Chapter 3

_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.

_The_ SCOTCH _Wedding_

_Between_ JOCKEY _and_ JENNY.

[Music]

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_.

_This to be said after the_ SONG.

Sea then they gang'd to the Kirk to be wad; noow they den't use to wad in _Scotchland_ as they wad in _England_, for they gang to the Kirk, and they take the Donkin by the Rocket, and say, good morn Sir Donkin, says Sir Donkin, ah _Jockey_ sen ater me, wit ta ha _Jenny_ to thy wadded Wife? ay by her Lady quoth _Jockey_ and thanka twa, we aw my Heart; ah _Jenny_ sen ater me, wit ta ha _Jockey_ to thy wadded Loon, to have and to hold for aver and aver, forsaking aw other Loons, lubberloons, black Lips, blue Nases, an aw Swiggbell'd caves? ah, an these twa be'nt as weel wadded as e'er I wadded twa in _Scotchland_, the Deel and St. _Andrew_ part ye.

_A_ Scotch SONG _made to the_ Irish JIGG, _and Sung to the King at_ Whitehall.

[Music]

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.

_The Fair Lass of_ ISLINGTON.

[Music]

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.

_The most Famous_ BALLAD

_Of King_ HENRY _the 5th; his Victory over the_ French _at_ Agencourt.

[Music]

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.

_The Lady_ ISABELLA'S _Tragedy: Or, the Step-Mother's Cruelty._ _To the foregoing Tune._

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_ BALLAD

_In Praise of a certain Commander in the City._

[Music]

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.

_A_ SONG.

[Music]

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_.

_The Lass of_ LYNN'S _sorrowful Lamentation for the Loss of her Maiden-Head._

[Music]

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_.

_The Jovial Tinker._

[Music]

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.

_The Second_ PART.

And then came in a Hatter, To see what was the matter, He scorn'd to drink cold Water, Amongst that Jovial Crew; And like a Man of Courage stout, He took the Quart-Pot by the Snout, And never left till all was out, _O_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.

The Taylor being nimble, With Bodkin, Shears and Thimble, He did no whit dissemble, I think his name was _True_; He said that he was like to choak, And he call'd so fast for Lap and Smoak, Until he had pawn'd the Vinegar Cloak, _For_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.

Then came a pitiful Porter, Which often did resort there, Quoth he, I'll shew some Sport here, Amongst the Jovial Crew; The Porter he had very bad luck, Before that it was ten a Clock, The Fool got Drunk, and lost his Frock, _For_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.

The bonny brave Shoe-maker, A brave Tobacco taker, He scorn'd to be a Quaker, I think his Name was _Hugh_; He call'd for Liquor in so fast, Till he forgot his Awl and Last, And up the Reckoning he did cast, _Whilst_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.

And then came in the Weaver, You never saw a braver, With a Silk Man and a Glover, _Tom Tinker_ for to view; And so to welcom him to Town, They every Man spent half a Crown, And so the Drink went merrily down, _For_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.

Then came a Drunken _Dutchman_, And he would have a touch, Man, But he soon took too much, Man, Which made them after rue; He drank so long as I suppose, 'Till greasie Drops fell from his Nose, And like a Beast befoul'd his Hose, _Whilst_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.

A _Welchman_ he came next, Sir, With Joy and Sorrow Mixt, Sir, Who being partly vex'd, Sir, He out his Dagger drew; Cuts-plutter-a-nails, quoth _Taffy_ then, A _Welchman_ is a Shentleman, Come Hostess fill's the other Cann, _For_ Joan's _Ale_, &c.

Thus like to Men of Courage stout, Couragiously they drank about, Till such time all the Ale was out, As I may tell to you; And when the Business was done, They every man departed home, And promis'd _Joan_ again to come, _When she had Brew'd anew_.

_The Soldiers Fortune: Or, the taking_ Mardyke.

[Music]