%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The KNIGHT and the BEGGER-WENCH. / Which doth a wanton Prank unfold, / In as merry a Story as ever was told. University of California - Santa Barbara The Early Modern Center English Broadside Ballad Archive (EBBA) Director Patricia Fumerton Associate Director Carl G Stahmer ?-? Early Modern Center, University of California Santa Barbara Santa Barbara, CA 03/03/2016 34973

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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

R179504 1 The King's Delight King's Delight, The The King's Delight I Met with a jovial Beggar, / And into the Fields I led her, Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 1: 1 The KNIGHT and the BEGGER-WENCH. / Which doth a wanton Prank unfold, / In as merry a Story as ever was told. The KNIGHT and the BEGGER-WENCH. Which doth a wanton Prank unfold, In as merry a Story as ever was told. The KNIGHT and the BEGGAR-WENCH. Which doth a wanton Prank unfold, In as merry a Story as ever was told. Printer W.O. ?-? W.O. A.M. C. Bates

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 Early Modern Center Ballad Project Keyword Taxonomy advice affliction/ health alcohol Americas animals/ nature Bible/ biblical figures buildings/ architecture catastrophe children class clothing/ appearance country/ nation crime death economics/ commerce entertainments family Featured 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 groups royalty rural life servitude sex/ sexuality supernatural/ magic travel trickery/ deceit urban life vice violence virtue vulgar humor youth/ age Library of Congress Subject Heading Taxonomy 3/3/2016 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America class infidelity sex/ sexuality vulgar humor Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 3/3/2016 2:38:23 PM XBallad Levinson-Emley, Rachel Created XML Version of Ballad 3/3/2016 2:38:23 PM Transcription Supervisor Palmer, Megan Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/3/2016 2:38:23 PM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Levinson-Emley, Rachel Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/3/2016 2:38:23 PM Transcriptionist Two Bell, Erik Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/3/2016 2:38:23 PM Transcriptionist One Ward, Jayne Transcription of ballad manuscript 3/10/2015 Checker Rachel LevinsonEmley Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 2/29/2016 Checker Katie Adkison Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 2/17/2016 Checker Jayne Ward Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 12/15/2014 Checker Rachel LevinsonEmley Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 12/15/2014 Checker Rachel LevinsonEmley Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 12/10/2014 Bibliographer Rachel LevinsonEmley Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
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I Met with a jovial Beggar, And into the fields I led her, and I laid her upon the ground; Her face did not invite me, Nor her smock did much delight me, but I think the young Whore was sound; With Ladies both fresh and gay I often did sport and play, Yet a Beggar I'll take For varieties sake, She'll please me as well as they. I have a good Wife, as fair As ever drew English air, her pleasure is past compare, Her cherry lips, cheeks, and eyes, Her belly, her breast, and thighs, might any but I suffice; With her I so often play, And weary my time away, That a fouler to me, Would be fairer than she, Varity wins the day.
This Beggar I should describe, Without any hope of bribe, was one of the Maundring tribe; She had a fine foot and leg, As nimble as doe or stag, and then she began to beg, So soon as my horse she sees, She fell down upon her knees, The Whore had a sack, That hung at her back Well furnish'd with bread and cheese. She struck me into a dump, the Jade was both young and plump, with a round and ranting rump; Her feature had so much force, It raised in me remorse, and drew me quite off my horse; B[u]t when I began to wooe, She told me she would not do: Quoth I, Pretty Mort, Let me shew you some sport; She kist me, and answered no.
My horse to a twig I ty'd, The Beggar-wench then reply'd, Good Master get up and ride; Yes, so I will straight (thought I,) With that I drew someting nigh, she strugled and cry'd, Fie, fie, I am but a Beggar by breed; Quoth I, Let me do this deed, For he that will scorn, A Beggar-wench born. May want a good turn at need. Then into her arms I claps, Quoth she, Now I'm in your traps, what shall I do with my scraps? Throw them in the bush, said I. No, no, she did straight reply, there's pig, and pudding, and pie, We beg for better or worse, My b[l]essings I will not curse. Why then, quoth I, Go run presently And throw it 'thwart my horse. She then (in a merry vein) Did trip to me back again, to put me out of my pain. She dazelled so my sight, That neither by day or night, I ever had such delight, So close to me now she clings, And flutters abroad her wings. But my bashful jade, Asham'd of the trade, Brake loose and away she flings. I rise and away ran I, The Beggar-wench then did cry, My pig and my pudding-pie; I ran and I cursed and swore, Unt[i]l I came to my door, but the horse was got home before:
I bad the Wench stay behind, And told her I would be kind; But when I came home, I look'd like a Mome, I wish'd that I had been blind. My Wife and my Neighbours all Did laugh, ye might hear 'em bawl from Temple-bar to White-hall, My Sweet-heart's p[r]ovant was found, Which lay in the wallet bound, and scatter'd about the ground; The sight of my Wife did daunt, And make my heart prick and pant, Sir Thomas, quoth she, And spake merrily, Where got you this good provant? Thought I, it is best to bear up, Although of this venemous cup I take but a sorrowful sup, In the twinkling of one's eyes, I thought of a thousand lyes, but ne'r a one would suffice; I many things had in doubt, Yet could not well bring 'em about, As I went to begin, The Wench came in, And so came the story out. My Lady did laugh out-right, As if she had much delight, but I found it not so at night; I gave the poor Wench a peice, But wisht she had been in Greece, to tell such a tale as this; My Madam doth make it slight, But I have got nothing by't, For when she wants her wish, It is thrown in my dish, I'd better been hang'd out-right.
FINIS. London: Printed by and for W.O. for A.M. and sold by C. Bates in Pye-corner.