DITTY. Come, new books, new books; newly printed and newly come forth! All sorts of ballads and pleasant books! _The Famous History of Tom Thumb_ and _Unfortunate Jack_,[239] _A Hundred Godly Lessons_, and _Alas, poor Scholar, whither wilt thou go? The second part of Mother Shipton's Prophecies, newly made by a gentleman of good quality_, foretelling what was done four hundred years ago, and _A Pleasant Ballad of a bloody fight seen i' th' air_, which, the astrologers say, portends scarcity of fowl this year. [_Sings a ballad._ _Enter_ BUDGET. BUD. Have you the _Ballad of the Unfortunate Lover_? DITTY. No, but I have _George of Green_ or _Chivy Chase_, _Collins and the Devil_, or _Room for Cuckolds_; I have anything but that. BUD. Have you the _Coy Maid_? DITTY. I sold that just now; but I have the _Ballad of the London 'Prentice_, _Guy of Warwick_, or _The Beggar of Bethnal Green_. BUD. What loves-ongs have you? I would have a wooing ballad. DITTY. I have twenty of them. Look you, here's one, and although I say it myself, as good a one as ever trod upon shoe-leather. BUD. What is't? Good Ditty, let me hear it. DITTY. _The honest Milkmaid, or I must not wrong my Dame._ BUD. Have you never a one called _The honest Fresh Cheese and Cream Woman_? DITTY. I do not remember that; but here is another, you shall hear me sing it. _Once did I love a maiden fair,_ _Down derry, down, down, down, down derry;_ _With silver locks and golden hair,_ _Down derry, &c.;_ _Her cheeks were like the rose so sweet,_ _Down derry, &c.;_ _Like marble pillars were her feet,_ _Down derry, &c._ How like you this? 'Tis a rare tune, and a very pleasant song. BUD. I like the song well; but I would have a picture upon it like me. DITTY. Look you here; here's one as like you as if it had been spit out of your mouth; your nose, eye, lip, chin; sure, they printed it with your face! and the most sweetest ballad that ever I sung-- _My love and I to medley,_ _Upon a time would go:_ _The boatmen they stood ready,_ _My love and I to row;_ _Where we had cakes and prunes,_ _And many fine things mo;_ _But now, alas, she has left me:_ _Fa la, fa lero, lo!_ BUD. This is the ballad I'll have. Come, Ditty, thou shalt teach me to sing it, and I'll pay thee at the next good house. [_Exeunt._ SCENE IV. _Enter_ BRISTLE, _like a shoemaker_, _with_ HEATH, _like_ _a butcher_. HEATH. Slaughter-calf do you say my name shall be? BRIS. Ay, ay, and mine Vamp.