A Shepherd kept Sheep on a Hill so high, fa, la, la, &c.
And there came a pretty Maid passing by, fa, la, &c.
Shepherd, quoth she, dost thou want e’er a Wife,
No by my troth I’m not weary of my Life, fa, la, la, &c.

Shepherd for thee I care not a Fly, fa, la, la,
For thou’st not the Face with a fair Maid to lie, fa, la,
How now my Damsel, say’st thou me so,
Thou shalt tast of my bottle before thou dost go, fa, la.

Then he took her and laid her upon the Ground, fa, la,
And made her believe that the World went round, fa, la,
Look yonder my Shepherd, look yonder I spy,
There are fine pretty Babies that dance in the Sky, fa, la.

And now they are vanisht, and now they appear, fa, la,
Sure they will tell Stories of what we do here, fa, la, la,
Lie still my dear Chloris, enjoy thy Conceit,
For the Babes are too young and too little to prate, fa, la, la.

See how the Heavens fly swifter than Day, fa, la, la,
Rise quickly, or they will all run away, fa, la, la,
Rise quickly my Shepherd, quickly I tell ye,
For the Sun, Moon and Stars are got all in my Belly, fa, la.

O dear, where am I? pray shew me the way, fa, la, la,
Unto my Father’s House hard by, fa, la, la,
If he chance to Chide me for staying so long,
I’ll tell him the fumes of your Bottle were strong, fa, la, la.

And now thou hast brought my Body to shame, fa, la,
I prithee now tell me what is thy Name, fa, la, la,
Why Robin in the Rushes my Name is, quoth he,
But I think I told her quite contrary, fa, la, la.

Then for Robin in the Rushes, she did enquire, fa, la, la,
But he hung down his Head, and he would not come nigh her, fa, la, la,
He wink’d with one Eye, as if he had been Blind,
And he drew one Leg after a great way behind, fa, la, la.

AS I was a walking under a Grove,
Within my self, as I suppos’d;
My Mind did oftentimes remove,
And by no means could be disclosed:
At length by chance a Friend I met,
Which caused me long time to tarry;
And thus of me she did intreat,
To tell her when I meant to Marry.

Sweet-heart, quoth I, if you would know,
Then hear the Words, and I’ll reveal it;
Since in your Mind you bear it so,
And in your Heart you will conceal it:
She promis’d me she’d make no Words,
But of such things she would be wary;
And thus in brief I did begin,
To tell her when I meant to Marry.

When Shrove-tide falls in Easter week,
And Christmas in the midst of July;
When Lawyers for no Fees will Plead,
And Taylors they prove Just and Truly:
When all Deceits are quite put down,
And Truth by all Men is preferred;
And Indigo dies Red and Brown,
O then my Love and I’ll be Married.

When Men and Beasts in the Ocean flow,
And Fishes in green Fields are feeding;
When Muscle-shells in the Streets grow,
And Swans upon dry Rocks be breeding:
When Cockle-shells are Diamond Rings,
And Glass to Pearl may be compared;
Gold is made of a Grey-goose Wings,
Oh then my Love and I’ll be Married.

When hostesses do reckon true,
And Dutchmen leave off drinking Brandy;
When Cats do bark, and Dogs do Mew,
And Brimstone is took for Sugar-candy:
Or when that Whitsontide do fall,
Within the Month of January;
And a Cobler works without an Awl,
O then my, &c.

When Women know not how to Scold,
And Maids on Sweet-hearts ne’er are thinking;
When Men in the Fire complain of Cold,
And Ships on Salisbury Plain fear sinking:
Or when Horse-Coursers turn honest Men,
And London into York is carried;
And out of One you can take Ten,
Oh then, &c.

When Candlesticks do serve for Bells,
And Frying-pans they do use for Ladles;
When in the Sea they dig for Wells,
And Porridge-pots they use for Cradles:
When Maids forget to go a Maying,
And a Man on his Back an Ox can carry;
Or when the Mice with the Cat be playing,
Oh then, &c.

Good Sir, since you have told me when,
That you’re resolv’d for to Marry;
I wish with all my Heart till then,
That for a Wife you still may tarry:
But if all young Men were of your mind,
And Maids no better were preferred;
I think it were when the D——l were blind,
That we and our Lovers should be Married.

GIlderoy was a bonny Boy,
Had Roses tull his shun,
His Stockings were made of the finest Silk,
His Garters hanging down:
It was a comely sight to see,
He was so trim a Boy;
He was my Joy and Heart’s Delight,
My Handsom Gilderoy.

Oh sike a charming Eye he had,
A Breath as sweet as a Rose,
He never wore a Hiland plad,
But costly silken Cloaths:
He gain’d the Love of Ladies gay,
There’s none to him was Coy;
Ah, wa’s me, Ise mourn this Day,
For my Dear Gilderoy.

My Gilderoy and I was born,
Both in one Town together;
Not past Seven years of Age,
Since one did Love each other:
Our Daddies and our Mammies both,
Were cloath’d with mickle Joy,
To think upon the Bridal Day,
Betwixt I and my Gilderoy.

For Gilderoy, that Love of mine,
Geud faith Ise freely bought:
A Wedding-sark of Holland fine,
With Silk in Flowers wrought:
And he gave me a Wedding Ring,
Which I receiv’d with Joy;
No Lads or Lasses e’er could Sing,
Like my sweet Gilderoy.

In mickle Joy we spent our time,
Till we was both Fifteen;
Then gently he did lay me down,
Amongst the leaves so green:
When he had done what he could do,
He rose and he gang’d his way;
But ever since I lov’d the Man,
My Handsome Gilderoy.

While we did both together play,
He kiss’d me o’er and o’er;
Geud faith it was as blith a Day,
As e’er I saw before:
He fill’d my Heart in every Vein,
With Love and mickle Joy;
Who was my Love and Hearts delight,
Mine own sweet Gilderoy.

Oh never, never shall I see,
The cause of past Delight;
Or sike a lovely Lad as he,
Transport my Ravish’d sight:
The Law forbids what Love enjoyns,
And does prevent our Joy;
Though just and fair were the Designs,
Of me and Gilderoy.

’Cause Gilderoy had done amiss,
Must he be punish’d then;
What kind of Cruelty is this
To hang such Handsom Men?
The Flower of the Scotish land,
A sweet and lovely Boy;
He likewise had a Lady’s Hand,
My Handsom Gilderoy.

At Leith they took my Gilderoy,
And there God wot they bang’d him:
Carry’d him to fair Edenburgh,
And there God wot they hang’d him:
They hang’d him up above the rest,
He was so trim a Boy;
My only Love and Heart’s Delight,
My Handsom Gilderoy.

Thus having yielded up his Breath,
In Cypress he was laid;
Then for my dearest, after Death,
A Funeral I made:
Over his Grave a Marble-stone,
I fixed for my Joy;
Now I am left to weep alone,
For my dear Gilderoy.

THEN Jockey wou’d a Wooing away,
On our Feast-day when he was foo;
Then Jenny put on her best Array,
When she thought Jockey would come to Woo.

If I thought Jockey were come to Town,
It wad be for the leve of me;
Then wad I put on beth Hat and Goown,
Because I’d seem worstsome in his Eye.

Then Jenny prick’d up a brant breeght broow,
She was as breeght as onny clock;
As Moggy always used to do,
For fear her Sweet-heart shou’d her mock.

Then Jenny shoo tripped up the Stairs,
And secretly to shift her Smock;
But leard how loud her mother swears,
O hast away Jenny, and come to Jock.

Then Jenny came tripping down the Stairs,
Oh Leard so nimbly tripped she;
But oh how Jockey began to stare,
When he beheld hur fair Beauty!

Then Jenny made a Curtshy low,
Until the Stairs did touch her Dock;
But Leard how loud her Mother did lough,
When shoo Jenny was come to Jock.

Then Jockey tuke Jenny by the Nease,
Saying my dear Lovey canst thou loof me?
My Father is Dead and has left me Land,
Some fair ould Houses twa or three.

Thou shalt be the Lady o’er them aw,
I doot, quod Jenny you do me mock;
Ad ta my saw, quoth Jockey, then,
I come to woo thee Jenny, quoth Jock.

LAtely as thorough the fair Edinborough,
To view the fair Meadows as I was ganging;
Jockey and Moggy were walking and talking,
Of Love and Religion, thus closely Haranguing;
Never says Moggy, come near me false Jockey,
For thou art a Whig, and I mean to abhor thee;
Ize be no Bride, nor will lig by thy side,
For no sneaking Rebel shall lift a Leg o’er me.

Jockey. Fairest and Dearest,
And to my Heart nearest,
To live with thy Frowns I no longer am able;
I am so loving,
And thou art so moving,
Each Hair of thy Head ties me fast as a Cable:
Thou hast that in thee,
Ise sure to win me,
To Jew, Turk or Atheist, so much I adore thee;
Nothing I’d shun,
That is under the Sun,
So I have the pleasure to lift a Leg o’er thee.

Moggy. Plotters and Traytors,
And Associators,
In every degree thou shalt swear to oppose ’em;
Swimmers and Trimmers,
The Nations Redeemers,
And for thy Reward thou shalt sleep in my Bosom;
I had a Dad,
Was a Royal brave Lad,
And as true as the Sun to his Monarch before me;
Moggy he cry’d,
The same hour that he Dy’d,
Let no sneaking Rebel e’er lift a Leg o’er thee.

Jockey. Adieu then ye Crew then,
Of Protestant Blue Men,
No Faction his Moggy from Jockey shall sever;
Thou shalt at Court,
My Conversion Report,
I am not the first Whig by his Wife brought in favour;
Ise never deal,
For the dull Common Weal,
To fight for true Monarchy shall be my Glory;
Lull’d with thy Charms,
Then I die in your Arms,
When I have the Pleasure to lift a Leg o’er thee.

THere was a Lass of Islington,
As I have heard many tell;
And she would to Fair London go,
Fine Apples and Pears to sell:
And as along the Streets she flung,
With her basket on her Arm:
Her Pears to sell, you may know it right well,
This fair Maid meant no harm.

But as she tript along the Street,
Her pleasant Fruit to sell;
A Vintner did with her meet,
Who lik’d this Maid full well:
Quoth he, fair Maid, what have you there?
In Basket decked brave;
Fine Pears, quoth she, and if it please ye
A taste Sir you shall have.

The Vintner he took a Taste,
And lik’d it well, for why;
This Maid he thought of all the rest,
Most pleasing to his Eye:
Quoth he, fair Maid I have a Suit,
That you to me must grant;
Which if I find you be so kind,
Nothing that you shall want.

Thy Beauty doth so please my Eye,
And dazles so my sight;
That now of all my Liberty,
I am deprived quite:
Then prithee now consent to me,
And do not put me by;
It is but one small courtesie,
All Night with you to lie.

Sir, if you lie with me one Night,
As you propound to me;
I do expect that you should prove,
Both courteous, kind and free:
And for to tell you all in short,
It will cost you Five Pound,
A Match, a Match, the Vintner said,
And so let this go round.

When he had lain with her all Night,
Her Money she did crave,
O stay, quoth he, the other Night,
And thy Money thou shalt have:
I cannot stay, nor I will not stay,
I needs must now be gone,
Why then thou may’st thy Money go look,
For Money I’ll pay thee none.

This Maid she made no more ado,
But to a Justice went;
And unto him she made her moan,
Who did her Case lament:
She said she had a Cellar Let out,
To a Vintner in the Town;
And how that he did then agree
Five Pound to pay her down.

But now, quoth she, the Case is thus,
No Rent that he will pay;
Therefore your Worship I beseech,
To send for him this Day:
Then strait the Justice for him sent,
And asked the Reason why;
That he would pay this Maid no Rent?
To which he did Reply,

Although I hired a Cellar of her,
And the Possession was mine?
I ne’er put any thing into it,
But one poor Pipe of Wine:
Therefore my Bargain it was hard,
As you may plainly see;
I from my Freedom was Debarr’d,
Then good Sir favour me.

This Fair Maid being ripe of Wit,
She strait Reply’d again;
There were two Butts more at the Door,
Why did you not roul them in?
You had your Freedom and your Will,
As is to you well known;
Therefore I do desire still,
For to receive my own.

The Justice hearing of their Case,
Did then give Order strait;
That he the Money should pay down,
She should no longer wait:
Withal he told the Vintner plain
If he a Tennant be;
He must expect to pay the same,
For he could not sit Rent-free.

But when the Money she had got,
She put it in her Purse:
And clapt her Hand on the Cellar Door,
And said it was never the worse:
Which caused the People all to Laugh,
To see this Vintner Fine:
Out-witted by a Country Girl,
About his Pipe of Wine.

A Councel grave our King did hold,
With many a Lord and Knight:
That he might truly understand,
That France did hold his Right.

Unto the King of France therefore,
Embassadors he sent;
That he might truly understand,
His Mind and whole Intent.

Desiring him in friendly sort,
His lawful Right to yield;
Or else he swore by dint of Sword,
To win it in the Field.

The King of France with all his Lords,
Did hear this Message plain;
And to our brave Embassador,
Did answer with Disdain.

And said our King was yet too young,
And of but tender Age;
Therefore they pass not for his Threats,
Nor fear not his Courage.

His Knowledge yet in Feats of Arms,
As yet is very small;
His tender Joints more fitter are,
To toss a Tennis-ball.

A Tun of Tennis-balls therefore,
In Pride and great Disdain;
He sent unto this Royal King,
To recompence his Pain.

Which Answer when our King did hear,
He waxed wroth in Heart;
And swore he would provide such Balls,
Should make all France to smart.

An Army then our King did hold,
Which was both good and strong;
And from Southampton is our King,
With all his Navy gone.

In France he landed safe and sound,
Both he and all his Train;
And to the Town of Husle then
He marched up amain.

Which when he had besieg’d the Town,
Against the fenced Walls;
To batter down the stately Towers,
He sent his English Balls.

When this was done our King did march,
Then up and down the Land;
And not a Frenchman for his Life,
Durst once his Force withstand.

Until he came to Agencourt,
Whereas it was his chance;
To find the King in readiness,
With all the Power of France.

A mighty Host he had prepar’d,
Of Armed Soldiers then;
Which were no less by just Account,
Than Forty Thousand Men.

Which sight did much amaze our King,
For he and all his Host;
Not passing Fifteen Thousand had,
Accounted with the most.

The King of France who well did know,
The Number of our Men;
In vaunting Pride and great Disdain,
Did send an Herald then:

To understand what he would give,
For Ransom of his Life,
When they in Field had taken him,
Amongst the bloody strife.

And when our King with cheerful Heart,
This answer then did make;
Before that it does come to pass,
Some of your Hearts will ake.

And to your proud presumptuous King,
Declare this thing, quoth he;
My own Heart’s-blood will pay the Price,
Nought else he gets of me.

Then spake the noble Duke of York,
O noble King, quoth he,
The Leading of this Battle brave,
It doth belong to me.

God-a-mercy Cousin York, he said,
I grant thee thy Request;
Then lead thou on couragiously,
And I will lead the rest.

Then came the bragging Frenchmen down,
With cruel Force and Might;
With whom our Noble King began,
A fierce and dreadful Fight.

The Archers they discharg’d their Shafts,
As thick as Hail from Skie;
And many a Frenchman in the Field,
That happy Day did die.

Their Horses tumbled on the Stakes,
And so their Lives they lost;
And many a Frenchman there was ta’en,
As Prisoners to their cost.

Ten Thousand Men that Day was slain,
As Enemies in the Field:
And eke as many Prisoners,
Were forc’d that Day to yield.

Thus had our King a happy Day,
And Victory over France;
And brought them quickly under foot
That late in Pride did prance.

God save our King, and bless this Land,
And grant to him likewise;
The upper-hand and Victory,
Of all his Enemies.

THere was a Lord of worthy Fame,
And a Hunting he would ride,
Attended by a noble Train,
Of Gentry on each side.

And whilst he did in Chace remain,
To see both Sport and Play;
His Lady went as she did feign,
Unto the Church to pray.

This Lord he had a Daughter Fair,
Whose Beauty shin’d so bright;
She was belov’d both far and near,
Of many a Lord and Knight.

Fair Isabella was she call’d,
A Creature Fair was she;
She was her Father’s only Joy,
As you shall after see.

But yet her Cruel Step-Mother,
Did Envy her so much;
That Day by Day she sought her Life,
Her Malice it was such.

She bargain’d with the Master-Cook,
To take her Life away;
And taking of her Daughter’s Book,
She thus to her did say.

Go home, sweet Daughter, I thee pray.
Go hasten presently;
And tell unto the Master-Cook,
These Words which I tell thee.

And bid him dress to Dinner straight,
That fair and milk-white Doe;
That in the Park doth shine so bright,
There’s none so fair to show.

This Lady fearing of no harm,
Obey’d her Mother’s Will;
And presently she hasted home,
Her Mind for to fulfil.

She straight into the Kitchin went,
Her Message for to tell,
And there the Master-Cook she spy’d,
Who did with Malice swell.

Now Master-Cook it must be so,
Do that which I thee tell;
You needs must dress the milk-white Doe,
Which you do know full well.

Then straight his cruel bloody Hands,
He on the Lady laid;
Who quivering and shaking stands,
While thus to her he said:

Thou art the Doe that I must dress,
See here, behold my Knife;
For it is Pointed presently,
To rid thee of thy Life.

O then cry’d out the Scullion Boy,
As loud as loud might be;
O save her Life, good Master-Cook,
And make your Pies of me?

For pity sake do not destroy
My Lady with your Knife;
You know she is her Father’s Joy,
For Christ’s sake save her Life.

I will not save her Life he said,
Nor make my Pies of thee;
Yet if thou dost this Deed betray,
Thy Butcher I will be;

Now when this Lord he did come home,
For to sit down to Meat;
He called for his Daughter dear,
To come and carve his Meat.

Now sit you down, his Lady said,
O sit you down to Meat;
Into some Nunnery she’s gone,
Your Daughter dear forget.

Then solemnly he made a Vow,
Before the Company;
That he would neither eat nor drink,
Until he did her see.

O then bespoke the Scullion Boy,
With a loud Voice so high;
If that you will your Daughter see
My Lord cut up the Pye.

Wherein her Flesh is minced small,
And parched with the Fire;
All caused by her Step-Mother,
Who did her Death desire.

And cursed be the Master-Cook,
O cursed may he be!
I proffer’d him my own Heart’s Blood,
From Death to set her free.

Then all in Black this Lord did Mourn,
And for his Daughter’s sake;
He judged for her Step-Mother,
To be burnt at a Stake.

Likewise he judg’d the Master-Cook,
In boyling Lead to stand;
He made the simple Scullion Boy,
The Heir to all his Land.

A Heroe of no small Renown,
But noted for a Man of Mettle;
Thro’ all the Parts of London Town,
No Gentleman, nor yet a Clown,
No grave wise man, nor stupid Beetle.

By many Deeds of Prowess done,
He’s gain’d a matchless Reputation;
Perform’d by neither Sword nor Gun,
But by what means you’ll know anon,
And how he work’d his Preservation.

Well mounted on a noble Steed,
With Sword and Pistol charg’d before him;
Altho’ we must confess indeed,
Of either Arms there was no need,
His Conduct did alone secure him.

With’s Wife upon a single Horse,
T’wards Eppin both rid out together;
But what than ill Luck can be worse,
A High-way-Man of equal Force,
Alass, obstructed both their Pleasure.

With Pistol cock’d he made demand,
And told them he must have their Money;
The Major wisely would not stand,
Nor on his Pistols clap a Hand,
He was not such a Fighting Tony.

But spur’d away as swift as Wind,
No Elk or Tyger could run faster;
Was ever Man so stout and kind,
To leave his frighted Wife behind,
Expos’d to such a sad Disaster.

Her Necklace, Cloaths and Diamond Ring,
The greedy Robber quickly fell to;
One Petticoat he let her bring
Away with Smock, and t’other Thing,
To let her noble Heroe smell to.

This Slight bred sad domestick Strife,
Altho’ the Man’s to be commended;
For what’s a loving handsome Wife,
To a Man’s Money or his Life,
For all is lost when that is ended.

AS the Fryer he went along, and a poring in his Book,
At last he spy’d a Jolly brown Wench a washing of her Buck,

Sing, Stow the Fryer, stow the Fryer
Some good Man, and let this fair Maid go.

The Fryer he pull’d out and a Jolly brown T——d as much as he could handle,
Fair Maid, quoth he, if thou earnest Fire in thy A—— come light me this same Candle.
Sing, Stow the Fryer, &c.

The Maid she sh—— and a Jolly brown T—— out of her Jolly brown Hole,
Good Sir, quoth she, if you will a Candle light come blow me this same Cole.
Sing, Stow the Fryer, &c.

Part of the Sparks flew into the North, and part into the South,
And part of this jolly brown T—— flew into the Fryer’s Mouth.

Sing, Stow the Fryer, stow the Fryer
Some good Man, and let this fair Maid go.

I Am a young Lass of Lynn,
Who often said thank you too;
My Belly’s now almost to my Chin,
I cannot tell what to do.

My being so free and kind,
Does make my Heart to rue;
The sad Effects of this I find,
And cannot tell what to do.

My Petticoats which I wore,
And likewise my Aprons too;
Alass, they are all too short before,
I cannot, &c.

Was ever young Maid so crost,
As I who thank’d him too:
For why, my Maiden-head is lost,
I cannot tell what to do.

In sorrowful sort I cry’d,
And may now for ever rue;
The Pain lies in my Back and Side,
I cannot tell what to do.

Alass I was kind and mild,
But now the same I rue;
Having no Father for my Child,
I cannot, &c.

I took but a Touch in jest,
Believe me this is true;
Yet I have proved, I protest,
And cannot, &c.

He crav’d my Virginity,
And gave me his own in lieu;
In this I find I was too kind,
And cannot, &c.

Each Damsel will me degrade,
And so will the young Men too;
I’m neither Widow, Wife, nor Maid,
I cannot, &c.

A Cradle I must provide,
A Chair and Posset too;
Nay, likewise twenty Things beside,
I cannot, &c.

When I was a Maiden fair,
Such Sorrows I never knew;
But now my Heart is full of Care,
I cannot, &c.

Oh what will become of me,
My Belly’s as big as two;
’Tis with a Two-legg’d Tympany,
I cannot tell what to do.

You Lasses that hear my Moan,
If you will your Joys renew;
Besure, while Married, lye alone,
Or else you at length may rue.

I came of as good a Race,
As most is in Lynn’s fair Town;
And cost a great deal bringing up,
But a little Thing laid me down.

THERE was a Jovial Tinker,
Which was a good Ale drinker;
He never was a Shrinker,
Believe me this is true;
And he came from the wild of Kent,
When all his Money was gone and spent,
Which made him look like a Jack-a-Lent,
And Joan’s Ale is new,
And Joan’s Ale is new Boys,
And Joan’s Ale is new.

The Tinker he did settle,
Most like a Man of Mettle,
And vow’d to pawn his Kettle,
Now mark what did ensue;
His Neighbours they flock’d in apace,
To see Tom Tinker’s comely Face,
Where they drank soundly for a space,
Whilst Joan’s Ale, &c.

The Cobler and the Broom Man,
Came next into the Room, Man,
And said they would drink for boon Man,
Let each one take his due;
But when good Liquor they had found,
They cast their Caps upon the Ground,
And so the Tinker he drank round,
Whilst Joan’s Ale, &c.

The Rag-Man being weary,
With the Burden he did carry,
He swore he would be merry,
And spend a Shilling or two;
And he told his Hostess to her Face,
The Chimney-corner was his Place,
And he began to drink apace,
And Joan’s Ale, &c.

The Pedlar he drew nigher,
For it was his desire,
To throw the Rags i’th’ Fire,
And burn the bundle blue;
So whilst they drank whole Flashes,
And threw about the Glasses,
The Rags were burnt to Ashes,
And Joan’s Ale, &c.