Verse > Anthologies > William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. > The Book of Restoration Verse
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William Stanley Braithwaite, ed.  The Book of Restoration Verse.  1910.
 
The Bailiff’s Daughter of Islington
Anonymous
 
THERE 1 was a youth, and a well-beloved youth,
  And he was a squire’s son:
He loved the bailiff’s daughter dear,
  That lived in Islington.
 
Yet she was coy, and she would not believe        5
  That he did love her so,
No, not at any time would she
  Any countenance to him show.
 
But when his friends did understand
  His fond and foolish mind,        10
They sent him up to fair London,
  An apprentice for to bind.
 
And when he had been seven long years,
  And never his love could see,
‘Many a tear have I shed for her sake        15
  When she little thought of me.’
 
Then all the maids of Islington
  Went forth to sport and play;
All but the bayliff’s daughter dear;
  She secretly stole away.        20
 
She put off her gown of grey,
  And put on her puggish attire;
She’s up to fair London gone,
  Her true-love to require.
 
As she went along the road,        25
  The weather being hot and dry,
There was she aware of her true-love,
  At length came riding by.
 
She started up, with a colour so red,
  Catching hold of his bridle-rein;        30
‘One penny, one penny, kind sir,’ she said,
  ‘Will ease me of much pain.’
 
‘Before I give you one penny, sweetheart,
  Pray tell me where you were born?’
‘At Islington, kind sir,’ said she,        35
  ‘Where I have had many a scorn.’
 
‘I prithee, sweetheart, then tell to me,
  O, tell me whether you know
The bailiff’s daughter of Islington?’
  ‘She’s dead, sir, long ago.’        40
 
‘If she be dead, then take my horse,
  My saddle and bridle also;
For I will into some far countrey,
  Where no man shall me know.’
 
‘O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth!        45
  She’s here alive, she is not dead;
Here she standeth by thy side,
  And is ready to be thy bride.’
 
‘O farewel grief, and welcome joy,
  Ten thousand times and more!        50
For now I have found my own true-love,
  Whom I thought I should never see more.’
 
Note 1. From Percy’s Reliques, 1765. [back]
 
 
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