But yet an honeft mind I bore
To helpless people that were poor;
I ftill redress'd the orphans cry,
And fav'd their lives condemn'd to die.
I ftill had ruth on widows tears,
I fuccour'd babes of tender years;
And never look'd for other gain
But love and thanks for all my pain.
At laft my royal king did die,
And then my days of woe grew nigh ;
When crook-back Richard
King Edwards friends were foon put down.
I then was punish'd for my fin,
That I fo long had lived in ;
Yea, every one that was his friend,
This tyrant brought to shameful end,
Then for my lewd and wanton life,
That made a strumpet of a wife,
I penance did in Lombard-ftreet,
In fhameful manner in a fheet:
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 difgrace.
Not thus content, they took from me
My goods, my livings, and my fee,
And charg'd that none should me relieve,
Nor any fuccour to me give.
Then unto miftrefs Blague I went,
To whom my jewels I had fent,
In hope thereby to ease my want,
When riches fail'd, and love grew fcant.
But the denied to me the fame,
When in my need for them I came ;
To recompence my former love,
Out of her doors fhe did me shove.
So love did vanish with my state,
Which now my foul repents too late;
Therefor example take by me,
For friendship parts in poverty.
But yet one friend, among the reft,
Whom I before had seen distress'd,
And fav'd his life, condemn'd to die,
Did give me food to fuccour me:
For which, by law, it was decreed,
That he was hanged for that deed;
His death did grieve me fo much more,
Than had I died myfelf therefor.
Then thofe to whom I had done good,
Durft not restore me any food;
Whereby in vain I begg'd all day,
And ftill in ftreets by night I lay.
My gowns befet with pearl and gold
Were turn'd to fimple garments old;
My chains and gems and golden rings,
To filthy rags and loathfome things.
Thus was I fcorn'd of maid and wife,
For leading fuch a wicked life;
Both fucking babes, and children small,
Did make their paftime at my fall.
I could not get one bit of bread,
Whereby my hunger might be fed :
Nor drink, but fuch as channels yield,
Or ftinking ditches in the field.
Thus, weary of my life, at length,
I yielded up my vital strength,
Within a ditch of loathsome scent,
Where carrion dogs do much frequent.
The which now fince my dying day,
Is Shoreditch call'd, as writers fay,
Which is a witness of my fin,
For being concubine to a king.
You wanton wives, that fall to luft,
Be you affur'd that God is juft;
Whoredom fhall not escape his hand,
Nor pride unpunish'd in this land,
If God to me fuch shame did bring,
That yielded only to a king,
How shall they fcape that dayly run
To practife fin with every man.
You husbands, match not but for love,
Left some disliking after prove;
Women, be warn'd when you are wives,
What plagues are due to finful lives:
Then, maids and wives, in time amend,
For love and beauty will have end.
THE BAILIFFS DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.
HERE was a youth, and a well-beloved youth,
And he was a fquires fon :
He lov'd the bailiffs daughter dear,
That liv'd in Iflington.
She was coy, and she would not believe
That he did love her fo,
No nor at any time she would
Any countenance to him show.
But when his friends did understand
His fond and foolish mind,
They fent him up to fair London,
An apprentice for to bind.
And when he had been seven long years,
His love he had not feen :
"Many a tear have I fhed for her fake,
When she little thought of me."
All the maids of Iflington,
Went forth to sport and play, All but the bailiffs daughter dear, She fecretly ftole away.
She put off her gown of grey,
And put on her puggish attire,
She's up to fair London gone,
Her true love to require.
As she went along the road,
The weather being hot and dry,
There was fhe aware of her true love,
At length came riding by.
|