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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 fine 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.

Thus am I now tormented still,
With my most cruel wife,

All through her wicked tongue so ill,
life:

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.

But so it likely will not be,
That is the worst of all,
For to encrease my daily woe,
And for to breed my fall:

My wife is still most froward bent,
Such is my luckless fate,

There is no man will be content
With my unhappy state.

Thus to conclude, and make an end Of these my verses rude,

I pray all wives for to amend,

And with peace to be endued:

Take warning all men by the life, That I sustained long,

Be careful how you choose a wife, And so I'll end my song.

1

XLI.

"THE MERRY CARELESSE LOVER:

OR,

A pleasant new Ditty, called,

I love a lasse since yesterday,

And yet I cannot get her."

To the tune of―The Mother beguiled the Daughter.

[From a black letter copy, printed for Coules.]

OFT

FT have I heard of many men,
Whom love hath sore tormented,
With grief of heart and bitter smart,
And minds much discontented,
Such love to me shall never be
distasteful, grievous, bitter.
I have loved a lass since yesterday,
And yet I cannot get her.
But let her choose, if she refuse,
And go to take another,

I will not grieve, but still will be
The merry careless lover.

I will no foolish lover be

To waste my means upon her,
But if she do prove firm to me,
In heart I will her honour,
And if she scorn my part to take
I know a way to fit her;

My heart with grief shall never ache,
What man soever get her.
Then let her choose if she refuse,
And go to take another.

I will not grieve but still will be
The merry careless lover.

And yet I know not what to think,
She makes a show she loves me,
What need I fear from me she'll shrink,
Some foolish passion moves me,
Sometimes to hope, sometimes to fear
It hangs upon a twitter;

Whether she hates or loves me dear,
To lose her or to get her.

But let her choose, if she refuse, &c.

Some women they are firm in love,
And some they are uncertain,
Scarce one in twenty loyal prove,
Yet if it were my fortune,

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