MAUDLIN
The Merchant's Daughter of BRISTOL.
To the Tune of, The Maiden's Joy.
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BEhold the touchstone of true love,
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Maudlin the merchant's daughter of Bristol town,
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Whose firm affection nothing could move,
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her favour bears the lovely brown.
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A gallant youth was dwelling by,
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which long had born this maiden great good will,
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She loved him most faithfully:
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but all her friends withstood it still.
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The young man now perceiving well,
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he could not get the favour of her friends,
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The force of sorrow to expel,
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and view strange countries he intends:
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And now to take his last farewel
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of his true love, his fair and constant Maudlin,
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With musick sweet that did excel,
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he plaid under her window then:
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Farewel (quoth he) mine own true love,
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farewel the dear and chiefest treasure of my heart,
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Thro' fortune's spight that false did prove,
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I am inforc'd from thee to part,
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Into the land of fair Italy:
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there will I wail and weary out my life in woe,
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Seeing my true love is kept from me,
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I hold my life a mortal foe:
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Fair Bristol town therefore adieu,
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for Padua shall be my habitation now,
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Although my love doth rest in thee,
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to whom alone my heart I vow.
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With trickling tears thus did he sing,
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sighs and sobs descending from his heart full sore,
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He said, when he his hands did wring,
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Farewel, sweet love, for evermore.
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Fair Maudlin from a window high
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see her true love with musick where he stood,
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But not a word she did reply,
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fearing her parents angry mood.
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In tears she spent that woful night,
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wishing herself, tho' naked, with her faithful friend,
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She blames her friends, and fortune's spight,
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that wrought her love such luckless end:
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And in her heart she made a vow,
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to forsake her country and kindred all,
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And for to follow her true love,
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to abide all chance that might befal.
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The night is gone, and the day is come,
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and in the morning very early did she rise,
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She gets down into a lower room
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where sundry seamen she espies:
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A gallant master among them all,
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The master of a great and goodly ship was he,
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Who there was waiting in the hall,
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to speak with her father, if it might be.
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She kindly takes him by the hand
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Good sir, would you speak with any here?
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Quoth he, Fair maid, and therefore I do stand.
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Then, gentle sir, I pray draw near:
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Into a pleasant parlour by,
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hand in hand she brings the seaman all alone,
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Sighing to him most pitiously,
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she thus to him did make her moan:
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She falls upon her bended knee,
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Good sir, (said she) pitty a woman's woe,
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And prove a faithful friend to me,
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that I to you my grief may show.
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Sith you repose your trust (he said)
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in me unknown and eke a stranger here,
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Be you assur'd, most proper maid,
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most faithful still I will appear.
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I have a brother (then quoth she)
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whom as my life I love and favour tenderly,
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In Padua, alas! is he,
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full sick, God wot, and like to die;
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Full fain I would my brother see,
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but that my father will not yield to let me go:
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Therefore, good sir, be kind to me,
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and unto me this favour show:
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Some ship-boy's garment bring to me,
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that I disguis'd may go unknown,
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And unto sea I'll go with thee,
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if thus much favour might be shown.
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Fair maid (quoth he) take here my hand,
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I will fulfil each thing what you desire,
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And see you safe in that same land,
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and in the place that you require.
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She gave to him a tender kiss,
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and said, Your servant, master, I will be,
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And prove your faithful friend for this:
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sweet Master then forget not me.
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This done, as they had both agreed,
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soon after that, by break of day,
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He brings her garments then with speed,
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therein herself she did array:
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And e're her father did arise,
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she meets her master as he walked in the hall,
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She did attend on him likewise,
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until her father did him call.
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But here the merchant made an end
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of those his weighty matters all,
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His wife came weeping in with speed,
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saying Our daughter's gone away.
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The merchant then amaz'd in mind,
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Yonder vile wretch intic'd my child away:
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But I well wot I shall him find,
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in Italy at Padua.
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With that bespake the master brave,
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Worshipful merchant, thither goes this youth,
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And anything that you would crave,
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he will perform, and write the truth.
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Sweet youth (quoth he) if it be so,
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bear me a letter to the English there,
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And gold on thee I will bestow,
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my daughter's welfare I do fear
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Her mother took her by the hand,
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Fair youth, if e're thou dost my daughter see,
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Let me soon thereof understand,
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and there is twenty crowns for thee.
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Thus through the daughter's strange disguise,
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her mother knew not when she spake unto her.
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Then after her master, straight she hies,
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taking her leave with countenance mild:
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Thus to the sea sweet Maudlin is gone,
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with her gentle master God send fair wind:
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Where we awhile must let them all alone,
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till you the Second Part do find.
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The Second PART of sweet MAUDLIN.
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WElcome, sweet Maudlin, from the seas,
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where bitter storms and tempests do arise,
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The pleasant banks of Italy,
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you may behold with mortal eyes:
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Thanks, gentle master (then said she)
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a faithful friend in sorrow thou hast been;
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If fortune once do smile on me,
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my gratitude shall soon be seen.
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Blest be the land that feeds my love,
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blest be the place whereas he doth abide,
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No tryal will I stick to prove,
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whereby my true love may be try'd:
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Now will I walk with joyful heart,
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to view the town whereas he doth remain,
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And seek him out in every part,
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until his sight I do obtain.
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And I (quoth he) will not forsake
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sweet Maudlin in her sorrows up and down,
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In wealth or woe thy part i'll take,
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and bring the safe to Padua town:
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And after many weary steps,
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in Padua they arriv'd at the last,
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For very joy her heart it leaps,
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she thinks not on her sorrows past.
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Condemn'd he was to dye, alas!
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except he would from his religion tur[n],
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But rather than he would to mass,
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in fiery flames he vow'd to burn.
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Now doth sweet Maudlin weep and wail,
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her joy is turn'd to sorrow, grief and care,
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For nothing could her plaints prevail,
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for death alone must be his share:
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She walks under the prison-walls,
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where her true love did languish in distress,
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Then wofully for food he calls,
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when hunger did his heart oppress:
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He sighs and sobs, and makes great moan,
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Farewel, sweet-heart, for evermore,
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And all my friends that have me known,
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in Bristol town with wealth and store.
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But most of all, farewel (quoth he)
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my own sweet Maudlin, whom I left behind,
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For never more thou wilt me see,
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woe to thy father most unkind:
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How well I were if thou wert here,
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with thy fair hands to close my wretched eyes,
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My torments easie would appear,
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my soul with joy would scale the skies.
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When Maudlin heard her lover's moan,
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her eyes with tears her heart soon filled was,
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To speak with him no means was found,
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such grievous doom did on him pass.
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Then she put off her lad's attire
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her maiden-weeds upon her seemly set,
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At the judge's house she did inquire,
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and there she did a service get:
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She did her duty there so well,
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and eke so well herself she did behave,
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With her in love her master fell,
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his servant's favour he doth crave:
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Maudlin (quoth he) my heart's delight,
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to whom my heart is so inclin'd,
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Breed not my death through thy despight,
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a faithful friend thou shalt me find.
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Grant me thy love, fair maid, quoth he,
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and then desire what thou canst devise,
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And will grant it unto thee,
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whereby thy credit may arise.
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I have a brother, sir, said she,
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for his religion is condemn'd to dye,
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In loathsome prison he is cast,
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opprest with grief and misery:
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Grant me my brother's life, she said,
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and now to you my love and liking will I give.
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That may not be, quoth he, fair Maid,
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except he turn he cannot live:
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An English fryer there is, she said,
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of learning great, and passing pure of life,
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Let him to my brother be sent,
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and he will finish soon the strife.
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Her master granted her request,
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the mariner in fryer's weeds she did array:
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And to her love that lay distrest,
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she did a letter soon convey:
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When he had read these gentle lines,
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his heart was ravished with pleasant joy,
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Where now she is full well he knew,
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the fryer likewise was not coy:
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But did declare to him at large,
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the enterprize his love had taken in hand:
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The young man did the fryer charge,
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his love should straight depart the land.
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Here is no place for her, he said,
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but woful death and danger of her life,
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Professing truth I was betray'd,
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and fearful flames must end the strife.
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For e're I will my faith deny,
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and swear myself to follow damned antichrist,
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I'll yield my body for to dye,
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to live in heaven with the Highest.
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O sir, the gentle fryer said,
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consent thereto, and end the strife.
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A woful match, quoth he, is made
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were Christ is left to gain a wife.
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When she had usd all means she might,
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to save his life, yet all would not be,
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Then of the judge she claim[']d her right,
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to dye the death as well as he.
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When no perswasion could prevail,
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nor change her mind in anything she said,
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She was with him condemn'd to dye,
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and for them both one fire was made:
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Yea, arm in arm most joyfully,
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these lovers twain unto the fire did go,
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The mariner most faithfully,
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was likewise partner of their woe.
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But when the judges understood,
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the faithful friendship did in them remain,
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They sav[']d their lives, and afterwards
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to England sent them back again.
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Now was their sorrow turn[']d to joy,
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and faithful lovers have their hearts desire.
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Their pains so well they did imploy,
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God granted that they did desire.
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And when they did to England come,
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and in merry Bristol arrived at the last
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Great joy there was to all and some,
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that heard the dangers they had past:
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Her father he was dead, God wot,
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and eke her mother was joyful at her sight,
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Their wishes she denyed not,
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but wedded them to hearts delight:
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Her gentle master he desired,
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to be her father, and at church to give her then;
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It was fulfilled as she required,
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to the joy of all good men.
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