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Imprimis, coming home, he found

His good wife Joan a brewing,
And did not defer, but unto her

His papers fell to shewing,
But when she saw, nothing but law,

She fell to scold and flinging,
But all that day he kept away

And whistled 'stead of singing. With a hey down, &c.

Item, that he went to plough,

Which whiles that he was driving,
Alas! says he, what fools are we,

In law to fall a striving.
For now I mean to keep my teams,

Which shall good profit bring in,
I must drive on, my money's gone,

And whistle 'stead of singing. With a hey down, &c.

Item, that his neighbours came

To ask what news at London, Alas, says he, more wiser be,

For fear that you be undone.
Spend not at term what


earn, Whilst that your wives are spinning, Which makes me now to drive the plough,

And whistle 'stead of singing. With a hey down, &c.

For be it known unto you all,

That I my money spended, Such fools as I will beggars die,

Before their lives are ended ; Therefore beware, and have more care,

When that your money is gingling, Least when 'tis spent you do repent,

And whistle 'stead of singing. With a hey down, &c.

Yet one more item I will add,

Since that my song is ended, My item's this, that I would wish

No man to be offended; With all my items but to save

His money when 'tis gingling, Least when 'tis spent he do repent,

And whistle 'stead of singing. With a hey down, &c.


“ How Robin Good-Fellow. went in the shape of a

Fidler to a Wedding, and of the sport that he had

there.(From the second part of Robin Good-Fellow, commonly

called Hob Goblin. 4to. 1628.]

To the tune of — Watton Townes end.


I was a country lad,
That fashions strange would see,
And he came to a vaulting schoole,
Where tumblers use to be :
He lik’t his sport so well,
That from it he'd not part
His doxey to him still did cry,
Come busse thine owne sweet heart.

They lik’t his gold so well,
That they were both content,
That he that night with his sweet heart,
Should passe in merry-ment :
To bed they then did goe,
Full well he knew his part,
Where he with words, and eke with deedes,
Did busse his owne sweet heart.

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Long were they not in bed.
But one knockt at the dore,
And said, Up! rise, and let me in:
This vext both knave and whore
He being sore perplext,
From bed did lightly start,
No longer then could he indure
To busse his owne sweet heart.

With tender steps he trod,
To see if he could spye
The man, that did him so molest,
Which he with heavy eye
Had soone beheld, and said,
Alas ! my owne sweet heart
I now doe doubt if ere we busse,
It must be at a cart.

At last the bawd arose
And opened the dore,
And saw Discretion cloth'd in

Whose office hates a whore :
He mounted up the stayres,
Being cunning in his arte,
With little search, at last he found
My youth and his sweet heart.


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ne indure

“ How Robin Good-Fellow. W

Fidler to a Wedding, and

(From the second part of Rob

called Hob Gob'

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