Charlotte Hayes

The Famous Ratketcher

with his travels into France, and of his returne to London

(To the Tune of Tom a Bedlam)

There was a rare Rat-catcher,

Did about the Country wander,

The soundest blade of all his trade,

Or I should him greatly slaunder.

          For still would he cry, a Tatt tat at tat

          tara ra rat to ever

          To catch a mouse, or to carouse,

         Such a Ratter I saw never.

Upon a Poale he carried

Full fourty fulsome Vermine:

Whose cursed lives without any Knives,

To take he did determine.

        And still would he cry, &c.

His talke was all of India

The Voyage and the Navie

What Mice or Rattes or wild Plcats,

What Stoates or Weesels have yee.

          And still would he cry, &c.

In London he was well knowne,

In many a stately House

He layde a Bayte, whose deadly fate

Did kill both Ratte and Mouse.

          And still would he cry, &c.

But on a time, a Mayden,

Did him so fair entice,

That for her a Baite, he layed straight,

Would kill no Rate nor Mice.

          And still would he cry, &c.

And on the baite she nibbled

So pleasing in her taste,

She likt so long, that the Poysin strong,

Did make her swell i’the waiste.

          For still would he cry, &c.

He subtly this perceiving,

To the Country straight doth hie him,

Where by his skill, he poysoneth still,

Such vermine as come nigh him.

           And still would he cry, &c.

He never careth whether

He be sober, lame, or tipsie,

He cab Collogue with any Rogue,

And cant with any Gipsie,

           And still would he cry, &c.

He was so brave a bowzer,

That it was doubtful whether

He taught the Rats, or the Rats taught him

To be drunke as Rats, together.

          And still would he cry, &c.

When he had tripped this Islande,

From Bristow unto Dover,

With Paineful Bagge and painted Flagge,

To France he sailed over.

          And still would he cry, a Tatt tat at tat

          tara ra rat to ever

          To catch a mouse, or to carouse,

          Such a Ratter I saw never.

The Happie Obtaining of the Great Galleazzo

by Thomas Deloney, who is mysteriously absent at sea

To the tune of Monseurs Almaigne

O Noble England, Fall downe upon thy knee,

And praise thy God with thankfull hearte, Which still maintaineth thee.

The forraine forsce, that seeke thy utter spoile,

Shall then through His especiall grace, Be brought to shamefull foile.

With mightie pow’r they come unto our coast,

To overrun our Countrie quite, They make their brags and boast.

In strength of men, they set their onley stay,

But we, upon the Lord our God, Will put our trust alway.

This great Galleazzo, which was so huge and hye,

That like a bulwarke on the sea, Did seeme to each man’s eye.

There was it taken, unto our great reliefe,

And divers Nobles, in which train, Don Pietro was the chief.

Strong was she stuft, with Cannons great and smalle,

And other instruments of warre, Which we obtained all.

A certaine sign, of good successe we trust,

That God will overthrow the reste, As He hath done the firste.

Then did our Navie pursue the rest amaine,

With roaring noise of Cannons great, Till they neere Calais came.

With manly courage, they followed them so faste,

Another muightie Gallion, Did seeme to yield at last.

And in distresse, for safeguard of their lives,

A flag of truce they did hand out, With manie mournefull cries.

Which, when our men, did perfectly espie,

Some little Barkes they sent to her, To board her quietly.

This mightie vessel, was threescore yards in lengthe,

Most wonderfull to eache man’s eye, for making and for strength.

In her was placed, an hundreth Cannons greate,

And mightily provided eke, with bread-corne wine and meat.

There were of Oares, two hunderedth I weene,

Threescore foote and twelve in length, well measured to be seene.

And yet subdued, with manie others more,

And not a ship of ours was lost, the Lord be thankt therefore.

Lord God Almightie, which hath the heartes in hand,

Of ev’ry person to dispose, defend this Englidh land.

Bless Thou our Soveraigne with long and happie life,

Indue her Counsel with Thy Grace, and end this mortall strife.

Give to the rest, of Commons more and lesse,

Loving heartes, obedient minds, and perfect faithfullnesse.

That they and we, and all with one accord,

On Sion Hill may sing the prayse of our most mightie Lord.