172
Tixall Poetry.
For when he foil'd him,
Feld him,
Kill'd him,
Who can expresse my griefe that beheld him.
Raging, I tore my haire for to bind him,
And vow'd and swore ide nere stay behind him.
Feld him,
Kill'd him,
Who can expresse my griefe that beheld him.
Raging, I tore my haire for to bind him,
And vow'd and swore ide nere stay behind him.
XLIX.
A Ballad.
1.Come, lasses and lads,
Take leave of your dads,
And away to the maypole high;
For every hee,
Hath got him a shee,
And a minstrill standing by.
Will hath got a gill,
And John hath got a Joan,
To jig it, jig it, jig it, jig it, jig it up and downe.
Take leave of your dads,
And away to the maypole high;
For every hee,
Hath got him a shee,
And a minstrill standing by.
Will hath got a gill,
And John hath got a Joan,
To jig it, jig it, jig it, jig it, jig it up and downe.
