rest of these court-like pleasures; but late at night, when he was tippled, and again faste asleepe, they put on his old clothes, and conveyed him to the place where they first found him. The jest was infinite for fun and frolic, for the man did and said many things to the grievous discomfiture of the duke at Court, yet gave great sporte to the courtiers; and it was great to behold him when he came to himself. In conclusion, after some little admiration, the poor man told his friends he had seen a vision-constantly believed it—would not be otherwise persuaded; and so the jest ended.”

This Ballad is given from a "black letter" copy in the Pepy's collection, with such emendations and corrections as our more fastidious age renders necessary.

The Frolicksome Duke; or the Tinker's Good Fortune.

Now, as fame does report, a young duke keep a court,
One that pleased his fancy with frolicksome sport;

But amongst all the rest, here's one I protest,

Which will make you to smile, when you hear the true jest
poor tinker he found, lying drunk on the ground,

A

As secure in a sleep as if laid in a swound.

The duke said to William, and Richard, and Ben,

"Take him home to my palace, we'll sport with him then."
O'er a horse he was laid, and with care soon convey'd

To the palace, although he was poorly arrayed;

Then they strip't off his clothes, both his shirt, shoes, and hose,
And they put him to bed for to take his repose.

Having pulled off his shirt, which was all over dirt,
They gave him clean Holland—this was no great hurt.

On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown,

They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown.
In the morning, when day, admiring he lay,

For to see the rich chamber both gaudy and gay

Now, he lay something late in his rich bed of state,
Till at last, knights and squires they on him did wait;
And the chamberling bare did likewise declare,
He desired to know what apparel he'd wear.
The poor tinker amayz'd, on the gentleman gayz'd,
And admired how he to this honour was raised.

Tho' he seem'd something mute, yet he chose a rich suit,
Which he straightways put on without longer dispuit,
With a star on his side, which the tinker oft eyed,
For it seem'd for to swell him no little with pride;
For he said to himself, "Where is Joan, my sweet wife,
Sure she never did see me so fine in her life."

From a convenient place, the duke his good grace
Did observe his behaviour in every case.

To a garden of state on the tinker they wait,

Trumpets sounding before him-thought he "this is great!" Where, an hour or two, the walks he did view,

With commanders and squires, in scarlet and blue.

A fine dinner was spread for him and his guests;
He was placed at the table above all the rest,
In a rich chair, or bed, lin'd with fine crimson red,
With a rich golden canopy over his head.

As he sat at his meat the musicke play'd sweet,
With the choicest of singing his joys did complete.

While the tinker did dine he had plenty of wine,
Rich canary and sherry, and tent superfine;

Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off his bowl,
Till at last he began for to tumble and roul

From his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did snore,
Being seven times more fuddled than ever before.

Then the duke did ordain they should strip him amain,
And restore him his old leather garments again.

T'was a point next the worst, yet perform it they must,
And they carry'd him straight where they found him at first
Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might,
But when he did waken, his joys took their flight.

For his glory to him so pleasant did seem,

That he thought it to be but a mere golden dream ;

Till at length he was brought to the duke, where he sought
For a pardon, as fearing he had set him at nought;
But his highness he said, "Thou art a jolly bold blade,
Such a frolick before I think never was played."

Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak,
Which he gave for the sake of his frolicksome joak.
Nay, and five hundred pound with ten acres of ground;
“Thou shalt never," said he, "range the counteries round,
Crying old brass to mend, for I'll be thy good friend;
Nay, and Joan, thy sweet wife, shall the dutchess attend."

The tinker reply'd, “What must Joan, my sweet bride,
Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride?

Must we have gold and land everye day to command?
Then I shall be squire I well understand?

Well I thank your good grace, and your love I embrace,
I was never before in so happy a case."