WEALTH.
What dainty fine ballad have you now to be sold?
SIMPLICITY. Marry, child, I have Chipping-Norton, a mile from Chapel o' th' Heath —a lamentable ballad of burning the Pope's dog; the sweet ballad of the Lincolnshire bagpipes[238]; and Peggy and Willy:—But now he is dead and gone: Mine own sweet Willy is laid in his grave. La, la, la, lan ti dan derry, dan da dan, lan ti dan, dan tan derry, dan do.
WIT.
It is a doleful discourse, and sung as dolefully.
SIMPLICITY.
Why, you cannot mend it, can ye?
WIT. What will you lay on that? for I myself dare lay six groats to six of your bald ballads, that you yourself shall say I sing better than you.
SIMPLICITY.
What a brag-boy is this, to comparison with a man! But, boy, boy,
I will not lay six ballads to six groats, but I will lay six ballads
to six jerks at your buttocks, that you shall not sing so well as I.
WIT.
That I shall not? No! possible, you will not let me sing?
SIMPLICITY. I not let you! Is that spoken like Wit? It is spoken like a woodcock: how can I stay thee, if thou wilt sing out thy throat?
WIT. Well, then, to our bargain: six ballads to six stripes, and who shall keep stakes?
SIMPLICITY.
Neither of your companions; for that's, ask my fellow, if I be a thief.