Page:Wit Restor'd in Severall Select Poems, 1658.djvu/199

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Wit Reſtor’d.
179


Woe worth you, woe worth, my mery men all,
You were ne’re borne for my good:
Why did you not offer to ſtay my hand,
When you ſee me wax ſo wood.

For I have ſlaine the braveſt Sir Knight
That ever rode on ſteed,
So have I done the faireſt lady
That ever did womans deed.

A grave, a grave, Lord Barnard cryd
To put theſe lovers in:
But lay my lady on upper hand
For ſhe came of the better kin.


The Scots arrears.

Fowre hundred thousand pounds
A luſty bag indeed!
Was’t ever knowne ſo vaſt a fum
Ere paſt the river Twede?

Great pitty it is, I ſwear,
Whole carts was thither ſent,
Where hardly two in fifty knew
What forty ſhillings meant:
But ’twas to ſome perceiv’d,
Three kingdomes were undone.

O 2
And