An excellent medley, which you may admire at (without offense) for every line speaks a contrary sense. The tune is, Tarletons Medley.. 1630 Approx. 7 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). B00490 STC 19231.5 ESTC S94598 54532427 ocm 54532427 180850

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. B00490) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 180850) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 2140:12) An excellent medley, which you may admire at (without offense) for every line speaks a contrary sense. The tune is, Tarletons Medley.. 1 sheet ([1] p.) : ill. For F. Grove., Printed at London : [ca. 1630]. Date of publication from STC (2nd ed.). Contains two illustrations. Right half of sheet contains: The second part, to the same tune. Reproduction of original in: University of Glasgow. Library.

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 eng Ballads, English -- 17th century. Broadsides -- England -- London -- 17th century. 2008-08 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-10 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2008-12 Sampled and proofread 2008-12 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2009-02 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
An excellent Medley, Which you may admire at (without offence) For every line ſpeakes a contrary fence. The Tune is, Tarletons Medley.

IN Summer time when folks make Hay, All is not true that people ſay, The Fool's the wiſeſt in the Play, tuſh take away your hand. The Fidlers boy hath broke his Baſe, Sirs is it not a pitteous caſe, Moſt gallants loath to ſmell the Mace, of Woodſtreet. The City followes courtly pride, Ione ſweares ſhe cannot Iohn abide, Dicke weares a Dagger by his ſide, come tell us what's to pay. The Lawyers thrives by others fall, The weakeſt alwayes goes to th'wall, The Shoomaker commandeth all at's pleaſure. The Weaver prayes for Huſwiues ſtore, A pretty woman was Iane Shore, Kicke the baſe Raſcall out oth doore, peace, peace, you brawling curres. A Couckolds band weares out behind, 'Tis eaſie to beguild the blind, All people are not of one mind, hold Carman. Our women cut their haire like men, The Cock's ore-maſtred by the Hen. There's hardly one good friend in ten, turne there on the right hand: But few regard the cryes o'th poore, Will ſpendeth all upon a whore, The Souldier longeth to go o're, brave knocking. What ſhall we doe in theſe ſad dayes? Will not the wicked mend their wayes, Some looſe their lives in drunken frayes, the pudding burnes to th'pot: The Cooper ſayes the Tub's be piſt, The Cobler preaches what he liſt, Their knavery now is manifeſt, hold halter. When the fifth Henry ſail'd to France, Let me alone for a Country dance, Nell doth bewaile her luckleſſe chance, fie on falſe hearted men: Dicke Tarleton was a merry wagge, Harke how that prating Aſſe doth bragge. Iohn Dorv ſold his ambling Nagge, for Kick-ſhawes. The Saylor counts the Ship his houſe, Ile ſay no more but Duns the Mouſe, He is no man that ſcornes a Louſe, vaine pride undoes the Land: Hard-hearted men makes Corne ſo deare, Few French-men love well Engliſh Béere I hope ere long good newes to heare, hey Luſtick, Now Hides are cheape, the Tanner thrives, Hang thoſe baſe knaves that beat their wives He néeds muſt go whom the Devill drives, God bleſſe us from a Gun: The Beadles make the lame to runne, Vaunt not before the battel's wonne, A Cloud ſometimes may hide the ſunne, chance medley.
The ſecond part, To the ſame Tune.

THe Surgeon thrives by fencing ſchooles, Some for ſtrong liquor pawn their tooles, For one wiſe man there's twenty fooles, oh when ſhall we be married? In time of youth when I was wilde, Who toucheth pitch ſhall be defild, Mol is afraid that ſhe's with child, peace Peter. The poore ſtill hopes for better dayes, I doe not love theſe long delayes, All love and charity decayes, in the dayes of old: I'me very loath to pawn my cloak, Méere poverty doth me provoke, They ſay a ſcald head is ſoon broke, poore trading. Harke, mother harke, there's newes in town, What tell you me of halfe a Crowne, Now the Exciſe is going downe, thou prateſt like an Aſſe: I ſcorne the coyne give me the man, Pray pledge the health Sir, I began, I love King Charles ſay what you can, God ſave him. The Dutch-men thrive by Sea and Land, Women are Ships and muſt be man'd, Let's bravely to our colours ſtand, Courage my hearts of Gold: I read in modern Hiſtories, The King of Swedens victories, At Iſlington there's Pudding Pyes, hot Cuſtards. The Tapſter is undon by Chalk, Tuſh tis in vaine to prate and talke, The Parrat prattles, walke knaves, walke Duke Humpher • lies in Paules: The ſouldiers hath but ſmall regard; There's wéekly newes in Pauls-Church Yard, The poore man cries the world grows hard, cold winter. Heigh for New-England, hoyſe up ſaile, The truth is ſtrong and will prevaile, Fill me a cup of nappy Ale, hang care, the King's a comming, This Egge hath long a hatching bin, When you have done then wée'll begin, Oh what an age do we live in. hang pinching. From Long-lane cloath, & Turn-ſtile boots, O fie upon theſe ſcabbed Cootes, The cheapeſt meat is Reddiſh roots, come, all for a penny: Light my Tobacco quickly here, There lies a pretty woman néere, This Boy will come to naught I feare, proud Coxcombe. The world is full of odious ſins, 'Tis ten to one but this Horſe wins, Fools ſet ſtools to break wiſe mens ſhins, This man's more knave then foole, Iane oft in private méets with Tom, Huſband thou art kindly welcome home, Haſt any money? lend me ſome, I'me broken. In ancient times all things were cheap, 'Tis good to look before you leap, When Corn is ripe, 'tis time to reap, once walking by the way. A iealous man the Cuckow loathes, The Gallant complements with Oathes, A wench will make you ſell your cloathes, runne Broker. The Courtiers and the Country man, Let's live as honeſt as we can, When Arthur firſt in Court began, his men wore hanging ſléeves. In May when Graſſe and Flowers green, The ſtrangeſt ſight that ere was ſeen, God ſend our graciou Kings and Queen to London.
FINIS.

Printed at London for F. Grove.