The witty vvesterne lasse: or, You maids, that with your friends whole nights have spent, beware back-fallings, for feare of the event. To a new tune, called The begger boy. Guy, Robert, writer of ballads. 1635 Approx. 5 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2009-10 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). B00115 STC 12548 Interim Tract Supplement Guide C.20.f.7[450] 99884551 ocm99884551 183155

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. B00115) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 183155) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books; Tract supplement ; A5:1[239]) The witty vvesterne lasse: or, You maids, that with your friends whole nights have spent, beware back-fallings, for feare of the event. To a new tune, called The begger boy. Guy, Robert, writer of ballads. 1 sheet ([1] p.) : ill. For I.W., Printed at London : [ca. 1635?] Verse: "Sweet Lucina lend my thy aid ..." Signed: Robert Guy. Publication date suggested by STC. In two parts, separated for mounting; woodcuts at head of each part. Reproduction of original in the British Library.

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 eng Ballads, English -- 17th century. 2008-08 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-10 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2008-11 Sampled and proofread 2008-11 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2009-02 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
The witty VVeſterne Laſſe: OR, You Maids, that with your friends whole nights have ſpent, Beware back-fallings, for feare of the event. To a new tune, called the Begger Boy.

SWéet Lucina lend me thy aid, thou art my helper and no other, Pitty the ſtate of a Téeming Maid, that never was Wife, yet muſt be a Mother: By my preſage it ſhould be a Boy, that thus lyes tumbling in my belly, Yéeld me ſome eaſe to cure my annoy, and lift to the griefe I now ſhall tell ye. I was beloued every where, and much admired for my beauty, Young men though • they happy were, who beſt to me could ſhew their duty: But now alack, paind in my back, and cruell gripings in my belly, Doe force me to cry, O ſick am I, I feare I ſhall die, alack, and welly. Inſtead of mirth now may I wéepe, and ſadly for to ſit lamenting, Since he I loued, no faith doth kéepe, nor ſéekes no meanes for my contenting: But all regardleſſe of my mone, or that lies tumbling in my belly, He into Sweathland now is gone, and left me to cry, alack, and welly. It doth the Prouerbe verifie, folly it were to complaine me, Thoſe that deſired my company, ſcornfully they now they diſdaine me: Wanting his ſight, was my delight, and cruell gripings in my belly, Doe force me to cry, O ſick am I, I feare I ſhall die, alack, and welly. Thus am I to the World a ſcorne, my deareſt friends will not come nigh me: Shall I then for his abſence mourne, that for his deareſt doth deny me? No, no, no, I will not doe ſo, with patience I my griefe will ſmother, And as he hath coozened me, ſo will I by cunning gull another. Incontinent to Troynovant, for my content Ile thither hie me, Where priuately, from company, obſcurely Ile lye, where none ſhall deſcry me: And when I am eaſed of my paine, and cruell gripings in my belly, I for a Maid will paſſe againe, and néed not to cry, alack, and welly.
The ſecond part, To the ſame tune.

SOme Tradeſ-man there I will deceiue, by my modeſty and carriage, And I will ſo my ſelfe behaue, as by ſome trick to get a Marriage: And when I am married, I will ſo carry it, as none ſhall know it by my belly, That euer I haue formerly had cauſe to cry, alack, and welly. And if he be a Husband kind, Ile true and conſtant be vnto him: Obedient ſtill he ſhall me find, with good reſpect Ile duty owe him: But if he crabbed be, and croſſe, and baſely beat me, back and belly, As Vulcans Knight, Ile fit him right, and ſcorne to cry, alack, and welly. A ſecret friend Ile kéepe in ſtore, for my content and delectation, And now and then in the Taverne rore, with jouiall Gallants, men of faſhion: Sacke, or Claret, I will call for it, Ile ſcorne to want, or pinch my belly, But merry will be in company, no more I will cry, alack, and welly. And if I cannot to my mind a Huſband get, that will maintaine me, Ile ſhew my ſelfe to each man kind, in hope, that it ſome love will gaine me: But yet ſo warie I will be, Ile ſhun from ought may wrong my belly, Through miſery, to cauſe me cry, as formerly, alack, and welly. Had he I lov'd, but conſtant prou'd, and not haue béene to me deceitfull, No ſubtill Sinon ſhould haue mou'd me to theſe odious courſes hatefull: But ſince that he proues falſe to me, not pittying that is in my belly, No more I will grieu • , but merry will be, and cry no more, alack, and welly. With reſolution firmely bent, Ile caſt off care and melancholly, Sorrow and griefe, and diſcontent: to fret, and vexe, it is but a folly, Or ſéeke by woe to ouerthrow, or wrong the firſt fruits of my belly: No, no, no, no, Ile not doe ſo, no more will I cry, alack, and welly.
Robert Guy. FINIS.

Printed at London for I.W.