%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The Bonny Bryer, / OR / A Lancashire Lasse, her sore lamentation, / For the death of her Loue, and her owne reputation. Parker, Martin University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1624-1624 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/26/2011 30473

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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

S103548 10 UNKNOWN UNKNOWN UNKNOWN UNKNOWN UNKNOWN UNKNOWN UNKNOWN UNKNOWN the Bonny Broome UNKNOWN The Bonny Broom the same tune UNKNOWN The Same Tune ONe morning early by the breake of day, / walking to Totnam-Court BUt iust foure dayes before the pointed time / that should haue made me a wife, Sing O the Bryer, the bony bony Bryer, / the Bryer that is so sweet: / Would I had stayd in Lancashire, / to milke my mothers Neate. [with variation] With O the Bryer, the bonny bonny Bryer, / the Bryer that is so sweet: / Would I had stayd in Lancashire, / to milke my mothers Neat. [with variation] Roxburghe Ballads Editor None None None None Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 3: 174 3: 175 The Bonny Bryer, / OR / A Lancashire Lasse, her sore lamentation, / For the death of her Loue, and her owne reputation. Parker, Martin 1624-1624 F.G.

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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 4/26/2011 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America death family London love marriage sex/ sexuality violence Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 4/26/2011 3:56:13 PM XBallad Mellon, Gillian Created XML Version of Ballad 4/26/2011 3:56:13 PM Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/26/2011 3:56:13 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Zusky, Catherine Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/26/2011 3:56:13 PM Transcriptionist Two Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/26/2011 3:56:13 PM Transcriptionist One Becker, Charlotte Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/29/2008 Bibliographer Giles Bergel Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created 11/8/2010 Checker Grafals Michael Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/8/2010 Checker Grafals Michael Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/10/2010 Checker Grafals Michael Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 11/10/2010 Checker Grafals Michael Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 10/17/2008 Checker Shannon Meyer Edited Ballad Catalogue Record
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The Bonny Bryer,</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">A Lancashire Lasse, her sore lamentation,</hi></seg> <seg n="4" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">For the death of her Love, and her owne reputation.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="5" rend="left"><hi rend="italic"><hi rend="bold">To the tune of the Bonny Broome.</hi></hi></seg>
ONe morning early by the breake of day, walking to Totnam-Court Upon the left hand of the high way, I heard a sad report; I made a stay, and lookd about me then, wondring from whence it was, At last I spyed within my ken a blyth and buxome Lasse. Sing O the Bryer, the bony bony Bryer, the Bryer that is so sweet: Would I had stayd in Lancashire, to milke my mothers Neate. I drew more neare and layd me all along, upon the grasse so greene, Where I might heare her dulcid tongue, yet I was from her unseene: Woes me (quoth shee) that ever I was borne to come to London Citty, For now, alas, I am made a scorne and none my woes will pitty. But O the Bryer, etc. Mine Eame and Aunt have often said at home that London is a place, Where Lasses may to preferment come, within a little space: This I finde true though they meant other-wise, which makes me thus lament, My belly doth to preferment rise, as if some Barne were int.. With O the Bryer, the bony bony Bryer, the Bryer that is so sweet: Would I had stayd in Lancashire, to milke my mothers Neate.
These words did my desire inflame, at home I could not bide But up to London in hast I came, I may bewaile the Tide, A now I wishd that I at home had stayd, and not preferment sought, Im neither Widdow, Wife, nor Mayde then what may I be thought. With O the Bryet, the bony bony Bryer, the Bryer that is so sweet, Would I had stayd in Lancashire to milke my mothers Neate. I had in London tarryed but a yeare, yet in that tinie while, I fell in love with a bonny Bryer, the sweetest in a mile: He mickle good-will did beare unto me, I thinke he did not faine, For by a craven lately he, was in my quarrell slaine. Sing O the Bryer, etc. Before that deare and most unhappy day, hee with my free consent, Had tane, alas my mayden-head away, and to wed me in hast hee meant: But my great belly seemeth me to twit, with my too wanton carriage, To lose that Jem I wanted wit, before my day of marriage. But O the Bryer, the bonny bonny Bryer, the Bryer that is so sweet: Would I had stayd in Lancashire, to milke my mothers Neate.
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The second Part To the same tune.</hi></seg>
BUt just foure dayes before the pointed time that should have made me a wife, Sweet Willy-Bryer was slaine in his prime being stabd to the heart with a knife: But had it beene with Staffe or Sword, all in the open field, The Rascall would have eate his word, that thus my deare hath kild. With O the Bryer, the bonny bonny Bryer, the Bryer that is so sweet: Would I had stayd in Lancashire, to milke my mothers Neat. Woe worth the wretch wherever hee be fled, would I revengd could be, Lost is my Love and my Maiden-head, what shall become of me: Might I but see him hanging by the crag, that causeth all this woe. Twould something mitigate the plague, which I must undergoe. But O the Bryer, etc. What shall I doe, my shame I cannot hide, my belly will be knowne And all my friends and kin will me chide, for giving away mine owne: To London Citty will I goe no more, where I have dwelt a yeere, Yet if I knew how to salve my sore, id goe home to Lancashire. But O the Bryer, etc. I hearing her last speeches that she spoke, rose and to her I stept, More pitty did my heart provoke, to see how sore she wept: Faire lasse, quoth I, goe home unto your friends that is your safest way, Great misery all such attends, that in your case heere stay.
With O the Bryer, the bonny bonny Bryer. the Bryer that is so sweet, Goe get thee home into Lancashire, and milke thy mothers Neat. She blushing said, Sir I thanke you heartily, for this your counsell kinde But in this field I had rather die with could and hunger pinde: Then to my Kin be made a jest, for going thus astray, Sweet-heart quoth I, set your heart at rest, and list what I shall say. With O the Bryer, etc. Goe home unto your friends faire Lasse, tell them that your good man: Ith the Swedish warres late killed was, none there disprove you can: This is the way which commonly is done and when that you are layd, Youl soone be matchd with a Yeomans son, and an honest wife be made. With O the Bryer, etc. She promised me my counsell to imbrace, and seemed in minde content: She wipt the teares quite from her face, and to Totnam Court she went? On her some Cakes and Ale, I did bestow, then she no longer tarried, But home to Lancashire she did goe, where since I heare shees married. With O the Bryer, the bonny bonny Bryer, the Bryer that is so sweet: Now is the Lasse in Lancashire, and milkes her mothers Neate.
FINIS Printed at London for F. G. on Snow-hill.