# The Proud Dutchess, or, Death and the Lady/The Cold Winter Night

LADY.
⟨My⟩ heart is cold, I tremble at the news; (illegible text)'s bags of gold, if thou wilt me excuſe, ſeize on thoſe, thus finiſh thou the ſtrife, til ſuch who are now weary of their life. (illegible text) there not many bound in priſon ſtrong, bitter grief of ſoul have languiſh'd long, And fain would find a grave, a place of reſt all their griefs in which they are oppreſt; Beſides, there's many with their hoary head, and palſey'd joints by which their joys are ſled, Releaſe thou them, whoſe ſorrows are ſo great, And ſpare my life to have a longer date.
DEATH.
Tho' they with age are full of grief and pain Yet their appointed time they muſt remain: I come to none before my warrant's ſeal'd, And when it is, they muſt ſubmit and yield; I take no bribe, believe me, this is true, Prepare yourſelf to go, I come for you.
LADY.
Death be not ſo ſevere, let me obtain A little longer time to live and reign;
Fain would I ſtay if thou my life would ſpare I have a daughter beautiful and fair, I'd live to ſee her wed whom I adore, Grant me but this, and then I'll aſk no more.
DEATH.
This is a ſlender, frivolous excuſe, I have you faſt, and not let you looſe; Leave her to Providence, for you muſt go Along with me, whether you will or no. ​I Death do command Kings to leave their crowns, And at my feet to lay their ſceptres down If not to Kings I will this favour give, But cut them down, Do you expect to live Beyond the limits of your time and ſpace? No I muſt ſend you to another place.
LADY
Yon learned Doctors, now diſplay your ſkill And let not Death of me obtain his will; Prepare me cordials, let me comfort find, My gold ſhall fly like chaff before the wind
DEATH.
Forbear to call, their ſkill will never do, They are but mortals here as well as you; I give the fatal wound, my dart is ſure, 'Tis far beyond the Doctor's ſkill to cure. To purchaſe life, rather than yield to die, How freely would you let your ſilver fly; But while you flouriſh'd here all in your ſto(illegible text) You could not ſpare one penny for the poor. In all your pomp, the poor then you did hate And like rich Dives ſcourg'd them from your gate; But tho' you did, thoſe whom you thus did ſcorn They, like yourſelf, into this world were born Tho' for your alms they did both cringe & bow They bore God's image here as well as you: Tho' in God's name a ſuit to you they'd make, You would not give one penny for his ſake, My Lord beheld wherein you did amiſs, And calls you hence to give accoünt for this. ​But he that is friend to himſelf, will provide for a cold winter day; It will help him in time of his need, when his friends they will frown him away.
When work and money comes in, O then I'm as briſk as a bee, And while I've got ſixpence to ſpend, O my friends they will all viſit me. But if I've nor a ſixpence to ſpend, and a ſixpence I go for to borrow, I'll be ſure to come back as I went, 'tis very well known to my ſorrow.
And if I to the ale-houſe do go, and ſpend what I've toil'd for ſo long, If I ask them to truſt but one pot, they ſtraightway will bid me be gone. And if I run on with old ſcores, and get no more money to ſpend, They'll be ſure to clap bums to my back, for a man without money has no friend.
My breeches are ragged and torn, and my ſtockings hang over my ſhoes, My pockets no money will hold, for in truth I've got none for to loſe. My ſhirt is as black as a coal, for want of an induſtrious wife, And if you can help me good fellows, I'll mind you all the days of my life.
​I love for to tumble and toſs, in due time when I go to bed; Had I but an induſtrious wife, I ſurely would ſomething provide. And if he were as willing as I to provide for a cold winter day, It would help us in time of our need, when friends they would frown us away
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ANCE CROWDIE, TWICE CROWDIE.
O that I had ne'er been married, I wad never had nae care; Now I've gotten wife and bairns, and they cry crowdie evermair. Ance crowdie, twice crowdie, three times crowdie in a day. Gin ye crowdie ony mair, ye'll crowdie a' my meal away.
Waefu' want and hunger ſley me, glowrin by the hallan en'; Sair I fight them at the door, but aye I'm eerie they come ben Ance crowdie, &c.
FINIS
Falkirk, Printed by T. Johnston