A pleasant Song made by a Souldier, whose bringing up had been dainty: and partly by those affections of his unbridled youth, is now beaten with his own rod; and therefore termeth this his Repentance, or, the fall of Folly, To an excellent tune, called, Calino,
IN Summer time when Phoebus rayes
Did chéer each mortall mans delight,
Increasing of the chéerfull dayes,
and cutting of the darksome nights:
When Nature brought forth every thing,
By just return of April showers,
To make the pleasant Branches spring
with sundry sorts of herbs and flowers.
It was my chance to walk abroad,
To view Dame Natures new come brood,
The pretty Birds did lay on load
with sugred tunes in every wood:
The gallant Nightingale did set
Her speckled breast against a Bryer,
Whose mournfull tunes bewail (as yet)
her brother Tereus false desire.
The Serpents having cast their coats,
Lay listning how the Birds did sing,
The pretty Birds with sugred notes.
did welcome in the pleasant Spring:
I drew me to the Gréen-wood side,
To hear this Countrey harmony,
Whereas er'e long I had espy'd
a woful man in misery.
He lay along upon the ground
And to the Heavens he cast his eye,
The bordering Hills and Dales resound
the eccho's of his piteous cry:
He wailing sore, and sighing said,
Oh Heavens what endlesse grief have I?
Why are my sorrows thus delaid?
come therefore death and let me die.
When Nature first had made my frame,
And set me loose when she had done,
Steps Fortune in that fickle Dame,
to end what Nature had begun.
She set my féet upon her knée,
And blest my tender age with store,
But in the end she did agrée
to mar what she had made before.
I could no sooner créep alone:
But she forsook her fostered child,
I had no lands to live upon,
But trac'd abroad the world so wilde.
At length I fell in company
With gallant Youths of Mars his train,
I spent my life in jeopardy,
and got my labour for my pain:
I watched on the sieged walls
In thunder, lightning, rain and snow,
And oft being shot with powdred Balls,
whose costly marks are yet to show.
When all my kindred took their rest
At home in many a stately Bed,
The ground and pavement 'was my nest,
my Flask a pillow for my head:
My meat was such as I could get,
Of Roots and Herbs of sundry sorts,
Which did content my hungry mind,
although my commons were but short.
My powder serv'd to salt my meat,
My Murrion for a gilded Cup,
Whereas such drink as I could get,
In Spring or Ditch I drank it up:
My Rapier alwayes by my side,
My Piece lay charg'd with match & light,
Thus many a month I did abide
to ward all day and watch by night.
I lived in this glorious vain,
Untill my limbs grew stiffe and lame,
And thus I got me home again,
regarding no such costly fame:
When I came home I made a proof
What friends would do if néed should be,
My nearest kinsfolks lookt aloof,
as though they had forgotten me.
And as the Owl by chattering charms
Is wondred at of other Birds,
So they came wondring at my harms,
and yéeld me no relief but words:
Thus do I want while they have store,
That am their equall every way,
Though fortune lent them somwhat more,
else had I béen as good as they.
Come gentle Death and end my grief,
Yée pretty Birds ring forth my knell,
Let Robin red-breast be the chief
to bury me and so farewell.
Let no good Souldier be dismaid
To fight in Field with courage bold,
Yet mark the words that I have said,
trust not to friends when thou art old.
Printed for F. Coles, J. Wright. T. Vere, and W. Gilbertson.
The dolefull Dance and Song of Death; Intituled, Dance after my Pipe. To a pleasant new tune.
CAn you dance the shaking of the Shéets,
a Dance that every one must do?
Can you trim it up with dainty swéets,
and every thing that 'longs thereto?
Make ready then your winding shéet,
And sée how yée can bestir your féet,
For Death is the man that all must méet.
Bring away the Begger and the King,
and every man in his degrée,
Bring away the old and youngest thing,
come all to Death and follow me:
The Courtier with his lofty looks,
The Lawyer with his learned Books,
The Banker with his baiting hooks.
Merchants, have you made your Mart in France,
in Italy, and all about?
Know you not that you and I must dance,
both our heels wrapt in a clout,
What mean you to make your houses gay,
And I must take the tenant away,
And dig for your sake the clods of clay?
T [...]k you on the solemne Sizes past,
[...] suddenly in Oxfordshire
I [...] and made the Iudges all agast,
[...] Iustices that did appeare:
And took both [...] and [...]aram away,
And many a worthy man that day,
And [...] their bodies brought to clay,
Think you that I dare not come to Schools,
where all the cunning Clerks be most?
Take I not away both wise and fools?
and am I not in every Coast?
Assure your selves no creature can
Make death affraid of any man,
Or know my coming where or when.
Where be they yt make their leases strong,
and joyn about them land to land?
Do you make account to live so long,
to have the world come to your hand?
No foolish nowle, for all thy pence,
Full soon thy soul must néeds go hence,
Then who shall toyl for thy defence?
And you that lean on your Ladies Laps,
and lay your heads upon their knée,
Think you for to play with Beautis paps,
and not to come and dance with me?
No, fair Lords and Ladies all,
I will make you come when I do call,
And finde you a Pipe to dance withall.
And you that are busie-headed fools,
to brabble for a pelting straw,
Know you not that I have ready tools
to cut you from your crafty Law?
And you that falsely buy and sell,
And think you make your Markets well,
Must dance with death wheresoe'r you dwel.
Pride must have a pretty shéet, I sée,
for properly she loves to dance,
Come away my wanton wench to me,
as gallantly as your eye doth glance:
And all good fellows that slash and swash
In reds and yellows of revell dash,
I warrant you néed not be so rash.
For I can quickly cool you all,
how hot or stout soever you bée,
Both high and low, both great and small,
I nought do feare your high degrée:
The Ladies faire, the Beldames old,
The Champion stout, the Souldier bold,
Must all with me to earthly mold.
Therefore take time while it is lent,
Prepare with me your selves to dance,
Forget me not, your lives lament,
I come oft-times by sudden chance:
Be ready therefore. watch and pray,
That when my Minstrell Pipe doth play,
You may to Heaven dance the way.
Finis.
Printed for F. Coles, J. VVright, T. Vere, and VV. Gilbertson.