A Courtly new ballad of the Princely wooing of the
fair Maid of London by King Edward. The tune is Bonny sweet Robin.
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FAir Angel of England thy beauty most bright,
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Is all my hearts treasure my joy and delight,
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Then grant me sweet Lady thy true Love to be
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That I may say welcome good fortune to me.
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The Turtle so chast and true in her love
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By gentle perswasions her fancy will move
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Then be not intreated sweet Lady in vain,
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For nature requireth what I would obtain.
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The Phenix so famous that lived alone,
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Is vowed to chastity being but one,
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But be not my darling so chast in desire,
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Least thou like the Phenix do penance in the fire.
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But alas gentle Lady I pitty thy state,
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In being resolved to live without mate,
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For if of our Courting the pleasures you know,
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You would have a liking the same to ensue.
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Long time have I sued these me to obtain,
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Yet I am requited with scornful disdain,
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But if you will grant your good will to me,
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You shall be advanced to Princely degree.
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Promotions and honours may often intice,
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The chastest that liveth though never so nice,
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What woman so worthy but would be content,
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To live in a Palace wher Princes frequent.
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Two brides young & princely to church I have led,
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Two Ladies now lately have decked my bed.
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Yet hath thy love taken more root in my heart
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Then all their contentments whereof I have part,
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Your gentle heart connot mens tears much abide,
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And women left angry when most they do chide
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Then yield to me kindly and say that at length;
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Men do want mercy, and poor women strength.
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I grant fair Ladies may poor men resist,
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But princes will conquer and love where they lift,
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A King may command her to lye by his side,
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Whose featurs deserveth to be a Kings Bride,
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In granting your love you shall purchase renown
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Your head shall be decked with Engl, fair Crown
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Thy garments with gold most gallantly wrought,
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If true love for treasure of thee may be bought.
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Great Ladies of honour shall wait on thy train,
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Most richly attired in Scarlet to grain,
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My Chamber most princely thy person shall keep,
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Where virgins with musick shall rock thee asleep.
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If any pleasure thy heart can invent,
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Command them sweet Lady thy mind to content
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For Kings gallant Courts where Ladies do dwell
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Affords such sweet pastimes as Ladies love well
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Then be not resolved to dye a true maid,
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But print in thy bosome the words I have said
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And grant a King favour thy true love to be.
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That I may say welcome sweet Virgin to me.
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The fair maid of Londons answer to King Edwards
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wanton Love: To same tune.
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O Wanton King Eward thy labour is vain:
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To follow thy pleasure thou canst not obtain
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Which getting thou losest and having dost wast it
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The which if thou purchase is spoild if thou hast it
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But if thou obtainest it, thou nothing hast won,
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And I losing nothing yet am quite undone,
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But if of that jewel a King doth deceive me,
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No Kin, can restate, though a kingdom he give me.
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My colour is changed since you saw me last,
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My favour is banisht, my beauty is past,
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The rosie red blushes which sets on my cheeks
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To paleness is turned which all men dislikes,
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I pass not what Princes for love do protest
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The name of a Virgin contenteth me best.
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I have not deserved to lye by thy side,
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Nor to be accounted for King Ewards Bride.
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The name of a Princess I never did crave,
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No such type of honour thy hand-maid will have,
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My brest shall not harbor so lofty a thought,
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No he with rich profers to wantouness brought,
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If wild wanton Rosamond one as your sort,
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Had never frequented King Henries brave Court
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Such heaps of deep sorrow she never did crave,
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Nor tasted the rage of so jealous a Queen.
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All men have their freedome to shew their intent,
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They win not a woman unless she consent.
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Who then can impute to a man any fault,
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Who still go uprightly whilst women do halt,
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Tis counted kindness in men for to try,
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And vertue in women the same to deny;
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Nor women unconstant can never be provd
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Until by their betters therein they be movd.
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If women and modesty once but sever,
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Then farewel good name and credit for ever,
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And Royal King Edward let me be exild,
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Ere any man knows my bodies defild,
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No no my old Fathers reverned tears,
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Too great an impression upon my soul bears.
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Nor shall his bright honour that blot by me have,
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To bring his gray hairs with grief to the grave.
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The heavens forbid that when I dye,
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That any such sin upon my soul lye.
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If he that hath kept me from doing that sin
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My heart shall not yield with a Prince to begin,
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Come rather with pitty and weep ore my Tomb.
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Then for my birth curse my dear Mothers womb
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That brought forth a blossom that stained thee Tree
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With wanton desires to stain her and me.
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Leave me most noble King, tempt not in vain
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My milk white affections with lewdness to stain.
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Though England will yield me no comfort at all,
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Yet England will yield me a sad burial.
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