[?]
OR
A merry discourse, twixt him and his Joane,
That sometimes did live as never did none,
But now at the last she proves very kinde,
And doth what heed have her, as here you may finde.
To three severall tunes, called, But I know what I know, Captaine
Ward, and Gilty Coate Peggy.
|
The Tune, but I know, etc.
|
[C]Ome Joan by thy owne deerest husband sit downe
|
And cast [aw]ay from thee this impudent frowne,
|
[?] know I d[oe] [L]ove thee as deere as I doe,
|
[?]e with a [Ta]ylor thats honest and true.
|
[?]y thou disse[m]bling varlot away,
|
[?] leave this t[?] prating and cogging, I say,
|
[?] whilst like a drunkard thou thus dost remaine
|
[?]er, shall love thee, I tell thee againe.
|
[?] wife what wouldst thou have me doe
|
[?]ore then I now have done.
|
[?] not I pawne my cloathes for thee,
|
[?] like wise soul[d] my shune,
|
[?] my shirt in lavender,
|
[?] cloake is likewise sould:
|
[?]ost thou Joane for all this love,
|
[?] in with Jacke to scould.
|
Why thou deboist and drunken sot,
|
didst doe all this for me,
|
Or for the love you alwayes bare,
|
to evill company?
|
And therefore hold thy selfe content,
|
and leave this idle prate,
|
Or as I am thy honest wife,
|
Ile lay thee ore the pate.
|
Come chucke no more of this, but sit thee downe by me,
|
And then what is amisse, Ile mend in verity,
|
My money I will save out of the Cup and Can,
|
And keepe thee fine and brave, as I am an honest man:
|
Then chide no more my deere, but all my faults remit,
|
And then as I am here, Ile mend my drunken fit.
|
How many times hast thou this promised unto me,
|
And yet hast broke thy vow the mores the shame for thee
|
And therefore Ile be wise, and take your word no more,
|
But scratch out both your eyes if you goe out of dore;
|
And therefore sit you still and stirre not for your life,
|
I once will have my will, although I am your wife.
|
|
|
|
|
The second part, to the same tunes.
|
But I know what, etc.
|
Man.
|
WEll, do what thou wilt, I am thine at command,
|
But let not my neighbours of this understand;
|
For that if thou dost, I know it will be
|
A shame to thy selfe, disgrace unto me.
|
No matter for that, Ile make you to know,
|
What tis for to injure a loving wife so,
|
In pawning her goods, and making her be,
|
A scorne to her neighbours, and all long of thee.
|
Come Joane, be satisfied I pray,
|
forgive me what is past,
|
And I will thee never offend,
|
whilst life and breath doth last:
|
My pots and my Tobacco too,
|
Ile turne, for to be briefe,
|
Into a dainty house-hold loafe,
|
and lusty powder-beefe.
|
Well if I thought all this were true,
|
and that thou didst intend
|
To doe as thou relates to me,
|
I then should be thy friend;
|
But I am Jacke so fearefull growne,
|
of thy relaps againe,
|
That I can little credite give,
|
to what you now maintaine.
|
Gilty Coate Peggy, etc.
|
Man.
|
Heres my hand sweet Ducke, what I have said to thee,
|
Ile keepe, if I have lacke, till such time that I dye,
|
And fore that I am dead my love I will unfold
|
To helpe thee in thy need, if that thou wilt not scould,
|
I will not cossened be, I tell thee gentle Joane,
|
But I will bring to thee my sheete, and Ile have none.
|
Why then sweet-heart forgive the words that I have said,
|
For surely while I live, Ile never thee upbraid,
|
I will not scould nor brawle, but keepe my clapper still
|
And come when thou dost call do all things to thy will,
|
Then Jacke, forgive thy Joane, that is to thee so kinde,
|
Or else as hard as stone I surely shall thee finde.
|
Why, here is my hand, I am pacified Joane,
|
And as I will live with thee never lived none,
|
Then be but as kind as I carefull to thee,
|
And then none new married shall better agree,
|
For thou with thy Kitchin-stuffe I with my toyes
|
My Hammer and Kittle, will make such a noyse,
|
That all that does heare me shall tell it for true,
|
I mend well their worke and pleasure um too.
|
Then Jacke take up thy budget straight,
|
thy kettles brasse enough,
|
And I will follow thee and cry,
|
Maides have you any Kitchin-stuffe;
|
And then the neighbours seeing us
|
so friendly for to goe,
|
Will say that they are loving growne,
|
who thought it would be so.
|
Then to the Ale-house we will go with mighty speed
|
And seale up presently what we have now decreed,
|
A full pot of the best, a crust, and so away,
|
And then we will protest we can no longer stay:
|
This is a thriving course, if I do not mistake,
|
I am sure I have done worse but now amends Ile ma[ke]
|
Well say no more, sweet-heart but let us both away
|
For friends you know must part, though nere so long
|
Go thou through Canon-street. Ile take the laines a[?]
|
And then at night wele meet at home for ought we kn[?]
|
But if I be not Jacke, at home so soon as you,
|
It shall but little lacke: and so sweet-heart adieu.
|
And thus you have heard an end of my song,
|
Which I would be loath that any should wrong,
|
But if that you do, I tell you but so,
|
I little will say, but I know what I know.
|
|
|
|
|