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Her poultry, and her bees,

And her geese sitting;
A pair of mattress beds,
And a bag full of shreds ;
And yet for all this goods

Phillada flouts me!

She hath a clout of mine,

Wrought with good Coventry),
Which she keeps for a sign

Of my fidelity.
But i' faith, if she finch,

She shall not wear it;
To Tibb, my t' other wench,

I mean to bear it.
And yet it grieves my heart
So soon from her to part!
Death strikes me with his dart!

Phillada flouts me!

Thou shalt eat curds and cream

All the year lasting;
And drink the chrystal stream,

Pleasant in tasting:
Whig and whey, whilst thou burst,

And ramble-berry,

Pye-lid and pastry-crust,

Pears, plumbs, and cherry ;
Thy raiment shall be thin,
Made of a weaver's skin.-
Yet, all's not worth a pin!

Phillada flouts me!

Fair maidens, have a care,

And in time take me! I can have those as fair,

If you forsake me: For Doll the dairy-maid

Laugh'd on me lately, And wanton Winifred

Favours me greatly. One throws milk on my clothes, T' other plays with my nose : What wanton signs are those ?

Phillada flouts me!

I cannot work and sleep

All at a season; Love wounds my heart so deep,

Without all reason. I’gin to pine away,

With grief and sorrow,

Like to a fatted beast

Penn'd in a meadow.
I shall be dead, I fear,
Within this thousand year,
And all for very fear!

Phillada Aouts me!

SON G.

(From “ The British Miscellany," where it is stated to be

copied from an ancient MS.] *

Poor Chloris wept, and from her eyes

The liquid tears ran trickling down; (Such melting drops might well suffice To pay a ransom for a crown)

And as she wept, she sighing said,
“ Alas for me, unhappy maid,
“ That by my folly am betray'd !

“ But when those eyes (unhappy eyes!)

“ Met with the object of my wo, “ Methought our souls did sympathize,

“ And it was death to hear a no.

* It is also to be found with some variations in the Westminster and Windsor Drolleries.

“ He woo'd; I granted ; then befell
“ My shame, which I do shame to tell :-
“ Oh, that I had not lov'd so well! .

“ And had I been so wise as not

“ T' have yielded up my virgin fort;
“ My name had been without a blot,
“ And thwarted th’envy of report.

“ But now, my shame hath made me be
“ A butt for time to point at me,
“ And but a mark of misery.

“ But, now, in sorrow must I sit,

" And pensive thoughts possess my breast;
• My silly soul with cares is split,
“ And grief denies me wonted rest.

“Come then, black night, and screen me round,
« That I may never more be found,
“ Unless in tears of sorrow drown'd !"

[From an old MS. in Mr. Lloyd's Collection.]

Ye nimble dreams, with cobweb wings,

That fly by night from brain to brain,
And represent a world of things

With much ado and little pain!

You, that find out the shortest ways

Through every cranny, hole, or wall, That no perdues your passing stays,

Nor jealousy, that catcheth all !

You visit ladies in their beds,

And are so lusty in their ease; You put fine fancies in their heads !

You make them think on what you please!

How highly am I bound to ye, i Safe messengers of secrecy, That make my mistress think on me

Just in the place where I would be.

Oh! would I might myself prefer

To be in place of one of you ! Not for to visit, but serve her,

That she may swear the dream was true.

Upon his Mistress's Inconstancy.

[From the same MS.)

Thou art pretty, but inconstant,

Too, too lovely to be true!

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