English and Scottish Ballads, Volume VII

Ballads, English -- England -- Texts; Ballads, Scots -- Scotland -- Texts

Out alas! what a griefe is this,
      That princes subjects cannot be true,
    But still the devill hath some of his,
      Will play their parts whatsoever ensue;
    Forgetting what a grievous thing                                     5
      It is to offend the anointed king!
        Alas for woe, why should it be so?
        This makes a sorrowful heigh ho.

    In Scotland is a bonnie kinge,
      As proper a youth as neede to be,                                 10
    Well given to every happy thing,
      That can be in a kinge to see:
    Yet that unluckie country still,
    Hath people given to craftie will.
        Alas for woe, &c.                                               15

    On Whitsun eve it so befell,
      A posset was made to give the king,
    Whereof his ladie nurse hard tell,
      And that it was a poysoned thing:
    She cryed, and called piteouslie,                                   20
    "Now help, or else the king shall die!"
        Alas for woe, &c.

    One Browne, that was an English man,
      And hard the ladies piteous crye,
    Out with his sword, and bestir'd him than,                          25
      Out of the doores in haste to flie;
    But all the doores were made so fast,
    Out of a window he got at last.
        Alas for woe, &c.

    He met the bishop coming fast,                                      30
      Having the posset in his hande:
    The sight of Browne made him aghast,
      Who bad him stoutly staie and stand.
    With him were two that ranne awa,
    For feare that Browne would make a fray.                            35
        Alas, for woe, &c.

    "Bishop," quoth Browne, "what hast thou there?"
      "Nothing at all, my friend," sayde he,
    "But a posset to make the king good cheere."
      "Is it so?" sayd Browne, "that will I see.                        40
    First I will have thyself begin,
    Before thou go any further in;
        Be it weale or woe, it shall be so.
        This makes a sorrowful heigh ho."

    The bishop sayde, "Browne, I doo know,                              45
      Thou art a young man poore and bare;
    Livings on thee I will bestowe;
      Let me go on, take thou no care."
    "No, no," quoth Browne, "I will not be
    A traitour for all Christiantie:                                    50
        Happe well or woe, it shall be so.
        Drink now with a sorrowfull," &c.

    The bishop dranke, and by and by
      His belly burst and he fell downe:
    A just rewarde for his traitery!                                    55
      "This was a posset indeed," quoth Brown.
    He serched the bishop, and found the keyes,
    To come to the kinge when he did please.
        Alas for woe, &c.

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

English and Scottish Ballads, Volume VII

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