The Blink-Ey'd Cobler.
|
ALL you that delight in merriment,
|
Come listen to my song,
|
It is very new and certain true,
|
You need not tarry long,
|
Before you laugh your belly full,
|
Therefore be pleas'd to stay,
|
I hope that you will be pleased,
|
Before you go away.
|
It's of a knight in Derbyshire,
|
Who had a handsome son,
|
He kept a handsome chambermaid,
|
Who had his favour won;
|
They dearly lov'd each other,
|
Being full of sport and play,
|
Until he got her belly up,
|
As I have heard them say.
|
In tears she told the story,
|
My dearest dear, quoth she,
|
I am no less than twenty weeks,
|
Now gone with child by thee.
|
He cries love be contented,
|
(This is what must be said,)
|
And do not let my father know,
|
For on Sunday we will wed.
|
But mind how cruel fortune,
|
Their fate did seem to force,
|
The old man stood in the corner,
|
And heard the whole discourse.
|
Next morn he call'd the maid,
|
Likewise the youth his son,
|
[?] with a smiling sneering look,
|
[?]story thus begun.
|
He said I wish you both much joy,
|
You are to wed on Sunday,
|
But I'd have you be rul'd by me,
|
And put it off till Monday.
|
'Twill be but one day longer,
|
With that he laugh'd outright,
|
But I'm resolv'd to part you both,
|
For fear it should be to-night.
|
He paid the girl her wages,
|
And home he then her sent,
|
And confin'd him to his chamber,
|
In tears for to lament,
|
Next morning unto London,
|
Along with a sturdy guide,
|
To his uncle's house on Cornhill,
|
He sent him to abide,
|
But as they rode along the way,
|
He said unto the guide,
|
I'll give thee twenty guineas,
|
To let me step aside.
|
Because this very morning,
|
One word my father said,
|
The same I do remember,
|
And keep it in my head.
|
The guide straightway gave consent,
|
And he went to his sweetheart Sue,
|
Then told to her the story,
|
And what he design'd to do.
|
Disguis'd like a poor cobler,
|
With a long rusty beard,
|
With a leather coat not worth a groat,
|
To his father's house he steer'd.
|
He knocked boldly at the door,
|
And when his father came,
|
He said, sir, be you such a one?
|
He answer'd, yes, the same,
|
He cry'd, I understand your son,
|
Wanton tricks has play'd,
|
Unknown to your worship,
|
Along with your chambermaid.
|
I understand some money
|
With her you are free to give,
|
To help to keep the child and she,
|
So long as they do live.
|
Now I am an honest cobler,
|
Who do live here just by,
|
For fifty pounds I'll marry her,
|
If that will but satisfy.
|
The old man answer'd, before
|
The money I do pay,
|
I'll see her fairly marry'd,
|
And give her myself away,
|
With all my heart, the cobler
|
Unto the old man did say,
|
With that he fetch'd the fifty pounds,
|
And the bargain he made straightway
|
And when they came unto the church,
|
As we do understand,
|
The old man strutted boldly,
|
Then took her by the hand.
|
Crying, heavens bless you from above,
|
And send you long to live,
|
And as a token of my love,
|
This fifty pounds I give.
|
They parted very friendly,
|
The old man home he went,
|
The bride and bridegroom rode away,
|
To London by consent.
|
Where she was fairly brought to bed,
|
With joy and much content,
|
A letter into the country,
|
To his father then he sent,
|
Sir, I think it is my duty,
|
And am bound to acquaint thee,
|
That there is a lady in this city,
|
Who has fallen in love with me.
|
Five thousand pounds a year she,
|
All in good house and land,
|
That if you're willing for the match,
|
Come to London out of hand.
|
The old man got his coach ready,
|
And up to London came,
|
For to view this charming lady,
|
Who was of birth and fame.
|
Then coming to his brother's house,
|
This beauty for to view,
|
He little thought this beauty bright,
|
Was his old servant Sue,
|
With gold and silver spangles,
|
She was bedeck'd all round,
|
The noise of her portion being told,
|
For so many thousand pounds,
|
The old man took his son aside,
|
And thus to him did say,
|
Take my advice and marry her,
|
My dearest child this day.
|
That morning they were marry'd,
|
And dinner being done,
|
The old man being mellow,
|
The story thus begun.
|
He said dear son I'll tell you,
|
And nothing but what is true,
|
A poor blinking one ey'd cobler,
|
Has wedded thy sweetheart Sue,
|
The young man went a little aside,
|
As I to you confess,
|
And then within a short time,
|
He put on his cobler's dress.
|
Then taking Susan by the hand,
|
They fell on their bended knees,
|
Saying, pardon, honoured father,
|
Pardon if you please.
|
For I am John the cobler,
|
And this is my sweetheart Sue,
|
O pardon us, dear father,
|
Because we tell you true.
|
If you are the cobler, said the old man,
|
Who had the blinking eye,
|
Thou'st cobl'd me of a thousand pounds
|
And a pox on thy policy.
|
The uncle he persuaded him,
|
So did all the guests,
|
The old man fell a laughing,
|
Saying, but a merry jest,
|
That I cannot be angry,
|
Then strait these words did say,
|
I pray fetch me the fiddlers,
|
And so let's dance away.
|
Now we may see the old and rich,
|
Are bit by policy,
|
For beauty, wit, and good manners,
|
Beyond all riches be.
|
So here's a good health to the cobler,
|
With another to handsome Sue,
|
Let every one drink off his glass,
|
Without any more ado.
|
|
|
|
|
|