A new Ballad, Intituled, a warning to youth, Shewing the lewd life of a Merchants son of London, and the misery that at the last he sustained by his riotousnesse. The tune is, the Lady Darcy.
IN
London dwelt a Merchant man
that lest unto his son,
A thousand pound in Land a year
to spend when he was gone:
With coffers cram'd with golden crowns,
most like a Father kind,
To have him follow his own steps
and beat the self same mind.
Thus every man doth know, doth know
and his beginning see,
But none so wise can shew can shew,
what will his ending be.
No sooner was his father dead,
and closed in his grave,
But this his wild and wanton son
his mind to lewdness gave.
And being but of tender years,
sound out such company,
Which prov'd his fatall overthrow
and final misery.
In gluttony and drunkenness,
and filthy letchery,
Of all the sins will soonest bring
a man to misery.
Within the Seas of wanton love,
his heart was drownd so deep,
A night he could not quietly
without strange women sleep.
And therefore kept them secretly,
to seed his souls desire.
Apparel'd all like gallant youths,
in Pages trim attire:
Their garments were of Crimson silk
bedeckt with lace of gold,
Their curied hair was white as milk
most comely to behold:
He gave then for their cognizance
a purple bleeding heart;
In which two silver arrows seemd,
the same in twain to part.
Thus secret were his wanton sports,
thus private was his pleasure,
Thus Harlots in the shape of men,
did waste away his treasure,
O woe to lust and letchery,
oh woe to such a vice,
That buyes repentance all too late,
and at too dear a price.
Yet he repented not at all
so wilfull was his mind,
He could not see his infamy
for sin had made him blinde▪
But in his heart de
[...]d a change
of wanton pleasure so,
That day by day he wishes still
strang women for to know:
And so discharging of his train,
and selling of his Land,
To travel into Countries strange
he quickly took in hand:
And into
Antwerp speedily,
thus all afflaunt he goes,
To see the dainty
Flemish girls
and gallant
Dutchland Froes.
For still quoth he the
Dutchland Froes,
are kind to
Englishmen,
Ile have my pleasure of those girls
or never come again:
And being arriv'd in
Antwerp streets,
he met a lovely Dame,
That was a Widdows daughter dear
of good report and same.
Her beauty like the purple Rose
so glistered in his eye,
That ravisht with the same, he crav'd
her secret company,
But she like to an honest Maid
by no means would consent,
To satisfie his lustfull eye,
as was his false intent.