For his glory "to him" so pleasant did seem, That he thought it to be but a meer golden dream; Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he sought For a pardon, as fearing he had set him at nought; But his highness he said, Thou 'rt a jolly bold blade, Such a frolick before I think never was plaid. Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak, Which he gave for the sake of this frolicksome joak; Nay, and five-hundred pound, with ten acres of ground, Thou shalt never, said he, range the counteries round, Crying old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good friend, Nay, and Joan thy sweet wife shall my duchess attend. Then the tinker reply'd, What! must Joan my sweet bride Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride? Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at command? Then I shall be a squire I well understand: Well I thank your good grace, and your love I embrace, I was never before in so happy a case. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE KNIGHT & SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER There was a shepherd's daughter Came tripping on the waye; And there by chance a knighte shee mett, Which caused her to staye. Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide, These words pronounced hee: O I shall dye this daye, he sayd, If Ive not my wille of thee. The Lord forbid, the maide replyde, That you shold waxe so wode! "But for all that shee could do or saye, He wold not be withstood." Sith you have had your wille of mee, And put me to open shame, Now, if you are a courteous knighte, Tell me what is your name? Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart, And some do call mee Jille; But when I come to the kings faire courte They call me Wilfulle Wille. He sett his foot into the stirrup, And awaye then he did ride; She tuckt her girdle about her middle, And ranne close by his side. But when she came to the brode water, She sett her brest and swamme; And when she was got out againe, She tooke to her heels and ranne. He never was the courteous knighte, To saye, faire maide, will ye ride? "And she was ever too loving a maide To saye, sir knighte abide." When she came to the kings faire courte, She knocked at the ring; So readye was the king himself To let this faire maide in. Now Christ you save, my gracious liege, Now Christ you save and see, You have a knighte within your courte, This daye hath robbed mee. What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart? Of purple or of pall? Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring From off thy finger small? He hath not robbed mee, my liege, Of purple nor of pall: But he hath gotten my maiden head, Which grieves mee worst of all. Now if he be a batchelor, His bodye He give to thee; But if he be a married man, High hanged he shall bee.