Go, go, go, go falsest of thy Sex be gone, Leave, leave, oh leave, leave me to my self alone; Why wou'd you strive by fond pretence, Thus to destroy my Innocence. Know, _CÊlia_ you too late betray'd, Then thus you did the Nymph upbraid; Love like a Dream usher'd by night, Flyes the approach of Morning light. Go falsest of your Sex begone, Oh! Leave me to my self alone; She that believes Man when he swears, Or but regards his Oaths or Pray'rs, May she, fond she, be most accurst, Nay more, be subject to his Lust. _The Life and Death of Sir_ HUGH _of the_ GRIME. _To the Tune of_ Chevy-chace. As it befel upon one time, About _Mid-summer_ of the Year; Every Man was taxt of his Crime, For stealing the good Lord Bishop's Mare. The good Lord _Screw_ sadled a Horse, And rid after the same serime; Before he did get over the Moss, There was he aware of Sir _Hugh_ of the _Grime_. Turn, O turn, thou false Traytor, Turn and yield thy self unto me; Thou hast stol'n the Lord Bishop's Mare, And now thinkest away to flee. No, soft Lord _Screw_, that may not be, Here is a broad Sword by my side; And if that thou canst Conquer me, The Victory will soon be try'd. I ne'er was afraid of a Traytor bold, Altho' thy Name be _Hugh_ in the _Grime_; I'll make thee repent thy Speeches foul, If Day and Life but give me time. Then do thy worst, good Lord _Screw_, And deal your blows as fast as you can; It will be try'd between me and you, Which of us two shall be the best Man. Thus as they dealt their blows so free, And both so Bloody at that time; Over the Moss ten Yeomen they see, Come for to take Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_. Sir _Hugh_ set his Back again a Tree, And then the Men compast him round; His mickle Sword from his Hand did flee, And then they brought Sir _Hugh_ to the Ground. Sir _Hugh_ of the _Grime_ now taken is, And brought back to _Garland_ Town; Then cry'd the good Wives all in _Garland_ Town, Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_, thou'st ne'er gang down. The good Lord Bishop is come to Town, And on the Bench is set so high; And every Man was tax'd to his crime, At length he call'd Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_. Here am I, thou false Bishop, Thy Humours all to fulfil; I do not think my Fact so great, But thou may'st put into thy own Will. The Quest of Jury-Men was call'd, The best that was in _Garland_ Town; Eleven of them spoke all in a-breast, Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_ thou'st ne'er gang down. Then other Questry-men was call'd, The best that was in _Rumary_; Twelve of them spoke all in a-breast, Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_ thou'st now Guilty. Then came down my good Lord _Boles_, Falling down upon his Knee; Five hundred Pieces of Gold will I give, To grant Sir _Hugh_ in the _Grime_ to me.