A ballad intituled, A newe well a daye/ as playne maister papist, as Donstable waye. Well a daye well a daye, well a daye woe is mee Syr Thomas Plomtrie is hanged on a tree. Elderton, William, d. 1592? 1570 Approx. 6 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2011-04 (EEBO-TCP Phase 2). B01223 STC 7553 Interim Tract Supplement Guide Huth 50[4] 99892880 ocm99892880 182320

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 Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B01223) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 182320) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books; Tract supplement ; A3:4[4]) A ballad intituled, A newe well a daye/ as playne maister papist, as Donstable waye. Well a daye well a daye, well a daye woe is mee Syr Thomas Plomtrie is hanged on a tree. Elderton, William, d. 1592? 1 sheet ([1] p.) : ill. (coats of arms). in Fleestrete [sic] beneath the conduit, at the signe of S. John Euangelist, by Thomas Colwell, Imprinted at London : [1570] Signed: W.E. [i.e. William Elderton]. Date of publication from STC. Verse: "Amonge manye newes reported of late ..." Reproduction of original in the British Library.

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 eng Ballads, English -- 16th century. 2020-09-21 Content of 'availability' element changed when EEBO Phase 2 texts came into the public domain 2008-08 Assigned for keying and markup 2008-11 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2009-05 Sampled and proofread 2009-05 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2009-09 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
A Ballad Intituled, a Newe well a daye / As playne maiſter Papiſt, as Donſtable waye. Well a daye well a daye, well a daye woe is mee Syr Thomas Plomtrie is hanged on a tree. AMonge maye newes As touchinge the Rebelles their wicked eſtate, Yet Syr Thomas Plomtrie, their preacher they ſaie, Hath made the North countrie, to crie well a daye. Well a daye, well a daye, well a daye, woe is me, Syr Thomas Plomtrie is hanged on a tree. And now manie fathers and mothers be theare, are put to their trialles with terrible feare, Not all the gaye Croſſes nor goddes they adore, will make them as merie, as they haue ben before, Well a daye, well a daye, &c. The widowes woful, whoſe huſbandes be taken the childerne lament them, are ſo for ſaken, The church men yt chaunted the morowe maſſe bell Their Pardons be graunted they hang verie wel. Well a daye well a daye. &c. It is knowne they bee fled, that were the beginers it is time they were ded, poore ſorofull ſinners For all there great haſte, they are hedged at a ſtaye with weeping & waylinge to ſing well a daye. Well a daye, well a daye. &c. Yet ſome hold opynon, all is well with the higheſt they are in good ſaftie wher freedome is nieſte Northumberland need not, be doutefull ſome ſaye, and Weſtmorlande is not, yet brought to the bay. Well a daye, well a daye &c. No more is not Norton, nor a nomber beſide, But all in good ſeaſon, they maye hap to be ſpide, It is well they be wandred, whether no man can ſay But it will be remembered, they crie well a daie. Well a daye, well a daye. &c. Where be the fyne fellowes, that caried the croſſes, Where be the deuiſers, of Idoles and Aſſes, Wher be the gaie Banners, were wont to be borne where is the deuocion of gentyll Iohn Shorne. Well a daye, well a daye. &c. Saint Pall, and Saint Peter, haue laid them a bord and ſaie it is feetter to cleaue to Gods worde Their Beades, & their bables, are beſt to be burnd and Moiſes tables towardes them to be turnde. Well a daye, well a daye. &c. And well a daye, wandreth ſtill to and froe, be wailinge the wonders, of rumors that goe, Yet ſaie the ſtiffe necked let be as be maye, though ſome be ſore checked, yet ſome ſkape awaie Well a daye, well a daye. &c. And ſuch ſome be ſowers of ſeedes of Sedicion, and ſaie the popes pardō, ſhall giue them remiſſion That kepe them ſelues, ſecrete and preeuilie ſaie, it is no greate matter for this well a daye. Well a daye, well a daye. &c. You ſhall haue more newes er Candelmas come their be matters diffuſe yet lookte for of ſome, Looke on, and looke ſtill, as ye longe to here newes I thinke Tower hill, will make ye all muſe. Well a daye, well a daye. &c. If they that leaue tumblynge begin to war climing for all your momblinge and merie paſtimeing. Ye will then beleeue, I am ſure as I ſaie, that matter will meene, a newe well a daye. Well a dayes, well a daye. &c. But as ye be faithleſſe, of God and his lawe, ſo till ye ſee hedles, the Traitors in ſtrawe, You wilbe ſtill whiſperinge of this and of that, well a daye, woe is me, you remember it not Well a daie, well a daie. &c. Leaue of your lying, and fall to trewe reaſon, leaue of your fonde ſpieng, and marke euery ſeaſon Againſt God & your contrie to taulke of revelling not Syr Thomas Plumtrie can bide by ye telling Well a daye, well a daye. &c. And ſuch as ſeduce the people with blyndnes, and byd them to truſt the Pope and his kyndnes Make worke for the tynker, as prouerbes doth ſaie, by ſuch popiſhe patching, ſtill comes well a daye. Well a daye, well a daie. &c. And ſhe that is rightfull your Queene to ſubdue ye, althoughe you be ſpitfull hath gyuen no cauſe to ye But if ye will vexe her, to trie her hole force, let him that comes next her, take heed of her horſe Well a daie, well a daie. &c. Shee is the Lieftennante of him that is ſtowteſt, ſhee is defender of all the deuowteſt, It is not the Pope nor all the Pope may, can make her aſtonyed, or ſinge well a daie. Well a daie, well a daie. God proſper her highnes, and ſend her his peace, to gouerne good people, with grace, & increaſe, And ſend the deſeruers, that ſeeke the wronge way at Tyborne ſome Caruers, to ſinge well a daie. well a daie, well a daie. &c. W. E. Finis.

¶ Imprinted London in Fleeſtrete beneath the Conduit, at the ſigne of S. Iohn Euangeliſt, by Thomas Colwell.

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