MAUDLIN,
The Merchants Daughter of BRISTOL.
To the Tune of, The Maiden's Joy, etc.
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BEhold the touchstone of true love,
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Maudlin the Merchant's daughter of Bristow town,
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Whose firm affection nothing could move,
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her favours bears the lovely brown.
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A gallant youth was dwelling by,
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which many years had born this maiden great goodwill;
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She loved him most faithfully,
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but all her friends withstood it still.
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The young man now perceiving well,
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he could not get nor win the favour of her friends,
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The force of sorrow to expel,
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and view strange countries he intends;
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And now to take his last farewel
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of his true love, his fair and constant Maudlin,
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With musick sweet that did excel,
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he plaid under her window then:
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Farewel, (quoth he) mine own true love,
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farewel my dear, and chiefest treasure of my heart,
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Through fortune's spight that false did prove,
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I am inforc'd from thee to part,
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Into the land of Italy;
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there will I wait and weary out my life in woe,
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Seeing my true love is kept from me,
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I hold my life a mortal foe:
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Fair Bristol town therefore adieu,
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for Padua shall be my habitation now,
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Although my love doth rest in thee,
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to whom alone my heart I vow.
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With trickling tears thus did he sing,
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with sighs and sobs descending from his heart full sore,
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He said when he his hands did wring,
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Farewel, sweet love, forever more.
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Fair Maudlin from a window high,
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beholding her true love with musick where he stood,
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But not a word she did reply,
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fearing her parents angry mood.
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In tears she spent that woful night,
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wishing herself, though naked, with her faithful friend;
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She blames her friends and fortune's spight,
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that wrought her love such luckless end:
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And in her heart she made a vow,
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clean to forsake her country and her kindred all,
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And for to follow her true love,
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to bide all chance that might befal.
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The night is gone, and the day is come,
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and in the morning very early did she rise,
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She gets her down into a lower room,
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where sundry seamen she espies:
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A gallant master among them all,
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the master of a great and goodly ship was he,
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Who there was waiting in the hall,
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to speak with her father, if it might be.
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She kindly takes him by the hand,
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Good sir, said she, and would thou speak with any here?
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Quoth he, Fair maid, and therefore I do stand.
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Then gentle sir, I pray draw near;
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Into a pleasant parlor by,
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both hand in hand she brings the seaman all alone,
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Sighing to him most pitiously,
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she thus to him did make her moan,
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She falls upon her bended knee,
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Good sir, said she, now pity you a woman's woe,
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And prove a faithful friend to me,
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that I to you my grief may show.
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Sith you repose your trust, he said,
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in me, who am unknown, and eke a stranger here,
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Be you assur'd, most proper maid,
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most faithful still I will appear.
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I have a Brother, then quoth she,
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whom as my life I love and favour tenderly,
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In Padua, alas! is he.
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full sick, God wot, and like to die;
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Full fain I would my brother see,
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but that my father will not yield to let me go,
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Therefore, good sir, be good to me,
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and unto me this favour show:
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Some ship boy's garment bring to me,
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that I disguis'd may go unknown,
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And unto sea i'll go with thee,
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if thus much favour might be shown.
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Fair maid (quoth he) take here my hand,
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I will fulfil each thing that you desire,
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And set you safe in that same land,
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and in the place that you require.
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She gave to him a tender kiss,
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and saith, Your Servant, master, I will be,
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And prove your faithful friend for this,
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sweet master, then forget not me.
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This done as they had both agreed,
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soon after that before the break of day,
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He brings her garments then with speed,
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therein herself she did array,
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And e're her father did arise,
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she meets her master as he walked in the hall,
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She did attend on him likewise,
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until her father did him call.
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But e're the merchant made an end
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of those his weighty matters all,
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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 merchant then amaz'd in mind,
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Yonder vile wretch intic'd away my child (quoth he)
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But I well wot I shall him find
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in Padua in Italy.
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With that bespake the master brave,
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Worshipful merchant, thither goes this youth,
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And anything that you would crave,
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he will perform, and write the truth.
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Sweet youth (quoth he) if it be so,
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bear me a letter to the English there,
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And gold on thee I will bestow:
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my daughter's welfare I do fear.
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Her mother took her by the hand,
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Fair youth (quoth she) if e're thou dost my daughter see
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Let me soon thereof understand,
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and there is twenty crowns for thee.
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Thus through the daughter's strange disguise,
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her mother knew not when she spake unto her;
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Then after her master straight she hies,
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taking her leave with countenance mild:
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Thus to the sea sweet Maudlin is gone
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with her gentle master, God send them
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Where we awhile let them alone,
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till you the second part do find.
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The Second PART of Sweet MAUDLIN, to the same Tune.
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WElcome, sweet Maudlin, from the seas,
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where bitter storms and tempest do rise,
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The pleasant banks of Italy,
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you may behold with mortal eyes.
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Thanks gentle master, then said she,
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a faithful friend in sorrow thou hast been;
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If fortune once do smile on me,
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my gentle heart shall soon be seen:
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Blest be the land that feeds my love,
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blest be the place whereas his person doth abide,
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No tryal will I stick to prove,
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whereby my true love may be try'd:
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Now will I walk with joyful heart,
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to view the town whereas my darling doth remain,
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And seek him out in every part,
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until his sight I do obtain.
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And I, quoth he, will not forsake
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sweet Maudlin in her sorrows up and down,
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In wealth or woe thy part I'll take,
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and bring the safe to Padua town:
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And after many weary steps,
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in Padua they arrived at the last,
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For very joy her heart it leaps,
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she thinks not on her sorrow past;
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Condemn'd he was to dye, alas!
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except he would from his religion turn;
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But rather than he would to mass
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in fiery flames he vow'd to burn.
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Now doth sweet Maudlin weep and wail,
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her joy is turn'd to weeping, sorrow, grief and care,
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For nothing could her plaints prevail,
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for death alone must be his share;
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She walks under the prison-walls,
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where her true love did lye and languish in di-stress,
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Then wofully for food he calls,
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when hunger did his heart oppress;
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He sighs and sobs, and makes great moan,
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Farwel sweet-heart forever more,
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And all my friends that have me known,
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in Bristol with wealth and store.
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But most of all, farewel, quoth he,
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my own sweet Maudlin, whom I left behind,
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For never more thou shalt me see,
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woe to thy father most unkind:
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How well I were if thou were here,
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with thy fair hands to close these my wretched eyes,
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My torments easie would appear,
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my soul with joy would scale the skies.
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When Maudlin heard her lover's moan,
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her eyes with tears, her heart with sorrow filled was,
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To speak with him no means was found,
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such grievous doom did on him pas[s].
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Then she put off her lads attire,
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her maiden weeds upon her back she seemly sets,
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To the judge's house she did inquire,
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and there she did a service get:
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She did her duty here so well,
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and eke so prudently she did herself behave,
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With her in love her master fell,
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his servant's favour he doth crave:
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Maudlin, quoth he, my heart's delight,
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to whom my heart in affection is ty'd,
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Breed not my death through thy despight,
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a faithful friend thou shalt me find
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O grant me th[y] love, fair maid, quoth he,
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and at my hands desire what thou canst devise,
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And I will grant it unto thee,
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whereby thy credit may arise.
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I have a brother, sir, quoth she,
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for his religion is now condemn'd to dye,
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In loathsome prison is he cast
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opprest with grief and misery:
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Grant me my brother's life (she said)
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and now to you my love and liking will I give.
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That may not be (quoth he) fair maid,
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except he turn he cannot live:
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An English fryar there is (she said)
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of learning great, and passing pure of life,
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Let him to my brother be sent,
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and he will finish soon the strife.
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Her master granted her request,
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the marriner in fryer's weeds she did array,
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And to her love that lay distrest,
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she did a letter soon convey,
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When he had read these gentle lines,
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his heart was ravished with pleasant joy,
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Where now she is full well he knew,
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the fryer likewise was not coy;
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But did declare to him at large,
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the enterprize his love for him had taken in hand,
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The young man did the fryer charge,
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his love should straight depart the land:
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Here is no place for her (he said)
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but woful death and danger of her life;
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Professing truth I was betraid
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and fearful flames must end the strife,
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For e're I will my faith deny,
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and swear myself to follow damned antichrist,
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I'll yield my body for to dye,
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to live in Heaven with the Highest.
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O sir, the gentle fryer said,
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consent thereto, and end the strife.
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A woful match (quoth he) is made,
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where Christ is left to win a wife.
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When she had us'd all means she might,
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to save his life, and yet all would not be,
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Then of the judge she claim'd her right,
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to d[y]e the death as well as he.
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When no perswasions could prevail,
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nor change her mind in anything that she had said,
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She was with him condemn'd to dye,
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and for them both one fire was made:
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Yea, arm in arm most joyfully,
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these lovers twain unto the fire did go,
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The marriner most faithfully,
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was likewise partner of their woe.
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But when the judges understood,
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the faithful friendship did in them remain,
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They sav'd their lives, and afterwards,
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to England sent them back again.
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Now was their sorrow turn'd to joy,
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and faithful lovers have their hearts desire.
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Their pains so well they did imploy,
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God granted that they did desire,
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And when they did to England come,
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and in merry Bristol arrived at the last,
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Great joy there was to all and some,
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to hear the dangers they had past:
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Her father he was dead, God wot,
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and eke her mother was joyful at her sight,
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Their wishes she denyed not,
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but wedded them to their hearts delight:
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Her gentle master she desired,
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to be her father, and at church to give her then,
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It was fulfilled as she required,
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to the joy of all good men.
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