Dead and Alive:
This DITTY out of Glocestershire was sent,
To London, for to have it put in Print:
Therefore draw near, and listen unto this,
It doth concern a Man that did Amiss;
And so to shun the Anger of his WIFE,
He thought with Poyson for to end his Life:
But instead of Poyson he drank Sack,
For which his Wife did soundly pay's back.
To the Tune of, Old Flesh, etc.
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THere was a shaving Royster,
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as I heard many tell,
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In Michal-Danes fair forrest,
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in Glocestershire did dwell,
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Some call'd him William Wiseman,
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but in that they were to blame.
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Some call'd him Leonard Lackwit,
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but that was not his name;
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His name was Simple Simon,
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as it is well approv'd,
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And amongst his Friends and Kinsfolks,
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he dearly was belov'd:
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He capor'd and he vapour'd,
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and he liv'd a merry life,
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But yet good Man at all times,
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he could not rule his Wife.
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His Wife she was a Woman,
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that lov'd a cup of Sack.
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And she would tipple soundly
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behind her Husband's back:
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A bottle she had gotten that
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would hold two quarts or more,
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Well fill'd with wine, she hang'd it
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behind her chamber-door:
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And she told unto her Husband,
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that it was poyson strong,
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And bad him not to touch it,
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for fear of doing wrong:
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If thou drink but one drop on't,
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(quoth she) 'twill end thy life;
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Therefore in time take heed,
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and be ruled by thy Wife.
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This Simons Wife had plenty
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of fatting hogs and pigs,
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With geese, ducks, hens, and turkies,
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that laid great store of eggs:
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Both sheep, and such like cattel,
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fine ews, and pritty lambs,
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Which up and down the forrest
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did feed and suck their dams;
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She put trust to her Husband
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to look unto them all,
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To keep them safe from danger;
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now mark what did befal;
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He did his best endeavour
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to shun all kind of strife,
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And yet through strange misfortune,
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he could not please his Wife.
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One morning she sent him
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to field to keep her sheep,
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And charg'd him to be watchful,
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and take heed he did not sleep:
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A piece of bread and butter
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she gave him in his hand,
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Whereby she made him promise
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to do as she did command.
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But see wha[t] happened to him,
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when he came to the field,
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He fell asleep, while foxes
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three of his lambs had kill'd:
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This bred a great dissention
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and rais'd a world of strife,
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Till Simon for his fault
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had beg'd pardon of his Wife.
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Another day she sent him
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her ducks and geese to tend,
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And charg'd him on her blessing,
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he should no more offend:
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Her goslins and her chickens,
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with him she put in trust,
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Who took a stick and told them,
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so they were twenty just:
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But a woful chance befel to
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poor Simon before night,
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For seven of his chickens
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were took prisoners by the kite:
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This vexed him, and it made him
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half weary of his life,
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For he knew not what answer
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to make unto his Wife.
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Next morning when that Simon
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was sent to milk the cow,
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Another strange mishap there was
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done to him by the sow,
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For whilst that he was driving
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the little pigs away,
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The sow came into the dairy-house,
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and swill'd up all the whey;
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The cheese out of the cheese-fat,
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she did both tear and hawl,
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And so threw down the cream-pot,
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and made an end of all:
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Wherewith she burst her belly,
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and so she lost her life,
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And poor Simon knew not what answer
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to make unto his Wife.
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When's Wife came in the dairy-house,
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and saw what there was done,
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A strong and fierce encounter
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she presently begun;
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She pull'd him by the ears,
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and she wrung him by the nose,
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And she kickt him on the belly,
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while the tears run down his nose,
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And she vow'd to be revenged
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before the morrow-day,
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For all the brood hf chickens,
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which the kite had carried away:
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Poor Simon stood amazed,
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being weary of his life,
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For he good Man was tired,
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with his unruly Wife.
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For when that he perceived
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his Wife in such a rage,
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Not knowing how, nor which way
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her fury to asswage:
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He cunningly got from her,
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and to the chamber went,
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Thinking himself to poyson,
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for that was his intent;
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So coming to the bottle,
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which I spoke of before,
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He thought it to be poyson,
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which hung behind the door:
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So vow'd to drink it all up,
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and end his wretched life,
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Rather than live in thraldom
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with such a cursed Wife.
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So opening of a window, which
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stood towards the South,
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He took the bottle of sack,
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and set it to his mouth:
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Now will I drink this poyson,
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(quoth he) with all my heart;
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So that the first draught he drunk on't,
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he swallowed near a quart:
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The second time that he set
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the bottle to his snout,
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He never left off swigging
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till he had suckt all out:
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Which done, he fell down backward,
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like one bereft of life,
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Crying out, I now am poysoned
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by means of my cursed Wife.
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Quoth he, I feel the poyson
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now run through every vein,
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It rumbles in my belly,
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and it tickles in my brain;
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It wambles in my stomack,
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and it molifies my heart,
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It pierceth through my members,
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and yet I feel no smart:
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Would all that have curst Wives,
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example take hereby,
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For I dye as sweet a death sure,
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as ever man did dye:
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'Tis better with such poyson,
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to end a wretched life,
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Then to live and be tormented
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with such a wicked Wife.
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Now see what followed after,
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his Wife by chance did walk,
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And coming by the window,
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she heard her Simon talk:
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And thinking on her bottle,
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she up the stairs did run,
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And came into the chamber,
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to see what he had done;
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When as she saw her Husband,
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lying drunk upon his back,
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And the bottle lying by him,
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but never a drop of sack:
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I am poyson'd, I am poyson'd,
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quoth he, long of my Wife,
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I hope I shall be at quiet,
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now I have lost my life.
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Pox take you, are you poyson'd,
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(quoth she) I now will strive,
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And do my best endeavour
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to make you run alive:
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With that a quill of powder,
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she blew up in his nose.
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Then like a Man turn'd antick,
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he presently arose:
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So down the stairs he run straight
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into the open street,
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With hooping and with hollowing,
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to all that he did meet:
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And with aloud voice cryed out,
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I am raised from death to life,
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By virtue of a powder, that
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was given me by my Wife.
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Some Folks that did behold him,
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were in a grievous fear,
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For seeing of a Madman,
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they durst not him come near:
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He leaped and he skipped,
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thorow fair and thorow foul,
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Whilst the People gaz'd upon him,
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like pyee upon an owl:
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His Wife she followed after,
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thorow thick, and thorow thin,
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And with a basting cudgel,
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she soundly bang'd his skin:
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And thus poor Simon cryed out,
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I'm raised from death to life,
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By virtue of a powder that
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was given me by my Wife.
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At last a Friend of Simons,
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which was to him some kin,
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By fair and kind perswasions,
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open'd door and let him in;
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He sent for S'mons Wife, and
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so made them both good friends,
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Who kindly kist each other,
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and so all discord ends:
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The Neighbours all rejoyced,
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to see them thus agree,
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And like a loving couple,
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to bed they went with speed;
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No doubt but Simple Simon,
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that night well pleas'd his Wife,
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For ever since that time, he
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hath liv'd a quiet life.
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