Then beg my life, quoth he, And I will be thy own, If I should seek the world for love, The people at that word, And said great pity it was So sweet a man should die. I go my love, she said, I run, I fly for thee, And, gentle headsman, spare awhile My lover's head for me; Unto the Duke she went, Who did her grief remove, And with an hundred maidens more She went to fetch her love. With music sounding sweet, The foremost of the train, The gallant maiden, like a bride, Did fetch him back again; Yea, hand in hand alway they went Unto the church that day, And they were married presently A sweet, &c. To England came he then Where we must leave them now In pleasure and delight. But of their names and dwelling place VIII. "A FAYRE PORTION FOR A FAYRE MAID." Now all my friends are dead and gone, Alas what shall betide me, Without a house to hide me : Yet still I'll be of merry cheer, And have kind welcome every where, And that my mother gave me. I scorn to think of poverty, Or wanting food and cloathing, I'll be maintained gallantly, And all my life want nothing, A frolick mind I'll always bear, My poverty shall not appear, Though I have but a mark a year, And that my mother gave me. Though I am but a silly wench Yet I am woo'd by Dutch and French, And almost every nation : Both Spaniards and Italians swear, That with their hearts they love me dear, Yet I have but a mark a year, And that my mother gave me. The Welch, the Irish, and the Scot, In love to me are wondrous hot, They tell me I am pretty : Therefore to live I will not fear, For I am sought with many a tear, Yet I have but a mark a year, This London is a gallant place, To raise a lass's fortune, I little thought in Worcestershire, And that my mother gave me. One gives to me perfumed gloves, I have them, cost they ne'er so dear, And this is for a mark a year, And that my mother gave me. My fashions with the moon I change, All quaint conceits, both new and strange, Your courtly ladies I can jeer, In clothes but few to me come near, Yet I have but a mark a year, And that my mother gave me. SECOND PART. French gowns, with sleeves like pudding-bags, I have at my requesting, Now I forget my country rags, And scorn such plain investing: My old acquaintance I cashier, And of my kin I hate to hear; Though I have but a mark a year, And that my mother gave me. My petticoats of scarlet brave, Some students oft my love do crave, And put the rest into great fear, And that my mother gave me. The Precisian sincerely woos, And doth protest he loves me, And that my mother gave me. |