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"Now have I slain him, Tommy Pots,

And given him deaths wounds two or three; O lady sweet, thou art my own;

Of all loves, wilt thou live with me?"

"If thou hast slain him, Tommy Pots,

And given him deaths wounds two or three,

I'le sell the state of my fathers lands,

But hanged shall Lord Phenix be."

With that the lady fell in a swound,

For a grieved woman, God wot, was she;
Lord Phenix he was ready then,
To take her up so hastily.

"O lady sweet, stand thou on thy feet,
Tom Pots alive this day may be;
I'le send for thy father, Lord Arundel,
And he and I the wedding will see.

"I'le send for thy father, Lord Arundel,
And he and I the wedding will see;
If he will not maintain you well,

Both lands and livings you'st have of me.”

"I'le see this wedding," Lord Arundel said, "Of my daughters luck that is so fair; Seeing the matter will be no better,

Of all my lands Tom Pots shall be the heir."

With that the lady began for to smile,
For a glad woman, God wot, was she;

"Now all my maids," the lady said,

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"But all the ladies of Scotland fair,

And lasses of England that well would prove, Neither marry for gold nor goods,

Nor marry for nothing but only love.

"For I had a lover true of my own,

A serving-man of low degree;

Now from Tom Pots I'le change his name,

For the young Lord Arundel he shall be."

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THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER OF BRIS

TOW.

From Collier's Book of Roxburghe Ballads, p. 104.

"THIS narrative ballad, which is full of graceful but unadorned simplicity, is mentioned in Fletcher's Monsieur Thomas, (Act iii. Sc. 3,) by the name of Maudlin the Merchant's Daughter. Two early editions of it are known: one without printer's name, (clearly much older than the other,) is that which we have used; we may conclude that it was written considerably before James I. came to the throne. It was last reprinted in 1738, but in that impression it was much modernized and corrupted."

BEHOLD the touchstone of true love,

Maudlin the Merchant's Daughter of Bristow towne, Whose firme affection nothing could move;

This favour beares the lovely browne.

A gallant youth was dwelling by,

Which many yeares had borne this lady great good will; Shee loved him so faithfully,

But all her friends withstood it still.

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The young man now, perceiving well

He could not get nor win the favour of her friends, 10 The force of sorrow to expell

To view strange countreys hee intends.

And now, to take his last farewell

Of his true love, his faire and constant Maudlen,
With musicke sweete that did excell

Hee plaies under her window then.

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Farewell," quoth he, "mine owne true love,
Farewell, my deare, and chiefest treasure of my
Through fortune's spight, that false did prove,
I am inforc'd from thee to part,

"Into the land of Italy:

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heart!

There wil I waile, and weary out my dayes in wo;
Seeing my true love is kept from mee,

I hold my life a mortal fo.

"Faire Bristow towne, therefore, adieu,
For Padua shall bee my habitation now;
Although my love doth lodge in thee,
To whom alone my heart I vow."

With trickling teares this hee did sing,

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With sighs and sobs descending from his heart full sore: Hee said, when he his hands did wring,

"Farewell, sweet love, for evermore!"

Fair Maudlin, from a window high

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Beholding her true love with musicke where hee stood, But not a word she durst reply,

Fearing her parents angry mood.

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In teares she spent this dolefull night,

Wishing (though naked) with her faithfull friend:
She blames her friends, and fortune's spight,

That wrought their loves such lucklesse end.

And in her heart shee made a vow

Cleane to forsake her country and her kinsfolkes all, And for to follow her true love,

To bide all chance that might befall.

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The night is gone, and the day is come,

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And in the morning very early shee did rise:
She gets her downe in a lower roome,

Where sundrie seamen she espies.

A gallant master amongst them all,

(The master of a faire and goodlie ship was he) Who there stood waiting in the hall,

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To speake with her father, if it might be.

She kindly takes him by the hand:

"Good sir," said shee, "would you speake with any

heere?"

Quoth he, "Faire maid, therefore I stand: "

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Then, gentle sir, I pray you draw neere."

Into a pleasant parlour by,

With hand in hand she brings the seaman all alone;

Sighing to him most piteously,

She thus to him did make her moane.

Shee falls upon her tender knee:

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"Good sir," she said, "now pittie you a woman's woe,

And prove a faithfull friend to me,

That I my griefe to you may shew."

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