A Fayre Portion for a Fayre Mayd:
OR,
The thriftie Mayd of Worstersheere,
Who lives at London for a Marke a yeare;
This Marke was her old Mothers gift,
Shee teacheth all Mayds how to shift.
To the tune of, Gramercy penny.
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NOw all my Friends are dead and gone,
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alas what shall betide me,
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For I poore maid am left alone
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without a house to hide me:
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Yet still Ile be of merry cheere,
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and have kind welcome every where
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Though I have but a Marke a yeare,
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And that my mother gave me.
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I scorne to thinke of poverty,
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or wanting food or cloathing,
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Ile be maintayned gallantly,
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and all my life want nothing;
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A frolicke minde Ile alwayes beare,
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my poverty shall not appeare,
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Though I have but a marke a yeare,
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And that my mother gave me.
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Though I am but a silly Wench
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of countrey education,
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Yet I am wood by Dutch and French,
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and almost every nation:
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Both Spaniards and Italians sweare
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that with their hearts they love me deare,
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Yet I have but a Marke a yeare,
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And that my mother gave me.
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The Welch the Irish and the Scot,
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since I came to the Citie,
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In love to me are wondrous hot,
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they tell me I am pretty:
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Therefore to live I will not feare,
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for I am sought with many a teare,
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Yet I have but a Marke a yeare,
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And that my mother gave me.
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This London is a gallant place
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to raise a Lasses fortune;
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For I that came of simple race,
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brave Roarers doe importune:
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I little thought in Wostersheere
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to find such high preferment here,
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For I have but a Marke a yeare,
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and that my mother gave me.
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One gives to me perfumed Gloves,
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the best that he can buy me,
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Live where I will I have the loves
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of all that doe live nigh me:
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If any new toyes I will weare.
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I have them cost they nere so deare,
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And this is for a marke a yeare,
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And that my mother gave me.
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My fashions with the Moone I change,
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as though I were a Lady;
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All quaint conceits, both new and strange,
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Ile have as soone as may be;
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Your courtly Ladies I can leere,
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In cloaths but few to me come neare,
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Yet I have but a Marke a yeare,
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And that my mother gave me.
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The second Part To the same Tune.
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FRench gownes with sleeves like pudding-bags
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I have at my requesting:
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Now I forget my countrey rags,
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and scorne such plaine investing:
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My old acquaintance I casheere,
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and of my kin I hate to heare,
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Though I have but a marke a yeare,
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And that my mother gave me.
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My Petty-coats of Scarlet brave,
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of Velvet, silke and Sattine:
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Some students oft my love doe crave,
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that speake both Greeke and Latine,
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The Souldiers for me domineere,
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and put the rest into great feare,
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All this is for a marke a yeare,
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And that my mother gave me.
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The Precisian sincerely woes,
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and doth protest he loves me,
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He tires me out with Ies and noes,
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and to impatience moves me:
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Although an oath he will not sweare,
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to lye at no time he doth feare,
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All this is for a Marke a yeare,
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And that my mother gave me
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My Coach drawne with foure Flanders mares
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each day attends my pleasure,
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The Water-men will leave their fares
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to waite upon my leasure:
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Two Lackies labour every where,
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and at my word run farre and neere,
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Though I have but a marke a yeare,
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And that my mother gave me.
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Ith pleasantst place the Suburbs yeelds,
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my lodging is prepared:
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I can walke forth into the fields,
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where beauties oft are aired;
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When Gentlemen doe spy me there,
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some complements Ime sure to heare,
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Though I have but a marke a yeare,
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And that my mother gave me.
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Now if my friends were living still,
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I would them all abandon,
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Though I confesse they lovd me well,
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yet I so like of London,
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That farewell Dad and Mammy deare,
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and all my friends in Worstershire:
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I live well with a Marke a yeare,
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Which my old mother gave me.
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I would my sister Sue at home,
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knew how I live in fashion,
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That she might up to London come
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to learne this occupation:
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For I live like a Lady here,
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I weare good cloaths and eate good cheare
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Yet I have but a Marke a yeare,
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And that my mother gave me.
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Now blessed be that happy day
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that I came to the Citie;
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And for the Carrier will I pray,
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before I end my Ditty.
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You Maidens that this Ditty heare,
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though meanes be short, yet never feare,
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For I live with a Marke a yeare,
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Which my old mother gave me.
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