; 
Gif ever I kave a man, 
lew-«a for me." 

A haughty high German of Hamborough towne, 
a proper tall gallant, with mighty mustachoes ; 
H e weepes if the Lasse vpon him doe but frowne, 
yet he's a great Fencer that cornes to ore-match 
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 bave a man, 
tYlew-cap for me," 



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 Engfishman 
shall thee obey." 
But still she replide, ."Sir, 
I pray let me be ; 
Gi! ever I hure a man, 
L'lew-¢a for race." 

These sundry utors, 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 belote said) 
To haue bonny Blew-cap, 
or else bee a maid. 
Vnto all her suppliants 
still replyde she, 
• ' Gifever I kave a man, 
lcw-calO for mec." 


Bluc-c« I, ./'or 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 b,»nny Lasse 'twas his gude hap,-- 
they gang'd to the Kirk, & v«ere presently 
I ken not wcele whether 
it were Lcrd 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, ".19lew-ca,, 
lb'art wclcome fo »ce." 


Printed at London for Thomas £a»hert. 

A Pleasant new Court Song. 
Betweene "a yong Courtier and a Countrey Lasse. 

To ^ r.w COOR Tvr.. 

Vpon a Summer's time, 
in the middle of the morne, 
A°bonny Lasse I spide, 
the fairest ere was borne; 
Fast by a standiug poole, 
within a meddow greene, 
She laide herselfe to coole, 
hot thinking to be seene. 

She gathered louely flowers, 
and spent her rime in sport, 
And if to (Jupid's bowers 
she daily did resort. 


A lasanl new Çou'g San. 

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. '» 
"0 fie," she eride, "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. 

M leasant new Court Son. 

Both she and I tooke paines 
to gather flowers store, 
Vntill this maiden said, 
"kinde sir, Ile haue no more." 


Yet still my louing 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 saine Tune. 

I t was my chance of late 
to valke the pleasant fields, 
Whe/'e 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. 

.4 pleasant new Court Song. 

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 ber 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 tome within her bands. 
My loue best knowes my loue, 
and loue repaies with hate ; 
Was euer virgin's loue 
so much vnfortunate ? 


A l«asant new Court Song. 

Did my loue fickle proue, 
then had he cause to flye ; 
But Ile be iudg'd by loue,-- 
I lou'd him constantly." 
I, hearing of her vowes, 
set bashfulnesse apart, 
_And striu'd, with al[ 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 Love shalt finde ;" 
So ruade the bargaine sure, 
and eas'd the Maiden's mind. 


Printed by the Assignes ot Thomas 8mycccke. 

A pleasant Countrey new Ditty ; 
Merrily shewing how 
To driue the cold Winter away. 
To THE TUNE OF lVhei Pheus did test, etc. 

All hayle to the day«:s 
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, 
la driue the old wthter away. 


t î3teasant Countrey new Ditty. 

Let misery packe, 
With a whip at his baeke, 
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 lhe cold winter away. 

'Tis ill for a mînd 
To anger inclin'd 
to ruminate iniuries now ; 
Ifwrath be to seeke, 
Do hOt 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, 
lo driue lhc cold winter away. 

A pleasant Countrey new l?itty. 

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, 
fo 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 llttle sway,) 
For a Song or a Tale 
Ore a Pot of good Ale, 
go driue the cold wbt[er away, 


I pleasant Countrey new Ditly. 

Thus none will allow 
Of solitude now, 
but merrily greets the time, 
To make it appeare, 
Of ail the whole yeare, 
that this is accounted the Prime. 
December is seene 
Apparel'd in greene, 
and Ianuary, fresh as May, 
Comes dancing along, 
With a cup or a Song, 
2fo driuc t/te cold wiptler away. 

The second part, To the same tune. 

.... | | - 

M 2#leasant Çounlrey new 19illy. 

This time of the yeare 
Is spent in good Cheare ; 
kind neighbours together meet 
To sit by the tire, 
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, 
tv driue the coM winter away. 

Sisley and Nanny 
lIore iocund then any, 
(as blithe as the month of Iune) 
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, 
,4 nd driue l/te coM widr away. 

.xI plcasant Countrcy new DitO,. 

The Shepheard, the Swaine, 
Do highly disdaine 
to waste out his time in tare; 
And Clim of the Clough 
Hath plenty enough, 
if but a penny he spare 
To spend at the night, 
In ioy and delight, 
now af ter his labours all day : 
For better then Lands 
Is helpe of his hands, 
to driue lhe cold winter away. 

To Maske and to Mure 
Kind neighbours will corne 
with Wassels of nut-browne Ale, 
To drinke and carouse 
To all in this bouse, 
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 tire to warme 
Will do you no harme, 
lo driue l/e cold winler away. 

. ileasanl Counlrey new tOilty. 

When Christmas tide 
Comes in like a Bride, 
with Holly and Iuy clad,-- 
Twelue dayes in the yeare 
Much mirth and good cheare 
in euery houshold is had : 
The Countrey guise 
I s then to deuise 
some gambole of Christmas play ; 
Whereas the yong men 
Do best that they can 
to driue lhe 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 tire, 
Together to go 
To Plow and to sow, 
to get vs both food and array : 
And thus, with content, 
The tirae we haue spent, 
go d .'ue lke cold winler away. 


lrinted at London for H, G. 

The Catholick Ballad, 
Or an Invitation to Popery upon Considerable 
Grounds and Reons. 

To THE TtN- or Fighty e«ht. 
S'nce 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 expo»ed out Booke unto laughter ; 
So that man)' do say, 'twill be the best way 
To sing for the Cause hereafter. 
O, the Catholick Cause ! n(»w assist me, my l,Iuse, 
How earnestly do I desire thee ! 
Neither will I pray to St. 13ridet to day, 
But only to thee to inspire me. 
Whence should Purity ccme, 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 whoev.zr sits there, needs never more fear 
The danger of being deceived, 

Th« Catholick ]allad. 


If the Devil himself should (God bless us) get up,-- 
Though his nature ve 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 demcnstration, 
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 bave arguments plenty, and miracles twenty, 
Enough to convince a whole nation. 

If you give but good h«ed, you shall see the Host 
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 sec, 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 tan shew you the sacred manger; 
Several loads of the cross, as good as c'er was, 
To preserve your souls from danger. 


The Cat/wlic 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 saine 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 wi. h 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 n.t be so much concerned. 

The Catho[ick 27allacl. 

Be the churches good son, and your work is half 
After that you may do yo,ar 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 
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 buil, lings of Hell, 
Is about the middlemost story. 

'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 sure you may quickly be gon, 
So the Church bas wisely ordein'd, 
And they who build crosses and pay well for masses, 
Would hot there be too long detein'd. 

The CaMolick tYallad. 

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 oms, 
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 pente, y' need scruple no 
For murther, adultery, treason. 

And ye sweet-natur'd women, who hold all things 
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. 

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 smalI happi- 
And again we shall see restored 
The Italian trade, which formerly ruade 
This land to be so much adored, 

O the Pictures and Rings, the t3eads and fine things, 
The good words as sweet as honey, 
Ail this and much more shall be brought to our door, 
For a little dull English money. 

Then shall Iustice 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 
Which is now lookt upon as a wonder ; 
And the proudest of Kings, with ail Temporal thing's, 
Shall submit and trickle under. 


The Catholick tallad. 

And the Parliament too, who have tak'n us to do, 
And have handled us with so much Terror, 
May chance on tha score ('tis no time to say more), 
They may chance to acknowledge their Eror. 

If any Man, yet, shall have s little Wit 
As still to be Refractory, 
I swear by the Mass, he i.s a meer Ass, 
And so there's an end of the Story. 


[-London, printed for Henry Brome at the 
Gun, the west end of St. Pau|s Church- 

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 Tt/rE Or Cucko[ds al1 arowe. 

Corne, Batchelors and Married men, 
ana 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 Crud 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 Briches still will weare, 
although it breedes my strife : 
If I were now a Batchelor, 
l'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 
In putting on ber braue atyre, 
that fine and costly be, 
Whilst I worke hard in durt and mire, 
alacke ! what remedy ? 

T/te Crud 6'hrow. 

Then she goes foorth a Gossiping" 
amongst her own Comrades; 
And then she falls a bowsing 
with all her merry blades. 
When I corne home from my labour hard, 
then shee'le begin to scould, 
And calls me Rogue, without regard, 
vhich makes my heart full cold. 


When I come home into my bouse, 
thinking to take my rest: 
Then she'le begin me to abuse 
before she did but Iest, 
With " out, you Raskall ! you bave 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 hOt grant what I require, 
but sweares she'le haue ber will. 
Then if I chance to heaue my hand, 
straight-way she'le murder ! cry • 
Then iudge all men that here doe stand s 
in what a case ara 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 brall, 
and fight, and scratch, and teare, 
And sweares vnto my work she'le se.d 
me straight, without delay, 
Or else, with the saine Cudgels end, 
hee will me soundly pay. 

"l he Crud SArow. 

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 pour, and loure, and curse, & bann-- 
this is the weary lire 
That I doe leade, poore harmelesse man, 
with my most dogged wife. 

Then is not this a pitteous cause 
let ail men now it trie, 
And giue their verdits, by the Lawes, 
betweene my wife and I ; 
And judge the cause, who is to b'.ame,q 
l!e to th«ir J udgement stand, 
Pll l be contented with the saine, 
aad 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 ber most wicked tongue, 
That all hem" mates, her part to take, 
about me soone will thronge, 

T/te Crud S/trow. 

Thus am I noxv tormented still 
xvith my most cruell Wife; 
All through her wicked tongue so ill, 
I ara weary of my life : 
I know hot truely what to doe, 
nor how my selfe to mend ; 
This lingring life doth breede my woe, 
I would 'twere at an ende. 

0 that some harmelesse honest man, 
whom Death did so befriend, 
To take his Wife from off his hand, 
his sorrowes for to end, 
VVould change with me, to rid my care, 
and take my wife aliue 
For his Dead wite vnto his share, 
then I would hope to thriue. 

But so it likely will hot be, 
that is the worst of ail! 
For, to encrease my dayly woe, 
and for to breed my fall, 
My wife is still most froward bent-- 
such is my lucklesse fate !-- 
There is no man will be content 
with my vnhapp" state. 

Tle Crud Slrow. 

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 waming, all men, by the lire 
that I sustained long, 
Be carefull how you'le chuse a Wife, 
and so l'le ende my Song. 



A rllur t[alliar. 

London, Printed by 3/. P. for Henry Gasson, on 
London Bridge, neere the Gate. 

The Cooper of £Vorfo/ke," 
A pretty Iest of a Brewer and the Coopers Wife : 
And how the Cooper served the Brewer 
in his kind. 

To "mv. "ru. oF The lViving Age. 

Attend, my Masters, and listen well 
Vnto this my Ditty, which briefly doth tell 
Of a fine merry lest which in IVorfalke befell. 
/k braue lusty Cooper in that Countie di,1 dwell 
And there he cry'd, Worke for a Cooper ; 
Maids, ha' )'e an)' worke for a Cooper ? 


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, 
llaids, ha' ye any worke for a Cooper ? 

And as the Cooper was passing along, 
Still cryi,ag 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, ealling 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, Ile bountifully pay. 
"I'hese tidings well pleased the Cooper : 
Oh, this was brave newes for the Cooper. 


The Cooper of IVorfolk. 

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 ; 
Ile 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 vent to the Coopers d.welling ; 
The goodwife to giue entertainment was willing ; 
The Brewer & she like two pigeons were billing ; 
And what they dîd else they haue bound mee from 
He pleased the wife ofthe 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 tierce rage of the Cooper : 
He thought he should, die by the Cooper. 

Thc Cooiber of 


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 saine Tune. 

She hearing ber 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 liue 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 iaau't to my Supper--" the gcod wife said, 
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 )'ou, Iohn Cooper ; 
Then let it alone, lohn Cooper." 


7he Cooper of Norfolk. 

" I would it were in thy belly," quoth Iohn. 
" 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 ha5te to thy worke, Iohn 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 ? 
Ile 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, Iohn 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 ? 
H ehas beene well-fed, for hee's growne very big : 
Ile either of him haue an arme or a leg ; 
Ile make him vnable his taile for to wrig; 
Before he gets hence from Iohn Cooper 
Ile make him remember the Cooper." 

Tht Coobcr of Norfolk. 


Oh, pardon me, Neighbour, the Brewer did say, 
And for the offence I haue done thee this day 
I ara well contented thy wrath to al!ay, 
And make restitution for this my fouie play; 
O prethee forgive me, Iohn Cooper, 
And Ile be a friend to Iohn Cooper. 

" If from this offence thou wilt set me cleere, 
My bounty and loue to thee shall appeare: 
Ile freely allow thee and thine all the yeare, 
As much as yee'l drink, either strong Ale or Beere. 
Then prethee forgive me, Iohn Cooper, 
Accept of my proffer, Iohn Cooper." 

" Oh, no" quoth the Cooper, " l'de haue thee to 
That I with my labour can buy myselfe drinke ; 
Ile geld thee, or lame thee, ere from me thou shrink." 
These words ruade 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 Cooier 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 ; 
OEhese tidings well pleased the Cooper. 


The Coocr of 2Vorfolk. 

" Il thou," quoth the Cooper, '" wilt sweare with an 
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, Iohn Cooper." 
" Yea, with a good will," quoth the Cooper. 

On this condition they both went their way, 
Both Iohn and the Brewer, but Iohn kept the key 
Which open'd the Coffer, where more money lay 
Than [ohn the Cooper had seene many a day. 
This is a brave sight, thought the Cooper. 
Ile furnish my selfe, thought the Cooper. 

Iohn was so farre in affection with that, 
That he tooke up handfuls and filled his Hat. 
"I will haue my bargaine," quoth Iohn, "that is fiat; 
The Brewer shall pay well for using my Vat; 
Ile cry no more Worke for a Cooper; 
Farewell to the trade of a Cooper."- 

Thus money can pacifie the greatest strife; 
For Iohn 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 lire. 
Hee cry'd no more, "Work for a Cooper ;" 
Oh, he left off the trade of a Cooper. 

7he Cooer of lVorfolk. 
And in his merry mood oft he would say, 
" If that I had hoop't twenty tubs in one day, 
I should hOt haue got so much wealth by my fay; 
Gramercie, kind wife, for thy wit round the way 
To make a rich man of Iohn Cooper. 
Oh, what a good wife has Iohn 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 ? 


Printed at London, for t:rancis Grove, on Snow-hill. 

Choice of Inuentions, 
Seuerall sorts of tl:e figure of three, 
That are nevvly compos'd as you may here see; 
Then lend your attention, you shall heare anon ; 
It goes to the tune of Rock th« Cradle, sweet )eohn. 

There were three men of Gotam, 
as I haue heard men say, 
That needs vould ride a hunting 
vpon Saint Dauid's day. 

Choicc of In;,euNas. 

Though ail 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 az 'we had lhree Lambes, 
and one of them was lac['e ; 
There was a mau had lhree soJtues, 
Ieey, lames, and Iacke ; 
Thc one was haff'd, thc othcr drozon'd, 
The thh'd was lost and nez,tr fount[, 
Thc old ntau he /cll hz a sowud : 
corne, )qll vs a cu of Sackc. 


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. 


now marke what did befall, 
The young man threw the greatest cast, 
and brauely wonne they all. 
7"kere 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 Tay]0rs 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 tire. 
There was an Ewe, &c. 

The Piper pip't his wife a daunee, 
anti the're 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 corne, 

C/oice of Inventiois. 


"sweet wife," said he, " be quiet, 
This twelue months day Ile take small Beeze 
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 bang himselfe at the Gallowes. 
T/wre was a Ewe ha_¢ three Lambs, 
and one of tkem was 3/a¢ke ; 
Tkere was a man kad tkrce sonnes, 
Ieffery, Iames, and Iacke ; 
"ke one was hand'd, th¢ other drown'd, 
The tkird was lost and neucr found, 
The old »tan he fdl in a sownd ; 
corne, flll vs a cz of S«d'e. 

The Second Part, to the saine tune. 

There was a Lasse had three Louers, 
the one of them a Taylor, 
The second was a monied man, 
the third a Iouiall Saylor : 
The Taylor gaue his Loue a Gowne, 
in loue and kinde good will; 
The Vsurer, with his money-bags, 
hcr purse did often fill; 

Choiee of InverEons. 

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 tkree Lamines, 
and one of lhem was lacke ; 
There was a man had three sonnes, 
Ieffery, Iames, and Zacke ; 
The one was lang'd, lhe othcr drown'd, 
The lhird was losl and neuer./ound, 
The ohl man he fell in a sownd : 
corne, fill vs a cup of Sacke. 


There were three roaring Fidlers 
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 fidlers taught their scholler there 
to sing, daunce, and be merry : 
Yet bid all Fidlers haue a care 
ot dauncing in this kinde, 
Lest they from Tiburne chance to fall, 
and leaue the Crowd behinde. 
7here was, &c. 


A man that hath a signe at his doore, 
and keeps good Aie to sell, 
A comely wife to please his guests, 
may thriue exceedingly well ; 
But he that bath a scolding wife, 
his fortune is the worse, 
For shee'll not onely brawle and chide, 
but picke her husbands purse : 
And he that bath a foole to his wife, 
ber neighbours oft will flout her ; 
But he that bath a Whore to his wife, 
were better be without ber. 
2 ]¢re 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 xvash mens shirts and bands, 
.nd for their paio.s these souldiers gaue 
them wages in their hands. 
The Gallants are to Sweathland gone-- 
ail this is truth I tell yee-- 
And left these Lasses for to cry, 
"woe and alas ! my belly !" 
Thcre was» &c. 

Choice of Inventions. 

Three Gallants in a Tauerne 
did brauely call for Wine ; 
But he that loues those dainty Cates 
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 LamPes, 
and one of tAem was 3lacke ; 
There was a man had three sonnes, 
leffo7, lames, and Iacke ; 
2he one was hangd, the other drownd, 
The third zvas lost and never found, 
Zhe old man he.ell in a sownd : 
come, fill vs a cup of Sacke. 


Printed at London for/. Coles. 

The Country-ruons new Care away. 
To T. TtmE 0" Loue will flnd out the way. 

If there were imployments 
for men, as haue beene, 
And Drummes, Pikes, and Muskets 
in th' field to be seene, 
And euery worthy Souldier 
had truely their pay, 
Then might they be bolder 
to in-g " Care, away l" 

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, 
Hoxv 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. 

Il" 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 weeplng 
might ing "Care, a'a'." 

Cgre, awa, ! 

If to liue 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 muing, 
but sing " Care, awry !" 

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 merry 
and sing "Care, away !" 

The Second Part, To the saine tune. 


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 " Cas'e, away !" 


Cette, away .t 

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 viues with their husbands, 
and husbands xvith wiue[s], 
In loue and true friendship 
would so lead their liues 
As best might be pleasing 
to God night and day, 
Then they, with hearts' easing, 
might sing " Care, away !" 

No crosse can be greater 
vnto a good mind 
Than a man to be matched 
with a woman vnkind, 
\Vhose 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 res.orting 
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 !"' 


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 ail haue comfort 
to sing " Care, away !" 

Corne, buy this new Ballad, before you doe goe : 
If you raile at the Author, I know what I know. 

'o the 2'une of Ile tell you but so. 

It is an old saying, 
that few words are best 
And he that sayes little 
shall liue most at rest ; 



Cme, &OE lis new Bal/ad. 

&nd I, by experience, 
doe finde it riht so, 
Therefore ile spare speech, 
3ut I know, wkat I know. 

Yet shall you perceiue well, 
though little I say, 
That many enormities 
I will display. 
¥ou may gusse my meaning 
by that vhich I show; 
I will not tell all, 
&ut I know, &c. 

There be some great climbers, 
compos'd of ambition, 
To whom better-borne men 
doe bend, with submssion : 
Proud Ludfer, climbing, 
was cast very low; 
Ile not stay these men, 
&ut I know, &c. 

There be many Foxes 
that go on two legges 
They steale greater matters 
then Cocks, Hennes, and Egges ; 

To catch many Guls 
in Sheepes cloathing they goe ; 
They might be destroy'd, 
but I know, &c. 


There be many men 
that Deuot[on 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. 


Corne, ooE this new t?allad 

The Pope giues them power, 
as they say, to doe so ; 
They saue money by't too, 
bu! 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, 
bul I know, &c. 

There be many Of-ficers, 
men of great place, 
To vhom 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 saine Tune. 

There be many Women 
That seeme very pure ; 
A kisse from a stranger 
they'le hardly endure. 
They are like Lucrelia 
modest in show; 
I will accuse none, 
&a I know, &c, 


Uome, &uy is new tTallad. 

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, 
ul I know, &c. 

There be many Batchdors 
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, 
&il I know, &c. 

There's many an Vsurer 
that, like a Drone, 
Doth idly liue 
vpon his moneys Lone; 
From Tens vnto Hundreds 
his money doth grow ; 
He sayes he doth good, 
ut I know, &c. 

Comc, huy ghis ncw 27all«d, 

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, 
ug I kuow, &c. 

16 3 

There be many Rorers, 
That swagger and rote 
As though they in th' warres had beEen ] 
seuen yeeres and more ; 
And yet they neuer lookt 
in the face of a Foe; 
They seeme gallant Sparkes, 
ug 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 hot Gold 
that doth glister in show ; 
They are fine with a Pox, 
lmg I kuow, &c. 


Corne, huy lais new ga/{ad 

There's many rich Trades-men 
who liue by Deceit, 
And in XVeight and Measure 
the poore they do cheat ; 
They'le not sweare an Oath, 
but indeed, I and No; 
They "truely protest," 
bul 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, 
I know w]at 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. 

How shall we, good husband, now live, this hard 
Thls world is so queasle, and all things so deare, 
And so little taking of mone¥ for ware, 
Makes me l'e waking with no little ¢are 


The Carefull IVif«. 

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 

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 
To furnish a houshold 'longs many an odde end. 

What need, man, such oddihg betwixt you and me ? 
All hall 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 IVife. 

i6 7 , 

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 corne 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 
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. 


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. 


The Com fortakle lCf uskad. 

I know it is truc, goodwife, that you say, 
He that doth marry, must cast much away ; 
For looke, whatsoeuer I spend upon you, 
Cornes never againe, (wife), I think this is true. 
Looke what you would haue, Wife, let mee know, 
I grutch hot at any thing that you bestow ; 
Be content and pleased, lacke shall bee no let ; 
Ile see your cares eased as fast as I get. 

But looke no more in, xvife, 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 tan, 
To lire with good credit and pay overy 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. 


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 xvill 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 
containing a pleasant Dialogue betwixt the 
hand and Wife, pleasant to be regarded. 


To THE TVlE Or, IVhcre is my trete lo;,e 
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 disdaine : 
Now comes a good new yeare. 



The I-i'ouseholdeFs gVcw Year's Girl. 

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: 
0 Lord, send a good new yeere ! 

The world it is deceiffull, 
then trust it hOt, 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: 
0 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 tIouseholder's IVew Year's Girl. 
Few persons doe relieve them, 
but all of them doe frowne : 
0 Lord, senti a good new yeare ! 

W. Greedinesse is causer, 
good husband, of this ill ; 
Pride, that madding monster, 
kind charitie doth kill : 
Lord Iesus, 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 xve were wont for three : 
This cuts the hearts of poore men, 
and this undoeth me : 
0 Lord, send a good new yeare ! 

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 ! 

7"he I-Iouseholder's New Year's Girl. 

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 saine no remedy, 
alacke ! that I can finde : 
Good Lord send a merry new yeere ! 


Take courage, gentle Husband, 
and hearken what I say,-- 
After freezing Ianuary 
commeth pleasant May; 
There is no storme so cruell, 
but cornes 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 calamitiL no way can I shunne ; 
For still in debt and danger 
more and more I runne : 
Good Lord send a merry new yeere ! 

Be content, sweet H usband, 
and hearken unto mee :-- 
The Lord is still as mercifull 
as he was wont to bee : 

Tke ttousekohter's New Yéar's Gift. 
Goe thou and ply thy labour, 
and I will worl.:e with thee: 
Good Lord, send a merry new yeere I 


I ill hot 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 hOt a pin : 
And God, send a merry new yeere ! 

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 bave thy desert : 
And God send a merry new yeere ! 

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 ! 


The Householder's New Year's-__Gift. 

What thou wantst 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 ! 


London, Printed for F. Coules, dwelling in Old- 

Corne worldling[s-] see what paines I here do take, 
To gather gold while here on earth I rake. 
What the Father gathereth bi, the Rake, the Sonne cloth scatter with the Forke. 

Corne, corne, my brave gold, 
Which I love to behold, 
come to me, and Ile give you rest ; 

176 [Corne worldlings see w]zat 2#aines I hem 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 ; 
Corne to me, and flye, 
Gold Angels, I cry, 
And Ile galker you all wilh my Rake. 

Corne, silver and all, 
When as I doe call, 
your beauties to me are so bright, 
I love you so deare, 
I pray you corne neere, 
and be you not vavering or light ; 
Your weight so you have-- 
Corne, glistering and brave, 
then you I vill never forsake, 
But heape you together 
Against rainy veather, 
tnd çather you all with my Rake, 

Rich Jewels and plate 
By no meanes I hate, 
with 13iamonds, çapldrs, or rings ; 

[Corne worldli#s sec what paiucs I hcre do takc.] 1 7 7 

The carhunclc red 
Stands me in like stead, 
or any other rich things ; 
The Emerold, greene, 
Like the spring that is seene, 
gold chains, or the like, I wil take ; 
I have a kind heart, 
With my coyne I will part, 
so I may gel ail wilh  lakc. 

But yet, here me, friend, 
No money Ile lend 
without a good pawn you do bring ; 
But Ile 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 lire, 
halle a crowne on the saine he did take, 
But Ile have more care 
Of such knaves, to beware 
how such coîkper toffether I rake, 

On leases or lands, 
On very good bands, 
good security likewise provide ; 

z 7 8 [Corne worldliltgs see wkat2aies I here da take.] 

If we ean agree, 
Then my coyne it flyes free ; 
if not, your could suit is deny'd. 
To foe or to friend 
No money Ile lend; 
as they brew, so let them bake-; 
This rule I observe, 
Let them bang, or starve, 
if I cannot gt witlt my Rake. 

And those that doe lacke, 
To the highth I doe racke, 
I know that they money must bave ; 
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. the poore widdowes cry, 
Let their children dye, 
let their Father in prison goe rot ; 

LCome wovldlings see zvhat 2#aines l here do tae. 179 

What is that to me ? 
Their wealth is my fee, 
for I have their livings now got. 
\Vhole Lordships and Lands 
Are faine to my hands, 
and use of them all I vill make; 
My bags full of coyne, 
.nd my purse I doe lyne 
wit/ tlat wic logetcr Z rad'e. rich usury, 
Nere thinking to dye, 
n0r on his poore soule have a care, 
Wit. 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 god cheere and wine, 
he cares not at vhose hands he take ; 
Nota penny hee'l spend, 
1Nor without a pawne lend, 
Tle Dvell and all le will 

But now cornes grlm death, 
And ceaseth his breath, 
his tree of lire is wetherèd ; 

x8o [Corne worldlings seewkatpaines I Acre do take.] 

This wreteh, so unkind, 
H is wealth leaves behind, 
and is a poore worme, being dead. 
But now pray give eare 
To that ),ou shall heare, 
his heire what a course he will take : 
That day he did dye, 
In his grave he did lye, 
,qud the çcxlo lhe carth 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, -'0 drive the co[d zainlcr 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 will roare,-- 
his lands and his livings I bave, 

I82 ECotle Prodigals your sdves that loves fo flatter.] 

The tide of gold flowes, 
And wealth on me growes, 
hee's dead, and for that 'tis no marrer; 
Great use he did take, 
And for me did rake, 
whic[ now with the forke I wtll scatter. 
I now must turne gallant, 
That bave 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 ! itis against nature ; 
Let's have all good cheere, 
Cost it never so deare, 
for [ witk y forke will scattcr. 

Let me have a Lasse 
That faire l/ëzus doth passe ; 
give me all delights that I may ; 
Ile make my gold fly 
Aloft in the skie, 
I thinke it will never be day : 
Let the ",velkin roare, 
Ile never give o're 
Tobacco, and, with it, strong water ; 

[Corne Prodigals your sdves that loves to flatter.] i8 3 

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, 
Ile 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 corne, 
I have a great sure 
tAal I wilA my forke will scalter. 
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 ot wealth. 
My Father it got, 
And, now faine to my lot, 
I scorne it as I doe morter ; 
For coyne was rnade round, 
To stand on no ground, 
A ud I with raff forke will scatlo: 

84 [Corne Prodials your selves lhal loves to flatler.] 

My Lordships to sell 
I thinke would doe well, 
iii gotten goods never doe thrive : 
Let's spend while we may; 
Each Dog hath his day ; 
Ile want hOt while I ara alive. 
Corne, Drawers, more sacke, 
And see what we lacke, 
for money Ile send a porter ; 
Brave gallants, ne're feare, 
For wee'l domineere, 
For f zvilk OE forke will sca/lcr. 

Corne, drinke to my friend, 
And let the health end, 
my Coffers and Pockets are empty ; 
I now bave 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, 
tecause witl my forke f did scaller. 
Now this is the story 
Of prodigall glory, 
wlao thought that he never shold lack 

CCom Prodigals your selves that loves to )¢atter.] x8 5 

No drink nor no meat 
Now he hath to eate, 
nor doathes 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 rime cornes behind, 
who mows, thoug/z wilh tke forke he did scatler. 

His leaves they grew greene, 
But they were hOt seene, 
for ,4uumne 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 xvithout thatch. " 
and glad of brown bread & cold water. 
To God thanks lets give, 
And in a meane live, 
havino¢ a tare ow we doe scatte: 

Finis. N.P. 

London, Printed for Henry Gosson, dwelling on 
London Bridge. 

The cunning Northerne Begger, 
Who ail the By-standers doth earnestly pray, 
To bestow a penny upon him to day. 
70 tke Tune of Tom of tedlam. 

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 : 
l'le i'th wind and weather, 

The Cunning Northerne Begger. 

18 7 

And weare all ragged Garments ; 
Yet, though I'm bare, 
I'm free from care, 
A fig for high preferments. 
For still wtll I ery good your worship, ¢ood sir, 
Bestow one poore denier, sir, 
Vthick, when l've gol, 
tl tke Pijke and Pot 
I soone will il casheere sir. 

I have my shifts about me, 
Like Proleus often changing, 
My shape, when I will, 
I alter still 
About the Country ranging: 
As soone as I a Coatch see, 
Or Gallants by corne riding, 
I take my Crutch, 
And rouse from my Couch, 
Whereas I lay abiding. 
And slill doe Z cry, &c. 

Now like a wandring Souldier, 
(That has ith warres bin maymed 
With the shot of a Gunne,) 
To Gallants I runne. 
And begg sir, helpe the lamed. 


Tke Cunning Nortlterne Begger. 

I am a poore old Souldier, 
And better rimes once viewed, 
Though bare now I goe, 
Yet many a foe 
By me bath bîn subdued." 
And therefore I cy, &c. 
Although I nere was further 
Then Kentish street in Southwarke 
N or 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 ail, 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 Cunuing Northernc l?cgger. 8 9 

Mnd therefore I cry, good your worshi, good sir, 
testow one poore denier, sir ; 
wkick when l've got, 
at the tipe and pot, 

The second part, To the saine 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. 



The Cunning IVortherne 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 ; 
.4nd faintly [cry, good your worshiib good, sir, 
lestow one poore desire, sir, 
whictz when l've gai, 
at the Pipe and 
I soone will it casheere, sir." 

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. 
.4nd then I doe cy, &c. 

Then, as if my sight I wanted, 
A Boy doth valke beside me, 
Or else I doe 
Grope as I goe, 
Or have a Dog to guide me : 

Tke Cunning IVortkerne teg£er. 19  

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 cornes nye me. 
2ffnd earnestly cry, good your worshi ood, sir, 
testow one poore dentier," &c. 

Next, to some Country fellow 
I presently am turned, 
And cry alacke ! 
With a childe at my backe, 
" My bouse 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. 
Mzd slill we doe cry, good your worshi, &c. 

What, though I cannot labour, 
Shall I therefore pine with hunger 
No, rather, than I, 
Will starve where I lye! 
l'le beg of the money monger ; 

The Cunnin£ Northerne Begger. 

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: 
tnd still I will cry, good your worshiik , good sir, 
Bestow oue," &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 xve doe crave, 
then steale and goe to th' Gallowes. 
Yhcrefore l'le cry, 'ood your worship, ood çir, 
lestozoe one )boor denier, si', 
IVhich, who l'z,e gol, 
At tlze Pe and Pet 
I soone will it casheere, sir." 


Printed at London [or P. Coules. 

[The Life of Man.] 
A comparison of the lire of Man, 
Concerning how fiche his estate doth stand, 
Flourishing like a Tree, or Vine, or dainty flower, 
Or like a ship, or faine, that's turn'd each houre. 
To THE TUNE OF Sir Mndrew arton. 

As I lay musing all alone, 
Great store of things I thought vpon, 
And specially of man's estate, 
And how hee's subjeet vnto Fate, 


Tke Lire of Man. 

First Ile 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 somefimes 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 Cdars tall, 
Yield little fruit, or none at all. 

Yet doe they flourish fresh and greene, 
Much like the pleasant sommer Queene; 
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 Zife of Ian. 


What though a man haue store of wealth, 
I t 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 fine, 
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 lire of man ; 
If that his blood from him be drawne, 
Then suddenly his life doth yield, 
And vnto death he is compell'd. 

Man flourisheth euen like a flower 
Which liues and dyes within an houre ; 
He growes, perhaps, vntill his prime, 
Or he may dye in's budding time. 

He may chance liue till hee is old, 
And bide the brunt of Winters cold ; 
But then hee'l lose the smell and shew, 
And will no more be worth the view. 


Tl e Lire of Man. 

So many men dye in their prime, 
And some dye in their budding time; 
But he that liues the longest lire 
Slmll find but sorrow, care, and strife. 

Mans lire is like a ship o' th' Seas, 
Which is sometimes as Fortune please, 
Sometimes in safety ; yet hOt still so 
Euen, as proud dTorcas' blasts doe blow. 

When Winds are still and weather's faire, 
Then Mariners are free from care ; 
But vhen as stormes make dark the skye, 
Then must each man lais labour plye. 

The second part, To the saine tune. 

So is't with man the selle same case ; 
His life's a ship that doth trace, 
And oft is like to goe rb wracke 
When winds and storms doe tacklings crack. 
We men, when sicknesse doth assaile 
Out bodyes, and makes vs looke pale. 
Then would we doe all thlngs we may, 
So that our health we might enjoy. 


Tke Lire of Man. 

But when the Fates on vs doe smile, 
Like Saylers, we forget our toyle; 
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 sois mans fickle mind. 

The mind of man doth otten 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 cornes me him that the bait lay'd, 
And, hauing taken her in his Net, 
She dyes, and he for more doth bait. 

Euen sois 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. 

Te Li/e of Mau. 


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 ret,arnes 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. 


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 lire this night. 

If thou hast slothfull beene, and lewd, 
Neglecting God's most holy word, 
Apply thy selfe most speedily, 
Redeeme thy rime 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. 


R. C. 

Printed at Londonjor Francis Coulcs. 

Cuckold's Haven • 
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 T/1B ..ç#aMs]z Gi#sie. 

Come, Neighbours, follow'me, 
that Cuckollized be, 
That ail the Towne may see 
out slauish'miserie • 


CuckolaV s ttaven. 

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, 
1V[y wife will me o're match, 
my forehead I may scratch : 
For though I wait both rime and ride, 
I oftentimes ara 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 hornes 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 itis ! 
1V[y wife hath learn'd to kisse, 
and thinkes 'ris not amisse : 
Shee oftentimes doth me deride, 
and tels me I ara hornify'd. 

Cuckoltl's IZaven. 

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. 

,o 3 

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. 


Cuckold's Itaven. 

And be we great or small, 
we must be at their call ; 
How e're the Cards doe fall, 
we men must surfer 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, 

Although too well we know 
'Tis to our griefe and woe : 
Nay, we are glad their faults to laide, 
though often we are hornify'd. 

If I my wife prouoke 
with words in anger spoke, 
Shee sweares shee'll make ail smoke, 
and I must be her Cloake : 
Her basenesse and my wrongs I hide, 
and patiently ara hornify'd. 

When these good Gossips lneet 
In Alley, Lane, or Street, 
(Poore men, we doe not see't ! 
with Wine and Sugar sweet 
They arme themselues, tnd then, beside, 
their husbands must be hornify'd. 

Not your Italîan Locks 
which seemes a Paradox 
Can keepe these Hens fiom Cocks, 
till they are paid with a P-- : 
So long as they can goe or ride, 
Ïhey'l haue their husbands hornifyd, 

The more you haue ntent 
dae business to preuent 



CuckoM'« Ha». 

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 -,ve 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 sec, 
in xvomens company ; 
For he vho to a vife 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 vho are of that race, 
this Ditie, in any case, 

CuckoM's H:vcn. 

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. 


Printed at London hy 3L i °. for Franci« Grove, ueo'e 
ttte Sarazen's head witkout Newflale. 

Christmas Lamentation 

For the losse of his Acquaintance, showing how he is 
forst to leaue the Country, and come to London. 

To THE TUNE or, ./Vow tg $dDriîlff i$ coIilg. 

Christmas is my name, farre haue 1 gone, 
Itaue I gone, haue I gone, haue I gone 
without regard, 
Whereas great men, by flockes, there be flowne, 
There be flown, there be tlown, there be flowne, 
to London-ward. 
Where they in pomp and pleasure doe waste 
That which Christmas was wonted to feast, 
Welladay ! 

CArislmcts's LamenlaNon. 


Houses where musicke was wont for to ring, 
Nothing but Batts and Howlets doe sing; 
kVelladay ! 
I4relladay ! 
I4r ellada y ! 
wkere skould I slay . 
Christmas beefe and bread is turn'd into stones, 
Into stones, into stones, into stones 
and silkert 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 ! 
kVelladay ! 
Vrellada y ! 
where should I slay ? 
Pari, 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. 


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 ! 
Welladay .t 
where should I stay . 

Come to the Countryman, he will protest, 
Will protest, vill 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 hOt scorne, 
Nor will he see poore Christmas forlorne ; 
Welladay ! 
Since none of these good deeds will doe, 
Christmas had best turne Curtier too 
H" d[aday ! 
Wellada y ! 
where should I stay . 

The second Part, to the saine 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 ber Coach she must wheell, 
Although she weare her hose out at heele ; 
Welladay ! 

Ckristmas's Lamenlalion. 

And on her backe weare that, for a weed, 
Which me and all my fellowes would feed ; 
Welladay .t 
Welladay .t 
Welladay .t 
where skould I slay . 

Since pride, that came vp with yellow starch, 
Yellow starch, yellow starch, yellow starch, 
poore folkes doe want, 
And nothing the rich men vill 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. 
tVelladay ! 
Welladay ! 
Velladay / 
where skould I stay .ê 

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 ; 

C]zr[s[mas's Lamen[ation. 213 
Where purging pills, such effects "the 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 : 
l/Velladay .t 
l/Velladgy .t 
l/Vclladay .t 
where s]ould I slay  

Phelomes cottage was turn'd into gold, 
Into gold, into gold, into gold 
for harboring [ove; 
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 liue, 
Where gold by handfulls away they doe giue. 
Ile away ! 
And thither therefore I purpose to passe, 
Hoping at London to finde the golden Asse. 
Ile away, 
Ile away, 
Ile away, 
far ]ere's no stay. 

Printed at London for F. C. dwelling in the 


Wherein he that C«id's wiles did discover, 
Is proved a false dissembling Lover : 
The Mayd shewes such cause fhat none can 
But on the contrary the fault's layd on him. 
To THE TUNE OF Czid's crz«cll format!s. 


The guilefull Crocodile, 
when he his prey would gain, 
That none may spie his wile, 
A mournfull noyse doth feigne : 

Cuid's wrons vindicaed. 

So thou, false Hypocrite, 
Thy foule deceipt to couer, 
Dost act the part aright 
of a distracted Louer ; 
t?ul talle no more on Loue, 
Nor doe youn Cid wrong, 
For lkou didst uever ;roue 
Wkat dotA to louc 3elon#. 

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 xvretch 
thou dost on me exclaime, 
But this is but a fetch, 
for thou deseru'st the blame. 
IVky dost lhou toile on loue ? 
Or doe, 

Thou knowst I lou'd thee xvell, 
and purpos'd thee to haue, 
Thy conscience this tan tell, 
thou false dissembling knaue ! 
But when I did perceiue 
thy fickle, wauering mind, 
'Twas rime to take my leaue, 
and serue thee in thy kind. 

Cuid's wrongs mndicated. 

r/œen raile no more on loue, 
IVor Cuid's cruell wronff, 
#'or toeou didst neuer proue 
II/'/tal dol]z lo loue 3elong'. 
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 Ile stand at stake 
to helpe at the last cast ? 
When all doe thee forsake, 
then I must serue at last ? 
0 raile no more on loue, 
2Vor C«id's cruell wrong, 
For tkou didst neuer proue 
Vkal dotA to loue 3elonA. 
Thou com'st to me i'th' morne 
and goest toMadge at night ; 
Thy mind will quikly turne 
to which comes" next in sight. 
Thou'lt promise and protest 
thou wilt haue none but me ; 
But when thou seest the rest, 
those vowes forgotten bee. 
Tken raile no more on love, 
2Vor CulMd's, &c. 
Dost thinke I cannot heare 
how thou playst fast and loose 


CuM's wrongs vindicated. 

Long Iall 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. 
Thelz talle no more on loue, 
ATor CzM's crucll wroitg ; 
l'or thou didst uc:,cr iroue 
lVhat doth go 1Juc 3clot. 

2I 7 

Second Part, to the saine Tune. 

I saw, last Thurseday night, 
whea thou.wentst to thc 8wa 

C2id's wrongs vindicated. 

With .Kale and fVinifrite, 
and, af ter you, came lVan ; 
I know what wine you had, 
and also what was payd ; 
Alas poore harmelesse lad, 
wilt thou dye for a Mayd ? 
Fye toile no more on loue, 
Nor Cuid's cruell wron 9 ; 
For thou didsl mver proue 
IVhat does to loue 3elong. 

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, 
lVor Cuid's cruell wrong ; 
For t]tou didst never roue 
l/Uhal does to loue 3elong. 

To either man or Mayd 
For censure Ile appeale, 
Which of us may be sayd 
dislo,alllr to deale ; 

Cupid's wrongs vindicatcd. 

Did euer I seeme nice 
till I vas told for truth, 
More oft then once or tvice, 
thou was't a faithlesse youth ? 
Fye / do not raile, 


Thou mak'st the vorld 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. 
Tten doe wl raile, 

Yet though I surfer wrong, 
I needs must prayse thy art ; 
Sure thou hast study'd long 
to act 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 .t doe hot raile, 


C2id's wrons 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. 
7"]wn doc hot raile on lou; 
Wor C@M's crucll a,rom d ; 
For thou didst neter roue 
IUhat doth to loue 3elong. 


lI P. 

l'riM«,t et Lozdou jbr 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 euiht dat, çhter. 

Although I am a Countrey Lasse, 
a loftie mind I beare a, 
I thinke my selle as good as those 
that gay apparrell weare a ; 
My coate is ruade of comely Gray, 
yet is my skin as soft a, 
As those that with the chiefest Wines 
do bathetheir bodies oft a. 



The Cc2titrc.), Lasse. 

19owne, downe d«ry, dery downe, 
hey downe, a downe, a downe a, 
 dery, dery, dery dery downe, 
heih 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, 

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. 
IDowne, «. 

Your City Wiues lead wanton liues ; 
and if they come i' th' Countrey, 
They are so proud, that each one striues 
for to outbraue our Gentry. 

7"he Countrey Zasse. 

We countrey lasses homely be 
for seat nor wall we striue not; 
We are content with our degree ; 
our debtors we depriue not. 
Dowue, &c. 

I care not for the fane or Maske 
when Tilan's heat reflecteth ; 
A homely Hat is all I aske, 
which well my face protecteth : 
Yet am I, in my Countrey guise, 
esteemed Lasse as pretty 
As those that euery day deusie 
new shapes in Court or City. 
1)owne, ¢c. 

I n 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. 
1)owne, downe dery, dery downe, 
heih downe, a downe, a downe a 
t dery, dery, dery dery downe, 
hei#h downe, a downe, a der¢v. 

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 round then ; 
But the bounteous Hospitality 
i' th' Countrey doth abound then. 
Downe, _.'c. 

I' th' Spring my labour yeelds delight, 
to walke i' th' merry Morning 
When Flora is, (to please my sight,) 
the ground with flowres adorning. 

Thc Cozurcy Las«c. 


With merry Lads to make the Hay 
I goe, and do hOt grumble, 
My worke doth seeme to be but play, 
when with young men I tumble. 
Downe, &c. 
The Larke & Thrush from Bryar to 13ush 
do leape, and skip, and sing a; 
And all this then to welcome in 
the long and lookt for Spring a. 
We feare not Cuid's arrowes keene 
Dame Venus we defie a ;-- 
Diana is our honored Queene, 
and her we magnifie a. 
Downe, &c. 
That which your City Damsels scorne, 
we hold our chiefest J ewell ; 
Without, to worke at Hay and Corne ; 
within, to Bake and Brew well : 
To keepe the Dayrie decently, 
and all things cleane and neatl)-, 
Your Citie Minions doe defie, 
their scorne we weigh hot greatly. 
Downe, d_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 ; 

TAe Countrey Lasse. 

In honest pleasure we delight, 
which makes our labour sweet a, 
And Mirth exceeds on euer side 
when Lads and Lasses meete a. 
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 fi'om the Ctty ; 
For then they are so nicely bred, 
thcy must not worke for pitie. 
I speake hOt this to that intent 
(as some may well conjecture), 
As though to Wooing I were bent,-- 
no, I nere leara'd Louer's lectures 
But what I sing is in defence 
of all plaine Countrey Lasses, 
Whose modest, honest innocence 
all City Girles' surpasses. 
Dowue, downe de,y, dery downe, 

Printed y the tssçncs o I Thomas _yuwcke' 

The Complaint of a Lovcr forsaken 
of his Love. 

2"o a pleasanl new Tune. 

A Poore Soule sate sighing by a Sicamore Tree, 
0 IUillow, wil!ow, willow ; 
ttis hand on his bosome, his head on his knee, 
0 IVillow, willow, willow, 
0 IVillow, willow, willow; 
Sing, 0 tle grcene Villow skall 3e my Garland, 

u28 The Comlaint of a Louer Forsaken. 

He sigh'd in his singing, and, al'ter each groane, 
0 Willow, willow, willow, 
"Adue to all pleasure, my true loue is gone. 
0 Willow, willow, willow, 
0 Willow, willow, willow, 
5ing 0 lke greene Willow skall e my Garland 
Oh, false she is turned ; vntrue she doth proue ; 
0 willow, &c., 
She renders me nothing but hate for my loue. 
0 willow, &c., 
Sin¢ 0 lhe greene, &c. 
Oh, pitty me" (cride he), " you Louers each one, 
0 willow, &c., 
Her heart's hard as Marble, she rues not my moane." 
0 willow, &c., 
Sbz, 0 lhe greene, &c. 
The cold strealnes ran by him, his eyes wept apace, 
0 willow, &c., 
The sait teares fell from him, which drowned lais 
face ; 
0 willow, &c., 
Sz)t, 0 t/te greene, &c. 
The mute Birds sate by him, made tame by his 
0 willow, &c., 
The sait teares fell fi'om him, which softned the 
0 willow, &c., 
Sing 0 t/te grecne, &c, 

The Co»laint oJ a Louer Forsaken. 229 
" Let no body blame me,--her scornes I doe 
0 willow., &c., 
She was borne tobe false, and I dye for her loue. 
0 willow, &c., 
Sing 0 the greene, &c. 
O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard, 
0 willow, &c., 
lIy true loue rejecting without all regard! 
0 willow, &c., 
.çi«g 0 the rceuc, &c: 
Let Loue no more boast him, in Pallace or Bowre, 
0 willow, &c., 
For Women are trothlesse and fleet in an houre. 
0 willow, &c., 
i»g 0 the grccne, &c. 
But what helpes complaining in vaine I complaine ; 
0 willow, &c., 
I must patiently surfer her scorne and disdaine. 
0 willow, &c., 
çing 0 the greeue, &c. 
Corne, all you forsaken, and sit downe by me, 
0 willow, &c., 
He that plaineth of his false loue, mine's falser then 
0 willow, &c., 
Siug 0 l/e grcc«e, &c. 

: 30 The Comiblahzt of a Louer Forsaken. 

The Willow wreath weare I, since my Loue did fleet 
0 willow, &c., 
A garland for louers forsaken most meet." 
0 willow, &c., 
Sing 0 the reeue IVillow shall fie my Garland. 

The second Part, To the saine Tune. 

" Low layde by my sorrow, begot by disdaine, 
0 IUillow, willow, willow, 
Against her, too "cruell, still, still I complaine : 
0 Willow, willow, wtllow, 
0 Villow, wllow, willow, 
Sbtg 0 lhe grceue IVillow sltall &¢ my Garland. 

The ComiMaint of a Zoucr t:orsaken. 251 

0 Loue too injurious ! to wound my poore heart, 
0 willow, &c., 
To surfer her triumph, and ioy in my smart. 
0 willow, &c., 
Sing "0 1ke greene, &c. 
0 Willow, Willow, Willow, the Willow Garland, 
0 willow, &c., 
A signe of her falseness, before me doth stand ; 
0 willow, &c., 
Sing 0 the greene, &c. , 
As heere lying, payned, it stands in mine eye, 
0 willow, &c. 
So bang it, (friends,) ore me, in Gratte where I lye • 
0 willow, &c., 
Siug 0 tke grecnc, &c. 
In Graue xvhen I rest me, hang this to the view 
0 willozo, &c., 
Of all that doe know her, to blaze her vntrue " 
0 willow, &c., 
Sinff 0 the greene, &c. 
With these words ingrauen, as Epitaph meete, 
0 willow, &c., 
' Heere lyes one drunke Poyson, for potion most 
0 willow, &c. 
Sinff 0 the greene, &c. 
Though she thus vnkindly haue scorned my loue, 
0 willow, &c. 

* 3" The Cotlailzt of a Louer Forsakez. 

And carelesly smiles at the sorrowes I proue ; 
0 willow, &c., 
Sing 0 the g,ee,te, &c. 
I cannot against her unkindly exclaime, 
0 willow, &c., 
Cause once well I loude her and honourde her 
name : 
0 willow, &c. 
Silzg 0 lhe grccue, &c. 
The naine of her sounded so sweet in mine eare, 
0 willow, &c, 
It raisde my heart lightly--the name of my deare. 
0 willow, 
Sing 0 the grccne, &c. 
.A_s then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe, 
O, willow, &c. 
It now brings me anguish; then, brought me reliefe. 
0 willow, &c., 
Sing 0 the grcene, &c. 
Farewel, faire false-hearted, plaints end with my 
O, willow, &c. 
Thou dost loth me,--I loue thee, though cause of 
my death." 
0 IVillow, willow, willow, 
0 IVillow, willow, willow, 
Sizff 0 1]ze greez IVillow s]zall be ty Garland. 
London, Printed by M. P. for Edward Wright at his 
Shop, neere Christ-Church-gate, 

The Constancy of True Loue, 
An Excellent Relation of the Vntimely Death of Two 
Faithfull Louers. 

To TIIE TUNE OF Z)ozvne @ a fi'orresL 

In that faire, flagrant 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 Tins and Tares--for this intent, 
This flowrie seat I did frequent. 


7"ho Coustan0, of True 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 ruade a noise 
Incompassing this place of ioyes : 
No fairer place nor Fountaine found 
Dian with golden tresses crovn'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 Phoehe lais warbling harpe did tune 
The lifesome monthes of IF[ay and 
Here Philo»sel tun'd melody ; 
Hither the chirping hirds did fly; 
Here the Thrush & blackbird fro their throats 
Strain'd diuers sundry pleasant notes. 

The Constancy of True Loue. 


Here the Nymph Eccko, 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, looklng 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 Euroibe 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. 

.,3 6 

7ho Constan O, of T,ue Loue. 

" Blinde C«tpid." (quoth she) "with lais dart, 
In tender yeares did wound his heart, 
blade 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 xve no place for loue could haue, 
Yet still we sought to recompence 
l.otle with true loue, without offence. 
We &velt in neighbouring houses laie, 
And, getting conference thereby, 
\Ve did appoint vnder this tl'ee 
To meet, but disapointed bee. 

The Secozd Par/, /o /he sa»te Tztt«. 

"When bright zturora peep6d out, 
And Pheebus newly look'd about, 
I first (according to my vow) 
ruade haste vnto this plighted bough ; 


_3 8 

The Colzstat O, of 'ue Zoue. 

Heere as I stayéd 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 ail 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 hOt 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 
Ail bloudied by the Lyons throat ; 
Which when he saw with bloud belay'd 
My absence made him sore afraid : 

Thc Coustau O, of True Loue. 
What should he thinke, but that some beast 
Vpon my carkasse ruade 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 hue, quoth hee, wrought my Loue's death ; 
The end of ber 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 or 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 round this Copie of his death, 
And his dead carkasse, voyd of breath. 
No sobs, no sighes, no griefes, on groanes, 
No trickling tears, no mournfull moanes» 


7he onta: O, of True Loue. 

No ejaculations, no cries, 
No dolefull Dittie, or Elagies, 
Shall serue for to bewaile 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 hot 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, 
Shce 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 liues 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. 
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 TIIE TUNE OF .Olîl. sweet 

Faire Angell of E,tgland! 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 vowbd to chastity, being but one ; 
But be not, my Darling, so chaste in desire, 
Lest thou like the Phenix, do penance in tire. 

But alas I (gallant Lady) I pitty thy state, 
I n being resolved to lire without mate ; 
For if of out courting the pleasur.e 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 advancèd to Princcly dcgrec, 

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 deckd 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 
bien 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 Etglamt's fait crown, 
Thy garment most gallant with gold shall be 
If true love for treasure of thee may be bought. 
Great Ladies of honour shall 'tend on thy traine, 
1YIost richly attired with scarlet in graine : 
1YIy chamber most Princely thy person shall keepe, 
Where Virgins with musicke shal rock thee asleep. 

Zhe t°rincely wooinœ of thc faire Iaid. 243 

If any more pleasures thy heart can invent, 
Command them, sweet Lady, thy mind to content; 
For Kings' gallant Courts, x'here Princes do dx'el, 
Afford such sweet pastimes as Ladies love wel. 

Then be hOt resolved to dye a truc 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, welcolne, sweet Virgin, to me. 

The faire lIaid of London's answcr 
to King Edvard's vanton Love. 
Oh, wanton King .Edward, thy labour is vaine 
To follow the pleasure thou 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, 

44 T/c Primd.y waahg af l/c fai;'e 

I passe not what Princes for love do protest, 
The name ot a Virgin contenteth me best ; 
I bave not deserved to sleepe by thy side, 
Nor to be accountcd for King Edward's bride. 

The naine of a Princesse I never did crave, 
No such tipe of honour thy hand-maid vill have ; 
lXly brest shall not harbour so lofty a thought, 
Nor b.e with rich proffers to wantonnesse brought. 

If wild wanton Rosamond, one of our sort, 
Had never frequented King Hcm-ie's brave Court, 
Such heapes of deepe sorrow she never had seene, 
Nor tasted the rage of a jealous Queene. 

Ail men have their freedome to shew their intent, 
They win nota 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 vomen and modesty once doe but sever, 
Then farmvell good name and credit for ever ! 
And, royall King Edward, let me be exilde 
E re any man know m, body's detîl'd, 

7"he Iriucdy woohz af the f«irc 3raid. 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, bave 
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 bave kept me from doing this sinne, 
My heart shall hot yeeld with a Prince to begilme. 

Corne 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, 
lXly milk-white affections vith lewdness to stain : 
Though EngIand will give me no comfort at all, 
Yet ,Englaua shall yeeld race a sad buriall. 


London Printed for Henry Gosson. 

The Bride's Buriall. 
To x. TUlF. OF t/e Ladies fall. 

Corne. mourr,, corne mourn with me, 
you loyall loyers all; 
Lainent 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 slalne, 
doth bleed for my sweet wife. 

By Death (that grisly Ghost) 
my turtle Dove is slaine, 
And I ara lost, unhappy man I 
to spend m}" daies in paine, 

Thc dTriat«'s 13uriaL 

Her beauty, late so bright, 
like Roses in their prime, 
Is wasted, like the mountaine's snow, 
by force of Phoebus' 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, 
vith fingers long and small, 
In colour lie like earthly clay, 
yea, cold and stiffe withal. 

When as the morning gray 
ber golden gate had spred, 
And that the glistring sunne arose, 
forth from faire Thett's' 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 1)ia«acs N imphs-- 
so lookt my louely Bride. 


TAc ridds uriaL 

And as faire ttellens face 
gaue Grecian Dames the lurch, 
So did my deare exceed in sight 
all Virgins in the Church. 

When ve 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 truc Loves heart. 

Downe in a s[w]ound she fell, 
as cold as any stone. 
Like I/énus' picture, lacking life, 
so was my Love brought home. 
At length arose a red 
throughout her comely face, 
As Phee3us' beames with wat'ry clouds 
ore coveréd her face. 

Then, wlth a grievous groane 
and voyce most hoarse and dry, 
Farewell ! quoth shee, my loving frlends, 
for I this day must die : 

The Tridds uriaL 

The messenger of God 
vith 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 rave, 
that in my chamber smell : 
Strip off my Brides array, 
my Corke-shooes from my feet ; 
And, gentle mother, be hot coy, 
to bring my winding-sheet. 

My Wedding-dinner drest 
bestow upon the poore, 
And on the hungry, needy, maire'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 : 


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. 

0 stench thy bootlesse teares, 
thy weeping is in vaine ; 
I 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 hea.rt did burst in two, 
and thus he ruade his moane ;-- 

The ]ride's ]TuriaL 

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 lire in hell ! 
And now this Loyer lives 
a discontented life, 
Whose Bride was brought unto the grave 
a Maiden and a Wife. 

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 ruade a solemne sound. 
In earth they laid her then, 
for hungry wormes a prey : 
So shall the faire_st face alive 
at length be brought to clay. 
London Printed for H. Gosson. 

An excellent Ballad 
Intituled : The Constancy of Susanna. 

There dwelt a man in Ba@lon, 
of reputation great by lame ; 
He tooke to wife a faire woman, 
Susanna she ,,vas call'd by naine ; 
A woman faire and vertuous : 
Lady, Lady, 
Why should wee not of ber learne thus 
to liue godly ? 

Vertuously her lire she led, 
she feared God, she stood in awe, 
As in the storie ",ve haue read, 
was well brought up in' 'oscs' Law, 

7"fie Cousl:zncy of Susanna. 

Her parents they were godly folke, 
Lady, Lady; 
Why should we not then sing and talke 
of this Lady ? 


That yeare two Iudges there was ruade, 
which were the Elders of 19abylou ; 
To [oachi»ts house was ail their trade, 
who was Susanuaes husband then : 
[oachi»z xvas a great rich man, 
Lad3', Lad3'; 
These Elders oft to his house came 
for this Lady. 

Ioachi»z had an Orchard by, 
fast ioyning to his house or place, 
Wherase Susanna commonly 
ber selfe did daily their solace : 
And that these Elders soone espy'd, 
Lady, Lady ; 
And priuily themselues did bide 
for that Lady. 

lier chaste and constant lire was tride 
by these two Elders of 27abylou ; 
A tlme conuenient they espide 
to have this Lady all alone» 


Th« Constau«y of Susaula. 

In his Orchard it came to passe, 
Lady, Lady, 
Where she alone her self did wash 
her faire body. 

These Elders came to ber anon, 
& thus they said, Fair dame, God speed 
Thy doors are fast, thy Maids are gone, 
Consent to vs and doe this deed ; 
For ,,ve 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 brifig ; 
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, 
0 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 Const«ncy of Susamza. 

\Vhether 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, 
U nto the Lord she cryed aloud 


These Elders both likewise againe 
against Susanna aloud they cry'd, 
Their filthy lust could not obtaine, 
their wickednesse they sought to bide ; 
Unto ber friends they then her brought, 
Lady, Lady, 
And with all speed the life they sought 
of that Lady. 

The Second part, To the same tune. 

On the morrow she was brought forth 
belote the people there to stand, 
That they might heare & know the .truth, 
how these two Elders Susanna round. 
The Elders swore, and thus did say, 
Lady, Lady, 
How that they saw a young man Iay 
with that Lady. 

|udgement thet'e was, for no offence, 
,Susanna causelesse then must dye; 
These Elders bore such euidence, 
against ber they did verifie, 

Tke Constancy of Susanna. 

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 voe, 
When as they sav no remedy, 
but that to death she then must goe. 
Lady, Lady, 
I n God xvas all ber hope and trust 
to him did cry. 

The Lord her voice heard, and beheld 
the Daughters cry of [srad ; 
His spirit he raised in a child, 
whose naine was call'd young l)aniel, 
Who cryed aloud xvhereas he stood, 
Lady, Lady, 
I am cleare of the guiltless blood 
of this Lady. 

Are you such fooles ? quoth Z)aniel then ; 
in iudgement you haue not done well, 
Nor yet the right way haue you gone 
to iudge a daughter of Israel 

The Constanc., of Susanna. 

By this witnesse of false disdaine ; 
Lady, Lady, 
Wherefore to iudgement turne againe, 
for that Lady. 

And vhe: 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. 

h« Caslancy q/" Susanna. 

And, euen with that, the multitude 
aloud did cry, 
Giue thankes to God, so to conclude, 
%r this Lady. 


They dealt like with these wicked men 
according as the Scripture saith, 
They did, as with their neighbour, then, 
by lk[oses law were put to death ! 
The innocënt preserued was, 
Lady, Lady, 
As God by Z)aniel brought to passe 
for this Lady. 


Printed at London for Iohn Wright, neere Pye- 

A Compleate Gentle«voman 
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 "r T, o 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 Coleate Gentle-woman. 

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 bel]. 

And to recite the substance of her feature, 
That ail may say shee is a comely creature, 
From head to foot. 
From head to foot, 
From head to foot I xvill 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. 


t Comleate 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 sarne tune. 

Her rubie lips which doth inclose the tongue 
From whence rare elegies are sweetly sung, 

M Comîleate Gcntle-woman. 


That may amaze, 
That may amaze, 
That may amaze each rurall svaine to heare 
Her Siren songs with voice so shrill and cleare. 

Her Iuorie necke with golden gems compleate, 
Her armes and shoulders framéd 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 actiue 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 bath her turther grac't. 


A Coleate Getle-woman. 

In all respects, 
In all respects, 
In ail 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 ber 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. 

Lo Po 


Clods C«rro//,. 
A proper new I igg, to be sung Dialogue wise, of a 
man and a woman would needs be married. 

To a pleasant new Tune. 


Now in the Garden 
are we well met, 
To craue our promise, 
for promise is a debt. 
Corne, sit thee down ail by my side, 
and when that thou art set, 
say what thou wih unto mee. 

Shew me unfaignedly, 
and tell me thy mind, 
For one may haue a yong wench 
that is not ouer-kind. 


Clod's Carroll. 

W. Seeke all the world for such aone, 
then hardly shall ycu find 
a Loue of such perfection. 

M. This single life is wearisome • 
faine would I marry, 
But feare of iii chusing 
makes me to tarry : 
Some sayes that flesh is flexiblel 
and quickly it will vary, 
W. It's very true, God mend them. 

M. \Vhy speak'st thou il] of women, 
sith thou thyselfe art one ? 
W. Would all the test 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 tire side : 
both old and young are fault' 

Clod's Carroll. 

M. Ile marry with a yong wench, 
of beauty and of wit. 
W. It is better rame a yong Colt 
without a curbing bit. 
M. But she xvill throw ber rider downe. 
W. I, true, he cannot sit, 
xvhen Fillies fall a wighing. 

M. Ile marry one of middle age, 
for she will love me xvell. 
W. But if ber 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. Ile marry with an old wench 
that knowes not good from bad. 
W. But once within a fortnight 
shee'l make ber husband mad. 
M. Beshrew thee for thy counsell, 
for thou hast ruade me sad ; 
but needs I must be married. 


W. To marry with a young wench 
me thinkes it xvere a blisse : 
To marry one of middle age 
it xvere not much amisse : 


Clod's Carroll. 
l'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. 
lI. Hold thy tongue, fond woman, 
for I must haue a wife. 
A Cuckold in reuerson. 

\Vhen you are once married, 
all one whole yeare, 
Tell me of your fortune, 
and meet xvith mec 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 marr),. 

C/od's CarrolL 

Farewell, yOtl lusty Batchelors, 
to marriage I am bent; 
When I haue try'd what marriage is, 
Ile tell you the euent, 
And tell the cause, if cause there be, 
wherein I doe repent 
that ever I did marry. 


The second part, To the same tune. 

W. Good-morrow to thee new married man, 
how doest thou fare ? 



Clod'« Ca1 roll. 

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 hOt 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 nota 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 C«rrolL 

W. What ! goeth she nota gossiping, 
to spend avay 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 ; 
voe's me! I cannot mend it. 

W. How goeth shee in appareil ? 
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 hornes 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 ber what she is. 


C/od's Carroll. 

Yet man), things amended are 
that have been long amisse, 
and so in time 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 : 
I speake it on experience, 
ne're venture on a wife ; 
Ior if you match, you xvill be matcht 
to such a weary life, 
that you will all repent you. 


London, Printed by /..]V/. for /-/e¢,y Gsst. 

Constant, faic, alad fine Bctty. 
, Being 
The Young-man's praise of a curious Creature. 
Faire shee was, and faire indeed, 
And constant alwayes did proceed. 
7"0 the Ttue of Pe£gy ïvcnt oz'er Sea with a Souldier. 

Now of my sweet 
I must speake in praise ; 
I never did see 
such a lasse in m" da's I 

Constant, fairc, audJine lTetO,. 

She is kind and loving, 
and constant to me : 
Wherefore I will speake 
of my pretty tetty. 

tetty is comely, 
and tetty 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 Bcttj, 

Her haire it doth glister 
like to threeds of gold ; 
All those that doe meet ber 
Admire to behold : 
Her they take for Zuno, 
so glorious seemes shee, 
More brighter then Luna 
is pretty 17etty, 

Her eyes they do twinkle 
like starres in the slde; 
She is without wrinkle 
her forehead is high : 

Constant, fah'c, and flne BctO,. 

Faire Uenus for beauty 
the like cannot be; 
Thus I shew my duty 
to pretty ,l?etly. 

She bath 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 Tylana, 
my pretty JBellie. 

Her Chinne it is dimpled, 
her visage is faire ; 
She is finely templed ; 
she is neat and rare : 
Il Hellen were living 
she could not please me; 
I ioy in praise giving 
my pretty ,Betly. 

H er skinne white as SHOW, 
ber brest soit as doUne, 
All her parts below 
they are all firme and sound : 


Coustant, jàh'c, aitdue Bdlj,. 

Shee's chaste in affection 
as Peuelqbe. 
Thus ends the complexion 
of pretty Bettie. 

The Second 


to the same Tune. 

Now of her conditions 
something Ile declare, 
For some have suspltions 
She's false, being faire: 

Constant, faire, and flne lTelly. 

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 truc constancy ; 
Long I must hot tarry 
from pretty 

Well met, my sxveet/Zonj,, 
my ioy and delight! 
0 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 .lettd. 


K ind love, thou art welcome 
to me day and night ; 
Why came you not home 
I did long for your sight 


Constant, faire, and flne tetty. 

My ioy and my pleasure 
is onely in thee; 
Thou art ail the treasure 
of pretty l?etté. 

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 Bettd. 

Sweet, when shall we marry 
and lodge in one bed ? 
Long I cannot carry 
hot my maiden-head : 
And there's none shall have the same, 
but onely thee; 
'Tis thee that I crave 
to love pretty tetlL 

M,. esse, be thou contented, 
xvee'l quickly be wed ; 
Our friends are consented 
to all bath bin sed : 

Constant, faire, and fine Betty. 

Thou shalt be my w ife 
ere much older I be, 
And Ile lead my life 
with my pretty tetté. 


These loyers were married, 
and immediately ; 
And all was well carried ; 
and liv'd lovingly : 
Let faire maids prove constant, 
like pretty Besse, 
Fine tesse hath the praise an't, 
and worthy is shee. 


R. C. 

London, Printed for Iohn Wright the yonger, 
dwelling at the upper end of the Old Baily. 

The Constant Lover, 
Who his affection will not move, 
Though he live not where he love, 
To a Northern tune called Shall the aseice of my 

You loyall Lovers that are distant 
from your Sweet-hearts many a mile, 
Pray corne helpe me at thls instant 
in mirth to spend away the while 

The Constant Loyer-. 

In singing sweetly, and compleately, 
in commendatior, of my love ; 
Resolving ever to part never, 
though I lire not where I love. 


My love shee's faire and also vertuous ; 
God grant to me she may prove truc 
Then there is naught but death shall part us, 
and I le nec're change ber for a new : 
And though the rates my fortunes hates, 
and me from ber doe farre remove, 
Yet I doe vow still to be truc, 
though, &c. 

My constancy shall ne're be failing, 
whatsoe're betide me here : 
Of her vertue Ile be telling, 
be my biding farre or neere. 
And though blind fortune prove uncertaine 
from ber presence to remove, 
Yet Ile 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 ail the while : 

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 ; 
vhen I vake I take no rest; 
But euery moment thinke upon her ; 
she's so fixéd in my brest " 
And though farre distance may be assistance 
from my mind her loue to moue, 
Yet I vill neuer or loue disseuer, 
though, &c. 

To thinke upon the amorous glances 
that haue beene betvixt us twaine, 
lXIy constancy and love aduances, 
though from ber presence I remaine, 
And makes the teares, with groanes & fears 
from vatery eyes and heart to moue, 
And, sighing, say, both night and day, 
Alas! I liue, &c. 

The Second Part, to the saine Tune. 

I, to her, will be like Leander 
if tfero-like shee'le pro ve to me ; 
For her sake through the world Ile wander, 
no desperate danger I will flee ; 
And into the Seas, with little ease, 
the mountains great themselves shal more, 
Ere faith I breake, let me ne're speake, 
though, &c. 


T]tc Colts[anl [_.oz,tf. 

Penelo2be shall be unconstant, 
and Diana prove unchaste, 
Vents to Vztlca shall be constant, 
and Mars far from her shall be plac't 
The blinded boy no more shall ioy 
with Arrowes keen loyers 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 ; 
Ail the world shall be atone religion ; 
ail living things shall cease to dye ; 
A1 things sha! change to shapes most strange 
before that I disloyall proue, 
Or any way my loue decay, 
though, &c. 

If you lines doe corne 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 doc strike lny heart, 
though, &c. 

The Constant 

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 I le be still, 
Desiring I may be befriended 
vith loue againe for my good vill ; 
And vish 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. 




London, Printed for Henry Gosson. 

A discourse of M an's life. 
Compaxing him to things that quickly passe, 
As bubble, shuttle, blossome, streame, and grasse. 
To the Tune of Ayme hot too high. 

Now to the discourse of man I take in hand, 
In v¢hat estate his fickle lire doth stand. 
Hee in this world is as a pilgrimage, 
And maketh hast to trauaile to old age. 

Mans lire compared is unto a Flower 
That grows and withers ail within one boute ; 
And like to grasse that groweth in the fiel& 
Or like true courage, which is loath to yedd. 

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 lire to lose. 

Mans lire is like the damaske Rose you see, 
Or like the blossome that grmves on the tree ; 
Or like unto the dainty flowers in May; 
Or like the morning that begins the da),. 

A discourse of Man's lire. 

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 lire is like the Sun, or like the shade, 
Or like unto the gourd which Ionas 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 hOt long, 
The swan neer death, man's lire is quickly don. 

Man's life is like the grasse that's newly sprung, 
Or like unto a tale that's new beg-un, 
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 bird 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 lire 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. 


. discourse of Man's lire. 

The buble's broke, and soone the looke's forgot ; 
The shuttle's ttung, 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 donc. 
The race soon run, so is the goale soon won, 
The dole soon dealt, mans life is quickly donc, 

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 3¢au's life. 

The arroxve'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 liues to-day, and dyes before to-morroxv. 

Mans like unto the snoxv 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 xvhich can no waies be seen. 

The Peare doth rot, for and the Plum doth fall 
The snoxv dissolues, and so wee must doe ail ; 
The tree's consum'd that was so fi-esh and faire ; 
The wind's uncertaine that blowes in the ayre. 


./t discourse of Mads lire. 

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 Ionas that was in the deep. 

The seed it springeth, Lazarus now standeth; 
Tabitha wakes, and Ionas he hath landed : 
Thus are wee certain lire wee shall obtaine, 
Though death doth kill, yet shall we liue againe. 

God, of his mercy, grant to us his glace, 
That we may lead our liues in such a case 
That, when wee are departed hence away, 
Wee then may liue with him in ioy for aye. 

Grant, Lord, that wee may please thy will divine ; 
Lord, let thy louing tavour 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, 
U nto the honour of thy glorious name. 
Amen, good Lord, grant we may doe the same. 

t discourse of fan's lire. 


Now to conclude, God blesse our gracious Coearles, 
With ail his worthy Subiects, Lords and Earles ; 
And grant us, Lord, true faith, with loue & peace, 
And let thy Gospell more and more encrease. 


London, Printed fOl" H. G. 

Whose dwelling 

Dead Mans Song. 
was neere unto Basings 

Hall in 

To the tune of Flyin, Faine. 

Sore sick, deare friends, long time I was, 
and weakely laid in bed; 
And for rive 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 round ; 
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 de. 

The IDead 2ll'an's Song'. 

My winding sheet prepared was, 
my grave was also made, 
And rive 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 ail delights. 

Yet, sith the Lord restor'd my lire, 
vhich from my body fled, 
I will declare what sights r saw 
that rime that I vas 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 tull of fruit was every twig, 
which shin'd like glittering gold, 

bly chereful heart desired much 
to taste the fruit so faire ; 
But as I reacht, a faire young man 
to me did fast repaire. 



The Dead llI«n's Son'. 

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 xviped he : 
When this was done, he bad me look 
xvhat 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 houles all with beaten gold 
were til'd and overlaid. 

More brighter than the mornlng Su n 
• the light thereof did show, 
And every creature in the same 
like crownd Kings did goe. 

The Dead dWan's Soug. 

The fields about this City faire 
were all with Roses set, 
Gilly-flowers, and Carnation faire, 
which canker could hot 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 ravishèd, 
iny ioy did so abound. 

With musick, lnirth, 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 lnore I might, 
the sight pleas'd me so well; 
For what I saw in every thing 
my tongue can no way tell. 

Then ofthe man I did demand 
what place the saine might be 
Whereas so many Kings do dwell 
In ioy and melody ? 



The Dead JIhtu's Soug. 

Quoth he, That blessed place is heaven, 
where yet thou must hot test ; 
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 vie'v, and marke as much 
what things are to be spide. 
With that I saw a cole-blacke den, 
ail tan'd with soot and smoake, 
Where stinking Brimstone burning ",vas, 
which ruade me like to choake. 
An ugly creature there I saw, 
whose face with knives ",vas 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 si3.e. 
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 rote. 

The Second Part, to the saine Tune. 

A spotted person by each one 
stood gnawing on their hearts, 
And this '`vas conscience, I ",vas 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 tire, 
which fell against their face. 

And ladles full of melted gold 
were pourèd downe their throats, 
And these were set (it seem'd to me) 
in midst of burning boats. 


The l?ead M'an's 

The formost of this company 
was Iudas, I was told, 
Who had, for filthy lucres sake, 
his Lord and Master sold. 

For covetousnesse these were ¢ondemn'd, 
so it was told to me : 
And then methought another tout 
of Hel-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 ruade 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 tierce their pillowes eke 
whereon their heads were laid, 
And fiends, with whips of glowing tire, 
their lecherous skins off flaid, 

TAc Dead lIIan's Song. 


Then did I see another corne, 
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, v«hen these were gone away, 
the Swearer and the Lier, 
And these were hung up by the tongues 
right over a flaming tire. 

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 askèd 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. 


The Deact 2U'an's Song'. 

So that my soule was sore afmid 
such terrour on me fell. 
Away then went the young man quite, 
and bad me not farewell. 

Wherefore unto my body stmight 
my spirit return'd againe, 
And lively blood did afterwards 
stretch forth in every veine. 

My closèd eyes I openèd, 
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 Gz«es- 
r/t and poore neighbour 2Veedy, 
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 2Veedy ; what! walking alone, 
How cornes it, I pray, that you thus sigh and 
The cause by your physi6gnomie straight I tan tell, 
And know by the saine that ail is not well. 


Dialogue betweene Master Guesright 

In truth, master G«tesright, 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 2Vcedy, the world is so hard 
That solely my selfe I now cannot guard ; 
Besicles, young and old loves coyne so intire, 
That have it they will, though out of the tire. 

Nay, good neighbour 2Veedy, I pray say not so, 
For then you will wrong a many I know : 
]3esides, 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 bave donc, 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 test you assurèd, and take it from mec, 
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 bargaine, I know. 

and poore net'ghbour Needy. 3o3 

Your Barber most nimbly will trimme your fine 
And, if that you please, turne up your mouchatto ; 
But marke you what followes, my kind loving 
He lookes to be gratified well for his labour. 

Your Vintner xvill 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 noxv tell yee, 
A Cooke in Pye-Corner will fill up your belly ; 
And v¢hen you are satisfied, he, like an Asse, 
Desirès no money but eene for his sawce. 

The Second Part to the saine Tune. 

o4 t Dialogue &eweene 3/lasSer Guesril 

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 Of-ficer ripe. 

Your out-landish Doctour most ready will be 
To cure you of your infirmity ; 
Which being effected, he, for his skill, 
Desirès no more but a golden Pill. 

Nay, what makes your Land-lord let housen 
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 dote, 
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 offacious his money to lend, 
But that he intends to bring you in thrall, 
And get, if he can, the Devill and ail ? 

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 ? 

aud boore neçhkour lVeedy. 


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 callèd money ? 

What makes your tooth-dmwer 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 saine 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. 
Printed at London for F. Coules. 

Doctor/)o-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 Mge. 

Ifany are infected, give audience awhile, 
Such Physick Ile teach you shal make },ou to smile» 

Doctor Doood's dircctios, C_c. 

It is wholsome and toothsome, and free 
Which shall breed good blood, and bad 
.dllthougA it may seeme most strange, 
Yel lais is mosl lrue and strange. 

from ail 


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, 
tte skall be cured toast strange, 
0 lais is a wonderfull Aan.e. 

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, 
Mnd he sAall 6e cured toast strange, 
0 lais is most lrue and strate. 

Ifany 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 
llnd Ae sAall e cured most slrane, 
0 tts is most lrue aM strange. 


Doaor 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 
It proceeds from drinking old Sack, I suppose ; 
Small Beere and fayre water, let him drink none but 
And he shall e cured most strange, 
0 t]tis is most true and strange. 

If any man be troubled with outragious teeth, 
Which eat up his riches and make him play the 
If he will be cured of this kinde of griefe, 
Let him sew up his lips, and he shall finde releefe, 
t nd this is a cure most slran£e, 
0 this is mos//rue and stra2ge. 

If a woman be troubled with a tatling tongue, 
Whose too much vaine babling ber neighbours doth 
I iudge for her mouth it's something too long, 
Therefore she must eut [it] short while she is yong, 
And she shall be cured most stranffc, 
0 lhis 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 

cure many diseases, dc. 


He must be let bloud, in a scarfe beare his arme, 
And drink the herbe Grace ina possit luke warme, 
.4ud he shall fie cured most strazge, 
0 tkis is most true andstranffe. 

The Second Part, to the saine 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, 
A ud he shall tSe cured most slrange, 
0 lttis is mosl true and strange, 


Doctor JOo-good's direciions 

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 sla[1 e cured mosl strange, 
0 lhis is lrue and sgrange. 

If any man be troubled with false hollow heart, 
To cure such a fellow exceedeth my Art, 
But yet my good counsell to him Ile impart, 
Let him take heed he rides hot to Tyburn in a Cart, 
]:or lken keele $e cured mos[ slrange, 
0 t is is most truie and slratge. 

If a mayd be infected with the alling axvay, 
Which proceeds from a longing desire, some say, 
If she »viii be preserved and kept from decay, 
She must get her a husband without all delay, 
2't nd she skall 3e c2tred mosl strange, 
0 this is most true and strange. 

If a man bave 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, 
4nd il is a cure mosl straÇe, 
0 this is most true and stranffe. 

go cure many diseases, 


Ifa 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/te s/all le cured mosl slrange, 
0 lais is mosg grue and sgranffe. 
If any man's knees are grown stiffe and so sore, 
That he cannot kneele downe go pray any more, 
His heart is right stony ; it is fitting, therefore, 
He get grace and mercy heaven's name to adore, 
M nd fie shall he cured mosg slrane, 
0 ghis is mosl lrue and slranffe. 
If a man be troubled with exceeding light toes, 
Which will run go the/klehouse 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, 
M nd lhen heele fie cu'ed mosl slrauffe, 
0 this is wst lrue and slranffe. 
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 lhis is a ghing »wsl slranffe, 
0 lais is mosg l ue and sgranffe. 
London, Printed for Richard Harper, 

Death's loud Allarum : 
A perfect description of the frailty of Man's lire, 
with some admonitions to warne all men and wo- 
men to repentance. 

To lhe Tune of Aime nol loo 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; 
H e stands prepar'd to strike you to the heart ; 
How suddenly, alas I there's none doth know ; 
We all must yeeld to Death, this death we owe. 

Death's loud Mllarum. 


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, ail you that smile at death, 
You plainely see hov 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 
The day nor houre there is none that doth know ; 
We ail must die, that is tne debt we owe. 


Dealh's loud Mllarum. 

Then why doe we so vainely spend our time, 
And unto wickednesse so much incline ? 
We lire as though we never meant to die, 
Spending our dayes most lewd and wantonly ; 
Ail wickednesse doth daily in us grow, 
Yet ail 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 flatter 3' : 
Ail 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 hot 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 ail must die, that is the debt we owe. 

The Second Part, to the same Tune. 

It is our sinnes doth cause God's xvrath to fall, 
For we offend ev'n generally ail, 
Both rich and poore, with yçng and old also; 
Let us repent, least God increase our xvoe : 
If we repent, the Lord will mercy shoxv: 
We ail must die, that is the debt we oxve. 

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. 


Death's loud ,41larum. 

God's mercy goes before his justice still ; 
He's alxvayes sure to punish us for iii ; 
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 cana 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 vretched creatures ! why should ve do so ? 
We all must die, that is the debt we owe. 

Over all creatures man a ruler is ; 
Hath hOt the Lord done much in doing this ? 
O thinke on this, and praise him for the saine ; 
Give laud and glor¥ for his holy naine, 
All men that's living ought for to doe so : 
\Ve all must die, that is the debt ve owe. 

But ve forger our duties to our God, 
Wherefore he now doth scourge us with his rod; 
His punishment we nov are like to feele ; 
He shoots his Arrows from his Bov of steele, 
Which Bow doth seeme to strike a deadly blow ; 
We all must die, that is the debt we owe. 

Death' loud llarum. 

What father alwayes will forgive lais child 
That disobays his will and is most vild ? 
Correction doth befit a wicked son ; 
'Tis true we must confesse the same, each one: 
Now God corrects us by one blow, 
In hope therëby 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. 
I t cannot be long ere our glasse be spent : 
f)ur time is short, for certaine it is so, 
We ail 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 ail 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 ail true Christians wish it may be so, 
For ail must die, that is the debt we owe. 



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. 


Printed at London for J oHl WRIGHT the young[er-I, 
are to be soldat his shop at the upper end of the 

A delicate new lDhty 
composed upon the Posie of a Ring" bein, "I 
jancy nonebut lhee alone :" sent as a New-year's gift 
by a Loyer to his Sweet-heart, 

To THE TUBE OF Dttl£ila. 

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 


A deli«ate new DitO,, &ing 

Into thy eares by love is blowne, 
but say by me, 
as I by thee, 
I fan«ie none but thee alone. 

Hadst thou Cu2bid's mother's beauty, 
and Z)ianags chaste desires, 
Thinke on that which is thy duty, 
to fulfill what love rt-quires ; 
'ris love I aske, 
and 'tis thy taske 
to be propitious to my moane, 
for still I say, 
and will for aye, 
l /ancie tone but thee alone. 

Let hot 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 hot thy frown 
then me cast downe, 
Wko /ancies none but tkee alone. 

"Itàncy noue bul I/e alouc." 


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 
l.Vko landes none ut tAee alone. 

Let my true affections move thee 
to commiserate my paine ; 
If thou knew'st hov 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 more thee 
to pitty me, 
l'Vho fan¢ies none ut 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 

A ddicate new 1)tdy. 

• .vhen Tyrans rays reflect thereon, 
on thee Ile shine, 
for thou art mine,-- 
I fa,zcie ,zone bd thee alo,zc. 

The Second part, Or, the 
kind Reply. 
Dear, I bave 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 lire in care 
for her who vowes to be thine owne ; 
though I seeme strange, 
I will not change,-- 
Z faucie noue ut lhee aloze. 


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 ara crst, 

" lfancy noue but thee alone." 

else should my love t thee be showne 
with free accord ; 
yet, take my word, 
I fancie noue but thee alone. 


This Proverbehath oft beene usd, 
she that's bound must needs obey ; 
And thou seest how I'm indusèd 
from thy presence night and day ; 
I date hot show 
what love I owe 
to thee, for feare it should be knowne ; 
yet still my minde 
shall be inelinde 
To lande 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 fandes none &a lhee alone, 


ZI delicate new Ditly. 

Many times I thinkè upon thee 
in my melancholy fits ; 
When I find myselfe kept from thee, 
it deprlves me of my wits : 
oft-times I weepe 
when others sleepe, 
producing many a grevious groane ! 
then thinke on me 
as I on thee, 
Ztnd fancie noue ul 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 ruade one. 


Printed at London for H. Gosson on London-Bridge. 

A merry discourse twixt him and his Ione, 
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 
I ,('uow, Calahz iUard, AND Gilly Coate PGo'gy. 

THE Tvlr:, But I know, &c. 
Come; .ïeoane, by thy owne deerest husbatld 
And cast away from thee this impudent frowncl 



¥ou know I doe love thee as deere as I doe, 
Forbeare with a [-Tinker] that's honest and true. 
Away ! thou dissembling varlot, away ! 
And leave this thy pradng and cogging, I say ; 
For whilst like a drunkard thou thus dost remaine, 
I never shall love thee, I tell thee againe. 

[TUNE,-] Captaine I4Zard. 
Oh, Wife, what would'st thou have me doe 
More then I now have done ? 
Did hot I pawne my cloathes for thee, 
And likewise sould my shune ? 
Put my shirt in lavender ? 
My cloake is likewise sould : 
Why dost thou, yoane, for all this love, 
Begin with yacke to scould ? 

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, 
Il« lay th« o'r« the late. 

t terry 1)iscourse. ] 


T VNE, Gilty Coate Peggy. 
Corne, chucke, no more of this, but sit thee downe 
by me, 
And then what is amisse Ile mende, in verity ; 
My money I will save out of the Cup and Can, 
And keepe thee fine and brave, as I ara an honest 
• man : 
Then chlde no more, my deere, but ail my faults 
And then, as I am here, Ile mend my drunken fit. 

How many rimes hast thou this promised unto me, 
And yet hast broke thy vow ? the more's the shame 
for thee ; 
And therefore Ile be wise, and take your word no 
But scratch out both your eyes if you go out of dore; 
And therefore sit you still, and stirre llOt for your 
lire ; 
I once will have my will, although I ara your wife, 

The Second Part, to the saine 
TUNE, /Ut I know wtzat, &c. 


Well, do what thou wilt, I am thine at command, 
But let hOt my neighbours of this understand ; 
For that it thou dost, I know it will be 
A shame to thy selfe--disgrace unto me. 

NO marrer for that, Ile 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. 

To>e, Cataine, &c. 

Corne, 7oane, 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, 
Ile turne, for to be briefe, 
Into a dainty house-hold loafe 
and lusty powder-beefe. 

lA merry Discou rse. ] 


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, 7acke, so fearfull growne 
of thy relaps againe, 
That I can little credit give 
to what you now maintaine. 

T tr, Gilty Coale Peggy, &c. 
Here's my hand, sweet Ducke; what I have said to 
Ile keepe, if I bave lucke, till such time that I dye; 
And, 'fore that I ara dead, my love I will unfold, 
To helpe thee in thy need, if that thou wilt not 
scould ; 
I will hot cossened be, I tell thee, gentle yoane, 
But I will bring to thee my sheete, and Ile have none. 
Why, then, sweet-heart, forgive the words that I 
bave said, 
For surely, while I rive, lle never thee upbraid ; 
I will not scould nor brawle, but keepe my clapper 
And corne when thou dost caII,--do all thngs fo thy 
will : 

33 ° 

lA merry Discourse.] 

Then, Wacke,, forgive thy Woane, that is to thee so 
Or else as hard'as stone I surely shall thee finde. 

Tw, ut I know, &c. 

Why, here is my hand ; I am pacified, oan; 
And as I will lire with thee never lived none ; 
Then be but as kind as I carefull to thee, 
And then none new lnarried 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. 

TOlE, Captaine, &c. 

Then, yacke, take up thy budget straight, 
thy kettles, brasse enough, 
And I will follow thee and cry, 
Maides, have you any kithen-stuffe ? 
And then the neighbours, seeing us 
so friendly for to goe, 
Will say that they are loving growne,- 
who thought it would be so ? 

[_A merry Discourse.] 


Tusr, Gilty Coate, &c. 
Then to the Ale-house we will go with mighty speed, 
And seale up presently what we have now decreed; 
A full pot of the best, a trust, and so away, 
And then we will protest we can no longer stay : 
This is a thriving course, if I do hOt mistake, 
I am sure I have done worse, but now amends I le 
ITI, Rke. 

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, Ile take the lanes & 
And when at night wele meet, at home, for ought 
we know : 
But if I be hot, .7"acke, at home so soone as you, 
It shall but little lacke ; and so, sweet-heart, adieu ! 

T:, tut I kww, &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 [tor F. Coules. 

The Despairing Lover : 
Whose minde was much tormented 
Because o[ his True-Love - 
Hee thought hee was prevented. 

To "rixe TuNF. OF Aime nol loo 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. 

The Despairin Loyer. 


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 I.ove would be unkind 
But 'ris no newes, for many prove untnle, 
And so doth mine, for she bids me adieu. 

Seeing 'tis so, Ile turne a Palmer poore, 
And will range abroad the world halle 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 Fraucc to .S'pailze to 7"urkie, 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 selle a happy man, 
Because my death no man shall understand. 

There wil! I write my fill of my true Love : 
Did I say true. What filry did me move 
To count her true that alwayes proves unkind, 
And is as fickle as the wavering wind ? 


The Desairin Loyer. 

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 Phcebus' beames are darkened in the skies 
When as the stormes of t?oreas 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 speechç eall doe but prolong my paine, 
For I did never saile the ocean maine ; 
Nor will I surfer life in me to bide 
So long to wait the time of winde or tide. 

Seeing 'tis so, to th' Wilderness Ile hie, 
Among vild 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. 

Tire Despairing Loyer. 

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 provèd 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 "rue S^MF. TvNF-. 

Content thy selle, my love, and doe not dye ; 
Thy life I love, thy death I doe defie! 
Lire, then, in joy, and seeke to banish paine, 
Take a good heart, and I will love againe. 

Ail 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. 


T/te Despairing Loyer. 

For ail 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 hOt need to turne a Palmer poore, o 
For I for thee have Gold and Silver store; 
I nstead of finding out a desart place, 
Thou shalt have me within thine armes t' imbrace. 

For I 
For I 

shalt not travell to another land, 
am she that am at thy command : 
shalt, my deare, have no cause to complaine, 
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 oxvn 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. 

Thc 19cstairh«, Loyer: 


Sweet, I bave listened to thy moanes and cryes; 
Veepe 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 lire with me, and I will be thy bride. 

Oh, stay at home, sveet Love, and goe not there ; 
Wilde Beasts in pieces will thy body teare : 
"Vhen 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 hOt 1 iii 
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 lire; 
And quickly after he ruade ber his wifc. 


TAe Desi#airin  Loyer. 

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. 


London. Printed for F. Coules, dwelling in the 

The deceased Mai&n-Louer. 

Being a pleasant new Court-Song. 


As I went forth one Summer's day 
To view the Meddows fresh & gay, 
A pleasant Bower I espide 
Standing hard by a River side, 
And in't a Maiden I heard cry 
Alas[ there's none ere lov'd like I, 


The deceased Maidcn-Louer. 

I couchèd close to heare her mone, 
With many a sigh and heavie grone, 
And wisht that I had been the wight 
That might bave bred ber 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-thum3 and [-Iare3el Mew, 
And, as she pluckt them, still cri'd she. 
&las ! there's none ere lov'd like me. 

A Bed therein she lnade, to lie, 
Of fine greene things that grew fast by, 
Of Poplars and of lUillaw leaves, 
Of Sicamore and//,2««1, sheaves, 
j--  ,,)" 
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 Thrce-lcav'd grasse, 
With Milkmaids 2¥unny-sucZlcs phrase, 
T he Cmw's-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 Pkoelus, bred her woe i 

The dcccascd 3aideu-Louo: 

• 34 

(Who joyes to see lais 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 swee!est scent, 
She bound them round with knotted ]3eut, 
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 vish my sinnes forgiven. 
In blest Eizium 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. 

\Vhen shee had fil'd ber apron full 
Of such sweet floxvers as she could cull, 
The green leaves serv'd ber for ber bed, 
The flowers pillowes for ber head ; 
Then down she lay, nere more did speak, 
Alas! with love he heart did breake. 


Prlntcd by the Assignes of Thomas Symcocke, 

[Second part.] 
The Faithlesse. Louer. 
To THE SAME Ttrrw. 

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 corne 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 bang 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 grone ; 
Dianoe's N imphs did ring her knell, 
And to their Queene the saine did tell, 
Who vowèd, by her chastitie, 
That none should take revenge but she. 

When as I saw her corpes were cold, 
I to her lover went, and told 

Tkc Failhlcsse Louer. 

What chance unto this Maid befell : 
Who said, I'm glad she sped so weI1 ! 
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 bave more; 
That man is rich that hath most store ; 
I bondage hate ; I must lire free ; 
And not be tied to such as she. 


0 Sir: remember (then quoth I) 
The power of Heaven's all-seeing eye, 
Who doth remember vowes forgot, 
Though you deny--you know it hOt! 
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 
Dislo)'all to thy dearest Love; 


Thc FaiI/desse Louer. 

\Vho at her death for thee did l»ray, 
And wisht thee man}" happy day: 
I would my Love would but love me 
Een halfe so weil as she lov'd thee! 

Faire Maidens xviil example take; 
Young men wiil 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. 


Printed by the Assignes of Thomas Symcocke. 


Desperate Dalnsell's Tragedy" 
The faithlesse young Man. 

To THE TUNE OF Dul«&a. 

In the gallant month of Iune, 
When sweet roses are in prime, 
And each bird, with a severall tune, 
Harmoniously salutes the time, 
then, to delight 
my appetite, 


The l)esi#erale A)amsell's Traedy. 

I walkt into a meddow faire, 
and, in a shade, 
I spyed a maide, 
14/'Aose love Aad rought Aer to disiaire. 

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 
thee ? of Faith hast thou no share ! 
No, thou hast none! 
'tis to[o] well knowne 
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, 
Seducéd by thy speeches faire ; 
and, having had 
thy will, false lad, 
,,lt lasl lhou lefl's! me iu desibah-c. 

Ze Deserale Damsell's Tragedy. 

My dearest Jewell thou hast taken, 
Which should stand me in great stead ; 
And now thou hast me quite forsaken, 
And art, like false ./Eneas, fled 
from Dido true. 
What can insue 
This faithles deed, but to end my care ? 
like her, a knife 
must end my life, 
For I. like Aer. am in des, aire. 

Then, sith 'tis so, corne, gentle Death, 
I yeeld my selle 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 
tIence o returne, witt grim des, aire. 

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 



Tke Dc.erale Damse[l's Tragedy. 

She did direct her hands with prayer, 
and seem'd to move 
the pow'rs above 
To scourge the cause of ber despaire. 

The Second Part, To the saine tune. 

You Gods! (quoth she), 1 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 ail shall care : 
but that he may, 
for his foule play, 
t?e rought, like me, fo rim des, aire. 

Having ruade an end of praying, 
Suddenly she drew a knife, 
And I, that neere, unseene, was staying, 
Ran in hast to save ber life: 

The Desterale Damsell's Trag«dy. 

but ere that I 
to her could cry, 
That her owne life she might forbeare, 
shee, lgido-like, 
her heart did strike :-- 
Thus dyde the Damsell ht des, aire 

With such force her selle she stabbd, 
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, 
Vhic shewed the cause of ber despah'e. 

Sir, (quoth she) weepe not to see me 
Desperatly myselfe to slay, 
For I-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-- 
71tus dyed t/te Damsell i des, aire. 



The Des, craie Damscll's Tragedy. 

When Death had donc 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 rate 
had hapt of late 
Unlo lhis 13amsell it desjbctire. 

With brinish teares her friends lamented 
To heare of her timelesse end, 
And every one in griefe consented, 
.And with me alon did wend 
Unto the place 
where lay that face, 
That late, alive, was fresh and faire, 
now wanne and pale, 
'cause life did failem 
tZer litre she ended in des, aire. 

When this was told to her false Loyer, 
He was of his wits bestraught, 
And wildly ran the Country over,-- 
Home hee'd by no meanes be brought. 
Let this talc, then, 
warne ail 'oung men 

The Deserale Damsell's Tragedy. 

Unconstancy still to forbeare ; 
For he betraide 
this harmelesse Mayde 
Vnto hêr death, l];rough rim des, aire. 



M. P. 

London. Printed for H. G. 

The Story of Dav;'d and Berseka. 

When David in Jerusalem 
as royall King did rule and raigne, 
Behold what hapned unto him, 
that afterward procur'd his paine I 

On the top of ail his Princely Place, 
a gallant prospect there had he, 
From whence hee might, when 't pleas'd his Grace» 
irnan' a gallant Garden see. 

The Story of David and terseba. 

I t chancèd so, upon a day, 
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 des[re. 

She is Uriahs 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, 



The So 0, of David and Berseha. 

The Servants they did soone prepare 
to doe the message of the King ; 
And terseha, the Lady faire, 
unto the Court did quickly bring. 

The King rejoycèd 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 terse3a so faire, 
she found her former health exilde, 
By certaine tokens that she saw, 
The King had gotten her with childe. 

Then to the K ing 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 Vrial came, 
the King receiv'd him courteously, 
Demanding how all things did frarae 
concerning of the Enemy. 

The Slory of David and Berseba. 


Vriah shew'd his Highnesse ail, 
the accident of warlike strife ; 
Then, said the King, this night you shall 
keepe company with your owne wife. 

The Arke of God (Uriak said) 
with Judah's Host and Israel, 
Keepe in the Fielde, and not a man 
within the house where they doe dwell. 

Then shotld 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 lire. 

Then did the King a Letter frame 
to 7oab, Generall of the Host, 
And by Vrialt sent the same, 
but certainély his life it cost. 

The Second Part, to the Same Tune. 

And when the King for certaine knew 
Vria/z thus had murdered beene, 
Faire B«rseaa to Court he drew, 
and ruade of her his royall Queene. 

Then God, that saw his wicked deed, 
was angry at King 13avids sinne : 
The Prophet Nathan then with speed 
came thus complaining unto him : 

0 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. 

Tle Story of David and Berseha. 

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 Uriah with the sword, 
And taken home his wedded Wife, 
regarding hot God's holy Word ? 



The Story of Dauid and Bcrsea. 

Therefore behold, thus saith the Lord, 
great warres upon thy house shall be, 
Because thou hast my Lawes abhor'd, 
much ill, be sure, Ile raise on thee. 

Ile 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. 


Printed at London tor J. Wright, dwelling in Gilt- 
spurre street, neere New-gate. 

The Distressed Virgin ; 
The false Young-man, and the constant Maid, 
The qualities of them both displaid. 


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 sec 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 truc, 
and in affection permanent, 
Had hec performèd what was due, 
then had I found truc heart's content : 
But hec, 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 seene those eyes 
that (like attractive Adamants), 
Did my poore heart with love surprize, 
the power of Love so me enchants, 


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 hOt 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 

Tc Distressed Virgin. 

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 Czid's prisoner straight vas 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 forakes me now, I see, 
which makes me weary of my lire : 
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. 
Hec 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. 

0 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 ruade 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. 

Te Distressed Virin. 

That obstacle that hinders me 
is that, which I suspect full sorç, 
His fruit grows on some other tree, 
and he's seducèd 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 ara brought, by Cuid'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 
I le always give thee. good report : 
Although to me thou artunkind, 
who never gave thee any cause, 
Yet I am still resolv'd, in mind, 
never to break God Ceid's Lawc. 


7he Distressed Virgin. 

And if I never be thy wife 
(which is the thing I justly climae), 
I vow to lire a single lire, 
and never thinke of Loyers' gaine : 
But why speake ! of lire, xvhen death 
doth every minute claime his due ? 
I cannot long retaine my breath, 
having a Loyer so untrue. 

Let ail true Loyers judge aright 
in xvhat a case, poore soule, am I ; 
Corne, Gentle Death ! and worke thy spight, 
for now I am prepar'd to dye: 
0 H eaven ! forgive thy Love is wrong 
none unto me, a Maiden pure, 
Who for his sake must dye ere long, 
for long my lire cannot endure. 


Printed at London for F. Coules. 

Death's Dance. 
OH no, no, no, not yet, OR Te 'eddow &row. 

If death would cr)me and shew his face, 
as he date shew his power, 
And sit at many a rich man's place 
both every day and houre, 



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 I le see you soone ! 
There would be given then at their doore, 
good almes both night and noone. 

01" walke into the loyall-lcchaue 
when every man is there, 
No doubt his comming vould be strange, 
to put them all in feare 
H ow they do worldly buy and sell, 
to make their marketsgood; 
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: 

eath's Dan¢e. 

Of lire they would take lasting Lease, 
though nere so great a Fine, 
What is not that but some vould give 
to set them up a S hrine ? 


If death would go to IVcstmister, 
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, 
\Vhen Death should corne, xvith diligence 
to have their matters heard. 

For Death hath been a Chcckcr man 
hot 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 ail 
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, 


Deatk's Dance. 

And briefly say, My Masters all, 
Why stand you id|e 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 lires, 
It would amaze them, I might say, 
so spighffully to boast 
That they will beare the swing and sway, 
and over-rule the roast. 

If Death would quarterly but corne 
amongst the Landlord's crue, 
And take a count of every sum 
that rises more than due, 

iDeatk's iDance. 

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 sec 
his leane and hollow lookes, 
If Death should say, Corne, 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. 
H igh prizes would abated be, 
and nothing found too deare, 
When Death should call, Corne, 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 tan 
to blazen forth their names» 


Death's 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 woutd 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 promisèd to corne, 
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. 


Printed at London for H. Gosson. 

The most rare and excellent H istory 
of the Dutchesse of Suffolke's Calamity. 

To THE TUNE OF Quce,te 19ido. 

When God had taken, for our sinne, 
that prudent Prince, King Edward, away, 
Then bloody Bonnet did begin 
his raging malice to bewray ; 
Ail 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 tire, that Christ prot est. 

372 The l)utchesse of Suffolke's Calamily. 

Smithfield was then with fagots fill'd, 
and many places more besides, 
At Coventry was Sauuders kill'd, 
at Worster eke good I-[ooper dy'd ; 
And. to escape this bloody day, 
Beyond Seas many fled avay. 

Amongst the rest that sought release, 
and for their faith in danger stood, 
Lady llizabeth was chiefe, 
King I-ZeJzrie« 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 likexvise 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. 

Tte Dutchesse of Suffolkds Calamily. 

Thus through London they past along, 
each one did take a severall street; 
Thus, ail along escaping wrong, 
at Billingsgate they all did meete : 
Like people poore, in Gravesend Barge 
They simply went with ail 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 Flaudcrs 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 ail their treasure and their store 
They tooke away, and beat them sore. 

3 74 T/e Dutc/esse of çuffole's Calami/y. 

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 round. 
Then did the Dutches make great mone, 
With her good husband all alone. 
The theeves had there their horses kill'd, 
and ail 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 Saine Tune. 

The Skie likewise began to scowle, 
it haird and rain'd in pittious sort, 

7 he Dutchesse o f Su ff'ol/e's Calamity. 

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, 
ail 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 veary step, 
ail wet-shod both in durt and mire, 
Af ter 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 pra' a peasant for relief¢ 



TAe Dugchesse of Suffolke's Calamigy. 

With teares bedewèd, as she stood, 
yet few or none regards her grief e. 
Her speech they could not understand, 
But gave her money in her hand. 

When al in vaine their paines were spê't, 
and that they could no houseroome get, 
Into a Church-porch then they went, 
to stand out of the faine and wet ; 
Then said the Dutchesse to her deere, 
0 that we had some tire here. 

Then did her husband so provide 
that tire and coales he got with speed, 
She sate downe by the tire 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 tire, 
The drunken knave, ail voyd of shame, 
to drive them out was his desire ; 
And spurning forth the Noble Dame, 
Her husband's v¢rath it did inflame. 

And, ail in fury as he stood, 
he wrung the Church keyes out his hand, 

Tke Dudmse of Suffolds Calamiy. 

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 broght, 
Who understood them not in ought, 

Then master t?artu, 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 tlereupon arising straight. 
with xvords abashèd 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, 


3 7 8 Tke Dutckesse of Suffolke's Calamity. 

Who welcomed this new-come guest 
with reverence great and princely cheere, 
And afterward convey'd they were 
Unto their friend, Prince Cassimèr. 

A sonne she had in Germao,, 
Pererine t?art«t call'd by name, 
Surnam'd the good Lord Hlillouhby, 
of couraffe great and xvorthy fame : 
Her daughter yong, which with her went, 
\Vas afterwards Countesse of I,ent. 

For xvhen Queene 7[a, 7 was deceast 
the Dutches home returned againe, 
\Vho xvas of sorrow quite releast 
by Queene J?la3clh's happy raigne ; 
Whose godly life and piety 
Wee all may praise continually. 


London, Prlnted for tdward IVright Dwelling at 
Christ Church gate. 

The discontented Married Man: 
A merry new Song that was pen'd in foule weather. 
Of a Scould that could not keep her lips together. 
To "fieF. "rj. or Shee cannot keepe ber, &c. 

A yong man lately wedded was 
To a faire and comely creature, 
She was a blithe and bonny Lasse 
As ere was framèd by Nature, 
With rolling eye, 
And forehead high, - 
And ali good parts Nature_could give her " 


TAe disconlenled Married Man. 

But she had learnd 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 Czids Court 
He usde her well xvhen 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 xvouId give twenty pound, 
Thats ten more then I had xvith her, 
Her mother vould 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 asswage, 

The disconlenled 31"arried Man. 

And the fairest flower will wither, 
And I such counsell will her give 
Shall make her keepe her 1. togethe. 


Henceforth, theretore, Ile forsake ber, 
And her mother shall take her, 
And, for shame ! let her better make ber, 
Or I againe will never take ber, 
Pure modesty she doth defie, 
Besides, she's fickle as the weather, 
And her scoulding plainly shews 
She cannot keepe her l. together. 

Then Ile leave off to find another, 
Though't may adde unto my lustre, 
For brave spacious England wide 
I ara sure affords a cluster : 
Good and bad 
Are to had ; 
love speed me well ! though long" I tarry, 
For, ere that Ile have such a Mate 
I never more intend to mar.ry. 

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. 

Tæe discontented 3/Iarried #Ian. 


To the dancing-schoole she goes, 
There she spends her husbaad's treasure, 
On each Shoo she weares a Rose, 
For o shew she's fit for pleasure ; 
And resort 
To Cu2#ids Court, 
And no sooner she cornes thither, 
She learns so much of that same sport, 
She cannot keepe her I. 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 hOt 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 astral, 
She cannot keep her l. together. 


The disconlented Married Man. 

Thou that hast a wife that's civill, 
Love her well and make much of her ; 
For a woman that is evill 
Ail the town, thou seest, will scoffe ber. 
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 RichardItarber in Smithfield. 

A Pleasant nexv Dialogue; 
The discourse between the Serving-man and the 
H usband-man. 

The lofty pride must bated bee, 
And praise must goe in right degree. 

To THE Tumï O1 Z æave for all 9ood wives a çoa9. 

As I went through the meddowes greenep 
that are mostly lovely to be seene. 
I heard two men in great discourse 
of many things, better or worse i 

386 The Servinff-mat and tke Iusland-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. 

Ttte Servtg-fan' s Speeck, 
I ara a Serving-man that's fine, 
and feed on dainties, and drinke wine, 
I ara 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-maz. 
Though )'ou in garments goe most brave, 
yet you must yeeld to what I crave ; 
No serving-man shall make me yeeld, 
Ile shew the cause whereon I build. 
Serving-man cannot corne nie 
to that which I will verifie : 
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 I 

The Servhzg-man and the I-[usfiand-man. 37 

My time I spend xvith Uem, s' Nymphs, 
whose features rare Desire attempts. 
We serving-men have pleasure at will, 
and Plough-men they have labour still ; 
Then hov can they with us compare, 
seeing we bave pleasure, and they bave care? 

The Plougk-man. 
Though you in pleasure do exceed, 
who is it doth serve your need ? 
You might goe pine and starve with want, 
then ata 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 iii, 
then to the Plough-man yeeld thee skill. 

The Serving-man. 
Our 'pareil many times is silke, 
our shirts as white as any milke ; 
Out 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 : 
Out Master's Cellars yeeld good beere, 
and in his Hall we finde good cheare, 

388 T]e çervin-man and tke t-]us3and-man. 

The Plougk-man. 
'Tis truc: there many goes in silke 
and have their linnen white as milke, 
And yet perhaps not worth a groat, 
but, much like y'ou, will lye and prate ; 
The Proverbe of a Serving-man, 
as alwayes I doe understand, 
In prime of yeeres hee'l roare and svagger, 
And, being growne old, he turnes a begger. 

T/te Servinff-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-bravèd be, 
nor ranke with such base pedigree ; 
I am a man of courage bold, 
by Plough-men Ile not be control'd. 

The Second Part, to the Same Tune. 

I ndeed, 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 smoak 
all this is truc which I have spoke, 
But 'ris a Husbandman's delight 
to worke all day, and sleepe all nght, 


T/te Servin" man and tke I-fus&and-man. 

T/te Servittff-ntatt. 
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. 

7"he Plou£h-man. 
I f you the Proverb truly mark, 
Ioane is as good as my Lady in th' dark ; 
A Country Lasse in russet gray, 
with her I love to sport and play : 
0 she will dance, and sweetly sing, 
mueh like the Nightingale in Swing ; 
She's fresh and faire, and firm and sound ; 
in her mueh pleasure may be found. 

Tke Serving-man. 
Well, Countrie-man, my mind is brave, 
I will not yeeld to what you erave ; 
No plough-man ere shall make me yeeld, 
I will not so much be eompeld : 

Tke Servlng-man and lhe I-f ushand-man. 

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. 

he ..%rving-man. 
\Vhy should I labour, toyle, or care, 
since I ara 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 
tken such content as I now have ? 


Tle Serving-man and tke Iusband-man. 

7"le Plougl-man. 
'Tis true, indeed thy pleasure's great, 
and I lave 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. 

Tle Servtn,-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 ; 
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 H usband-men contend : 
You see, here yeelds a loftie mind, 
and to good ¢ounsell is inclin'd. 

Tke Serving-man and tke Ius3and-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. 


Printed at London for F. Coules dwelling in the 


lamentable ballad on the Earl of 
Essex's Death. 
Tune is, Es-ex last Goodnight. 

AIl you that cry 0 hone, 0 hone, 
corne now and sing 0 hone with me, 
For why out jewel is from us gone, 
the valiant Knight of Chivalry. 
Of rich and poor belov'd was he, 
in rime an honourable Knight. 
When by out Laws condemn'd to die 
He latdy too Iris last oodnig/t. 

I lamentable t?allad, 

Count him not like to Champion 
those traiterous men of tahinglon 
Nor like the Earl of Westmoorland, 
by xvhom a number were undone, 
He never )'et hurt Mothers son, 
his quarrel still maintains the right, 
Which the tears my face down run, 
l hen [ think on his lasl ooctnigh. 


The Portugais can witness be, 
his Dagger at Lishon gate he flung, 
And like a Knight of Chivalry, 
his Chain upon the Gate he hung ; 
I would to God that he would corne, 
to fetch them back in order right, 
Which thing was by his honour done, 
yel lalely look their lasl goodnight. 

The Fre»ch-men they can testifie, 
the town of Gourney he took in, 
And marcht to/ï'ome immediately, 
not caring for his foes a pin : 
With Bullets then he pierc'd his skin, 
and ruade them fly from his sight : 
He there that time did credit win, 
and now hall lane his lasl goodniglg. 


A lameMaNe Ballad on 

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 goodni«ht. 

Would God he ne'er had [rel«nd known, 
nor set one foot on Flanders ground, 
Then might we well injoy'd our own, 
where now our jewel will hot be found, 
Which makes our foes still abound : 
trickling withsalt teares in our sight, 
To hear his naine in our ears to sound, 
Lord Devereux took his last goodnight. 

Ash wednesd«y that dismal da)', 
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 lis good morrow and goodight. 

Earl of ssex's Dcath. 

My Lords said he, you stand but by, 
to see performance of the law, 
Itis I that have deserv'd to die, 
and yield myself unto the blow : 
I have desêrv'd to die I know 
but ne'er against my Countries right, 
Nor to my Queen was ever foe, 
upon my dealh at my good night. 


Farewell, Elizabeth, my gracious Queen, 
God bless thee with thy Council ail ; 
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 ids the world good nighl. 

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 corne, my glass is run, 
comfort yourself in former light, 
Seeing by my fall you are undone, 
your Father kids the world good night. 


l?erick, thou know'st at Cales I sav'd 
thy life, lost for a Rope there donc, 
As thou thyself canst testifie, 
thine own hand three and twenty hung, 
But now thou seest myself is corne, 
by chance unto thy hands I light, 
Strike out thy blow, that I may know, 
tlo Essex lov'd at ]is goodngkt. 

When EnglaJ«d counted me a Papist, 
the works of papists I defie, 
I ne're worshipt Saint nor Angel in Heaven, 
nor the Virgin 3Iary 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 esus receive ny soul liais night. 

Pritted ky and Jor A. M. and sold ky tke hooksellers 
of London. 

An excellent Ballad of a Prince of 
nglaJd's Courtship to the King of FraJcgs 
Daughter, and how the Prince was disasterously 
slain ; and how the aforesaid Princess was after- 
wards married to a Forrester. 

To THE Tv or Crimson Velvet. 

In the days of Old, 
when fair Fra,ce did flourish, 
St6ries plainly told, 
Loyers it annoy : 
The King a Daughter had, 
beauteous, fair, and lovely 
Which ruade her father glad, 
she ,#as his only joy. 

400 t?allad of a Priizce of Ezgland's Courlship. 

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 linkbd fast. 
Which, when her father provbd, 
Lord! how he was movd 
and tormented in his mind! 
He sought for to prevent them ; 
And to discontent them 
Fortune crossed Loyers 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 delight ; 
Who in a Forrest great 
Had taken up his seat, 
to wait her coming in the night. 
But, loe, what sudden Danger 

17allad of a Prince of Et£laM's Co2rlshi. 4oi 

To this Princely Stranger 
chanced as he sat alone ! 
By Out-laws he was robbèd, 
And with Poinard stabb:d, 
uttering many a dying Groan. 

The Princess, armed by him, 
and by true Desire, 
Wandring all that night 
vithout dread at all : 
Still unknown she past, 
in her strange attire : 
Coming at last 
vithin echoes call 
You fait 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 corne unto thee 
Sweet, I corne to woo thee, 
that thou maist not angry be 
For my long delaying 
And thy courteous staying 
mends for all I'll make to the«l 

4o2 lallad of a Prince of En£1and's Courtshi. 

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 lire is at an end, 
For thy sweet sake I dye, 
Thro' Villians cruelty, 
to show I am a faithful friend 
Here I lle a bleeding, 
While my thoughts are feeding " 
on the rarest beauty found : 
0 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 voiee, 
at his tale did wonder ; 

lal[ad o1 c lrhtce of Eltff[altd's CouT-[sh[.[. 403 

AI1 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 klssed, 
And his face did wash 
with ber 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 glve I 
Lift up thy fair eyes, 
Listen to m 7 crie' 

404 Ballad o fa Prince of England's Courtskilk. 

think in what great grief I lire ! 
Ail in vain she sued, 
Ail in vain she wooed, 
the Prince's life was fied 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 morte, 
Weeping all alone, 
in this deep & deadly fear : 
A Forrester, ail in green, 
Most comely to be seen, 
ranging the wood, did find ber there, 
Round beset witla sorrow : 
aid (quoth he) good morrow I 

lYallad of i Pritce of Enlam's Courtshit. 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 
Where might I procure 
a service in my need ? 
Pains will I hot 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 tire : 
If, fait maid, (quoth he) 
You will go with me, 
you shall have your heart's desîre. 
He brought her to his mother, 
And above all other 
he set forth" this maiden's praise : 
Long was his heart inflamèd ; 
At length her love he gained,-- 
so fortune did his fortune raise. 

Thus unknown he matcht 
vih thc Kings fait Daughtcr ; 

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 lame. 
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 Faine 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 willèd, 
Where the Royal King 
must of force corne by. 
Their mother richly clad 
in fair Crimson Velvet, 
Their father ail in gray, 
most comely to the eye. 

allad o./a Prince of Englaud's Courlshi. 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 heedfully 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 ara that child (quoth she), 
Falling on her knee, 
pardon me, my Soveralgn Liege. 
The king perceiving this, 
His Daughter dear did kissj 
till joyful tears did stop his speech ; 

408 l'al/ad of a Prince of Enghnd's Courtshi. 

With his train he turned, 
And with her sojourned, 
straight he dub'd her husband knight ; 
He ruade him Earl of Flanders, 
One of his chier Commanders : 
thus was their sorrow put to flight. 

Licenscd and Enterëd accordiug to Order. 

Printed by and for Alex. )lilbourn, and sold by the 
Booksellers of Pye-corner and Zondon-tridge. 

Song of an English M erchant, borne 
at Ckichesler. 

A rich Merchant man 
That was both grave and wise. 
Did kill a man at E»uter Towne, 
Through quarrels that did fise. 
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 t/ing is love, 
Il rules 3otk leart and nzind ; 
There is ,ao "comforl in lhe world 
fo women thal are kind. 


,.çoug of an English Merckant 

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 hec. 
A sweet tlziug s 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 Smckings were of silke, 
As fine as fine might be; 
Of person and of countenance 
a proper man was hee. 
A sweet tlzing is love, &c. 
When hee was mounted up 
Upon the Seaffold 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 ho, 
.4 sweeg lkttff is love, &c. 

orne at CMcheste: 


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 lldng 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 donc ar, d past; 
My hope of lire is vaine ; 
And yet the losse of this my life 
to them is litfle gaine. 
.4 sweei lMng 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. 

çon of an E»lisl 3[c'clant, -c. 

This was no sooner spoke, 
But that, to stint his griefe, 
Ten goodly Maids did proffer him 
For love to beg his lire : 
This is our law, quoth they, 
We may your death remove, 
If you, in lieu of out good will, 
xvill grant to us your love. 
,4 swee[ ltdng is love, &c. 

Brave Englishman, quoth one, 
'Tis I will beg thy lire ! 
Nay, quoth the second e it is I, 
If I must be thy wife ! 
'Tis I ! the third did say ; 
Nay, quoth the fourth, 'ris I 
So each one after other said, 
still waiting his reply. 
A sweet tti is love, 
Il rules 3oM ]zearl and miM ; 
There is no ca»z fort in Me world 
to women Mat are kiM. 


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 lire to save. 
A sweet ttnng is love, 
Il rules 3otla lwart and mind ; 
'lwre is no cornforl in lle world 
to women ttaJ are lind. 

Then take a thousand thanks 
Of mee, a dying man, 
But speake no more of love nor lire, 
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, 
.4 sweet t]aing as love, &c. 
Faire Maids, lainent no more 
Your Country Law is such, 
It takes but hold upon my life, 
My goods it cannot touch : 


çon of an n.lis] Jl[erchant, 

Within one chest I have 
In gold a thousand pound, 
I give it equall to you all, 
for love which I have found. 
24 sweeg ghing is love, &c, 

And now, deare friends, farewell ! 
Sweet England eake, adieu ! 
And Chicester, where I was borne, 
Where first this breath I drew ! 
And no'v, thou man of death, 
Unto thy weapon stand. 
Ah, nay, another Damsell cry'd, 
sweet Headsman, hold thy hand. 
.4 sweet thin 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. 
.4 sweet lking is love, &c. 

$orue af Chichestel: 


And die within mine armes, 
If thou wilt die, quoth shee ; 
Yea, live or die, sweet Englishman, 
Ile 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 ! 
4 sweet thing is love, &c. v 

Then beg my lire, 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 sweet thing s love, &c. 

I goe, my Love, shee said, 
I run, I fly for thee ! 
And, gentle Headsman, spare a while 
My Lover's lire for mee ! 
Unto the Duke shee went, 
Who did her griefe remove ; 
And, with an hundred Maidens more, 
shee went to fetch ber Love. 
M sweet thing is love, &c 

Son of an tnglistt Merdmn, der. 

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. 
.xt 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. 
t sweet thing is love, 
Il ules 3oth keart and mind; 
There is no coin fort in the world 
to women tkat are kind. 


Printed at London for Francis Coules, 
in the Old-t?ayley. 

An excellent Song, wherein you shall finde 
Great consolation for a troubled minde. 

To THE TUNE OF I:orune my Foe.t 

Ayme not too hie in things above thy reach ; 
B« hot too foolish in thine owne conceit ; 
As thou hast wit and wordly wealth at will, 
$o give him thanks that shall encrease it still, 

418 An icellent Song, lVherein you sAall flnd, 

Be 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 Commandèments fulfill. 

Cast all thy care upon the Lord, and he, 
I n 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 iii thoughts that may offend ; 
Desire of God his holy spirit to send, 
Which will direct thy lire in such a sort 
As thou thereby shalt find joy and comfbrt. 

Expect each day and houre when Christ shall come 
With power to judge the world both all and some; 
]3e ready then, and with the ]3ridegroome Christ, 
Receive reward in heaven among the highest. 

Feare to offend his heavenly Majestie ; 
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 mercifull, doubtlesse, 
To those that with true zeale their faults confesse 
But unto those in mischiefe dayly runnes, 
He lets alone to taste what after cornes. 

Greal Uonsolalion /or a lroulat 3[«nd. 4  9 

Hope in the Lor£t, on him repose thy trust; 
Serve him with feare, whose judgements are most 
just ; 
Desire of him thy lire 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 surfer 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 comfbrt ; 
If thou cold water give in Christ his name, 
Thrice double told, he will reward the saine. 

Misorder not thyselfe in any wise, 
In meat and drinke let reason still suffice : 
Moderate thy mind, and keepe thy selle 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 

Mn e.,«clleut Sony. &c., 


bubdue thy selle ; 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 naine, 
Be well assur'd thou shalt obtaine the saine. 

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 lire, 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 bill, 
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 out Judge at the last da},, 


IVhereilt you shall, &c. 

Zeale like to tire ! our good works let make bright, 
That others thereof may behold the light : 
Light up your Lamps, and, with the Virgins rive, 
Have oyle. in stoore to keepe your Lamps alive. 


Printed at London by the Assignes of Thomas 

An excellent new Ditty • 
Which proveth that women the best Warriers be, 
For they made the Devill from earth for to flee. 

To THE TUNE OF l)ea[]l'$ 19ance. 

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 lire to get. 

Corne hither, all mortalls, 
(quoth the Devill of Hell) 
Corne long-tailes and curtailes, 
now unto my Cell; 
To you I here proffer 
a bargaine to buy ; 
If you'l take my offer 
ou ncver shall d,e, 


.Zln Excellent new Ditly, 

This bargaine them pleased ; 
they long'd it to gaine ; 
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 lire they desired, 
with much jollity ; 
Their hearts they were fired 
this bargaine to buy. 

The Dames of the City 
came hither with speed ; 
¥our Merchant-wives pretty 
would seale to this deed. 
To lire with a Loyer 
and never to dye ; 
Here Courtesans hover, 
this ba.rgaine to buy, 

Or, "II'omau lhe bcsl H'arr,.'ers. 

No females there wanted, 
But hither they came ; 
They came till they panted, 
To purchase the same ;q 
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, 
H is 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 çather, 
this bargaine they'd buy. 



second part, to the same Tune. 

Next comes the Shoomaker 
to crave a long life, 
H ere, 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 follo, w, 
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 lire to undoe them 
this bargaine they'l buy. 

Next came these rich Farmers 
that coozin the poor.e; 
And hoord up in corners 
p.rovision and store; 
To live till a deare yeere, 
and never to dye, 
These greedy corn-mizers 
this bargaine would buy. 

0; Homan the 3esl IVarriers. 

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. 


Mn E.oE'cellent 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. 


Printed at London for/-/. G. 

An excellent Sannet : 
The Swaine's complairlt, whose cruell doome 
I t was to love hee knew hot whom. 

To THE TUNE OF toditlS Galiard. 

You gentle Nimphs, that on the Meddowes play, 
and oft relate the Loves of Shepheards young, 
Corne, sit you downe, if tIat you pleaso, to stay, 
now may you heare an uncouth passion-song : 
A Lad there is, and I ara that poore groome 
TAat's fal'n in love, and cannot /ëll willt wAom. 

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 ? 
2r ara in love, and eanwt tell witA wkom. 

I, that have oit the rarest features view'd, 
and beauty in her best perfection een,e ; 
I, that have laugh't at them that love ptrsu'd, 
and ever free from such [af'jfections beene, 
Loe ! now, at last--so cruell is my doome ; 
[ am in love, and cannot tell with whom. 

43 ° 

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 tire 
I never saw, nor can I corne to know ; 
So great a blisse my fortune keeps me from, 
That, thou, A I dcarely love, I know hot whom. 

Ere I had twice foure Springs renewèd seene, 
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 corne, 
tefore tkat 2" fo love hadJound out whom. 

For on my chin the mossy downe you see, 
and in my vaines well heated blood doth gloe ; 
Of Summers I have seene twice three times three, 
and fast my youthfull rime away doth goe ; 
That much I feare, I aged shall become 
And still comiblaine I love I know hot whom. 

0 why had I a heart bestow'd on me 
to cherish deare affections so inclin'd ? 
Since I ara so unhappy borne to be, 
no object for so true a love to find. 
When I ara dead it will be mist of some, 
Jet, now I lire, I love I know hot whom, 

Te Swainds ComlainL 


I to a thousand beauteous Nimphs am knowne ; 
a hundred Ladies favours doe I sweare ; 
I with as many half in love ara growne, 
yet none of them I find can be my deare. 
Methinks I have a Mistresse yet to corne. 
Whic/t makes me sine, I love I know hot whom. 

The Second Part, to the Same Tune. 

There lives no swaine doth stronger passion prove 
for ber, whom most he coverts to possesse ; 
Then doth my heart that, being full of love, 
knowes hot to whom it may the same professe. 
For he that his despis'd hath sorrow some, 
But he hat] more, tkat loves and knowes hot whom.- 

Knew I my love, as many others doe, 
to some one object might my thoughts be bent ; 
So they, divided, wandring should hOt goe, 
untill the soule's united force be spent ; 
As he that seekes and never finds a home, 
Suc is my test, that love and knowe hot wom. 


An E.vcellent Sonnet. 

Thos'e whom the frownes of jealous friends divide, 
may lire 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, 
Thal ara in love, and cannol tell with whom. 

Poore Collt'n grieves that he was late disdain'd, 
and Chloris doth for [-Villies absence pine; 
Sad Tlyrsis weepes, for his sicke Phee3e pain'd, 
but all their sorrowes cannot equall mine : 
greater care on me, alas! is corne-- 
ara in love, and cannot lell wit] wkom. 

Narcissus-like, 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 corne; 
Bul o] ! I love, and cannol lell wilh wkom. 

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, 
,4 nd more in love, I tannot tell with vahora. 

The Swahzds Covlaiut. 433 

When on my bed at night to test I lye, 
my watchfull eyes with teares bedew my checkes; 
And then Oh, xvould it once were day  I cry, 
yet vhen it cornes I am as farre to seeke : 
For who can tell, though ail the earth he rome, 
Or when, or where, to flnde he knowes hot whom. 

Oh ! if she be amongst the beauteous traines 
of ail the Nimphs that haunt the severall Kills, 
Or if you know her, Ladies of the plaines, 
or you that bave your Bowers on the Hills, 
Tdl, if you can, who will my love become, 
Or I shall die, and never know for whom. 

Printed at London for/. WrigM, dwelling in Gilt- 
spurre street, neere New-gate. 


Faire rail all good Tokens, 
A pleasant new Song, not cornmon robe had, 
Which will teach you to know good tokens from 


To you that have bad tokens 
this matter I indight, 
Yet nothing sha]l 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 iii, 
and such as are not right. 

But first Ile 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. 

Faire fall all good Tokens. 

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 ail and something more, 
Ifs a token that he shall dye poore, 
to say't you may be bold. 

H e that is a ver T foole, 
and wisedome doth despise, 
It's a token that be shall be old 
if he lire 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. 


Fire f ail ail 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, 
Itis a token she will be naught, 
and quickly unto lewdnesse brought ; 
If that she be no better taught, 
shee'|l bring him to decay. 


second part, to the same Tune. 
He that hath a tiery nose, 
vhich 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, 
ifs a token that he loves the pot ; 
He hates small drinke, and loves it hot, 
he hath not so beene fed. 
Then faire fall all good tokens ! 
now it cornes into mind 
Marke which way sits the Wether-cocke, 
and that way blowes the wind : 
blarke which way rowles a Wantons eye, 
and something you may see thereby ; 
Or, if you please, then you may trie, 
and so the truth ma)' finde, 

Fa;re fall all good Tobcns. 


He that hath liv'd in wickednesse, 
and doth in vice remaine, 
Itis a token he hath no care 
to free his soule from paine. 
When conscience doth on Crutchcs creepe, 
'its a token Truth is lull'd asleepe, 
\Vhich makes poore men, in dangers deepe, 
to call and cry in vaine. 

But this is a token of a truth 
which doth betoken iii: 
An angry vife 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 go0d night, 


Faire ]rail all goocl Tokens. 

He that hatla a wand'ring eye, 
and loves lewd women deare, 
It's a token that heele prove a knave ; 
But lle 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 ail good tokens 
and well fare a good heart 
For by ail 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. 


Printed at London for t[enry Gossono 

A Friend's Advice, 
in an excellent Ditty, concerning the variable 
changes in this Lire. 
What, if a da)', or a month, or a yeare, 
Crown thy desires with a thousand wisht con- 
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 ot an houre 
In our lives bereaving. 
What, if a smile, or a becke, or a looke, 
Feed thy fond thoughts with many a sweet eoncelv- 
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 ! 


,4 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 hot 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 ol 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- 
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 ail changes ; 
Mirth is but a silly toy 
Whieh mishap estranges. 

.t Friend's ..'I clz,icc. 

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 ail this have declar'd thine amisse, 
Take it from me as a gentle friendly warning ; 
I f thou refuse, and good counsell abuse, 
Thou maist hereafter dearly buy thy learning ; 
AI1 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,m 
There is no returning ; 
Secret Fates guide our states 
Both in mirth and mourning. 

The Second Part, to the Saine Tune. 

Man's but a blast, or a smoak, or a cloud, 
That in a thought, or a moment, is dispersèd • 
Life's but a span, or a tale, or a word, 
That in a trice, or suddaine, is rehearsèd • 

442 .4 Friend'« Mdz,icc. 

Hopes are chang'd, and thoughts are crost, 
Will nor skill prevaileth : 
Though we may laugh and lire 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 expirèd, 
And in the night, with the word of a noyse, 
Crost by the day, of an ease our hearts desiréd : 
Fairest blossoms soonest fade, 
Withered, foule, and rotten, 
And, through grief, ou greatest joyes 
Quickly are forgotten : 
Seeke not, then, (mortail men !) 
Earthly fleeting plëasure, 
But with paine strive to gaine 
Heavenly lasting treasure. 

Earth to the World, as a llan to the Earth, 
Hath but a point, and a point soon defacèd • 
Flesh to the Soule, as a Flower to the Sun, 
That in a storme or a tempest is disgraced. 

 Friend's Advice. 

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 proud, presumptuous Man ! 
Sith thou art a point so base 
Ol the least and lowest Element 
Which hath least and lowest place : 
Mark thy fate and ;hy state, 
Which is onely earth and dust, 
And as grasse, which, alasse 
Shortly surely perïsh must. 
Let not the hopes of an earthly desire 
Bar thee the joyes of an endlesse contentation, 
Nor let not thy eye on the ,vorld be so fixt, 
To hinder thy heart from unfained recantation. 

444 .1 Friend's Advtce. 

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. 


Printed by the Assignes of Thornas Symcocke. 

The FOUR VONDERS of this Land, 
\Vhich 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 Da),, 
That God may give us all his Grace, 
To repent our Sins then every ofle,-- 
Our rime is going on apace. 

TUNE 0' Dear Love, regard my Grief, _c. 

Licensed according to Ordel: 

WEET t71zlaud, call for grace I 
with speed leave off thy Sin, 
And with a contrite heart 
to prayers now begin, 


T/te four IUonders of lais Zand. 

For sure the time is tome 
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 vhat it doth presage 
no Man on Earth do's knov ; 
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 
• ,vhich Time bas brought to light. 

-- --,N London now doth live 
 one Mr. Clark, by naine, 
A Taylor by his trade, 
of good Report and Faine, 

The four Vonders of this Land. 

His Wife being xvith Child, 
unto her Grief and Woe, 
She with a N eighbours 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 H eart to bleed) 
That she went home, and sent 
for Midwife's help, xvith speed. 

In hast the Midwife came, 
and other XVomen store 
Which by the help of God, 
she Seven Children bore I 

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. 



7he four l/Vonders of tMs 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 
cornes from brave Yorkshire" 
A Monster there was born, 
the like you ne'er did hear. 

Three toiles from Patati-et lived 
a woman of great Worth, 
In travail fell, and brought 
to light a monstrous Birth : 

just the shape of a Colt, 
to ail 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. 

2Che four lVonders of thi Laud. 

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 o tell, 
London can witness true, 
that there a Monster fell. 

In Christ-Church Parish lived 
a Woman known full well, 
Of honest Carriage, which 
her Neighbours ail 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 ail the People's view ; 
But it died suddenly : 
this is approved true. 

I t is for certain true, 
and is approved plain ; 
From Earth, I say, it came, 
and to Earth it turn'd again. 



Tke four lVonders of this Land. 

These Woman now all three 
are on the mending hand: 
But Three such monstrous Births 
was ne'er in fair Englatd. 

HE Fourth News most rare, 
the which I have to tell-- 
In famous Gloucestershire 
a wondrous Shower fell. 

Not far from Gloucester Town, 
a Place is call'd t?randwood, 
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 ruade her to muse. 

And holding up her Head, 
which made her wonder more, 
She saw the Hedge of Cloaths 
with Blood besprinkrd o'er. 

Tlw four Wonders of lais Zand. 

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 round 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 eerusalem, 
And many Places more, 
whom God did plague for Sin. 

But we are like the yews, 
our Hearts are now so hard 
That we will not believe, 
nor ),et God's Word regard. 



7he four IVonders 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. 

The Fox-Chace : 
The Huntsmn's Harmony, 
y the 
Noble Dnke of Bnckingham' Honnd, &c. 

Licens'd and enerîd accordin o Order. 

Ail in a Morning fair, 
As I rode to take the Air, 

454 'e Fox Case. 

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 faine and Worth, 
England bas not the like, without all Denial. 

Then in IVreckledale 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 bave 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. Ty3&als cries ,4way, 
Htark away .t heark away .t 

With that our Foot huntsmen did hear him ; 
Tom 11/[ossman cries Codsounds, 
Uncoule all your ]rounds, 
Or else we shall never corne near 


Then Ca2er , and Countess, 
And Comely, were thrown off, 
With Famtnts, T/zum2ber , and Cryer, 
And several Hounds beside, 
Whose Stoutness there was try'd, 
And not one in the Pack that did tire. 

Out 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 out Hounds that Morn, 
And our Cry it was greater and greater. 


Tke F,,Jî Chase. 

I t could not be exprest 
Which Hound ran the best, 
For they tan on a breast all together ; 
They ran at such a rate 
As you have hOt 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 out Hounds tan so hard, 
They ruade 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 ruade him fly; 
l'll assure you out Sport it was pleasant. 

Then homeward he hies, 
And in IUreckledale 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. 


For Squire lVkitcliffe rode amain, 
And he whipt it o're the Plain ; 
Mr. lUatsou his Horse did not favour ; 
They rode up the highest Hills, 
And down the steepest Dales, 
Expecting his Life for their Labour. 

lXlr. Tykkals 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, 
t-f alloo, t-f alloo, halloo ! Hark away all toether. 

To»z )F[ossman 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, 
t[eark to Caperman, now Slaughter-man runs near 
him ! 

Then to Skiland Wood he goes, 
Being pursued by his foes, 
The Company after him did follow ; 
An Untarpage there we had, 
Which ruade our Huntsmen full glad, 
For we gave him man), a Holloo. 


The Fox Chase. 

So the Sport being almost done, 
And the Chace being almost run, 
He thought to ha' cross'd the River ; 
But out Hounds being in, 
They after him did swim, 
And so they destroy'd him for ever. 

Then L2biu took a Horn, 
As good as e're was blown ; 
Z'om ]llossman bid him wind his Death then; 
The Country People all 
Came flocking to his Fall ; 
This was Honour enough for a French Man. 

So- l/Vhoo-up we proclaimd, 
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. riutell 1 an for W. O. atfll «o1 1 tt¢ 
I$oolllt'r o :tortarr and//,onorvl)rflg. 

A Fayre Portion for a Fayre Mayd 


The thriftie Mayd of IUorstersheere, 
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 "mE "ruine oF Gramercy PenoE. 

Now all my friends are dead and gone 
alas! what shall betide me ? 
For I, poore maid, ara left alone, 
without a house to hide me : 
Yet still Ile be of merry cheere, 
and have kind welcome every where, 
houffk I bave but a 3Iarke a yeare, 
and that my motker ffaue me. 

I scorne to tlàinke of poverty, 
or wanting food or cloathing ; 
Ile be maintayned gallantly, 
and ail my life want nothing ; 
A trolicke minde Ile alwayes beare, 
my poverty shall hot appeare, 
7houg'lz I bave but a marke a yeare, 
,4nd tlat my nwther gaue me. 

460 A Fayre t»ortion for a Fayre )llayd. 

Though I ara but a silly Wench, 
of countrey education, 
Yet I am woo'd by/)utch and Frenck, 
and almost every nation .' 
Both çbaniards and Italians sweare 
that xvith their hearts they love me deare : 
Yet if Aave ut a Iarke a yeare, 
and 1]zat my motiver gaue me. 

The lVclck, the lrisk, and the Scot, 
since I came to the Citie, 
In loue to me are wondrous hot,-- 
they tell me I am pretty : 
Therefore to lire I will hot feare, 
for I am sought with many a teare ; 
}'ci if haz,e but a [arke a ycare, 
aud that 0' mother gaue Ie. 

This Zondon is a gallant place 
to raise a Lasses fortune ; 
For I, that came of simple race, 
brave Roarers doe importune; 
I little thought, in IUostershcere, 
to find such high preferment here 
For I ]ave 3ul a Marke a yeare, 
and lkat my mother aue Me. 

,4 Fa),rc Porliou for a 

One gives tO me perfumed Gloves, 
the best that he can buy me ; 
Lire where I will, I have the loves 
of ail that doe live nigh me : 
If any new toyes I will weare, 
I have them, cost they ne're so deare,-- 
And t/frs is for a [arke a yeare, 
M nd thctt my mother gaue me. 

My fashions with the Moone I change, 
as though I were a Lady ; 
_Ail quaint conceits, both new and strange, 
Ile have as soon as may be ; 
¥our courtly Ladies I can jeere ; 
In cloaths but few to me corne neare, 
J/et I haz,e but a [arke a yeare, 
Mnd t/rat m 3, mother gaue me. 


The second Part, to the same Tune. 

French gownes, with sleeves like pudding bags, 
I bave 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 bave ut a marke a yeare 
and that my mother gaue me. 

462 .dI Fayre Porlion for a Fayre Mayd. 

My Petty-coats of Scar|et brave, 
of Velvet, silke, and sattine ; 
Some students oft my love doe crave, 
that speake both Greeke and Latine ; 
The Souldiers for me domineere, 
and put the rest into great feare ; 
All lhis is for a 3Iarke a yeare 
and lhal my molher,aue roc. 

The Precisian sincerely woes 
and doth protest he loves me ; 
He tires me out with Ies and noes, 
and to impatience moves me : 
Although an oath he will not sweare, 
to lye at no rime he doth feare ; 
All lhis is for a marke a yeae, 
and lhal nzy molker 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 ; 
Tlwugl I bave 3ul a marke a yeare, 
t nd tkat my motiver gaue me. 

A Fayre Portion for a Fayre Arayd. 

l'th pleasant'st place the Suburbs yeelds 
my lodging is preparèd ; 
I can walke forth into the fields, 
where beauties oft are airèd ; 
When Gentlemen doe spy me there, 
some complements l'me sure to heare ; 
T]zough I bave but a marke a yeare, 
Mut that my wther ffaue me, 


Now, if my friends were living still, 
I would them ail 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 l/Vorsters]dre 
I lire well witk a marke a yeare, 
Wltidz my mother gaue me. 

I would my sister Sue, at home, 
knew how I live in fashion, 
That she might up to London corne, 
to learne this occupation ; 
For I lire like a Lady here, 
I weare good cloths and eat good cheare, 
Yet I bave but a lIarke a yeare, 
And l/rat vty mot/ter gaue »te. 

464 A F@re Portion for a Fayre 17Zayd. 

Now, blessed be that happy day 
that I came to the Citie ! 
And/or the Carrier will I pray, 
before I end my Ditty. 
You Maidens that this Ditty heare, 
though lneanes be short, yet never feare, 
Z'or I lire with a sTIarke a ,eare, 
IVhiclz n O, oM mothcr gaue me. 


London, Prlnted for F.G. 

' Fayre Warning, 
Happy is he whom other men's harmes 
Can make to beware, and to shun Satans charmes. 
To THE TUBE OF Packnton's ound. 


Fayre Warning. 

The World is orerun with enormous abuse ; 
Pure vertue and honesty now do decrease ; 
One vice on tbe 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, reformd will be ; 
For happy is he whom olher men's harmes 
Can make lo beware, and lo shun Salans 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 self e, here's example for mee. 
0 ha;bîby is he whom olher men's harmes 
Can make go eware, and lo shun Salans charmes. 

If thou see a man who is proud and ambitious, 
Like soaring lhaelon strive to aspire, 
Presuming his Fates will be ever auspicious, 
He boldly will dime till he can go no higher : 
if fortune should frowne, 
he may tumble downe, 
Then hee'le be derided of every clowne : 

Fayre I4/'arning. 467 
T/tus kappy is he whom olhcr men's karmes 
Can make to 3eware, and to skun Satans ckarmes. 

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 lire in so desperate a case. 
0 happy is e wom oler men's harmes 
Can make fo eware, and fo skun Satans ckarmes. 

The Second Part, to the same Tune. 

If thou see a whoremonger passing at leasure, 
Halle fearfull his legs will drop off by the knees, 


Fayre IVarning. 

When every justle may do him displeasure, 
He hath been so stung with the Turnbull-street 
Becs : 
when thou seest his case, 
beware of that place, 
Which brings a man nothing but, shame and dis- 
0 gappy is ke wgom otger men's/tarmes 
Can make fo beware, a,d fo sgun Satans charmes. 

If thou see a man, who hath been an iii 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. 
0 what a vile shame 
he brings on his name ! 
His children will after be twit with the same : 
0 ha2bpy is ge wgom otger moz's garmes 
Can ntake lo 6eware, and lo sgun Satans cgarmes. 
If thou s'eest a Judge malefactors eondernne 
For rapine or murder, or such haynous aets, 
'Tis fit thou shouldst take an example by them, 
Who must by the Law surfer death for their faets : 
their wayes thou mayst flee, 
because thou dost sec 
The reason, and therefore they hangèd must be. 
0 happy is ge wgom othér men's harmes 
Can make lo beware, and to sgun Satans charmes. 

Fayre l$rarning. 469 

If thou seest a drunkard corne 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, 
Cornes all this through drink ? 
Sure I from the Alehouse in good time will shrink. 
0 Haly is e wkom oker, dc. 

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 lire more uprightly, and use no deceit. 
if thou love thine eare, 
then do hOt corne there, 
To looke upon him may make thee to feare. 
0 I[ay is ke wkom alAter men's harmes 
Can make lo 3eware, and lo s]un Salans c]tarmes. 

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. 
0 happy is ke whom aliter men's harmes 
Can make go eware, and to sAu Satans charmes. 

47o Fayre 

Thus every man, who is wlling to learn, 
Of other men's follies may make a good use, 
And by their just punlshment he may return 
From vice unto vertue, reforming abuse : 
the which, if he can, 
he is a blest man ; 
And thus Ile conclude with the same I began,-- 
That habby is he whom other men's harmes 
Can ma/e to 3eware, and to shun Satan's charmes. 


London, Printed for Richard ttarper. 

Fond Love, why dost thou dally" 
The passionate Louer's Ditty, 
In praise of his Loue, that's faire and witty. 

To "rri "rv, ov The mocke tViddo',v. 

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 tire : 
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 
cornes my delight, 
Thy frowne onely procures despaire : 
But in thy smiles there dwell eternall joyes, 
Which from my heart all flouds of woes destroies. 


Iond Love, why dost tkou dall),  

Then be not thou obdurate unto me, 
Seeing thou art my chiefe felicity : 
Thou seest how passionate I ara for thee, 
0 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 CynLhia in her spheare, 
Or like .,4pollo in the dayes bright chaire. 

Never was framed by nature 
A Mayd of rarer forme and beauty 
as in my Loue, 
to whom Ile prove . 
Of-ficious 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 hêr Love for to pursue, 
And for Lorina languish I in griefe, 
For from her smiles my pleasures corne in briefe. 

Fond Zove, why dost thou daIIy ? 473 

Corne, sweet ! sit thee downe by me, 
And pay just tribute for our true love ; 
come! let's cour 
and merrily sport, 
Here is the pleasant shady grove, 
\Vhere nothing is wanting that pleasures may bring', 
Where nature's harmonious Musicioners sing, 
And tkilomd amongst them the sweetest, 
To love recording those notes that are meetest, 
Where soft winds murmure the joy of out 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 dwe11; 
Joy doth all sorrow from this place expell : 
O, I could surfer 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 verrues 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. 

.ïeuo, the Queene of glory, 
Cannot corne neare thee for thy vertuous grace ; 
thou art more faire, 
in beauty rare, 
And dost deserve as well that place 
Wherein .ïeovgs 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 Majestie ; 
Thou art indeed a lampe of heavenly wonder, 
And, for thé' vertues, keepst all creatures under. 

Fond Love, wAy dost tAou dally . 47S 

All earthly joyes and pleasures 
Are to be had in thy society ; 
Lorina's naine 
deserves true fame, 
She is indued with pietie : 
Fairer she is, by ods, then rocks of pearle ; 
ove till this rime nere saw a braver Gifle. 
The PAenix rare makes nota gayer show, 
Nor yet the Lillies on the banks of Poe; 
She is indeed the mirror of out age, 
And with ovds Queene may walke in equipage. 
Vherefore should I dally then 
To court this glory, and to imbrace 
even in thee 
all blisse I see 
Lively depainted in thyface. 
Corne, then ! let's dally, and, to the wanton ayre, 
Changelove's delightments, so shall we declare 
Our loves by our kisses, whilst I, nothing fearing, 
Breath my bêst wish in my wisht beauties hearing, 
Which when I have done, thy captive Ile be, 
Yet thinke I have a glorious liberty. 
Corne, then ! corne, my Lorina 
And yeeld that treasure, which who so knowes, 
knows a blisse 
by which he is 
Eternally exempt from woes. 


Fond Love, wky dost thou dally . 

Should Love himselfe envy at our best delight, 
These joyes xveele enjoy still, in envies despight : 
Nay, should his anger descend so upon me, 
As, my Lot/ha, 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 xviser, and grant my desire ! 
In thy snoxv xvhite bosome quench my love's quick 
Let not unfaigned love goe unrewarded, 
Nor true affections be sleightly regarded ; 
So shall I still live, and all sorrowes defie, 
Or else a Martyre to thy beauty dye. 


Printed at London for Francis Coules. 

An excellent Ballad of St. GEORGE 
for England, and the King of Egyt's Daughter, 
whom he Delivered from Death, and how he slew 
a monstrous Dragon, &c. 
To "rH. Ttrr. OF Flying Faine, etc. 
Licensed and Entered according to Order. 

Of tte«tor's Deeds did ttomer sing 
and of the sack of stately Troy, 
What grief fair t-Zellen did them bring, 
which was Sir Paris' only joy" 
.And with my pen I must recite 
St. George's Deeds,man English Knight. 


A n excellent t?allad : 

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, tierce 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 grow so great 
throughout the limits of 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 eould invent : 
His skin more hard than brass was found, 
That sword or speare could pierce or wound. 

"St. George for England," &c. 

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. 


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 
0 let us ai1 he poisoned here, 
E'er ske should dye, that is my dear." 

Then rose the People presently, 
and to the King in rage they went; 
Who said ttis Daughler dear should die 
tire Dragon's fury to îre"vent : 
Out dauhters ai1 are dead, uoth they, 
.4 nd have feen ruade t/te JDragon's krey : 

.4 nd fy tkeir f[ood thou kast feen flest, 
and thou hast sav'd thy [ife therefy ; 
.4nd now in 7ustice it doth rest 
for us thy 19au, hier soshould dye. 
O, save my JDaughter !" said the king, 
.4nd let me feel the Dragon's sting. 

Then fell fair Sabrine on fer knee, 
and go her falher then did say : 
Father / strive hot lhus for me, 
fut let me fie tke JDragons prey ; 
may fe ]or my sake alone 
This Plague uibon the land was show . 

"St. Geore for Englaud," c. 


IPhat hast thou doue (my daughler dcar) 
for to deserve this heaiy scoure 
If is my fault, it skall appeal; 
which makes the Gods out state to ffrudffe ; 
Thot ought I die, fo stint tke strife, 
And fo preserve thy happy lire. 

Like raad raen, all tke people cry'd, 
tky deatk fo us tan do no ood ; 
Out safety only dotlt abide 
to make thy Daugkter Dragons food. 
Lo .t kere I ara (0 tken quot]t s/te), 
Tkerefore do wkat you will witA me. 

2Vay, stay, dear daugMer. (uoth the Queen), 
and as thou art a Virgin 3rigkt 
Thctt kath Jor vertue famous 3een, 
so let me cloath thee all in white, 
nd crown thy head with flowo's sweet, 
n ornameat for Virgins meet. 


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 Falher (lhen quoltt she), 
and my sweel mother, meek and mild; 
Take you no lhougkl or tare for 
for you may bave another child ; 
Itere for my countries good Ile dye, 
IVhctt I recdve most willitgly. 

The King and Queen, with all their train, 
with weeping eyes then vent 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 ber did take his way : 
Tell »te, sweet [aiden, then quoth he, 
IVhat 2ersot thus abused thee  

"St. George /or England," dc. 


.4nd lo, y Christ his [cross] I vow 
(which here is fl!7ured on my reast), 
I will revene it on his &row, 
and 3rea/ my launce 2on ]ris 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 : 
Iff ere cornes that ugly fi'iemt, quoth she, 
That soon wdl ma/e an ozd of me." 

St 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 greet 
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, 


excellent 13allad : 

The savour of his poisoned breath 
could do this Christian knight no harm ; 
Thus he did save this Lady fro. m Death, 
and home he led her by the arm ; 
Which when [KingJPlolemy 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 gy2btian court then staid, 
Till he most falsly was betray'd. 

The Lady Sabrine lov'd him well; 
he counted her his only Joy; 
But when their fores was open known, 
it prov'd St. Georges great annoy ; 
The .lorocco Kiz Z was thet in Court, 
Vho fo the Orchard did resort 

Daily to take the pleasant air, 
for leasure sake he used fo walk 
Under the wall, whereas ]te heard 
St. George wilh fair Sarabrine talk; 
Their loves he revealed to lire I(inff, 
WhicA fo St. George great woe did rinff, 

"St. George for England," d¢c. 

These t(ings together did devise 
fo make this Ckristian knight away ; 
IVith letters hin ./I mkassador 
they strai«htway set fo Persia, 
./tnd wrote fo the Sophy tffm to kill, 
Itd treacherously kis klood fo sill. 


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 ; 

1nd in the night three Hrse-keeîbers 
t/sis valiatt ICnight by ower slew, 
11though ke fasted many a day ; 
and then away from tttence le flew 
On the &est steed the Sophy had ; 
Whi¢h whet he knew, toe was full sad. 


t n excelleng Ballad : 

7"ken itto Christendom he came, 
and met a Giant 3y the way ; 
IVith him in com3at he did flgtt 
most valiatly, a summer's day ; 
IVho yet, for all kis 6atts of sted, 
Was forc'd érie sting of deatl fo feel. 

From Christendom this valiant knight 
then with warlike souldiers past, 
Vowing upon that H eathen 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 zECypt 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 3/[orocco king did kill, 
and took fair Sabrive to his wife; 
And afterwards, contentedly, 
with her St. George did leed his life ; 
Who, by the vertue of a Chain, 
Did »till a Virgin pure remain. 

"St. Geore for Enland," d'c. 

To England then St. Geore did bring 
This gallant lady, Sa3rine bright, 
An Eunuch also came with him, 
in whom the Lady did delight : 
None but these three from Egypt came. 
N ow let me Print St. George's 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, tierce 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. 


excellent 2?allad : 

He bein Z by them no whit dismaid, 
but like a stout and valiant knight 
Did kill the hungry Lions both, 
within the Lady Sadrincs sight ; 
But all this xvhile, 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 c'er was dumb, 
began most firmy to renew : 
He set her on a Palfrey steed, 
And towards England came with speed. 

Where he arrivèd in short time 
unto his Father's Dwelling-place, 
xvhere xvith his Dearest Love he lived, 
When Fortune did their Nuptials grace : 
They m;..ny 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.] 


A Courtly new bsllad of thc Princcly wooing .................................... 24 
A dclicatc new ditty composcd upon thc Posie of a Ring ..................... 39 
A Dialogue bctwccn Mstcr Gucsright and ncighbour Ncedy ............... 3o 
Aire hOt too hih in things abovc thy rcach .................................... 47 
Ail bail fo thc days that merit more praise .......................................  3 
Ail in a morning fait, as I rode to takc thc air ................................. 453 
Ail you that cry. "O honc, O honc" . ............................................ 394 
Althouh I ara a country lass ...................................................... 22 
Amantium iroe amoris rcdintcgratio est ......................................... 2 
A merry discoursc 'twixt Jïk and his Joan ....................................... 325 
A Monday dinner : dcscribed ...................................................... 93 
An admirable new lorthcrn Story ................................................ 29 
A new ballad bctwccn Wife and Husband ....................................... 65 
A new Yorkshirc Song ............................................................... I 
Arme Askcw ........................................................................... 38 
A poor soul satc sighing by a sycamore troc .................................... 227 
A pleasant Country new ditty ......................................................  3 
A plcasant new Court Song ......................................................... o 7 
A PIoEsant new DiMouc, &c ....................................................... 35 
A pretty jest of a Brewer and the Cooper's wife ..............................  34 
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 thorow the I%rth country ............................................  
As I lay musing ail alone ............................................................ 93 
As I walked forth of lute, where grass and flowers spring ..................... 6o 
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 rimes my love commend ............................................. 359 
A trae relation of the lire and death of a pirate, &c ............................ 9 
Attend my masters, and listen well ............................................... 34 
A young man lately wedded was ................................................... 379 
Barton (Sir Andrew) .................................................................. 9 
Batchelor's Feast (The) .............................................................. 6o 
Bill of rare (A) ........................................................................... 9 
Blind beggar's daughter of Bethnal Green (The) .............................. 48 
Blue cap for me ........................................................................ loo 
Break heart, and die ! I may no longer live..... ................................... 332 
Bride's Burial {The) 

490 INDEX TO VOL l. 
Caçe, away ! ............................................................................. xSo 
Careful wife, and comfortable husband ......................................... 165 
Catholic Ballad {The)or, "The Patient Man's Woe " . ................ ... I ZO 
Choice of inventions .................................................................. 14z 
Christmas's Lamentation ............................................................ zo8 
Clod's Carol. ............................................................................. z65 
Come, buy this new baLlad, before you do go .............................. x57 
Come bachelor's and married men ............................................... z7 
Come, corne, my brave gold ...................................................... 175 
Come hither, the merriest of all the nine ...................................... IOO 
Come Joan, by thy own dearest husband sit down ........................... 
Corne, mourn, come mourn with me ............................................. z46 
Come my best and dearest ........................................................ 
Corne, neighbours, foLlow me ...................................................... 
Corne yourselves that love to flatter ................................. 181 
Corne Worldings, see what pains I here do take ........................... 175 
Complaint of a loyer forsaken (The) ............................................ zz 7 
Complete genqe-xvoman (A) ...................................................... z6o 
Constancy of Susanna {The) ...................................................... zsz 
Constancy of true Love {The) ...................................................... z33 
Constance and Anthony ............................................................ z9 
Constant, fair, and fine Betty .................................................. z73 
Constant Loyer {The) ..... : ......................................................... zSo 
Cooer of Norfolk (The) ........................................................... 134 
Country Ditty :--a Pleasand new ................................................ i 3 
Country Lass {The) .................................................................. ZZl 
Count .ryman's new " Care away!" (The) ....................................... 
Courtly Ballad {A) ..................................................................... 241 
Court Song (A) between a Courtier and a Country lass .................. lO 7 
Cruel Shrew {The) ..................................................................... IZ7 
Cuckold's Haven (The) ............................................................... 
Cunning Northern Beggar (The) ........................... 
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 ................................................................. 
Deceased Ma.iden Love {The) ..................................................... 339 
Desperate Damsel's Tragedy {The) ............................................... 34-5 
Discourse of Man's Life {A) ..................................................... 286 
Disparing Loyer {The) ......... ' ..................................................... 332 
I)istressed ¥irgin {The) ............................................................ 359 
Doctor Do-good's directions to cure many dlseases ........................ 3o6 
English Merch-mt of Chichester (The) .......................................... 409 
Essex's Last Good-night ........................................................... 394 
Fait Angel of England ! ............................................................ 241 
Fait fall ail Good Tokens ............................................................ 434 
Fait Maid of London's Answer {The) ............................................ 243 
Fait Portion for a Fait llad (A} .................................................. 559 
Fait Warning .......................................................................... 465 
Fond love, why dost thou dally? ................................................... 471 
Four Wonders of this Land {The) ................................................ 44.5 

Fox Chase (The) ....................................................................... 453 
Friendly Counsel ........................................................................ 86 
Friend's Advce (A) .................................................................. 439 
Faithless Loyer (The) ............................................................... 342 
Grieve no more, sweet husband ...................................................... x69 
How shall we, good husband, now live, this hard year ........................ x65 
How the Cooper served the Brewer ................................................ 134 
Householder's New Year's Gift (The) ............................................. 
I ara a lusty beggar, and lire by others giving ................................. 
I am a woman poor and blind ...................................................... 38 
If any are infected, give audience awhile ....................................... 3o6 
I faucy noue but tkee alone ........... . ............................................ 39 
If Death would corne and shew his frce .......................................... 365 
If there were employmeut for men, as bave been .............................. 
I'll tell you a jest which you'll hardly believe .................................... 93 
In days of old when fait France did flourish .................................... 399 
In that fait, fragrant month of May ................................................ 233 
In that gallant month of June ...................................................... 345 
In summer time when folks malte hay ............................................ 67 
It is an old saying, that few words are best ....................................... 
It was a blind beggar that long lost his sight .................................... 48 
It was my chance hot long time since ............................................ 86 
It was a lady's daughter of Paris properly ....................................... 43 
Lainent your sins, good people, ail lainent ..................................... 
Life of Man (The) .................................................................... 93 
Medley (An Excellent new) ......................................................... 67 
Miser (The) ............................................................................. i75 
Now ail 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, I take in hand .................................... 256 
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) .......................................................................... 18 
Room, room for a friend, that his money will spend ......................... 
Saint George and the I)ragon (St. George of England) ........................ 477 
Since Popery oflate is so much in debate ....................................... 
Sir Andrew Barton ..................................................................... 9 
Sore, sick, dear friends, long time I was ......................................... 
Susanna (The constancy of) .................................... ". ................... 
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 lire ............................................................... 3 
The gdleful crocodile ................................................................. 2i 4 

492 IDEX TO Vo I. 
The History ofthe l)uchess of Norfolk's Calamity .............................. 37! 
The lquntsrnan'$ lqannony ......................................................... 453 
The night is passed and joyful day appeareth .................................... 82 
The Passionate Lover's Ditty ...................................................... 47I 
The Princely wooing of the fait maid of London by King Edward ......... 
The Serving-man and he Husband-man ....................................... 385 
The Story of David and Berseba ................................................... 352 
The thrifty Maid of Worcestershire ................................................ 459 
The World is ovel-un with enormous abuse ....................................... 466 
The young man's praise ofa curious creature .................................... 273 
There be many women that seem very poor .................................... 
There dweh a man in Babylon, of reputation great by faine ............... 52 
There were three men of Gotham, as I bave beard men say .................. I42 
Though falling out of faithful friends ............................................. 2 
Thou that art so s,,eet a creature .................................................. 
To you that love bad tokens ......................................................... 434 
Two loyers in the FIorth .......................................................... 3o 
Upon a summer's time, in tbe middle of the morn ....................... 
Well met, neighbour Needy: SVhat ! walking alone ........................ 3oi 
What, if a day, or a month, or a year. ......................................... 439 
When David in Jerusalem as Royal King did rule and reign ............ 3ç2 
When Flora, with fraorant flowers bedecked the earth .................. 9 
XVhen God had taken for our sin King Edwerd away ........................ 371 
x, Vhen I had seen this Virgin's end ............................................. 342 
When Plnlomel begins to sing ................................................... 74 
Wife, as we get little, so temper our diet ................................... 
Women the best warriors .................... .*. ..................................... 423 
York, York, for my money ......................................................... 
You gentle I'ymphs that on these meadows play ........................... 429 
.$'ou loyal lovers that are distant from your sweet hearts many a mile 28o 
You Muses ail, your aid to me assign ..........................................