_Enter_ DITTY, _a ballad-man_.
DITTY. Come, new books, new books; newly printed and newly
come forth! All sorts of ballads and pleasant books! _The
Famous History of Tom Thumb_ and _Unfortunate Jack_,[239]
_A Hundred Godly Lessons_, and _Alas, poor Scholar, whither
wilt thou go? The second part of Mother Shipton's
Prophecies, newly made by a gentleman of good quality_,
foretelling what was done four hundred years ago, and _A
Pleasant Ballad of a bloody fight seen i' th' air_, which,
the astrologers say, portends scarcity of fowl this year.
[_Sings a ballad._
_Enter_ BUDGET.
BUD. Have you the _Ballad of the Unfortunate Lover_?
DITTY. No, but I have _George of Green_ or _Chivy Chase_,
_Collins and the Devil_, or _Room for Cuckolds_; I have
anything but that.
BUD. Have you the _Coy Maid_?
DITTY. I sold that just now; but I have the _Ballad of the
London 'Prentice_, _Guy of Warwick_, or _The Beggar of Bethnal
Green_.
BUD. What loves-ongs have you? I would have a wooing ballad.
DITTY. I have twenty of them. Look you, here's one, and
although I say it myself, as good a one as ever trod upon
shoe-leather.
BUD. What is't? Good Ditty, let me hear it.
DITTY. _The honest Milkmaid, or I must not wrong my Dame._
BUD. Have you never a one called _The honest Fresh Cheese and
Cream Woman_?
DITTY. I do not remember that; but here is another, you shall
hear me sing it.
_Once did I love a maiden fair,_
_Down derry, down, down, down, down derry;_
_With silver locks and golden hair,_
_Down derry, &c.;_
_Her cheeks were like the rose so sweet,_
_Down derry, &c.;_
_Like marble pillars were her feet,_
_Down derry, &c._
How like you this? 'Tis a rare tune, and a very pleasant song.
BUD. I like the song well; but I would have a picture upon it
like me.
DITTY. Look you here; here's one as like you as if it had been
spit out of your mouth; your nose, eye, lip, chin; sure, they
printed it with your face! and the most sweetest ballad that
ever I sung--
_My love and I to medley,_
_Upon a time would go:_
_The boatmen they stood ready,_
_My love and I to row;_
_Where we had cakes and prunes,_
_And many fine things mo;_
_But now, alas, she has left me:_
_Fa la, fa lero, lo!_
BUD. This is the ballad I'll have. Come, Ditty, thou shalt
teach me to sing it, and I'll pay thee at the next good house.
[_Exeunt._