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Because thou dost lyke her,

And lyst nott to chang her, I wold she were meker,

And be no more a ranger; But she is a striker,

And therin her danger,

For hym that shalle kepe her

At racke and att manger.

Now, ty the mare, Tom boy, &c.

At larg yf thou lett her,

Thay seke and can nott fynd her, Yett wer thou much better

In trammells to bynd her

A loock and a fetter

Befor and behynd her,

At lyver to sett her,

r;

Wher thou lyst to asyne her. Now, ty the mare, Tom boy, &c.

The trimer thou tyuer her,

To show her a starrer,
The mo wille desyer her,
And, therfor, bewar her;
For whoo that may hyer her
To ryd wille nott spar her,
But no man can tyer her,

Whille towe legges may bear her. [Now,] ty the mare, Tom boy, &c.

VOL. II.

D

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Yf hunger dysease her,

'Then' must thou be watching

With hard meatt to pleas her,

That she may be catchyng

A morsell to dasse her,
Therat to be snaching;
Such baytt shall apease her,

Yf thou mayk no patching.

Now, ty the mar, Tom boy, &c.

To glosse or to glaver,

I will for no medyng,

But yffe thou wilt have her

All tymes at thy nedyng.

Lett her nott tayk saver

At 'other' mens fedyng, For, then, will they crave her Because of her bredyng.

Now, ty the mar, &c.

A fooll of that fylly,

That ware lyke her mother,

From Seland to Sylley

Ware nott such another:

No mor of her will I

Speak one word nor other,
But make much of Gylly,

I pray the, Tom, brother.
Nowe, tye the mar, Tom boy, &c.

[V. 64. others.]

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III.

IN DISPRAISE OF WOMEN.

From the same MS. Where it is attended with musical notes, but as "ther laketh all the other parts," these are not copied. At the end is, finis q. mr. Heath; but whether he were author, or composer, or both, or neither, is altogether uncertain.

THESE Women all,

Both great and small,

Ar wavering to and fro,

Now her, now ther,

Now every wher :—

But I will nott say so.

They love to range,

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Ther myndes do' chaunge;

And maks ther 'frynd' ther foo;

As lovers trewe

Eche daye they chewse new:

But I will nott say so.

They laughe, they smylle,

They do begyle,

As dyce that men 'do' throwe;

Who useth them 'mych',

Shall never be ryche:

But I will not say so.

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Summe hot, sum cold,

Ther is no hold,

But as the wynd doth blowe; When all is done,

They chaung lyke the moone :—

But I will not say so.

So thus one and other

Takith after ther mother,

As 'cocke' by kind doth crowe.

My song is ended,

The beste may be amended:

But I will nott say so.

IV.

THE DISCONTENTED HUSBAND.

From a MS. in the Cotton library (Vespasian, A. xxv.)

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