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She streight into the kitchen went,
Her message for to tell ;
Who did with malice swell.
Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe,
Do that which I thee tell:
do knowe full well.
Then streight his cruell bloodye hands,
He on the ladye layd;
While thus to her he sayd :
Thou art the doe that I must dresse;
See here, behold my knife ; For it is pointed presently
To ridd thee of thy life.
O then, cried out the scullion-boye,
As loud as loud might bee;
And make your pyes of mee!
For pityes sake do not destroye
My ladye with your knife;
For Christes sake save her life.
I will not save her life, he says,
Nor make my pyes of thee ;; 110 Yet if thou dost this deed bewrayé,
Thy butcher I will beé.,'
Now when this lord he did come home
For to sit downe and eat;
To come and carve his meat. .. !
Now sit you downe, his ladye sayd,
downe to meat : beri Into some nunnery she is gone;
Your daughter deare forget.
Then solemnlye he made a vowe,
Before the companie:
Until he did her see.
O then bespake the scullion-boye,
With a loud voice so hye: If now
will your daughter see, My lord, cut up that
Wherein her fleshe is minced small,
And parched with the fire; All caused by her step-mother,
Who did her death desire.
And cursed bee the master-cook,
O cursed may he bee !
From death to set her free.'
Then all in blacke this lord did mourne;
And for his daughters sake,
To be burnt at a stake.
Likewise he judg'd the master-cook
In boiling lead to stand;
The heire of all his land.
A HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID.
This Song is a kind of Translation of a pretty poem of Tasso's, called Amore fuggitivo, generally printed with his Aminta, and originally imitated from the first Idyllium of Moschus.
It is extracted from Ben Jonson's Masque at the marriage of lord viscount Hadington, on Shrove-Tuesday 1608. One stanza, full of dry mythology, is here omitted, as it had been dropt in a copy of this song printed in a small volume called “Le Prince d'Amour. Lond. 1660,” 8vo.
Beauties, have yee seen a toy,
Shee, that will but now discover
Markes he hath about him plentie; know him
Wings he hath, which though yee clip,
He doth beare a golden bow,
more sharpe than other, With that first he strikes his mother.
Still the fairest are his fuell,