SUSAN PY,
OR
YOUNG BICHEN’S GARLAND.
IN London was young Bichen born,
he long’d strange lands to see,
He set his foot on good ship board,
and he sailed over the sea.
He had not been in a foreign land,
a day but only three,
Till he was taken by a savage Moor,
and they used him most cruelly.
In every shoulder they put a pin
to every pin they put a tree,
They made him draw the plough and cart
like horse and oxen in his own country.
He had not serv’d the savage Moor,
a week but only three,
Till he has casten him in prison strong,
till he with hunger was like to die.
It fell out once upon a day,
that young Bichen he made his moan,
As he lay bound in irons strong,
in a dark and deep dungeon,
An’ I were again in fair England,
as many merry day I have been,
