He told his wife an artful tale, He would the children send To be brought up in faire Londòn, Away then went those pretty babes, Rejoycing with a merry minde, They should on cock-horse ride. They prate and prattle pleasantly, As they rode on the waye, To those that should their butchers be, So that the pretty speeche they had, 80 85 90 And they that undertooke the deed, Staye here, quoth he, I'll bring you bread, Thus wandered these poor innocents, In one anothers armes they dyed, You that executors be made, And overseers eke Of children that be fatherless, 155 XIX. A LOVER OF LATE. Printed, with a few slight corrections, from the Editor's folio MS. A LOVER of late was I, For Cupid would have it soe, The boy that hath never an eye, I sighed and sobbed, and cryed, alas! Then knew not I what to doe, When I saw itt was in vaine A lady soe coy to wooe, Who gave me the asse soe plaine: Yet would I her asse freelye bee, Soe shee would helpe, and beare with mee. An' I were as faire as shee, Or shee were as kind as I, What payre cold have made, as wee, Soe prettye a sympathye: I was as kind as shee was faire, But for all this wee cold not paire. 10 15 Ver. 13. faine. MS. |