Balowe
Language: English 
Balow my babe, lye still and sleepe!
Itt greeves me sore to see thee weepe,
Balowe my boy, thy mother's joy,
Thy ffather breeds me great annoy.  
Balow, etc.

When he began to court my love,
& with his sug'red words me move,
His ffaynings false & fflattering cheere
To me that time did not appeare;
But now I see most cruellye
He cares neither for my babe nor mee. 
Balow, etc. 

Lye still my darling, sleepe awhile,
& when thou wakest thoule sweetly smile
But smile not as thy father did,
To cozen maids:  nay, god forbid! 
But yett I ffeare thou wilt goe neere,
Thy father's hart & fface to beare.
Balow, etc. 

I cannot chuse, but ever will
Be loving to thy father still;
Where-ere he goes, where-ere he ryds, 
My love with him doth still abyde;
In weale or woe, where-ere he goe,
My hart shall neere depart him froe.
Balow, etc. 

But doe not, doe not, pretty mine,
To ffaynings false thy hart incline.
Be loyall to thy lover true,
& never change her ffor a new.
If good or faire, of her have care,
Ffor women's baninge is wonderous sare.
Balow, etc. 

Bearne, by thy face I will be ware;
Like Sirens' words Ile not come neere;
My babe and I together will live;
Heele comfort me when cares doe greeve;  
My babe & I right soft will lye, 
& neere respect man's crueltye. 
Balow, etc. 

Ffarwell, ffarwell, the falsest youth
That ever kist a woman's mouth!
I wish all maids be warned by mee, 
Neere to trust man's curtesye;
For if wee doe but chance to bowe, 
Theyle use us then, they care not how.
Balow, etc.

Confirmed with Bishop Percy's Folio Manuscript, vol. III: Ballads and Romances, edited by John W. Hales, M.A., Frederick J. Furnivall, M.A., Prof. Child, W. Chappell, &c. &c., London: N. Trübner & Co., 1868, pages 522 - 523.


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Researcher for this text: Melanie Trumbull

This text was added to the website: 2019-01-11
Line count: 47
Word count: 284