Fond Love

FROM MERRY DROLLERY, 1691

COME my delicate bonny sweet Betty,
Let's dally a while in the shade,

Where the Sun by degrees shines through the trees,
And the wind blows through the Glade;

Where Telons her Lover is graced,

And richly adorned with green,

And the amorous boy with her mother did toy,

And the Uncan never was seen;

There we may enjoy modest pleasure,

As kissing and merry discourse,

And never control a modest sweet soul,

For love is a thing of great force.

The green grass shall be thy Pillow

To comfort thy spherical head,

And my arms shall enjoin my love so divine,
And the earth shall be thy bed;

Thy mantle of fairest flowers,

My coat shall thy coverlet be,

And the whistling wind shall sing to our mind,
A dainty sweet Lullaby.

Old Eolus shall be thy Rocker,

With his gentle murmuring noise,

And love's myrtle tree shall thy Canopy be;

And the bird's harmonious voice

Shall bring us into a sweet slumber,

While I in thy bosom do rest,

And give thee such bliss by that, and by this

As by poetry can't be exprest.

While thy cherry cheek pleaseth in touching,

And in smelling her odorous breath;

Her beauty in my sight, and her voice my delight,

Oh, my sweets are cast beneath;

Thus ravished with the contentment

In more than a lover exprest,

And think when I am here, I am in a sphere,

And more than immortally blest.

And thus with my mutual coying

My love doth me sweetly embrace;

With my hands in her hair, and her fingers so rare,

And her playing with my face,

We reaped the most happy contentment

That ever two Lovers did find;

What women did see but my Love and me,

Would say, that we use to be kind.

A Remedy for the Green Sickness

ANONYMOUS. 1682. from bagford ballads. pt. III

I

A HANDSOME buxom lass lay panting on her bed,
She looked as green as grass and mournfully she said:
Except I have some lusty lad to ease me of my pain,
I cannot live, I sigh and grieve,

My life I now disdain.

But if some bonny lad would be so kind to me,
Before I am quite mad to end my misery,

And cool these burning flames of fire

Which rage in this my breast,

Then I should be from torments free and be forever blest.

I am both young and fair, yet 'tis my fortune hard,

I'm ready to despair, my pleasures are debarred:

And I, poor soul, cannot enjoy nor taste of love's bliss,
Whilst others meet, those joys so sweet

Oh! what a life is this.

Were but my passion known, sure some would pity me,
That lie so long alone, for want of company.

Had I some young man in my arms
That would be brisk and brave,

My pains would end,

He'd prove my friend,

And keep me from my grave.

From this tormenting pain I cannot long endure,
My hopes are all in vain if I expect a cure,
Without some thundering lad comes in

And with a courage bold,

Grant me delight,

I'd him requite,

With silver and with gold.

II

A gallant lively lad that in the next room lay,

It made his heart full glad to hear what she did say.

Into the room immediately this youngster he did rush,
Some words he spoke,

Love to provoke,

But she straight cried out, Hush!

My father he will hear and then we're both undone,
Quoth he, love do not fear, I'll venture for a son.
The coverlet he then threw off and jumped into the bed,
And in a trice,

He kissed her twice,

Then to his chamber fled.

And blushing all alone this damsel sweating lay, Her troubles they were gone, thus softly did she say: Had I but known that lover's bliss

Had been so sweet a taste,

I'd ne'er have stayed,

Nor begged nor prayed,

That so much time did waste.

This lusty youthful boy, that banished all my pain, I must his love enjoy ere it be long again.

For gold and silver I'll not spare

Can that his courage prove,

He has an art, without all smart,
Green sickness to remove.

A sigh she gave and said, Oh! come again to me, For I am half afraid I shall not cured be

At this first bout, then prithee try

To help me once again;

Count me not bold, I'll give thee gold
Enough for all thy pain.

A Present to a Lady

FROM MERRY DROLLERY, 1691

LADIES, I do here present you
With a token Love hath sent you;

'Tis a thing to sport and play with,

Such another pretty thing

For to pass the time away with;
Prettier sport was never seen;

Name I will not, nor define it,
Sure I am you may divine it:
By those modest looks I guess it,
That I need no more express it,
And those eyes so full of fire,
But leave your fancies to admire.

Yet as much of it be spoken
In the praise of this love-token:
'Tis a wash that far surpasseth
For the cleansing of your blood,
All the Saints may bless your faces,
Yet not do you so much good.
Were you ne'er so melancholy,
It will make you blithe and jolly;
Go no more, no more admiring,
When you feel your spleen's amiss,
For all the drinks of Steel and Iron
Never did such cures as this.

It was born in th' Isle of Man
Venus nurs'd it with her hand,
She puffed it up with milk and pap,
And lull'd it in her wanton lap,
So ever since this Monster can
In no place else with pleasure stand.

Colossus like, between two Rocks,

I have seen him stand and shake his locks,
And when I have heard the names

Of the sweet Saterian Dames,
O he's a Champion for a Queen,
'Tis pity but he should be seen.

Nature, that made him, was so wise
As to give him neither tongue nor eyes,
Supposing he was born to be
The instrument of Jealousie,
Yet here he can, as Poets feign,
Cure a Lady's love-sick brain.

He was the first that did betray
To mortal eyes the milky way;
He is the Proteus cunning Ape
That will beget you any shape;
Give him but leave to act his part,
And he'll revive your saddest heart.

Though he want legs, yet he can stand,
With the least touch of your soft hand;
And though, like Cupid, he be blind,
There's never a hole but he can find;
If by all this you do not know it,
Pray, Ladies, give me leave to show it.

Love's Follies

FROM MERRY DROLLERY, 1691

NAY out upon this fooling for shame
Nay pish, nay fire, in faith you are to blame;
Nay come, this fooling must not be;

Nay pish, nay fie, you tickle me.

Nay out upon't in faith I dare not do't;
I'll bite, I'll scratch, I'll squeak, I'll cry out;
Nay come, this fooling must not be;

Nay pish, nay fie, you tickle me.

Your Buttons scratch me, you ruffle my band,

You hurt my thighs, Pray take away your hand;

The door stands ope that all may see,

Nay pish, nay fie, you tickle me.

When you and I shall meet in a place
Both together face to face,

I'll not cry out, nay you

shall see,

Nay, pish, nay fie, you tickle me.

But now I see my words are but vain,
For I have done, why should I complain?
Nay to't again, the way is free,

Since it's no more, pray tickle me.

"My Mistress Is in Music Passing Skillful"

A SONG FROM MERRY DROLLERY, 1691

My Mistress is in Music passing skillful,
And Plays and sings her part at the first sight,
But in her play she is exceeding willful,
And will not play but for her own delight,

Nor touch one string, nor play one pleasing strain,
Unless you take her in a pleasing vein.

Also she hath a sweet delicious touch
Upon the Instrument whereon she plays,
And thinks that she doth never do too much,
Her pleasures are dispers'd so many ways;
She hath such Judgment both in time and mood,
That for to play with her 'twill do you good.

And then you win her heart: but here's the spite,
You cannot get her for to play alone,

But play with her, and she will play all night,
And next day too, or else 'tis ten to one,

And run division with you in such sort,

Run ne'er so swift she'll make you come too short.

Still so she sent for me one day to play,
Which I did take for such exceeding grace,
But she so tired me ere I went away:
I wished I had been in another place:
She knew the play much better than I did,
And still she kept me time for heart and blood.

I love my mistress, and I love to play,
So she will let me play with intermission:
But when she ties me to it all the day,
I hate and loath her greedy disposition;
Let her keep time, as nature doth require,
And I will play as much as she'll desire.