A pleasant new ditty: intituled, Though rich golden booties your luck was to catch, your last was the best, 'cause you met with your match To the tune of, I know what I know. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A20514 of text S113525 in the English Short Title Catalog (STC 6925). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 7 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 1 1-bit group-IV TIFF page image. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 A20514 STC 6925 ESTC S113525 99848758 99848758 13871 2240947423

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Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A20514) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 13871) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 986:20) A pleasant new ditty: intituled, Though rich golden booties your luck was to catch, your last was the best, 'cause you met with your match To the tune of, I know what I know. 1 sheet ([1] p.) : ill. for I. Wright junior, dwelling at the upper end of the Old Baily, Printed at London : [ca. 1635] Verse - "A rich wealthy batchelour thirty and odde,". Publication date estimated by STC. In two parts; woodcuts at head of each part. Reproductions of the original in the British Library. eng Ballads, English -- 17th century. eebo A pleasant new ditty: intituled, Though rich golden booties your luck was to catch, your last was the best, 'cause you met with your match. To the tun [no entry] 1635 2 1075 1 0 0 0 0 0 9.3 B The rate of 9.3 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the B category of texts with fewer than 10 defects per 10,000 words. 2007-08 Assigned for keying and markup 2007-09 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2007-10 Sampled and proofread 2007-10 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2008-02 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
A pleasant new Ditty : intituled , Though rich golden Booties your luck was to catch , Your last was the best , cause you met with your match . To the tune of , I know what I know .

A Rich wealthy Batchelour thirty and odde , Had now a new crotchet crept into his pate : A wife he must have , what-soever betide , And well linde with Rubbish to inrich his state . Faire Maidens were offer'd him , two , thrée , and foure , Sufficient Mens Daughters , with money to boote , Yet his gréedy mind did still gape after more , For he said 't was too little for him to goe to ' te . His meanes did affoord him thrée hundred a yéere , And thrée bonny Lasses had thousands apéece , Yet for it and them hée a pin did not care , Though one of them was to a Gentleman Neece . Shall I for a paltery poore thousand pound , A young wench goe marry with nothing but bréed , Consume me in longings , in fashions , and toyes , ●o , yet it is time , and I now will take héed . Where is a brisk Widdow that dwelleth hard by , In money hath ten thousand pounds at the least , I le spruce my selfe up then incontinently , And to her I le goe as a shutering Gest . This Batchelour soone did attaine his desire , The day was appointed when they should be wed , His youthfull faire Brioe was but thréescore and ten , For shée had but a tooth and a halfe in her head . Some thrée or foure yéeres did this bonny Lasse live , Then grim goodman death tooke her life cleane away , And griefe for her losse had the man almost sped , But that a new Widdow his journey did stay . His wife being buried , next morning he went , Another spruce Widdow agen for to sée , Where mounted on Crutches he straight one espide , Who in state of riches was better than shée . His Mothers smock sure did this Widdower weare , For no sooner wood but he presently sped , A Licence he fetcht , and he marri'd her straight , Then she threw downe her Stilts , & she hobbl'd to bed . Not full ten yéeres older then was his last wife , Was this same dryd mummey that lay by his side , With snorting and grunting she air'd so the Bed , That never had Groome such a night by a Bride . But still did her money perfume all againe , And in a moneth after she bed-rid did lye . Seven Winters and Summers she lay at sutall east , And then she departed because she must dye . Five hundred a yéere she augmented his state , Ten thousand pound cleare by the other he got , Meane time of another spruce Widdow he heard , Then he praid unto Iove that she might be his lot .
The second part , To the same tune .

THis Widdow séem'd not above fifty at most , So spruce and so neat was her Carkas bedrest , She wanted no meanes for to set her to sale , They lik't and were marri'd , now marke well the rest . She seem'd so compleate and so comely of shape , That he doted on her more than both the rest . She said then swéet husband , be not you dismaid , For the truth must be knowne when you sée me undrest . Two rowes of white téeth she tooke out of her mouth , And put 'em straight into a little round Boxe , A Glasse eye likewise she pull'd out of her head , Which made the man fear that his wife had got knocks Her pouldred curld Locks that so faire did appeare , Came off with more ease than a new scalded Pigge , I wonder her Husband could laughing forbeare , When he saw his wife looke like an Ostridge egge . Then strait way down stooped this comely swéet Bride , Vnlac't , and ungirded , her neat woodden legge , The Bridegroome was like to runne out of his wits , For his eyes ne'r before did behold such a Hagge . Then for to revive him , unto him she flung , Her Keyes that did lead him to treasure great store , This made him to love her , so both went to bed , Where he did imbrace her , what would you have more . Such luck had this husband to tumble them o're , That e're one moneth ended she changed her life . A rich wealthy miser invited him home , And said , if you please Sir , I le show you a wife . He show'd him his Daughter a Girls of fiftéene , But she would no liking nor favour him show , Her friends made the match , & they marri'd with spéed , But she ne'r endur'd him , I tell you but so . This young marri'd wife to such cunning was grown , That she fell a longing his quine for to waste : French Kickshaws of ten pound a dish she would have , With other deare meats for to fit her fine taste . No Physick , us Doctors , no cost did she spare , On pride and new fangles she set her delight , Her Husband began for to savour of feare , And to wish that she ne'r had béene séene in his sight . No love nor no liking this young wife e're had , Because she was forc't to be wed to her hate . He sickned and dyde , and was laid in his grave , So she did enjoy his thrée Widdowes estate . A young man that first was this Maidens true love , With all expedition they made their dispatch , For wedding and bedding they both were agréed , And the thrée widows husband did méet with his match .
FINIS .

Printed at London for I. Wright junior , dwelling at the upper end of the Old Baily .