She knockes again with might and maine,
And Lot he chides her ftraite.

How now, quoth fhe, thou drunken afs;
Who bade thee here to prate ?

35

With thy two daughters thou didst lye,

7

On them two baftardes got.
And thus moft tauntingly fhe chaft
Against poor filly Lot.

Who calleth there; quoth Judith then,
With fuch fhrill founding notes ?

40

You were more kinde, good Sir, the fayd,

The woman's mad, quoth Solomon,

That thus doth taunt a king. Not half fo mad as you, fhe fayd

I trowe, in manye a thing.

Thou hadft feven hundred wives at once,

For whom thou didst provide;

And yet, god wot, three hundred whores
Thou must maintaine befide:

And they made thee forfake thy God,
And worship ftockes and fones;
Befides the charge they put thee to
In breeding of young bones.

60

65

Thou whore-fon run-away, quoth she,

75

Thou diddeft more amifs.

They fay' quoth Thomas, womens tongues

Of afpen-leaves are made.

Thou unbelieving wretch, quoth the,

All is not true that's fayd.

80

When

When Mary Magdalen heard her then,

She came unto the gate.

Quoth fhe, good woman, you must think
Upon your former state.

No finner enters in this place

Quoth Mary Magdalene. Then

'Twere ill for you, fair mistress mine, She anfwered her agen:

You for your honeftye, quoth fhe,
Had once been fton'd to death;

85

Had not our Saviour Christ come by,
And written on the earth.

90

Remember, Paul, what thou hast done,

All through a lewd defire :

How thou didst perfecute God's church,

With wrath as hot as fire,

L 3

100

Then

Then up ftarts Peter at the last,

And to the gate he hies :

Fond fool, quoth the, knock not fo fast,

Thou wearieft Chrift with cries.

Peter, faid fhe, content thyfelfe,
For mercye may be won;
I never did deny my Christ,

As thou thyfelfe haft done.

When as our Saviour Chrift heard this,
With heavenly angels bright,

He comes unto this finful foul ;

Who trembled at his fight.

Of him for mercye fhe did crave.

Quoth he, thou haft refus'd

My proffer'd grace, and mercy both,
And much my name abus'd.

Sore have I finned, Lord, the fayd,

And spent my time in vaine;

But bring me like a wandring sheepe

Into thy fold againe..

O Lord my God, I will amend

My former wicked vice :

The thief for one poor filly word

Paft into paradise.

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110

115

120

125

My

My lawes and my commandiments,

Saith Chrift, were knowne to thee;

But of the fame in any wife,

Not yet one word did yee.

I grant the fame, O Lord, quoth the;

Most lewdly did I live

But yet the loving father did

His prodigal fon forgive.

So I forgive thy foul, he fayd,
Through thy repenting crye;
Come enter then into my reft,
I will not thee denye.

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135

140

XIII.

DULCIN A.

Given from two ancient copies, one in black-print, in the Pepys collection; the other in the editor's folio MS. The fourth ftanza is not found in MS, and Jeems redundant.

This fong is quoted as very popular in Walton's Compleat Angler, chap. 2. It is more ancient than the song of RoBIN GOOD-FELLow printed below, which yet is fuppofed to have been written by Ben Jonfon.

S at noone Dulcina refted

In her sweete and fhady bower ;

Came a fhepherd, and requested
In her lappe to sleep an hour.