GRIM

It I indeed. Had to be merry withal, had gold enough in his hutch: Chuld vain learn y : come on then, chil give Thee a whole pint of win At Tavern for thy labour, when cham money for my Be nters hear. Mass to begin withal, hear is a trim chair Me thinks after a marvelous fashion you do besmoure me. Here is a gay world, Boys now sets old men to scool , I said well enough, what Jack sauce, thinkest chain a fool It Bake house, Buttery hatch, Ritchin, and Seller; Do they not say for the Kings mouth? What then? sing w to out coals they cannot finely dress y e kings meat, May I not say, take in coals for y e kings mouth, though coals he do not eat? Grim is my name in deed, cham not learned, & yet y e Kings colier This vorty winter cham been to the King a seruiler, Though I be not learned, yet cham mother wit enough whole & some Mass, cham well be set: heres is a trim cast of Murleons What be you my pretty cockerels, that ask me these questions. Are you servants then? Pretty men (ꝙ you) nay, you are strong men, else you could not bear these bri ches. That is but a little, yet it makes Thee seem a great Bug. ay you should find fault, marry heres trim gear, as little knave, dost not sweat, thou goest with great pain, These are no hose, but water bougets, I tell Thee plain: Good for none, but such as have no buttocks. Did you ever see two such little Robin ruddocks, So laden with breeches? chill say no more, lest I offend, Who invented these monsters first, did it to a ghostly end: To have a male, ready to put in other folks stuff, We see this evident by daily prooffe: One preached of late not far hence, in no Pulpit, but in Waayne cart, That spoke enough of this, but for my part, Chil say no more, your own necessity, In the end will force you to find some remedy. Bum troth, but few such roisters come to my years at this day, They be cut off be times, or they have gone half their journey: I will not tell why, let them guess that can, I mean somewhat thereb Father Grim, because you are stirring so early, I have brought you a boul of wine to make you merry. Wine, marry, that is welcome to Colliers, chyl swapt of by & by Chwas stirring so early that my very soul is dry. No, it is warm enough: it is very loustous and trim, 'Tis Musselden ich ween, of fellowship let me have and other spurt, Ich can drink as easily now, as if I sat in my shirt. Ihar vow pledge petty Zawne, What man? iche learned this when ich was a Soldier, When ich was a lusty fellow, and could yerk a whip trimly, Better then these boy Coliers that come to the Court daily: When there were not so many captious fellows as now, That would toruppe men for every trifell. I wot not how: As there was one Damon, not long since, taken for a Spy, How justly I know not, but he was condemned to die. A vengeance take him, it a gentleman, one Master Crowsphus. A murian take thick Wine, it so int icate my brain, That to be hanged by and by, I cannot speak plain. All men are sorry for him, so help me God. They say a false knave cused him to the King wrongfully, And he is gone, and should be here to morrow to die, Or else his fellow which is in prison, his room shall supply: Chil not be his half for vorty shillings, I tell you plain, I think Damon be to w e to return again. No chill warrant you, one master Stippus is in place, Where he may do good, but he frames him self so, Whatsoever Dionisius willeth to that he will not say no: 'Tis a subtle Warrant, he will not tread on thorns for none, A merry Harecop e 'tis and a pleasant companion, A right courtier, and can provide for one. Yes I trow, black Coliers go in thread bore coats, Yet so provide they, that they have the fair white groats: Ich may say in counsel, though all day I moil in dourte, Chill not change lives with any in Dionisius Court: For though their apparel be never so fine, Yet sure their credit is far worse then mine: And by cock I may say, for all their High looks, I know some sticks full deep in Merchants books: And deeper will fallen in, as fame me tells, As long as in steed of Money, they take up Hawks hoods & Bells: Whereby they fallen into a swelling disease, which Coliers do not know Tath a mad name, it is called ich ween, Centum pro cento. Some other in Courts, make others laugh merrily, When they wail and lament their own estate secretly: Friendship is dead in Court, Hypocrisy does reign, Who is in favour now, to morrow is out again: The state is so uncertain, that I by my will, Will never be courtier, but a Colier Still. Coliers get money Still: Tell me of troth, Is not that a trim life now as the world goes? All day, though I toil with main and might, With money in my pouch, I come home merry at night, And fit down in my chair by my wife fair Alison, And turn a Crab in the fire, as merry as Pope John. Who sings in that case sings never in tune I know for my part That a heavy pouch with gold makes a light heart: Of which I have provided for a deer year good store, And these Benters I trow, shall anon get me more. By the Court only I assure you. Nay, there bore me and ace (quod Boulon) I can wear a horn & blow it not Shall I tell you by what lite I God all this money Then ich wear a noddy in deed: no, no, I warrant you, Yet in few words I tell you this one thing, He is a very fool that can not gain by the King. Such knaves have money, when courtiers have none, But tell me, is it true that a broad is blown? Hath the King made those fair Damsels his daughters, To be come now fine and trim Barbers. Good fellows believe me, as the case now stands, I would give one sack of Coals, to be washed at their hands: If ich came so near them, for my wit chould not give three chips, If ich could not steal one swap at their lips. Me seem my head does swim. Does the Kings daughters rub so harden? It may be wholesome, but it is vengeance Sour. Gods aims, 'tis a chopping knife, 'tis no Raysour. Go too then, since you begun, do as please you. Oh your Raysour does hurt my lip. Cham lighter then ich was, the truth to tell. Mass content, but chill be polde first or I sing. Go to then lustily, I will sing in my men voice, Chaue a troubling base buss. Why my fellows think iche am a cow, that you make such tooyin Did she so? 'tis a peslens queen she is full of such mocks But go to, let us sing out our song merely. The Song at the shaving of the Colier. Your shaving does please me, I am now your debtor. Near would I be poled, as near as cham shaven. It is a trim thing to be washed in the Court. Me think ich am lighter then ever ich was. This is trimly done, now chill pitch my coals not far hence, And then at the Tavern chil bestow whole tway pence. I, the poor Colier, that was robbed of late. Two of the Porters men that did shave me. A vengeance take them they are quick carners. As little dapper knaves as they trimly could scoff. Such Lackeys make me lack, and halter beswenge them, am undone they have my Benters too. Yea that I do? I follow mast Tipslafe, they be in the Court it is likely. They be gay Barnikels, yet I see never the better.