A crovvne garland of goulden roses Gathered out of Englands royall garden. Being the liues and strange fortunes of many great personages of this land. Set forth in many pleasant new songs and sonetts neuer before imprinted. By Richard Iohnson.

A new song of an Hostisse and her Guests.

To the tune of the painter.

I Wil not to Saint Katherines goe, to laugh no more: My Hostisse chides and checks me so, I am sorry therefore. When I came in as merry as a pye: she hung she chin, she lookt awry. She hould, she scould, she looked so coy, I could not be merry I could not ioy.

I saw her sit so maidenly, when I came in: To busse and kisse her curtuously, I did begin. The more I shewed my countenance free, the more be shrewed, the worse was she: Her talke so shrill, the time so soure, I durst not tarry there halfe an hower.

The béere was bitter for my tast, I tell you true: I came to soone to make such hast, as did ensue Yet after al•• these comely shewes,

as best becomes those friendly shrewes: The frownes were gone, and frollick she, contented was to welcome me.

Then had we that and cheere at will, as serued the place. A redy friend our pots to fill, and fetch apace. The Goodman he was not at home, the guests were cut ouer heart and come: The shrew became a curteous dame.

The three hoop'd pot was filled round, for lack of cheere: Aneats-foot in the towne was found, and we drew neere. To take our fill of euery ioy, our Hostisse was no longer coy: But thankes be to God our friends and vs, our mallice and all was ended thus,

Finis.