An excellent Ballad of George Barnwel an Apprentice of London, who was undone by a strumpet, who
having thrice robbed his Master, and murdered his Uncle in Ludlow. The tune is, The Merchant.
|
ALl youths of fair England,
|
that dwel both far and near
|
Regard my story that I tell,
|
and to my Song give ear:
|
A London Lad I was,
|
a Merchants Prentice bound,
|
My name George Barnwel y did spend
|
my Master many a pound
|
[T]ake heed of Harlots then,
|
[t]heir inticing trains,
|
For by that means I have been brought
|
to hang alive in chains.
|
As I upon a day
|
was walking through the street,
|
About my Masters business,
|
I did a woman meet;
|
A dainty gallant Dame,
|
and sumptuous in attire,
|
With smiling looks she greeted me
|
and did my name require.
|
Which when I had declard,
|
she gave me then a kiss;
|
And said if I would come to her
|
I should have more than this:
|
In faith my Boy (quoth she)
|
such newes I can thee tell
|
As shall rejoyce thy very heart,
|
then come where I do dwell.
|
Fair Mistris then said I,
|
if I the place may know,
|
This Evening I will be with you
|
for I abroad must go
|
To gather money in
|
that is my Masters due,
|
And ere that I do home return
|
Ile come and visit you.
|
Good Barnwel then (quoth she)
|
do thou to Shoreditch come,
|
And ask for Mrs. Milwood there
|
next door unto the Gun.
|
And trust me on my truth
|
if thou keep touch with me
|
For thy friends sake as my own heart
|
thou sh[a]lt right welcome be.
|
Thus parted we in peace,
|
and home I passed right,
|
Then went abroad and gathered in
|
by six a clock at night
|
A hundred pounds and one,
|
with bag under mine arm.
|
I went to Mrs. Milwoods house
|
and thought on little harm.
|
And knocking at the door,
|
straitway her self came down,
|
Rus[t]ling in most brave attire,
|
her Hood and siken Gown;
|
Who through her beauty bright
|
so gloriously did shine,
|
That she amazd my dazling eyes
|
she seemed so divine.
|
She took me by the hand,
|
and with a modest grace,
|
Welcom sweet Barnwel then (quod she)
|
unto this homely place;
|
Welcom ten thousand times,
|
more welcom than my Brother,
|
And better welcome I protest
|
than any one or other.
|
And seeing I have thee found
|
as good as thy word to be,
|
A homely supper ere thou part
|
thou shalt take here with me.
|
O pardon me quoth I
|
fair Mistris I you pray,
|
For why out of my masters house
|
so long I dare not stay.
|
Alas good Sir she said,
|
art thou so strictly tyd,
|
You may not with your dearest friend
|
one hour or two abide?
|
Faith then the case is hard,
|
if it be so (quoth she)
|
I would I were a Prentice bound
|
to live in house with thee.
|
Therefore my sweetest George,
|
list well what I do say,
|
And do not blame a woman much
|
her fancy to bewray:
|
Let not affections force
|
be counted lewd desire,
|
Nor think it not immodesty
|
I would thy love require.
|
With that she turnd aside,
|
and with a blushing red,
|
A mournful motion she bewrayd
|
by holding down her head:
|
A handkerchief she had
|
all wrought with silk and gold,
|
Which she to stop her trickling tears
|
against her eyes did hold.
|
This thing unto my sight
|
was wondrous rare and strange
|
And in my mind & inward thoghts
|
it wrought a sudden change;
|
That I so hardy was
|
to take her by the hand,
|
Saying sweet Mistris why do you
|
so sad and heavy stand?
|
Call me no Mistris now,
|
but Sara thy true friend,
|
Thy servant Sara honouring thee
|
until her life hath end.
|
If thou wouldst here alledge
|
thou art in years a boy,
|
So was Adonis, yet was he
|
fair Venus Love and Joy.
|
Thus I that were before
|
of women found such grace,
|
And seeing now so fair a Dame
|
gave me a kind imbrace,
|
I supt with her that night,
|
with joys that did abound,
|
And for the same paid presently
|
in money twice three pound.
|
A hundred kisses then
|
for my farewel she gave,
|
Saying sweet Barnwel when shal I
|
again thy company have?
|
O stay not too long my dear,
|
sweet George have me in mind,
|
Her words bewitcht his childishness
|
she uttered them so kind,
|
So that I made a vow
|
next Sunday without fail,
|
With my sweet Sara once again
|
to tell some pleasant tale.
|
When she heard me say so,
|
the tears fell from her eyes,
|
O George quod she if thou dost fail
|
thy Sara sure will dye.
|
Though long yet so at last
|
the pointed time was come
|
That I must with my Sara meet,
|
having a mighty Sum
|
Of money in my hand
|
unto her house went I,
|
Whereas my Love upon her bed
|
in saddest sort did lie.
|
What ayls my hearts delight?
|
my Sara dear (quoth he)
|
Let not my Love lament & grieve
|
nor sighing pain and dye:
|
But tell to me my dearest friend
|
what may thy woes amend,
|
And thou shalt lack no meanes of help
|
tho forty pound I spend.
|
With that she turnd her head,
|
and sickly thus did say,
|
O my sweet George my grief is great
|
ten pounds I have to pay
|
Unto a cruel wretch
|
and God he knows (quoth she)
|
I have it not. Tush rise quoth I
|
and take it here of me.
|
Ten pounds, nor ten times ten
|
shall make my Love decay,
|
Then from his bag into her lap
|
he cast ten pounds straitway.
|
All bli[t]h and pleasant then
|
to banquetting they go,
|
She proffered him to lie with her,
|
and said it should be so:
|
And after that same time
|
I gave her store of coyn,
|
Yea sometimes fifty pound at once
|
all which I did purloyn.
|
And thus I did pass on
|
until my Master then
|
Did call to have his reckoning in
|
cast up among his men.
|
The which when as I heard,
|
I knew not what to say,
|
For well I knew that I was out
|
two hundred pound that day.
|
Then from my Master strait
|
I run in secret sort,
|
And unto Sara Milwood then
|
my state I did report
|
But how she usd this youth
|
in this his extream need,
|
The which did her necessity
|
so oft with money feed;
|
The second part behold
|
shall tell it forth at large,
|
And shall a strumpets wily ways
|
with all her tricks discharge.
|
HEre coms young Barnwel unto
|
sweet Sara my delight,
|
I am undone except thou stand
|
my faithful friend this night:
|
Our master to command accounts
|
hath just occasion found,
|
And I am come behind the hand
|
almost two hundred pound.
|
And therefore knowing not at all
|
what answer for to make,
|
And his displeasure to escape,
|
my way to thee I take;
|
Hoping in this extremity
|
thou wilt my succour be,
|
That for a time I may remain
|
in secret here with thee.
|
With that she knit and bent her brows
|
and looking all aquoy,
|
Quod she what should I have to doe
|
with any prentice boy?
|
And seeing you have purloyned and got
|
your Masters goods away,
|
The case is bad and therefore here
|
I mean thou shalt not stay.
|
Why Sweetheart thou knowst he said
|
that all which I did get
|
I gave it and did spend it all
|
upon thee every whit.
|
Thou knowst I loved thee so well
|
thou couldst not ask the thing
|
But that I did incontinent
|
the same unto thee bring.
|
Quoth she thou art a paultry Jack
|
to charge me in this sort,
|
Being a woman of credit good,
|
and known of good report.
|
And therefore this I tell thee flat,
|
be packing with good speed,
|
I do defie thee from my heart,
|
and scorn thy filthy deed.
|
Is this the love & friendship which
|
thou didst to me protest?
|
Is this the great affection which
|
you seemed to express?
|
Now fie on all deceitful shews,
|
the best is I may speed
|
To get a Lodging any where
|
for money in my need:
|
Therefore false woman now farewell
|
while twenty pound doth last,
|
My Anchor in some other Haven
|
I will with wisedome cast.
|
When she perceiving by his words
|
that he had money store,
|
That she had guld him in such sort
|
it grievd her heart full sore:
|
Therefore to call him back again
|
she did suppose it best,
|
Stay George quoth she thou art too quick,
|
why man I do but jest.
|
Thinkst thou for all my passed speech
|
that I would let thee go?
|
Faith no quod she my love to thee
|
I wis is more than so.
|
You will not deal with Prentice boyes
|
I heard you even now swear.
|
Therefore I will not trouble you
|
my George hark in thine ear.
|
Thou shalt not go to night quod she
|
what chance so ere befall,
|
But man wel have a bed for thee
|
or else the Devil take all.
|
thus I y was with wiles bewitcht
|
and snard with fancy still,
|
Had not the power to put away
|
or to withstand her will.
|
Then wine and wine I called in,
|
and cheer upon good cheer,
|
And nothing in y world I thought
|
for Sarahs love too dear.
|
Whilst I was in her company,
|
in joy and merriment,
|
And all too little I did think
|
that I upon her spent.
|
A fig for care and careful thought,
|
when all my gold is gone,
|
In faith my girl we wil have more
|
who ere it light upon.
|
My Fathers rich, why then quod I
|
should I want any gold,
|
With a Father indeed quoth she,
|
a Son may well be bold.
|
I have a Sister richly wed,
|
Ile rob her ere Ile want.
|
Why then quod Sara they may well
|
consider of your scant.
|
Nay more than this an Uncle I have
|
at Ludlow he doth dwell,
|
He is a Grasier which in wealth
|
doth all the rest excell:
|
Ere I will live in lack quoth he,
|
and have no coyn for thee,
|
Ile rob y Churl and murder him
|
why should you not quoth she.
|
Ere I would want were I a man
|
or live in poor estate,
|
On father, friends, and all my kin
|
I would my talons grate:
|
For without mony George quod she
|
a man is but a beast,
|
And bringing mony thou shalt be
|
always my chiefest guest.
|
For say thou shouldst pursued be
|
with twenty hues and cryes,
|
And with a warrant searched for
|
with Argos hundred eyes,
|
Yet in my house thou shalt be safe
|
such privy ways there be
|
That if they sought an hundred years
|
they could not find out thee.
|
And so carousing in their cups,
|
their pleasures to content,
|
George Barnwel had in little space
|
his money wholly spent.
|
which being done to Ludlow then
|
he did provide to go,
|
To rob his wealthy Uncle then
|
his Minion would it so:
|
And once or twice he thought to take
|
his father by the way,
|
But y he thought his master there
|
took order for his stay.
|
Directly to his Uncle then
|
he rode with might and main,
|
Where with good welcom and good cheer
|
he did him entertain.
|
A sennits space he stayed there,
|
until it chanced so
|
His Uncle with fat cattel did
|
unto a market goe,
|
His kinsman needs must ride with him
|
and when he saw right plain
|
Great store of money he had took,
|
in comming home again.
|
Most suddenly within a wood
|
he struck his Uncle down,
|
And beat his brains out of his head
|
so sore he crackt his crown:
|
And fourscore pound in ready coyn
|
out of his purse he took,
|
And comming unto London strait
|
the Country quite forsook.
|
To Sara Milwood then he came,
|
shewing his store of gold,
|
And how he had his Uncle slain
|
to her he plainly told.
|
Tush tis no matter George quod she
|
so we the money have,
|
To have good cheer in jolly sort,
|
and deck us fine and brave.
|
And thus they livd in filthy sort
|
till all his store was gone,
|
And means to get them any more
|
I wis poor George had none.
|
And therefore now in railing sort
|
she thrust him out of door,
|
Which is the just reward they get
|
that spend upon a whore.
|
O do me not this vile disgrace,
|
in this my need quoth he,
|
She cald him thief and murderer,
|
with all despight may be:
|
And to the Constable she went,
|
to have him apprehended,
|
And in each degree how far
|
he had the Law offended.
|
When Barnwel saw her drift,
|
to sea he got straitway,
|
Where fear & dread, & conscience sting
|
upon him still doth stay.
|
Unto the Mayor of London then
|
he did a Letter write,
|
Wherein his own & Sarahs faults
|
he did at large recite.
|
Whereby she apprehended was,
|
and then to Ludlow sent,
|
where she was judgd, condemnd & hangd
|
for murder incontinent.
|
And there this gallant quean did die
|
this was her greatest gains
|
For murdering in Polonia
|
was Barnwel hangd in chains.
|
Lo heres the end of wilful youth,
|
that after Harlots haunt;
|
Who in the spoyl of other men
|
about the streets do flaunt.
|
|
|
|
|
|