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# the Goat.
de the Leg,
vuit Hood will go,
il dine at the Axe,
il cline at the Sack, .. v*** R * the Cherry-Tree,
*** to liquor will lack..
Ir to the Three Cups,
Papists to the Cross.
*xw will dine at the shuttle, Niveys will unto the Glove,
us all to the Maidenhead, in lovers unto the Dove.
lers will dine at the Saddle, y gwinters to the Green Dragon,
Pritchman will go to the sign of the Vrow, Haere each man may drink his flaggon.
The chandlers will dine at the Scales,
The salters at the sign of the Bag, The porters take pain at the Labour-in-vain,
And the horse-courser to the White Nag.
Thus every man in his humour,
From north unto the south,
May dine at the sign of the Mouth.
The swaggerers will dine at the Fencers,
But those that have lost their wits, With Bedlam Tom let there be there home,
And the Drum the drummer best fits.
The cheater will dine at the Chequer,
The pick-pocket at a blind alehouse, Till taken and tried, up Holborn they ride,
And make their end at the gallows.
“ THE CRUELL SHROW;
The Patient Man's Woe.
Declaring the misery and the great paine,
To the tune of_Cuckolds all arowe.
[From a black letter copy, printed for Henry Gosson.)
COME bachelors and married men,
And listen to my song,
The injury and wrong,
By the unhappy life,
By my unquiet wife.
She never linnes her bawling,
Her tongue it is so loud, But always she'll be railing
And will not be controul
For she the breeches still will wear,
Although it breeds my strife, If I were now a bachelor,
I'd never have a wife.
Sometimes I go in the morning
About my daily work,
And in her bed she'll lurk,
Then she'll begin to wake, Her morning's draught well spiced straight,
To clear her eyes she'll take.
As soon as she is out of bed,
Her looking-glass she takes, So vainly is she daily led,
Her morning's work she makes,
That tine and costly be,
Alack what remedy?
Then she goes forth a gossiping,
Amongst her own comrades, And then she falls a boosing
With her merry blades :
Straightway she such a noise will make,
With her most wicked tongue, That all her mates her part to take
About me soon will throng.
Thus am I now tormented still,
With my most cruel wife,
my I know not truly what to do,
Nor how myself to mend; This lingering life doth breed my woe,
I would 't were at an end.
O that some harmless honest man,
Whom death did so befriend,
His sorrows for to end :
And take my wife alive,
Then I would hope to thrive.