Hockley in the hole: To the tune of the Fidler in the Stockes.
|
There was a poore Scholler who loved a Lasse,
|
Whose father in London an Userer was,
|
The Schollers father in Hockley did dwell,
|
The Lasses in London as many knowes well:
|
the Scholler he loved her,
|
and often proved her,
|
At last with good wordes he obtained the goale:
|
with promises fed,
|
a plot he hath laide,
|
To carry the mayd to Hockley the hole.
|
Many good bargaines her father did bring her,
|
But serpent-like golde had no power to sting her,
|
She scorn'd such olde reffuge for all they were rich,
|
The Scholler though poore did content her much:
|
olde pieces of health,
|
did woo with there wealth,
|
But she did reject them, because they were olde:
|
the Scholler did woo her,
|
and closly came to her,
|
And at the last carryed her to the Hockley the hole.
|
Her father perceiving she did not regard,
|
Such olde wealthy Husbands that he had prepar'd,
|
But seeing her love, set all on a Scholler,
|
Whose whole revenues were scarce worth a doller:
|
hee sought to change her,
|
and banish the stranger,
|
And so lockt her up, cause she should not be stole:
|
but he was deceived,
|
and of her bereaved.
|
The Scholler her carryed to Hockley the hole.
|
No man was admitted this Mayden to see,
|
But such as were rich and of worthy degree,
|
Five olde toothlesse suiters each day did come to her.
|
In fine mumping manner with money to woo her:
|
she could not love them,
|
but did reprove them,
|
Her sinister[r] fortune, she did condole:
|
another she loved,
|
as after proved,
|
By him she was carryed to Hockley the hole.
|
The Scholler at last did devise a fine flight.
|
To steale her away in the dead of the night,
|
And boldly to dare he doth come in great hast,
|
And being come thither he knocketh a pace:
|
the Usurer wise,
|
loath for to rise,
|
Commanded his daughter to see who did call:
|
and being come downe,
|
her true loue she found,
|
Ready to carry her to Hockley the hole.
|
Which when she espyed full merry was she,
|
For now she was certaine she should beset free,
|
From fine doting suiters, and from a curst father,
|
Before she would stay she would run away rather:
|
fogetting her clothes,
|
to be rid from her foes,
|
Her fathers cramd bags she away with her stole,
|
who little thought all this while,
|
that they did him beguile,
|
And carry it away to Hockley the hole.
|
|
|
|
|
Hockley in the hole: The second part, To the same tune.
|
THus was he deceived of much by his childe,
|
The Scholler the Usurer thus did beguile,
|
He wiped the noses of all the Rich five,
|
And by this adventure is likely to thrive:
|
onward hees going,
|
in riches flowing,
|
In every towne for Wine hee doth call,
|
thus being wise,
|
he got a prize,
|
The best that was brought to Hockley the hole.
|
Through Barnet he rides with his beautious lasse,
|
And thorow Saint Albons he freely doth passe,
|
A long unto Dunstable swiftly he goes,
|
Where hee is made welcome of all he knowes:
|
he did not delay,
|
nor long did stay,
|
But onward to Hockley without controle:
|
where having [stayd h]er,
|
his wife he made her,
|
And they were maryed at Hockley the hole.
|
Her father having mist her, grew heavy and sad,
|
But the losse of his money did make him stark mad
|
Like to Jeronimo, raging he goes,
|
The losse of his gelde was the cause of his woes:
|
that wrapped in care,
|
and urgd to dispaire,
|
up to his garret secretly he stole:
|
and for losse of his pelfe,
|
he hanged him selfe,
|
his daughter being maryed at Hockley the hole.
|
The mony these couple beare with them away,
|
was five thousand pounds, as the Country doth say
|
Wherewith he did live contentedly,
|
And with a part, a great farme did buy.
|
he helped the poore
|
with a part of his store,
|
And gave at this doore full many a dole:
|
thus liv'd they in joy,
|
and had a faire boy,
|
which prooved a rich man at Hockley the hole.
|
You Userers all be warned by this thing,
|
Gad not your fortunes nor life in a string.
|
Dispayre not for golde, for that cannot save yee,
|
And if you dispayre, the devil's ready to have yee.
|
give women their minde,
|
for Cupid is blinde,
|
And then you shall finde, contentment in all:
|
thus doe I end,
|
and to you commend,
|
this song that I have pend, from Hockley the hole.
|
|
|
|
|