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Her curses so prevail'd, God wot,

That every one was slain,
Or murder'd by like cruell hand,

Not one there did remain.

Both crook-back'd Richard and his mates,

Lord Lovel and Buckingham, With many more, did feel her curse,

Which needless are to name.

For widows' wrongs still pierce the gate

Of God's celestial throne,
And heaven itself will still revenge

Oppressed widows moans.

Take heed, take heed, you wanton youths,

Take heed by this mishap, Lest for your lust and lechery,

You be caught in a trap.

Leave off your foul abuses,

You shew to maids and wives, And by this wanton merchant's fall,

Learn how to mend your lives.

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In Pescod-time, when hound to horn

Gives ear till buck be kill'd, And little lads with pipes of corn

Sat keeping beasts a-field,

I went to gather strawberries tho'

By woods and groves full fair;
And parch'd my face with Phoebus so

In walking in the air ;

That down I laid me by a stream

With boughs all over-clad,
And there I met the strangest dream,

That ever shepherd had.

Methought I saw each Christmas game,

Each revel, all and some,
And every thing that I can name,

Or may in fancy come.

The substance of the sights I saw,

In silence pass they shall; Because I lack the skill to draw,

The order of them all.

But Venus shall not pass my pen,

Whose maidens in disdain
Did feed upon the hearts of men,

That Cupid's bow had slain.

to the ears ;

And that blind boy was all in blood,

And like a conqueror he stood,

And scorned lovers tears.

I have, quoth he, more hearts at call,

Than Cæsar could command :
And, like the deer, I make them fall,

That runneth o'er the lawn.

One drops down here, another there,

In bushes as they groan;
I bend a scornful, careless ear

To hear them make their moan.

Ah Sir, quoth Honest-meaning then,

Thy boy-like brags I hear, When thou hast wounded many a man,

As hunts-man doth the deer,

Thus every man doth know, doth know,

And his beginning see, But none so wise can shew, can shew,

What will his ending be.

No sooner was his father dead,

And closed in his grave,
But this his wild and wanton song

His mind to lewdness gave.

And being but of tender years

Found out such company, Which prov'd his fatal overthrow,

And final misery.

In gluttony and drunkenness

He daily took delight,
And still in strumpet's company

He spent the silent night,

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Forgetting quite that drunkenness,

And filthy lechery, Of all the sins will soonest bring - A man to misery.

Within the seas of wanton love,

His heart was drowned so deep, A night he could not quietly

Without strange women sleep.

And therefore kept them secretly

To feed his foul desire, Apparrell’d all like gallant youths

In pages' trim attire,

Their garments were of crimson silk,

Bedeckt with cloth of gold, Their curled hair was white as milk,

Most comely to behold.

He gave them for their cognizance

A purple bleeding heart,
In which two silver arrows seem'd

The same in twain to part.

Thus secret were his wanton sports,

Thus private was his pleasure, Thus harlots in the shape of men, Did waste away

his treasure,

Oh, woe to lust and treachery !

Oh, woe to such a vice!
That buys repentance all too late ;

And at too dear a price.

Yet he repented not at all,

So wilful was his mind, He could not see his infamy,

For sin had made him blind.

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