NIGHTINGALE

Heigh, now the Fayre's a filling! Oh, for a Tune to startle The Birds o'the Booths here billing Yearly with old Saint Barthle! The Drunkards they are wading, The Punques, and Chapmen trading; Who'ld see the Fair without his lading? Buy any ballads; new ballads? How now Vrsla ? in a heat, in a heat? Alas, good Ur's ; was Zekiel here this morning? Zekiel Edgeworth, the civil cutpurse, you know him well enough; he that talks bawdy to you still: I call him my See cretary. When he comes, bid him stay: I'll be back again pre sently. Nay, Vrsla, thou'lt gall between the tongue and the teeth, with fretting, now. Ballads, Ballads! fine new ballads: Hear for your love, and buy for your money. A delicate ballad of the Ferret and the Coney. A preservative again the Punques evil. Another of Goose-greene-starch, and the Devil. A dozen of divine points, and the Godly garters. The Faring of good council, of and ell and three quarters. What is't you buy? The Windmill blown down by the witches fart! Or Saint George, that Oh! did break the Dragons heart! Oh my Secretary! what says my Secretary? We shall have a quarrel presently. I faith, when the pan came, they had made you run else. (this had been a fine time for purchase, if you had ven tur.) My Master's and friends, and good people, draw near, &c. Sir, this is a spell against them, spick and span new; and it's made as 'twere in mine own person, and I sing it in mine own defence. But it'll cost a penny alone, if you buy it. It was intended Sir, as if a purse should chance to be cut in my presence, now, I may be blameless, though: as by the see quell, will more plainly appear. To the tune of Paggingtons Pound, Sir. It is a gentle admonition, you must know, Sir, both to the purse-cutter, and the purse-bearer. My Master's and friends, and good people draw near, And look to your purses, for that I do say; And though little money, in them you do bear. It cost more to get, then to loose in a day. It hath been upbraided to men of my trade, That oft ̄ times we are the cause of this crime. At Worc'ter it's known well, and even i'the Jail, A Knight of good worship did there show his face, Against the foul sinners, in zeal for to rail, And lost (ipso facto) his purse in the place. At Plays and at Sermons, and at the Sessions, It's daily their practice such booty to make: Yea, under the Gallows, at Executions, They stick not the Stare-abouts purses to take. Nay one without-grace, at a better place, But Oh, you vile nation of cutpurses all, Relent and repent, and amend and be found, Edgworth gets up to him, and tickles him in the care with a straw twice to draw his hand out of his pocket. And know that you ought not, by honest men's fallen, Advance your own Fortune's, to die above ground, And though you go gay, In silks as you may, It is not the high way to heaven, (as they say) Repent then, repent you, for better, for worse: And kiss not the Gallows for cutting a purse. Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy Nurse, Then live to be hanged for cutting a purse. I hope you suspect not me, Sir. A madman that haunts the Fair, do you not know him? it's marvel he has not more followers, after his ragged heals. Yes, and agreed for his basket of pears; he is at the corner here, ready. And your Prize, he comes down, sailing, that way, all alone; without his Protector: he is rid of him, it seems. Wh, wh, wh, wh, &c. A new tune, I am practising, Sir. Cokes falls a scrambling whilst they run away with his things. Let me hold your sword, Sir, it troubles you. Would he had another purse to cut, Zekiel. His soul is half way out on's body, at the game. He has stolen gammar Vrsla's pan.