_Bidea_, the Amazon, _Photius_ overthrew, As fierce as either _Vandal_, _Goth_, _Saracen_, or _Jew_; The potent _Holophernes_, as he lay in his bed, In came wise _Judith_ and subtly stool[e] his head; Brave _Cyclops_ stout, with _Jove_ he fought, Although he showr’d down Thunder; But St. _George_ kill’d the Dragon, and was not that a wonder: St. _George_ he was, &c. _Mark Anthony_, Ile warrant you Plaid feats with _Egypts_ Queen, Sir _Egla More_ that valiant Knight, the like was never seen, Grim _Gorgons_ might, was known in fight, old _Bevis_ most men frighted, The _Myrmidons_ & _Presbyter John_, why were not those men knighted? Brave _Spinola_ took in _Breda_, _Nasaw_ did it recover, But St. _George_, St. _George_, he turn’d the Dragon over and over: St. _George_ he was for _England_, St. _Denis_ was for _France_, Sing, _Hony soit qui mal y pense_. _A Ballad ~call’d~ Blew Cap for me._ Come hither thou merriest of all the Nine, [p. 29.] Come, sit you down by me, and let us be jolly; And with a full Cup of _Apollo’s_ wine, Wee’l dare our Enemy mad Melancholly; And when we have done, wee’l between us devise A pleasant new Dity by Art to comprise: And of this new Dity the matter shall be, _If ever I have a man, blew cap for me_. There dwells a blith Lass in _Falkland_ Town And she hath Suitors I know not how many, And her resolution she had set down That she’l have a _Blew Cap_, if ever she have any. An _Englishman_ when our geod Knight was there, Came often unto her, and loved her dear, Yet still she replyed, Geod Sir, La be, _If ever I have a man, blew cap for me_. A _Welchman_ that had a long Sword by his side, Red Doublet, red Breech, and red Coat, and red Peard, Was made a great shew of a great deal of pride, Was tell her strange tales te like never heard; Was recon her pedegree long pefore _Prute_[,] No body was near that could her Confute; But still she reply’d, Geod Sir la be, _If ever I have a man, blew Cap for me_. A _Frenchman_ that largely was booted and spurr’d, Long Lock with a ribbon, long points and long preeshes, Was ready to kisse her at every word, And for the other exercises his fingers itches; You be prety wench _a Metrel, par ma Foy_, Dear me do love you, be not so coy; Yet still replyed, Geod Sir, la be; _If ever I have a man, blew Cap for me_. An _Irishman_, with a long skeen in his Hose, Did think to obtain her, it was no great matter, Up stairs to the chamber so lightly he goes, That she never heard him until he came at her, Quoth he, I do love thee, by Fait and by Trot, And if thou wilt know it, experience shall sho’t, Yet still she reply’d, Geod sir, la be, _If ever I have a man, blew Cap for me_.