A merry Discourse between Norfolk Thomas, and Sisly Standtooed his Wife; Together with their thankless journey from Norfolk to London, only to see their friends, and how they do respect and entertain 'em for their love and labour.  
Which shows that this same Age most certain true,  
Is only for to ask ye how ye do.  
To the tune of the Spanish Pavin.  

 
 Thomas. 

TO London is mad Thomas come,  
With Sisly here, his Wife alone,  
To see some friends, I hear are gone,  
to heaven a while ago.  
But I do hope it is a lie,  
As I shall find it by and by,  
Or else poor Tom and Sisse should cry,  
till Doomsday.   
For though they be none of the best,  
I should be loath I do protest,  
To hear that they are gone to rest,  
and never take their leave.  
For I do love 'em all so well,  
A little thing would make me dwell,  
Within the sounding of Bow-bell,  
at London.  Sisly. 

Nay husband do not you say so,  
Our Cottage poor wée'l not forgo,  
For the best house that stands aroe,  
'twixt Cheap and Charing Cross.  
For though our house be thatched with Straw,  
We do not live as some in awe,  
For 'tis our own by Common law,  
in Norfolk.   

Besides we live at hearts content,  
We take no care to pay our Rent,  
For that is done incontinent  
or twinkling of an eye.  
When here at London as they say,  
They brawl and brabble every day,  
And few or none but finds a way  
to Hogdsdon.   Thomas. 

Mum Sisly keep your Clapper still  
There's them can hear at Hygat hill,  
There's Rats has been in Peggy's Mill,  
or else she lies herself.  
What if the world be vild and bad,  
Shall I be such a foolish Lad  
To blaze and noise it all abroad,  
I scorn it.   

Although, indeed I must confess,  
Thou speakest but truth my honest Sisse,  
Yet ever while you live, mark this,  
and take it for a rule.  
That every Chimney must not smoke,  
Nor every Beggar wear a Cloak,  
Nor every truth must not be spoke,  
in sadness.   

But hang that Cobbler and his Ends,  
That lives too well and never mends,  
Would they were whipped that ne'er offends,  
peace Chuck, I mean not thee.  
For thou wilt scold sometime I know,  
The more is Thomas Standtoots woe,  
But hang it; come let's trip and go to  
Fléetstréet.   

And thus they trudged along the street,  
With many a justle they did meet,  
Which put poor Thomas in a sweat,  
and something angry to.  
Which made him think they told a lie  
That said there did so many die,  
When as he could not go hardly,  
for people,   Sisly. 

At length quoth she, good husband stay  
And tell me what this place is pray,  
Where things are carried as they may,  
I never saw the like.  
For yonder's one doth ride in state,  
And hears a Beggar at a gate  
And there's a woman that will prate  
for nothing.   

See here is one that sound beats,  
And thumps his Hemp until he sweats,  
And there's another greedy eats,  
I fear he'll choke himself,  
And yonder goes a gallant bilk,  
And there's a woman winding silk,  
And hears another fetches milk  
at Hackney.   

But here's the prettiest sight of all,  
A woman that is mighty tall,  
And yet her Spouse a little squall,  
I wonder how they met.  
And here's a man in Armour stands,  
That has it seems lost both his hands,  
'Tis pity that he has no lands  
to keep him.   
Now you must by this time suppose them about the Exchange.   

The second part.  
To the same tune.  
 
 

ANd here's a world of people fine,  
That do in Silks and Satins shine,  
I would that Suit and Cloak were mine,  
I hope I wish no harm.  
And here hangs Pictures two or three,  
The best that ever I did see,  
I think one looks full butt at me,  
and laughs too.   

And here's a man hath many a Rat,  
Both in his hand, and on his Hat,  
Me thinks he kéeps 'em very fat,  
O strange what tails they have.  
And here's a Gentlewomen too,  
That hides her face from me and you,  
I wonder what she means to do  
in Summer.   

And here's an empty Church I see,  
Great pity 'tis most certainly,  
It should indeed no fuller be,  
and all these people here.  
And there's an old man carries wood,  
And here's a young man doth no good,  
And here's a woman wears a hood,  
hay Daisy.   Thomas. 

Come Sisly let us go along  
And not stand gaping here among  
A sort of people that do throng,  
I never saw the like.  
But let us to our brother go,  
That will us welcome well I know,  
For he himself did tell me so,  
at Norfolk.   

Soft, let us knock for here's the door,  
But if because our  be poor,  
They should not let us in therefore,  
'twould make a dog to laugh.  
For I have heard my mother say,  
That if a man fall to decay,  
There's few or none will bid him stay,  
y'are welcome.   

But silence, not a word but mum,  
For see our brother now doth come,  
Me thinks he looks as he were dumb,  
what makes him not to speak.  
Good brother we our loves unfold,  
For though my Sisse and I am old,  
Yet we have made a little bold  
to see you.   Brother. 

And truly I do thank you for't,  
Ye're welcome both with all my heart,  
we'll drink a Cup before we part,  
an't please you but to stay.  
For I have friends within truly,  
That if they should a stranger see,  
They straight woe very fearful be  
of danger.   Thomas. 

Why Brother we no sickness have,  
Nor are we started from our grave,  
Your love is all that we do crave,  
what need you then to fear,  
We do not come to eat your roast  
Nor yet to put you unto cost,  
But now I see our labours lost  
poor Sisly.   Brother. 

Pray do not think the fault is mine,  
For if you'll drink a Pint of wine,  
I'll give it you, and ne'er repine,  
hang money what care I.  
And had I not so many Guess,  
Indeed I seriously profess,  
Your welcome should be more or less,  
good Brother.   Thomas. 

No thank you Brother, éene farewell,  
A blind man now with ease may smell,  
That all things is not carried well,  
what love pray call you this.  
Come now unto thy Sister we  
●ill go with all selerity,  
No doubt that she shall kinder be,  
unto us.   

They condescend and were content  
So to their Sister strait they went,  
But all in vain their time was spent  
for when they thither came.  
Their Sister did her Maid compel,  
And bid her thus much to them tell,  
Indeed she was not very well,  
at that time.   

From thence they to their cousin go,  
Being much desirous for to know,  
Whether that she would serve 'em so.  
or use 'em in that kind.  
But being there this news was brought,  
That she a smock had newly bought,  
And she was gone to have it wrought  
with Worsted.   

Well now says Thomas to his Dear,  
What sayest thou Sisly to this gear,  
We far have gone, yet ne'er the near,  
We thank our kindred for't.  
But if that brothers be so kind  
What favour shall a stranger find,  
Protest it troubles much my mind,  
to think on't.   Sisly. 

Nay Husband let us not do so,  
The best is we can homewards go,  
And yet not trouble friend nor foe,  
what need we then to care.  
For now each one I tell you true,  
Will only ask you how do you,  
I am glad to see you well, Sir Hugh,  
good morrow.   Thomas. 

Why then old Sisly thou and I,  
Will back again to Norfolk hie,  
And bid a fig for company:  
our Dog is sport enough.  
But when we come to London next,  
Our friends shall have a better Text,  
I swear and vow I am sound vexed,  
who cares for't.     

Printed by M. P. for F. C. Finis▪ Ed. Ford.