The Beautiful Shepherd's of Arcadia.

There was a shepherd's daughter.
Came tripping on the way,
And there she met a courteous Knight,
Which caufed her to fly.
Sing trang dildo dee.

Good-morrow to you courteous maid,
Thefe words pronounced he ;

O I shall die this day he faid,
If I have not my will of thee.

The Lord forbid, the maid reply'd,
That fuch a thing should be,
That ever fuch a courteous Knight
Should die for love of me.

He took her round the middle so small,
And laid her on the plain ;

And after he had got his will,
He took her up again.

Now you have had your will, kind fir,
And put my body to open flame,

Now if you are a courteous Knight,
Tell me what is your name.

Some do call me Jack, fweetheart,
And fome do call me John;
But when I come to the King's fair court,
They call me Sweet William,

He fet his foot in the stirrup,
And away then he did ride;
She tuck'd her girdle about her middle,
And ran clofe by his fide.

But when the came to the broad water,
She lay on her breast and fwam,
And when the was got out again,
She took to her heels and ran.

He never was the courteous Knight,
To fay Fair maid will you ride ?
Nor the was never fo loving a nymph,
To fay, Sir Knight abide.

When the came to the King's fair court,
Shs knocked at the ring ;

So ready was the King himfelf
To let this fair maid in.
Sing trang dildo dee.

Chrift fave you, my gracious Liege,
Your Body Chrift fave and fee,
You have a Knight within your court,
This day hath robbed me.

What hath he robbed thee of, fweetheart?
Of purple or of pall ;

Or hath he took thy gay gold ring,
From off thy finger ſmall ?

He hath not robbed me, my Liege,
Or purple or of pall ;

But he hath got my maidenhead,
Which grieves me worſt of all.

Now if he be a batchelor,
His body I'll give to thee ;
But if he be a Married man,
High hanged he ſhall be.

He called down his merry men all,
By one, by two, and by three ;

Sweet William us'd to be the first,
But now the laft comes he.

He brought her down full forty pounds,
Tyed up within a glave :
Fair Maid, I give the fame to thee,
And feek another love.

O I'll have none of your gold, the faid,
Nor I'll have none of your fee ;

But I muſt have your fair Body,
Which the King hath given me.

Sweet William ran and fetch'd her then,
Five hundred pounds in gold,

Saying, Fair Maid, take this to thee,
Thy fault ſhall ne'er be told.

'Tis not thy gold that ſhall me tempt,
Theſe words then anſwer'd the ;

But I muſt have your own body,
So the King hath granted me.
Sing trang dildo dee.

Would I had drank the fair Water,
When I did drink the wine ;

That ever any Shepherd's daughter,
Should be a fair Lady of mine.

Would I had drank the puddle water,
What I did drink the ale ;

That if ever any Shepherd's daughter,
Should have told me ſuch a tale.

A Shepherd's Daughter as I was,
You might have let me be ;
I ne'er had come to the Kings fair court,
To crave any love of thee.

He fet her on a milk-white ſeed,
And himſelf upon a grey ;
He hung a bugle about his neck,
And to they rode away.

But when they came unto the place,
Where marriage rites were done,
She prov'd herſelf a Duke's daughter,
And he but a 'Squires ſon,

Now you have marry'd me, Sir Knight,
Your pleasure ſhall be free ;
If you make me a Lady of one good town,
I'll make the Lord of Three.

Ah! curled be the gold, he faid,
If thou hadt not been true,
That ſhould have parted thee from me,
To have chang'd thee for a new.

There hearts being ſo linked ſaſt,
And joined hand in hand ;

He hath both purſe and perſon too,
And all at his command.

Sing trang dildo dee.

Printed and Sold in Aldermary Church-
Yard, Baw-Lane, London.

THE
BEGGARS CHORUS;
OR,
The JOVIAL CREW.

To an excellent new Play-house Tune.

至誠心誠意譜寫，給人溫暖溫暖的心靈。

THERE was a jovial Beggar,
He had a Wooden Leg,
And lame from his Cradle,
Was forced for to beg:
And a Begging we will go,
we'll go, we'll go,
And a Begging we will go.

A Bag for my Oat-meal,
Another for my Rye;
A little Bottle by my Side,
To drink when I am dry:
And a Begging we will go,
We'll go, we'll go,
And a Begging we will go.

A Bag for my Wheat,
And another for my Salt;
A little Pair of Crutches,
To flew how I can halt:
And a Begging we will go,
We'll go, we'll go,
And a Begging we will go.

A Bag for my Bread,
And another for my Cheefe,
A little Dog to follow me,
To gather what I leave.
And a Begging, &c.

To Pimblico we'll go,
Where we will merry be,
With every Man a can in's Hand,
And a Wench upon his Knee:
And a Begging, &c.

And when that we are dispoſed,
We tumble on the Graſs,
With long patch'd Coats,
For to hide a pretty Lafs:
And a Begging, &c.

Seven Years I served
My Good old Maſter Wild,
And seven Years I begged
Whilſt I was but a Child:
And a Begging, &c.

I had the pretty Knack,
For to wheedle and to cry;
By Young and by the Old,
Moſt pity'd e'er was I:
And a Begging, &c.

Fatherleſs and Motherleſs,
Still was my Complaint,
And none that ever ſaw me,
But took me for a Saint:
And a Begging, &c.

I begged for my Maſter,
And got him ſtore of Pelf,
But Jove now be praſed,
I now beg for myſelf:
And a Begging, &c.

Within a Hollow-tree I live,
And there I pay no Rent;
Providence provides for me,
And I am well content:
And a Begging, &c.

I fear no plots against me,
But live in open Cell;
Then who would be a King,
When a Beggar lives ſo well:
And a Begging we will go,
We'll go, we'll go,
And Begging we will go.

# The BERKSHIRE LADY,
In Four Parts.

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

## PART I.

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

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

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

Such a noble dispoftion
Had the lady, with tubmiffion,
Of whom I this fonnet write,
Store of wealth and beauty bright.

She had left by an old grannum
Full five thousand pounds per annum,
Which the held without controul,
Thus he did in riches roll.

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

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

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

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

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

Privately he then enquir'd
About him the f o admir'd,
Both his name and where he dwelt,
Such were the hot flames he felt.

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

## PART II.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

## PART III.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

## PART IV.

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

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

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

For he had not broke his ſaſt,

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

Therewas peeping, laughing, fleering
All within the lawyer's hearing,
But his bride he could not ſee,
Wou'd I were at home, ſaid he:

While his heart was melancholy,
Said the ſteward, brilk and jolly,
Shew me, friend, how came you here
You've ſome bad deſign I fear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BLUE EYED MARY.

IN a cottage embosom'd within a deep shade,
Like a rose in a desart, oh! view the mèek maid,
Her aspect all sweetness, all plaintive her eye,
And a bosom for which c'en a monarch might sigh;
Then in neat Sunday gown see her met by the 'squire,
All attraction her countenance, his all desire;
He accosts her, she blushes, he flatters, she smiles,
And soon blue eyed Mary's seduc'd by his wiles.

Now with drops of contrition her pillow's wet o'er,
But the fleece when once stain'd can know whiteness no more;
The aged folks whisper, the maiden's look shy,
To town the 'squire presses, how can she deny ?
There, behold her in lodgings, she dresses in style,
Public places frequents, sighs no more, but reads Hoyle;
Learns to squander, they quarrel, his love turns to hate,
And soon blue eyed Mary is left to her fate.

Still of beauty possess'd and not yet void of shame,
With a heart that recoils at the prostitute's name,
She tries for a service, her character's gone,
And for skill at her needle, alas! 'tis unknown;
Pale want now approaches, the pawn-broker's near,
And her trinkets and cloaths one by one disappear;
'Till at length sorely pinch'd and quite desperate grown,
The poor blue eyed Mary is forc'd on the town.

In a brothel next see her trick'd out to allure,
And all ages all humours compell'd to endure;
Compell'd tho' disgusted to wheedle and feign,
With an aspect all smiles and a bosom all pain;
Now caress'd, now insulted, now flatter'd, now scorn'd,
And by ruffians and drunkards oft wantonly spurn'd,
This worst of all misery she's doom'd to endure,
For the poor blue eyed Mary is now an impure.

Whilst thus the barb'd arrow sinks deep in her soul,
She flies for relief to that traitor the bowl,
Grows stupid and bloated and lost to all shame,
Whilst a dreadful disease is pervading her frame;
Now with eyes dim and languid the once blooming maid,
In a garret on straw faint and helpless is laid!
Oh! mark her pale cheek, see, she scarce takes her breath,
And lo! her blue eyes are now seal'd up in death!

Published by E. RUSHTON, Liverpool, August, 1799, and sold by S. W. FORES, No. 50, Piccadilly, London.

M'CREEKY, PRINTER

The CRAFTY LOVER:
OR,
The LAWYER Outwitted.

To the Tune of I'll love thee more and more.

Of a rich Counsellor I write,
Who had one only daughter,
Who was of youthful beauty bright;
Now mind what follows after.

Her uncle left her, I declare,
A funtuous large poſſection.

Her father he was to take care,
was to take care

Of her at his diſcretion.

She had ten thouſand pounds a year,
And gold and filver ready,

And courted was by many a peer;
Yet none could gain this lady.

At length a 'quire's youngeſt fon
In private came a-wooing,
And when he had her favour won,
her favour won,
He fear'd his ntter ruin.

The youthful lady ſtraightway cry'd,
I muſt confes I love thee ;
Tho' lords and knights I have deny'd,
Yet none I prize above thee :

Thou art a jewel in my eye ;
But here, faſd ſhe, the care is,

I fear you will be doom'd to die,
be doom'd to die,

For ſtealing of an heireſs.

The young man he reply'd to her,
Like a true politician,
Thy father is a counſellor,
I'll tell him my condition.

Ten guineas ſhall be his fee,
He'll think it is ſome ſtranger.

Thus for the gold he'll counſel me,
he'll counſel me,
And keep me ſafe from danger.

Unto her father he did go,
The very next day after;
But did not let the lawyer know
The lady was his daughter.

But when the lawyer ſaw the gold,
That he ſhould be the gainer,
A pleafant trick to him he told,
to him be told,
With safety to obtain her.

Let her provide a horſe, he cry'd,
And take you up behind her,
Then with you to ſome parfon ride,
Before her parents find her.
Then the ſteals you, you may complain,
And ſo avoid their ſury.

Now this is law, I will maintain,
I will maintain
Before either judge or jury.

Now take my writing, and my ſeel,
Which I cannot deny thee;
And if you any trouble ſeel,
In court I will ſtand by thee.
I give you thanks, the young man cry'd,
By you I am befriended,

And to your houſe I'll bring my bride,
I'll bring my bride
After the work is ended.

Next morning, ere the day did break
This news to her he carry'd :

She did her father's counſel take,
And they were fairly marry'd.

When they all night had took their ea
In joys beyond expreſſing,
They home return'd, and on their kn
and on their knees

Tey aſſk'd their father's bleſſing.

Now when he had beheld them both,
He ſeem'd like one diſtraſted,
And vow'd to be reveng'd, in wrath,
For what they then had aſted.

With beſpoke his new-made ſon,
There can be no deceiving.

That this is law which we have done,
which we have done,
Here is your own hand-writing.

The counſellor did then reply,
Was ever man ſo fitted;
My hand and ſeel I can't deny,
By you I am cut-witted.

Ten thouſand pounds a year in ſtore,
She has, left by my brother,
And when I die there will be more,

For child I have no other.

She might have had a lord or knight
From royal loins defended ;

But ſince thou art her heart's delight
I will not be offended.

If I the gordian knot ſhould part,
'Twere cruel out of meaſure:

Enjoy thy love with all my heart,
with all my heart,

In plenty, peace, and pleaſure.

Printed and Sold at the Printing-Office in Bow-Church-Yard, London.

THE
LIFE and DEATH
OF THE
DUKE of BERWICK.

ASSIST me ye Mufes, I pray lend your Aid,
To undergo a Task; for I am afraid,
Without that you help me, I fhall fall too low
In speaking of him whom fome Thoufands do know :
The brave Duke of Berwick, 'tis him I do mean;
And of his Exploits fome of them will name :
But firſt let me tell you, e'er farther I run,
He was late King Jame's own Natural Son.

In England born, which cauſd him to be
The bravet flout Soldier that e'er you did fee;
The beſt of all Foes that e'er did advance;
Witneſs the Battle that was fought at Almanze;
Where he to his Soldiers moſt bravely did ſay,
Brave Boys, if it happen that we get the Day;
Be courageous and bold, and commit no Slaughter;
But pray give my English Countrymen Quarter.

What braver than this could an Enemy ſay?
O curſe on grim Death that ſnatch'd him away:
Then curſt be the Gunner that fired the Shot,
And curſt be the Bullet that fell to his Lot:
That ſoon deprived brave Berwick of Life:
Robb'd Children of Father, parted Man and Wife:
A ſad Separation; who can now expreſs
The Grief of the Widow and the Fatherleſs.

But ſtop not Affiſtance, but farther let's go:
For more of brave Berwick's Valour I'd know;
Fame now reporteth and ſays very plain,
He at Syracuſa ſaw ſome Thouſands ſlain:
Then why did not grim Death take him quite away?
His Corps would long ſince have mouldeſt to Clay:
No, no, his Summons he deny'd to ſerve,
Untill noble Berwick more Honours deſerv'd.

Then from Syracuſa he ſtrait to Black-wood,
There he waded up to his Knees in Blood:
But ſtill to his Soldiers aloud he would cry,
Fight on my brave Boys let us every Man die.

For my own Countrymen are courageous and bold;
And will by no means at all be controul'd;
But if we get the better, and they ſhould ſurrender,
Pray be kind unto them, nay loving and tender.

Then Mal-plaquet next was where he did run,
But yet he eſcaped the Firing of Guns:
Altho' from the fame he ne'er did retire;
But ſtill he was riding thro' all Smoak and Fire.
There's nothing could daunt him, but O cruel Fate
Hath put an End to his longer Date:
At Philipsburg France there got her Loſs,
There he was ſhot dead, when mounting his Horſe.

In many other Places great Feats he hath done,
But his noble Actions are now with him gone.
All that he in the Service of Queen Ann have been,
Unto cruel Death they do bear a Spleen;
For taking brave Berwick their merciful Foe:
Tho' ſome were his Pris'ners, yet want they ne'er know.
For to ſupport them no Coſt he would ſpare;
And ſtill would call them his Countrymen dear.

Alas! noble Berwick, could you not return,
When the King your Maſter did ſend for you home?
He knowing your Old-age and Inſirmity,
In the Field of Honour you was reſolv'd to die:
Call me not home, good Maſter now I pray,
For in the Field I am reſolv'd to ſtay;
But ſaid, good Maſter, ſince I have begun,
Let me proceed untill my Glaſs is run.

Altho' Sixty-fix, ſee what Courage was there?
This good antient Man yet a ſout Heart did bea r:
So all pity'd him that Day when he did die,
Because he could not ſtay to gain Viſtory:
Much more might be ſaid, but I muſt have done:
He dy'd both a Prince, a Peer, and a King's Son,
His Soul into Heaven I hope it is gone:
The which puts an End to my Tragical Song.

Printed and Sold at the Printing-Office in Boaz
Church-Yard. London.

ENGLAND's Black Tribunal,

Or, King Charles's Martyrdom.

TRUE Churchmen all, I pray behold & fee,
Great Charles once England's king in mifery
His suffering now I mean to tell,
How Butons did againſt their king rebel,

A court they made which they did justice call,
And there thole traitors moſt tyrannical,
Of crueltie impeach'd the beſt of kings,
Of murder, treafon and ſuch heinous things.

Bafely they us'd the royal prisoner there,
He not being ſuffer'd truth for to declare,
It's ſtrange ſays Charles a moſt ſurprizing thing,
You can't make laws now for to try your king.

Our court is juſt the preſident reply'd,
And by theſe laws, fir, now you muſt be try'd,
For againſt the lords and commons of this land,
It's not for prisoners to dispute and ſland.

Then ſaid the king I think my cafe is hard,
Worie than the maleſtors I am ſerv'd,
For they have liberty to plead their cauſe;
Why don't you grant me the true British laws.

Confider first I'm your-annoyed king,
Take heed, left judgment on this land you bring,
For if the Lord's appointed you do ſlay,
Take care you don't repent the bloody day.

In vain did ſpeak this Prince of Royal Blood,
His words indeed they did but little good,
For by theſe bloody tyrants he was caſt,
Charles Stuart, you muſt loofe your-head at laſt.

As he paſ'd down flairs, the ſoldiers bafe,
Did imoke tobacco in his royal ſace,
Spitting upon him as he did paſ's by,
Forgive them, Chriſt, forgive them he did cry.

It is no more than what my favour dear,
Did ſuffer for poor ſinful mortals here,
If thus the king of heaven they did kill,
What is my blood to bis, which they did ſpill.

My earthly crown I freely down do lay,
Although they thus do take my life away,
I hope a crown of glory to obſan,
For ever with the bleſſ above, to reign.

I now do ſuffer for a cauſe that's good,†
For the proteſtant laws I always ſood,
But when my head they from my body take,
Chriſt keep the church for thy dear mercies ſake.

Then he did beg his children for to ſee,
It being granted then that liberty,
Thofe that in England being prefent there,
To ſee their dying father did repair.

When the lady Elizabeth did her father ſee,
She trembling fell before him on her knee,
Having the Duke of Glouceſter in her hand,
Riſe, ſays the king, before your father stand.

Behold dear child, the king to her did ſay,
Great Charles who once did England's ſeepier ſway
Is try'd and caſt, upon the block to dye,
Not knowing of the cauſe or reaton why.

O royal father ſaid the Priſeſs then,
What will become of us when you are gone,
If they've the heart to ſlay our father dear,
I fear your deaths are drawing very near.

If I could die upon the block for thee,
Death would be but a little unto me;
But I muſt live to ſee my father bleed,
O cruel tyrants you who do the deed.

O child! when I am gone, the king reply'd,†
You have a God for to fland on your ſide,
I hope he will preferve the Stewart's race,
So heaven bleſſ and mark you all with grace.

Then taking of the duke of Glouceſter young,
Upon his knee which was the youngeſt for,
Said he dear child, I give this charge to thee,
That to your brother you obſedient be.

It is your brother Charles that I do mean,
You muſt call him your toſvereign lord and king,†
For they will cut off thy dear father's head,
The babe then wept for to hear what he ſaid.

Then who muſt be my father ſaid the child,
The lord of heaven ſaid the king and ſmil'd,
With that the child upon his neck did ſly,
Saying father let us both together die.

This kind expreſſion of a child ſo young,
It cauſ'd the tears like fountains for to run,
A thouſand times he kifſ'd his children dear,
And on his knees with them fell down to prayers.

And bleſſing of them took his laſt farewell,
Saying with your father things will ſoon do well;
Next to the block this Martyr was convey'd,
At his own Palace gate to loſe his head.

How can the preſbyterians bear to hear,
How patiently he did his ſuffering hear;
How freely he his earthly crown did leave,
In hopes a crown of glory to receive.

In Windſor Chapel there his corps was laid,
When the Lord Bifhop of London was deny'd,
At the funeral to read the common prayer,
A thing his royal maſter loſ'd to dear.

Thus ſell the church as likewife ſell the king,†
O cruel preſbyterians I am ſure this thing,
Can never be ſorgot, the bloody day,
On which your royal maſter, ye did ſlay,

We never more will put it in your power,
The Church of England up for to devour;
Heaven prieſerve the church likewife the ſtate,
And keepeit from the preſbyterians cruel hate.

London; Printed and Sold in Stonecuttersſtreet, Fleet-market.

ENGLAND's New Bell-man;

Ringing into all People's Ears GOD's dreadful Judgment on this Land and Kingdom.

Tune of, O Man in Desperation, &c.

A WAKE! awake! O England,
Sweet England now awake,
And to thy Prayers fpedily,
Do thou thyfelf betake:
The Lord thy God is coming,
Within the Sky fo clear,
Repent therefore, O England,
The Day it draweth near.

The dreadful Day of Vengeance,
Is shortly now at Hand,
When fearful burning Fire,
shall wafe both Sea and Land;
And all Men's Hearts shall fail them,
To fee fuch Things appear,
Repent therefore, &c.

The wordly wife and prudent,
Shall fall befides their Wits,
And with the Hills would fall on them,
In thefe their frantic Fits,
No Succour, Help, nor Comfort.
For them shall then appear,
Repent therefore, &c.

The Seas and Rivers running,
Shall roar in grievous wife:
The Beasts in Paftures feeding,
Shall ftrain forth grievous Cries:
The Skies shall flame with Fire,
The Earth shall burn fo clear,
Repent therefore, O England
The Day it draweth near.

The glorious holy Angels,
Shall then their Trumpets found,
The Dead shall hear their Voices;
As they lie in the Ground;
Then all the Graves shall open,
And dead Men shall appear,
Repent therefore, O England,
The Day it draweth near.

The Devil will be ready then
Each Creature to accufe,
And how how in their Life-time,
They did themfelves abufe:
And every Man's own Conſcience
For Witneſs shall appear,
Repent therefore, &c.

The Works of every Creature,
Their Thoughts, and Deeds, I fay,
Shall follow them together,
In that moſt dreadful Day:
And no Reſpect of Perfons,
Shall in that Day appear,
Repent therefore, &c.

But fuch as have done juſtly,
Shall wear the Crown of Life;
The Wicked ſhall be damned
To Sorrow, Pain, and Grief;
In boiling Pans of Brimſtone,
With coſeful heliſh Cheer,
Repent therefore, &c.

But Wo unto that Woman,
Which then with Child ſhall go;
And to the filly Nurſes,
Which do give ſuck alio:
When as the Day of Judgment
Grievous ſhall appear,
Repent therefore, &c.

And pray with Tears moſt conſtant,
Unto the Lord of Micht,
That in the frozen Winter,
You do not take your Flight:

Nor yet upou the Sabbath,
That Peril do appear,
Repent Therefore, &c.
Let all good Chriſtian People,
Repent therefore in Time,
And from their Hearts lementing,
Each former grievous Crime:
Prepare themſelves with Glaſnels,
To watch when Chriſt will come,
The Trump ſhall found on ſudden,
And no Man knows how ſoon,
Repent therefore,
For all Things are fulfilled,
Which Chriſt before had told,
Small Faith is now remaining,
And Charity's grown cold;
Great Signs and Wonders we have ſeen,
Within the Earth and Sky:
Repent therefore, &c.

Why doſt thou put thy Confidence,
In ſtrong and flately Towers?
Why takes thou ſuch Pleaſure,
In building ſumtuous Towers?
Rejoicing in thy Paſtures
And Park of fallow Dear,
Repent therefore, &c.

Why ſeekeſt thou deceitfully
To purchafe Treſure great?
Or why doſt thou through Uſury
The Bread of poor Men cat?
Why doth thy Life and Living,
So filthily appear?

Repent therefore, &c.
Wherefore let all good People,
Upon their Knees proceed,
In making earneſt Prayer,
For never was more Need

That God may ſpare the Punifhment,
Even for his Mercies meer,
And give us Grace to bear in Mind
The Judgment that is near.

The Efsex Hue and Cry

BEING,

A True, Particular, and exact Account, of that Barbarous, Bloody,
Cruel, and Inhuman

MURDER,

Which was committed on Sunday laft, in White Poft Lane, near Eaft
Ham, in the County of Efsex, upon RICHARD MOSS, a Youth
only 14 Years of Age, who was robbed and Murdered by a Foot-
pad.

Sunday laft the following bloody murder was committed upon
the body of an unhappy youth, without the leaft provocation
to urge the commission of fo horrid a piece of barbarity ; which
tho' common in France, by robbers, is feldom heard of in this
country ; thofe who in England purfue that unhappy course of life be-
ing contented with their booty, with not to commit actions ubbenefi-
cial to themfelves.

Between the hours of feven and eight o'clock, on Sunday, as one
Richard Mofs, a youth aged 14, was pafling thro' White Poft Lane,
in the parifh of Eaft Ham, in the county of Efsex, he was accofted by
a footpad, who with horrid imprecations demanded his money. The
unhappy lad immediately delivered his all, which amounting only to
fixpence, fo diſatisfied the villain, that he cut him with his hanger in
feveral parts of his body, in fo dangerous a manner, that he languifh-
ed a few hours in great miſery, and then expired. Amongſt ſeveral
wounds which he received one in his back was the almoſt immediate
caufe of his death.

The decaſed was a very amiable youth, and his untimely end is
much lamented by his diſconſolate friends and acquaintance.

In order to bring to justice the Perſon who committed this horrid
Crime, the Churchwardens of the Parifh of Eaſt-Ham, where the
murder was committed, have offered a reward of TWENTY
GUINEAS, leſides the reward allowed by aſt of Parliament.

He is deſcribed as wearing his own hair, of a fandy or reddifh co-
lour, full faced, much freckled, about 25 years old, five feet five
inches and a half high, born in Ireland, and bred a Baker, wore a
light or blue cloth coat, much faded, a pair of black fluff breeches
torn at the knees, and a round hat, turned up on each fide.

An Extempore Sermon, preached in a Hollow Tree,
By Frederick Fiery-Face, Mafter of Arts, and Fellow of
Malt-Juice College.

Rules to be kept by the Society.

1. Each person at entrance shall spend 6d.

2. None shall refuse Stewardship, when chosen.

3. To keep the first man, and

4. Know to whom you drink.

5. Take care to fee yourself pledged.

6. To fee the health go round.

7. None shall drink to a man, when a woman is present.

8. Not to drink to the drawer, on pain of drinking twice.

9. Whosoever breaks these ccustoms, forfeits four-pence.

10. For the non-payment of four-pence, to be excommunicated.

Sir Ralph Red Noſe, Knt.
Stewards.
Simon Suckbottle, Eq.

Why ſhould the Drunkard ſtrive his acts to mother,
Drink runs but from one hoghead to another.

Beloved,

LET me crave your reverend attention,
for I am a little man, come at a short war-
ning, to preach a short fermon upon a
ſmall ſubject, in an unworthy pulpit.

Beloved, my text is MALT: Now I
cannot divide it into ſentences, becauſe
it is none; nor into words, it being but
one; nor into ſyllables, becauſe it is only
a monofyllable; therefore neceſſity obli-
ges me to divide it into letters, which I
find in my text to be four.

M, my beloved, is moral; A is Allego-
rical, L is Literal, and T is Theological.
The moral is well fet forth, to teach you
Drunkards good manners, wherefore M
my masters, A all of you, L listen, T to
my text.

The Allegorical is, when one thing is
ſspoken of, and another thing is meant.--
The thing ſspoken of is Malt, the thing
meant is the Oil of Malt, (Strong Beer)
which you gentlemen make M Meat, A
Apparel, L Liberty, and T Treasure; the
literal is according to the letter M much,
A Ale, L Little, T Thirst, Much Ale,
Little Thirst; the theological is accord-
ing to the effects which it works, which I
find in my text to be of two kinds; first in
this world, fecondly in the world to come.

In this world, the effects which it works
are in ſome M Murder, in others A Adul-
tery, in ſome Looſeneſs of Life, in others
T Treafon; the effects which it works in
the world to come, are M Mifery, A An-
guifh, L Lamentation, and T Torment;
wherefore my first uſe ſhall be a word of
exhortation: M my Masters, A all of you,
L Leave, T Tipling; or eſle, by way of
communication, M my Masters, A all of
you, L Look for, T Torment.

So much ſhall now ſuſſice for this time
and text; only, by way of caution, take
this, that a Drunkard is the Annoyance of
Modesty, the Trouble of Civility, the
Spoil of Wealth, the Destruct ion of Rea-
fon, the Brewer's Agent, the Beggar's Com-
panion, the Constable's Trouble, his
Wife's Woe, his Children's Sorrow, his
Neighbour's Scoff, his own Shame, a
Walking Swill-tub, the Picture of a Beast,
and a Monster of a Man.

Say-well, and Do-well, end both with a letter;
Say-well is good, but Do-well is better.

Sold at FOWLER's Printing-Office, SALISBURY.

The Fair Maid of ISLINGTON.

THERE was a Lais of Ilington,
As I've heard many tell,
And she would to London go,
Fine apples and pears to fill;
And as along the streets the flung,
With her balketon her arm,
Her pears to fill, you may know it well,
This fair maid meant no harm.

But as she tript along the street,
Her pleasant fruit to fell,
A vintner did her meet,
Who liked this maid full well,

Says he, Fair maid, what have you there?
In basket decked brave,
Fine pears, quoth he, and it pleafe ye.
A taſſe fir, you ſhall na
The vintner took a taſſe,
And lik'd it well, for why,
The maid he thought of all the reſt
Moft pleasing to the eye.

Says he, Fair maid, I have a ſuit,
That you to me muſt grant,
Which if I find you be ſo kind,
There's nothing you ſhall want.

Thy beauty doth ſo please my eye,
And dazzles ſo my fight,
That now of all my liberty
I am bereaved quite.
Then prithee now confent to me,
And do not put me by,
It is but one ſmall courteſe,
All night with you to lie.

Sir, if you lie with me all night,
As you propoſe to me,
I do expect that you ſhould prove
Both contiguous, kind, and free.
And for tell you now in thort,
It will coſt you five pound.
A match, a match, the vintner ſaid,
And ſo let this go round.

When he had lain with her all night,
Her money ſhe did crave,
Oftay quoth he, the other night,
And the money thou ſhalt have,
I cannot ſlay, nor will not ſlay,
I needs muſt now be gone.
Why ſo thou may'ſt, thy money go look,
For money I'll pay thee none.

This maid ſhe made no more ado,
But to a Jſtice went,
And unto him ſhe made her moan,
Who did her caſe lament,
She ſaid he had her cellar let out
To a vintner in the town,
And that he did then agree
Five pounds to pay her down.

But now, quoth ſhe, the cafe is thus,
No rent that he will pay;
Therefore your worſhip I bečeech
To ſend for him ſtrait way,

Then ſtrait the Jſtice to him ſent,
And aſked the reaſon why,
That he would pay this maid no rent,
To which he did reply.

Altho' I hired a cellar of her,
And the poſſeffion was mine,
I never put any thing into it,
But one poor pipe of wine.
Therefore my bargain it was hard,
As you may plainly fee;
I from my freedom was debar'd,
Then, good fir, favour me.

This fair maid being ripe of wit,
She ſtrait reply'd again,
There were two butts more at the door,
Why did not you rowl them in ?
You had your freedom and your will,
As is to you well known,
Therefore I do define full
For to receive my own,

The Jſtice hearing of the cafe,
Did then give orders ſtrait,
That he the money should pay down,
She ſhould no longer wait.
Withal he told the vintner plain,
If he a tennant be,
He muſt expect to pay the fame.
And not to live rent free.

But when the money ſhe had got,
She put it in her purſe,
And clapt her hand on the cellar door,
Saying, 'Is never the wortc,
Whichaus'd the populaſt all to laugh
To fee this vintner fine,
Outwitted by a country girl,
About a pipe of wine,

THE
Fair MAID of the WEST;

Who fold her Maidenhead for a High-crown'd Hat.

I Pray attend unto this Jeſt,
A youthful Maiden in the Weſt,
She was gay and handſome too,
As I truth may tell to you,

And therefore now I pray attend,
Unto theſe lines which I have pen'd,
And if you do not ſay the fame,
I think you will be much to blame.

Upon a day it happened so,
That ſhe would to market go,
Taking her money great and small,
To buy a high-crown'd hat withal.

As soon as e'er ſhe did come there,
Unto a shop ſhe did repair;
Where ſoon a youthful batchelor,
Did fix his wanton eyes on her.

Kind Sir, ſaid ſhe, a hat I'd have,
And pray let me have what I crave,
One that is fine and light to wear;
He ſtrait did fit her to a hair.

What is the price? ſhe then reply'd,
Seven Shillings I have deny'd ;
I will fit you well he ſaid,
Becausc you are a hanſome Maid.

I'll let you have it for a crown,
If that you'll let me lay you down
Upon my ſoft and downy bed,
There to enjoy your Maidenhead.

She ſeem'd to blush and ſtand a while,
At length ſhe anſwered with a smile,
What Maidenhead and money too,
No, kind fir, that will not do.

He ſtrait did whifper in her ear,
I will beſtriend thee now my dear,
Let me enjoy my heart's delight,
And you ſhall have the Hat outright.

This maid ſhe did no longer ſtand,
But struck the bargain out of hand:
And having given the youth content,
She took her Hat and away ſhe went.

Now as ſhe paſt along the way,
She to herſelf theſe words did ſay,
With a fine Hat I now am ſped,
And all for a filly Maidenhead.

Then coming to her mother ſtrait,
This hopeful bargain to relate:
O Mother ! O mother ! as I'm true,
I have a Hat and Money too

Why Huffey, her Mother then reply'd,
How was the haberdather paid ?
He had my Maidenhead ſaid ſhe,
Which was a great plague unto me.

The good old wife ſlew in a rage,
And nothing could her wrath affluage,
Thruſtling her daughter out of doors,
And ſaid, ſhe'd never own her more.

If this fame Hat ſhe did not take,
And to the town again make haſte,
And give it him with whom ſhe had lain,
And bring her Maidenhead back again.

With ſights and tears ſhe did lament,
As to the market town ſhe went,
To tell the ſhopkeeper therefore,
He muſt her Mafdenhead reſtore.

For why, my mother won't agree,
That I ſhould part with it, ſaid ſhe.
Why then come in, I will freely part
With it to thee with all my heart.

As ſoon as ſhe did it receive,
Poor heart ſhe did no longer grieve,
But made a curſey to the ground,
Becausc ſhe had this kindneſs found.

Then home again this laſ did hie,
And told her mother prefently,
An honest man he ſeem'd to be,
For he reſtor'd it willingly.

Well daughter had it not been ſo,
It might have been your overſhow
But ſince he did it you reſtore,
See that you play the fool no more.

Printed and Sold in Aldermary Church-Yard, Bow Lane, London.

Fair Margaret's Misfortunes ;
OR,
Sweet William's Dream on his Wedding Night

With the sudden Death and Burial of those noble Lovers.

As it fell out upon a day,
Two lovers they fet on a hill;
They fet together a long summer's day,
And could not take their fill,

fee no harm by you Margaret,
And you fee none by me ;
Before to-morrow at eight o'clock
A rich wedding you shall see.

Fair Margaret fet in her bower window,
A combing of her hair;
And there the efp'd Sweet William and
bride,
As they were a riding ner.

Down the laid her ivory comb,
And up the bound her hair;
She went away forth from the bower,
But never more came there.

When day was gone, and night was come
And all men faft afeep,
There came the fpirit of fair Margaret,
And flood at William's bed-feet.

God give you Joy you true lover,
In bride-bed faft afeep;
Lo! I am going to my green - grafs
Grove,
And I am in my winding-sheet,

When day was come, and night was gone
And all men wak'd from sleep;
Sweet William to his Lady faid,
My dear I've caufe to weep.

I dream'd a dream, my dear lady,
Such dreams are never good;
I dream'd thy bower was full of red twine
And my bride-bed full of blood.

Such dreams, fuch dreams my honour
ed Sir,
They never do prove good;
To dream thy bower was full of twine,
And thy bride-bed full of blood,

He called his merry men all,
By one, by two, and by three;
Saying, I'll away to Fair Margaret's
Bower,
By the leave of my Lady,

And when he came to Fair Margaret's
Bower,
He knocked at the ring;
So ready were her Seven Brethren
To let Sweet William in.

The he turn'd up the covering sheet,
Pray let me fee the dead,
Methinks he looks both pale and van,
She has loft her cherry red.

I'll do no more for thee Margaret,
Than any of thy kin;
For I will kifs thy pale van lips,
Tho' a smile I cannot win.

With that befpoke the feven brethren,
Making moft piteous moan,

You may go kifs your jolly brown dame,
And let our fitter alone.

If I do kifs my jolly brown dame,
I do but what is right;
For I made no vow to your fitter dear,
By day nor yet by night.

Pray tell me then how much you'll
deal,
Of white bread and your wine?
So much as is dealt at her Funeral To-
day,
To morrow shall be dealt at mine.

Fair Margaret dy'd To-day, To-day,
Sweet William he dy'd the morrow;
Fair Margaret dy'd for pure true-love,
Sweet William he dy'd for forrow.

Margaret was bury'd in the Lower
Chancel,
And William in the higher;
Out of her breast there sprang a Rose,
And out of his a briar.

They grew as high as the church top,
'Till they could grow no higher;
And there they grew in a True Lover's
Knot,
That made all people admire.

Then came the clerk of the parish,
As you this truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.

Printed and Sold in Aldermery Church
Yard, Bow-Lane, London.

38

Faithful FRIENDSHIP:
OR,
ALPHONSO and GANSELO.
To the Tune of, Flying Fame.

Note, As the Use of these Old Songs is very great, in respect that many Children never would have learned to Read, had they not took a Delight in poring over Fair Roflanond, RobinHod, &c, which has infinitely raised them into a Curiosity and Desire of Reading other the like Stories, till they have improved themselves more in a short time than perhaps they would have done some Years at 2000. In order fit to make them more useful, I promise to affix an Introduction, in which I shall point out what is full and what is Fitt in each Song; which will (as may be readily supposed) give rise not only Children, but Perfons of more Years, an Inglisht into the Reality, Intent and Delight, as well as many times the Author and Time when such Song was made, which has not bitherto been explained.

Whether the following Song is owing to the Invention of the Poet, or whether it is grounded upon Hiftory, I cannot say; if on the latter, I must confess my Ignorance of great, that I never was able to trace it out. I remember indeed an old Novel written on the fame Subject, but that Novel I take to be borrowed from the Ballad, not the Ballad from the Novel, our Song being much the more ancient, than by comparing their Stiles, to which are unacquainted with the Purity of the Language, generally used by these old Song Enditors would be apt to conclude the contrary.

IN flatly Rome sometime did dwell
A Man of noble Fame,
Who had a Son of feemly Shape,
Alphonsò was his Name:
When he was grown and come to Age,
His Father thought it beft,
To fend his Son to Athens fair,
Where Wifdom's School did reft.

And when he was to Athens come,
Good Lectures for to learn,
A Place to board him with Delight,
His Friends did well differ;
A noble Knight of Athens Town,
Of him did take the Charge,
Who had a Son Ganfelo call'd,
Aft of his Pitch and Age;

In Stature and in Perfon both,
In Favour, Speech and Face,
In Quality and Conditions,
They greed in every Place:
So like they were in all Refpects,
The one unto the other, (Names,
They were not known, but by their
Of Father or of Mother.

And as in Favour they were found
Alike in all Refpects.
Ev'n fo they did moft dearly love,
As proved by good Effects:
Ganfelo lov'd a Lady fair,
Which did in Athens dwell,
Who was in Beauty Peerlefs found,
So far he did excel.

Upon a Time it chanc'd so,
As Fancy did him move,
That he would yift, for Delight,
His Lady and his Love;
And to his true and faithful Friend
He did declare the fame,
Asking of him, if he would fee
That fair and comely Dame.

Alphonsò did thereto,
And with Ganfelo went
To fee the Lady which he lov'd,
Which bred his Difcontent :
But when he caſt his cryſal Eyes
Upon her Angel Hue,
The Beauty of that Lady bright,
Did ſtraight his Heart subdue.

His gentle Heart fo wounded was,
With that fair Lady's Face,
That afterwards he daily liv'd
In ſad and woſul care;
And of his Grief he knew not how
Therefore to make an End,
For that he knew the Lady's Love
Was yielded to his Friend.

Thus being fore perplex'd in Mind,
Upon his Bed he lay
Like one whom Death and deep Delpair,
Had almost worn away.
His Friend Ganfelo that did fee
His Grief and great Diftrefes,
At length requeſled for to know
His Caufe of Heavineſs.

With much ado, at length he told
The Truth unto his Friend;
Who did relieve his inward Woe,
With Comfort to the End:
Take Courage then, dear Friend, quoth he,
Though he through Love be mine;
My Right I will reſign to thee,
The Lady shall be thine.

You know our Favours are alike,
Our Speech alio likewise;
This Day in mine Apparel
You ſiall yourſelf digniſe,
And unto Church then ſhall you go
Directly in my ſlade;
Lo, though my Friends ſuppofe 'tis I,
You ſhall the Lady wed.

Alphonsò was ſo well appaide,
And as they had decreed,
He went that Day and wedded plain
The Lady there indeed :

But when the Nuptial-Feast was done,
And Phaebus quite was fled,
The Lady for Ganfelo took
Alphonsò to her Bed.

That Night they ſpent in plesant Sport,
And when the Day was come,
A Poſt for fair Alphonsò came,
To fetch him home to Rome.
Then was the Matter plainly prov'd,
Alphonsò wedded was,
And not Ganfelo, to that Dame :
Which brought great Woe, alas,

Alphonsò being gone to Rome,
With this his Lady, gay,
Ganfelo's Friends and Kindred all,
In ſuch a Rage did flay,

That they depriv'd him of his Wealth,
His Land and rich Attire,
And banifh'd him their Country quite,
In Rage and wrathful Ire.

With ſid and peneſive Thoughts, alas!
Ganfelo wandred then;
Who was conſtrain'd, thro' want, to beg
Relief of many Men.

In this Diftrefes oft would he ſay,
To Rome I mean to go,
To feek Alphonsò, my dear Friend,
Who will knife my Woe.

To Rome when poor Ganfelo came,
And found Alphonsò's Place,
Which was ſo famous, huge and fair,
Himſelf in that poor Cafe,
He was aſham'd to thew himſelf,
In that his poor Array,
Saying, Alphonsò knows me well,
If he would come this way.

Therefore he ſlaid within the Street;
Alphonsò then came by,

But heeded not Ganfelo poor,
His Friend that flood fo nigh :
Which griev'd Ganfelo to the Heart,
Quoth he, And is it to?

Doth proud Alphonsò now diſdain
His Friend indeed to know?

In deſperate fort away he went,
Into a Barn hard by,
And preſently he drew his Knife,
Thinking thereby to die :
And betterly in Sorrow there,
He did lament and weep,

And being over-weigh'd with Grief,
He there fell faſt aſleep.

While foundly there he ſweetly ſlept,
Came in a murthering Thief,
And This his ask'd Enſite he by
A Man to ſell of Grief.
The Knife fo bright he took up ſtraut,
And went away amain,
And thraut ir in a murthered Man,
Which he before had ſlain,

And afterwards he went with ſpeed,
And put his bloody Knife
Into his Hand that ſleeping lay,
To fave himſelf from ſtrife :
Which done in highte he ran,
And when that Search was made,
Ganfelo with his bloody Knife,
Was for the Murtherer ran.

And brought before the Magiſtrate,
Who did confes moſt plain,
That he indeed with that fame Knife,
The murther'd Man had ſlain.

Alphonsò fitting there a Jugeſe,
And knowing Ganfelo's Faſes,

To fave his Friend, did ſay himſelf
Was guilty in that cafe.

None, quoth Alphonsò, kill'd the Man,
My Lord, but only I;

And therefore let this poor Man free,
And let me juſtly die:

Thus while for Death theſe faithful Friends
In ſtriving did proceed,

The Man before the Senate came,
Who did the Faſt indeed.

Who being moved with Remorſe,
Their friendly Hearts to ſee,

Did ſay before the Jugeſes plain,
None did the Faſt but he.

Thus when the Truth was plainly told,
Of All ſides Joy was ſeen;

Alphonsò did embrace his Friend,
Which had ſo woſeul been.

In rich Array he cloath'd him
As fitted his Degree,
And help'd him to his Lands again,
And former Dignity.

The Murtherer for telling Truth,
Had Pardon at that Time,
Who afterwards lamented much
His foul and grievous Crime.

THE
Famous Flower of Serving-Men;
Or, The Lady turned Serving Man.

Y
beauteous ladies great and small,
write unto you one and all;
Whereby that you may understand,
What I have suffered in this land,

I was by birth a lady fair,
My father's chief and only heir;
But when my good old father dy'd,
Then I was made a young knight's bride.

And then my love built me a bower,
Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower,
A braver bower you ne'er did see,
Than what my love did build for me.

But their came thieves late in the night,
Who robbed the bower and flew my knight
And after that my knight was flain,
I could no longer there remain.

My servants all did from me fly,
In the midst of my extremity,
And left me by myself alone,
With a heart more cold than any stone

Yet tho' my heart was full of care,
caven would not suffer me to defair
When in hafe I chang'd my name,
From fair Eliza to Sweet William.

And hereupon I curl'd my hair,
And drest myself in man's attire;
My doublet, hofe, and beaver hat,
And a golden band about my neck.

With a silver rapier by my fide,
Much like a gallant I did ride;
The thing that I delighted in,
It was to be a Serving Man.

Thus cloath'd in fumptuous man's array,
I nobly rid along the highway,
And at laft it chanced so,
That I to the King's court did go.

Then I, the King bow'd moft low,
My love and duty for to show;
And so much favor I did crave,
That I a Serving man's place might have;

Stand up brave youth, the king reply'd,
Thy service shall not be deny'd,
But tell me first what thou canst do?
You shall be fitted thereunto.

Wilt thou be ufer of my hall,
To wait upon my nobles all,
Or wilt be tapfter of my wine,
To wait on me when I do dine?

Or wilt thou be my chamberlain,
To make my bed so soft and fine;
Or wilt thou be oneof my guard,
And I'll give thee a great reward.

Sweet William with smiling face,
Said to the king, May it pleafe your Grace,
To flew such favor unto me,
Your chamberlain I fain would be.

The king did then his nobles call,
For to aft council of them all,
Who gave confent Sweet William he,
The king's own chamberlain should be.

Now mark what ftrange things came to pafs,
As the king one day a hunting was,
With his lords and noble train,
Sweet William did at home remain.

Sweet William had no eompany then,
With him at home but an old man,
And whene found the houfe was clear,
He took a flute that he had near.

Unto the flute Sweet William play'd,
And to the fame he fung and laid,
With a sweet melodious voice,
Which made the old man to rejoice.

My father was as brave a Lord,
As ever England did afford,
My mother was a Lady bright,
My husband was a valiant Knight.

And I myself a Lady gay,
Bedeck'd in glorious rich array,

The bravest Lady in the Land,
Had no more pleasure at command

I had my mufick every day,
Harmonious leſons for to play
I had my virgins fair and free,
Continually to wait on me.

But now, alas! my husband's dead,
And all my friends are from me fled,
My former joys are paſt and gone,
For now I am a Serving Man.

At laft the King from hunting
And prefently upon the fame,
He called for his good old man,
And thus to ſpeak the king began

What news, what news, old man, faid he ?
What news haſt thou to tell to me ?
Brave news, the old man he did lay,
Sweet William is a Lady gay.

If this be true thou telleſt me,
I'll make thee a Lord of high degree;
But if thy words do prove a lie,
Thou fhalt be hang'd up prefently.

But when the King the truth he found,
His Joys did more and more abound :
According as the old man did lay,
Sweet William was a Lady gay.

Therefore the King without delay,
Put on her gallant rich array,
And on her head a crown of gold,
Which was moſt famous to behold.

And for fear of farther ſtrife,
They took Sweet William for his wife;
The like before was never seen,
A Serving Man to become a Queen.

[Sold at No. 42, Long Lane.]

The FARMER'S Courtship;
OR, THE
Mitcham WIDOW.

AT Mitcham Town did dwell
A brisk young Widow;
For Toppings and Nightrails
None could exceed her.
She was proper, trait and tall,
And a comely Dame withal,
She had fingers long and small,
She was a brisk young Widow.

Courted she was by one,
A jolly Farmer;
He came in Armour bold,
Thinking to gain her.
Dear Madam, now with you
The World I will go thro',
If that you will prove true,
And Love a Farmer.

Kind Sir, I ne'er could yield
To your poſſeflion;
For when my Money's gone,
I doſe the Fashion:
The World will on me frown,
My Toppings muſt come down
To a Linſey-Wolſey Gown
For all your Anger.

My deareſt, until Death,
I will prove Loyal,
You ſhall go in Silks,
Without Denial:
If I your Perſon have,
I will maintain you brave,
A Horſe and Man you'll have
To wait upon you.

Why thus you do pretend,
I much admire,
For to Maintain me in
My rich Attire?
'Tis not your Lambs nor Ewes,
Will buy me Furbellows,
Lac'd Shoes and Scarlet Hoft,
Top-Knots and Bridles.

Madam, why do you Boaſt,
In all, your Glory?
In Time you may Repent,
And change your story:
For 'tis the ſe raving Beaus,
That wear the Tally-Cloaths
Will pawn your Furbelows,
To ſtop the Bailiffs.

Why do you ſtand to Prate ?
Pray take your Anſwer;
Go Home unto your Plough,
Pull off your Hanger :
And turn it to a Bill,
Some Bramble for to kill;
Go Whiffle thro' the Field,
Like a Jolly Farmer.

Next Morning trim and gay,
An Apothecary
Came in his Booby-Hutch,
Thinking to gain her :
At which the Farmer ſwore,
The Devil is in her ſure,
Therefore I'll go no more
To Court a Widow.

Printed and Sold in Aldermare Church-Yard, Bow-Lane, London.

A Lamentable BALLAD of the Tragical End of
A Gallant LORD and Virtuous LADY
Together with the Untimely Death of their two Children.

If Rome a citizen, then we
A begin of great fame,
Aster creature never did
Dame nature ever frame;
By whom he had two children fair,
Whole beauty did excel.
They were their parents only joy,
They loved them both to well.
The lord he lov'd to hunt the buck,
The tiger, and the boar,
And fill, for twitnes, always took
With him a blackamoor.
Which blackamoor within the wood
His lord he did offend,
For which he did him then correct,
In hopes he would amend.
The day it grew unto an end,
The day it homewards he did hale,
Where with his lady he did ret,
Until the night was pail.
Then in the morning he did rife,
And did his ferungs call,
A hunting he provides to go,
And they were reach all.
To cease his toll, the lady did

Intrest him not to go.
Alas! good lady, then quoth he,
Why art thou griev'd io?
Content thyself, I will return
With speed to thee again.
Good father, quoth the little baboo,
With us here fill remain.
Farewell, dear children, I will go,
A fine thing tor to buy;
But they therewith nothing content
Aloud began to cry.
The mother takes them by the hand
Saying, Come, go with me
Unto the highest tower, where
Your father you shall see.
The blackamoor perceiving now,
Who then did stay behind,
His lord to be a hunting gone,
Began to call to mind,
My matter he did me correct,
My fault not being great;
Now of this wife I'll be reveng'd,
She shall not me resent.
The place was moared round about,
The bridge he up did draw,

The gates he posted very tall,
Of none he stood in awe.
He up into the tower went,
The lady being there,
Who, when he saw his countenancē grim,
She flait began to fear.
But now my trembling heart it quakes,
To think what I must write,
My tenes às begin to fail,
My teul it doth affright;
Yet muil I make an end of this,
Which here I have begun,
Which will make fad the hardest heart,
Before hat I have done.
This wench unto the lady went,
And her with speed did will,
His butt forthwith to faitish,
His revenge to fuffil,
The lady the amazed was,
To hear the villain speak.
Alas! quoth he, what shall I do,
With grief my heart will break.
With that he took her in his arms,
She draft for help did cry:
Content yourself, lady, he faiſ,

Yow husband is not right:
The bridge is drawn, the gates a re flut,
Theefore come lie with me,
Or else I do pretse and wou
Thy bucher I will be,
The cryet tears run down her face,
Her children cry'd amain,
And thought to help their mother dear,
But all it was in vain.
For that egregious filthy rogues,
Her hands behind her hound,
And then by force with all his might
He threw her on the ground.
With that the thriekes, her children cry'd,
And fach a noile did make,
The towne-folks hearing her lament,
Dau keek their parties so take.
But all in vain, no way was found
To help this lady's need,
Who cry'd to them moft piecously,
O help, O help, with lpeed.
Some run into the forest wide,
Her lord home for so call,
And they that flood did lament
The gallant lady's fall.
With speed her lord came polling home,
He could not enter in.
His lady's cries did piece his heart,
To call he did begin,
O hold thy hand, thouavage Moor,
To hurt he shall be forbit.
Or else before if I do live,
Wild horces shall fall their tear.
With that the rogue ran to the wall,
He having had his will,
And brought one child unto the wall,
His desire blood to spill.
The child ceing his father there,
To him for help did call;
O father, help my mother dear.
We shall be killed all...
Then fell the lord upon his knees,
And did the Moor intrust,
To fave the life of his poor child,
Whole fear was then so great.
But this -le wrench, the little child
By both the heels did take,
And daft'd his brains against the wall,
While parents hearts did ale;
That being, alone away he run,
The other child to fetch,
And pluck'd it from the mother's breast,
Moft like a cruel wrench.
Within one hand a knife he brought,
The child within the other,
And holding it over the wall,
Saying, Thus die shall thy mother,
With sin thesau the throat o'm,
F. Then to the father he did call,
To look how he the feme did cut,
Then down the head did fall.
This done, he threw it down the well,
Into the mome to deep,
Which made tee father wling his hands,
And grievecuolly to weep.
Then to the lady weat this rogue,
Who was near dead with fear.
Yet this vile wrench moft crucial
Did drag her by the hair,
And drew her to the very wall,
Which when her lord did fee,
Then prefently he cried out,
And fell upon his knee.
Quoth he, if they will fave her life,
Whom I do love to dear.
I will forgive thee all is pail,
Though they concern me near.
O fave her life I thee beleech,
O fave her, I then pray.
And I will grant thee what thou wil,
Demand of me this day.
Well, quoth the Moor, I do regard
The moan that thou doft make
H thou will grant me what I ask,
I'll fave her for thy fake.
O fave her life, and then demand
Of me what thing thou wil,
Cut of thy noyle, and not one drop
Of her blood shall be forbit.
With that the lord prefently took
A knife within his hand,
And then his nofe he quite cur off,
In place where he did stand.
Now I have bought me lady's life,
Then to the Moor did call
Then take him, quoth this wicked rogue
And down he let her fall.
Which when her gallant lord did fee,
His tenes all did fail:
Yet mone thought to fave his life,
Yet nothing could prevail.
When as the Moor did fee him dead,
Then did he laugh amin
At them who for this gallant lord
And lady did complain.
Oqoth he, I know you'll torture me
I that you can me get,
But all your threats I do not fear
Nor yet regard one whir.
Wild horces will my body tear,
I know it to be true
But I'll prevent you of that palm,
And down himself he neve
Too good a death far such a wrench
A villain void of fear.
And thus doth end as I did a tale
As ever man did hear.

["CHEAP REPOSITORY.", "THE\nHORSE\nRACE;", "OR, THE\nPLEASURES\nOf the Courfe.", "THE Horfe run, the Chaifes fly,\nWhat noife in every place!\nPray come, my friend, and let us fee,\nThe pleafures of a Race.\nWhat numbers now are trudging on!\nObferve how quick their pace!\nOn foot, on Horfe, in Chaife and Coach,\nAll haftening to the Race.\nRemark how many Huts and Booths,\nIn every part we trace;\nFor felling brandy, beer and gin,\nTo thofe who fee the Race.\nWhat numbers fpend their money here,\nAnd health and foul unbrace;\nAnd rob their families of bread,\nTo fpend it at the Race.\nThat Gentleman, fo richly drefs'd,\nWhofe well fed horfe now neighs;\nHis fortune fpend to train and fit,\nHis nags to win the Race.\nThofe Farmers Wives and Daughters gay,\nWho canter, trot and pace;\nHave rais'd their butter, eggs and cheeſe,\nTo drefs, and fee the Race.\nThat poor old Wretch, who sprawling lies,\nAnd makes fuch odd grimace;\nShe in a Barrow carries fruit,\nTo revel, fair, and Race.\nBut by ill luck, a one horfe Chair,\nWhich went a fwinging pace;\nThis poor old Woman overtook,\nAs she went to the Race.\nThe Driver faw ſhe tried in vain,\nHer Barrow to replace;\nSo her and Barrow overſet,\nAnd preſs'd towards the Race.\nNow Apples, Nuts, and Pears lay ſtrew'd,\nA feramble then took place,\nBetween the idle girls and boys,\nWho came to fee the Race.\nThat boy, who runs along fo faſt,\nHis Maſter diſobeys;\nAll work and duty-quite forgot,\nSo he can fee the Race.\nThat Mother who ſhou'd be at home,\nHer idle turn betrays;\nWith two young infants in her Arms,\nShe goes to fee the Race.", "The people now to yonder flands,\nAll flock to get a place;\nAnd all impatient are to fee,\nThis long-expected Race.\nThe horſe ſtart, the ſport begins,\nAnd all with rapture gaze;\nThe jockeys in their party drefs,\nWith joy begin the Race.\nEach panting horſe with labour ſtrives,\nThe others to outpace;\nThe knowing-ones begin to bett,\nAnd wager on the Race.\nBut how it rains! how black the clouds!\nThe heavens flower down apace;\nAll run and ſcamper, wet to ſkin,\nWho came to fee the Race. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

JOHN's Earneft REQUEST,
OR,
BETTY's compassionate Love extended to him
in Time of Diftrefs.

Late in the night when all was faſt,
John came in both cold and wet;

And after some few words were paſt,
Betty him into her quarters let.

Come, open the door, fweet Betty,
For 'tis a cold winter's night,
To rains, and it blows, and it thunders,
And the moon it doth give no light,
It is all for the fake of fweet Betty.
That ever I loft my way,
Sweet let me lie befide thee,
Until it is break of day.

I dare not come down, fweet Johnny,
Nor I dare not let you in,
For fear of my father's anger,
And the reſt of my other kin,
For my father he is awake,
And my mother the will us hear,
Therefore be gone, fweet Johnny,
My joy and only dear.

If that thou doſt love me, ſhow it,
And do not in anger frown, |
Thy parents they need not know it,
If thou wíſt ſoftly come down?
Then prithee, now don't deny me,
But come at thy lover's call,
For what, tho' I ſhould lie by thee,
I'll do thee no haran at all.

Alas! I am loth to venture,
For if that they ſhould awake.
As soon as the doors you ente,
A racket I'm ſure they'll make.
You know that old folks are forward,
And jealous of handſome men,
And ſhould I be overpower'd,
In what caſe are we then?

I'll ſhelter my dear from danger,
Should any outrage begin;
Then know'ſt that I am no ſtranger,
Then prithee now let me in:
Long time in the cold have I tarry'd,
O pity thy true love John,
To-morrow we will be marry'd,
As I am an honest man.

This is a moſt pleafant ſtory.
Which almost my heart has won;
But if you ſhouſn blaſt my glory,
And leave me when all is done.

My father would ſureſt ehide me,
My mother would ſcold and brawl,
And all the young maids deride me,
And this will be worſt of all.

Thy Johnny will ne'er deceive thee,
But love thee as dear as hts life,
Nor will I one hour leave the,
Until thou art made my wife,
Let me not stand any longer,
For now my dear Betty behold,
The ſtorm grows ſtronger and ſtronger,
And I am both wet and cold.

It was about the midnight hour,
When Johnny did thus complain,
Poor heart, she had not the power,
To let him stand in the rain :
Without any longer dodging.
She open'd the door with ſpeed,
And let him into her lodging,
Poor man, he had ne'er more need.

It being cold winter weather,
They ſtraight did hurry to bed,
And there they cuddl'd together,
And John got her maidenhead.
She was of a courteous carriage,
By which Young Johnny was won,
Next day they were joined in marriage,
And was not this honestly done.

The last Good Night of the Valiant

JOHNNY ARMSTRONG:

SHEWING,

How Johnny Armstrong, and his Eight-score Men fought a
defperate and bloody Battle with the Scottish King at
Edinburgh City: And how he and all his Valiant Men
were flain.

To an Excellent North Country Tune.

Is there never a Man in all Scotland,
From the highest rank to the lowest degree,
That can show himself before the King,
Scotland's so full of treachery?

Yes there's a man in Westmorland,
And Johnny Armstrong they do him call;
He hath no lands nor rents at all,
Yet he keeps eight-score men within his hall.

He has horse and harness for them all,
And goodly deeds that he milk white;
With golden belts about their necks,
And hats and feathers all alike.

The King he writes a loving letter,
And with his own hand so tenderly;
And hath lent it unto John Armstrong,
To come and speak with him speedily.

When Johnny look'd the letter upon,
Good Lord he look'd as byly as a bird on a tree;
I was never before a King in my life,
My Grandfather, Father, nor none of us three.

But feeing we must go before The King,
Lord! we will go molt gallantly,
Ye shall every one have a velvet coat,
Laid down with gold laces three.

And you shall ev'ry one have a scarlet cloak,
Laid down with silver laces five:
With golden belts about your necks,
Your hats and feathers all alike.

But when Johnny went from Guiltnock-Hall,
The wind blew hard, and full fare it did rain;
Now fare thou well thou Guiltnock-hall,
I fear I shall ne'er fee thee again.

Now Johnny is to Edinburgh gone,
With his eight-score Men so gallantly:
And every one on a milk-white head,
With fword and buckler by his knee.

But when John came the King before,
With his eight-score men so gallantly to fee:
The King moved his bonnet to him,
And thought him a King as well as he.

O pardon! O pardon! my Sov'reign Liege,
O pardon my eight-score men and me,
For my name it is Johnny Armstrong:
A Subject of yours, my Liege, said he.

Away with thee thou false traitor,
No Pardon I will grant thee:
But to-morrow morning by eight o'clock,
I'll hang up thy eight-score men and thee;

Then John look'd over his left shoulder,
And to his merry men thus said he:
I have atked Grace of a gracelefs face,
No pardon there is for you and me.

Then John pull'd out his nut brown fword,
Which was made of metal so free:
Had not the King mov'd his foot as he did,
John had taken his head from his body.

Come follow me my merry men all,
We will follow one foot for to fly:
It than't be faid we were hanged like dogs,
We will fight it out molt manfully.

Then they fought on like champions bold,
Their hearts were flurdy flout and free,
Till they killed the King's life-guard,
There were none left but two or three:

But then arofe up all Edinburgh city,
And they arofe up by thowands three:
A cowardly Scot came Johnny behind,
And run him through the fair body.

Said John, fight on my merry men all,
I'm a little wounded but am not flain;
I will lay me down to bleed a while,
And rife to fight with you again.

Then they fought on like madmen all,
Till many a man lay dead on the plain:
They were refole'd before they would yield,
That ev'ry man should there be flain

So they fought on molt courageously,
Till molt of them lay dead and flain:
But little Muſgrove, who was his foot-page,
With bonny Grizel got away unta'en.

And when he came unto Guiltnock-hall,
The Lady eſpy'd him prefently:
What news what news thou bonny foot-page,
What news from thy matter and his company

My news is bad, fair Lady, he faid,
Which I do bring, as you may fee,
My matter Johnny Armstrong he is flain,
And all his brave gallant company.

Thon art welcome home my bonny Grizel,
Full oft thou'st been with corn and hay:
But now thou'll be fed with bread and wine,
Thy fides shall be ſpur'd no more, I say.

O then ſpoke out his little pretty fon,
As he fat on his nurse's knee;
If ever I shall live to be a man,
My Father's death shall revenged be.

The KING and the FORESTER.

YOU subjects of England, come listen a while;
Here is a new ditty will make you to smile.
It is of a king and a keeper alio,
Who met in a forest fome winters ago.

O early, O early, all in the morning,
King William rofe early all in the morning,
And a gown of grey ruffet King William put on,
As the he had been fome filly poor man,

The hounds were ready prepar'd for Game,
No nobles attended of honour and fame :
But like a mean fubject, in homely array,
He to his own foreft was taking his way.

Oh, then befpoke Mary, our moft royal queen,
My gracious lord, pray where are you going?
He anfwered, I count him to be no wile man,
That will his counſel tell unto a woman.

The queen, with a modeſt behaviour reply'd,
I wifh that kind providence may be your guide,
To keep you from danger, my lovereign lord,
The which will the greatest of bleſſings afford.

He went to the foreſt fome pleasure to ſpy,
Where the hounds run ſwift; the keeper drew nigh,
How dare you, bold fellow, how dare you come here,
Without the King's leave, to chace his fair deer.

Here are my three hounds, I will give them to you,
And likewife my hawks, as good as e'er flew :
Befides I will give you full forty ſhillings,
If thou wilt not betray me to William our king.

I am one of his ſubjects, I am one of his force,
And I am come hither to run a courſe.
Get you gone, you bold fellow, you run no courſe
Without the leave of King William forbear.

All that I have proffer'd, I pr'ythee now take,
And do thy endeavour my peace to make,
Befides forty ſhillings I will give thee a ring,
If thou wilt not betray me to William our King.

Your three hounds, I tell you, I never will take,
Nor yet your three hawks, your peace to make;
Nor will I be brib'd by your forty ſhillings,
But I will betray you to William our King.

As I am a keeper, I will not be unjust,
Nor for a gold ring will I forfeit my truſt;
I will bring you before him as fure as a gun,
And there you ſhall anſwer for what you have done,

Thou art a bold fellow the King he reply'd,
What doſt thou not fee the ſtar on my ſide?
This foreſt is mine, I would have you to know,
Then what is the season you threaten me ſo?

With then the bold keeper he ſell on his knees,
A trembling fear all his ſpirits did ſeize;
The picture of death appear'd en his ſace;
He knew not at first that the King was in place.

O pardon, O pardon, my ſovering liege,
For your royal pardon I beg and beſeech:
Alas ! my poor heart in my breast is cold;
O let me not ſuffer for being so bold.

Get up honest fellow, and ſhake off thy fears ;
In the there is nothing of folly appears :
If every one was as faithful as thee,
What a bleſſed prince would king William be !

Because I'd encourage ſuch ſelues as you,
I'll make the my ranger : If that will not do,
Thou ſhalt be a captain by ſea or by land,
And high in my favour thou ever ſhalt stand.

The keeper reply'd, my ſovereing lord,
Sure I am not worthy of ſuch a reward;
Yet nevertheless your true keeper I'll be,
Because I am ſeafull to venture to ſea.

At which the King laugh'd till his ſides he did hold,
And threw him down fifty bright guineas in gold,
And bid him make haſte to Kenſhigon Cour',
Where of this jeſt he would make much ſport.

And when you come there, pray ask for long Jack,
Who wears pomegranates of gold on his back;
Likewise a green pheafant upon his right ſleeve,
I warrant he's a true man, you may him believe.

He's one of my porters who stands my gate,
To let in my nobles both early and late,
And therefore good fellow, come up without fear,
I'll make the my ranger of parks far and near.

S1624-17

King Charles the Second's Restoration,

Tune, Where have you been my lovely Sailor bold.

YOU brave loyal Churchmen,
That ever flood by the crown
Have you forgot that noble Prince,
Great Charles of high renown,
That from his rights was banifh'd,
By P------ns who,
Moft cruelly his father kill'd,
O curfed damned crew,
So let the Bells in Steeple's ring,
And mufick fweetly play.
That loyal tories may n't forget,
The twenty ninth of May.

Twelve years was he banifh'd,
From what was his juſt due,
And forc'd to hide in fields and woods,
From P------n crew
But God did preferve him,
As plainly you do fee, (Oak,
The blood hounds did furround the
White he was in the tree,
So let the Bells in Steeple's ring,
And Mufick fweetly play,
That loyal tories may not forget,
The twenty ninth of may.

As providence would have it.
The hounds did loofe their ſcent,
To ſpill the blood of this brave Prince,
It was their whole intent,
While that he was in exile,
The church they pulled down,
The common prayer they burnt ſir,
And trampled on the crown,
So let, &c.

They plunder'd at their pleafure,
On lords eſtates they ſiez'd
The bifhops they did ſend away,
They did juſt as they pleas'd :
But General Monk at laſt roſe up,
With valiant hearts ſo bold,
Saying, that he no longer,
By them would be controul'd,
So let, &c.

So in great ſplendour,
At laſt he did bring in,
Unto every Tories joy,
Great Charles our ſovereign ;
Then loyal hearts ſo merry,
The royal oak did wear,
While balconies with tapeſtry hung,
Nothing but joy was there,
So let, &c.

The conduits they with wine did run,
The bonfires did blaze,
every street likewife the ſkies,
Did ring with loud huzza.

Saying God bleſs our Sovereign,
And ſend him long to reign,
Hoping the P------n crew,
May never rule again.
So let, &c.

Soon as great Charles,
Our royal king was crown'd,
He built the church up again,
The meetings were pull'd down.
No canting then was in the land,
The ſubjects were at peace,
The church again did flourifh,
And joy did then increafe.
So let, &c.

The curfed P--------n crew,
Was then put to the flight,
Some did fly by day,
And others run by night,
In barns and ſtables they did haunt
And every place they could,
He made them remember,
The ſpilling royal blood.
So let, &c.

May God for ever,
Bleſs the church and crown,
And never let any ſubject ſtive
The king for to dethrone,
May churchmen ever flourifh,
And peace increafe again,
God for ever bleſs the King,
And ſend him long to reign,
So let, &c.

King Henry V. his Conquest of France,
In Revenge for the Affront offered by the French King;
In fending Him (instead of the Tribute) a Ton
of TENNIS-BALLS.

A
S our King lay mufing on his bed,
He bethought himfelf upon a time,
Of a tribute that was due from France,
Had not been paid for fo long a time.
Fal, lal, &c.

He called for his lovely page,
His lovely page then called he;

Saying, You muſt go to the King of France,
To the King of France, fir, ride ſpeedily.

O then went away this lovely page,
This lovely page then away went he;

Low he came to the King of France,
And when ſell down on his bended knee.

My maſter greets you, worthy fir,
Ten ton of Gold that is due to he,
That you will ſend him his tribute home,
Or in French land you ſoon will him fee.
Fal, lal, &c.

Your maſter's young and of tender years,
Not fit to come into my degree :

And I will ſend him three Tennis-Balls,
That with them he may learn to play.

O then returned this lovely page,
This lovely page then returned he,
And when he came to our gracious King,
Low he ſell down on his bended knee.

What news? what news? my truſty page,
What is the news you have brought to me
I have brought ſuch news from the King of
France,
That he and you will ne'er agree.

He fays, You're young and of tender years,
Not fit to come into his degree;

And he will ſend you three Tennis-Balls,
That with them you may learn to play.

Recruit me Cheſhire and Lancaſhire,
And Derby Hills that are ſo free :

No marry'd man or widow's ſon,
For no widow's curſe ſhall go with me.

They reeruited Cheſhire and Lancaſhire,
And Derby Hills that are ſo free :

No marry'd man, nor no widow's ſon,
Yet there was a jovial bold company.

O then we march'd into the French land,
With drums and trumpets ſo merrily ;

And then beſpoke the King of France,
Lo yonder comes proud King Henry.

The firſt ſhot that the Frenchmen gave,
They kill'd our Englifhmen ſo free.

We kill'd ten thouſand of the French,
And the reſt of them they run away.

And then we march'd to Paris gates,
With drum and trumpets ſo merrily,

O then beſpoke the King of France,
The Lord have mercy on my men and me

O I will ſend him his tribute home.

And the fineſt flower that is in all France,
To the Rode of England I will give free.

Printed and Sold in Aldermary Church Yard,
Bow Lane, London

King JOHN and the Abbot of Canterbury.

I
Will tell you a story, a story anon,
Or a noble prince whose name was king
John:

For he was a prince, and a prince of great
might,

He held up great wrongs, and put dowa great
right.

Derry down, down, down, derry down.

I will tell you a story, a story so merry,
Concerning the Abbot of Canterbury ;

Which made him repair to that London town
The king having heard of his fame and re-
nown.

Derry down, &c.

How now brother Abbot, it is told to me,
That thou keept it a far better house than I,
And for thy house-keeping and high renown
I fear thou haft treason against my crown.

Derry down, &c.

I hope my liege you owe me no grudge,
For (pending my own true geten goods,
If thou doft not anwer me queftions three,
Thy head fhall be taken from thy body.

Derry down, &c.

When I am fer upon my flood,
With my crown of gold upon my head ;
Among all my nobility with joy and mirth,
Then fill me to one penny what I am worth.

Derry down, &c.

At the next question you must not flout,
How long shall I be riding the world about ?
At the third question you must not shrink
But tell me truly what I do think.

Derry down, &c.

And as the shepherd was going to his fold,
He 'fpy'd the old Abbot come, riding along,

How now fomer Abbot, if you are welcome
home,

What news have you brought from good king
John?

Derry down, &c.

Sad news, sad news I have to give,
For I have but three days on earth to live,
If I don't anwer him queftions three.

My head will be taken from my body.

Derry down, &c.

When he is fit on his flood so high,
With his crown of gold upon his head ;

Among all his nobility with joy and mirth,
I muſt tell him to one penny what he is
worth.

Derry down, &c.

At the next question I muſt not flout,

How long he ſhall be riding the world about.

At the third question I muſt not ſhrink,

But tell him plainly what he does think.

Derry down, &c.

These are hard queſtions for my ſhallow ſwit
For I cannot anſwer your Grace as yet ;

But if you will give me three days'pace,
I'll do my endeavour to anſwer your grace.

Derry down, &c.

O three days'pace I will the give,

And that is the longeſt time thou ſhalt live,
If you do not anſwer theſe queſtions right,

Your head ſhall be taken from your body
quite.

Derry down, &c.

O maſter ! did you never hear it yet,

That a fool may learn a wife man wit :

Lend me your horſe and your apparel,
I will go to Lnoden and anſwer your quar-
rel.

Derry down, &c.

Now I am fit on my flood so high,
With my crown of gold upon my head,
Among my nobility with joy and mirth,
Tell me to a penny what I am worth.

Derry down, &c.

For thirty pence our Saviour was fold,
Among the falſe Jews, as I have been told:

And nine and twenty is the worth of thee,

For I think thou art one penny worſe than
he.

Derry down,

At the next question you muſt not flout,

How long ſhall I be riding the world about ?
You muſt rife with the fun, and ride with the
fame,

Until the next morning it ſiſeth again.

Derry down, &c.

And then I am ſure there is no doubt,

But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about.

At the the third queſtions you muſt not ſhrink
But tell me truly what I do think :

Derry down, &c.

All that I can do and make your hearterry
For you think I'm the Abbot of Canterbury ;

But I'm a poor ſhepheard as you may fee,
And I am come to beg pardon for him and
me.

Derry down, &c.

The king he turn'd round, and did ſmile,
Saying thou ſhalt be ABBOT the other
while.

O no, my liege, there is no ſuch need,
For I can neither write nor read.

Derry down, &c.

Then four pounds per week I give unto thee,
For this merry true jeſt thou haſt told me ;

And tell the old Abbot when thou comest
home,

Thou haſt brought a pardon from good king
John.

Derry down, &c.

10-125108

An Excellent Ballad of the
# Lord MOHUN and Duke HAMILTON.

With an Exact Account of their Melancholy Deaths.

COME all ye people far and near,
Of high and low degree ;
Sad tidings I have brought you here,
And therefore mourn with me.

It was a fad unhappy chance,
It was, I need muſt say ;
Two Nobles great, in paſſion bent,
Caſt both their lives away ;

The one Duke Hamilton by name,
The other brave Lord Mohun,
Renowned men of birth and fame,
But O they perſiſ'd ſoon.

Great men have got great daring ſouſ,
And vicious hearts likewife ;
For from the glaſs and fwimming bowls,
Great quarrels do arife.

Which often end with blood and death,
Ne'er to return again:

Life is but one short blight of breath,
Here's two great Nobles flain.

If men of honour did but know,
That death would part their fray
And lay their lofty heads full low,
'Till the great Judgment day.

They would their paſſions bridle ſure,
And not admit ſuch ſtrife ;

But each one thinks himſelf ſecure,
'Till he's bereav'd of life.

It was a fad and ſudden fall,
From grandeur unto death ;
That theſe two Nobles here did fall,
And loft their mortal breath.

It was a fad and ſudden fate,
That did the Queen ſurprize ;
She has loft two brave ſubjects great,
And they have loft their lives,

Which might have ſerv'd the government,
In many weighty things ;
Which made them all with tears lament,
That wrath ſuch ruin brings.

Alas! alas! I little thought
Upon the other day,
That blooming honour should be brought
So soon to beds of clay.

Inſtead of trumpets loud alarms,
In courtly form likewife ;
In death's cold joys, and frozen arms,
This man of honour lies.

Great men will not ſubmissive take
A quarrel from a friend,
But traitor they will a challenge make,
And mortally attend.

For farſiſaction all in vain,
They prize no less than life.

And theſe two Nobles who were flains,
I vade a mortal ſtrife.

Lord Mohun wounded Duke Hamilton,
And would have then give o'er :

The Duke reply'd he had not done,
And paſſ'd at him once more.

The ſword quite thro' his body paſſ,
Immediately he fell ;

And in Hyde Park he breath'd his laſt,
And bid the world farewell.

The Duke was carry'd off, and dy'd
Within a little while ;

All former ſeud were laid afide,
And death did end the broil.

It was a great and ſad ſurprife,
When to his Lady he was brought,
All bath'd in blood ; aloud ſhe cries,
Who has this fatal miſchief wrought ?

What bloody hand has done this deed ?
Speake, if you can, my noble Lord ;

Again his life I will proceed,
He ſhall not miſs of his reward.

It was Lord Mohun, Lady, he cry'd,
That ſieft gave me this fatal wound ;

Yet with my ſword I'm fatisfy'd,
I left him breathleſs on the ground.

It was a rafh attempt, I own,
But who can help what's done and paſſ :
Then with a ſigh and dying groan,
He in her prefence breath'd his laſt.

My little ſon of blooming youth,
Thy father being dead and flain,
I bathe his corſpe with weeping tears,
Altho I know them ſhed in vain.

Dear ſon, now for thy father's ſake,
It thou livest to maturity,

Such a rafh challenge never make,
But in ſweet friendſhip live and die.

Thy ſreep my eye-lids overflown,
Thy father's death affiſts me ſill,
Unto my private room alone
I'll go, and weeping take my fill.

Printed and Sold in Aldermary Church
Yard, Bow-Lane, London.

A Tragical BALLAD
Of the Unfortunate LOVES of
Lord THOMAS and Fair ELEANOR:
TOGETHER WITH
The Downfal of the BROWN GIRL.

LORD THOMAS he was a bold Forester,
And a chief of the King's Deer;
Fair ELEANOR was a fine Woman,
And Lord THOMAS he loved her dear.
Come riddle my riddle, dear Mother he said,
And riddle us both in one,
Whether I shall marry with Fair ELEANOR,
And let the BROWN GIRL alone?
The BROWN GIRL she has got houles and lands,
And Fair ELEANOR she has got none;
Therefore I charge thee on my Bleffing,
Bring me the BROWN GIRL home.
And as it befel on a high holiday,
As many more do befide,
Lord THOMAS he went to Fair ELEANOR,
That should have been his bride,
But when he came to Fair ELEANOR's bower,
He knocked at the ring;
Then who to ready as Fair ELEANOR,
For to let Lord THOMAS in.
What news, what news, Lord THOMAS she said,
What news, haft thou brought unto me?
I am come to bid thee to my wedding,
And that is tad news for thee.
O God foruid ! Lord THOMAS she said,
That such a thing should be done;
Fthought to have been thy bride myself,
And Thou to have been the Bridegroom.
Come riddle, my riddle, dear Mother, she said,
And riddle it allin one
Whether I shall go to Lord THOMAS's Weddings,
Or whether I shall let it alone,

There's many that are our Friends, daughter,
And many that are our Foes;

Therefore I charge you on my Bleffing.

To Lord THOMAS's Wedd don't. ani
There's many that are our Friends, mother,
If a thousand were our Foes;
Betide me Life, betide me Death,
To Lord THOMAS's Wedding I'll go;
She cloathed herself in gallant Attire,
And her merry Men all in green;
And as she rode thro' every place,
They took her to be fome Queen.
When she came to Lord THOMAS's gate,
She knocked at the Ring;
And who was so ready as Lord THOMAS
To let Fair ELEANOR in.
Is this your bride Fair ELEANOR said,
Methinks she looks wonderous Brown;
Thou might'ft have had as fair a Woman,
As ever trod upon the ground.
Defspife her not, Lord THOMAS he said,
Defspife her not unto me;
For better I love thy little finger,
Than all her whole body.
This BROWN GIRL had a little penknife,
Which was both long and sharp,
And betwixt the short Ribs and the long,
She prick'd Fair ELEANOR to the heart.
O Chrift ! now fave me, Lord THOMAS he said,
Methinks thou look'ft wonderous van;
Thou ufed'ft to look as good colour
As ever the fun thin'd on.
O art thou blind, Lord THOMAS she said,
Or can'ft thou not very well fee?
O doft thou not fee my own heart's bloo
Run trickling down my knee.
Lord THOMAS he had a Sword by his fide,
As he walked about the hall,
He cut his bride's head from off her shoulders,
And he flung it againft the wall.
He fet his fword upon the ground,
And the hilt againft his heart;
There never were three lovers fure,
That sooner did depart.

Printed and sold at NO. 4, Aldersary Church Yard,

171-172

# A TRAGICAL BALLAD

Of the unfortunate loves of

Lord Thomas and Fair Eleanor,

TOGETHER WITH

The Downfall of the Brown Girl.

LORD Thomas he was a bold Forester,
And a chacer of the King's deer,
Fair Eleanor was a fine woman,
And Lord Thomas he loved her dear,

Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, he said,
And riddle us both in one,
Whether I shall marry with Fair Eleanor,
And let the brown girl alone;

The Brown Girl she has got houses and lands,
And Fair Eleanor fhd has got none,
Therefore I charge thee on my blessing,
Bring me the Brown Girl home;

And as it beel on a high holiday,
As many more do beide,
Lord Thomas went to Fair Eleanor,
That should have been his bride)

But when he came to Fair Eleanor's bower,
He knocked at the ring,
Then who so ready as Fair Eleanor
To let Lord Thomas in.

What news, what news, Lord Thomas, she said,
What news hast thou brought unto me?
I am come to bid thee to my wedding,
And that is sad news for thee.

O God forbid! Lord Thomas, she said,
That such a thing should be done,
I thought to have been thy bride myself,
And thou to have been the bridegroom.

Come riddle my riddle, dear mother, she said'
And riddle it all in one,
Whether I shall go to Lord Thomas's wedding,
Or whether shall let it alone?

There's many that our friends, daughter,
And many that are our foes,
Therefore I charge you on my blessing,
To Lord Thomas's wedding don't go.

There'r many that are our friends, mother,
If a thousand were our foes,
Betide me life, betide me death,
To Lord Thomas's wedding I'll go.

She cloathed herself in gallant attire,
And her merry men all in green,
And as she rode through every place
They took her to be some Queen.

When she came to Lord Thomas's gate,
She knocked at the ring,
And who was so ready as Lord Thomas
To let Fair Eleanor in.

Is this your bride, Fair Eleanor said,
Methinks she looks wonderful brown,
Thou mightst have had as fair a woman,
As ever trod upon the ground.

Despise her not, Lord Thomas he said,
Despise her not unto me,
For better I love thy little finger
Than all her whole body.

This Brown Girl had a little penknife,
Which was both long and sharp,
And betwixt the short ribs and the long,
She prick'd Fair Eleanor to the heart.

O Christ! now save me, Lord Thomas he said
Metinks thou look'st wonderful wan,
Thou usedst to look as good colour,
As ever the sun shin'd on.

O art thou blind, Lord Thomas, she said,
Or canst thou not very well see?

O dost thou not see my own heart's blood
Run trickling down my knee?

Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side,
As he walk'd about the hall,

He cut his bride's head off from her shoulders,
And haftung it against the wall.

He set his sword upon the ground,
And the point against his heart,
There never were three lovers sure,
That sooner did depart.

Printed and sold by J. Ewans, No. 41, Long Lane.

LOVE in a TUB;
OR, THE
Old MISER Outwitted.

I. E. T. every one that is to Mirth inclin'd,
Come draw near I pray and liften awhile,
Its Witry, and Pretty, Diverting, and New,
And tho it is merry, it is certainly True.
In the City of London therelately did well
A topping-w ne merchant that's known very
well;
He had, but one Daughter, a Beauty mol
bright,
Who was all his Comfort and all his Delight.
A handsome young Vintner lived very near,
Who dealt with this Merchant for Thou-
funds a Year.

And being invited to Supper one night,
He happened to see this Beauty so bright.

Instead of his Stomach he feasted his Eyes.
On the Charms of her Beauty, which did
him furprife;

But that very Night Fortune prov'd kind,
That he to the Lady discover'd his Mind.

Young Cupid so cunningly acted his Part,
That with the fame Passion he wounded her

Heart,

So that when he gan to discover his Mind,
He found that to Love she was quickiy im-
coin'd.

Said she, Sir, I find that your Stock is butlow,
Some Hundreds of Pounds to my father you
And I am a Lady of noble Estate,
Owe,
How dare you pretend to talk at this Rate.

Dear Madam, faid he, had I a Thousand a
Year,

I'd Part with it all for the Sake of my Dear;
Then let not true Love be despised for Gold
For Riches can't buy it, 'tis not to be told.

She granted him Love, and to him reply'd,
My Dear, I would have you be well farisfy'd,
If without my Father's Consent I should wed,
Not a Farthing of Portion is there to be had.

If you'll be true, my Jewel he faid,
A politick Fancy I have in my Head,

And when that you hear it, I doubt not,
faid he,

But unto the Fancy you'll quickly agree.

You know in a Vault, where your Father's
Wine stands,

There are some empty Casks upon the Left
Hand;

[Faid he,

The Cooper's my Friend, I can truft him,
I'll give him Ten Guineas in Gold for his Fee,

You shall head up yourself in a Hoghead
this Night.

Your Father will think it good Lisbon white,
And I'll come and buy it juſt as it stands,

And pay him the Moncy down on his De-
mand.

She liked the Project, and both were agreed,
The Cooper was ſent for, who came with all
Spred;

Spred;

He took up the Lady without more Delay,
And into hoghead he put her straitway.

He headed it up all ſcure and nice,

Then strait came the Vintner up in a Trice;

And feeing the Merchant, faid, Sir, at this
Time,

I am in great neech of a Hoghead of Wine.

Then to the Wine-Cellar they did repair,

there;

To tale of the Liquor, but when they came

He knowing the Hoghead, did make this
Reply,

Reply,

Sir, This for my Money, if any I buy.

When I was here laſt, if the Truſh I may tell,
I taſted this Liquor, and liked it well:

For the fame they agreed, the Money was
paid,

paid,

He turn'd him round to the Merchant, and
ſaid,

Sir, All in the Hoghead I've bought is mine
But only the Staves and Bcoops are thine ;
Yes, yes, cry'd the Merchant, and I am
Content,

Content,

Then ſtrait to tale of the Liquor they went

He then took a Pierce and pierced the fame,
But not one Drop from the Hoghead there

came,

The Vintner ſaid, What a Bargain is this!

The Devil a Drop in the Hoghead there is.

Nay, nay, faid the Merchant, the Bargain
is good,

is good,

For you have bought the Hoghead juſt as
it flood;

Let what will be in it, either Beer, Ale, or
Wine,

Wine,

You have bought and paid for it, to it shall
be thine.

They open'd the Hoghead, the Lady came
forth,

The Old Man ſtar'd, and rap'd out an Oath;

If this be your Bargain, e'en take her faid he.
Sure never poor Man wasubb'd like Me.

It is but a Folly to fly in a Rage,

Rage,

I find that Youth are too cunning for Age;
You bought her, I fold her, you love her,

faid he,

Three Thouſand Pounds Fortune I'll ſurely
give thee.

The Vintner loves her as dear as his Life.

And its reported the proves a good Wive ;

He follows his Calling of Drawi
of Bub,

By this you may fee there is LOVE in a

TUB.

Printed and Sold in Aldermary Church-
Yard, Bow Lane, London,
ſt