A Courtly New Ballad of the Princely Wooing of the fair maid of London, by King Edward,
The Tune is, Bonny sweet Robin.
|
F Air Angel of England thy beauty most bright,
|
Is all my hearts pleasure, my joy and delight
|
Then grant me fair Lady thy true love to be,
|
that I may say welcome good fortune to me.
|
The Turtle so chast and true in her love,
|
By gentle perswasions her fancy will move
|
Then be not intreated fair Lady in vain,
|
For nature requireth what I should obtain.
|
The Phenix so famous that liveth alone,
|
Is vowed to chastity being but one,
|
But be not my darling so chast in desire,
|
Least thou like the phenix dost pennance in fire.
|
But alas gentle Lady I pitty your state,
|
In being resolved to live without Mate:
|
For if of our courting the pleasure you knew,
|
You would have a likeing the same to ensue.
|
Long time I have sued the same to obtain,
|
Yet I am requited with scornful disdain,
|
But if you will grant your good will unto me,
|
You shall be advanced to princely degree.
|
Promations and honour may often entice,
|
The chastest that liveth though never so nice
|
What woman so worthy but could be content,
|
To live in a pallace where princes frequent?
|
Two brides young and princely to church I have led
|
[Tw]o Ladies now lately have decked my bed:
|
Yet hath thy love taken more root in my heart,
|
Then all there contentments whereof I had part
|
your gentle heart cannot mens hearts much abide,
|
And women least angry when most they do chide:
|
Then yield to me kindly & say that at length,
|
Men they want mercy and poor women strength.
|
I grant that fair Ladies may poor men resist
|
And Princes may conquer & woe who they list,
|
A King may command her to lye by his side,
|
Whose feature deserveth to be a kings bride.
|
In granting your love you shall purchase renown,
|
Your head shall be crowned with Englands crown
|
thy garments most gallant of gold shall be wrought
|
if true love with treasure with the may be bought.
|
Great Ladies of honour shall tend on thy train
|
Most richly attired with Scarlet in grain:
|
My chamber most Princely thy person shall keep
|
where Virgins with Musick shall rock thee a sleep.
|
If any pleasures thy heart can invent,
|
Command them sweet Lady thy mind to content,
|
For Kings gallant courts where princes doe dwell,
|
Afford such sweet pastime as Ladies love well.
|
Then be not resolved to dye a true Maid,
|
But print in thy bosome these words I have said,
|
And grant a king favour your true love to be,
|
That I may say welcome sweet Virgin to me
|
|
|
|
|
The fair maid of Londons Answer to King Edvards wanton Love.
|
O Wanton King Edward thy labour is vain,
|
To follow the pleasure thou canst not attain,
|
With getting thou losest and having dost want it,
|
The which if thou purchast is spoild if thou hast it
|
But if thou obtainst it thou nothing hast won,
|
And I losing nothing yet quite am undone,
|
But if of my jewel a King do deceive me,
|
No K. can restore though a kingdom he give me.
|
My colour is changed since thou seest me last
|
My favour is vanish't my beauty is past,
|
The rosie red blushes that sat in my cheecks,
|
To paleness is turned, which all men dislikes.
|
I pass not for princes for love to protest,
|
The name of a virgin contenteth me best,
|
I have not deserved to lye by his side,
|
Nor yet to be counted for K. Edwards Bride.
|
The name of a Princess I never did crave,
|
No such tipe of honour thy hand-maid will have
|
My breast shall not harbour so lofty a thought,
|
Nor be with rich proffers to wantonness brought.
|
If wild wanton Rosamand one of our sort,
|
Had never frequented K. Henries fair Court;
|
Such heaps of deep sorrow she never had seen
|
Nor tasted the rage of so jealous a Queen.
|
All men have there freedom to shew their intent,
|
They win not a woman except she consent:
|
Who then can impute to them any fault,
|
Who still go upright untill men do hault.
|
Tis counted a kindness in men for to try,
|
And vertue in women the same to deny:
|
For women unconstant can never be prov'd
|
Untill by their betters therein they be mov'd.
|
If women and modesty once do but sever,
|
Then farewel good name and credit for ever,
|
And Royal King Edward let me be excil'd,
|
E[']re any man knows my body's defil'd.
|
No no my fathers reverend tears,
|
Too deep an impression within my heart bears,
|
Nor shall his bright honour that blot by me have,
|
To bring his gray hairs with grief to the grave.
|
The heavens forbid that when I shall dye,
|
That any such sin should upon me lye,
|
If I have thus kept me from doing this sin,
|
My heart shall not yield with a prince to begin.
|
Come rather with pity and weeep on my tomb
|
Then for my birth curse my dear mothers womb
|
That brought forth a blossom that stained the tree,
|
With wanton desires to shame her and me.
|
Leave me most noble king, tempt not in vain,
|
My Milk-white affection with lewdness to stain
|
though England will give me no comforts at all,
|
Yet England will give me a sad burial.
|
|
|
|
|