Have among you good Women
OR,
A High-way discourse betweene old William Starket,
And Robin Hobs, going to Maydstone market:
Good Women before hand let me you advise,
To keepe your owne counsell, and so be held wise.
If any one take in ill part whats here said,
Sheel shew by her kicking that shees a gauld jade.
To the tune of, O such a Rogue.
|
GOd morrow old father Starket,
|
whither goe you with such speed,
|
Ime going to Maidstone Market,
|
to buy such things as I need:
|
I care not if I goe a long with you,
|
if you goe no faster then I,
|
I am very glad that I spide you,
|
for I love good company.
|
What thinke you of Alce that sels butter,
|
her neighbors head clothes she off pluckt,
|
And she scolded from dinner to supper,
|
oh such a scold would be cuckt.
|
Theres many such birds in our towne,
|
whose fury no reason can swage,
|
Ide give very gladly a crowne,
|
to heare them all sing in a Cage:
|
Poore men in subjection are held,
|
so are modest women likewise,
|
Unlesse their owne minde be fulfild,
|
theyll be ready to scratch out ones eies.
|
What thinke you of Jone the Spinner,
|
her husbands pocket she pickt,
|
And she grudges her servants their dinner
|
oh such a Queane would be kickt.
|
Nay kickings too good for her,
|
her husband of her stands in awe,
|
Out of doores he dares not stirre,
|
for feare that he feele club law:
|
If he to the Ale-house steale,
|
sheell goe as fast or faster,
|
And there she will ring him a peale,
|
that is worse then Lord or Master:
|
What thinke you of Ruth the Seamstris,
|
her tongue can no way be reclamd,
|
She rules ore poor Tom like an Empresse,
|
oh such a proud wench would be tamd.
|
Tis pitty that men are such fooles,
|
to make themselves slaves to their wives,
|
For still where the foot the head rules,
|
tis wonder if any thing thrives:
|
That man that will be his wifes drudge,
|
of such a conceat I am,
|
That if I might be his Judge,
|
he should eat none oth roasted Ram:
|
What thinke you of Jone that cries pins,
|
come eight rowes a penny cries shee,
|
She has broken her husbands shins,
|
and sweares sheell be drunke before hee.
|
Why, wherefore all this doth he suffer,
|
why if he should give her a check,
|
She tels her friends how he doth cuff her,
|
and threatens to break her neck:
|
So he for feare sheell cry out,
|
dares neither to strike nor chide her,
|
For sheell give the word all about,
|
that his Queans wil not let him abide her:
|
What thinke you of drunken Sue,
|
for drinke she will sell all her smocks,
|
Ith streetes she will raile and spew,
|
tis fit she were tamd in the stocks.
|
|
|
|
|
The second part, To the same tune.
|
NAy sometimes besides her own getting,
|
sheell pawne his shirt and his breeches,
|
Which all shall be spent at a sitting,
|
and thus she increaseth his riches:
|
What thinks her poore husband of that,
|
why, if he doe her reprehend,
|
His face She will scratch like a Cat,
|
and sweares what she gets she will spend:
|
What thinke you of Peg the Pie-woman,
|
her Nose hath been cut and slasht,
|
Shees turnd now a dayes very common,
|
oh such a Queane would be lasht.
|
Last Saturday noone at dinner,
|
some spoke about her I suppose,
|
How she was found nought with a Joyner,
|
whose wife came and cut her Nose:
|
Indeed no body can blame her,
|
she has given her a mark to be knowne,
|
And if all that will not shame her,
|
the Hangman has markt her for his own:
|
What thinke you of snuffelling Kate,
|
by her many women have smarted,
|
She sels Maidenheads at a rate,
|
oh such a old Trot would be carted.
|
Such cunning old sluts as she,
|
indeed are the ruine of many,
|
Such fast holding Lime-twigs they be,
|
that if they get hold of any,
|
Theres no speech at all of dismissing,
|
whiles money their turne can serve,
|
Thus whiles he his Minion is kissing,
|
his poore wife and children may starve:
|
What thinke you of Madge that cries wheat,
|
she makes her poor husband shed teares,
|
She useth to cozen and cheat,
|
but the Pillory gapes for her eares.
|
I heard lately how she did deale,
|
with a Butcher a notable blade,
|
Whom she guld of a quarter of Veale,
|
and thus she set by her trade:
|
Since that she hath done many a sleight,
|
as bad or rather worse,
|
If you in her company light,
|
I wish you take heed of your purse:
|
What thinke you of quarrelling Nan,
|
that will to no goodnesse be turnd,
|
She threatens to kill her good man,
|
oh such a Queane would be burnd.
|
I me sorry to heare that newes,
|
when man and wife are at strife:
|
Alas neighbour, how can you chuse,
|
when a man goe in danger ons life.
|
Loe thus we have talkt away time,
|
and nowe perforce must we part,
|
The Market is now in the prime,
|
then farewell with all my heart:
|
Commend me to Doll at the Crowne,
|
that message must not be mist,
|
Shees the kindest Hostis in the towne,
|
oh such a Lasse would be kist.
|
But stay neighbour, harke you one word,
|
which I had forgotten before,
|
What heare you of little Kate Bird,
|
some say she is turnd arrant whore:
|
Indeed neighbour I thought no lesse,
|
since that with her I was acquainted,
|
A man can no otherwise guesse,
|
her face is most basely painted:
|
She lodges with mouldy fac[]t Nell,
|
and I doubt they will never be parted,
|
Till the one get the lash in Bridewell,
|
and the other from Newgate be carted.
|
|
|
|
|