The FRIAR well-Fitted.
OR,
A pretty JEST that once befell,
How a Maid put a Friar to cool in a Well.
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AS I lay musing all alone,
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Fa, la, la, la,
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A pretty jest I thought upon,
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Fa, etc.
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Then listen a while, and I will you tell,
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Of a Friar that lov'd a bonny lass well.
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Fa, la, la, la, lang tree down a dilla.
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He came to a maid when she went to-
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bed,
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Desiring to have her maidenhead;
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But she denied his desire,
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And told him that she feared hell-fire.
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Tush, quoth the friar, you need not to
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doubt,
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If thou wer't in hell I would sing thee out
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Then (said the maid) thou shalt have thy
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request:
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The Friar was glad as a fox in his nest.
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But one thing quoth she) I do desire,
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Before that you have what you require;
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Before that you shall do the thing,
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An Angel of money thou shalt me bring.
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Tush, quoth the friar, we shall agree,
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No money shall part my love and me;
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Before that I will see thee lack,
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I'll pawn the grey gown off my back.
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The maid bethought her of a wile,
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How she might the Friar beguile;
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While he was gone, the truth to tell,
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She hung a cloth before the well.
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The Friar came, as his covenant was,
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With money to his bonny lass:
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Good-morrow, fair maid. Good-mor-
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row, said she,
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Here is the money I promised thee.
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She thanked the man, and she took the
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money
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Now let us go to it, quoth he, my swee-
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honey.
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O stay, quoth she, some respite make,
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My father comes, he will you take.
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Alas, quoth the Friar, where shall I
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run,
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To hide me till that she is gone?
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Behind the curtain run thou, quoth she,
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And there my father cannot you see.
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Behind the cloth the friar he crept,
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And into the well on a sudden he leapt.
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Alas, quoth he, I am in the well,
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No matter, quoth she, if thou wer't in
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hell.
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Thou saidst thou couldst sing me out of
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hell,
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Now prithee sing thyself out of the well
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The Friar sung on with a pitiful sound,
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O help me out, or I shall be drown'd.
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I trow quoth she, your courage is cool'd;
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Quoth the Friar I never was so fool'd;
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I never was so served before,
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Then take heed, quoth she, thou com'st
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here no more.
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Quoth he, for good St. Francis sake,
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On his Disciple some pity take,
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Quoth she, St. Francis never taught
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His scholars to tempt young maidens to
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naught.
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The Friar did entreat her still,
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That she should help him out of the well
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She heard him make such piteous moan
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She helpt him out and bid him be gone.
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Quoth he, shall I have my money a-
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gain,
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Which thou from me hast before-hand
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ta'en?
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Good sir, quoth she, there is no such
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matter;
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I'll make you pay for fouling my water.
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The Friar went along the street,
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Dropping wet, like a new wash'd sheet:
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Old and Young commended the
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Maid.
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That such a witty prank had play'd.
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