







 
   
     
       
         Alas poore scholler, whither wilt thou goe: or Strange altrations which at this time be there's many did thinke they never should see. To the tune of, Halloo my fancy, &c.
         Wild, Robert, 1609-1679.
      
       
         This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A15348 of text S102153 in the  English Short Title Catalog (STC 25632). Textual changes  and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more  computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life.  The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with  MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish.  This text has not been fully proofread 
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         EarlyPrint Project
         Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO
         2017
         A15348
         STC 25632
         ESTC S102153
         99837952
         99837952
         2303
         
           
            This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of
             Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal
            . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
          
        
      
       
         Early English books online.
      
       
         (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A15348)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 2303)
         Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 1049:06)
      
       
         
           
             Alas poore scholler, whither wilt thou goe: or Strange altrations which at this time be there's many did thinke they never should see. To the tune of, Halloo my fancy, &c.
             Wild, Robert, 1609-1679.
          
           1 sheet ([1] p.) : ill
           
             s.n.,
             [London :
             1641]
          
           
             By Robert Wild.
             Imprint from STC. (Written in early 1641 and very possibly printed before the end of the legal year 1640 on 24 March.)--STC.
             A ballad.
             In two parts.
             Woodcut illustrations at head of each part.
             Reproduction of original in the British Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
       
         
           Ballads, English -- 17th century.
        
      
    
       A15348  S102153  (STC 25632).  civilwar no Alas poore scholler, whither wilt thou goe: or Strange altrations which at this time be; there's many did thinke they never should see. To t Wild, Robert 1641    658 2 0 0 0 0 0 30 C  The  rate of 30 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the C category of texts with between 10 and 35 defects per 10,000 words. 
        2003-08 TCP
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        2003-09 SPi Global
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        Sampled and proofread
      
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           Alas
           poore
           Scholler
           ,
           whither
           wilt
           thou
           goe
           :
           OR
           Strange
           altrations
           which
           at
           this
           time
           be
           ;
           There
           's
           many
           did
           thinke
           they
           never
           should
           see
           .
        
         
           To
           the
           tune
           of
           ,
           
             Halloo
             my
             Fancy
             ,
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             
          
           
             
               IN
               a
               melancholly
               studdy
            
             
               None
               but
               my selfe
               ,
            
             
               Me
               thought
               my
               muse
               grew
               muddy
               ,
            
             
               After
               seaven
               yeares
               reading
            
             
               And
               costly
               breeding
               ,
            
             
               I
               felt
               ,
               but
               could
               finde
               no
               pelfe
               :
            
             
               Into
               learned
               raggs
            
             
               I
               'ue
               rent
               my
               Plush
               and
               Sattin
               ,
            
             
               And
               now
               am
               fit
               to
               begg
            
             
               in
               
                 Hebrew
                 ,
                 Greeke
              
               and
               
                 Lattin
                 ,
              
            
             
               Iu●●●●d
               of
               
                 Aristotle
                 ,
              
            
             
               would
               I
               had
               got
               a
               Patten
               :
            
             
               Alasse
               poore
               Scholler
               whither
               wilt
               thou
               go
               ?
            
          
           
             
               
                 Cambridge
              
               now
               I
               must
               leave
               thee
            
             
               And
               follow
               Fate
               ,
            
             
               
                 Colledge
              
               hopes
               doe
               deceiue
               me
               ,
            
             
               I
               oft
               expected
            
             
               To
               haue
               beene
               elected
               ,
            
             
               But
               desert
               is
               reprobate
               :
            
             
               Masters
               of
               
                 Colledges
              
            
             
               have
               no
               common
               graces
               ,
            
             
               And
               they
               that
               have
               
                 Fellowships
              
            
             
               have
               but
               common
               places
               ,
            
             
               And
               those
               that
               
                 Schollers
              
               are
               ,
            
             
               they
               must
               haue
               hansome
               faces
               :
            
             
               Alas
               poore
               Scholler
               whither
               wilt
               thou
               goe
               ?
            
          
           
             
          
           
             
               I
               haue
               bow'd
               ,
               I
               haue
               bended
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               in
               hope
               ,
            
             
               Due
               day
               to
               be
               befrended
               ,
            
             
               I
               haue
               Preach'd
               ,
               I
               haue
               Printed
            
             
               What
               ere
               I
               hinted
               ,
            
             
               To
               please
               our
               English
               
                 Pope
              
               ;
            
             
               I
               worshipt
               towards
               the
               East
               ,
            
             
               but
               the
               Sunne
               doth
               now
               forsake
               me
               ,
            
             
               I
               finde
               that
               I
               am
               falling
               ,
            
             
               the
               Northerne
               winds
               doe
               shake
               me
               ,
            
             
               Would
               I
               had
               beene
               upright
               ,
            
             
               for
               bowing
               now
               will
               breake
               me
               :
            
             
               Alas
               poore
               Scholler
               ,
               whither
               wilt
               thou
               goe
               ?
            
          
           
             
               At
               great
               preferment
               I
               aymed
            
             
               Witnesse
               my
               silke
               ,
            
             
               But
               now
               my
               hopes
               are
               maimed
               ,
            
             
               I
               looked
               lately
               ,
            
             
               To
               liue
               most
               stately
               ,
            
             
               And
               haue
               a
               Dairy
               of
               
                 Bell-ropes
              
               milke
               :
            
             
               But
               now
               alasse
               ,
            
             
               my selfe
               I
               must
               not
               flatter
               ,
            
             
               Bygamy
               of
               
                 Steeples
              
            
             
               is
               a
               laughing
               matter
               ,
            
             
               Each
               man
               must
               have
               but
               one
               ,
            
             
               and
               
                 Curates
              
               will
               grow
               fatter
               .
            
             
               Alas
               poore
               Scholler
               ,
               whither
               wilt
               thou
               goe
               ?
            
          
        
         
         
           
             The
             second
             part
             ,
          
           
             to
             the
             same
             Tune
             .
          
           
             
          
           
             
               INto
               some
               Country
               Uillage
            
             
               Now
               I
               must
               goe
               ,
            
             
               Where
               neither
               Tith
               nor
               Tillage
               ▪
            
             
               The
               greedy
               Patron
            
             
               And
               parched
               Matron
               ,
            
             
               Sweare
               to
               the
               Church
               they
               owe
               :
            
             
               Yet
               if
               I
               can
               preach
               and
               pray
               too
               on
               a
               sudden
               ,
            
             
               And
               confute
               the
               
                 Pope
              
            
             
               at
               adventure
               without
               studdying
               ,
            
             
               Then
               ten
               pounds
               a
               yeare
            
             
               besides
               a
               sunday
               pudding
               .
            
             
               Alas
               poore
               Scholler
               whither
               wilt
               thou
               goe
               ?
            
          
           
             
               All
               the
               Arts
               I
               haue
               Skill
               in
               ,
            
             
               Divine
               and
               Humane
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               all
               's
               not
               worth
               a
               shilling
               ,
            
             
               When
               the
               women
               heare
               me
               ,
            
             
               They
               doe
               but
               ieare
               me
               ,
            
             
               And
               say
               I
               am
               profane
               :
            
             
               Once
               I
               remember
               ,
            
             
               I
               Preached
               with
               a
               
                 Weaver
                 ,
              
            
             
               I
               quoated
               
                 Austine
                 ,
              
            
             
               He
               quoated
               
                 Dodd
              
               and
               
                 Cliver
                 ,
              
            
             
               I
               nothing
               got
               ,
            
             
               he
               got
               a
               Cloke
               and
               Bever
               .
            
             
               Alas
               poore
               Scholler
               whither
               wilt
               thou
               goe
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Shipps
               ,
               Shipps
               ,
               Shipps
               I
               discover
               ,
            
             
               Crossing
               the
               Maine
               ,
            
             
               Shall
               I
               in
               and
               goe
               over
            
             
               Turne
               
                 Iew
              
               or
               Atheist
               ,
            
             
               Turke
               
                 or
              
               Papist
               ,
            
             
               To
               
                 Geneva
              
               or
               
                 Amsterdam
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 Bishoppricks
              
               are
               voyde
            
             
               in
               
                 Scotland
                 ,
              
               shall
               I
               thither
               ,
            
             
               Or
               follow
               
                 Windebanke
              
            
             
               and
               
                 Finch
              
               to
               see
               if
               either
            
             
               Doe
               want
               a
               Preist
               to
               shrive
               them
               ,
            
             
               O
               no
               tis
               blustring
               weather
               .
            
             
               Alas
               poore
               Scholler
               whither
               wilt
               thou
               goe
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Ho
               ,
               ho
               ,
               ho
               ,
               I
               have
               hit
               it
               ,
            
             
               Peace
               goodman
               foole
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               hast
               a
               frame
               will
               fit
               it
               ,
            
             
               Draw
               thy
               Indenture
               ,
            
             
               Be
               bound
               at
               adventure
               ,
            
             
               An
               Apprentice
               to
               a
               
                 Free-schoole
                 ;
              
            
             
               There
               thou
               may'st
               command
            
             
               By
               
                 William
                 Lillies
              
               Charter
               ,
            
             
               There
               thou
               mayst
               whipp
               ,
               stripp
            
             
               and
               hang
               and
               draw
               and
               quarter
               ,
            
             
               And
               commit
               to
               the
               red
               Rod
               ,
            
             
               both
               
                 Will
                 .
              
               and
               
                 Tom.
              
               and
               
                 Arthur
                 .
              
            
             
               I
               ,
               I
               ,
               't
               is
               thither
               ,
               thither
               will
               I
               goe
               .
            
          
        
      
       
         FINIS
         .
      
    
    

