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EBBA 36305

Society of Antiquaries of London - Broadsides
Ballad XSLT Template
A worthy Myrrour, wherin ye may marke,
An excellent Discourse of a breeding Larke:
By readyng wherof, perceyve well ye may:
What trust is Freendes, or on Kinsfolkes to stay.

A LARKE somtimes did breed,
within a field of Corne:
And had increase whenas the Grayne
was redy to be shorne.
Shee wary of the tyme:
and carefull for her nest,
Debated wisely with herselfe,
what thynge to doo were best.
For to abyde the rage,
of cruell Reapers hande,
Shee knew it was to perillous,
with safetie for to stande:
And to dislodge her Broode,
unable yet to flye:
(Not knowing whither to remove,)
great harmes might hap therby
Therfore shee ment to staye,
tyll Force constraynd to fleete:
And in the whyle for to provyde,
some other place as meete.
The better to provyde,
the purpose of her mynde:
She would forthwith go seeke abroad,
and leave her Yong behind:
But first, shee bad them all
attend their Mothers wyll,
Which carefull was for to eschewe
each likelyhood of yll:
This Corne is ripe (quoth shee,)
wherein we nestled are:
The which (if heede prevents not harmes,)
may cause our mortall care.
Therfore to fence with skyll,
the sequeall of mishappes:
I wyll provyde some other place,
for feare of afterclappes:
Whilste I for this and Foode,
am flowen hence awaye:
With heedefull eares attentive bee,
what commers by doo saye.
Thus sayde, shee vaunste herselfe,
upon her longest Toe:
And mounted up into the Skies,
styll singing as shee flowe:
Anone shee home returnde,
full fraught with choyce of meate:
But loe, (a suddaine change) her Byrdes
for feare could nothyng eate.
Therwith agast, she cryed:
what how? what meaneth this?
I charge ye on my blessyng, tell:
what thyng hath chaunst amis?

Are these my welcomes home,
or thankes for Foode I have?
Ye wonted were with chirping cheare,
to gape before I gave:
But now such Quawmes oppresse
your former quiet kynde:
That (quite transformd) dumb mute things
and Senselesse Soules I finde:
The Prime and eldest Birde,
(thus checkt) began to say,
Alas deare Dame, such news we hard,
sence ye were flowen awaye.
That were it not the truste
that we repose in you,
Our lives were lost remediles,
we know it well ynow:
The Owner of this Plot,
came hither with his Sonne,
And sayd to him, this wheat must down
t'is more then time t'were don:
Go get thee to my friendes,
and byd them come to morne,
And tell them that I crave their helpes,
to reape a peece of Corne:
The Larke that was the Dam,
stood in a dump a whyle,
And after said, his frindes (quod hee)
and then began to smile.
Tush, Friendes are hard to finde,
true friendship seild appeares:
A man misse to have a Friend,
that lives olde NESTORS yeares,
True DAMON and his Friend,
long ere our time were dead:
It was in Greece, a great way hence
where such two friends were bred:
Our Country is to colde,
to foster up a Friende:
Tyll proofe be made, eche one wyll say,
styll yours unto the ende.
But trye in time of neede,
and all your friends are flowen,
Suche fruitlesse Seede, suche fickle stay
in faithlesse Friendes, is sowen:
Therfore be of good cheere,
revive your dulled Sprites,
Expell the Care, that causelesse thus,
bereaves you of delightes:
Let no surmised feare,
deprive your eyes of sleepe,
Myselfe wyll be amongst ye styll,
that safely shall ye keepe.

And sweare eene by the Tufte,
that growes upon my Crowne:
If all his helpe be in his Freendes,
this Corne shall not goe downe.
The Yong assured by her,
That such an Othe dyd sweare:
Dyd passe the time with wonted sleepe,
and banisht former feare.
And when the drowsie Night,
was fled from gladsome Daye:
Shee bad them wake and looke about
for she must go her way.
And saide, I warrant you,
these friendes wyll not come heere:
Yet notwithstandyng, listen well,
and tell me what you heare.
Anone, the Farmer came,
enraged wellnie madde:
And sware, who so depends on friends
his case is worse then badde.
I wyll go fet my Kinne,
to help mee with this geare,
In things of greater weight than this,
their kindred shall appeare,
The Larkes, their Dam returnd,
informed her of all,
And how, that he hymselfe was gone,
his kindred for to call:
But when she hard of Kinne,
shee laughinge, cried amayne:
A Pin for Kin: a Figge for Friendes,
yet Kinne the worste of twayne.
This man himselfe is poore,
though wealthy Kine he have:
And kindred nowadayes doth quaile,
when neede compelles to crave.
No, no: he shall returne,
with yll contented mynts:
His paynes shall yeald but losse of time,
no succoure he shall finde.
They all are so addicte
unto their private gayne,
That if ye lacke power to requite,
your Sutes are all in vayne.
Myselfe am overchardgde,
with Harvest ye maye see,
And neerer is my Skin, then Shirte,
this shall their Answere bee.
Therfore, as earste of Friendes,
so saye I nowe of Kin:
Wee shall receyve no hurte by them,
nor he no profite win.

Yet listen once agayne,
what now is Refuge is,
For kinred shal be lyke to Friendes.
be well assured of this:
I must go furnish up,
a Neast I have begone:
And wyll returne and bring ye meate,
as soone as it is don.
Then up she clam the Clowdes,
with such a lusty Laye:
That it rejoyste her Yonglinges hartes
as in their Neast they laye:
And muche they did commende,
their Mothers lofty gate,
And thought it long til time had brought
themselves to such estate.
Thus whilste their twinkelynge eyes,
were rovyng to and fro:
They saw where as the Farmer came.
that was their mortall Foe.
Who after due complaintes,
Thus said in the ende:
I wyll from hencefoorth trust myselfe,
and not to kinne nor Friende.
Who geves me glosing wordes,
and fayles me at my neede:
May in my PATER NOSTER bee
but never in my CREEDE,
Myselfe wyll have it downe,
since needes it must be so,
For proofe hath taught me too mutch wit
to trust to any mo.
The Birdes that listenyng laye,
attentive to the same:
Informde their Mother of the whole,
as soone as ere she came.
Yee mary then quoth shee,
the case now altered is:
We wyll no longer heare abyde,
I alwayes feared this,
But out she got them all,
and trudged away apace,
And through the Corn she brought them safe,
into another place.
God send her lucke to shun
both Hauke and Fowlers Gin,
And mee the hap to have no neede,
of Friende, nor yet of Kin,


FINIS.
Arthur Bour.
Printed at London by Richard Johnes.

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