A pleasant new Court Song,
Betweene a yong Courtier, and a Countrey Lasse.
To a new Court Tune.
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VPon a Summers time,
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in the middle of the morne,
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A bonny Lasse I spide,
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the fairest ere was borne,
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Fast by a standing Poole,
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within a meddow greene,
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She laid her selfe to coole,
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not thinking to be seene.
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She gathered lovely flowers,
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and spent her time in sport:
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As if to Cupids bowers
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she daily did resort.
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The fields afford content
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unto this maiden kinde,
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Much time, and paines she spent,
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to satisfie her minde.
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The Cowslip there she cropt,
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the Daffadill and Dazie:
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The Primrose lookt so trim,
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she scorned to be lazie,
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And ever as he did,
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these pretty posies pull,
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She rose and fetcht a sigh,
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and wisht her apron full.
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I hearing of her wish,
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made bold to step unto her:
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Thinking her love to winne,
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I thus began to wooe her,
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Faire maide, be not so coy,
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to kisse thee I am bent:
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O fie, she cride, away
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yet smiling gave consent.
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Then did I helpe to plucke
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of every flower that grew,
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No herbe nor flower I mist,
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but onely Time and Rue.
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Both she and I tooke paines
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to gather flowers store,
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Untill this maiden said,
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kind sir, Ile have no more.
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Yet still my loving heare
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did proffer more to pull,
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No sir, quoth she, ile part,
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because mine aprons full.
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So sir, ile take my leave,
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till next we meet againe:
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Rewards me with a kisse,
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and thankes me for my paine.
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The Second part. To the same Tune.
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IT was my chance of late,
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to walke the pleasant fields:
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Where sweet tund chirping birds,
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harmonious musicke yeelds.
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I lent a listening eare
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unto their musicke rare:
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At last mine eye did glance
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upon a Damsell faire.
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I stept me close aside,
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under a Hawthorne bryer:
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Her passions laid her downe,
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ore-ruld with fond desire.
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Alacke fond maide she cride,
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and straight fell a weeping,
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Why sufferest thou thy heart,
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within a false ones keeping?
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Wherefore is Venus Queene,
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whom maids adore in mind,
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Obdurate to our prayers,
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or like her fondling blinde:
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When we doe spend our loves,
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whose fond expence is vaine:
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For men are growne so false,
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the cannot love againe.
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The Queene of love doth know,
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best how the matter stands,
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And Hymen knowes, I long
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to come within her hands.
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My love best knowes my love,
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and love repaies with hate,
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Was ever virgins love,
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so much unfortunate?
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Did my love fickle prove
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then had he cause to flye:
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But Ile be judgd by love.
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I lovd him constantly.
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I hearing of her vowes,
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set bashfulnesse a part,
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And strivd with all my skill,
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to cheere this maidens heart.
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I did instruct her love,
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where love might be repaid:
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Could I, quoth she, find love,
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I were an happy maid.
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I straight in love replide,
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in me thou Love shalt finde:
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So made the bargaine sure,
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and easd the Maidens minde.
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