%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A Farewell cauld, Churcheyeards, rounde. / From the Courte to the Cuntry grownd. Churchyard, Thomas University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center Director Patricia Fumerton 1566-1566 Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 04/30/2012 32099

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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

S121725 IN Courte yf Largies be / why parte I thens so bare Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 18280 A Farewell cauld, Churcheyeards, rounde. / From the Courte to the Cuntry grownd. A Farewell cauld, Churcheyeards, rounde. From the Courte to the Cuntry grownd. A Farewell called, Churchyards, round. From the Court to the Country ground. Churchyard, Thomas Printer Wylliam Gryffith 1566-1566

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<seg n="1" rend="left">A Farewell cauld, Churcheyeards, rounde.</seg> <seg n="2" rend="left">From the Courte to the Cuntry grownd.</seg>
IN Courte yf Largies be why parte I thens so bare yf Lords were franke & fre Sum dradg wold Lordings spare To hyme whose tonge and penn Myght showe in every coste The worthynes of men, And who desarvythe moste. Full lyttill maye be gott Where hungry droppes do falle Where all goes to the pott The kitchine fese ar smalle The Byrde can spare no plumes That fethers gaye wolde have The Courttyer all consumes Who makes hymeselfe so brave No no here lyes in dede The padde within the strawe For eche man pledithe neade And he is held a dawe, That gyves to suche as wante And thynkes hyme selfe in lacke This makes the world so skant And tournythe all to wracke. For fryndshype cowlde as Ise I wayted longe and late And gladde to playe the vice To plesure eche estate And ever dyd I hope To hitt my wysshyd marke yet lo I dyd but grope For gnats within the darke Parhappes the froste hathe nypt Eache Noble lyberall hand Or ellse a waye is skypte In to sume other lannde God send a thawe a gayne And shyppes drawe home as fast That pore men for ther payne Maye fynde sume welthe at last
I saught the Prynce to sarve As all oure dutyes is And hope I dyd desarve A greter sute then this, But dayes and wekes are spente And worne my cotes full thyne And all my yearly rent yet founde no grace therein. No Monstoure sure I am Nor fowlle deformyd thynge, No shepe nor suckinge lame More lycke to sarve a Kinge, As shall bothe hand and harte At lengthe my wytnes be, When proffe in any parte Shall be requyrde of me. Had I but founde a wyght In Courte when I was there, The Lady Sydney hight All changed had byn this gere, What happ had I to shue Where no suche helpe is founde, O dames yt blushe not you Thought she in grace a bound, Nowe from the Courte to carte My horse and I muste pase, Who hathe the meryst harte Who is in better case My horse or I, God knowes, The one muste beare his charge The other where he goes Must pourely lyve at large.
Finis. quod, T. Churcheyeard. Imprinted at London in Fletestrte at the Faucon, over againste S. Dunstons Churche, by Wylliam Gryffith.