[p. 14.]
A Song.
Riding to London, on Dunstable way
I met with a Maid on Midsummer day,
Her Eyes they did sparkle like Stars in the sky,
Her face it was fair, and her forehead was high:
The more I came to her, the more I did view her,
The better I lik’d her pretty sweet face, [p. 15.]
I could not forbear her, but still I drew near her,