Page:Two songs (1).pdf/6

 Now he held the bridle reins till he came down.

And then he convey'd them to fine room;

With the finest of spirits they drank a fine toss,

And the father and son drank out of one glass.





HERE is not a tailor in all London town,

That can shape Newcastle's fair lady a gown;

Her belly's turn'd big and her face pale and wan,

She's fallen with child to her own servant man.

This beautiful lady with tears in her eyes,

I'm ruined for ever, with sorrow, she cries;

My credit is broke, and honour is gone,

And what will I say when my good lord comes home.

Deluded by falsehood I soon did comply,

For it was my footman that with me did lye;

To shew himself guilty, like a cruel knave,

He's fled from his country his life for to save.

The ladies of honour they will me disdain,

Likewise my young baby will publish my shame;

My Lord for the same he will turn me away.

To wait on his coming I dare not to stay.

When the Duke he arrived on the English shore,

To hear what was acted, it grieved him sore.

These tidings of sorrow it did him surprise,

When tears like a fountain ran down from his eyes.

Thou worst of all women, thou emblem of strife,