I have been in Westminster Hall, Where learned lawyers plead, And shown my bill among them all, Which when they see and read, My action quickly hath been tried, No party there my suit denied, Each one spake bravely on my side, But God a mercy penny.

SECOND PART.

The famous abbey I have seen,
And have the pictures viewed
Of many a noble king and queen,
Which are by death subdued.
And having seen the sights most rare,
The watermen full ready were,
Me o'er the river Thames to bear,
But God a mercy penny.

Bear Garden, when I do frequent,
Or the Globe on the Bank-side,
They afford to me most rare content,
As I full oft have tried:

The best pastime that they can make,
They instantly will undertake,
For my delight and pleasure sake,

But God a mercy penny.

In every place whereas I came,
Both I and my sweet penny
Got entertainment in the same,
And got the love of many,

Both tapsters, cooks, and vintners fine,
With other jovial friends of mine,
Will pledge my health in beer or wine,
But God a mercy penny.

Good fellows company I used,
As also honest women,

The painted drabs I still refus'd,

And wenches that are common;

Their luring looks I do despise,

They seem so loathsome in my eyes, Yet one a project did devise To gull me of my penny.

One evening as I past along,
A lass with borrow'd hair
Was singing of a tempting song,
Kind Sir, quoth she, draw near,
But he that bites this rotten crab,

May after chance to catch the scab, No pandar, bawd, nor painted drab Shall gull me of a penny.

But curled hair and painted face

I ever have refrained,

All those that get their living base,

In heart I have disdained,

My conscience is not stain'd with pitch,
No tempting tongue shall me bewitch,
I'll make no punck nor pandar rich,
I'll rather keep my penny.

Yet will I never niggard be,
While I remain in earth,
But spend my money frolickly

In friendship, love, and mirth;
I'll drink my beer, I'll pay my score,

And eke dispense some of my store,
And to the needy and the poor,
I'll freely give my penny.

Thus to conclude as I began
I wholly am inclin'd,
Wishing that each true hearted man,
A faithful friend may find:
You that my verses stay to hear,

Draw money for to buy me beer,

The price of it is not too dear,

"T will cost you but a penny.

LXXVII.

"A NEW BALLAD,

INTITULED,

A Warning to Youth, shewing the lewd life of a Marchant's Sonne of London, and the miserie that at the last he sustained by his notoriousnesse."

To the tune of Lord Darley.

[From a black letter copy printed for the Assigns of Symcocke.]

IN London dwelt a merchant man,

That left unto his son

A thousand pounds in land a year,
To spend when he was gone:

With coffers cramm'd with golden crowns,

Most like a father kind,

To have him follow his own steps,

And bear the self same mind.

Thus every man doth know, doth know, And his beginning see,

But none so wise can shew, can shew, What will his ending be.

No sooner was his father dead,

And closed in his

grave,

But this his wild and wanton son,
His mind to lewdness gave.

And being but of tender years
Found out such company,
Which prov'd his fatal overthrow,
And final misery.

In gluttony and drunkenness
He daily took delight,

And still in strumpet's company
He spent the silent night,

Forgetting quite that drunkenness,
And filthy lechery,

Of all the sins will soonest bring
A man to misery.

Within the seas of wanton love,
His heart was drowned so deep,

A night he could not quietly
Without strange women sleep.