Let God be serv'd, obai'd,

The King both serv'd and lov'de; Church honoured, duties paide,

Mallice from mindes remov'de: And it may hap to come to passe, To be as well as ere it was.

And blessed were the daies,

If so the world did goe,

That wit a thousand waies,

Might reasons comfort knowe:

Whil birds might sing, and men might speak,
And malice might no musicke breake.

That eyes might looke their fill,

Words might be uncontrold;

And art might have the skill

To find the stone for gold:

And Iealous eyes might all be blinde,
That overlooke a honest minde.

That wealth should have her grace

In liberalitie,

And honour give a place

To every qualitie:

While panders, jesters, fooles, and knaves,

Might walke about like silly slaves.

A word might be a band,

Where needles were an Oth;

While yea and nay might stand

In steed of faith and troth;

520

530

540

And tuch and take, and pitch, and pay,
Might drive all cunning tricks away.

A winke, a nod, a smile,

Might shew the judgement just ;
Where Truth could not beguile,
Her honest meaning Trust:
But one in two, and two in one,
Might make the merry world alone.

That quarrels might not grow

Of swaggering, nor quaffing, But who begins heigh ho!

Might set the house a laughing; When not a thought of villany Might come in honest company.

And Gossips might be merry,

And tattle when they meete,

And cheekes as red as cherry

Might shew the wine is sweete;
When Lovers are in talke so sad,
As if they were alreadie had.

Power should be fearde for Grace,
And Lawe obey'd for love;
And Vertue take her place,

In highest hopes behove;
And Wisedome only honour God,
And so should sinne be overtrod.

Nought should be scorn'de but Folly,
Nor in regard but Reason,

550

560

570

580

And nothing lov'de but holy,

And nought in hate but Treason;
And nought but slaunder banged,
And nought but Murther hanged.

And then the world were well,

But when will it be so? (Alas!) I cannot tell,

And therefore let it

goe;

And as God will, so let it bee,
It shall be as it list for mee.

Let every man mend one,
And I will not be out;
And John be good to Joane,
Or else he is a lout,

And Peter weave what Parnell spunne;
Good night, John Line, and I have donne.

The King

and a poore Mortherne

Man.

HE King and a poore Northerne Man. Shewing how a

THE

poore Northumberland man, a tenant to the King, being wronged by a Lawyer (his neighbour), went to the King himself to make knowne his grievances. Full of simple mirth and merry plaine jests. Printed at London by Tho. Cotes, and are to be sold by Francis Grove, dwelling upon Snow hill, 1640. 8vo.

The King and a poore Northerne Man. Printed by A. Clark, and are to be sold by T. Passinger at the Three Bibles on London Bridge, 1673. 8vo. black letter, with cuts.

This poem has been reprinted for the Percy Society from the unique edition of 1640. Of the ed. of 1673, there is a copy in the British Museum, and a second was in Bibl. Heber. iv. 1743.

Stories and anecdotes of the men of the north are common enough in our jest-books. There are two or three in A C. Mery Talys. A drama called Too Good to be True, or, the Northern Man, is mentioned in Henslowe's Diary as among those in which Chettle was concerned, in conjunction with Richard Hathaway and Wentworth Smith, under date of 1601. The editor of the tract for the Percy Society notices a ballad called, the King and Northern Man, Printed by W. O[nley], and to be sold by the Booksellers in Pye Corner and London Bridge.

The strict claim of Martin Parker to the original authorship of this production may be open to question; perhaps he merely modernized what he found already in print, but too antique to please the delicate palates of the customers for such articles in his day, and upon the strength of this attached his initials which, as will be seen, occur at the conclusion of the tract.

THE KING AND

A POORE NORTHERNE MAN.

SHEWING HOW A POORE NORTHUMBERLAND MAN,

A TENANT TO THE KING, BEING WRONGED BY A LAWYER (HIS NEIGHBOUR), went to

THE KING HIMSELF TO MAKE KNOWNE

HIS GRIEVANCES. FULL OF SIMPLE

MIRTH AND MERRY

PLAINE JESTS.

Printed at London by Tho. Cotes, and are to be fold by Francis Grove, dwelling upon Snow hill.

1640.