Dead and Alive.
This Ditty out of Glocester-shire was sent,
To London for to have it put in PRINT:
Therefore draw near, and listen unto this,
It doth concern a man that did amiss,
And so to shun the anger of his Wife,
He thought with poyson for to end his life:
But in the stead of poyson he drank Sack,
For which his Wife did soundly pay his Back.
To the Tune of Old-Flesh.
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THere was a Shaving Royster,
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as I heard many tell,
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In Michaels Deans fair Forrest,
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in Glocester-shire did dwell;
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Some call'd him William Wiseman,
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but in that they were too blame:
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Some call'd him Leonard Lackwit,
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but that was not his name;
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His name was Simple Simon,
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as it is well approv'd,
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And amongst his Friends and Kinsfolks
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he dearly was belov'd;
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He capor'd and he vapored,
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and liv'd a merry life,
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But yet good man at all times
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he could not rule his Wife.
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His Wife she was a Woman,
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that lov'd a cup of Sack,
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And she would tipple soundly,
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behind her Husbands back
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A bottle she had gotten, that
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would hold two quarts, or more
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Well fil'd with Wine she hang'd it
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behind her Chamber door;
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And she told unto her Husband,
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that it was poyson strong,
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And bad him not to touch it,
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for fear of doing wrong,
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If thou drink but one drop on't,
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(quoth she) 'twill cost thy life;
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Therefore in time take heed,
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and be ruled vy thy wife.
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This Simon's wife had plenty,
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of fatting Hogs and Pigs,
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With Geese, Ducks, Hens and Turkies,
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that laid great store of Eggs;
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Both Sheep, and such like Cattel,
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fine Ews and pretty Lambs,
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Which up and down the Forrest,
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did feed and suck their Dams,
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She put trust unto her Husband,
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to look unto them all,
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To keep them safe from danger;
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now mark what did befall:
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He did his best endeavour,
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to shun all kind of strife,
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And yet through strange misfortune
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he could not please his wife.
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One morning she sent him,
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to field to keep her Sheep,
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And charg'd him to be watchful,
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and take heed he did not sl[e]ep
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A piece of bread and butter,
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she gave him in his hand;
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Whereby she made him promise
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to do as she did command:
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But see what happened to him,
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when he came to the field;
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He fell a sleep while Foxes,
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three of his Lambs had kill'd:
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This bred a great Dissention,
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and raised a world of strife,
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Till Simon for his fault,
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had begg'd pardon of his Wife.
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ANother day she sent him,
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her Ducks and Geese to tend,
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And charg'd him on her blessing,
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he would no more offend;
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Her Goslings and her Chickings,
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with him she put in trust,
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Who took a stick and told them,
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so they were twenty just;
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But a woful chance befel to
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poor Simon before night,
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For seven of his best Chickens,
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were took prisoners by the Kite,
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This vexed him and it made him,
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half weary of his life,
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For he knew not what answee,
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to make unto his Wife.
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Next morning when that Simon
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was sent to milk the cow,
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Another strange mishap there
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was done him by the Sows
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For whilst that he was driving
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the little Pigs away,
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The Sow came in the dairy-house,
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and swigg'd up all the whey:
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The Cheese out of the Cheese-fat.
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she did both tare and haul,
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And threw down the Cream pot
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and made an end of all:
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Wherewith she burst her belly.
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and so she lost her life,
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And poor Simon knew not what answer,
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to make unto his wife.
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When as his wife came in the dary-house,
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and saw what there was done,
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A strong and fierce encounter
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she presently begun;
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She pull'd him by the ears.
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and she wrung him by the Nose.
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And she kickt him on the belly,
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while the tears run down his hose,
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And she vow'd to be revenged,
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before to morrow day,
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For all her brood of chickens,
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which the Kite had carryed away:
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Poor Simon stood amazed,
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being weary of his Life,
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For he poor man was tired,
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with his unruly wife.
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For when that he perceived
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his Wife in such a rage,
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Not knowing how nor which way
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her fury to asswage;
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He cunningly got from her,
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and to the chamber went,
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Thinking himself to poyson;
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for that was his intent;
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So coming to the bottle,
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which I speak of before,
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He thought it to be poyson,
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which hung behind the door;
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He vow'd to drink it all up
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and end his wretched Life,
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Rather than live in thraldom,
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with such a cursed Wife.
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So opening of a window which
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stood towards the south,
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He took the bottle of sack,
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and put it to his mouth;
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Now will I drink this poyson,
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(quoth he) with all my heart:
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So that the first draught he drank on't;
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he swallowed near a quart;
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The second time that he set
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the Bottle to his snout,
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He never left swigging,
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till he had suckt all out:
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Which done he fell down backward,
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like one bereft of life,
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Crying out, I now am poysoned,
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by means of my curs'd Wife.
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(Quoth he) I feel the Poyson,
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now run through every vein,
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It rumbles in my belly,
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and tickles in my brain;
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It wambles in my stomach,
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and it mollifies my heart,
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It pierceth through my members,
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and yet I feel no smart;
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Would all that have curst wives
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would example take hereby:
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For I dye as sweet a death sure,
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as ever any man did dye;
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Tis better with such poyson
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to end a wretched life,
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Then to live, and be tormented
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with such a wicked Wife.
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Now see what followed after,
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his wife by chance did walk,
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And coming by the window,
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she heard her Simon talk;
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And thinking on her bottle,
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she up stairs did run,
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And came into the Chamber,
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to see what he had done;
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When as she saw her Husband
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lye drunk upon his back,
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And the bottle lying by him;
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but never a drop of sack
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I am poyson'd I am poyson'd,
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(quoth he) long of my wife,
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I hope I shall be at quiet,
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now I have lost my life.
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Pox take you are you poysoned,
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(quoth she) I now will strive,
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And do my best endeavour
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to make you run alive;
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With that a quil of powder
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she blew up in his nose,
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Then like a man turn'd antick
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he presently arose:
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So down the stairs he run strait,
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into the open street,
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With hooping and hollowing,
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to all that he did meet:
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And with a loud voice cryed out,
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I am raised from death to life,
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By vertue of a powder that
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was given me by my wife.
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Some folks that did behold him,
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were in a grievous fear,
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For seeing of a mad man,
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they durst not him come near:
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He leaped and he skipped,
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throw fair and throw foul,
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Whilst the people gaz'd on him,
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like pies upon an Owl:
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His Wife she followed after,
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thorow thick and thorow thin,
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And with a basting Cudgel.
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she soundly bang'd his skin:
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And thus poor Simon cryed out,
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I am raised from death to life,
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By vertue of a powder that
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was given me by my Wife.
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At last a friend of Simons
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which was to him some kin,
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By fair and kind perswasions,
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open'd the door and let him in
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He sent for Simons Wife and
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so made them both good friends,
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Who kindly kist each other,
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and to all discord ends:
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The Neighbours all rejoyced,
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to see them thus agreed,
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And like a loving Couple,
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to bed they went with speed:
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No doubt but Simple Simon,
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that night well pleased his Wife,
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For ever since that time he
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hath liv'd a quiet Life.
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