MAUDLIN / The Merchant's Daughter of BRISTOL.

<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">MAUDLIN</hi></seg> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The Merchant's Daughter of BRISTOL.</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="3" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the Tune of, <hi rend="bold">The Maiden's Joy.</hi></hi></seg>

BEhold the touchstone of true love, Maudlin the merchant's daughter of Bristol town, Whose firm affection nothing could move, her favour bears the lovely brown. A gallant youth was dwelling by, which long had born this maiden great good will, She loved him most faithfully: but all her friends withstood it still. The young man now perceiving well, he could not get the favour of her friends, The force of sorrow to expel, and view strange countries he intends: And now to take his last farewel of his true love, his fair and constant Maudlin, With musick sweet that did excel, he plaid under her window then: Farewel (quoth he) mine own true love, farewel the dear and chiefest treasure of my heart, Thro' fortune's spight that false did prove, I am inforc'd from thee to part, Into the land of fair Italy: there will I wail and weary out my life in woe, Seeing my true love is kept from me, I hold my life a mortal foe: Fair Bristol town therefore adieu, for Padua shall be my habitation now, Although my love doth rest in thee, to whom alone my heart I vow. With trickling tears thus did he sing, sighs and sobs descending from his heart full sore, He said, when he his hands did wring, Farewel, sweet love, for evermore. Fair Maudlin from a window high see her true love with musick where he stood, But not a word she did reply, fearing her parents angry mood. In tears she spent that woful night, wishing herself, tho' naked, with her faithful friend, She blames her friends, and fortune's spight, that wrought her love such luckless end: And in her heart she made a vow, to forsake her country and kindred all, And for to follow her true love, to abide all chance that might befal. The night is gone, and the day is come, and in the morning very early did she rise, She gets down into a lower room where sundry seamen she espies: A gallant master among them all, The master of a great and goodly ship was he, Who there was waiting in the hall, to speak with her father, if it might be. She kindly takes him by the hand Good sir, would you speak with any here? Quoth he, Fair maid, and therefore I do stand. Then, gentle sir, I pray draw near: Into a pleasant parlour by, hand in hand she brings the seaman all alone, Sighing to him most pitiously, she thus to him did make her moan: She falls upon her bended knee, Good sir, (said she) pitty a woman's woe,

And prove a faithful friend to me, that I to you my grief may show. Sith you repose your trust (he said) in me unknown and eke a stranger here, Be you assur'd, most proper maid, most faithful still I will appear. I have a brother (then quoth she) whom as my life I love and favour tenderly, In Padua, alas! is he, full sick, God wot, and like to die; Full fain I would my brother see, but that my father will not yield to let me go: Therefore, good sir, be kind to me, and unto me this favour show: Some ship-boy's garment bring to me, that I disguis'd may go unknown, And unto sea I'll go with thee, if thus much favour might be shown. Fair maid (quoth he) take here my hand, I will fulfil each thing what you desire, And see you safe in that same land, and in the place that you require. She gave to him a tender kiss, and said, Your servant, master, I will be, And prove your faithful friend for this: sweet Master then forget not me. This done, as they had both agreed, soon after that, by break of day, He brings her garments then with speed, therein herself she did array: And e're her father did arise, she meets her master as he walked in the hall, She did attend on him likewise, until her father did him call. But here the merchant made an end of those his weighty matters all, His wife came weeping in with speed, saying Our daughter's gone away. The merchant then amaz'd in mind, Yonder vile wretch intic'd my child away: But I well wot I shall him find, in Italy at Padua. With that bespake the master brave, Worshipful merchant, thither goes this youth, And anything that you would crave, he will perform, and write the truth. Sweet youth (quoth he) if it be so, bear me a letter to the English there, And gold on thee I will bestow, my daughter's welfare I do fear Her mother took her by the hand, Fair youth, if e're thou dost my daughter see, Let me soon thereof understand, and there is twenty crowns for thee. Thus through the daughter's strange disguise, her mother knew not when she spake unto her. Then after her master, straight she hies, taking her leave with countenance mild: Thus to the sea sweet Maudlin is gone, with her gentle master God send fair wind: Where we awhile must let them all alone, till you the Second Part do find. The Second PART of sweet MAUDLIN.

WElcome, sweet Maudlin, from the seas, where bitter storms and tempests do arise, The pleasant banks of Italy, you may behold with mortal eyes: Thanks, gentle master (then said she) a faithful friend in sorrow thou hast been; If fortune once do smile on me, my gratitude shall soon be seen. Blest be the land that feeds my love, blest be the place whereas he doth abide, No tryal will I stick to prove, whereby my true love may be try'd: Now will I walk with joyful heart, to view the town whereas he doth remain, And seek him out in every part, until his sight I do obtain. And I (quoth he) will not forsake sweet Maudlin in her sorrows up and down, In wealth or woe thy part i'll take, and bring the safe to Padua town: And after many weary steps, in Padua they arriv'd at the last, For very joy her heart it leaps, she thinks not on her sorrows past. Condemn'd he was to dye, alas! except he would from his religion tur[n], But rather than he would to mass, in fiery flames he vow'd to burn. Now doth sweet Maudlin weep and wail, her joy is turn'd to sorrow, grief and care, For nothing could her plaints prevail, for death alone must be his share: She walks under the prison-walls, where her true love did languish in distress, Then wofully for food he calls, when hunger did his heart oppress: He sighs and sobs, and makes great moan, Farewel, sweet-heart, for evermore, And all my friends that have me known, in Bristol town with wealth and store. But most of all, farewel (quoth he) my own sweet Maudlin, whom I left behind, For never more thou wilt me see, woe to thy father most unkind: How well I were if thou wert here, with thy fair hands to close my wretched eyes, My torments easie would appear, my soul with joy would scale the skies. When Maudlin heard her lover's moan, her eyes with tears her heart soon filled was, To speak with him no means was found, such grievous doom did on him pass. Then she put off her lad's attire her maiden-weeds upon her seemly set, At the judge's house she did inquire, and there she did a service get: She did her duty there so well, and eke so well herself she did behave, With her in love her master fell, his servant's favour he doth crave: Maudlin (quoth he) my heart's delight, to whom my heart is so inclin'd, Breed not my death through thy despight, a faithful friend thou shalt me find. Grant me thy love, fair maid, quoth he, and then desire what thou canst devise, And will grant it unto thee, whereby thy credit may arise.

I have a brother, sir, said she, for his religion is condemn'd to dye, In loathsome prison he is cast, opprest with grief and misery: Grant me my brother's life, she said, and now to you my love and liking will I give. That may not be, quoth he, fair Maid, except he turn he cannot live: An English fryer there is, she said, of learning great, and passing pure of life, Let him to my brother be sent, and he will finish soon the strife. Her master granted her request, the mariner in fryer's weeds she did array: And to her love that lay distrest, she did a letter soon convey: When he had read these gentle lines, his heart was ravished with pleasant joy, Where now she is full well he knew, the fryer likewise was not coy: But did declare to him at large, the enterprize his love had taken in hand: The young man did the fryer charge, his love should straight depart the land. Here is no place for her, he said, but woful death and danger of her life, Professing truth I was betray'd, and fearful flames must end the strife. For e're I will my faith deny, and swear myself to follow damned antichrist, I'll yield my body for to dye, to live in heaven with the Highest. O sir, the gentle fryer said, consent thereto, and end the strife. A woful match, quoth he, is made were Christ is left to gain a wife. When she had usd all means she might, to save his life, yet all would not be, Then of the judge she claim[']d her right, to dye the death as well as he. When no perswasion could prevail, nor change her mind in anything she said, She was with him condemn'd to dye, and for them both one fire was made: Yea, arm in arm most joyfully, these lovers twain unto the fire did go, The mariner most faithfully, was likewise partner of their woe. But when the judges understood, the faithful friendship did in them remain, They sav[']d their lives, and afterwards to England sent them back again. Now was their sorrow turn[']d to joy, and faithful lovers have their hearts desire. Their pains so well they did imploy, God granted that they did desire. And when they did to England come, and in merry Bristol arrived at the last Great joy there was to all and some, that heard the dangers they had past: Her father he was dead, God wot, and eke her mother was joyful at her sight, Their wishes she denyed not, but wedded them to hearts delight: Her gentle master he desired, to be her father, and at church to give her then; It was fulfilled as she required, to the joy of all good men.

Printed by T. Norris, at the Looking-glass on London-bridge. And sold by S. Bates, in Giltspur street.