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Then he pull'd out a farthing fine,
Away, and fetch us bread and wine.

The table where they both did dine,
Was all clad o'er with bread and wine.

And who shall this marriage make?
Who but our lord, which is the rat.

What shall we have to our supper?
Three beans in a pound of butter.

And now when supper they were at,
The frog, the mouse, and even the rat.

Then came in sly Gib, our cat,

And catch'd the mouse even by the back.

This made them all to separate;

And the frog leap'd on the floor so flat.

Then came in gobble Dick, our drake,
And drew the frog even to the lake.

Our lord the rat ran up the wall,

A goodly company, the devil go with all!

The above Ballad is collated with another copy noted down from recitation. This may have been a satire of the olden times, but against what or whom, it is now immaterial to know, or perhaps a nursery chant. The modern Ballad, "Rowley would a wooing go," is a happy imitation of the foregoing.

RAVENSCROFT'S MELISMata.

A WOOING SONG OF A YEOMAN OF KENT'S SON. FROM COUNTRY PASTIMES.

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I have house and land in Kent,

And if you'll love me, love me now;
Twopence-halfpenny is my rent,

I cannot come every day to woo.
Twopence-halfpenny is his rent,
He cannot come every day to woo.

I am my father's eldest son,

My mother eke doth love me well;
For I can bravely clout my shoon,
And I full well can ring a bell.
For he can bravely, &c.

My father he gave me a hog,

My mother she gave me a sow;
I have a god-father dwells thereby,
And he on me bestow'd a plough.
He has a god-father, &c.

One time, I

gave thee a paper

Another time, a tawdry lace;

of pins,

And if thou wilt not grant me love,
In truth I'll die before thy face.
And if thou wilt not, &c.

I have been twice our Whitsun lord,
I have had ladies many fair,
And eke thou hast my heart in hold,
And in my mind seems passing rare.
And eke thou hast, &c.

67

I will put on my best white slope,
And I will wear my yellow hose,
And on my head a good gray hat,
And in it I'll stick a lovely rose.
And on his head, &c.

Wherefore, cease off, make no delay,
And if you'll love me, love me now;
Or else I'll seek some other where,

For I cannot come every day to woo.
Or else he'll seek some other where,

For he cannot come every day to woo.

We are inclined to hazard a conjecture, that the above "Wooing Song" is the parent stem of our goodly Scottish piece, "I hae laid a herring in saut;" and that the air of the latter has been altered a little by some skilful hand from that of the Wooing Song, and now is by every one called a standard Scottish tune, when in reality it is an English one, as any amateur may satisfy himself, by running over the bars of the one after the other, in Song 22, of the "Melismata;" even the Songs, in some points, bearing a resemblance, independent of the terminal lines of the first and concluding stanzas of the English set of words. We never have seen that old Scottish Ballad alluded to by Lord Hales, in notes to his Selections from the Bannatyne M. S. which seems to be the primary Scottish version of the same; but those who have, may compare the twain, and see how far they resemble each other. One stanza quoted by his Lordship is the following:

"I ha a wie lairdschip down in the Merse,
[Lass an ye loe me, tell me now,]

The nynetenth pairt of a gusse's gerse,

And I wo' na cum every day to wow."

BECKLER.

THE PRETTY PET.

A blythe and bonnie country lass,

Heigh-ho, bonnie lass,

Sat sighing on the tender grass,

And weeping said, Will none come woo me? A smicker boy, a lither swain,

Heigh-ho, lither swain,

That in his love was wanton fain,

With smiling looks came straight unto her.

When as the wanton wench espied,
Heigh-ho, when she espied,

The means to make herself a bride,
She simper'd smooth as bonny bell;
The swain that saw her squint-e'ed kind,
Heigh-ho, squint-e'ed kind,

His arms about her body twined,

And, Fair lass, how fare ye? Well.

The country kit said, well forsooth,
Heigh-ho, well forsooth,

But that I have a longing tooth,

A longing tooth that makes me cry.
Alas, said he, what gars thy grief,
Heigh-ho, what gars thy grief?

A wound, quoth she, without relief,
I fear a maid that I must die.

If that be all, the shepherd said,
Heigh-ho, shepherd said,

He makes thee wife it, gentle maid,
And so secure thy malady;

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Hereon they kiss'd with many an oath,
Heigh-ho with many an oath;

And 'fore god Pan did plight their troth,
And to the church did hie them fast.

And God send every pretty pet,
Heigh-ho, the pretty pet,

That fears to die of this conceit,
So kind a friend to help at last.

BECKLER-1621.

PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.

In the merry month of May,
In a morn by break of day,
Forth I walk'd the wood so wide,
When as May was in her pride,
There I spied, all alone,
Phillida and Corydon.

Much ado there was, God wot!
He would love, and she would not:
She said, never man was true:
He said, none was false to you;

He said, he had lov'd her long:
She said, love should have no wrong.

Corydon would kiss her then,

She said, maids must kiss no men,

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