Thou art the doe, that I must dreffe;

See here, behold my knife; For it is pointed presently

To ridd thee of thy life.

O then, cried out the fcullion-boye,

As loud as loud might bee;

O fave her life, good mafter-cook,

And make your pyes of mee!

For pityes fake do not destroye

My ladye with your knife;
You know thee is her father's joye,
For Chriftes fake fave her life.

I will not fave her life, he fayd,
Nor make my pyes of thee;

Yet if thou dot this deed bewraye,

Thy butcher I will bee.

If now you will your daughter fee,
My lord, cut up that pye:

Wherein her fleshe is minced small,
And parched with the fire;
All caufed by her step-mother,
Who did-her death defire.

And curfed bee the mafter-cook,

O curfed may he bee!

I proffered him my own hearts blood,

From death to fet her free.

Then all in blacke this lord did mourne;

And for his daughters fake,

He judged her cruell ftep-mothèr

To be burnt at a flake.

Likewife he judg'd the mafter-cook

In boiling lead to stand;

And made the fimple fcullion-boye

The heire of all his land.

XV.

A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID.

This Song is a kind of Translation of a pretty poem of Talo's, called Amore fuggitivo, generally printed with his AMINTA, and originally imitated from the firft Idyllium of Mofchus.

One

It is extracted from Ben Jonfon's Mafque at the marriage of lord viscount Hadington, on Shrove-Tuesday 1608. ftanza full of dry mythology is here omitted, as it had been dropt in a copy of this fong printed in a small volume called "Le Prince d'amour. Lond. 1660," 8vo.

B

EAUTIES, have yee feen a toy,
Called Love, a little boy,
Almoft naked, wanton, blinde;
Cruel now; and then as kinde♪
If he be amongst yee, fay;
He is Venus' run away.

Shee, that will but now difcover
Where the winged wag doth hover,
Shall to-night receive a kiffe,

How and where herfelfe would with:
But who brings him to his mother
Shall have that kiffe, and another.

Markes he hath about him plentie ;
You may know him among twentie:

I

5

10

All

All his body is a fire,

And his breath a flame entire:

Which, being fhot, like lightning, in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.

Wings he hath, which though yee clip,
He will leape from lip to lip,
Over liver, lights, and heart;
Yet not stay in any part.
And, if chance his arrow miffes,
He will shoot himselfe in kiffes.

Truft him not: his words, though sweet,

Seldome with his heart doe meet:

All his practice is deceit ;

Everie gift is but a bait :

40

Not

Not a kiffe but poyfon beares;

And most treafon's in his teares.

Idle minutes are his raigne;

Then the ftraggler makes his gaine,

By presenting maids with toyes

And would have yee thinke hem joyes;
'Tis the ambition of the elfe

To have all childish as himselfe.

45

If by these yee please to know him,
Beauties, be not nice, but fhow him.

૬૦

Though yee had a will to hide him,

Now, we hope, yee'le not abide him

Since yee heare this falfer's play,
And that he is Venus' run-away.

XVI.

THE KING OF FRANCE's DAUGHTER.

The ftory of this Ballad feems to be taken from an incident in the domeftic hiftory of Charles the Bald, king of France. His daughter Judith was betrothed to Ethelwulph king of England: but before the marriage was confummated, Ethelwulph died, and he returned to France: whence he was carried off by Baldwyn, Forefter of Flanders; who, after many croffes and difficulties, at length obtained the king's confent to their marriage, and was made Earl of Flanders. This happened about A. D. 863.-See Rapin, Henault, and the French Hiftorians,

VOL. III.

M

The