A merry discourse betweene Norfolke Thomas, and Sisly Standtoo't his wife; together with their thanklesse journey from Norfolk to London, onely to see their friends, and how they doe respect and entertaine 'um for their love and labour. Which shewes that this same age most certaine true, is onely for to aske yee how ye doe. To the tune of the Spanish Pavin.

A merry Discourse betweene Norfolke Thomas, and Sisly Standtoo't his Wife; Together with their thanklesse journey from Norfolk to London, onely to see their friends, and how they doe respect and entertaine 'um for their love and labour.

Which shewes that this same Age most certaine true, Is onely for to aske yee how ye doe.

To the tune of the Spanish Pavin.

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Thomas.

TO London is mad Thomas come, With Sisly here, his Wife alone, To sée some friends, I hear are gone, to heaven a while ago. But I do hope it is a lye, As I shall find it by and by, Or else poore Tom and Sisse should cry, till Doomes-day.

For though they be none of the best, I should be loath I do protest, To hear that they are gone to rest, and never take their leave. For I do love 'um all so well, A little thing would make me dwell, Within the sounding of Bow-bell, at London.

Sisly.

Nay husband do not you say so, Our Cottage poore wée'l not forgo, For the best house that stands aroe, 'twixt Cheap and Charing Crosse. For though our house be thatch't with Straw, We do not live as some in awe, For 'tis our own by Common law, in Norfolke.

Besides we live at hearts content, We take no care to pay our Rent, For that is done incontinent or twinkling of an eye. When here at London as they say, They brawle and brable every day, And few or none but finds a way to Hogdsdon.

Thomas.

Mum Sisly kéep your Clapper still There's them can hear at Hygat hill, There's Rats has béen in Peggies Mill, or else she lies her selfe. What if the world be vilde and bad, Shall I be such a foolish Lad To blaze and noyse it all abroad, I scorn it.

Although, indéed I must confesse, Thou speak'st but truth my honest Sisse, Yet ever while you live, marke this, and take it for a rule. That every Chimney must not smoake, Nor every Begger weare a Cloake, Nor every truth must not be spoke, in sadnesse.

But hang that Cobler and his Ends, That lives too well and never mends, Wood they were whipt that nere offends, peace Chuck, I mean not thée. For thou wilt scold sometime I know, The more is Thomas Standtoots wo, But hang it; come lets trip and go to Fléetstréet.

And thus they trudg'd along the stréet, With many a justle they did méet, Which put poore Thomas in a sweat, and something angry to. Which made him think they told a lye That said there did so many dye, When as he could not go hardly, for people,

Sisly.

At length quoth she, good husband stay And tell me what this place is pray, Where things are carried as they may, I never saw the like. For yonders one doth ride in state, And heares a Begger at a gate And there's a woman that will prate for nothing.

Sée here is one that soundly beats, And thumps his Hemp untill he sweats, And there's another gréedy eats, I fear hee'l choak himselfe, And yonder goes a gallant bilk, And there's a woman winding silk, And heares another fetches milk at Hackney.

But here's the prettiest sight of all, A woman that is mighty tall, And yet her Spouse a little squall, I wonder how they met. And heres a man in Armour stands, That has it seemes lost both his hands, 'Tis pitty that he has no lands to keep him.

Now you must by this time suppose them about the Exchange.

The second part.

To the same tune.

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ANd heres a world of people fine, That do in Silks and Satins shine, I wood that Suite and Cloak were mine, I hope I wish no harme. And here hangs Pictures two or thrée, The best that ever I did sée, I thinke one looks full butt at me, and laughs too.

And heres a man hath many a Rat, Both in his hand, and on his Hat, Me thinks he kéeps 'um very fat, O strange what tailes they have. And heres a Gentle-women too, That hides her face from me and you, I wonder what she meanes to do in Summer.

And heres an empty Church I sée, Great pitty 'tis most certainly, It should indeed no fuller be, and all these people here. And there's an old man carries wood, And heres a yong man doth no good, And heres a woman wears a hood, hey Dazie.

Thomas.

Come Sisly let us go along And not stand gaping hear among A sort of people that do throng, I never saw the like. But let us to our brother go, That will us welcome well I know, For he himselfe did tell me so, at Norfolke.

Soft, let us knock for heres the doore, But if because our cloathes be poore, They should not let us in therefore, t'wod make a dog to laugh. For I have heard my mother say, That if a man fall to decay, There's few or none will bid him stay, y'are welcome.

But silence, not a word but mum, For see our brother now doth come, Me thinks he looks as he were dum, what makes him not to speake. Good brother we our loves unfold, For though my Sisse and I am old, Yet we have made a little bold to see you.

Brother.

And truly I do thank you for't, Ye'r welcome both with all my heart, Wee'l drink a Cup before we part, ant please you but to stay. For I have friends within truly, That if they should a stranger see, They strait woo very fearfull be of danger.

Thomas.

Why Brother we no sicknesse have, Nor are we started from our grave, Your love is all that we do crave, what need you then to feare, We do not come to eat your roast Nor yet to put you unto cost, But now I see our labours lost poore Sisly.

Brother.

Pray do not think the fault is mine, For if you'l drink a Pint of wine, Ile give it you, and nere repine, hang mony what care I. And had I not so many Ghesse, Indeed I seriously professe, Your welcome should be more or lesse, good Brother.

Thomas.

No thank you Brother, éene farewell, A blind man now with ease may smell, That all things is not carried well, what love pray call you this. Come now unto thy Sister we ••ill go with all selerity, No doubt that she shall kinder be, unto us.

They condescend and were content So to their Sister straight they went, But all in vain their time was spent for when they thither came. Their Sister did her Maid compell, And bid her thus much to them tell, Indeed she was not very well, at that time.

From thence they to their couzen go, Being much desirous for to know, Whether that she wood serve 'um so. or use 'um in that kind. But being there this newes was brought, That she a smock had newly bought, And she was gone to have it wrought with Woosted.

Well now sayes Thomas to his Dear, What say'st thou Sisly to this gear, We far have gone, yet nere the near, We thank our kindred for't. But if that brothers be so kind What favour shall a stranger find, Protest it troubles much my mind, to think on't.

Sisly.

Nay Husband let us not do so, The best is we can homewards go, And yet not trouble friend nor foe, what need we then to care. For now each one I tell you true, Will only ask you how do you, I am glad to see you well, Sir Hugh, good morrow.

Thomas.

Why then old Sisly thou and I, Will back again to Norfolke hie, And bid a fig for company: our Dog is sport enough. But when we come to London next, Our friends shall have a better Text, I swear and vow I am soundly vext, who cares for't.