The first part of the Marchants Daughter of Bristow.
To the tune of, The Maydens joy.
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BEhold the touchstone of true love,
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Maudlin the Marchants daughter of Bristow towne
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Whose firme affection nothing could move:
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Such favour beares the lovely browne.
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A gallant Youth was dwelling by,
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Which many yeeres had borne this Mayden great goodwill:
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She loved him as faythfully,
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But all her friendes withstood it still.
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The Youngman now perceiving well,
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He could not get nor win the favour of her friendes:
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The force of sorrowes to expell,
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To view strange Countries he intendes.
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And now to take his last farewell,
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Of his true love, his faire and constant Maudlin:
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With Musicke sweete that did excell,
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He playes under her window fine.
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Farewell quoth he, my owne true love,
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Farewell my deare & cheefest treasure of my hart:
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Through fortunes spight that false did prove,
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I am inforc't from thee to part.
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Into the land of Italy,
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There will I waste and wearie out my dayes in woe:
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Seeing my true love is kept from me,
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I hold my life a mortall foe.
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Faire Bristow towne therefore adue,
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For Padua must be my habitation now:
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Although my Love doth lodge in thee,
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To whom alone my hart I vow.
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With trickling teares thus did he sing,
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With sighes and sobs descending from his hart ful sore
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He sayth, when he his hands did wring,
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Farewell sweete love forever more.
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Faire Maudlin from a window hie,
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Beholdes her true love with his musicke where he stood
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But not a word she durst reply,
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Fearing her parents angry mood.
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In teares he spendes the dolefull night,
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wishing herselfe (though naked) with her faithful friend
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She blames her friendes and fortunes spight,
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That wrought their loves such luckles end.
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And in her hart she makes a vow,
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Cleane to forsake her countrey and her kinsfolke all,
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And for to follow her true love now,
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To bide all chaunces that might fall.
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The night is gone, and the day is come,
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And in the morning very early doth she arise:
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She gets her downe to the lower roome,
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where sundry Seamen she espies,
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A gallant Maister among them all,
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The Maister of a faire and goodly Ship was he:
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Which there stood waighting in the hall,
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To speake with her father if it might be.
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She kindly takes him by the hand,
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Good sir she sayd, and would you speake with any heere:
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Quoth he faire Mayde therefore I stand.
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Then gentle sir, I pray you come neere.
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Into a pleasant Parlour by,
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With hand in hand she bringes this Seaman all alone:
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Sighing to him most pitteously,
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She thus to him did make her mone.
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She falles upon her tender knee,
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Good sir she sayd, now pitty you a Maydens woe.
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And prove a faythfull friend to me
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That I to you my griefe may shew.
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Sith you repose such trust, he sayd,
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To me that am unknowne, and eke a stranger heere:
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Be you assured proper Mayde,
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Most faythfull still I will appeare.
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I have a brother sir quoth she,
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Whom as my lyfe I love and favour tenderly:
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In Padua alas is he,
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Full sicke God wot, and like to die.
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And faine I would my brother see,
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But that my father will not yeeld to let me goe
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Wherefore good sir be good to me,
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And unto me this favour show.
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Some Ship-boyes garments bring to me,
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That I disguisd may get away from hence unknowne:
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And unto Sea Ile goe with thee,
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If thus much friendshyp may be showne.
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Faire Mayde quoth he take here my hand,
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I will fulfill each thing that now you desire:
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And set you safe in that same Land,
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and in the place where you require.
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Then gives she him a tender kisse,
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And sayth, your servant (gallant Maister) I will be:
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And prove your faythfull friend for this:
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Sweete Maister then forget not me.
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This done, as they had both decreed,
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Soone after, early, even before the breake of day:
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He bringes her garments then with speed,
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Wherein she doth herselfe array.
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And ere her father did arise,
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She meetes her Maister as he walked in the hall:
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She did attend on him likewise,
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Even till her father did him call.
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But ere the Marchant made an end,
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Of all those matters to the Maister he could say:
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His wife came weeping in with speed,
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Saying, our Daughter is gone away.
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The Marchant much amazed in minde,
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Yonder vilde wretch entic't away my child quoth he:
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But well I wot I shall him find
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at Padua in Italie.
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With that bespake the Maister brave,
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Worshipfull Marchant thither goes this pretty youth:
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And anything that you would have,
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He will performe it and write the trueth.
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Sweete youth quoth he, if it be so,
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Beare me a letter to the English Marchants there,
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and gold on thee I will bestow:
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My Daughters welfare I do feare.
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Her Mother takes her by the hand,
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Faire youth quoth she, if there thou dost my daughter see
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Let me thereof soone understand,
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and there is twenty Crownes for thee.
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Thus through the Daughters strange disguise,
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The Mother knew not when she spake unto her child:
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And after her Maister straight she hies,
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Taking her leave with countenance milde.
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Thus to the Sea faire Maudlin is gone,
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With her gentle Maister, God send them a merry wind
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Where we awhile must leave them alone,
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Till you the second part do finde.
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