The country-mans lamentation for the death of his cow.
Reading edition
A Country Swain, of little wit, one day, Did kill his Cow, because she went astray: What's that to I or You, she was his own, But now the Ass for his Cow doth moan: Most piteously methink he cries in vain, For now his Cow's free from hunger and pain: What ails the fool to make so great a stir, She cannot come to him, he may to her.
To a pleasant Country Tune, called Colly my Cow.
[66.]Little Tom Dogget what dost thou mean, To kill thy poor Colly, now she's so lean: Sing Oh poor Colly, Colly my Cow, For Colly will give me no more milk now. Pruh high, pruh hoe, Pruh high, pruh, hoe, Pruh, Pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, Tal lal daw. I had better have kept her, till fatter she had been, For now I confess, she's a little too lean: Sing Oh &c— First in comes the Tanner, with his Sword by his side, And he bids me five Shillings, for my Cow's Hide: Sing Oh &c Then in comes the Tallow Chandler, whose brains were but shallow, And he bids me two and Six-pence, for my Cows Tallow: Sing Oh &c Then in comes the Huntsman so early in the Morn, He bid me a Penny for my Cow's horn: Sing Oh &c Then in comes the Tripe-Woman so fine and so neat, She bid me three halfpence for my Cow's feet; Sing Oh &c— Then in comes the Butcher that nimble tongu'd Youth Who said she was Carrion, but he spoke not the truth: Sing Oh &c This Cow had a Skin was as soft as the silk, And three times a day my poor Cow would give Milk: Sing Oh &c— She every year a fine Calf me did bring, Which fetcht me a pound, for it came in the spring: Sing Oh &c But now I have kill'd her, I can't her recall, I will sell my poor Colly, hide, horns and all: Sing Oh &c The Butcher shall have her, though he gives but a pound; And he knows in his heart that my Colly was sound; Sing Oh &c And when he has bought her, let him sell all together, The flesh for to eat, and the hide for leather: Sing Oh &c—
FINIS.
Printed for C. Passinger, at the seven stars in the New Buildings on London-bridge—
[17.] A Miser having a sheep stolen from him, by a poor man, would needs send him to Prison, saying there was not so damn'd a Rogue in the World; Pray, Sir, said he, remember yourself, and be good to me—
[12.]A Glass, when a G Is took away, I.C. Is a Lass, I mean of the Game, Put L too away, What is't then, I pray, Why, an Ass, and you are the same.
[4.] A Nobleman having a mind to be merry, sent for his Chaplain, and told him, That, unless he could resolve him these three Questions, he should be discarded, and turn'd out of his Service; but if he cou'd, he shou'd have Thirty Guinneys, and the best Horse in his Stable; So he propos'd the Questions to him, which were these; First, what compass the World was about? Secondly, How deep the Sea was? And Thirdly, What he thought? The Poor Chaplain was in a peck of Troubles, and did not know how to answer them, or what to say, thinking them very unreasonable Questions; so that all he could do was to desire a little time to consider upon them, which the Earl granted. So he going along the Fields one day very melancholy, a Cobler of the Town, a Merry Fellow (who was very like the Chaplain, both in Physiognomy and Stature) met him, and ask'd him the reason of his sadness; which with some Reluctancy he told him: O Sir, says the Cobler, don't be dejected, chear up; I've thought of a device to save your Place, and get you the Money and Horse too; but you shall give me Ten Guinneys for my pains. So he agreed to't; and it was thus: Says he, I'll put on your Cloaths, and go to My Lord, and answer his Questions. Accordingly he went, and when he came before him, he answer'd him thus: To the first Question, What Compass the World was about? He answered, It was four and twenty hours Journey; and if a man could keep pace with the Sun, he could easily go it in that time. To the Second, How deep the Sea was? He answer'd Only a stone's throw; for cast it into the deepest place of it, and in time it will come to the bottom. To the third (which I fancy your Lordship thinks the most difficult to be resolv'd, but is indeed the easiest) which is; What your Lordship thinks? I answer, That you think I am your Chaplain, when as indeed I am but the Cobler of Gloucester. The Nobleman was so pleas'd with his witty Answers, that he perform'd his Promise to his Chaplain, and gave the Cobler Ten Guinneys for his Ingenuity.
[51.]An aged Gentleman sore sick did lie, Expecting life, that could not chuse but die: His Foole came to him, and intreated thus. Good Maister, ere you goe away from us, Bestowe on Jacke (that oft hath made you laffe) Against he waxeth old, your Walking-Staffe,— I will, (quoth he) goe take it, there it is: But on condition, Jacke, which shall be this, If thou doe meete with any while thou live, More foole than thou, the Staffe thou shalt him give. Maister, (sayd he) upon my life I will; But I doe hope that I shall keepe it still. When Death drew neere, and faintness did proceed, His Maister called for a Devine with speed, For to prepare him unto Heaven's way. The Foole starts up, and hastily did say, Oh Maister, Maister, take your Staffe againe, That proove your selfe the most Foole of us twaine; Have you now liv'd some foure-score yeares and odd, And all this time, are unprepared for God: What greater Foole can any meete withall, Than one that's ready in the Grave to fall, And is to seeke about his soules estate, When Death is op'ning of the Prison Gate? Beare Witnesse friends, that I discharge me plaine; Heere Maister, heere, receive your Staffe againe: Upon the same condition I did take it, According as you will'd me, I forsake it: And over and above, I will bestow, This Epitaph, which shall your folly show. Heere lyes a man, at death did Heaven clayme, But in his life, he never sought the same.
[12.]A man found his Wife To be idle all her Life, Then he beat her very sore; I did nothing, says she, I know it, says he, Which makes me to beat you therefore.
[32.] What is that no man would have, and yet when he hath it, will not forgoe it?
Solution. It is a broken head, or such like, for no man would gladly have a broken head, and yet when he hath it, he would be loth to loose his head, though it be broken.
[5.]To be indebted is a shame men say Then 'tis confessing of a shame to pay.
On a certaine present sent from an Archbishop to his friend.
[67.]Mittitur in Disco, mihi Piscis ab Archiepisco Po non ponetur, quia potum non mihi detur.
Englished thus.
There was in a dish, sent me a fish, from an Arch bish Hop I will not put heere, because hee sent me noe beere.