angry women of Abington.
The cunny-borow thou needst must finde:
I tell thee Francis had it bin my case,
And I had bin a woer in thy place,
I would haue laide my head vnto the ground,
And sented out my wenches way like a Hound:
I would haue crept vpon my knees all night,
And haue made the flint stones Linckes to giue me light,
Nay man I would.
I tell thee Francis had it bin my case,
And I had bin a woer in thy place,
I would haue laide my head vnto the ground,
And sented out my wenches way like a Hound:
I would haue crept vpon my knees all night,
And haue made the flint stones Linckes to giue me light,
Nay man I would.
Fran. Good Lord what you would doe,
Well we shall see one day how you can woe.
Well we shall see one day how you can woe.
M. Gor. Come, come, we see that we haue all bin crost.
Exeunt.Therefore lets go, and seeke them we haue lost.
Exeunt.Therefore lets go, and seeke them we haue lost.
Enter Mal. Am I alone? doth not my mother come?
Her torch I see not, which I well might see,
If any way she were comming toward me,
Why then belike shees gone some other way,
And may she go till I bid her turne,
Farre shall her way be then, and little faire,
For she hath hindered me of my good turne,
God send her wet and wearie ere the turne,
I had beene at Oxenford, and to morrow,
Haue beene releast from all my maidens sorrow.
And tasted ioy, had not my mother bin,
God I beseech thee make it her worst sinne,
How many maides this night lyes in their beds,
And dreame that they haue lost their maidenheads,
Such dreames, such slumbers I had to enioyde,
If waking mallice had not them destroide,
A starued man with double death doth dye,
To haue the meate might saue him in his eye,
And may not haue it so am I tormented,
To starue for ioy I see yet am preuented,
Well Franke, although thou woedst and quickly wonne,
Yet shall my loue to thee be neuer done,
Ile run through hedge and ditch, through brakes & briers
To come to thee, sole Lord of my desires,
Short woing is the best, an houre, not yeares,
For long debating loue is full of feares,
But hearke, I heare one tread, o wert my brother,
Or Franke, or any man, but not my mother.
Her torch I see not, which I well might see,
If any way she were comming toward me,
Why then belike shees gone some other way,
And may she go till I bid her turne,
Farre shall her way be then, and little faire,
For she hath hindered me of my good turne,
God send her wet and wearie ere the turne,
I had beene at Oxenford, and to morrow,
Haue beene releast from all my maidens sorrow.
And tasted ioy, had not my mother bin,
God I beseech thee make it her worst sinne,
How many maides this night lyes in their beds,
And dreame that they haue lost their maidenheads,
Such dreames, such slumbers I had to enioyde,
If waking mallice had not them destroide,
A starued man with double death doth dye,
To haue the meate might saue him in his eye,
And may not haue it so am I tormented,
To starue for ioy I see yet am preuented,
Well Franke, although thou woedst and quickly wonne,
Yet shall my loue to thee be neuer done,
Ile run through hedge and ditch, through brakes & briers
To come to thee, sole Lord of my desires,
Short woing is the best, an houre, not yeares,
For long debating loue is full of feares,
But hearke, I heare one tread, o wert my brother,
Or Franke, or any man, but not my mother.
S. Raph.
