m full sweetly, and then go away as his fashion was,
_ho, ho, hoh!_ Oftentimes would he sing at a door like a singing man, and
when they did come to give him his reward, he would turn his back and
laugh. In these humours of his he had many pretty songs, which I will sing
as perfect as I can. For his chimney-sweeper's humours he had these songs:
the first is to the tune of _I have been a fiddler these fifteen years_.

Black I am from head to foot,
And all doth come by chimney soot:
Then maidens, come and cherish him
That makes your chimneys neat and trim.

Horns have I store, but all at my back;
My head no ornament doth lack:
I give my horns to other men,
And ne'er require them again.

Then come away, you wanton wives,
That love your pleasures as your lives:
To each good woman I'll give two,
Or more, if she think them too few.

Then would he change his note and sing this following, to the tune of _What
care I how fair she be?_[13]

Be she blacker than the stock,
If that thou wilt make her fair,
Put her in a cambric smock,
Buy her paint and flaxen hair.

One your carrier brings to town
Will put down your city-bred;
Put her on a broker's gown,
That will sell her maiden-head.

Comes your Spaniard, proud in mind,
He'll have the first cut, or else none:
The meek Italian comes behind,
And your Frenchman picks the bone.

Still she trades with Dutch and Scot,
Irish, and the German tall,
Till she gets the thing you wot;
Then her end's an hospital.

A song to the tune of _The Spanish Pavin_[14].

When Virtue was a country maid,
And had no skill to set up trade,
She came up with a carrier's jade,
And lay at rack and manger.
She whiffed her pipe, she drunk her can,
The pot was ne'er out of her span;
She married a tobacco man,
A stranger, a stranger.

They set up shop in Honey Lane,
And thither flies did swarm amain,
Some from France, some from Spain,
Train'd in by scurvy panders.
At last this honey pot grew dry,
Then both were forced for to fly
To Flanders, to Flanders.

Another to the tune of _The Coranto_.

I peeped in at the Woolsack,
O, what a goodly sight did I
Behold at midnight chime!
The wenches were drinking of mulled sack;
Each youth on his knee, that then did want
A year and a half of his time.
They leaped and skipped,
They kissed and they clipped,
And y