A Handful of Pleasant Delights/The scoffe of a Ladie, as pretie as may be
¶The scoffe of a Ladie, as pretie as may be,
to a yong man that went a wooing:
He went stil about her, and yet he went without her,
because he was so long a dooing.
Ttend thee, go play thee,
Sweet loue I am busie:
my silk and twist is not yet spun:
My Ladie will blame me,
If that she send for me,
and find my worke to be vndun:
How then?
How shall I be set me?
To say loue did let me?
Fie no, it will not fit me,
It were no scuse for me.
[It were no scuse for me.]
¶If loue were attained,
My ioies were vnfained,
my seame and silke wil take no hold:
Oft haue I beene warned,
By others proofe learned:
hote wanton loue soone waxeth cold,
Go now:
I say go pack thee,
Or my needle shal prick thee:
Go seeke out Dame Idle:
More fit for thy bridle,
More fit for thy bridle.
¶Wel worthie of blaming,
For thy long detaining,
all vaine it is that thou hast done:
Best now to be wandring,
Go vaunt of thy winning,
and tell thy Dame what thou hast won:
Say this:
Then say as I bade thee:
That the little dogge Fancie,
Lies chaste without moouing,
And needeth no threatning,
For feare of wel beating.
For feare of wel beating.
¶The boy is gone lurking,
Good Ladies be working,
dispatch a while that we had done,
The tide will not tarrie,
All times it doth varie,
The day doth passe, I see the Sun,
[? One line omitted by the Printer.]
The frost bites faire flowers,
Lets worke at due howres,
Haste, haste, and be merie,
Till our needles be werie.
Till our needles be werie,
¶Now Ladies be merie,
Because you are werie:
leaue worke I say, and get you home,
Your businesse is slacking,
Your louer is packing:
your answer hath cut off his comb.
How then?
The fault was in him sir,
He wooed it so trim sir,
Alas poor seelie fellow,
Make much of thy pillow.
Make much of thy pillow.
Finis.