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Os.

Seers,
une Boot,
.ake their way,

# the Goat.

de the Leg,
#vyu of the Brush,

vuit Hood will go,
Bu mes it to the Scoop.

il dine at the Axe,

il cline at the Sack, .. v*** R * the Cherry-Tree,

*** to liquor will lack..

Ir to the Three Cups,
mint they count as dross,
* the Pewter Can,

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,
But he that hath no money in his purse,

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.

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XL.

“ THE CRUELL SHROW;

OR,

The Patient Man's Woe.

Declaring the misery and the great paine,
By his unquiet wife he doth dayly sustaine.”

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,
And I will shew you plainly then

The injury and wrong,
That constantly I do sustain

By the unhappy life,
The which does put me to great pain

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,
My wife she will be snorting,

And in her bed she'll lurk,
Untill the chimes do go at eight,

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,
In putting on her brave attire,

That tine and costly be,
While I work hard in dirt and mire

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.

life :

Thus am I now tormented still,

With my most cruel wife,
All through her wicked tongue so ill,
I am weary

of

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,
To take his wife from off his hand,

His sorrows for to end :
Would change with me to rid my care,

And take my wife alive,
For his dead wife unto his share,

Then I would hope to thrive.

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