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[From Mr. Todd's MSS. mentioned at p. 107 of this volume.]

JANE, to the May-pole away let us on,
Tyme is swift and will be gone;
See how the wenches hye to the greene,
Where they know they shall be seene:
Besse, Moll, Kate, Doll,
These wante no loves to attend them;
Hodge, Dick, Tom, Nick,
Brave dauncers, whoe can amend them?

Jane, shall we have now a hay or a rounde,
Or some daunce that is new-founde:
Lately I was at a masque in the courte,
Where I saw of every sorte
Many a dance, made in France,
Many a braule, and many a measure,
Gay coates, sweet notes,
Brave wenches, O 'twas a treasure!

But now, me thinkes these courtlye toyes
Us deprive of better joyes:
Goune made of gray, and skin softe as silke,
Breath as sweet as morning milke;
O, these more please!
These hath my Jane to delight me:
False wiles, courte-smiles,
None of these hath Jane to despight me.



[From "The Muses Gardin." 1610.]

NCE, did my thoughts both ebb and flow,
     As passion did them move;
Once did I hope, straight fear again,
     And then I was in love.

Once did I waking spend the night,
     And told how many minutes move,
Once did I wishing waste the day,
     And then I was in love.

Once by my carving true loves knot,
     The weeping trees did prove,
That wounds and tears were both our lots,
     And then I was in love.

Once did, I breath another's breath,
     And in my mistress move,
Once was I not mine own at all,
     And then I was in love. 

Once wore I bracelets made of hair,
     And collars did approve;
Once were my cloaths made out of wax,
     And then I was in love. 

Once did I sonnet to my saint,
     My soul in numbers mov'd;
Once did I tell a thousand lies,
     And then I was in love.

Once in my ear did dangling hang
     A little turtle dove;
Once, in a word, I was a fool,
     And then I was in love.



[From the Muses Garden.]

THERE was a shepherd that did live,
     And held his thoughts as high,
As were the mounts whereon his flocks
     Did hourly feed him by.
He from his youth, his tender youth,
     Which was unapt to keep
Or hopes, or fears, or loves, or cares,
     Or thoughts but of his sheep;

Did with his dog as shepherds do,
     For shepherds wanting wit
Devise some sports, though foolish sports,
     Yet sports for shepherds fit.
The boy that yet was but a boy,
     And so desires were hid,
Did grow a man, and men must love,
     And love this shepherd did.

He loved much, none can too much
     Love one so high divine
As but herself, none but herself
     So fair, so fresh, so fine,
He vowed by his shepherd's weed,
     An oath which shepherds keep,
That he would follow Phillyday
     Before a flack of sheep.


"The Maidens Complaint of her Loves inconstancie,
Shewing it forth in every degree:
Shee being left as one forlorne,
With sorrowes shee her selfe to adorne
And seemes for to lament and mourn."

To a delicate new tune.

YOU maids and wives, and women kind,
Give ear and you shall hear my mind,
Wherein I'll shew most perfectly
A false young man's inconstancy:
For which I sigh, and sob, and weep,
To see false men no faith can keep.

I love where I have cause to hate,
Such is my foolish fickle state,
My time I spend in grief and woe,
Which sure will be my overthrow,
I sigh and sob, and then do weep,
For that false men no faith can keep.

My love to me doth prove untrue,
And seems to bid me now adieu,
O hatefull wretch and most unkind
To bear so false and wicked mind!
It makes me sigh, and sob, and weep,
To see false men no faith can keep.

He's fled and gone for which I grieve,
I wish no maiden him believe,
For he with tempting speeches will
Seek others now for to beguile,
That they with me may sigh and weep,
And say that men no faith can keep.

Shall I be bound that may be free,
Shall I love them that love not me,
Why should I thus seem to complain,
I see I cannot him obtain,
Which makes me sigh, and sob, and weep
To see that men no faith can keep.

O shall I weep or shall I sing,
I know not which will fit mourning,
If that I weep 't will bring me pain,
If that I sing 't will ease my brain
Therefore I'll sigh, and sob, and weep
To see false men no faith can keep.

The jewel's lost, the thief is fled,
And I lie wounded in my bed;
If to repent I should begin,
They'll say 'twas I that let him in,
Therefore I'll sigh, and sob, and weep
To see false men no faith can keep.

My mind to him was always true
For which I have now cause to rue,
Would I had never seen his face,
Nor trod the paths of Cupid's race,
For now I sigh, and sob, and weep,
To see false men no faith can keep.


What hap hath any he or she,
That can but live at liberty,
And not be troubled as I am,
As by my song you understand,
It makes me sigh, and sob, and weep
To see false men no faith can keep.

I cannot take my quiet rest
To think on him that I lov'd best;
Sometimes when I do think to sleep
Then thought of him makes me to weep.
I cannot choose but sigh and sob,
To think of him that doth me rob.

'Tis true indeed he robbeth me
Of my content and liberty,
My heart can now no comfort find
To think on him that proves unkind,
I cannot choose but sigh and weep;
To see false men no faith can keep.

My head doth ache, mine eyes are sore;
And I can find no help therefore,
My body's faint, and I am weak,
My tongue is tied I cannot speak,
Yet still I sigh, and sob and weep,
To see that men no faith can keep.

My days are short, my life's not long,
I cannot well declare my wrong,
Yet in some part I here do shew,
That you the cause hereof may know,
Wherefore I sigh, and sob, and weep,
To see that men no faith can keep.

His tempting eyes and smiling looks,
Now seem to me like baited hooks,
Which are but laid for to betray
The fish, that's greedy of his prey,
Therefore I sob, and sigh, and weep,
To see that men no faith can keep.

When first with me he came in place,
He did me with his arms embrace,
He kist me oft, and swore that he
Would never have no one but me,
Yet now he makes me sob and weep
To see that men no faith can keep.

With words most fair he did entreat,
Untill my favour he did get,
But him uncertain I do find,
And changing like the wavering wind,
Which makes me sigh, and sob, and weep,
To see that men no faith can keep.

He vow'd to bear a faithful mind,
But he is otherwise inclin'd,
lie now doth seem as strange to me,
I cannot have his company,
Which makes me sigh, and sob, and weep,
To see that men no faith can keep.

Thus seems my love to do me wrong,
Wherefore I'll here conclude my song,
I'll never trust false men no more,
Nor do as I have done before,
For which I sigh, and sob, and weep,
To see that men no faith can keep. 



[This Ballad is inserted in H. Lawes's "First Book of Ayres," and Mr. Todd esteems it the production of Lawes himself. See preliminary Notes on Comus.]

BE gone, be gone, thou perjur'd man,
     And never more return,
For know that thy inconstancy 
Hath chang'd my love to scorn:
Thou hast awak'd me, and I can
     See clearly there's no truth in man.

My love to thee was chaste and pure,
     As is the morning dew,
And 'twas alone like to endure,
     Hadst thou not prov'd untrue;
But I'm awak'd, and now I can
     See clearly there's no truth in man.

Thon mayst perhaps prevail upon
     Some other to believe thee,
And since thou canst love more than one,
     Ne'er think that it shall grieve me;
For th' hast awak'd me, and I can
     See clearly there's no truth in man.

By thy apostasy I find
     That love is plac'd amiss,
And can't continue in the mind
     Where virtue wanting is:
I'm now resolv'd, and know there can
     No constant thought remain in man.


"A Ladie being wronged by false suspect, and also wounded by the durance of her Husband, dooth thus bewray her griefe."

[From Gaiscoigne's Poems, 4to. 1587.]

GIVE me my lute in bed now as I lie,
And lock the doors of mine unlucky bower:
So shall my voice in mournful verse descry
The secret smart which causeth me to lower:
Resound, you walls, an echo to my moan;
And thou, cold bed wherein I lie alone,
Bear witness yet what rest thy lady takes,
When others sleep which may enjoy their makes.

In prime of youth when Cupid kindled fire,
And warm'd my will with flames of fervent love;
To further forth the fruit of my desire,
My friends devis'd this mean for my behove.
They made a match according to my mind,
And cast a snare my fancy for to blind:
Short tale to make, the deed was almost don
Before I knew which way the work begun,

And with this lot I did myself content,
I lent a liking to my parents choice;
With hand and heart I gave my free consent,
And hung in hope for ever to rejoice.
I liv'd and lov'd long time in greater joy
Than she which held King Priam's son of Troy:
But three lewd lots have chang'd my heaven to bell,
And those be these, give ear and mark them well.

First, Slander, he which always beareth hate
To happy hearts in heavenly state that bide:
'Gan play his part to stir up some debate,
Whereby Suspect into my choice might glide,
And by his means the slime of false suspect,
Did (as I fear) my dearest friend infect:
Thus by these twain long was I plung'd in pain,
Yet in good hope my heart did still remain.

But now (ah me!) the greatest grief of all,
Sound loud my Lute, and tell it out my tongue,
The hardest hap that ever might befall;
The only cause wherefore this song is sung,
Is this, alas! my love, my lord, my roi
My chosen pheare, my gem, and all my joy
Is kept perforce out of my daily sight,
Whereby I lack the stay of my delight.

In lofty walls, in strong and stately towers,
With troubled mind in. solitary sort,
My lovely lord cloth spend his days and hours,
A weary life devoid of all disport.
And I, poor soul, must lie here all alone,
To try my truth, and wound my will with moan;
Such is my hap to shake my blooming time
With winter's blasts before it pass the prime.

Now have you heard the sum of all my grief,
Whereof to tell my heart (oh) rents in twain,
Good ladies yet lend you me some relief,
And bear a part to ease me of my pain.
My sores are such that weighing well my truth
They might provoke the craggy rocks to ruth;
And move these walls with tears for to lament
The loathsome life wherein my youth was spent.

But thou, my Lute, be still, now take thy rest,
Repose thy bones upon this bed of down,
Thou hast discharg'd some bur then from my breast,
Wherefore take thou my place, here lie thee down,
And let me walk to tire my restless mind,
Untill I may entreat some courteous wind
To blow these words unto my noble make,
That he may see I sorrow for his sake.




A Wenches Lamentation for the loss of her Sweet­heart: he having left her a babe to play with, being the fruits of her folly."

The tune is Balow.

BALOW, my babe, weep not for me,
Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee,
But pity her deserved smart,
Who can but blame her own kind heart,
For trusting to a flattering friend,
The fairest tongue, the falsest mind.
     Balow, my babe, &c.

Balow, my babe, ly still and sleep,
It grieves me sore to hear thee weep:
If thou be still I will be glad,
Thy weeping makes thy mother sad:
Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy,
Thy father wrought me great annoy.

First when he came to court my love,
With sugar'd words he did me move;
His flattering and fained cheer
To me that time did not appear,
But now I see that cruel he,
Cares neither for my babe nor me.

I cannot choose but love him still,
Although that he bath done we ill,
For he hath stolen away my heart,
And from him it cannot depart;
In well or wo, where ere he go,
I'll love him though he be my foe.

But peace, my comfort, curse not him,
Who now in seas of grief doth swim,
Perhaps of death: for who can tell
Whether the judge of heaven or hell,
By some predestinated death
Revenging me hath stopt his breath.

If I were near those fatal bounds,
Where he lies groaning in his wounds:
Repeating, as he pants for breath,
Her name that wounds more deep than death,
O then what woman's heart so strong
Would not forget the greatest wrong?

If linen lack for my loves sake
Whom once I loved, then would I take
My smock even from my body meet,
And wrap him in that winding sheet,
Ay me, how happy had I been,
If he had ne'er been wrapt therein.

Balow, my babe, spare thou thy tears,
Untill thou come to wit and years,
Thy griefs are gathering to a sum,
Heaven grant thee patience till they come,
A mother's fault, a father's shame,
A hapless state, a bastard's name.

Be still, my babe, and sleep a while,
And when thou wake then sweetly smile,
But smile not as thy father did,
To cozen maids: O heaven forbid,
And yet into thy face I see
Thy father dear which tempted me.

Balow, my babe, O follow not
His faithless steps who thee begot,
Nor glory in a maid's disgrace,
For thou art his too much, alas!
And in thy looking eyes I read
Who overthrew my maidenhead.

O if I were a maid again,
All young men's flatteries I'd refrain:
Because unto my grief I find
That they are faithless and unkind,
Their tempting terms have bred my harm,
Bear witness babe lies in my arm.

Balow, my babe, spare yet thy tears,
Untill thou come to wit and years;
Perhaps yet thou may come to be
A courtier by disdaining me:
Poor me., poor me, alas poor me,
My own two eyes have blinded me! 

On love and fortune I complain,
On them and on myself also:
But most of all mine own two eyes,
The chiefest workers of my woe,
For they have caused so my smart,
That I must die without a heart.

Balow, my babe, thy father dead
To me the prodigal hath play'd,
Of heaven and earth regardless he
Preferr'd the wars to me and thee.
I doubt that now his cursing mind
Makes him eat acorns with the swine.

Farewell, farewell, most faithless youth,
That ever kist a woman's mouth,
Let never a woman after me,
Submit unto the courtesy;
For if she do, O cruel thou
Would wrong them: O! who can tell how?




Musidorus and Amadine.

WHEN Musidorus fell in love
     With Amadine most fair,
Her father cross to him did prove
     Which caus'd him to despair,
And for to ease his troubled mind
     He wander'd in disguise,
Hoping he might soon comfort find,
     Yet tears dropt from his eyes.

Alas! (quoth he) what shall I do,
     I am unfortunate,
And though my love is firm and true
     I meet with rigid fate;
For she who is my heart's delight
     Her father is my foe,
Which causes me to take my flight,
     Now to the woods I go.

In woods and deserts I'll reside,
     Since my poor Amadine,
Whom once I thought to make my bride,
     She must not now be mine:
My father's court I quite forsake
     Never again to see,
For love my heart will surely break,
     My dear I'll die for thee.

Thus went this wand'ring prince to seek
     Throughout the deserts wide,
Some secret place where he might keep,
     And secretly abide.
At last he did a shepherd turn,
     Still minding of his flocks,
Which caus'd his Amandine to mourn
     And tear her golden locks.

Alas, alas! this princess cried,
     Has he forsaken me,
Who I did think could ne'er abide
     Where I should absent be?
Some, sudden change possest his breast
     That makes him prove unkind,
Whilst Amadine can take no rest
     To ease her love-sick mind.

Thus Amadine, whose troubled mind
     Was sorely fill'd with grief,
For want of Musidorus pin'd,
     And could find no relief;
Then she a resolution took,
     What ere did her betide,
Her prince so dear she would go look
     Throughout the world so wide.

And privately away she went,
     To all her friends unknown,
To give her troubled mind content
     She wandered all alone,
Untill she came into a place
     Where savage beasts alone
Were known in numbers to encrease,
     And thus she made her moan.

Ah! hapless wretch, quoth she, I am
     Of lovers, yea, the worst,
While some delight to feel love's flame
     I think myself accurst;
Yet will I never rest till I
     Find out this prince of mine,
Who strangely, and so privately,
     Forsook his Amadine.
A shower of tears then trickled down
     From her bright shining eyes,
Whose beauty did the deserts crown,
     Whose sighs then fill'd the skies;
And Musidorus being near
     Did chance to hear her voice,
Though first he was possest with fear,
     At last he did rejoice.

Certain it is, quoth he, the tongue
     Of my poor Amadine,
To whom I have done too much wrong,
     Which grieves this saul of mine, 
To her sad heart I will give ease
     Since she is in distress,
For love is such a strange disease
     No tongue can well express.

To Amadine he then appear'd,
     Who startled was to see,
She was by any over-heard,
     And in a swoon fell she;
But her dear prince, with kisses sweet,
     Brought her again to life.
That meeting was to them most sweet,
     He made her soon his wife.


The Countryman's Lamentation for the Death of his Cow.

"A country swain of little wit one day,
Did kill his cow because she went astray,
What's that to you or I? she was his own,
But now the ass for his cow doth moan.

Most pineously methinks he cries in vain,
For now his cow's free from hunger and pain,
What ails the fool to make so great a stir?
She cannot come to him, he may to her.”

To a pleasant country tune called — Colly my Cow.

LITTLE Tom Dogget
     What dost thou mean,
To kill thy poor Colly
     Now she's so lean?
Sing oh poor Colly,
     Colly my cow,
For Colly will give me
     No more milk now.

I had better have kept her
     'Till fatter she had been,
For now I confess
     She's a little too lean,
Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

First in comes the tanner
     With his sword by his side,
And he bids me five shillings
     For my poor cow's hide.
Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

Then in comes the tallow-chandler,
     Whose brains were but shallow,
And he bids me two and sixpence
     For my cow's tallow.
Sing oh poor Colly,
     Colly my cow,
For Colly will give me
     No more milk now.

Then in comes the huntsman
     So early in the morn,
He bid me a penny
     For my cow's horn.
Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

Then in comes the tripe-woman,
     So fine and so neat,
She bid me three half-pence,
     For my cow's feet.
Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

Then in comes the butcher,
     That nimble-tongu'd youth,
Who said she was carrion,
     But he spoke not the truth.
Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

This cow had a skin
     Was as soft as the silk,
And three times a day
     My poor cow would give milk.
Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

She every year
     A fine calf did me bring,
Which fetcht me a pound,
     For it came in the spring.
Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

But now I have kill'd her,
     I can't her recall,
I will sell my poor Colly,
     Hide, horns and all.
Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

The butcher shall have her,
     Though he gives but a pound,
And he knows in his heart,
     That my Colly was sound.
Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

And when he has bought her,
Let him sell all together,
The flesh for to eat,
And the hide for leather.
Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

Some say I'm a cuckold,
     But I'll swear I am none,
For how can it be
     Now my horns are gone.
Sing oh poor Colly,
     Colly my Cow,
For Colly will give me
     No more milk now.



For Tom has broke his word with his sweeting,
And lost a good wife for an houres meeting
Another good fellow has gotten the lasse,
And Torn may go shake his long eares like an asse."

To the tun of — Within the North Country.

WHEN Titan's fiery steeds
Were lodged in the west,
And every beast and feathered fowl
Betook themselves to rest.

Abroad I walked then
To take the evening's air,
Hard by a gentle gliding stream
I saw a damsel fair.

Sweet Tom, quoth she, make haste,
Why dost thou stay so long?
If thou dost not thy promise keep,
Alas! thou dost me wrong!

Thou know'st I ventured have
To meet thee here to night,
Why then wilt thou for my true love,
Me churlishly requite?

If that my mother knew
That I this time was missing,
To meet with thee she'd swear that I
Should never have her blessing.

Yet is my love so fixt,
Though I were sure to die,
I would be sure to meet with thee,
Love lends me wings to fly.

But now I well perceive,
When maids love young men best,
They use them like their servile slaves,
And thus I am opprest.

At first they woo and pray,
And many oaths they swear,
Untill like birds they have them caught,
Into their crafty snare.

Then will they be reject,
And scorn us to our face,
Thus for our kindness oft we are
Rewarded with disgrace.

This I myself have proved,
That here I do report,
For he to whom I gave my heart
Makes me his laughing sport.


This night he promised me
To meet at five a clock,
Which hour's long past, therefore I doubt
With me he does but mock.

While I sit sighing here,
He's bragging to his mates,
That his sweet-heart within the fields,
Now for his coming waits.

Thus like a lion fierce
He insulteth o'er his prey,
Alas, there is no remedy,
Being bound I must obey.

Hard hearted creature here,
To serve me in this kind,
His flattring tongue hath wrought my bane,
As now with grief I find.

Alas, what shall I do,
I am possest with fear,
For rather than I'll homeward go,
My life I'll finish here.

For if that I go home,
My father he will brawl,
My mother she will second him,
And that's the worst of all.

She'll tell me I have been
A gadding after Tom,
She'll swear I'll never leave these tricks,
Till I come loaden home.

If he would meet me here,
Those words I well could bear,
For when that I am armed with love
Their taunts I do not fear.

Sweet Tom, make haste away,
Or else I shall despair,
For home, untill I see thy face,
I mean not to repair.

What should the reason be,
That thou wilt me neglect?
For I have cast thy betters off,
Thy person to affect.

If me thou dost forsake,
Look ne'er to find the like,
Methinks experience might thee teach
While the iron's hot to strike.

My portion is not small,
My parentage not base,
My looking-glass informs me that
I have a comely face.

Yet have I made a choice
Against my parents will,
With one so mean, who cruelly
My tender heart doth kill:

I hearing her say so
Did boldly to her come,
The night was dark, and she believed
That I was her own Tom.

She blam'd my tarrying long,
Which I did well excuse,
I pray'd her wend along with me,
Which she did not refuse.

Supposing all this while
That I had been her Tom;
She swore she had rather go with me,
Than to go ever home.

Thus Tom has lost his lass,
Because he broke his vow,
And I have rais'd my fortunes well,
The case is alter'd now.

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