An excellent new Medley.  
To the tune of the Spanish Pavin:  

WHen Philomela begins to sing,  
the grass grows green & flowers spring,  
Me thinks it is a pleasant thing,  
to walk on Primrose hill,  
Maids have you any Connyskins  
To sell for Laces or great Pins?  
The Pope will pardon venial sins:  
Saint Peter.   

Fresh fish & news grow quickly stale:  
Some say good Wine can ne'er want sale,  
But God send poor folk's Beer and Ale enough until they die.  
Most people now are full of pride;  
The Boy said no but yet he lied:  
His Aunt did to the Cuckstoole ride  
for scolding.   

Within our Town fair Susan dwells:  
Sure Meg is poisoned, for she swells,  
My friend, pull off your buzzards bells,  
and let the haggard fly.  
Take heed you play not at Tray-trip.  
Short heels forsooth will quickly slip.  
The beadle makes folk with his whip,  
dance naked.   

Come Tapster tell us what's to pay,  
jane frowned and cried good Sir away,  
She took his kindness, yet said nay,  
as Maidens use to do.  
The man shall have his Mare again,  
When all false knaves prove honest men,  
Our Cicely shall be Sainted then,  
true Roger.   

The Butcher with his masty Dog,  
At Rumford you may buy a Hog,  
I saith Ralph Goose hath got a clog,  
his wench is great with child:  
In Pillory put the Baker's head,  
For making of such little bread,  
Good conscience now a days is dead,  
Pierce ploughman.   

The Cutpurse and his Company  
Théeues find receivers presently:  
eat Brokers, Bawds, and Usury,  
for fear of after-claps.  
Lord, what a wicked world is this?  
The stone lets Kate she cannot piss?  
Come hither sweet and take a kiss  
in kindness.   

In Bath a wanton wife did dwell,  
She had two buckets to a well,  
Would not a dog for anger swell,  
to see a Pudding creep?   

The Horseleech is become a Smith,  
When halters fail, then take a With:  
Then say an old man hath no pith,  
Round Robin.   

Simon doth suck up all the Eggs,  
Frank never drinks without Nutmegs,  
And pretty Parnell shows her legs,  
as slender as my waste.   

When fair jerusalem did stand,  
The match is made give me thy hand.  
Malkin must have a Cambric band  
blew starched.   

The Cuckoo sung hard by the door,  
gill brawled like a butter whore,  
Cause her bucke-headed Husband swore  
the Miller was a knave.   

Good Poets leave off making plays  
Let players seek for Soldiers pays  
I do not like these drunken frays,  
in Smithfield.   

Now Roisters spurs do jingle brave,  
john Sexton played the errand knave,  
To dig a Coarse out of the Grave,  
and steal the sheet away.   

The wand'ring Prince of stately Troy,  
Green sléeves were wont to be my joy,  
He is a blind and paltry boy  
god Cupid.   

Come hither friends and give good care,  
A leg of mutton stuffed is rare.  
Take heed you do not steal my Mare,  
it is so hot it burns.   

Behold the trial of true love,  
He took a screech-owl for a Dove:  
This man is like ere long to prove  
a Monster.   

'tis merry when kind Maltmen meet:  
No Cowards fight but in the street,  
Me thinks this wench smells very sweet,  
of Musk, or somewhat else.   

There was a man did play at Maw,  
The whilst his wife made him a Daw,  
Your Case is altered in the Law,  
quoth Ployden.   

The Weaver will no shuttle shoot,  
Go did the Cobbler mend my boot  
He is a fool will go a foot  
and let his Horse stand still.   

Did john a Nokes and john a Styles,  
Many an honest man beguiles.  
But all the world is full of wiles  
and knavery.   

Of treason and of Traitor's spite  
The house is haunted with a spirit,  
Now Nan will rise about midnight,  
and walk to Richard's house.   

You Courtly states and Gallants all,  
Climb not too high, for fear you fall:  
If one please not, another shall,  
King Pippin.   

Diana and her Darlings dear,  
The Dutchmen ply the double Beer:  
Boys ring the bells and make good cheer,  
when Kempe returns from Rome.   

Oh man what means thy heavy look?  
Is Will not in his Mistress Book,  
Sir Roland for a refuge took  
Hornecastle.   

Rich people have the world at will  
Trades fade, but Lawyers flourish still,  
jack would be married unto Jill:  
but care will kill a Cat.   

Are you there Sirrah with your Bears?  
A Barber's shop with nitty hairs.  
Doll, Phillis hath lost both her ears,  
for cozening.   

Who list to lead a Soldier's life?  
Tom would eat meat, but wants a knife,  
The Tinker swore that Tib his wife,  
would play at Vptayles all   

Believe my word without an Oath  
The Tailor stole some of her cloth:  
When George lay sick, joan made him broth  
with Hemlock.   

The Patron gelded the parsonage,  
And Esau sold his heritage,  
Now Leonard lackwit is fool age  
to be his Father's heir.   

There's many scratch before it itch,  
Saul did ask counsel of a Witch,  
Friend, ye may have a Bacon flitch  
at Dunmow.   

King David played on a Welsh Harp,  
This thread will never make good warp  
At wise men's words each fool will carp  
and shoot their witless bolts.   

jove like a Ram wore horns and wool,  
Knew you my Hostis of the Bull,  
Spruce Curio once was made a gull  
in Shoreditch.   

The blackamoors are blabber lipped,  
At Yarmouth are the Herrings shipped,  
And at Bridewell the beggars whipped,  
a man may live and learn,   

Grief in my heart doth stop my tongue,  
The poor man still must put up wrong,  
Your way lies there, then walk along  
to Witham.   

There lies a Lass that I love well  
The Broker hath gay clothes to sell,  
Which from the Hangman's but get fell,  
are you no further yet?   

In Summer time when Pears be ripe  
Who would give six pence for a Trip●  
Play Lad, or else lend me thy Pipe  
and Taber.   

Saint Nicholas Clerks will take a 〈◊〉  
Young children now can swear and 〈◊〉  
I hope ye like me ne'er the worse,  
for finding fault therewith.   

The servant to the Master's mate.  
When gossins' meet, there's too much 〈◊〉  
Poor Lazarus lies of Dives gate  
half starved.   

Make haste to Sea, and hoist up sails  
The hog's ware ser●'e with milking p●●●●●  
From filthy sluts, and from all jails  
good Lord deliver us all.   

I scorn to ride a raw boned jade,  
Fetch me a Mattocke and a Spade,  
A Graves' end Coste will soon be mad●  
Saint Dennis.   

But for to finish up my Song,  
The Alewife did the Brewer wrong  
One day of sorrow seems as long  
as ten days do in mirth,   

My Medley now is at an end,  
Have you no Bowls or Treys to 〈◊〉  
'tis hard to find so true a friend  
as Damon.