She straight into the Kitchin went,
Her Message for to tell,
And there the Master-Cook she spy'd,
Who did with Malice swell.

Now Master-Cook it must be so,
Do that which I thee tell;
You needs must dress the milk-white Doe,
Which you do know full well.

Then straight his cruel bloody Hands,
He on the Lady laid;
Who quivering and shaking stands,
While thus to her he said:

Thou art the Doe that I must dress,
See here, behold my Knife;
For it is Pointed presently,
To rid thee of thy Life.

O then cry'd out the Scullion Boy,
As loud as loud might be;
O save her Life, good Master-Cook,
And make your Pies of me?

For pity sake do not destroy
My Lady with your Knife;
You know she is her Father's Joy,
For Christ's sake save her Life.

I will not save her Life he said,
Nor make my Pies of thee;
Yet if thou dost this Deed betray,
Thy Butcher I will be;

Now when this Lord he did come home,
For to sit down to Meat;
He called for his Daughter dear,
To come and carve his Meat.

Now sit you down, his Lady said,
O sit you down to Meat;
Into some Nunnery she's gone,
Your Daughter dear forget.

Then solemnly he made a Vow,
Before the Company;
That he would neither eat nor drink,
Until he did her see.

O then bespoke the Scullion Boy,
With a loud Voice so high;
If that you will your Daughter see
My Lord cut up the Pye.

Wherein her Flesh is minced small,
And parched with the Fire;
All caused by her Step-Mother,
Who did her Death desire.

And cursed be the Master-Cook,
O cursed may he be!
I proffer'd him my own Heart's Blood,
From Death to set her free.

Then all in Black this Lord did Mourn,
And for his Daughter's sake;
He judged for her Step-Mother,
To be burnt at a Stake.

Likewise he judg'd the Master-Cook,
In boyling Lead to stand;
He made the simple Scullion Boy,
The Heir to all his Land.

_A_ BALLAD

_In Praise of a certain Commander in the City._

[Music]

A Heroe of no small Renown,
But noted for a Man of Mettle;
Thro' all the Parts of _London_ Town,
No Gentleman, nor yet a Clown,
No grave wise man, nor stupid Beetle.

By many Deeds of Prowess done,
He's gain'd a matchless Reputation;
Perform'd by neither Sword nor Gun,
But by what means you'll know anon,
And how he work'd his Preservation.

Well mounted on a noble Steed,
With Sword and Pistol charg'd before him;
Altho' we must confess indee