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ID Title Author Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) STC Words Pages
B00427 An excellent new medly. To to [sic] tune of the Spanish Pauin. 1628 (1628) STC 17777.7; Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.7[14] 2,340 1

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An excellent new Medly To to tune of the Spanish Pauin VVHen Philomel begins to sing the grasse growes green flowres spring Me thinks it is a pleasant thing to walk on Primrose hill Maides haue you any Connie-skins To sell for Laces or great Pinnes The Pope will pardon veniall sinnes Saint Peter Fresh fish and newes grew quickly stale Some say good wine can nere want sale But God send poore folkes Beere Ale enough untill they die Most people now are full of pride The Boy said no but yet be lyde His Aunt did to the Cuck-stoole ride for scolding Within our Towne faire Susan dwells Sure Meg is poyson'd for the swels My friend pull oft your bazzards bells and let the haggard 〈◊〉 Take heed you play not at Tray-trip Short heeles forsooth will quickly flip The beadle makes folke with his whip dance naked Come rapster tell us what 's to pay Iane frownd and cryde good Sir away She tooke his kindnesse yet said nay as Maidens vse to do The man shall have his Mare agen When all false knaues proue honest men Our Sisly shall be Sainted then true Roger. The Butcher with his masty Dog At Rumford you may buy a Hog I faith Raph Goose hath got a clog his wench is great with childe In Pillory put the Bakers head For making of such little bread Good conscience now a dayes is dead Pierce plowman The Cutpurse and his Companie Theeues finde receivers presently Shun Brokers Bawdes and Vsury for feare of after-claps Lord what a wicked world is this The stone lets Kate she cannot pisse Come hither sweet and take a kisse in kindenesse In Bath a wanton wife did dwell She had two buckers to a well Would not a dog for anger swell to see a pudding creepe The Horse-leach is become a Smith When haiters faile then cake a With They say an old man hath no pith Round Robin Simon doth suck up all the Egges Franke neuer drinks without Nutmegs And pretty Parnell shewes her legs as slender as my waste When faire Ierusalem did stand The match is made giue me thy hand Maulkin must have a Cambrick hand blew starched The Cu●kow sung hard by the doore Gyll brawled like a butter whore Cause her buckeheaded Husband swore the Miller was a knave Good Poets leaue of making playes Let players seek for Souldiers payes I doe not like the drunken fraies in Smithfield Now Roysters spurs do gingle braue Iohn Sexton playd the arrand kanue To digge a Coarse out of the Grave and steal the sheet away The wandring Prince of stately Troy Greene sleeves were wont to be my ioy He is a blinde and paultry boy god Cupid Come hither friend and giue good eare A leg of mutton stuft is rare Take heed you do not steal my Mare it is so hot it burns Behold the tryall of true loue He took a scrich-Owle for a Doue This man is like ere long to proue a Monster T is merry when kinde Maltmen meet No Cowards fight but in the street Me thinkes this wench smels very sweet of Muske or somewhat else There was a man did play at Maw The whilest his wife made him a daw Your Case is altered in the law quoth ployden The Weaver will no shuttle shoote Goe bid the Cobler mend my boot He is a foole will go a foot and let his Horse stand still Did Iohn a Nokes and Iohn a Stiles Many an honest man beguiles But all the world is full of wiles and knauery Of treason and of Traytors spight The house is haunted with a sprit Now Nan will rise about midnight and walke to Richards house You Courtly states and gallants all Climbe not too hie for feare you fall If one please not another shall King pipping Diana and her Darlings deere The Dutchmen ply the double Beere Boyes rings the bels make good cheere when Kempe returnes from Rome O man what meanes thy heavie looke Is Will not in his Mistris Booke Sir Rouland for a refuge tooke Horne-Castle Rich people haue the world at will Trades fade but Lawiers flourish still Iacke would be married unto Gyll but care will kill a Cat. Are you there Sirrah with your Beares A Barbers shop with nittie haires Doll Phillis hath lost both her eares for coozning Who list to lead a souldiers life Tom would eat meat but wants a knife The Tinker swore that Tib his wife would play at uptailes all Beleeve my word without an an Oath The Tailor stole some of her cloath When George lay sicke loane made him broath with Hemlocke The Patron gelt the parsonage And Esau sold his heritage Now Leonard lack-wit is foole age to be his Fathers heire Ther 's many scratch before it itch Saul did ask counsel of a Witch Friend ye may haue a Bacon flitch at Dunmow King David plaid on a Welch Harpe This threed will neuer make good warpe At wise mens words each foole will carpe and shoot their witlesse bolts Ione like a Ram wore hornes and wooll Knew you my Hostis of the Bull Spure Curio once was made a gull in Shoreditch The blackamores are blabber lipt At yarmouth are the Herrings shipt And at Bride-well the beggers whipt a man may liue and learne Grief in my heart doth stop my tongue The poore man still must put up wrong Your way lies there then walk along to Witham Theee lies a Lasse that I loue well The Broker hath gay clothes to sell Which from the Hangmans budget fell are you no further yet In Summer times when Peares be ripe Who would give sixpence for a Tripe Play Lad or else lend me thy Pipe and Taber Saint Nicholas Clarkes wil take a purse Young children now can sweare and curse I hope yee like me nere the worse for finding fault therewith The servant is the Masters mate When gossips meet ther 's too much prate Poore Lazarus lies at Diues gate halfe starued Make hast to Sea and hoyst up sailes The hogs were serud with milking pales From filthy sluts and from all Ioayles good Lord deliver us all I scorne to ride a raw boned Iade Fetch me a Mattocke and a Spade A Graves end Toste will soone be made Saint Dennis But for to finish up my Song The Ale-wife did the brewer wrong One day of sorrow seems as long as ten daies do of mirth My Medly now is at an end Haue you no Bowles or Trayes to mend T is hard to finde so true a friend as Damon FINIS Printed by the Assignes of Thomas Symcocke