For pityes fake do not destroye

My ladye with your knife;
You know fhee is her father's joye,

For Chriftes fake fave her life.

I will not fave her life, he fayd,
Nor make my pyes of thee;
Yet if thou doft this deed hewraye,

Thy butcher I will bee.

Now when this lord he did come home

For to fit downe and eat;

He called for his daughter deare,

To come and carve his meat.

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Wherein her fleshe is minced fmall,

And parched with the fire; All caufed by her step-mother, Who did her death defire.

And curfed bee the master-cook,
O curfed may he bee !

I proffered him my own hearts blood,
From death to fet her free.

Then all in blacke this lord did mourne ;

And for his daughters fake,

He judged her cruell ftep-mother

To be burnt at a stake.

Likewise he judg'd the master cook

In boiling lead to stand;

And made the fimple foullion-boye
The heire of all his land.

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XV. A

XV.

A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID.

This Poem, which is in imitation of the firft Idyllium of Mofchus, is extracted from Ben Jonson's Mafque at the marriage of lord viscount Hadington, on Shrove Tuesday 1608. One ftanza full of dry mythology we have, omitted, as we found it dropt in a copy of this song printed in a small volume called " Le Prince d'amour. Lond. 1660." 8vo.

BEAY

EAUTIES, have yee, feen a toy,
Called Love, a little boy,

Almost naked, wanton, blinde ;,
Cruel now; and then as kinde ?

If he be amongst yee, fay;

He is Venus' run-away.

Shee, that will but now difcover
Where the winged wag doth hover,
Shall to-night receive a kiffe,

How and where herselfe would wish:
But who brings him to his mother
Shall have that kiffe, and another.

Markes he hath about him plentie;
You may know him among

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twentie :

All his body is a fire,

And his breath a flame entire :

Which, being fhot like lightning in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.

Wings he hath, which though yee clip,
He will leape from lip to lip,
Over liver, lights, and heart;
Yet not ftay in any part.
And, if chance his arrow miffes,
He will fhoot himselfe in kiffes.

He doth beare a golden bow,
And a quiver hanging low,
Full of arrowes, which outbrave
Dian's fhafts; where, if he have
Any head more sharpe than other,

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Truft him not his words, though sweet,
Seidome with his heart doe meet:

All his practice is deceit ;

Everie gift is but a bait :

Now, we hope, yee'le not abide him,

Since yee heare this falfer's play,

And that he is Venus' run-away.

XVI.

THE KING OF FRANCE's DAUGHTER.

The ftory of this Ballad feems to be taken from an incident in the domeftic hiftory of Charles the Bald, king of France. His daughter Judith was betrothed to Ethelwulph king of England: but before the marriage was confummated, Ethelwulph died, and she returned to France: whence she was carried off by Baldwyn, Forrefter of Flanders; who after many croffes and difficulties, at length obtained the king's confent to their marriage, and was made Earl of Flanders. This happened about A. D. 863.-See Rapin, Henault, and the French Hiftorians.

VOL. III.

M

The