With an old lady, whose anger one word a.s.suages; They every quarter paid their old servants their wages, And never knew what belong'd to coachman, footmen, nor pages, But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges; Like an old courtier ...

With an old study fill'd full of learned old books, With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks.

With an old b.u.t.tery hatch worn quite off the hooks, And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks: Like an old courtier ...

With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns and bows, With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne many shrewde blows, And an old frize coat to cover his worship's trunk hose, And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose; Like an old courtier ...

With a good old fashion, when Christma.s.se was come, To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum, With good chear enough to furnish every old room, And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb, Like an old courtier ...

With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds, That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own grounds, Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds, And when he dyed gave every child a thousand good pounds; Like an old courtier ...

But to his eldest son his house and land he a.s.sign'd, Charging him in his will to keep the old bountifull mind, To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours be kind: But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was inclin'd; Like a young courtier of the king's And the king's young courtier.

Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land, Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his command, And takes up a thousand pound upon his father's land, And gets drunk in a tavern, till he can neither go nor stand; Like a young courtier ...

With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and spare, Who never knew what belong'd to good house-keeping, or care, Who buyes gaudy-color'd fans to play with wanton air, And seven or eight different dressings of other women's hair; Like a young courtier ...

With a new-fashion'd hall, built where the old one stood, Hung round with new pictures, that do the poor no good, With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither coal nor wood, And a new smooth shovelboard, whereon no victuals ne'er stood; Like a young courtier ...

With a new study, stuft full of pamphlets, and plays, And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays, With a new b.u.t.tery hatch, that opens once in four or five days, And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws, and toys; Like a young courtier ...

With a new fashion, when Christmas is drawing on, On a new journey to London straight we all must begone, And leave none to keep house, but our new porter John, Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a stone; Like a young courtier ...

With a new gentleman-usher, whose carriage is compleat, With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry up the meat, With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat, Who when her lady has din'd, lets the servants not eat; Like a young courtier ...

With new t.i.tles of honour bought with his father's old gold, For which sundry of his ancestors' old manors are sold; And this is the course most of our new gallants hold, Which makes that good house-keeping is now grown so cold, Among the young courtiers of the king, Among the king's young courtiers.

THE WINNING OF CALES

Long the proud Spaniards had vaunted to conquer us, Threatning our country with fyer and sword; Often preparing their navy most sumptuous With as great plenty as Spain could afford.

Dub a dub, dub a dub, thus strike their drums; Tantara, tantara, the Englishman comes.

To the seas presentlye went our lord admiral, With knights couragious and captains full good; The brave Earl of Ess.e.x, a prosperous general, With him prepared to pa.s.s the salt flood.

At Plymouth speedilye, took they ship valiantlye, Braver ships never were seen under sayle, With their fair colours spread, and streamers o'er their head.

Now bragging Spaniards, take heed of your tayle.

Unto Cales cunninglye, came we most speedilye, Where the kinges navy securelye did ryde; Being upon their backs, piercing their b.u.t.ts of sacks, Ere any Spaniards our coming descryde.

Great was the crying, the running and ryding, Which at that season was made in that place; The beacons were fyred, as need then required; To hyde their great treasure they had little s.p.a.ce.

There you might see their ships, how they were fyred fast, And how their men drowned themselves in the sea; There you might hear them cry, wayle and weep piteously, When they saw no shift to 'scape thence away.

The great St. Phillip, the pryde of the Spaniards, Was burnt to the bottom, and sunk in the sea; But the St. Andrew, and eke the St. Matthew, Wee took in fight manfullye and brought away.

The Earl of Ess.e.x, most valiant and hardye, With hors.e.m.e.n and footmen march'd up to the town; The Spanyards, which saw them, were greatly alarmed, Did fly for their savegard, and durst not come down.

Now, quoth the n.o.ble Earl, courage my soldiers all, Fight and be valiant, the spoil you shall have; And be well rewarded all from the great to the small; But look that the women and children you save.

The Spaniards at that sight, thinking it vain to fight, Hung upp flags of truce and yielded the towne; Wee marched in presentlye, decking the walls on hye, With English colours which purchas'd renowne.

Entering the houses then, of the most richest men, For gold and treasure we searched eche day; In some places we did find, pyes baking left behind, Meate at fire rosting, and folkes run away.

Full of rich merchandize, every shop catch'd our eyes, Damasks and sattens and velvets full fayre: Which soldiers measur'd out by the length of their swords; Of all commodities eche had a share.

Thus Cales was taken, and our brave general March'd to the market-place, where he did stand: There many prisoners fell to our several shares, Many crav'd mercye, and mercye they fannd.

When our brave general saw they delayed all, And would not ransome their towne as they said, With their fair wanscots, their presses and bedsteds, Their joint-stools and tables a fire we made; And when the town burned all in a flame, With tara, tantara, away we all came.

THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON

There was a youth, a well-beloved youth, And he was a squire's son; He loved the bayliffe's daughter dear, That lived in Islington.

Yet she was coy and would not believe That he did love her so, No nor at any time would she Any countenance to him show.

But when his friends did understand His fond and foolish mind, They sent him up to faire London An apprentice for to bind.

And when he had been seven long years, And never his love could see: Many a tear have I shed for her sake, When she little thought of me.

Then all the maids of Islington Went forth to sport and play, All but the bayliffe's daughter dear; She secretly stole away.

She pulled off her gown of green, And put on ragged attire, And to faire London she would go Her true love to enquire.

And as she went along the high road, The weather being hot and dry, She sat her down upon a green bank, And her true love came riding bye.

She started up, with a colour so redd, Catching hold of his bridle-reine; One penny, one penny, kind sir, she said, Will ease me of much pain.

Before I give you one penny, sweetheart, Pray tell me where you were born.

At Islington, kind sir, said she, Where I have had many a scorn.

I prythe, sweetheart, then tell to me, O tell me, whether you know, The bayliffe's daughter of Islington.

She is dead, sir, long ago.

If she be dead, then take my horse, My saddle and bridle also; For I will unto some far country, Where no man shall me know.

O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth, She standeth by thy side; She is here alive, she is not dead, And ready to be thy bride.

O farewell grief, and welcome joy, Ten thousand times therefore; For now I have found mine own true love, Whom I thought I should never see more.