%ISOlat1; %ISOlat2; %ISOnum; %ISOpub; ]> The Lovers mad fits and fancies. 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 07/11/2021 37504

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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

R180164 I Dote, I Dote, but am a Sot to show it, / I was a very fool to let her know it; British Library - Bagford Editor none none none none Information in this section of the Source Description refers to the original ballad manuscript. 2: 149 2: 150 The Lovers mad fits and fancies. The Lover's mad fits and fancies. Printer A.P. ?-? F. Coles, T. Vere, / J. Wright, and J. Clarke

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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 7/11/2021 Santa Barbara, California, United States of America Ballads, English 17th century Broadsides, England 17th century 7/11/2021 6:49:53 AM XBallad Henderson, Olivia Created XML Version of Ballad 7/11/2021 6:49:53 AM Transcription Supervisor McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/11/2021 6:49:53 AM Double-Key Comparison and Merging Stark, Nicole Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/11/2021 6:49:53 AM Transcriptionist Two McCants, Kristen Transcription of ballad manuscript 7/11/2021 6:49:53 AM Transcriptionist One Messner, Milena Transcription of ballad manuscript 6/11/2019 Bibliographer Kristen McCants Initial Ballad Catalogue Record Created
<seg n="1" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">The Lovers mad fits and fancies,</hi></seg> <lb/> <seg n="2" rend="left"><hi rend="italic">To a Delightful New Tune.</hi></seg>
I Dote, I Dote, but am a Sot to show it, I was a very fool to let her know it; For now she doth so cunning grow, She proves a Friend worse than a Foe; She'l neither hold me fast, nor let me go, For she tells me I cannot forsake her; Then straight I endeavour to leave her; But to make me to stay, She throws a kiss in my way, O then I could tarry forever. Then I retire, salute and sit down by her, Then do I fry in frost, and freeze in fire; 'Tis Nectar from her Lips I sup, Although I cannot drink all up: Yet I am Fort with kissing of the Cup, For her lips are two brimmers of Claret, When first I began to miscarry; Her Breasts of delight, Are two Bottles of white; And her eyes are two cups of Canary.
Drunk as I live, dead drunk without reprive, And all my secrets driven thorough a Sive, Upon my neck her Arms she layeth, Then all is Gospel that she saith, Which I lay hold on with my fudled faith, For I find a fond Lover a drunkard, And dangerous when once he flies out; With lips, and with sips, Black eyes, and white thighs, Blind Cupid sure tippled his eyes out. She bids me rise, tells me I must be wise, And be like her, for she's not in love she crys; Then do I fume, and fret, and throw, Shall I be fettered to my Foe? Then I begin to run, but cannot go: I prethee Sweet use me more kindly, 'Tis better to hold me fast, if you once dis-ingage, Your Bird from his Cage, Believe me he'l leave you at last.
LIke a sot I sit, that fil'd the town with wit, But now I confess I have most need of it, I have been Drunk with Duck and Dear, Above a quarter of a Year, Beyond the cure of sleeping, or small Beer; For I think I can number the months too, July, August, September, October: thus goes my account, but a mischief light on't, For I'm sure I shall go when I am sober. My legs are lam'd, my courage is quite tam'd, My heart and my body is inflam'd: Now by experience I can prove, And swear by all the Gods above:better to be drunk with wine then love; For good sack makes us merry and witty, Our fore-heads with Jewels adorning; and although we do grope, yet there is some hope That a man may be sober next morning. Now with command she throws me from her hand she bids me go and knows I cannot stand I measure all the ground by steps,
Was ever a Sot so drunk with Sips, Or ever man so overcome with Lips: I pray Madam Fickle be faithful, And leave off your damnable dodging: either love me, or leave me, and do not deceive me, But let me home to my lodging. I have too much, and yet my folly is such, I cannot leave, but must have tother touch: Here's a health to the King-----how now, I'm drunk, and shall speak reason I vow, But Lovers and fools, may speak anything you know, I fear I have tyred your patience; But I'm sure 'tis I have the wrong on't: my wit is bereft me, and all that is left me Is but: just enough to make a Song on't: my Lady and I, shall never comply, And that is the short and the long on't.
FINIS. London, Printed by A.P. for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, and J. Clarke.