I still had ruth on widows' tears, At last my royal king did die, I then was punish'd for my sin, Then for my lewd and wanton life, Where many thousands did me view, Who late in court my credit knew ; Which made the tears run down my face, To think upon my foul disgrace. Not thus content, they took from me My goods, my livings, and my fee; And charg'd that none should me relieve, Nor any succour to me give. Then unto mistress Blague I went, To whom my jewels I had sent; In hope thereby to ease my want, But she denied to me the same, So love did vanish with my state, But yet one friend, among the rest, For which, by law, it was decreed, Then those to whom I had done good, My gowns, beset with pearl and gold, Were turn'd to simple garments old; My chains and gems and golden rings, To filthy rags and loathsome things. Thus was I scorn'd of maid and wife, I could not get one bit of bread, Thus, weary of my life, at length, The which now since my dying day, You wanton wives, that fall to lust, If God to me such shame did bring, You husbands, match not but for love, In this particular, at least, either Mrs. Shore, or the writer who furnished her with the information, is under a small mistake: Shoreditch having existed, by that very name, for some hundreds of years before she was born; being part of, or near to, the great common shore (sewer) or drain of the city. Women, be warn'd when you are wives, BALLAD X. TRUE LOVE REQUITED: OR, THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.* THERE was a youth, and a well-beloved youth, And he was a squire's son: He lov'd the bailiff's daughter dear, That liv'd in Islington. She was coy, and she would not believe That he did love her so; No, nor at any time she would But when his friends did understand An apprentice for to bind. And when he had been seven long years, His love he had not seen : Many a tear have I shed for her sake, 'When she little thought of me.' * Islington in Norfolk is probably the place here meant. PERCY. All the maids of Islington Went forth to sport and play, All but the bailiff's daughter dear, She secretly stole away. She put off her gown of grey, As she went along the road, The weather being hot and dry, There was she aware of her true love; At length came riding by. She step'd to him as red as any rose, I prithee, sweet-heart, can'st thou tell me, * At Islington, kind sir, (said she) I prithee, sweet-heart, cán'st thou tell me, 'Whether thou dost know *The bailiff's daughter of Islington?' 'She's dead, sir, long ago.' * Then will I sell my goodly steed, My saddle and my bow; 'I will into some far country, 'Where no man doth me know.' |