A new Medley, OR, A mess of altogether.  
To the tune of Tarlton's Medley.  

 

STrange news is come from Hounslo heath,  
That all false thieves are put to death,  
Nell Collins has a stinking breath,  
I heard Tom Phillips say:  
The cobbler and the broome-mans' wife,  
Have made a match, I'll lay my life,  
Come drink a cup and end all strife,  
sweet Kester.   

They say that Turnbull-street is clean  
Transformed, there scant is left a quean,  
Oh neighbour Ralph what do you mean,  
to pawn your shirt for Ale:  
This drinking healths makes many sick,  
Nan Wil●●●●s has devised a trick,  
To gull her husband, silly Dick,  
the Miller.   

Peas-porridge makes our Mall break wind,  
She makes us think that she is kind,  
Because she speaks to us behind,  
as freely as before:  
The Butler is gone out o'th' way,  
Cause no man shall drink here to day,  
His Master bids him do't they say,  
on purpose.   

Will Cook and Sisse the Dairy maid,  
Do sit together in the shade,  
Stealing would be an excellent trade,  
and 'twere not for this hanging:  
The Hangman he leaves work by noon,  
Sweet heart go not away so soon,  
A think there is a man i'th' moon,  
Stargazer.   

There is more clothes in Birchin-lane  
I think, than would load Charles his wain,  
King Edward loved a goldsmith's Jane,  
the best ware in the shop:  
The Tanner made the King a Feast,  
A mastiff dog's a valiant Beast,  
He oft thinks most that says the least,  
old Hobson.   

Dido wos a Carthage Queen,  
As I walked in a meadow green,  
The fairest lass that ere was seen,  
that was the flower of Kent:  
Look to your forehead honest friend,  
The longest day must have an end,  
Good fortune unto thee, God send,  
young bridegroom.   

When as King Henry ruled this Land,  
All things did in good order stand,  
Then scarce a Lawyer had a hand,  
to take a double Fee:  
Eel pies are dainty meat in Lent,  
I prithee Roger be content,  
Good landlords do not raise your rent  
so highly.   

The Courtier scorns the country clown,  
There dwells a widow in our town,  
Pray mother lend me half a crown  
to buy a wedding Ring:  
Tom Taylor did not use me well,  
To steal two yards out of one Ell,  
My Belly doth begin to swell,  
I'm peppered.    

The second part,  
To the same tune.  
 

AT Battersey good Turnips grow,  
There goes three milkmaids on a row,  
Me thinks it is a seemly show  
to see three honest Millers:  
The seaman and the soldier hold,  
Venture their lives for fame and gold,  
A Slut, a Strumpet, and a Scold,  
three good wives.   

King Edgar hated drunkenness,  
And Julius Caesar loathed excess,  
I prithee tell me pretty Bess,  
who lay with thee last night:  
Aeneas was a perjured Prince,  
Too many have done like him since,  
Sweetheart I'll give thee eighteen pence  
to kiss thee.   

To think how things are changed of late,  
That charity's quite out of date,  
Would force a silent man to prate,  
oh the merry days of old,  
When Knights and Squires wore good broad-cloth,  
The poor had beef as well as broth,  
Oh do not make us pay for froth  
good Tapster.   

Our Ladies now are like to Apes,  
Their minds do alter like their shapes,  
Fie Mistress, fie, your placket gapes,  
Cover your flesh for shame:  
The Pander quarrels with the Whore,  
And says he'll be their man no more,  
The shot is paid, wipe off the score  
Kind Hostis.   
 

A usurer and a Broker be  
Both Brothers of a company,  
The devil sure must make them free  
when they haus served their time:  
In old time Bakers used to be,  
Promoted to the Pillory,  
Now none, unless for perjury,  
Peep thorough.   

The Carrier brings up every week  
Brave Lasses, which the Bawds do seek,  
What Welshman will not were a leek  
upon Saint David's day?  
Saint George lies dead at Coventrey,  
Oh now for such a man as he,  
Our captains died i'th' isle of Ree,  
ill tidings.   

Queen Elinor built Charing-cross,  
Which now is couer●●●re with moss,  
The Spaniards mourn for their late loss,  
I mean the rich Plate fleet:  
The Dutchmen grieve, and so do we,  
For th' death of young Prince Henry,  
Alas▪ there is no remedy,  
but patience.   

My merry Medley here I end,  
Which to young men and maids I send,  
To make them mirth, the same was penned,  
although it seem nonsense:  
Yet is there such variety  
Of sense for each capacity,  
That old and young may pleased be  
to learn it.    
M. P.  
Finis.   

London printed for H. Gosson.