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For it is not little joy to see,
When lords and aldermen so agree,
With such according commonalty,
God send us the like at London.

York, &c.

God save the good Earl of Cumberland, His praise in golden lines shall stand, That maintains archery through the land,

As well as they do at London : Whose noble mind so courteously Acquaints himself with the commonalty, To the glory of his nobility, I will carry the praise to London.

York, &c.

And tell the good Earl of Essex thus,
As he is now young

and prosperous, To use such properties virtuous,

Deserves great praise in London: For it is no little joy to see, When noble youths so gracious be, To give their good wills to their country, As well as they do at London.

York, &c.

Farewell, good city of York to thee,
Tell Alderman Maltby this from me,
In print shall this good shooting be,

As soon as I come to London:

And many a song will I bestow,
On all the musicians that I know,
To sing the praises where they go,
Of the city of York in London.

York, &c.

God save our Queen and keep our peace,
pat our good shooting may encrease,
And praying to God, let us not cease,

As well at York as London :
That all our country round about,
May have archers good to hit the clout,
Which England cannot be without,
No more than York and London.

York, &c.

God grant that once her Majesty,
Would come, her city of York to see,
For the comfort of that great country,

As well as she doth to London :
Nothing shall be thought too dear,
To see her highness person there,
With such obedient love and fear,
As ever she had in London.

York, York for my money,
Of all the cities that ever I

For merry pastime and company,
Except the city of London.

[From Yorke by W. E. I. e. William Elderton]


“A most sweet Song of an English Merchant born

in Chichester.”

From a black letter copy in the Pepys Collection, printed

by Clarke, Thackeray, and Passenger.

A RICH merchant-man there was,
That was both grave and wise,
Did kill a man at Embden town
Through quarrels that did rise;
Through quarrels that did rise;
The German being dead;
And for that fact the merchant-man
Was judg’d to lose his head.

A sweet thing is love,
It rules both heart and mind,
There is no comfort in this world
To women that are kind.

A scaffold builded was
Within the market place,
And all the people far and near
Did thither flock apace,
Did thither flock apace

This doleful sight to see;
Who all in velvet black as jet
Unto the place came he.

A sweet, &c.

Bareheaded was he brought,
His hands were bound before,
A cambrick ruff about his neck
As white as milk he wore:
His stockings were of silk,
As fine as fine might be,

and of countenance A proper man was he.

A sweet, &c.

When he was mounted up
Upon the scaffold high;
All women said great pity ’t was
So sweet a man should die,
The merchants of the town,
From death to set him free,
Did proffer there a thousand pound,

all would not be.
A sweet thing is love
It rules both heart and mind,
There is no comfort in this world
To women that are kind.

The prisoner hereupon
Began to speak his mind,
Quoth he, I have deserved death
In conscience I do find,
Yet sore against my will
This man I kill'd, quoth he,
As Christ doth know, which cf my soul
Must only saviour be.

A sweet, &c.

With heart I do repent
This most unhappy deed,
And for his wife and children small
My very heart doth bleed:
The deed is done and past
My hope of life is vain
And yet the loss of this my life,
To them is little gain.

A sweet, &c.

Unto the widow poor,
And to the babes therefore,
I give a hundred pounds a piece
Their comforts to restore :
Desiring at their hands
No one request but this,
They will speak well of Englishmen),
Though I have done amiss.

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