THE Merry Wooing of Robin & joan The West-Country Lovers.  
To the Tune of, The beginning of the World, Or, Sellinger's Round, Or, Great Boobe.  
 
 
 

O Mother thave been a Bachelor  
This twelve and twenty years,  
And I'll have often been a wooing:  
And yet I'm never the near:  
Joan Gromball cheel ha none of me  
Ize look so like a Lowr:  
But I vaith cham as proper a Man as she  
Zhe needs not be So stout.   

She Zaies if ize could dance and sing,  
As Thomas Miller con,  
Or cut a Cauper, as little Jack Taylor  
O how cheed love me then;  
But zoft and fair, I'll none of that,  
I vaith cham not So nimble  
The Tailors have nought to trouble his thoughts  
But his needle and his thimble.   

O Zon th' art of lawful Age  
And a jolly tide Boy  
I'd have thee try her one again  
She can but say nay:  
Then O Gramercy Mother  
Chill Zet a good Vaces of the matter  
I'll dress up my Zelf as fine as a Dog,  
And I'll have a fresh bout at her.   

And first I'll put on my Sunday Apparel,  
That laced about the Quarters;  
With a pair of Buckram Slops  
And a Vlanting pair of Garters  
With my Sword tie vast to my Zide  
And my Grandfathers Dugen Dagger  
And a Peacock's Veather in my Capp,  
Then ah how Ice shall swagger.   

Nay take the Loekrum Napkin Son,  
To wipe thy snotty nose,  
'tis no matter vor that chilli Snort is out  
And Vlurt it athwart my clothes:  
Dv's bod kins nay sie away  
I prithee Son do not so,  
Be mannerly Son till thou canst tell  
weather she'll ha' thee or no.   

But Sirrah Mother hark a while,  
Whos that that comes so near:  
'Tis Joan Grombal, hold thy peace  
For fear that she do hear:  
Nay out be she I'll dress my words,  
In Zuch a Scholars Grace,  
But virst of all shall take my Hands,  
And lay them athwart her Face.   

Good morrow my Honey my Sugar-Candy  
My little pretty Mouse,  
Cha hopes thy Father and Mother be well  
At home at thine own House  
Ich am came Vart to show my mind  
I'm Zure, thou knowest my Arrant:  
Zum say jug that I must ha' thee,  
O no good Sir, I warrant.   

You must (Sir Clown) is for the King,  
And not for such a mome,  
You might have said by your leave fair Maid  
And let your (must) alone.  
Ich am no more a Clown that ulat  
Cham in my Sunday Apparel  
Ich came vor Love and I pray so take't  
The hopes the will not quarrall.   Joan. 
Robin dost thou love me so well,  Robin. 
I vaith abomination,  
Why then you should have framed your wonders  
Into a finer fashion.  
Vine Vashions and Vine 〈…〉 eeches 〈◊〉,  
As Scholars Volks can Utter,  
Chad wrather speak but twa words plain  
Than half a score and stutter.  Robin. 
C have Land, c have House, c have twa v 〈…〉 Be 〈…〉  
That's better than fine Speeches,  Joan. 
'Tis a sign that Fortune favours Fools,  
She let them have such Riches,  Robin. 
Hark how she comes upon me now,  
I do wish it be a good Zine,  Joan. 
He that will steal any wit from thee  
Had need to rise betime.  

Ice, Vaith Ice am no vool Ice Zay  
Ise think you Zud know better:  
Dost thou think Ise not know I pray,  
Good speech and manners better:  
'Tis sure you know not if you did  
You'd ne'er have been a Lover.  
Nay nay, my Dear, nay nay udzlid  
Why must not I discover.   

What long in secret i'll ha' kept  
And would ha' longer done it  
Had not my Passion been So heaped  
Ice had no more Room for it.  
And are you in Love as you Zay.  
Yes Vaith and Troth Ise Swear it  
Then prithee Robin set the day  
And wees e'en both be Married.