"Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry:
You thinke I'm the Abbot of Canterbùry;
But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee."
The king he laughed, and swore by the masse,
He make thee lord abbot this day in his place!
"Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede,
For alacke I can neither write ne reade."
Four nobles a weeke, then I will give thee,
For this merry jest thou hast showne unto mee;
And tell the old abbot, when thou comest home,
Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John.
[BARBARA ALLEN'S CRUELTY]
In Scarlet towne where I was borne,
There was a faire maid dwellin,
Made every youth crye, Wel-awaye!
Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merrye month of May,
When greene buds they were swellin,
Yong Jemmye Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his man unto her then,
To the town where shee was dwellin;
You must come to my master deare,
Giff your name be Barbara Alien.