%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A peerelesse Paragon, / OR, / Few so chast, so beautious or so faire, / for with my love I think none can compare. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1633-1633 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/20/2011 30216

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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

S102329 2 the mother beguild the daughter UNKNOWN The Mother Beguiled the Daughter the same tune UNKNOWN The Same Tune IN times of yore, sure men did doate, / and beauty neuer knew: BUt yet my tongue cannot refraine / to set her praises forth; Roxburghe Ballads Editor None None None None Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 314 1: 315 A peerelesse Paragon, / OR, / Few so chast, so beautious or so faire, / for with my love I think none can compare. A peerelesse Paragon, OR, Few so chast, so beautious or so faire, for with my love I think none can compare. A peerless Paragon, OR, Few so chaste, so beauteous or so fair, for with my love I think none can compare. 1633-1633 Thomas Lambert

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family folklore gender holidays/ seasons infidelity labor/ craft law London love maritime marriage military/ war monstrosity mythology/ Classical news nobility/ court politics/ government procreation punishment race/ ethnicity 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 youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 4/20/2011 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America love mythology/ Classical Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 4/20/2011 2:52:09 PM XBallad Doss, MacKenzie Created XML Version of Ballad 4/20/2011 2:52:09 PM Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/20/2011 2:52:09 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Mann, Rachel Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/20/2011 2:52:09 PM Transcriptionist Two Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/20/2011 2:52:09 PM Transcriptionist One Becker, Charlotte Transcription of ballad manuscript 9/13/2010 Checker Charlotte Becker Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 7/14/2008 Bibliographer Giles Bergel Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 2/2/2011 Checker Bethany Wong Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/17/2008 Checker Meghan Fadel Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">A peerelesse Paragon,</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">OR,</hi></hi></seg> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">Few so chast, so beautious or so faire,</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">for with my love I think none can compare.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the tune of <hi rend="bold">the mother beguild the daughter.</hi></hi></seg>
IN times of yore, sure men did doate, and beauty never knew: Else women were not of that note, as daily come to view. For read of all the faces then that did most brightly shine, Be judgd by all true judging men, they were not like to mine. King Pryam loved Hecuba, and thought her wondrous faire, But had he seene mine, I dare say there had beene no compare. Stout Hector held Andromicha a stately beautious Queene, But shes, no Troylus Cressida, yet faire as ere was seene: Nay all the faces Jupiter did like and phansie most, Are to her substance shadowes meere of whom I make my boast: Surely you wonder what she is, whose beauty I proclaime, Ile tell you truely, and not misse though she be without name.
My love shee is the Non-pareil of all that ere was seene, And had not Venus come ith way shee had been beauties Queene: Her comely feature, lovely lookes, I will describe at large, God Cupid puts her in his bookes, and of this Jem takes charge. The Grecian Helen was a Moore, compard with my deare Saint, The faire facd Hyrens beauty poore, and yet shee does not paynt, Andromeda whom Perseus lovd, was blacker then the night, Her lineaments so well approvd in praise of them ile write. Queene Vesta for her chastitie with her may not compare, Nor Lucrece for her honestie, shees like the Phenix rare: A Sommers day I could commend her parts weret nere so long, But yet her parts so farre extend, I feare to doe her wrong.
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The second part, To the same tune.</hi></seg>
BUt yet my tongue cannot refraine to set her praises forth; Then list, and ile describe her plaine and show you her true worth: Her haire not like the golden wire but black as any Crow; Her beetle browes, all men admire, her forehead wondrous low. Her squinting, staring, goggle eyes poore children doe affright, Her nose is of the Sarazens size, oh shees a matchlesse wight. Her eares so hound like, that they fall upon her shoulder bone, I know not truly how to call her, shees such a worthy one. Her oven mouth, wide open stands, her teeth like rotten pease; Her blabber lips my heart commands, her neck all bit with fleas: Her tawnie duggs like two great hills, hang Sow-like to her wast, Her bodies round as a wind mill, and yet I hold her chast. Her belly tun-like to behold, no more shall be exprest, But if the truth were plainely told, Im sure they are the best: Her brawnie blind cheeks plump and round as any Horse of war,
Her speckled thighs they are not sound her knees like hoggs heads are. Her leggs are like the Elephants, the calfe and small all one, Her ancles they together meet, and still knock bone to bone; Her pretty foot not bove th eighteenes so splaid as never was, An excellent usher for a man that walks the dewy grasse. Her shoulders are so Camel-like, sheed make an excellent Porter, I vow I never knew her like. if any man consort her. No shoulder of mutton like her hand for thicknes, breadth, and fat, With a scurvy mange upon her wrest, oh Jove how I love that. Thus have you heard my Love set forth and yet no flatterie usd, Your judgement, is shee not of worth, let her not be abusd. If any to her have a mind, hee wrongs mee many waies; For as shees beautious, so shees kind, and here conclude my praise.
FINIS. Printed at London for Thomas Lambert.