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EBBA 30189

British Library - Roxburghe
Ballad XSLT Template
The Mad-Mans Morrice.
Wherin you shall finde
His trouble and grief, and discontent of his minde,
A warning to yong men to have a care,
How they in love intangled are.
To a pleasant new Tune.

HEard you not lately of a man,
That went beside his wits,
And naked through the streets he ran,
Wrapt in his frantick fits?
My honest neighbours it is I,
Hark how the people flout me:
See where the mad man comes they cry,
With all the Boyes about me.

Into a pond stark nakd I ran
And cast my clothes away Sir,
Without the help of any man
Made shift to run away Sir,
How I got out, I have forgot,
I do not well remember,
Or whether it was cold or hot,
In June, or in December,

Tom Bedlams but a Sage to me,
I speak in sober sadnesse,
For more strange visions do I see,
Then he in all his madnesse.
When first this chance to me befell,
About the market walkt I,
With Capons feathers in my cap,
And to my self thus talkt I.

Did you not see my Love of late,
Like Titan in her glory?
Do you not know she is my mate,
And I must write her story,
With pen of gold on silver leafe,
I will so much befriend her;
For why, I am of this belief,
None can so well commend her.

Saw you not Angels in her eys,
While that she was a speaking,
Smelt you not smels like Paradise,
Between two Rubies breaking?
Is not her hair more pure then gold,
Or finest Spiders spinning?
Me thinks, in her I do behold,
My joys and woes beginning.

Is not a dimple in her cheek,
Each eye a star thats starting,
Is not all grace installd in her,
Each step all joys imparting?
Me thinks I see her in a Cloud,
With graces round about her:
To them I cry and call alowd
I cannot live without her.

The second part to the same tune.

THen raging towards the Skie I rore,
Thinking to catch her hand,
O then to love I call and cry,
To let me by her stand,
I look behind and there I see
My shadow me beguile,
And wish she were as neer to mee,
Which makes my worship smile.

There is no creature can compare
With my beloved Nancy.
Thus I build castles in the aire,
This is the fruits of fancy:
My thoughts mount high above the Skie,
Of none I stand in aw,
Although my body here do lie
Upon a pad of straw.

I was as good a harmlesse youth
Before base Cupid caught me,
Or his own mother with her charms
Into this cage had brought me,
Stript and whipt now must I be
In Bedlam bound with chains:
Good people all, now you may see
What love hath for his pains.

When I was yong as others are
With Gallants did I flourish,
O then was I the properest Lad
That was in all the Parish!
The bracelets which I usd to weare
About my arme so tender
Are turned now to iron plates,
About my body slender.

My silken Sutes do now decay,
My caps of gold are vanisht,
And all my friends do wear away,
As I from them were banisht,
My silver cups are turnd to earth,
Im jeerd by every Clown,
I was a better man by birth,
Till Fortune cast me down.

Im out of frame and temper too,
Though I am somthing cheerfull,
Oh this can love and fancy do,
If that you be not carefull!
O set a watch before your eyes,
Lest they betray your heart,
And make you slaves to vanities,
To act a mad mans part.

Declare this to each mothers sonne,
Unto each honest Lad,
Let them not do as I have done,
Lest they like me grow mad,
If Cupid strike, be sure of this,
Let reason rule affection,
So shalt thou never do amisse,
By reasons good direction.

I have no more to say to you,
My keeper now doth chide me,
Now must I bid you all adew,
God knows what will betide me,
To picking straws now must I go,
My time in Bedlam spending,
Good folks you your beginning know
But do not know your ending.


Humfrey Crowch. FINIS.
LONDON, Printed for Richard Harper in Smithfield.

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