%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> A New BALLAD, 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 07/07/2021 36965

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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

R33622 1 I'll tell thee, Dick, &c. I Tell Thee, Dick I'll Tell Thee, Dick, etc. CHil tell thee, Tom, the strangest story, / Because thou art an honest Tory; British Library - 1872.a.1 Editor none none none none Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 2: 57 A New BALLAD, A New BALLAD, A New BALLAD, ?-?

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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 7/7/2021 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 7/7/2021 10:01:18 AM XBallad Henderson, Olivia Created XML Version of Ballad 7/7/2021 10:01:18 AM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/7/2021 10:01:18 AM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Stark, Nicole Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/7/2021 10:01:18 AM Transcriptionist Two McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/7/2021 10:01:18 AM Transcriptionist One Zisa, Jessica Transcription of ballad manuscript 9/29/2020 Checker Tyler Shoemaker Edited Ballad Catalogue Record 3/14/2019 Bibliographer Kristen McCants Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">A New BALLAD,</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To the Tune of, <hi rend="bold">I'll tell thee,</hi> Dick, <hi rend="bold">etc.</hi></hi></seg>
CHil tell thee, Tom, the strangest story, Because thou art an honest Tory; News beyond expressions: Zich zights are nowhere to be zeen In any Lond, (God zave the Queen) But at our Quarter-Zessions. Vor Rogues I zaw in zich a place, As wou'd the Gibbet quite disgrace, pity it shou'd want 'em: But how the Devil they came there, List, Tom, and chil in brief declare, And how they did recant 'em. When I was late at London-Town, To zee zome zights e'r I went down, To White-hall I did venture; And having on my best Array, As vine as on a Holy-day, Zoors I made bold to enter. Upstairs I went, which were as brooad, And Dirty too as any Rooad, Or as the streets o'th' Zity. Hadst thou been there, thou wouldst have zaid There had been no Servant Maid, Gods zooks, and that's a pity. When I was up, I did discern A Chamber bigger than a Barn, Where I did zee Voke stand, That I was well near vrighted quite, It was so strange and grim a zight, With long things in their hand. Their Cloathing cannot well be told, On which were things of beaten Gold Upon their Back and Breast; I doft my Hat when I came in, Quoth I, Pray which of you's the King? Which made a woundy Jest. At last came by a Gentlemon, Who made me zoon to understand I need not be avear'd; Quoth he, Come on, and vollow me, Chil shew thee strait His Majesty, Vor theas are but his Guard. But, Tom, not any Wake or Vair Can shew zich numbers as are there, Still cringeing low, and bowing, That I may zwear, and tell no lie, They wearier are, than Thou or I With Thrashing or with Plowing. No Ants do vaster lead or drive, Or Bees buz to or fro' the Hive, I marl they were not dizzy; And zure the Nations great Avairs Lay heavily upon their Cares, They look'd zo wise and busie. At last came in His Majesty, No taller tho' than Thou or I; Yet, whatzoe'r I ail'd,
With only gazing on His Vace, I trembl'd like a Love-zick-Lass Just on the point to yield. He look'd, methought, above the rest, Tho' not by half zo vinely drest, Which made me vall azwearing, A Pox upon the Parliament, That will not let us pay him Rent, Gold's only for his wearing. A Ribbon vine came cross avore, Zich as our Landlords Bridemen wore, At end of which was hung A curious thing, that shone as bright As Maudlins eyes, or morning light, When guilded by the Zun, But now the News, chil tell thee Truth, Hard by his zide there stood a Youth, That look'd as trim and gay, As if he had not guilty bin Of wishing e'r to be a King, Unless a King of May. It was the zame our Vicar zed Vor Treason shou'd have lost his Head, Vor which vive hundred Pound By Proclamation offer'd was To any that should take his Grace In any Kerson ground. Won Zunday morn, thou maist remember, I think the twontieth of Zeptember, Our Parson read a thing, How this zame Spark, (a vengeance on him!) With vorty moor, did take upon him To kill our Gracious King. But scant the vrighted harmless Zwain, That meets a Wolf upon the Plain, Was zo agast with vear: Wounds! if His Majesty (quoth I) Does keep no better Company; Chil stay no longer here. With that, the Mon that brought me in By th' Jacket pull'd me back again; Quoth he, Pray hear ye reason; He was a What-d'ye-calt, 'tis true, But's Pardon makes him vree as you Vrom Knavery or Treason. Whaw whaw! quoth I, a pretty Nick, To make Rogues honest by a trick Zo often try'd in vain; As if my Bull shou'd gore me once, I'd trust the zenseless Beast with Horns To gore me o'r agen. Chil e'en to Devonshire agen, Where honest men are honest men, And Rogues are hang'd vor Rogues. Ods wounds! were I His Majesty, E'r zich a Zon shou'd count'nanc'd be, Chi'd prize him as my Dogs.