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EBBA 30100

British Library - Roxburghe
Ballad XSLT Template
A new Song, called
Jacke Doves Resolution, by which he doth show,
That he cares not a rush how ere the world goe.
To the tune of, To drive the cold winter away.

TO all my good Friends, these presents I send,
yet neyther to beg nor to crave,
For though some have store, and I am but poore,
Ime content with that little I have;
And Ile nere for my want, turne Sycophant,
(though many there be that doe so)
But Ile honest bee, love them that loves mee,
and care not how ere the world goe.

And though fortune frowne, Ile not cast my selfe downe
but mildly beare what doth fall;
Care will make me but worse, and nere fill my purse,
but the day may come will mend all,
Then tis but a folly, for that to be sorry,
which must be whether I will or no;
But impatience in rest, then Ile hope for the best
and care not how ere the world goe.

For why should a man care, or drowne in despaire,
though his fortunes be nere so unkind?
Why should I be sad, for what I nere had,
or foolishly trouble my mind?
O no I doe hate, to pine at my fate,
there is none but fooles will doe so,
Ile laugh and be fatte, for care kils a Catte,
and I care not how ere the world goe.

To sigh and to waile, what will it prevaile,
or any whit better my fare,
When a little good mirth, mongst friends, is more worth,
and better then a great deale of care;
Then Ile cheere up my selfe, for content is great wealth
let sighing and sorrowing goe,
Ile laugh and be merry, with a cup of old Sherry,
and care not how ere the world goe.

Though many a Chuffe, hath more then enough,
why should I repine at their blisse?
If I am content with what God hath sent,
I thinke I doe not amisse:
Let others have wealth, so I have my health,
and money to pay what I owe,
Ile laugh and be merry, sing downe a downe derry,
and care not how ere the world goe.

Ile make much of one, for when I am gone,
then whats all the world unto mee?
Ile not be a slave, to that which I have,
but mongst my friends let it flee,
And least there rise debate, about my estate,
when my heads laid full low,
Or some knaves circumvent it, to whom I nere meant it
Ile spend it, how ere the world goe.

The second part, To the same tune.

SOme Men doe suppose, to goe in brave Cloathes,
doth purchase a great deale of respect;
Though I am but poore, I run not on score,
I thinke my selfe honestly deckt:
Let others goe brave tis my owne that I have,
and I thinke they can not say so.
And I like that I weare, though it cost not so deare,
and I care not how ere the world goe.

Ide rather goe meane, then be like to them,
which living in pompe and state,
Maintaine all their braverie, with private knaverie,
getting gold at any rate:
Such conscience professe, but use nothing lesse,
deceiving the world with a show,
But the time it may com[e] will pay such knaves home.
but I care not how ere the world goe.

Your delicate Cates, your Hippocrites eates,
and Wine of the best doe drinke
Much money they spend, but to little end,
and nere on their end they thinke:
Low Shrubbes be secure, when Cedars endure
all stormes and tempests that blow,
Let others rise high, but so will not I,
for I care not how ere the world goe.

For ambitions best sceane, is but a fine dreame,
which for a time tickles the minde,
And the hap of an houre, with such envy may lowre,
as may turne all ones hope into winde,

Then worse then before, they may sigh and deplore
to see themselves cast off so low,
When I all the while, doe sit and smile,
and care not how ere the world goe.

The flattering Curres, which fawne upon furres,
and hang on the Noble-mans becke,
That crouch at their heele, whilst their bounty they feel
professing all love and respect,
Yet when they doe fall, they runne away all,
but I hate to dissemble so
What I doe for my part, shall come from my heart,
and I care not how ere the world goe.

Ile wrong none not I, but if some through envy,
doe wrong me without a cause,
Or if me they disdaine, Ile slight them againe,
and reckon not of it two strawes:
Dissembling I scorne, for I am free borne,
my happinesse lies not below,
Though my words they want art, I speake from m[y] hear[t]
and I care not how ere the world goe.


FINIS. G.B.
Printed at London for John Wright and are
to be sold at his shop in Giltspur-street
at the signe of the Bible

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