%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> Will the Weaver. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/29/2011 31322

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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

T52505 O Mother, mother, I am married, / O that I had longer tarried, Roxburghe Ballads Editor None None None None Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 3: 628 Will the Weaver. ?-?

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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 4/29/2011 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America entertainments marriage trickery/ deceit Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 4/29/2011 12:47:40 PM XBallad Doss, MacKenzie Created XML Version of Ballad 4/29/2011 12:47:40 PM Transcription Supervisor McAbee, Kristina, Nebeker, Eric Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/29/2011 12:47:40 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Meyer, Shannon Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/29/2011 12:47:40 PM Transcriptionist Two Fadel, Meghan Transcription of ballad manuscript 4/29/2011 12:47:40 PM Transcriptionist One Foley, Christopher Transcription of ballad manuscript 11/3/2010 Checker Sue Hong Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 1/29/2009 Bibliographer Meghan Fadel Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
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O Mother, mother, I am married, O that I had longer tarried, For the woman do declare, That the breeches they will wear. (She) Is she costly in her diet? Does she scold, or does she riot? (He) She sometimes to the tavern goes, With Will the Weaver, And God knows, -- (She) Loving Son, no more discover, But my dear, go home and love her, Give my daughter whats her due, And let me hear no more of you. (He) Ill give her gold, Ill give her die. Ill give her all things, if shes quiet; But if in words she does rebel, Ill take my stick and bang her well. A neighbour run for to meet him, On purposely for to vex him, Saying, neighbour, Ill tell you how, And who I saw with your wife just now. There was he and Will the Weaver, Mighty free and close together; At the threshold of the door, They went in, I saw no more, Then he ran home all in a wonder, Knocking at the door like thunder; Who is that? the Weaver cryd, It is my husband, you must dide. Then up the chimney soon he venturd, And her husband in he enterd, Where have you been all this day, Come and tell me now I pray Spending of our gold and treasure, All the day long out of measure; Whilst I, poor girl must stay at home, By myself making of moan. Loving wife no more affliction, But I pray follow my direction; Get me some beer, for I am dry, To his wife he did reply. Then he did is best endeavour, For to find out Will the Weaver; He serchd the rooms and chambers round, But not a soul was to be found. Then up the chimney strait he gazed, And there he stood like one amazed, The wretched soul he spied there, Sitting up the chimney bar. I am glad that I have found thee, I will neiher hang nor drown thee, But Ill stifle you with smoak, This bethought, but nothing spoke. Then he made up a rousing fire, For to please his own desire, His wife cryd out with a free good-will, Husband, Husband, the man youll kill. Then he soon put on more fuel, She cryd out my dearest jewel, Since I am your lawful wife, Take him down and spare his life. Off the chimney-bar he took him, And so merrily he shook him, Every stroke these words he spoke, Come here no more to spoil my smoak. Never was a chimney-sweeper, Half so black as Will the Weaver; Face and hands, and cloaths likewise, He sent him home with two black-eyes.