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A priest, a priest, fayes Aldingàr,

While I am a man alive.

A priest, a priest, fayes Aldingàr,

Me for to houzle and fhrive.

I wolde have layne by our comlye queene
Bot shee wolde never confent;

Then I thought to betraye her unto our kinge

In a fyer to have her brent.

There came a lazar to the kings gates,

A lazar both blinde and lame:

I tooke the lazar upon my backe,
And on her bedd him layne.

Then ranne I to our comlye king,
These tidings fore to tell.

But ever alacke! fayes Aldingar,

Falfing never doth well.

Forgive, forgive me, queene, madame,

The fhort time I muft live.

Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar,

As freely I forgive.

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Here take thy queene, our king Harry'e,

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And love her as thy life,

For never had a king in Chriftentye,

A truer and fairer wife.

Then

King Henrye ran to clafpe his queene,

And loofed her full fone:

Then turnd to look for the tinye boye;
--The boye was vanifht and gone.

But first he had touchd the lazar man,
And ftroakt him with his hand:
The lazar under the gallowes tree
All whole and founde did ftand.

The lazar under the gallowes tree
Was comelye, ftraight and tall;
King Henrye made him his head stewarde
To wayte withinn his hall.

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215

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**

X.

ON THOMAS LORD CROMWELL.

It is ever the fate of a disgraced minifter to be forfaken by his friends, and infulted by his enemies, always reckoning among the latter the giddy inconftant multitude. We have here a purn at fallen greatness from fome angry partifan of declining popery, who could never forgive the downfall of their Diana, and loss of their craft. ballad feems to have been compofed between the time of Cromwell's commitment to the tower Jun. 11. 1549, and that of his being beheaded July 28, following. A fhort interval! but Henry's paffion for Catharine Howard would

The

admit

admit no delay. Notwithstanding our libeller, Cromwell bad excellent qualities; his great fault was too much obfequioufnefs to the arbitrary WILL of his mafter; but let it be confidered that this mafter had raised him from obfcurity, and that the high-born nobility had fhewn him the way in every kind of mean and fer-vile compliance.- -The original copy printed at London in 1540, is intitled "A newe ballade made of Thomas Crumwel, called TROLLE ON AWAY." To it is prefixed this diftich by way of burthen, Trolle on away, trolle on awaye.

B

Synge heave and howe rombelowe trolle on away.

OTH man and chylde is glad to here tell
Of that falfe traytoure Thomas Crumwel,

Now that he is fet to learne to spell.

Synge trolle on away.

When fortune loky'd the in thy face,

Thou haddyft fayre tyme, but thou lackydyft grace; { Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydst a pace.

Both plate and chalys came to thy fyft,

Synge, &c.

Thou lockydft them vp where no man wyft,

Tyll in the kynges treafoure fuche thinges were myft.

Synge, &c.

Both cruft and crumme came thorowe thy handes,

Thy marchaundyfe fayled over the fandes,
Therfore nowe thou art layde faft in bandes.

IC

Synge, &c.
Fyrfe

Fyrfte when kynge Henry, God faue his grace!
Perceyud myfchefe kyndlyd in thy face,

Then it was tyme to purchase the a place.

Hys grace was euer of gentyll nature,

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Synge, &c.

Mouyd with petye, and made the hys feruyture,
But thou, as a wretche, fuche thinges dyd procure.

Thou dyd not remembre, falfe heretyke,

Synge, &c.

One God, one fayth, and one Rynge catholyke,
For thou haft bene fo long a fcyfmatyke.

2Q

Synge, &c.

Thou woldyft not learne to knowe these thre,

But euer was full of iniquite;

Wherfore all this lande hathe ben troubled with the.

Synge, &c.

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All they, that were of the new trycke,

Agaynft the churche thou baddeft them ftycke,
Whe.fore nowe thou hafte touchyd the quycke.

Synge, &c.

Bothe facramentes and facramentalles
Thou woldyft not fuffre within thy walles;

Nor let vs praye for all chryften foules.

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Synge, &c.

Of

Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell,
Whyther of Chayme, or Syfchemell,

Or else fent vs frome the deuyll of hell.

Synge, &c.

Thou woldest neuer to vertue applye,
But couetyd euer to clymme to hye,
And nowe hafte thou trodden thy fhoo awrye.

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Synge, &c.

Who-fo-euer dyd winne thou wolde not lofe,
Wherfore al Englande doth hate the as I fuppofe,
Bycause thou wait falfe to the redolent rofe.

Synge, &c.

Thou myghtest haue learned thy cloth to flocke, 40

Upon thy grefy fullers flocke;

Wherfore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke.

Synge, &c,

Yet faue that foule, that God hath bought,

And for thy carcas care thou nought,

Let it fuffre payne, as it hath wrought.

Synge, &c.

God faue kyng Henry with all his power,
And prynce Edwarde that goodly flowre,
With all hys lordes of great honoure.

Synge trolle on awaye, fyng trolle on away.
Hevye and how rombelowe trolle on awaye.

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