A new mery balad of a maid that wold mary
wyth a servyng man
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NOwe prudentlie to ponder proverbes of olde,
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How that seldome or when commeth the better,
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Wyth divers other tales as I have herd tolde
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That the nigher the bone, the fleshe is much sweter,
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Thus a lover of late sente me his letter
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Therfore let al my friendes saye what they can,
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I wyl have to my husbande a serving man.
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The syght of serving men doth my herte good
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When I them beholde, and wot ye well why
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Bicause they be lustie and ful of yonge bloude
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Stronge and nymble, and very quicke of eye
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Clene, brave in apparel, and made properlye,
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Wherfore let father and mother saye what they can,
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I wyl have to my husband a serving man.
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My father and mother geveth me exhortacion
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That if ever their good wylles I wyl have
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To take a man of some good occupacion,
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Or els some ryche farmoures sonne, substaunce to save
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Thus upon me dayly they do crave,
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But let them bothe saye what they can,
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I wyl have to my husbande a serving man.
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Servinge men that be gentle and wyce
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Can lacke no service, nor livyng at all,
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Though one of an hundred suche be geven to vyce
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Shuld the residue of them be hated all,
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No by saint marie, come of it what shall
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And let my friendes do and saye what they can,
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I wyl have to my husbande a serving man.
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Servyng men honeste, are greatly commended
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Of Lordes and Ladies, and of gentelmen fyne,
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Though loutes with serving men be offended
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Yet wyl not I from their company declyne,
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For I trust and hope one of them to be myne
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Let my friendes do and saye what they can,
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I wyl have to my husband a servyng man.
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Serving men ever be jocunde and mery
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Whether they have litle or muche in their purse,
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And of good companie they are never wearie
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And a woman they love as a childe dothe the nurse,
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One serving man I knowe that loveth me no worse
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Wherfore let all my friendes saye what they can,
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I wyl have to my husbande a servinge man.
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Serving men finelie can colly and kysse,
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Serving men featlie can maidens imbrace,
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Fewe suche serving men of their purpose can mysse
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Bicause of audacite, beautie or grace,
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And in some of them all three taketh place
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Wherfore let my friendes saye what they can,
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I wyll have the swete, loving, kynde serving man.
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Oh Lorde, how the herte in my bealie doth hoppe
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When I here that serving men be come to towne,
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Streight some resortes to my mistres shoppe
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There merelie talking, by me sitting downe,
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Of lovers fame they maye well weare the crowne,
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Wherfore let all the worlde saie what they can,
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I wyll have to my husband a servinge man.
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What yonge men eyther in towne or citie
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With them in daliaunce maie compare
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In entertainement they be excellent wittie,
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God geve them longe lyfe and well to fare
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Thoughe my chaunce be to live in carpe and care
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As my friendes saye, yet if that I can,
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I wyl have to my husband a serving man.
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Shulde I marie with a boye, a loute, or a slymme
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A dawcocke, an asse, a toyle or a jacke,
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That wyll not let me go tricke nor trimme
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Nor yet he hym selfe, but lyke one in a sacke,
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And that with al mirth & solace wyl grudge & find lacke
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I wyll no suche dranes, say my friendes what they can,
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But I wyll marrie with the merie good serving man.
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A man is manlie, and to a woman comfortable,
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But a churle or a nygarde is to women greate wooe
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A serving man beinge grome, or but page in the stable
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With meate to his maisters owne borde maye go
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When ten times his betters may not do so,
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And manie times be thrieftie, to prove this I can,
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Wherfore shuld I not marie with a serving man.
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Some men growe ryche, although they do spend
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And some men waxe pore thoughe they do spare
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Then why may not a serving man to riches assend
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As well in their myrthe, as some with their care
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The world now a daies goth round and square,
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Wherfore I wyl do the best that I can,
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To have to my husbande a servyng man.
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My mistres liveth a merye lyfe,
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As most women doth for her degree,
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Although a serving man hath her to wyfe
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And whie may not I do so as well as she,
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No men on earth do better please me,
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Ryche or unriche, saye all what you can,
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I wyll have to my husbande a servynge man.
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And tyll that daye douteles be come and gone
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That I quickely be maried to my true love,
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My fleshe wyll pine awaye even to the bone
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Bicause my herte from hym wyll not remove,
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Fare well swete serving men by god above
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And for my sake all you that tipple pot or canne,
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Drynke freely to the merie good serving man.
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