The forlorn Traveller:  
Whose first beginning was pleasure and joy,  
But his riotous spending wrought his decay,  
He took delight to spend and roar,  
And at the last died very poor.  
To a dainty new Court Tune.  

 
 
YOu Young men that much pleasure have  
come lend an ear  
To me that once lived fine and brave,  
and void of all fear,  
For I had gold and silver plenty,  
With all things dainty,  
and then I did roar;  

But now alas I am grown poor,  
And not respected, but am rejected,  
woe is me therefore.   

My Parents were of good estate,  
and did maintain  
Me for to spend at any rate,  
which was but in vain;  
They ' loud me means to spend and revel,  
In courses evil;  
they such true love bore  

To me, but now, etc.    

No Town nor City in England fair,  
but I have seen,  
And I do mean for to declare,  
whereas I have been;  
And in each place my means consumed,  
Thus I presumed  
for to spend and roar,  

But now alas I am, etc.    

From London I to Gravesend went,  
with coin great store,  
To Canterbury in famous Kent,  
and many Towns more,  
Where I did meet with roaring Gallants,  
That spent their talents,  
thus I company bore;  

But now alas, etc.    

Sussex, Surrey, and Southampton,  
and Berkshire too,  
Wiltshire, Dorssetshire and so on,  
as many more do,  
Till all is spent and they forsaken,  
Then are they taken.  
with sorrow full sore,  

So is't with me, for I, etc.    

Summersetshire and Devonshire,  
and Cornwall then,  
I travelled, as you now may hear,  
and then back again,  
Then Gloster, Hereford, and Woster,  
Stafford and Chester,  
I ranged all ore,  

But now alas, etc.    

My Host and Hostesses where I came,  
bid me welcome still,  
Saying, kind sir yourself may claim,  
even what you will,  
You may but ask and have your pleasure,  
In any measure,  
dance, sing, drink and roar,  

But now alas, etc.    

To Derby, York and Lancashire,  
and to Comberland.  
Westmoreland Durram, than I did prepare  
to Northumberland,  
My money now being much wasted,  
I backward hasted,  
for to fetch some more;  

But now alas I am grown poor,  
And not respected, but am rejected,  
woe is me therefore.     

The second part.  
To the same tune.  
 
 

TO Leicester and to Nottingham,  
I back returned,  
So to Warwick and Lincoln came,  
whereas I sojourned,  
There did I wast away my treasure,  
Beyond all measure,  
yet still I did roar,  

But now alas I am grown poor.  
And nor respected, but am rejected,  
woe is me therefore.    

Norfolk, Suffolk, and Cambridge to,  
and through Huntingdon,  
Northampton and Rutland also,  
Oxford, Buckingham,  
So I to Bedford, Hartford, Essex,  
Then to Middlesex,  
where I lived before,  

My friends soon died, than I, etc.    

My friends being dead, my means I sold,  
and then did go,  
With gallant Sparks of courage bold,  
against England's foe,  
The Neptune's foaming floods we passed,  
And thus we trased  
to the foreign shore,  

But now alas, etc.    

Then in the exercise of Mars,  
we soon were tried,  
Whereas our luckless fortune was,  
soon for to abide,  
Hunger and cold with bloody battle,  
The Drums did rattle,  
and the Canons roar,  

From thence returned I, etc.    

When I for England came again,  
I tried my friends,  
To see what means I could obtain,  
but their friendship ends,  
They say I might have been more careful  
My case is fearful,  
which doth grieve me sore,  

For now alas, etc.    

Once where ere I did come or go,  
I still found friends,  
But now I cannot find it so,  
having no means,  
They will not now so much as know nice,  
But do forgo me,  
now from door to door,  

I'm fain to beg, etc.    

Let this a warning be to all  
prodigal youth,  
Here you may now behold the fall,  
of him that showeth  
His careless and riotous spending,  
But now his ending  
is like to jane Shore,  

For he was, etc.    

Thus to conclude I will relate,  
of this poor man,  
He died in a woeful estate,  
as I understand,  
For in the open fields he died,  
Being denied,  
to come within door,  

Nay at the Brick-kills he was burned,  
And his flesh turned,  
to ashes all o'er.     
R. C.  
FINIS.   

P●●●●●● 〈◊〉 London for F. Coules.