The Begger-Boy of the North:
Whose linage and calling to th'world is proclaim'd,
Which is to be sung to a Tune so nam'd.
FRom ancient pedigrée by due descent,
I well can deriue my generation,
Throughout all Christendome and also Kent:
my calling is known both in Terme and Uacation,
My Parents old taught me to be bold,
Ile neuer be daunted what euer is spoken,
Where ere I come my custome I hold,
and cry, Good your worship bestow one token.
In ragged rayments I wander about,
both hot and cold weather I'm arm'd to endure,
Though but a Boy I am sturdy and stout,
a liuing by begging I easily procure:
My skin is made like armour of proofe,
by Sun nor by frost 'twill neuer be broken,
No threatning s
[...]s shall keep me aloofe,
but still I will cry, Good your worship one token.
My Father my Mother, my Gransire and Grannum,
my Uncles, my Aunts, and all my kindred,
Did maund for Loure, casum and pannum,
then wherefore should I from the Trade be hindred
Cat will to kind, the Prouerbe doth say,
'tis pitty old customes should be broken,
Still as I wander along on the way,
Ile cry, good your worship bestow one token.
Although in the Quier-ken I haue been oft,
and by the Rumcoe and the Harmanbecke frighted,
Yet my old Trade I will set aloft,
wherein all my linage haue chiefly delighted,
I haue eat shame, and drunke after she same,
I little regard what to me is spoken,
Loud in the streets my mind I proclaime,
and cry, good your worship bestow one token.
To whet your charity, I haue a tricke,
a tricke said I, nay I haue a hundred,
With a Cap on my head, I can faine to be sicke,
to sée my strange gestures the people haue wondred
I can counterfeit a lame arme or a legge,
and sometimes Ile seeme like one that is broken,
This must he doe that exactly will begge,
and cry, good your worship bestow one token.
I can hold my fingers as though they were lame,
lest people should say I were able to labour,
And vnder a hedge along I can frame,
as though it were writ by the Justices fauour,
From Parish to Parish along as I rome,
my wants in blacke and white are spoken,
Goe where I will I am alwayes at home;
and still I doe cry, good your worship one token.
The second part.
To the same Tune.
THe Crow her own bird doth déem the most faire,
and so doe I of my profession;
If I were adopted a rich mans Heire,
this life of my heart hath tane such possession,
That I should leaue my liuings and lands,
and flee like a Citizen when he is broken,
I cannot abide to worke with my hands,
but still I must cry, good your worship one token.
The richest Miser that liueth this day,
hath not so much ground as I at disposing,
My fields lye open as the high way.
I wrong not the Country by greedy inclosing,
I spend what I get, and get what I spend,
all this for certaine which I haue spoken,
I am no other than what I pretend,
for still doe I cry, good your worship one token.
I am not in debt, there's good reason therefore,
for no man will credit me with halfe a shilling,
And yet if I chance to runne on the skore,
to pay for my booze of all things I am willing,
When I with my Mates at the bouzing ken meet,
our braines with strong liquor soundly are soken,
And when I want lowre then I step unto th' street,
and cry, good your worship bestow one token.
Ith heat of the Summer I lead a fine life,
to walke the green medowes for my recreation,
And when I am old enough to haue a wife.
Ile ioyne with my doxie on the wandring fashion,
Under a hedge I can lye and snort,
by no worldly cares my sleepe is broken,
And now and then I repaire to the Court,
where I doe beg greater g
[...]ts than a token.
All the cold winter I keepe rendeuouse:
in an old spacious barne by beggers frequented,
Or else in the bouzing ken I doe carouse,
and to lib instrummell I am well contented,
I am not proud nor high in conceit,
though some beggers are so as it is spoken;
I care more for drinke than for cloathing or meat,
which makes me cry, good your worship one token.
In the North Countrey I first had my birth:
from whence I came naked vnto
London City,
Where a good fellow compos'd all of mirth,
vpon the poore Boy did take some pitty,
And now he hath cloath'd me in blacke and white,
and mended my rags which before were broken▪
If this my Ditty will yéeld you delight,
I shall thanke you more than I would for a token.
FINIS.
London, printed for F. Grove.