THE
Merry Wooing of Robin & Joan
The West-Country Lovers.
To the Tune of, The beginning of the World, Or, Sellingers Round, Or, Great Boobe.
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O Mother chave been a Batchellor
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This twelve and twenty years,
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And Ize have often been a wooing:
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And yet cham never the near:
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Joan Gromball cheel ha[ve] none of me
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Ize look so like a Lowt:
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But I vaith cham as proper a Man as she
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Zhe needs be Zo stout.
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She Zaies if ize could dance and sing,
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As Thomas Miller con,
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Or cut a Cauper, as little Jack Taylor
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O how cheed love me then;
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But zoft and fair, chil none of that,
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I vaith cham not Zo nimble
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The Taylors have nought to trouble his thoughts
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But his needle and his thimble.
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O Zon th' art of lawful Age
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And a jolly tide Boy
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Ide have thee try her one again
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She can but say nay:
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Then O Gramarcy Mother
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Chill Zet a good Vaces of the matter
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Chill dress up my Zelf as fine as a Dog,
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And chill have a fresh bout at her.
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And first chill put on my Zunday Parrel,
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that lac'd about the Quarters;
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With a pair of Buckram Slops
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And a Vlanting pair of Garters
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With my Sword tide vast to my Zide
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And my Grandfathers Dugen Dagger
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And a Peacocks Veather in my Capp,
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Then ah how Ise shall swagger.
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Nay take the Lockrum Napkin Son,
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To wipe thy snotty nose,
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Tis no matter vor that chilll Snort is out
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And Vlurt it athwart my Cloaths:
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Od's bodkins nay fie away
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I prethee Son do not so,
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Be mannerly Son till thou canst tell
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Whether sheel ha thee or no.
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But Sirrah Mother hark a while,
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Whos that that comes so near:
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'Tis Joan Gromball, hold thy peace
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For fear that she do hear:
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Nay out be she chilll dress my words,
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In Zuch a Scholards Grace,
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But virst of all shall take my Hands,
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And lay them athwart her Vace.
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Good morrow my Honey my Sugar-Candy
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My little pretty Mouse,
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Cha hopes thy Vather and Mother be well
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At home at thine own House
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Ich am come Vart to show my mind
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Cham Zure, thou knowest my Arrant:
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Zum say Jug that I mun ha thee,
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O no good Sir, I warrant.
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You must (Sir Clown) is for the King,
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And not for such a mome,
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You might have said by your leave fair Maid
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And let your (must) alone.
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Ich am no more a Clown that vlat
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Cham in my Zunday Apparel
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Ich came vor Love and I pray so tak't
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Che hopes che will not quarrall.
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Joan. Robin dost thou love me so well,
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Robin. I vaith abomination,
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Why then you should have fram'd your words
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Into a finer fashion.
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Vine Vashions and Vine Speeche s[?]i[?],
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As Schollards Volks can Utter,
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Chat wrather speak but two words plain
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Than half a score and stutter.
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Robin. Chave Land, chave House, chave twa v[?] Bea[?]
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That's better then fine speeches,
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Joan. 'Tis a sign that Fortune favours Fools,
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She let them have such Riches,
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Robin. Hark how she comes upon me now,
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I do wish it be a good Zine,
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Joan. He that will steal any wit from thee
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Had need to rise betime.
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Ise, Vaith Ise am no vool Ise Zay
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Ise think you Zud know better:
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Dost thou think Ise not know I pray,
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Good speech and manners better:
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'Tis sure you know not if you did
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You'd nee'r have been a Lover.
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Nay nay, my Dear, nay nay udzlid
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Why mun not I discover.
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What long in secret i'se ha kept
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And would ha longer done it
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Had not my Passion been Zo heap'd
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Ise had no more Room for it.
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And are you in Love as you Zay
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Yes Vaith and Troth Ise Zware it
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Then prithee Robin set the day
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And wees ee'n both be Married.
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