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My father he is now from home,

And I am all alone, fir: Therefore a-cross the water come ;

And I am all your own, fir.

165

False maid, thou canft no more deceive;

I scorn the treacherous bait-à:
If thou would'st have me thee believe,

Now open me the gate-a.

170

The bridge is drawn, the gate is barr’d,

My father he has the keys, fir. But I have for my love prepar'd

A shorter way and easier.

Over the moate I've laid a plank

Full seventeen feet in measure: Then step a-cross to the other bank,

And there we'll take our pleasure.

175

These words she had no sooner spoke,

But lirait he came tripping over:
The plank was faw'd, it fnapping broke;

And sous'd the unhappy lover.

180

XV1. WHY

XVI.
WHY SO PALE?

From Sir John Suckling's Poems. This Sprightly knight was born in 1613, and cut off by a fever about the 29th year of his age. See above, Song IX. of this Book.

WH

HY so pale and wan, fond lover ?

Prethee, why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail ?
Prethee why so pale ?

5

Why so dull and mute, young finner?

Prethee why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing doe't ?
Prethee why so mute?

10

Quit, quit for same; this will not more,

This cannot take her;
If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her.
The devil take her!

15

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XVII.

OLD TOM OF BEDLA M.

MAD SONG THE FIRST.

It is worth attention, that the Englisk have more songs and ballads on the subje&t of madness, than any of their neighbours. Whether there be any truth in the infnuation, that we are more liable to this calamity than other nations, or that our native gloominefs hath peculiarly recommended Jubjects of this cast to our writers; we certainly do not find the same in the printed collections of French, Italian Songs, &c.

Out of a much larger quantity, we have selected half a dozen MAD SONGS for thefe volumes. The three first are originals in their refpective kinds ; the merit of the three last is chiefly that of imitation. They were written at confiderable intervals of time; but we have here grouped them together, that the reader may the better examine their comparative merits. He may consider them as fo many trials of skill in a very peculiar subject, as the contest of Jo many rivals to shoot in the bow of Ulysses. The two first were pra. bably written about the beginning of the last century; the third about the middle of it; the fourth and fixth towards the end; and the fifth within this present century.

This is given from the Editor's folio MS. compared with two or three old printed copies With regard to the author of this old rhapsody, in Walton's Compleat Angker, cap. 3, is

a fome

a song in praise of angling, which the author says was made at his request " by M. WILLIAM Basse, one that has made the choice songs of the HUNTER IN HIS CAREER, " and of Tom of BEDLAM, and many others of note,' P. 84. See Sir John HAWKINS's curious Edition, 8vo. of that excellent old Book,

FO

NORTH from my sad and darksome cell,

Or from the deepe abyffe of hell,
Mad Tom is come into the world againe
To see if he can cure his distempered braine,

Feares and cares oppresse my foule ;
Harke, howe the angrye Fureys houle!
Pluto laughes, and Proferpine is gladd
To see poore naked Tom of Bedlam madd.

10

Through the world I wander night and day

To seeke my ftraggling senses,
In an angrye moode I mett old Time,

With his pentarchye of tenses :

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Harke! I heare Apollo's teame,

The carman 'gins to whistle; Chart Diana bends her bowe,

The boare begins to bristle.

Come, Vulcan, with tools and with tackles, 25
To knocke off my troublesome shackles;
Bid Charles make ready his waine
To fetch me my senses againe.

30

Last night I heard the dog-star bark;
Mars met Venus in the darke;
Limping Vulcan het an iron barr,
And furiouslye made at the god of war;

Mars with his weapon laid about,
But Vulcan's temples had the gout,
For his broad horns did so hang in his light,
He could not fee to aim his blowęs aright:

35

Mercurye the ninible post of heaven,

Stood fill to see the quarrell ; Gorrel-bellyed Bacchus, gyant-like,

Bestryd a strong-beere barrell.

40

To mee he dranke,

I did him thanke,
But I could get no cyder ;

He

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