Subject: RE: Bawdy Song Mail List
From:
Bo Vandenberg
Date: 03 Jun 97 - 03:56 PM
I'm really interested in this sort of thing as long as it stays with bawdy ie "artistic" songs rather than just filth for filth sake.
Here by the way is Watkin's Ale (save you the typing)
Watkin’s Ale
There was a maid this other day, and she must needs go forth to play
And as she walk'd, she sit'th and said, I am afraid to die a maid
With that beheld a lad, What talk this maiden had
Whereof he was full glad, And did not spare
To say, fair maid I pray, Whither go you today?
Good sir, then she did say, What do you care?
For I will, without fail, Maiden, give you Watkin's Ale
Watkin's Ale, good sir, quoth she
What is that? I pray you tell me.
Tis sweeter far than sugar fine, And pleasanter than Muscadine
And if you please, fair maid, to stay, A little while with me to play
I will give you the same, Watkin's Ale call'd by name
Or else I were to blame, In truth, fair maid
Good sir, quoth she again, If you will take the pain
I will it not refrain, Nor be dismay'd
He took this maiden then aside, And led her where she was not spied
And told her many a pretty tale
And gave her well of Watkin's Ale.
Good sir, quoth she in smiling sort, What do you call this merry sport?
Or what is this you do to me? Tis called Watkin's Ale, quoth he
Wherein fair maid you may, Report another day
When you go forth to play, How you did speed
Indeed good sir, quoth she, It is a pretty glee
And it well pleaseth me, No doubt indeed
Thus they sported and they play'd, This young man and this pretty maid
Under a bank whereas they lay, Not long ago this very day
When he had done to her his will, They talk'd of what it shall not skill
At last quoth she, saving your tale, Give me some more of Watkin's Ale
Or else I will not stay, For I must needs away
My mother bade me play, The time is past
Therefore good sir, quoth she, If you have done with me
Nay soft fair maid, quoth he, Again at last
Let us talk a little while, At that the maid began to smile
And said, good sir, full well I know, Your ale, I see, runs very low
This young man then being so blam'd, Did blush as one being asham'd
He took her by the middle small, And gave her more of Watkin's Ale
And said, fair maid I pray, When you go forth to play
Remember what I say, Walk not alone
Good sir, quoth she again, I thank you for your pain
For fear of further stain, I will be gone
Farewell maiden, then quoth he, Adieu good sir, again quoth she
Thus they parted till at last, Thrice three months had come to pass
This maiden then fell very sick, Her maidenhead began to kick
Her colour waxed wan and pale, With taking much of Watkin's Ale
I wish all maidens coy, That hear this pretty toy
Wherein most women joy, How they do sport
For surely Watkin's Ale, And if it not be stale
Will turn them to some bale, As hath report
New ale will make their bellies bowne, As trial by this same is well known
If any here offended be, Then blame the author, blame not me.
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