(HOME)   

EVANS'S COLLECTION OF OLD BALLADS,  Continued

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.

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.

LXIII.

THE SHEPHERD'S LOVE FOR PHILLIDAY,

[From the Muses Garden.]

LXIV.

"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.

LXV.

NO CONSTANCY IN MAN.

[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.

LXVI.

"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.

LXVII.

"THE NEW BALOW;

OR,

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?

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.

LXIX.

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.

LXX.

"TAKE TIME WHILE 'TIS OFFERED:

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.