%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> An excellent new Medley. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1620 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 02/25/2008 20031

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Patricia Fumerton Early Modern Center - English Department University of California Santa Barbara, CA 93105 United States of America EMail: pfumer@english.ucsb.edu

1.456 S5329 1 the Spanish Pavin The Spanish Pavan The Spanish Pavane WHen Philomel begins to sing,/ the grasse growes greene & flowres/ (spring, [imprint cropped?); date from STC Pepys 1.456 STC 17777.5 [London c.1620?] Pepys Library The Pepys ballads : facsimile volume Editor W.G. Day D.S. Brewer Cambridge [England] 1987 Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 456 An excellent new Medley. An excellent new Medley. An Excellent New Medley. 1/2 sheet folio, 273 x 193 all edges cropped, creased, uneven inking Printer 1620 [imprint cropped?] Weinstein: STC

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 Taxonomy used by Pepys to Organize Ballads in Albums A Small Promiscuous Supplement Devotion & Morality Drinking & Good Fellowship History - True & Fabulous Humour, Frollicks &c Love Pleasant Love Pleasant and Unfortunate Love Unfortunate Marriage Sea State & Times Tragedy Various Subjects Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/health alcohol animals/nature appearance Bible/biblical figures buildings/architecture catastrophe children class clothing/fashion country/nation crime death economics/trade entertainment family/procreation folklore gender historical figures & events holidays/seasons infidelity law London love maritime marriage military/war monstrosity mythology/Classical world news nobility/court politics/government punishment religious concepts religious figures religious types & sects royalty rural life servitude sex/sexuality supernatural/magic The New World travel trickery/deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgarities/crass humor Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 2/25/2008 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America Humour, Frollicks &c alcohol class economics/trade rurallife vice Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 2/25/08 Checker Cat Zusky Checked transcription, updated metadata, created XML, registered new ESTC number from BL site 1/27/05 Transcriber Dolly Smith Original transcription 7/25/2004 Bibliographer Simone Chess Bibliographic SQL Database Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">An excellent new Medley. To the tune of the Spanish Pavin:</hi></seg>
WHen Philomel begins to sing, the grasse growes greene & flowres spring, Me thinks it is a pleasant thing, to walke on Primrose hill, Maydes have you any Conny-skins To sell for Laces or great Pinnes? The Pope will pardon ventail sinnes: Saint Peter. Fresh fish & newes grow quickly stale: Some say good Wine can nere want sale, But God send poore folkes Beere and Ale enough untill they die. Most people now are full of pride; The Boy sayd no but yet he lyde: His Aunt did to the Cuck-stoole ride for scolding. Within our Towne faire Susan dwells: Sure Meg is poyson'd, for she swels, My friend, pull off your buzzards bels, and let the haggard flye. Take heed you play not at Tray-trip. Short heeles forsooth will quickly slip. The beadle makes folke with his whip, dance naked. Come Tapster tell us whats to pay, Jane frownd and cryde good Sir away, She tooke his kindnesse, yet sayd nay, as Maydens use to doe. The man shall have his Mare ageen, When all false knaves prove honest men, Our Cisly shall be Sainted then, true Roger. The Butcher with his masty Dog, At Rumford you may buy a Hog, I faith Raph Goose hath got a clog, his wench is great with childe: In Pillory put the Bakers head, For making of such little bread, Good conscience now a dayes is dead, Pierce plowman. The Cutpurse and his Company Theeves finde receivers presently: Shun Brokers, Bawdes, and Usury, for feare of after-claps. Lord, what a wicked world is this? The stone lets Kate she cannot pisse? Come hither sweet and take a kisse in kindnesse. In Bath a wanton wife did dwell, She had two buckets to a well, Would not a dog for anger swell, to see a Pudding creepe? The Horse-leach is become a Smith When halters fayle, then take a With: They say an old man hath no pith, Round Robin. Simon doth sucke up all the Egges, Franke never drinkes without Nutmegs, And pretty Parnell shewes her legs, as slender as my waste. When faire Jerusalem did stand, The match is made give me thy hand. Maulkin must have a Cambricke band blew starched.
The Cuckow sung hard by the doore, Gyll brawled like a butter whore, Cause her bucke-headed Husband swore the Miller was a knave. Good Poets leave off making playes Let players seeke for Souldiers payes I doe not like these drunken frayes, in Smithfield. Now Roysters spurs doe gingle brave, John Sexton playd the arrand knave, To digge a Coarse out of the Grave, and steal the sheet away. The wandring Prince of stately Troy, Greene sleeves were wont to be my joy, He is a blinde and paultry boy god Cupid. Come hither friends and give good care, A legge of mutton stuft is rare. Take heed you doe not steale my Mare, it is so hot it burnes. Behold the tryall of true love, He tooke a scrich-Owle for a Dove: This man is like ere long to prove a Monster. Tis merry when kind Maltmen meet: No Cowards fight but in the street, Me thinkes this wench smels very sweet, of Muske, or somewhat else. There was a man did play at Maw, The whilst his wife made him a Daw, Your Case is altered in the Law, quoth Ployden. The Weaver will no shuttle shoote, Goe bid the Cobler mend my boote He is a foole will goe a foote and let his Horse stand still. Old John a Nokes and John a Stiles, Many an honest man beguiles. But all the world is full of wiles and knavery. Of treason and of Traytors spight The house is haunted with a sprit, Now Nan will rise about midnight, and walke to Richards house. You Courtly states and Gallants all, Climbe not too high, for feare you fall: If one please not, another shall, King Pippin. Diana and her Darlings deere, The Dutchmen ply the double Beere: Boyes ring the bels and make good cheere, when Kempe returnes from Rome. Oh man what meanes thy heavy looke? Is Will not in his Mistris Booke, Sir Rouland for a refuge tooke Horne. Castle. Rich people have the world at will Trades fade, but Lawyers flourish still, Jacke would be marryed unto Gyll: but care will kill a Cat. Are you there Sirrah with your Beares? A Barbers shop with nitty haires. Doll, Phillis hath lost both her eares, for coozning.
Who list to lead a Souldiers life? Tom would eate meat, but wants a knife, The Tinker swore that Tib his wife, would play at Uptayles all Beleeve my word without an Oath The Taylor stole some of her cloath: When George lay sicke, Joane made him broath with Hemlocke. The Patron gelt the parsonage, And Esau sold his heritage, Now Leonard lacke-wit is foole age to be his Fathers heire. There's many scratch before it itch, Saul did aske counsell of a Witch, Friend, yee many have a Bacen flitch at Dunmow. King David playd on a Welch Harpe, This threed will never make good warpe At wise mens words each foole will carpe and shoote their witlesse bolts. Jove like a Ram wore hornes and wooll. Knew you my Hostis of the Bull, Spruce Curio once was made a gull in Shoreditch. The blackamores are blabber lipt, At Yarmouth are the Herrings shipt, And at Bride-well the beggers whipt, a man may live and learne, Griefe in my heart doth stop my tongue, The poore man still must put up wrong, Your way lyes there, then walke along to Witham. There lyes a Lasse that I love well The Broker hath gay clothes to sell, Which from the Hangmans but yet fell are you no further yet? In Summer time when Peares be ripe Who would give sixe pence for a Trip[e] Play Lad, or else lend me thy Pipe and Taber. Saint Nicholas Clarkes will take a pu[rse] Young children now can sweare and cu[rse] I hope yee like me nere the worse, for finding fault therewith. The servant is the Masters mate. When gossips meet, there's too much pr[ate] Poore Lazarus lyes on Dives gate haste starved. Make hast to Sea, and hoyst up sayles The hogs were serv'd with milking pa[yles] From filthy flats, and from all Jayles, good Lord deliver us all. I scorne to ride a raw bon'd Jade, Fetch me a Mattocke and a Spade, A Graves end Toste will soone be made Saint Dennis. But for to finish up my Song, The Ale-wife did the Brewer wrong One day of sorrow seemes as long as ten dayes doe in mirth, My Medly now is at an end, Have you no Bowles or Trayes to m[end] Tis hard to finde so true a friend as Damon.
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