is the ballad by Richard Johnson, published in
the _Crowne Garland of Goulden Roses_ (1612), which probably had a much
earlier existence in a separate form. It is the earliest form of the
story of Whittington now in existence.

_A song of Sir Richard Whittington, who by strange fortunes came to bee
thrice Lord Maior of London; with his bountifull guifts and liberallity
given to this honourable Citty._

(To the tune of "_Dainty come thou to me_.")

"Here must I tell the praise
Of worthie Whittington,
Known to be in his dayes
Thrice Maior of London.
But of poor parentage
Borne was he, as we heare,
And in his tender age
Bred up in Lancashire.

Poorely to London than
Came up this simple lad,
Where, with a marchant-man,
Soone he a dwelling had;
And in a kitchen plast,
A scullion for to be,
Whereas long time he past
In labour grudgingly.

His daily service was
Turning spits at the fire;
And to scour pots of brasse,
For a poore scullions hire.
Meat and drinke all his pay,
Of coyne he had no store;
Therefore to run away,
In secret thought he bore.

So from this marchant-man
Whittington secretly
Towards his country ran,
To purchase liberty.
But as he went along
In a fair summer's morne,
London bells sweetly rung,
'Whittington, back return!'

'Evermore sounding so,
Turn againe, Whittington;
For thou in time shall grow
Lord-Maior of London.'
Whereupon back againe
Whittington came with speed,
Aprentise to remaine,
As the Lord had decreed.

'Still blessed be the bells'
(This was his daily song),
'They my good fortune tells,
Most sweetly have they rung.
If God so favour me,
I will not proove unkind;
London my love shall see,
And my great bounties find.'

But see his happy chance!
This scullion had a cat,
Which did his state advance,
And by it wealth he gat.
His maister ventred forth,
To a land far unknowne,
With marchandize of worth,
And is in stories shewne.

Whittington had no more
But this poor cat as than,
Which to the ship he bore,
Like a brave marchant-man.
'Vent'ring the same,' quoth he,
'I may get store of golde,
And Maior of London be,
As the bells have me told.'

Whittington's marchandise,
Carried was to a land
Troubled with rats and mice,
As they did understand.
The king