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Some go here, and some go there

Where gazes be not geason,* And I go gaping every where.

But still come out of season.

I walk the town, and tread the street,

In every corner seeking
The pretty thing I cannot meet,

That's for my lady's hiking.

The mercers pull me going by,

The silk wives say What lack ye? The thing you have not, then say I,

Ye foolish fools go pack ye.

It is not all the silk in Cheap,

Nor all the golden treasure, Nor twenty bushels on a heap,

Can do my lady pleasure.

[graphic]

The gravers of the golden shows,

With jewels do beset me, The semstress' in the shops that sew,

They nothing do but let me.

* Where shows or public exhibitions are not uncom

mon,

But were it in the wit of man,

By any means to make it,
I could for money buy it then,

And say, Fair lady, take it.

O lady, what a luck is this,

That my good willing misseth To find what pretty thing it is

That my good lady wisheth. 1''

Thus fain would I have had this pretty thing

To give unto my lady:
I said no harm, nor I meant no harm,

But as pretty a thing as may be.

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XXVIII.

BALLAD

FROY THE ROYANCE CALLED

“ THE FAMOUS HISTORY OF FRAGOSA AND HIS

THREE soxs.” 1663.

u Then Albina think no more of Dorosa's beauty or valiancy;

yea, if thou canst not quench the coales of desire with forgetfulness, yet rake them up in the ashes of modesty; bear a painted sheath with a leaden dagger, and a merry countenance with a melancholy mind; and of all thy father's knights esteem Dorosa the least, yea, and so

much the less as he is the latest. With this she taking ber late that lay at her bed's head

warbled forth this ditty :"

All this night

By his might,
Love hath made my heart his cell;

Venus jos,

Wanton bos,
From mine eyes did rest expel.

Wanton sports,
Why ports,

Slippery slights, and foolish love,

His intent,

To invent,
How to catch the simple dove.

Blinded boy,

Venus joy,
All thy god-head is a toy,

Power small

To enthrall, Or to work

my

heart's annoy.

I have right

Armour bright, Compound of rare chastity;

This I say

Night and day,
Shall withstand thy deity.

Then pack hence,

Hie thee hence,
Or with nettles I'll thee whip,

For thy sin

Thou shalt win
Scourges that will make thee skip.

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XXIX.

“ A pleasant ditty of a mayden's vow, That faine would marry and yet knew not how."

[From a black letter copy by H. G. id est, Henry Gosson.)

THERE was a lusty youthful lad

That lov’d a country lass,
And many a sweet discourse they had

As they alone did pass.
This
young

man he was apt to woo, And well himself could carry, The maid was kind, of yielding mind, But yet

she would not marry.

This young's man's heart was set on fire,

And still he did invent,
How he might compass his desire,

And frustrate her intent.
For still this maid said as before,

From all thy hopes I'll bar thee,
Therefore begone, let me alone,

In sooth I will not marry.

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