An excellent BALLAD of GEORGE BARNWELL, an Apprentice in the
City of LONDON, who was Undone by a STRUMPET, who caused him thrice to Rob his
Master, and the Murder his Uncle in Ludlow, etc. To the Tune of, The Merchant, etc.
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ALl Youths of fair England,
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that dwell both far and near,
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Regard my Story that I tell,
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and to my Song give ear,
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A London Lad I was,
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a Merchant's 'Prentice bound,
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My name George Barnwel, that did spend
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my Master many a pound.
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Take heed of Harlots then,
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and their inticing trains,
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For by that means I have been brought
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to hang alive in chains.
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As I upon a day
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was walking through the street,
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About my Master's business,
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I did a Wanton meet,
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A gallant dainty Dame,
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and sumptuous in attire,
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With smiling looks she greeted me,
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and did my name require:
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Which when I had declar'd,
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she gave me then a kiss,
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And said, If I would come to her,
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I should have more than this:
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In faith my Boy (quoth she)
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such news I can you tell,
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As shall rejoyce thy very heart,
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then come where I do dwell.
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Fair Mistress, then said I,
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I the place may know,
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'This evening I will be with you,
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I abroad must go
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'To gather monies in,
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is my Master's due,
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'And e're that I do home return,
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come and visit you.
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Good Barnwel, then (quoth she)
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do thou to Shoreditch come,
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And ask for Mistress Milwood there,
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next door unto the gun;
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And trust me on my truth,
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if thou keep touch with me,
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For thy Friends sake, and as my own heart
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thou shalt right welcome be.
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Than parted we in peace,
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and home I passed right,
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Then went abroad and gathered in,
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by six a clock at night,
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An hundred pound and one,
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with bag under my arm,
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I went to Mistress Milwoods house,
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and thought on little harm:
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And knocking at the door,
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straightway herself came down,
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Rustling in most brave attire,
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her hood and silken gown.
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Who through her beauty bright,
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so gloriously did shine,
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That she amaz'd my dazling eyes,
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she seemed so divine.
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She took me by the hand,
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and with a modest grace,
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Welcome sweet Barnwel, then (quoth she)
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unto this homely place;
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Welcome ten thousand times,
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more welcome then my Brother.
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And better welcome I protest
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than anyone or other:
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And seeing I have thee found
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as good as thy word to be,
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A homely supper e're thou part,
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thou shalt take here with me.
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O pardon me (quoth I)
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Mistress, I you pray,
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'For why, out of my Master's house
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long I dare not stay.
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Alas, good Sir, she said,
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are you so strictly ty'd,
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You may not with your dearest Friend
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one hour or two abide?
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Faith then the case is hard,
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if it be so (quoth she)
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I would I were a Prentice bound,
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to live in house with thee.
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Therefore my sweetest George,
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list well what I do say,
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And do not blame a Woman much,
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her fancy to berway.
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Let not affection's force
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be counted lewd desire,
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Nor think it not immodesty
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I should thy love require.
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With that she turn'd aside,
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and with a blushing red,
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A mournful motion she bewray'd,
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by holding down her head:
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A handkerchief she had
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all wrought with silk and gold,
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Which she to stay her trickling tear
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against her eyes did hold.
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This thing unto my sight
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was wondrous, rare and strange,
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And in my mind and inward thought
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it wrought a sudden change:
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That I so hardy was,
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to take her by the hand,
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Saying, 'Sweet Mistress why do you
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sad and heavy stand?
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Call me no Mistress now,
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but Sarah thy true Friend,
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Thy Servant Sarah, honouring thee
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until her life doth end:
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If thou would'st here alledge
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thou art in years a Boy,
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So was Adonis, yet was he
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fair Venuss Love and Joy.
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Thus I that ne'r before
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of Woman found such grace,
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And seeing now so fair a Dame
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give me a kind imbrace;
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I supt with her that night
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with joys that did abound,
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And for the same paid presently,
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in mony twice three pound:
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An hundred kisses then,
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for my farewel she gave,
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Saying, Sweet Barnwel, when shall I
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again thy company have?
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O stay not too long my Dear,
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sweet George, have me in mind.
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Her words betwicht my childishness,
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she uttered them so kind.
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To that I made a vow,
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next Sunday without fail,
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With my sweet Sarah once again,
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to tell some pleasant tale.
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When she heard me say so,
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the tears fell from her eyes,
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O George, quoth she, if thou dost fail,
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thy Sarah sure will dye.
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Though long, yet loe at last,
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the 'pointed day was come,
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That I must with my Sarah meet
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having a mighty sum
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Of mony in my hand,
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unto her house went I,
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Whereas my Love upon her bed
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in saddest sort did lye:
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'What ails my heart's Delight,
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Sarah dear, quoth I,
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'Let not my Love lament and grieve,
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sighing pine and dye,
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'But tell to me my dearest Friend,
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may thy woes amend,
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'And thou shalt lack no means of help,
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forty pound I spend.
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With that she turn'd her head,
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and sickly thus did say,
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O my sweet George, my grief is great,
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ten pounds I have to pay
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Unto a cruel Wretch,
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and God he knows, quoth she,
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I have it not. Tush rise, quoth he,
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take it here of me;
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'Ten pounds, nor ten times ten
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make my love decay.
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Then from his bag into her lap,
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he cast ten pound straightway.
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All blith and pleasant then,
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to banquetting they go,
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She proffered him to lye with her,
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and said it should be so:
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And after that same time,
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I gave her store of coyn;
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Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once,
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all which I did purloyn.
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And thus I did pass on,
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until my Master then,
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Did call to have his reckoning in
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cast up among his Men.
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The which whenas I heard,
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I knew not what to say,
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For well I knew that I was out
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two hundred pounds that day.
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Then from my Master straight
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I ran in secret sort,
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And unto Sarah Milwood then
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my state I did report.
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But how she us'd this Youth,
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in this his extream need,
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The which did her necessity
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so oft with mony feed;
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The Second Part behold,
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shall tell it forth at large,
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And shall a Strumpet's wily ways,
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with all her tricks discharge.
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The Second PART of George Barnwell, to the same Tune.
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HEre comes young Barnwel unto thee,
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sweet Sarah, my Delight,
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'I am undone except thou stand
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faithful Friend this night:
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'Our Master to command accounts,
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just occasion found,
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'And I am found behind the hand
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two hundred pound:
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'And therefore knowing not at all,
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answer for to make,
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'And his displeasure to escape,
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way to thee I take;
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'Hoping in this extremity,
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wilt my Succour be,
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'That for a time I may remain
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safety here with thee.
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With that she knit and bent her brows,
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and looking all aquoy,
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Quoth she, What should I have to do
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with any 'Prentice-boy?
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And seeing you have purloyn'd and got
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your Master's goods away,
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The case is bad, and therefore here
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I mean thou shalt not stay.
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Why Sweet-heart thou knowst, he said,
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all which I did get,
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'I gave it and did spend it all
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thee every whit:
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'Thou knowst I loved thee so well,
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could'st not ask the thing,
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'But that I did incontinent,
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same unto thee bring.
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Quoth she, Thou art a paultry Jack,
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to charge me in this sort,
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Being a woman of credit good,
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and known of good report:
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And therefore this I tell thee flat,
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be packing with good speed,
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I do defie thee from my heart,
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and scorn thy filthy deed.
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Is this the love and friendship which
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did'st to me protest?
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'Is this the great affection which
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seemed to express?
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'Now fie on all deceitful shows,
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best is I may speed,
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'To get a lodging any-where,
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mony in my need:
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'Therefore false Woman now farewel,
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twenty pound doth last,
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'My anchor in some other haven
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will with wisdom cast.
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When she perceived by his words,
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that he had mony store,
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That she had gall'd him in such sort,
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it grieved her heart full sore:
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Therefore to call him back again,
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she did suppose it best:
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Stay George, quoth she, thou art too quick,
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why Man I do but jest;
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Think'st thou for all my passed speech
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that I would let thee go?
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Faith no, quoth she, my love to thee
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Iwiss is more then so.
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You will not deal with 'Prentice-boys,
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heard you even now swear,
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Therefore I will not trouble you.
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My George hark in thine ear,
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Thou shalt not go tonight, quod she,
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what chance soe're befal,
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But Man we'll have a bed for thee,
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or else the Devil take all.
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Thus I that was with wiles betwicht
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and snar'd with fancy still,
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Had not the power to put away,
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or to withstand her will.
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Then wine and wine I called in,
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and cheer upon good cheer,
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And nothing in the World I thought
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for Sarahs love too dear:
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Whilst I was in her company
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in joy and merriment,
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And all too little I did think,
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that I upon her spent:
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'A fig for care and careful thoughts,
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all my gold is gone,
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'In faith my Girl we will have more,
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it light upon.
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'My Father's rich, why then, quod I,
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I want any gold?
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With a Father indeed, quoth she,
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a Son may well be bold.
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I have a Sister richly wed,
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rob her e're i'll want;
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Why then, quod Sarah, they may well
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consider of your scant.
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Nay more then this, an Uncle I have
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Ludlow he doth dwell,
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'He is a Grasier, which in wealth
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all the rest excel:
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'E're I will live in lack, quoth he,
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have no coyn for thee,
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'I'll rob his house and murder him.
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Why should you not, quoth she:
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E're I would want, were I a Man,
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or live in poor estate,
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On Father, Friends, and all my Kin,
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I would my talons grate:
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For without mony, George, quod she,
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a Man is but a beast,
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And bringing mony thou shalt be
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always my chiefest Guest.
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For say thou should'st pursued be
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with twenty Hues and Crys,
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And with a warrant searched for
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with Argus hundred eyes:
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Yet in my house thou Shalt be safe,
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such privy ways there be,
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That if they sought an hundred years
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they could not find out thee.
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And so carrousing in their cups,
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their pleasures to content,
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George Barnwel had in little space
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his mony wholly spent.
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Which being done, to Ludlow then
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he did provide to go,
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To rob his wealthy Uncle then,
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his Minion would it so;
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And once or twice he thought to take
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his Father by the way,
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But that he thought his Master had
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took order for his stay.
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Directly to his Uncle then
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he rode with might and main,
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Where with welcome and good chear
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he did him entertain:
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A sennight's space he stayed there,
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until it chanced so,
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His Uncle with his cattle did
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unto a market go:
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His Kinsman needs must ride with him,
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and he saw right plain,
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Great store of mony he had took;
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in coming home again,
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Most suddenly within a wood
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he struck his Uncle down,
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And beat his brains out of his head,
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so sore he crackt his crown:
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And fourscore pound in ready coyn
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out of his purse he took,
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And coming into London Town,
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the Country quite forsook:
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To Sarah Milwood then he came,
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shewing his store of gold,
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And how he had his Uncle slain,
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to her he plainly told,
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Tush, it's no matter, George, quod she,
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so we the mony have.
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To have good chear in jolly sort,
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and deck us fine and brave.
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And thus they liv'd in filthy sort,
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till all his store was gone,
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And means to get them any more,
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Iwiss poor George had none.
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And therefore now in railing sort,
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she thrust him out of door,
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Which is the just reward they get,
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that spend upon a Whore.
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'O do me not this foul disgrace,
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this my need, quoth he.
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She called him Thief and Murtherer,
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with all despight might be,
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And to the Constable she went
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to have him apprehended,
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And shew'd in each degree how far
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he had the law offended.
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When Barnwel saw her drift,
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to Sea he got straightway,
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Where fear and dread and conscience sting
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upon himself doth stay:
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Unto the Mayor of London then,
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he did a letter write,
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Wherein his own and Sarahs faults
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he did at large recite.
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Whereby she apprehended was,
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and then to Ludlow sent,
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Where she was judg'd, condemn'd and hang'd
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for murder incontinent,
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And there this gallant Quean did dye,
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this was her greatest gains:
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For murder in Polonia
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was Barnwel hang'd in chains.
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Lo, here's the End of wilful Youth,
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that after Harlots haunt,
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Who in the spoil of other Men,
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about the streets do flaunt.
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