As it fell on a holy day,

And upon a holytide a:

John Dory brought him an ambling nag,

To Paris for to ride a.

And when John Dory to Paris was come,

A little before the gate a;

John Dory was fitted, the porter was witted,

To let him in thereat a.

The first man that John Dory did meet,

Was good King John of France a;

John Dory could well of his courtesie,

But fell down in a trance a.

A pardon, a pardon, my liege and my king,

For my merry men and for me a:

And all the churls in merry England

I’ll bring them bound to thee a.

And Nichol was then a Cornish man

A little beside Bohyde a;

He manned him forth a goodly bark,

With fifty good oars of a side a.

Run up, my boy, into the main top,

And look what thou can’st spy a;

Who, ho! who, ho! a good ship do I see,

I trow it be John Dory a.

They hoist their sails both top and top,

The mizen and all was tried a,

And every man stood to his lot,

Whatever should betide a.

The roaring cannons then were plied,

And dub-a-dub went the drum a:

The braying trumpets loud they cried,

To courage both all and some a.

The grappling hooks were brought at length,

The brown bill and the sword a;

John Dory at length, for all his strength,

Was clapt fast under board a.

When Humber in his wrathful rage

King Albanact in field had slain,

Whose bloody broils for to assuage,

King Locrin then applied his pain;

And with a host of Britons stout,

At length he found king Humber out:

At vantage great he met him then,

And with his host beset him so,

That he destroyed his warlike men,

And Humber’s power did overthrow;

And Humber, which for fear did fly,

Leapt into a river desp’rately;

And being drowned in the deep,

He left a lady there alive,

Which sadly did lament and weep,

For fear they should her life deprive.

But by her face that was so fair,

The king was caught in Cupid’s snare:

He took this lady to his love,

Who secretly did keep it still;

So that the queen did quickly prove,

The king did bear her most good will:

Which though by wedlock late begun,

He had by her a gallant son.

Queen Guendolin was griev’d in mind,

To see the king was alter’d so:

At length the cause she chanc’d to find,

Which brought her to much bitter woe.

For Estrild was his joy (God wot),

By whom a daughter he begot.

The Duke of Cornwall being dead,

The father of that gallant queen:

The king with lust being overlaid,

His lawful wife he cast off clean:

Who with her dear and tender son,

For succour did to Cornwall run.

Then Locrin crowned Estrild bright,

And made of her his lawful wife:

With her which was his heart’s delight,

He sweetly thought to lead his life.

Thus Guendolin, as one forlorn,

Did hold her wretched life in scorn.

But when the Cornish men did know

The great abuse she did endure,

With her a number great did go,

Which she by prayer did procure.

In battle then they march’d along,

For to redress this grievous wrong.

And near a river called Store,

The king with all his host she met;

Where both the armies fought full sore,

But yet the queen the field did get:

Yet ere they did the conquest gain,

The king was with an arrow slain.

Then Guendolin did take in hand,

Until her son was come to age,

The government of all the land;

But first her fury to assuage,

She did command her soldiers wild,

To drown both Estrild and her child.

Incontinent then they did bring

Fair Estrild to the river-side,

And Sabrine, daughter to a king,

Whom Guendolin could not abide;

Who being bound together fast,

Into the river they were cast:

And ever since that running stream

Wherein the ladies drowned were,

Is called Severn through the realm,

Because that Sabrine died there.

Thus those that did to lewdness bend,

Were brought unto a woful end.

Ye sexes give ear to my fancy;

In the praise of good women I sing.

It is not of Doll, Kate, nor Nancy,

The mate of a clown nor a king.

Old Adam when he was created,

Was lord of the universe round;

But his happiness was not completed,

Until that a helpmate was found.

He had all things for food that was wanting,

Which give us content in this life;

He had horses and foxes for hunting,

Which many love more than a wife.

He’d a garden so planted by nature,

As man can’t produce in this life;

But yet the all-wise great Creator

Saw still that he wanted a wife.

Old Adam was laid in a slumber,

And there he lost part of his side;

And when he awoke, in great wonder

He beheld his most beautiful bride.

With transport he gazed all on her,

His happiness then was complete;

And he blessed the bountiful Donor,

Who on him bestowed a mate.

She was not took out of his head,

To reign or to triumph o’er man:

She was not took out of his feet,

By man to be trampled upon.

But she was took out of his side,

His equal and partner to be:

Though they are united in one,

Still the man is the top of the tree.

Then let not the fair be despised

By man, as she’s part of himself;

For a woman by Adam was prized

More than the whole world with its pelf.

Then man without woman’s a beggar,

Tho’ of the whole world he’s possessed;

And a beggar that has a good woman,

With more than the world he is blest.

A fox went forth one moonshining night,

And he prayed to the moon to give him good light,

For he’d many miles to trot that night,

Before he got home to his den O,

His den O, his den O.

For he’d many miles to trot that night,

Before he got home to his den O.

And when he came unto a wood,

As on his hinder legs he stood,

A little bit of goose will do me good,

Before I get home to my den O.

My den O, my den O.

So off he set to a farmer’s yard,

The ducks and the geese were all of them scared;

The best of you all shall grease my beard,

Before I get home to my den O.

He seized the great goose by the neck

And flung it all across his back,

The young ones cried out, quack, quack, quack,

And the fox went home to his den O.

Old mother Slipper-slopper jumped out of bed,

She open’d the window and popp’d out her head,—

John! John! John! the great goose is dead.

And the fox has gone home to his den O.

So John went up unto a hill,

And blew his horn both loud and shrill;

Says the fox This is very pretty music, still

I’d rather be safe in my den O.

But when he came unto the den,

Where he had young ones, nine and ten,

Crying out, Daddy Fox, you must go there again,

For we think its a lucky town O.

The fox and his wife they had such a strife,

They never ate a better goose in all their life;

They tore it abroad, without fork or knife,

And the little ones pick’d the bones O.

There was an old couple and they were poor;

They lived in a house that had but one door,

Tweedily, tweedily, twee.

Now this old man went far from home,

And left his old wife to stay at home,

Tweedily, tweedily, twee.

Now this old man came home at last,

And found his door and windows fast,

Tweedily, tweedily, twee.

Ah, I’ve bin sick whilst you’ve gone,

If you’d bin in the garden you could’ve heard me groan.

Tweedily, tweedily, twee.

An I’m sorry for that, cries he;

An I’m sorry for that, cries he;

Tweedily, tweedily, twee.

Then pluck me an apple from yonder tree,

That will I willingly do, cries he;

That will I willingly do, cries he;

Tweedily, tweedily, twee.

Pop goes the ladder, and down goes he,

An that’s cleverly done, cries she;

An that’s cleverly done, cries she;

Tweedily, tweedily, twee.

When shall we be married, Willy, my pretty lad?

To-morrow if you think it fit.

Not before to-morrow, Willy, my pretty lad?

Would you have me be married to-night?

I should think the girl was mad.

What shall we have for dinner, Willy, my pretty lad?

Roast beef and plum pudding if you think it fit.

Shan’t we have anything else, Willy, my pretty lad?

Would you have me to spend all my money?

I should think the girl was mad.

Who shall we have to dinner, Willy, my pretty lad?

Father and mother, if you think it fit.

Shan’t we have anyone else, Willy, my pretty lad?

Would you have me ask the king and queen?

I should think the girl was mad.

My sweetheart, come along,

Don’t you hear the fond song,

The sweet notes of the nightingale flow?

Don’t you hear the fond tale

Of the sweet nightingale,

As she sings in the valley below?

Pretty Betty, don’t fail,

For I’ll carry your pail

Safe home to your cot as we go;

You shall hear the fond tale

Of a sweet nightingale,

As she sings in the valley below.

Pray let me alone,

I have hands of my own,

Along with you, Sir, I’ll not go,

To hear the fond tale

Of the sweet nightingale,

As she sings in the valley below.

Pray sit yourself down

With me on the ground,

On this bank where the primroses grow;

You shall hear the fond tale

Of the sweet nightingale,

As she sings in the valley below.

The couple agreed,

And were married with speed,

And soon to the church did they go;

No more is she afraid

For to walk in the shade,

Nor sit in those valleys below.

Here’s a health to the baarley mow, my braave boys,

Here’s a health to the baarley mow.

We’ll drenk et out of the jolly brown boul,

Here’s a health to the baarley mow.

Chorus.

Here’s a health to the baarley mow, my braave boys,

Here’s a health to the baarley mow.

We’ll drenk et out of the nepperkin,1 boys,

Here’s a health to the baarley mow.

The nepperkin, and the jolly brown boul.

Chorus.—Here’s a health, etc.

We’ll drenk et out of the quaarter pint, boys,

Here’s a health to the baarley mow.

The quaarter pint, nepperkin, and the jolly brown boul.

Chorus.—Here’s a health, etc.

‘There goes one.

One there is gone.

Oh, rare one!

And many more to come

To make up the sum

Of the hundred so long.

‘There goes,’ etc. on to twenty.