Ballad: Good Sir, you wrong your Britches. [Top]
Good Sir, you wrong your Britches,
Pleasantly discoursed by a witty Youth,   and a wily Wench.
To the Tune of, Oh no,no,no,not yet : Or, I'le neuer loue thee more.

A Yong man and a Lasse of late,
    within a Garden Ally,
As Cupid had commanded him,
    began to court and dally:
She bade him haue a speciall care,
    he fell into no Ditches,
For so, (quoth she) the prouerbe sayes,
    good Sir, you'le wrong your Britches.

Thou art my onely dearest loue,
    the Yongman then replide :
I will buy thee a silken gowne,
    a Petticoate beside,
A Kirtle laid with siluer Lace,
    with gallant golden stitches.
In doing so, good Sir,(quoth she)
    you well may wrong your Britches.

Wee'le walk about the Meddowes greene,
    each Summer morning early.
Forbeare (quoth she) 'tis better farre,
    amongst greene Pease and Barly.
Where if you will a peazing goe,
    you must take vp no Fitches :
Lest those that owe the Pescod field,
    doe say you wrong your Britches.

I'le giue thee all my Ewes and Lambs,
    and Kine vnto thy Dary.
To keepe the hornes your selfe (quoth she)
    I hope you will be warie.
For they will serue you passing fit,
    to be your hous-hold riches,
Where if you goe to borrow hornes,
    you'le greatly wrong your Britches.

The Minstrell of our towne shall play
    thee still thy mornings Dittie.
Good Sir (quoth she) I want rewards,
    for one that is so wittie.
For when I heare your musicke sound,
    my fingers alwaies itches,
To crowne you with a Fidlers fee :
    you wrong (good Sir) your Britches.

Wee'le feede no more on Barly broth,
    the Grape's a sweeter dyet.
Too deepe a taske (quoth she) will bring,
    your bodie 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 'le fight, my Loue, in thy defense,
    my weapons at thy pleasure,
Whereat the wilie Wench repli'de,
    I doubt you'le haue no leasure.
And so you will a dastard proue,
    when as the field he pitches :
And coming thence for feare away,
    you much may wrong your Britches.

I am a liuely Iouiall Lad,
    and for thy sake will swagger:
Untill the ground looke blue (my Wench)
    my wit shall neuer stagger.
Take heed (quoth she) lest Midas Asse
    your drowsie pate bewitches:
For being drunke, then with your Punke,
    good Sir, you'le wrong your Britches.

A Pot and Pipe is all my life,
    for this becomes a wooer :
Come, bonny Besse, let's coll and kisse,
    I am no other dooer.
Hold off (quoth she) your hands are foule,
    and all my cloathes bepitches;
For if you thus bemoyle your selfe,
    you'le greatly wrong your Britches.

My dapple gray to beare thee hence,
    shall soone be saddled finely:
To ride and runne for thee, my Loue,
    so thou wilt vse me kindely.
But if you ride too fast (quoth she)
    hee'le throw vs into ditches :
And so shall I bemyer my selfe,
    and you much wrong your Britches.

The Yongman at these wilely words,
    in friendly manner smiled:
In that she had so cunningly,
    his proffered loue beguiled.
But yet at last she tooke of him,
    himselfe 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 yong Wenches light their lamps,
    to burne by Venus Candle.
For I am now in loue (quoth she)
    this yong man me bewitches:
And I am vext that ere I said,
    (Good Sir) you wrong your Britches.

At London printed for I.T.            FINIS.