_Woo._ His shackles will betray him, he'll be taken, And what shall I do then? I'll bring a beavy, A hundred black-ey'd Maids that love as I do With Chaplets on their heads [of] Daffadillies, With cherry lips, and cheeks of Damask Roses, And all we'll dance an Antique 'fore the Duke, And beg his pardon; then she talk'd of you, Sir; That you must lose your head to morrow morning And she must gather Flowers to bury you, And see the house made handsome, then she sung Nothing but willow, willow, willow, and between Ever was, _Palamon_, fair _Palamon_, And _Palamon_, was a tall young man. The place Was knee deep where she sate; her careless Tresses, A wrea[th] of Bull-rush rounded; about her stuck Thousand fresh Water Flowers of several colours. That methought she appear'd like the fair Nymph That feeds the lake with waters, or as _Iris_ Newly dropt down from heaven; Rings she made Of Rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke The prettiest posies: thus our true love's ty'd, This you may loose, not me, and many a one: And then she wept, and sung again, and sigh'd, And with the same breath smil'd, and kist her hand. _2 Fr._ Alas what pity it is? _Woo._ I made in to her, She saw me, and straight sought the flood, I sav'd her, And set her safe to land: when presently She slipt away, and to the City made, With such a cry, and swiftness, that believe me She left me far behind her; three, or four, I saw from far off cross her, one of 'em I knew to be your brother, where [she] staid, And fell, scarce to be got away: I left them with her. _Enter Brother, Daughter, and others._ And hither came to tell you: Here they are. _Daugh. May you never more enjoy the light_, &c. Is not this a fine Song? _Bro._ Oh, a very fine one. _Daugh._ I can sing twenty more. _Bro._ I think you can. _Daugh._ Yes truly can I, I can sing the _Broom_, And _Bonny Robbin_. Are not you a Tailor? _Bro._ Yes. _Daugh._ Where's my wedding-Gown? _Bro._ I'll bring it to morrow. _Daugh._ Doe, very rarely, I must be abroad else To call the Maids, and pay the Minstrels For I must loose my Maiden-head by cock-light 'Twill never thrive else. _Oh fair, oh sweet_, &c. [_Sings._ _Bro._ You must ev'n take it patiently. _Jay._ 'Tis true. _Daugh._ Good ev'n, good men, pray did you ever hear Of one young _Palamon_? _Jay._ Yes wench, we know him. _Daugh._ Is't not a fine young Gentleman? _Jay._ 'Tis Love. _Bro._ By no mean cross her, she is then distemper'd For worse than now she shows. _1 Fr._ Yes, he's a fine man. _Daugh._ Oh, is he so? you have a Sister. _1 Fr._ Yes.