Wherefore cease off, make no delay, And if you’ll love me, love me now; Or els Ich zeeke zome oder where,— For Ich cannot come every day to woo. _Cho_. Or else he’ll zeeke zome oder where, For he cannot come every day to woo. {154} THE CLOWN’S COURTSHIP. [THIS song, on the same subject as the preceding, is as old as the reign of Henry VIII., the first verse, says Mr. Chappell, being found elaborately set to music in a manuscript of that date. The air is given in _Popular Music_, I., 87.] QUOTH John to Joan, wilt thou have me? I prythee now, wilt? and I’ze marry with thee, My cow, my calf, my house, my rents, And all my lands and tenements: Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do? I cannot come every day to woo. I’ve corn and hay in the barn hard by, And three fat hogs pent up in the sty: I have a mare, and she is coal black, I ride on her tail to save my back. Then say, &c. I have a cheese upon the shelf, And I cannot eat it all myself; I’ve three good marks that lie in a rag, In the nook of the chimney, instead of a bag. Then say, &c. To marry I would have thy consent, But faith I never could compliment; I can say nought but ‘hoy, gee ho,’ Words that belong to the cart and the plow. Then say, &c. HARRY’S COURTSHIP. [THIS old ditty, in its incidents, bears a resemblance to _Dumble-dum-deary_, see _ante_, p. 149. It used to be a popular song in the Yorkshire dales. We have been obliged to supply an _hiatus_ in the second verse, and to make an alteration in the last, where we have converted the ‘red-nosed parson’ of the original into a squire.] HARRY courted modest Mary, Mary was always brisk and airy; Harry was country neat as could be, But his words were rough, and his duds were muddy. Harry when he first bespoke her, [Kept a dandling the kitchen poker;] Mary spoke her words like Venus, But said, ‘There’s something I fear between us. ‘Have you got cups of China mettle, Canister, cream-jug, tongs, or kettle?’ ‘Odzooks, I’ve bowls, and siles, and dishes, Enow to supply any prudent wishes. ‘I’ve got none o’ your cups of Chaney, Canister, cream-jug, I’ve not any; I’ve a three-footed pot and a good brass kettle, Pray what do you want with your Chaney mettle? ‘A shippen full of rye for to fother, A house full of goods, one mack or another; I’ll thrash in the lathe while you sit spinning, O, Molly, I think that’s a good beginning.’ ‘I’ll not sit at my wheel a-spinning, Or rise in the morn to wash your linen; I’ll lie in bed till the clock strikes eleven—’ ‘Oh, grant me patience gracious Heaven! ‘Why then thou must marry some red-nosed squire, [Who’ll buy thee a settle to sit by the fire,] For I’ll to Margery in the valley, She is my girl, so farewell Malley.’