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The first part of the faire widow of Watling street & her 3. daughters, & how her wicked sonne
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accused her to be a harlot, & his sisters bastards, only to deceive them of their portions. To the tune of Bragandary.
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OF the kind Widdow of Watling street
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I will the story tell:
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Who by her husband deere was left,
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in substance rich and well.
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A prodigall sonne, likewise had she,
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And faire yong daughters lovely three.
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Great misery, sorrow and misery,
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Commeth for want of grace.
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For by his dayly practises,
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which were both lewd and ill:
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His Fathers hart from him was drawne,
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his love and his goodwill.
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But yet what chance so ere befell,
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His mother loved him deerely well.
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When he in prison lay full poore,
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for debt which he did owe:
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His Father would not stur out of doore,
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for to release his woe.
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But when his mother his griefe did see,
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She found the meanes to set him free:
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And when her husband fell full sick,
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and went to make his will:
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O husband remember your sonne she said,
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although he hath beene ill:
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But yet no doubt he may returne,
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Repenting the evill that he hath done.
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Remember wife, what sorrow and care,
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through him I dayly found:
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Who through his lewd ungratious deeds,
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hath spent me many a pound.
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And therefore let him sinke or swim,
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I meane not for to deale with him.
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And therefore sole Executor here,
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I do thee onely make:
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To pay the debts and Legacies,
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the rest unto thee take.
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Not so my husband deare quoth she,
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But let your sonne be joynd with me.
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For why, he is our child she said,
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we can it not deny,
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The first that ever graced you,
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with fathers dignity.
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O if that ever you did me love,
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graunt this request for his behove.
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Thy love deere wife was evermore,
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most precious unto me:
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And therefore for thy sweet loves sake,
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I graunt thy sune to thee.
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But ere the yeare is fully spent,
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I know thou wilt the same repent.
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Now was his sonne received home,
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and with his Mother deere:
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Was joyn'd Executor of the Will,
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which did his courage cheare.
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The old man dying, buryed was,
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But now behold what came to passe.
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the funeral being ended quite,
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it fel upon a day
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Some friends did fetch the widdow foorth,
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to drive conceits away.
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While she was forth, and thought no ill,
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Her wicked sonne doth worke his will.
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possession of the house he took
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in most despitful wise
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Throwing his sisters out of dores:
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with sad lamenting cryes,
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When this they did his mother show,
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She would not beleeve he would do so.
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But when she came unto her house,
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and found it true indeed.
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she cald unto her son & said,
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althogh her hart did bleed
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Come down my sonne, come downe quod she,
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Let in thy mother and sisters three.
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I will not let in my Mother he said,
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nor sisters any one:
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The house is mine, I will it keepe,
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therefore away be gone,
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O sonne canst thou indure to see't,
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Thy Mother and sisters to lie in the streete.
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Did not thy Father by his will,
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for terme of this my life,
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give me this house for to enjoy,
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without al fur-ther strife,
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And more, of all his goods quoth she,
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I am Executor joynd with thee.
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My father left you the house he said,
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but this was his intent:
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That you therefore, during your life,
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should pay me yearely rent.
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A hundred pound a yeare therefore,
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You shall me give, or give it ore.
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And sith the Citties custome is,
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that you the thirds must have:
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Of all my fathers moveables,
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I graunt what Law doth crave,
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But not a peny more will I,
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Discharge of any Legasie,
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O wicked sonne (quoth she) that seekes,
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thy mother thus to fleece,
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Thy Father to his daughters gave,
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three hundred pound apeece.
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Tell me who shall their porcions pay,
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Appointed at their Marriage day.
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Then with a scornefull smile he said,
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what talke you of so much,
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Ten pound apeece I will them give,
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my charitie is such.
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Now fie upon thee beast quoth she,
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That thus doth deale with them and me.
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But ere that they and I will take,
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this injury at thy hand,
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The chiefest peeres of England shall,
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the matter understand.
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Nay if you go to that, quoth he,
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Marke well what I shall tell to thee.
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Thou hast a secret Harlot bin,
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and this ile prove full plaine,
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That in my fatheres lifetime did,
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lewd Ruffians entertaine:
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The which did then beget of thee,
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In wicked sort these bastards three.
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No daughters to my father then,
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were they in any wise,
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As he supposd them for to be,
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thou blinding so his eyes,
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Therefore no right at all have they,
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to any peny given this day.
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When she did heare her shameles sonne,
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for to defame her so,
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She with her lovely daughters three,
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with griefe away did goe,
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But how this matter forth did fall,
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the second part shall shew you all.
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Great misery, sorow, etc.
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