|Visit Us On FB
6 SONGS AND BALLADS
And som wold haue a saltyd tost,
Ffor they myght ete neyther sode ne rost;
A man myght sone pay for theyr cost,
As for oo day or twayne. Som layde theyr bookys on theyr kne, And rad so long they myght nat se ; " Alias ! myne hede wolle cleue on thre ! "
Thus seyth another certayne.
Then commeth owre owner lyke a lorde, And speketh many a Royall worde, And dresseth hym to the hygh borde,
To see alle thyng be welle. Anone he calleth a carpentere, And byddyth hym bryng with hym hys gere, To make the cabans here and there,
With many a febylle celle.
A sak of strawe were there ryght good, Ffor som must lyg theym in theyr hood ; I had as lefe be in the wood,
Without mete or drynk ; For when that we shall go to bedde, The pumpe was nygh oure beddes hede, A man were as good to be dede
As smell therof the stynk !
SIR ANDREW BARTON.
As itt beffell in m[i]dsumer-time,
When burds singe sweetlye on every tree, Our noble king, King Henery the Eighth, , Over the river of Thames past hee.
Hee was no sooner over the river, Downe in a fforrest to take the ayre,
But eighty merchants of London cittye Came kneeling before King Henery there.