Subject: GOOD SIR YOU'LL WRONG YOUR BRITCHES
From:
MMario
Date: 05 Apr 01 - 10:14 AM
GOOD SIR YOU'LL WRONG YOUR BRITCHES
A Young man and a Lass of late,
within a Garden Alley,
As Cupid had commanded him,
began to court and dally:
She bade him have a special care,
he fell into no Ditches,
For so, (quoth she) the proverb says,
good Sir, you'le wrong your Britches.
Thou art my only dearest love,
the Young man then replied :
I will buy thee a silken gown,
a Petticoat beside,
A Kirtle laid with silver Lace,
with gallant golden stitches.
In doing so, good Sir,(quoth she)
you well may wrong your Britches.
We'll walk about the Meadows green,
each Summer morning early.
Forbear (quoth she) 'tis better far,
amongst green Pease and Barley.
Where if you will a peazing go,
you must take up no Fitches :
Lest those that owe the Peascod field,
do say you wrong your Britches.
I'll give thee all my Ewes and Lambs,
and Kine unto thy Dairy.
To keep the horns your self (quoth she)
I hope you will be wary.
For they will serve you passing fit,
to be your house-hold riches,
Where if you go to borrow horns,
you'll greatly wrong your Britches.
The Minstrel of our town shall play
thee still thy mornings Ditty.
Good Sir (quoth she) I want rewards,
for one that is so witty.
For when I hear your music sound,
my fingers always itches,
To crown you with a Fiddlers fee :
you wrong (good Sir) your Britches.
We'll feed no more on Barley broth,
the Grape's a sweeter diet.
Too deep a task (quoth she) will bring,
your body out of quiet,
And vex you with tormenting gripes,
of many rumbling stitches :
That you will be constrain'd (good Sir)
at last to wrong your Britches.
The Second part
To the same tune.
I'll fight, my Love, in thy defense,
my weapons at thy pleasure,
Whereat the wily Wench replied,
I doubt you'll have no leisure.
And so you will a dastard prove,
when as the field he pitches :
And coming thence for fear away,
you much may wrong your Britches.
I am a lively Jovial Lad,
and for thy sake will swagger:
Until the ground look blue (my Wench)
my wit shall never stagger.
Take heed (quoth she) lest Midas Ass
your drowsy pate bewitches:
For being drunk, then with your Punk,
good Sir, you'll wrong your Britches.
A Pot and Pipe is all my life,
for this becomes a wooer :
Come, bonny Bess, let's coll and kiss,
I am no other dooer.
Hold off (quoth she) your hands are foul,
and all my clothes bepitches;
For if you thus bemoyle your self,
you'll greatly wrong your Britches.
My dapple gray to bear thee hence,
shall soon be saddled finely:
To ride and run for thee, my Love,
so thou wilt use me kindly.
But if you ride too fast (quoth she)
he'll throw us into ditches :
And so shall I bemire my self,
and you much wrong your Britches.
The Young man at these wilely words,
in friendly manner smiled:
In that she had so cunningly,
his proffered love beguiled.
But yet at last she took of him,
himself and all his riches :
And would no more then scoffing say,
(Good Sir) you wrong your Britches.
Thus Cupid is a wilely Lad,
and well his Bow can handle :
To make young Wenches light their lamps,
to burn by Venus Candle.
For I am now in love (quoth she)
this young man me bewitches:
And I am vext that ere I said,
(Good Sir) you wrong your Britches.
MIDI file: wrong_~1.mid Timebase: 192 Name: B228- I'll never love thee more
Text: Generated by NoteWorthy Composer
Tempo: 180 (333333 microsec/crotchet)
Key: G
TimeSig: 6/4 24 8
Start
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End This program is worth the effort of learning it. To download the March 10 MIDItext 98 software and get instructions on how to use it click here ABC format: X:1
T:B228- I'll never love thee more
M:6/4
Q:1/4=180
K:G
D2D4D2G4|A2B4B2D4|D2B4B2A4|G2E6E4|D2D4D2G4|
A2B4B2D4|D2B4B2A4|G2d6d4|d2B4B2A4|G2c4d2e4|
d2d4B2A4|G2E6E4|D2D4D2G4|A2B2c2d2e4|d2d2B4A4|
G2G6G7/2||
NWC file sent to Joe
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