A Courtly new Ballad of the Princely wooing of the
faire Maid of London, by King Edward.
To the tune of, Bonny sweet Robbin.
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FAaire Angell of England, thy beauty most bright
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Is all my hearts treasure my joy and delight:
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Then grant me sweet Lady thy true Love to be,
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That I may say welcome good fortune to me.
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The Turtle so true and chast in her love,
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By gentle perswasions her fancy will move:
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Then be not intreated sweet Lady in vaine,
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For Nature requireth what I would obtaine.
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What Phenix so faire that liveth alone,
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Is vowed to chastity being but one?
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But be not my Darling so chaste in desire,
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Lest thou like the Phenix do penance in fire.
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But alas (gallant Lady) I pitty thy state,
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In being resolved to live without mate:
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For if of our courting the pleasure you knew,
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You shall have a liking the same to ensue.
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Long time I have sued the same to obtaine,
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Yet am I requited with scornefull disdaine:
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But if you will grant your goodwill to me,
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You shall be advanced to Princely degree.
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Promotions and honours may often entice
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The chasest that liveth, though never so nice;
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What woman so worthy but will be contenc,
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To live in the Palace where Princes frequent?
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Two Brides yong & princely to Church have I led,
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Two Ladies most lovely have decked my bed:
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Yet hath thy love taken more root in my heart,
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Than all their contentments whereof I had part.
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Your gentle hearts cannot mens teares much abide,
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And women least angry when most they do chide:
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Then yeeld to me kindly and say that at length,
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Men doe want mercy, and poore women strength.
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I grant faire Ladies may poore men resist,
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But Princes will conquer and love whom they list:
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A King may command her to lie by his side,
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Whose feature deserveth to be a Kings Bride.
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In granting your love you shall purchase renowne,
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Your head shalbe deckt with Englands faire crown,
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Thy garment most gallant with gold shalbe wroght
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If true love [f]or treasure of thee may be bought.
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Great Ladies of honour shall tend on thy traine,
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Most richly attired with scarlet in graine:
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My chamber most Princely thy person shall keepe,
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Where Virgins with musicke shal rocke thee asleep.
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If any more pleasures thy heart can invent,
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Command them sweet Lady thy mind to content:
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For Kings gallant Courts where Princes do dwel
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Afford such sweet pastimes as Ladies love wel.
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Then be not resolved to dye a true Maid,
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But print in thy bosome the words I have said:
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And grant a King favour thy true love to be,
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That I may say welcome sweet Virgin to me.
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The faire Maid of Londons answer to King
Edwards wanton Love.
To the same tune.
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OH wanton King Edward thy labour is vaine,
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To follow the pleasure thou canst not attaine,
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Which getting thou losest, and having dost wast it
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The which is thou purchase is spoild if thou hast it:
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But if thou obtainst it thou nothing hast won,
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And I losing nothing yet quite am undone,
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But if of that Jewell a King doe deceive me,
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No King can restore though a Kingdom he give me.
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My colour is changed since you saw me last,
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My favour is vanisht, my beauty is past
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The Roses red blushes that sate on my cheekes,
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To palenesse are turned, which all men mislikes.
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I passe not what Princes for love doe protest,
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The name of a Virgin contenteth me best:
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I have not deserved to sleepe by thy side,
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Nor to be accounted for King Edwards bride.
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The name of a Princesse I never did crave,
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No such tipe of honour thy hand-maid will have,
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My brest shall not harbour so lofty a thought,
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Nor be with rich proffers to wantonnesse brought.
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If wild wanton Rosamond one of our sort,
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Had never frequented King Henries brave Court:
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Such heapes of deepe sorrow she never had seene,
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Nor tasted the rage of a jealous Queene.
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All men have their freedome to shew their intent,
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They win not a woman except she consent:
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Who then can impute to a man any fault,
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Who still goes uprightly while women doe halt.
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Tis counted kindnesse in men for to try,
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And vertue in women the same to deny:
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For women inconstant can never be provd,
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Untill by their betters therein they be movd.
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If women and modesty once doe but sever,
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Then farewell good name and credit for ever:
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And royall King Edward let me be exilde,
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Ere any man knowes my bodys defild.
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No, no, my old Fathers reverent teares,
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Too deepe an impression within my soule beares:
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Nor shall his bright honour that blot by me have,
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To bring his gray haires with griefe to the grave.
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The heavens forbid that when I should dye,
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That any such sinne upon my soule lye:
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If I have kept me from doing this sinne,
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My heart shall not yeeld with a Prince to beginne.
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Come rather with pitty to weepe on my Tombe,
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Then for my birth curse my deare mothers Womb,
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That brought forth a blossome that stained the tree,
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With wanton desires to shame her and me.
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Leave me (most noble King) tempt not in vaine,
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My milk-white affections with lewdnesse to stain:
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Though England will give me no comfort at all,
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Yet England shall yeeld me a sad buriall.
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