The quatorse, or, The sorrowful lamentation of the Preston gentlemen in the press-yard, for the loss of P.W. made by the author, while he was playing at picket ; in imitation of Habby Simson. This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription B43744 of text T226276 in the English Short Title Catalog. 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. 4KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 3 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2018 B43744 625256673 ocn 625256673 Wing Q149A

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 Early English books online text creation partnership. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 2, no. B43744) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 211318) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English Books, 1641-1700 ; 2970:8) The quatorse, or, The sorrowful lamentation of the Preston gentlemen in the press-yard, for the loss of P.W. made by the author, while he was playing at picket ; in imitation of Habby Simson. 1 sheet ([1] p.). s.n., [London : 1685?] Place and date of publication suggested by Wing (2nd ed.). In verse. First line of text: The press-yard now may cry Alace. Reproduction of original in: British Library.

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 eng Simson, Habby. Ballads, English -- England -- Early works to 1800. Broadsides -- England -- 17th century. eebo The quatorse, or, The sorrowful lamentation of the Preston gentlemen in the press-yard, for the loss of P.W. /made by the author, while he was playing n/a 1685 3 604 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 A This text has no known defects that were recorded as gap elements at the time of transcription. 2014-07 Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2014-11 Sampled and proofread 2014-11 Text and markup reviewed and edited 2015-03 Batch review (QC) and XML conversion
THE QUATORSE , OR THE Sorrowful Lamentation of the Preston Gentlemen in the Press-yard , for the Loss of P. W. Made by the Author , while he was playing at Picket . In Imitation of Habby Simson . THE Press-yard now may cry Alace , For she has lost her greatest Grace , And all within that dismal Place Themselves bemoan ; Not one can shew a cheerful Face . Sen Pere's gone . Now wha shall Play Corellis ' Airs : Make Tables Dance with Stools and Chairs Like Lads and Lasses at our Fairs , As oft he 's done ? But now Alace w' have no such Play'rs , Sen Pere's gone . Such Skill he had in Musicks Arts So exquisitely play'd his Parts , That oft he made more bleeding Hearts With's Bow alone , Than Cupid with Ten Thousand Darts ; But now he 's gone . Whilst Pere staid , we were resign'd No murm'ring then , not one repin'd Altho' like Thieves we were confin'd To th' middle Stone . But wha can Ease the troubl'd Mind , Sen Pere's gone ? Whilst Pere staid we fear'd no Evil , From fawning Rowss or surly Revell . Both then were grown most wondrous Civil By Musick won ; But now begin to play the Devil , Sen Pere's gone . The Captain too by Nature rough As Grenadier girt up in Buff ; As smooth as Silk , or softest Stuff He then was grown ; But now he 's turn'd Morose and Gruff , Sen Pere's gone . When doom'd to die was bonny Wood end , And likely was to make no good end , Instead of Paul , he did attend , His Tunes alone Could raise the drooping Heart of 's Friend But now he 's gone . His Musick all from Ills protected , And cured those with Plague infected ; So sweetly he each Note dissected With sprightly Tone : But now Alace 't is all neglected , Sen Pere's gone . O wa is me ! quoth , Thomas Riddell , My Musick now must all lie idle For want of Pere's Pipe and Fiddle . With grief and moan My farting Pipe is burst i' th' middle , Sen Pere's gone . Pere , who could my Mirth enhance , And make my Dog and me to Dance , Or raise me from the deadly Trance , When cold as Stone . O wa is me unhappy Chance ! Poor Pere's gone . When e'er we met for to be Cheary , Wha could divert us , Wha but Pere ? So Blyth he was , so Brisk and Airy , 't was he alone , And only he could make us Merry , But now he 's gone . Ay when he barked like the Dogs The Geitlings leap'd and skip'd like Frogs , Or Irish tripping o'er the Bogs . But now ther 's none That can divert the little Rogues , Sen Pere's gone . He did not much delight to Scribble , As some , who when at witt they Nibble ; But as for Pun , or quarter Quibble , out done by none . To vie with him no Man was able ; But now he 's gone . Pere who was without compare ; The Loss of him what Man can bear , And not let fall a mournful Tear ? In saddest Tone , Let all his Friends their Grief declare , Sen he is gone . FINIS .