With her Mantle tuck’t up high, She foddered her Flocke, So buckesome and alluringly, Her knee upheld her smock; So nimbly did she use to goe, So smooth she danc’d on tip-toe, That all men were fond of her, hy nonny nonny no. 6. She simpred like a Holy-day, And smiled like a Spring, She pratled like a Popinjay, And like a Swallow sing. She tript it like a barren Doe, And strutted like a Gar-crowe: Which made me so fond of her, hy, &c. 7. To trip it on the merry Down, To dance the lively Hay, To wrastle for a green Gown, In heat of all the day, Never would she say me no. Yet me thought she had though Never enough of her, hy, &c. 8. But gone she is[,] the blithest Lasse That ever trod on Plain. What ever hath betided her, Blame not the Shepheard Swain. For why, she was her own foe, And gave her selfe the overthrowe, By being too franke of her hy nonny nonny no. _A Ballad on Queen ~Elizabeth~; to the tune of Sallengers round._ I tell you all both great and small, And I tell you it truely, That we have a very great cause, Both to lament and crie, Oh fie, oh fie, oh fie, oh fie, Oh fie on cruell death; For he hath taken away from us Our Queen _Elizabeth_. He might have taken other folk, That better might have been mist, And let our gratious Queen alone, That lov’d not a Popish Priest. She rul’d this Land alone of her self, And was beholding to no man. She bare the waight of all affaires, And yet she was but a woman. A woman said I? nay that is more Nor any man can tell, So chaste she was, so pure she was, That no man knew it well. For whilst that she liv’d till cruel death Exposed her to all. Wherefore I say lament, lament, Lament both great and small. She never did any wicked thing, Might make her conscience prick her, And scorn’d for to submit her self to him That calls himself Christ’s Vicker: But rather chose couragiously To fight under Christ’s Banner, Gainst Turk and Pope, I and King of _Spain_, And all that durst withstand her. She was as Chaste and Beautifull, And Faire as ere was any; And had from forain Countreys sent Her Suters very many. Though _Mounsieur_ came himself from _France_, A purpose for to woe her, Yet still she liv’d and dy’d a Maid, Doe what they could unto her. And if that I had _Argus_ eyes, They were too few to weep, For our sweet Queen _Elizabeth_, Who now doth lye asleep: Asleep I say she now doth lye, Untill the day of Doome: But then shall awake unto the disgrace Of the proud Pope of _Rome_. _A Ballad on King ~James~; to the tune of When ~Arthur~ first in Court began._ When _James_ in _Scotland_ first began, And there was crowned King, He was not much more than a span, All in his clouts swadling.