For in the month of May, Maidens they will say, A May-pole we must have, [∴ date before 1642.] Your helping hand we crave. And when it is set in the earth, The maids bring Sullybubs forth; [Syllabubs] Not one will touch a sup, Till I begin a cup. For I am the end of all Of them, both great and small. Then tell me yea, or nay, For I can no longer stay. _With oh brave ~Arthur~_, &c. Why truly _Arthur_[,] quoth she, If you so minded be, My good will I grant to you, Or anything I can do. One thing I will compell, So ask my mothers good will. Then from thee I never will flye, Unto the day I do dye. Then homeward they went with speed, Where the mother they met indeed. Well met fair Dame, quoth _Arthur_, To move you I am come hither, For I am come to crave, [p. 83.] Your daughter for to have, For I mean to make her my wife, And to live with her all my life. _With oh brave ~Arthur~_, &c. The old woman shreek’d and cry’d, And took her daughter aside, How now daughter, quoth she, Are you so forward indeed, As for to marry he, Without consent of me? Thou never saw’st thirteen year, Nor art not able I fear, To take any over-sight, To rule a mans house aright: Why truly mother, quoth she, You are mistaken in me; If time do not decrease, I am fifteen yeares at least. _With oh brave ~Arthur~_, &c. Then _Arthur_ to them did walk, And broke them of their talk. I tell you Dame, quoth he, I can have as good as thee; For when death my father did call, He then did leave me all His barrels and his brooms, And a dozen of wo[o]den spoones, Dishes six or seven, Besides an old spade, even A brasse pot and whimble, A pack-needle and thimble, A pudding prick and reele, And my mothers own sitting wheele; And also there fell to my lot A goodly mustard pot. _With O brave_ Arthur, &c. The old woman made a reply, With courteous modesty, If needs it must so be, To the match I will agree. For [when] death doth me call, I then will leave her all; For I have an earthen flaggon, Besides a three-quart noggin, With spickets and fossets five, Besides an old bee-hive; A wooden ladle and maile, And a goodly old clouting paile; Of a chaff bed I am well sped, And there the Bride shall be wed, And every night shall wear A bolster stufft with haire, A blanket for the Bride, And a winding sheet beside, And hemp, if he will it break, [p. 85.] New curtaines for to make. To make all [well] too, I have Stories gay and brave. Of all the world so fine, With oh brave eyes of mine, _With oh brave ~Arthur~_, &c.