The sweet Salutation on Primrose Hill: Or,
I know you not.
I know you not, ---- what, doth the times so Change,
I knew the time we have not bin so strange:
But this by Maids must never be forgot,
When men Intice; to say, ---- I know you not.
To the tune of, Though Father Angry be: Or, Deep in Love.
|
IN the pleasant month of May
|
a young man met a Maid
|
On Primrose Hill so gay,
|
and thus to her he said:
|
Fair Maid, sit down by me
|
upon this flowerie place,
|
Fine pastime thou shalt see
|
within a little space.
|
Good Sir excuse me now,
|
I cannot stay quoth she,
|
I must go milk the Cow,
|
my Mother will angry be,
|
Nor can I tell forsooth
|
what may be my lot,
|
But this I say in truth,
|
good sir, I know you not.
|
Fair Maid be not so coy,
|
a Lesson to thee Ile play,
|
Shall fill thy heart with joy
|
on Primrose Hill so gay,
|
He played her then a Note
|
upon the Violin,
|
He had his Lesson by rote,
|
'twas called, In and In.
|
But still she was in haste,
|
and still she told him so,
|
To give my Mother distaste
|
I never yet will doe,
|
And still she cry'd forsooth
|
I cannot tell my lot,
|
But this I say in truth,
|
good sir, I know you not.
|
You know me not quoth he,
|
but yet in time you may,
|
We shall acquainted be
|
on Primrose Hill this day.
|
But still she cry'd forsooth
|
I cannot tell my lot,
|
But this I say in truth,
|
good sir, I know you not.
|
I am a Rich mans Heir,
|
and he to me will give
|
Five hundred pound a year
|
when no longer he can live.
|
But still she cry'd forsooth
|
I cannot tell my lot,
|
But this I say in truth,
|
good sir, I know you not.
|
I Will maintain thee so
|
that none shall equal thee,
|
Thou Lady like shalt go
|
if thou wilt yield to me.
|
But still she cry'd forsooth
|
I cannot tell my lot,
|
Yet this I say in truth,
|
good sir, I know you not.
|
Thou shalt not go on foot,
|
but Lady like shalt ride,
|
Thy Page sit in the Boot,
|
my self sit by thy side.
|
But still she cry'd forsooth
|
I cannot, etc.
|
Loe thou shalt be my Bride,
|
and all shall then be thine,
|
If thou canst now confide
|
and yield thy self as mine:
|
When she heard him say so
|
she quickly had forgot,
|
To answer him with no,
|
good sir, I know you not.
|
She unto him did yield,
|
and he was well content
|
Upon her ground to build,
|
which made her to repent.
|
Yet he did please her so
|
that she had now. etc.
|
But at the length alass,
|
her belly began to swell,
|
For so it came to pass,
|
the naked truth to tell,
|
And when she had found it so,
|
she said, etc.
|
Her Cow was quick with Calf
|
and she was quick within,
|
The wound was worse behalf
|
then breaking of her shin.
|
And when she had found it so,
|
she said, etc.
|
But since she was so wild,
|
for ought that I can gather,
|
Since she is prov'd with Child,
|
she may go look the Father.
|
And when she found it so,
|
she said, etc.
|
Her Mother now therefore
|
did find the matter out,
|
And turn'd her out of dore
|
with many a jear and flout.
|
Are you my Child quoth she,
|
alas I have forgot,
|
If that with Child you be,
|
be gone: I know you not.
|
She to her Uncle went
|
and made the matter known,
|
But she was soundly shent
|
for making of her mone,
|
Are you my Cusse quoth he,
|
alas, etc.
|
If you stay longer here
|
to Bridewell you shall go,
|
And dainty whipping Chear
|
I will on you bestow.
|
Are you my Cusse quoth he,
|
alas, etc.
|
This Wench was wondrous ill,
|
at length the man did find,
|
Mother on Primrose Hill
|
to whom she broke her mind:
|
Bold Whore quoth he forbear,
|
wilt thou mine honour blot?
|
Ile kick you now I swear;
|
be gone: I know you not.
|
When she heard him say so,
|
she soon did him arrest,
|
She bent him to her bow,
|
a dainty Primrose jest:
|
And when she had told him so,
|
she told him 'twas his lot,
|
To prison he must go:
|
be gone: I know you not.
|
She made him promise then
|
that he should keep the Child,
|
Before sufficient men
|
since that he had her beguild:
|
Yet she did not forget
|
the Sport at Primrose Hill,
|
He plaid her such a Fit
|
makes her to love him still.
|
If I might have my will,
|
if that it proves a Boy,
|
His Name is Primrose Hill,
|
his Mothers only Joy.
|
Fair Maidens now be wise
|
for fear this be your lot,
|
If man do you intise,
|
say thus: I know you not.
|
|
|
|
|
|