An Excellent New SONG, Call'd,
The LADY's Policy;
OR,
The Baffled Knight.
To a pleasant New Tune.
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THere was a Knight was drunk with Wine,
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A Riding along the way Sir,
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And there did he meet a Lady fine,
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And amongst the Cocks of Hay Sir.
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One Question he did crave of her,
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And ask'd her to lay her down Sir,
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But he had neither Cloath nor Sheet,
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To keep her from the Ground Sir.
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There is a great Dew upon the Grass,
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And if you should lay me down Sir,
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You would spoil my gay Cloathing,
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That has cost me many a Pound Sir.
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I have a Cloak of Scarlet Red,
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I'll lay it under you Love,
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So you will grant me my Request,
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That I shall ask of you Love.
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And if you'll go to my Father's Hall,
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That is Moated all round about Sir,
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There you shall have your Will of me,
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Within Sir, and without Sir.
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Oh yonder stands my Milk-white Steed
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Amongst the Cocks of Hay Sir,
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If the King's Penner should chance to come,
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He'll take my Steed away Sir.
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I have a Ring upon my Finger,
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Its made of the finest Gold Love,
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And it will serve to fetch your steed,
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Out of the Pinner's Fold Love.
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And if you'll go to my Fathers House,
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That's Moted all round about sir,
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There you shall have your Chamber free,
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And your Chamberlain Ile be Sir.
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He sate her on a Milk white Steed,
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Himself upon another,
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And then they Rid along the way,
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Like Sister and like Brother.
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But when she came to her Father's House,
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Which was Moated round about Sir,
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She slip'd herself within the Gate
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And she lock'd the Knight without Sir.
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I thank you kind Knight for seeing me here,
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And bringing me a Maiden home Sir,
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But you shall have Two of my Father's Men,
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For to set you as far back again Sir.
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He drew his Sword out of his Scabbord,
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And whet it upon his Sheve Sir,
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Saying, Cursed be to ev'ry Man,
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That will believe a Maid Sir.
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She drew her Hankerchief out of her Pocket,
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And threw it upon the Ground Sir,
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Saying, thrice Cursed be ev[e]ry Maid,
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That will believe a Man Sir.
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We have a Tree in our Garden,
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Some call it of Rosemary Sir,
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There's Crowing Cocks in our Town,
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That will make a Capon of you Sir.
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We have a Flower in our Garden,
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Some call it a Marygold Sir,
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And he that would not when he might,
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He shall not when he would Sir.
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But if ye chance for to meet a Maid
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A little below the Tow[n] sir,
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You must not fear her gay Cloathing,
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Nor the wrinkling of her Gown Sir.
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And if you chance for to meet a Maid
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A little below the Hill Sir,
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You need not fear her screeking out,
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For she quickly will lye still Sir.
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