No, John, I confess that not any of these, Had ever the power my fancy to please;
I like no such blades for a trick that I know, For as soon as they've trod they are given to crow; Plain dealing is best, and I like a man well, That when he has kissed will be hanged ere he'll tell: My meaning is honest, and thou art the Lad, Then give it and take it where 'tis to be had.
Alas! my dear mistris, it never can be, That you can affect such a fellow as me: Yet heaven forbid, since I am but your man,
I should ever refuse to do all I can;
But then if my master should know what we've done, We both should be blown up as sure as a Gun:
For after our joys, he would make us sad, For taking it where it ought not to be had. But how should he know it, thou scrupulous Elf, Do'st think I'm so silly to tell him myself? If we are but so wise our own counsel to keep, We may laugh and lye down while the sot is asleep: Some hundreds I know in the city that use To give to their men what their masters refuse;
The man is the master, the Prentice the Dad, For women must take it where 'tis to be had.
Some Prentices use it, forsooth, I allow, But I am a Novice and cannot tell how: However, I hope that I shall not be blamed, For to tell you the truth I am somewhat asham'd; I know how to carry your Bible to church, But to play with my mistris I'm left in the lurch:
Yet if you can shew me the way good or bad, I'll promise you all that there is to be had.
Alas, pritty mistris, the pleasure is such, We never can give one another too much: If this be the business the way is so plain, I think I can easily find it again:
'Twas thus we began; and... Thus we lye down, And thus... Oh thus! that we fell in a swoun:
Such sport to refuse who was ever so mad, I'll take it where ever it is to be had.
Now, Johnny, you talk like an ignorant mome, You can have such pleasures no where but at home, Here's fifty broad pieces for what you have done, But see that you never a gadding do run:
For no new employment then trouble your brains, For here when you work you'll be paid for your pains: But should you deceive me no woman so sad, To lose all the pleasure that once she has had.
A mistris so noble I never will leave,
"Twere a sin and a shame such a friend to deceive; For my Master's shop no more will I care, 'Tis pleasanter handling my mistris's ware: A fig for Indentures, for now I am made Free of a Gentler and pleasanter trade:
I know when I'm well, I was never so mad, To forsake a good thing when 'tis to be had.
(ANOTHER VERSION)
Billy and His Mistress
ANONYMOUS, 1584. from bagfoRD BALLADS, PT. III COME sit thee down, Billy, I have something to say, In my mind I have kept it this many a day; Your master, you know, is a fool and a sot, And nothing he minds but the pipe and the pot:
And if they pursue us to the garret we'll fly I'll pull off my pateens, and on my back lie.
Till twelve or till one he seldom comes home, And then he's so drunk that he lies like a drone; Such usage as this would make any one mad, And a woman must have it where 'tis to be had: And if they pursue us, etc.
O my dearest Mistress, this never can be, That you should affect such a fellow as me; But heaven forbid, though I am but your man, That I should refuse to do all that I can:
And if they pursue us, etc.
Your master's diseased with gout and with stitches, And nothing he can do but pull down his breeches; And then he stands shaking as though he was dead, And so like a woodcock he hangs down his head: And if they pursue us, etc.
O my dearest Mistress, I cannot deny,
For I find myself able your wants to supply; And if you'll support me with coin and with cash, We'll drink while my master shall bray like an ass: And if they pursue us, etc.
Prithee, my Billy, now do not mistrust, In pocket and placket to thee I'll be just;
Keep touch with your master, and then you shall We'll make his bags fly all where ever he be: And if they pursue us, etc.
O my dearest Mistress, but here lies the touch, My wife at our pleasure will grumble and grutch; She hath a quick eye, and her passion is strong, She'll shake our foundation or ere it be long: And if they pursue us, etc.
O my dearest Billy, why dost thou love she, If thou dost, Billy, thou canst not love me; For I never knew it all the days of my life, That any man loved both his whore and his wife: And if they pursue us, etc.
To make him a cuckold none's fitter than thee, For the fool won't believe it although he doth see; A pint of burnt brandy, a pipe, and a coal, Here's a good health to Billy and to Billy's hole: And if they pursue us, etc.
What though I do fight and endeavour to kill, Yet my brave Billy will take my part still; And I will do with him as long as I can, So long as I know he's a lusty young man: And if they pursue us, etc.
I thank thee now, Billy, for my flat fish And long did I think it ere I had my wish; And if we do meet at the Bird-in-Hand door,
We'll call for a room, and we'll dance on the floor: And if they pursue us, etc.
Then Billy's wife she looked in at the door, What a devil, quoth she, do you down on the floor? A dressing of flounders which you sent me last What a devil, quoth she, do you make sauce with your arse? And if they pursue us, etc.
As for our neighbours they are but all fools,
To meddle or make, because we use our own tools; Pray then will you tell me, wherefore they were made, And if to use 'em we should be afraid;
And if they pursue us, etc.
As for the small Hobnails, I have had none of those, To spoil my cold face, nor to hurt my red nose; The great ones are they which I most do fear, If they come below they will spoil my best ware: And if they pursue us, etc.
And still we'll be merry, and leave off all passion, I had rather be dead than to live out of fashion; My father and mother they were of that trade, And I for that purpose so brazen was made; And if they pursue us, etc.
But as for the Garret, we'll come no more there, For why? They do keep an old screeching chair; Beside that, the woman's a blab of her tongue, And we'll find out another place ere it be long:
And if they pursue us they shall ne'er find us out, And yet we are resolved to have the other bout.
In the Forest of Arden
BY MICHAEL DRAYTON. FROM PASTORALS, 1593
Farre in the Forrest of Arden, There dwelt a Knight hight Cassimen, As bold as Isenbras: Fell he was and eager bent In battaile and in Turnament, As was the good Sr. Topas.
He had (as Antique stories tell) A daughter cleped Dowsabell,
A Maiden faire and free,
Who, cause she was her father's heire, Full well she was y-tought the leire Of mickle courtesie.
The Silke well could she twist and twine, And make the fine Marchpine,
And with the needle work.
And she could help the Priest to say His Mattins on a Holy-day,
And sing a Psalme in Kirk.
Her Frocke was of the frolique Green, (Mought well become a Mayden Queen) Which seemely was to see: Her Hood to it was neat and fine, In colour like the Columbine, Y-wrought full featuously.
This Maiden in a morne betime, Went forth when May was in her prime,
To get sweet Scettuall,
The Honeysuckle, the Horelock,
The Lilly, and the Ladies-Smock, To dight her summer Hall.
And as she romed here, and there, Y-picking of the bloomed brier, She chanced to espie
A Shepheard sitting on a bank, Like Chanticleere-he crowed crank, And piped with merry glee.
He leerd his Sheep as he him list, When he would whistle in his fist, To feed about him round, Whilst he full many a Caroll sung, That all the fields, and meadows rung, And made the woods resound.
In favour this same Shepheard Swaine Was like the Bedlam Tamerlaine, That kept proud Kings in awe, But meek he was as meek mought be, Yea like the gentle Abell, he
Whom his lewd brother slew.
This Shepheard wore a freeze-gray Cloake, The which was of the finest locke,
That could be cut with Sheere: His Aule and Lingell in a Thong, His Tar-box by a broad belt hung, His Cap of Minivere.
His Mittens were of Bausons skin, His Cockers were of Cordowin,
His Breech of country blew:
All curle, and crisped were his Locks,
His brow more white than Albion Rocks:
So like a Lover true.
And piping he did spend the day,
As merry as a Popinjay,
Which lik'd faire Dowsabell,
That wod she ought, or wod she nought, This Shepheard would not from her thought, In love she longing fell:
With that she tucked up her Frock, (White as the Lilly was her Smock,) And drew the Shepheard nigh,
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