Licenced Febr. 13. Roger L'estrange.   

  

POEMS 

Lyrique  
Macaronique  
Heroic, etc.    
ByHENRY BOLD Olim è N. C. Oxon.  HOR. 2. l. 2. Ep. 11. 
Singula de Nobis, Anni predantur euntes,  
Eripuêre Jocos, Venerem, Convivia, Ludum:  
Tendunt extorquere Poemaeta: Quid faciam vis?  
LONDON, Printed for Henry Brome, at the Gun in Ivy-lane, 1664.   

To the Honourable Colonel Henry Wallop OF Farl●y-wallop in the County of Southampton.  
SIR,  
THough I may appear too like one of Those, Who (belying their own Inclinations, and Friends importunities) are Liveryed abroad in Black and White (and not their proper Colours) Yet S r, give me leave to tell You, That mine only inducement and design herein) was and is, to let the World know, There is no One does more Glory in his Title of Devout Honourer of your Excellencies, than  
SIR, Your for ever humble Servant, H.B.   

To the INGENIOUS—  
IF thou wilt read so; if not so: it is so, so, and so Farewell.  
Thine upon liking H. B.   

To mine Ingenious FRIEND Mr. Henry Bold, etc.  
MY drooping Muse awakened by your Pen  
And noble Fancy, 's raised to life again.  
And thus regenerate, presents as Due,  
The First-fruits, of her second Birth to You.  
The Grace's usher, Fair Example, brings  
Virtue with Courage, and all Noble Things  
A generous Mind can wish if I improve,  
It is by imitating You, I love.  
Your serious Muse and your Jocose combine  
To compliment each other in each line  
Audacem Deus ipse juvat's very well,  
Made true in Thee, where all the Muses dwell.  
Henry Sanderson Esq   

To my dear BROTHER Mr. H.B. on his Poems.  
Harry,  
SInce Soldier, called thy Brother, Captain  
My fmancy has not so much Air been wrapped in,  
As when the amorous couch and lovelicked Bolster  
Have made me 'mong the Muses keep an old stir;  
Since Bilbo-Blade hath put fist out of order  
I ne'er approached Parnassus, (scarce the Border)  
So then thou must not look that I should praise  
In that Emphatic strain we now-adays see (thee  
Yet I have read thy Lines, can judge and know 'em  
That few or none) have writ so acquaint a Poem.  
And he that has Design the like to write now,  
Listen to mine Advice, I'll set him right how:  
Let him be so much Merchant (cause I doubt it)  
T' ensure his Paper 'ere he go about it.  
And if the Cargo of his Wit be lost  
he'll have't again, (the Liquour's in the Toast)  
Thou therefore mayst be sure none can abuse  
The generous fancy of thy frolic Muse;  
For he that writes to imitate thy Vein  
May write, and keep the paper for his Pain.  
As He that thought to write like Princely Spencer,  
Proved in his Faculty, a very Fencer:  
No more to be compared then Trigg to Frazier  
O● Turvy-Tinker to an Acon-Brazier.  
In their own sphere, thou writ'st to King and Court too:  
The next Page makes the Amorous Lady's sport too.  
If soldier throw off sword and fall to drink,  
Here's that will match his Humour too, I think.  
The willowed Lover apt to howl and whimper  
At reading thee begins to smile and simper.  
And every Humour's fancied so completely  
I cannot say 'tis boldly done but neatly.  
William Bold Esq   

To my dear Brother Mr. H. B.  
REading thine unstrained Verse, oh how it rue'th,  
That I●ue followed Crambo from my youth!  
And that I ne'er consorted much with Those  
Who use what ever's spoke, to clink i'th' Close:  
Had I done so, by this, I'd had the honour Sir,  
T' have Rhymed like him that nicked Nebuchadonosor  
And then I wiss, I had not thus been puzzled  
To make Verse chime, as if Dame Muse were muzzled;  
Didst so me tooth and nail (Hall) foot and leg,  
Thou'dst swear my Worship were at mumble peg,  
It comes so hard— Why sure 'twill vex one's Gizzard  
To hunt for Rhyme like me, from A to izzard,  
When started too, and I think brought about,  
'tis ten to One there wants a foot—  
And then to inch it out, and make it go,  
I'm fain to say (Pox out!) Dear Hall) or so.  
Sometime my Brain's asleep, and words won't troul  
Longer (forsooth) than I do claw my Paul:  
And prithee (Hall) what Muse can set a stitch,  
When I am forced to scratch where't does not itch?  
Yet since rich Masques their Whifflers have who come  
Not to set off the Show, but make it Room:  
So since th' attir'st thyself, and puttest on Sandal  
To walk abroad i'th' World, I'll hold the Candle,  
And like a Whiffler too, if any come,  
And ask what are thy Virtues, answer- Mum;  
As being conscious I should do thee wrong  
More by my Talk than holding of my Tongue.  
Yet if to Court or Droll in Tune and Mode  
The Gallant, would be (fain) put in a road,  
Let him bestow (let's see) for the device on't  
Look! I was going to tell him what's the Price on't;  
But He (in time) as well as Setter forth,  
Will find thy Book can ne'er be sold to th' worth.  
Norton Bold C.C.C. Oxon. S.   

Upon the Author and his Poems.  
NOt that I do, (as Vulgar Scribblers can)  
Dictate a squint, or to s●t forth the Man  
To th' best, (as Common Painters use to do,)  
Strive to m●k● handsome, though they do not true,  
No; General Applause doth plainly show it,  
No Age, e'er gloried in so acquaint a Poet:  
For whom, the Muses, and the Graces strove,  
Which should deserve him best, to be their Love:  
At length they drew the match, (yet left it fair:)  
And each compounded in him, for a share:  
So that He's wholly theirs; (and let him be!)  
Nor do I envy them their Destiny;  
But, this I'll tell the World, their choice is such;  
All, may admire, but cannot praise too much.  
Here, Jupiter his Mastresses may kiss,  
And win without a Metamorphosis.  
Cupid, the sole Commander of our Hearts,  
Complies with thee, to make his golden Darts:  
But let him try his skill, however it prove,  
That he wounds Hearts, 'tis thou must make them love.  
J. Moil of the Inner Temple Esq   

To his ingenious FRIEND Mr. Henry Bold on his Poems.  
MY praise is insignificant, for I  
Am not grown old enough in poetry;  
Nor is my name yet up enough t' engage  
Th' opinion of this superstitious age.  
But if I say, I like what you have writ,  
Some other, that believes himself a Wit,  
May differ from me in Opinion. So  
To find the truth, we must to poling go.  
Now in this envy'ous and ill-natured time,  
Verse is a scandal, and to print a crime.  
In this half-witted and ungrateful Town  
The most (that is the worst) will cry thee down  
For those three heinous crimes, Truth, Wit, and Verse;  
And swear it is thy Vice to meddle with theirs.  
So I'll suspend Encomiums, and transmit  
Those to thy book, which praises thee and it.  
For Poets to praise Poets is as bad,  
As if one madman said anothe'rs mad,  
And (to say truth) men did the Muse suborn,  
To cl●w a friend, or else to serve a turn;  
Good Verse and bad were praised with equal wit  
Just as the praiser on the humour hit.  
Encomiums like 〈◊〉 Sermons grew,  
All cared how well to speak, but none how true.  
The Knave and Dunce with both of us did speed  
As th' Poet's humoured, or the Levite feed.  
This made wise Readers all our votes despise,  
And their contempt made future writers wise.  
To praise friends wits is out of fashion grown,  
We only now break jests to show our own.  
ALEX. BROME.   

To the ingenious Mr. Henry Bold on his publishing his Poems.  
THE Press (of late) became as common  
As Barbers-Chair or naughty Woman,  
When all fanatique Humours were,  
Frequently broached, as Ale or Beer:  
But safe in neither, such a Crowd  
Of Ale and History being allowed;  
A Freshman or an elder Brother  
Was poisoned strait by one or tother.  
Had these been extant then, they'd thought  
Thy Nectar of the common Draught,  
Like those who little skilled in Wine,  
Applaud a Tavern for the Sign.  
And hang their gross Opinions there  
That Sack with Lime to them is rare:  
Just as the Drunken Common Sewer  
Does with an even throat devour  
All that's sent to it, so did They  
Erst swallow Books, a greedy way!  
But 'twas as Mariott when he feasted,  
Neither half chewed nor half-digested.  
Kind Providence which thought that Fate  
Unfit for thee, ordained thy date  
From this blessed Age grown now so clear  
That stead of Glow-worm's Stars appear,  
And glorious too, but when all's done,  
'Tis thou that art Apollo's Son.  
But 'cause I Love, I write, and not to praise,  
He must deserve, is fit to give thee Bays.  
V. Oldis.   

POEMS.  

SONG I.  

1.  
THou Glorious Envy, of the Nation,  
Whose renowned Graces,  
Far transcend the Fancies,  
Of a Lover's Brain.  
Whose blooming Cheeks outvie Carnation,  
While thy Look surpasses,  
Those resplendent Glances,  
A● Highnoon do reign.  
Thy Curious Locks, so nicely curled;  
Their Every Hair,  
Our Souls ensnare.  
And by a sweet Surprisal,  
Captive all the World.  
The Melting Corals of thy Lips,  
Distil such Balm,  
That in the quame.  
Of a Heart breaking Mistress,  
He revives that Sips.   

2.  
Thy Graceful Motion, and Behaviour,  
Might excuse a Beauty,  
Less in debt to Nature,  
Then thy fairer Face.  
Where Lovely Airs, and Comely Favour  
Do Conjure a Duty,  
To Adore your Feature,  
Dwells upon your Place.  
The flowery sweets thy Breasts do wear,  
Shall ne'er consume,  
Their rich perfume.  
But make a lasting Summer,  
Flourish all your Year.  
Between whose Hills the Boy doth lie,  
And exercise,  
His Tyrannies.  
Yet joys us, that he doth his  
Murders handsomely.   

3.  
He's blest who climbs that swelling Mountain,  
In whose gloomy Valley,  
Sits the Queen of Pleasure,  
In her Royal Fort!  
Bathed, in the streams o'th' Odorous Fountain,  
Whence full joys do sally,  
In o'er flowing Measure,  
For the Amorous Sport.  
Where circling in a Genial Kiss,  
I would control,  
Disputes o'th' School:  
And thence maintain a real,  
Metempsychosis:  
But nought can her Affection move,  
Though Jove to boot,  
Should Court her to't,  
Florilla wanteth nothing,  
To be Love but Love.    

SONG II.  

1.  
LOve, let me have my Mistress such,  
(If I must needs have One,)  
Whose Mettle will endure the Touch,  
Whose Touch will try the Stone!  
Let her have sense I ask no more,  
A Woman's Reason I abhor!   

2.  
Her noon like Eyes should shine so Clear,  
And be so fixed on Mine,  
The Salamander Babies there,  
Should Kindle and Entwine,  
Then Look me Dead, that Men may swea●  
There is no Basilick but Her,   

3.  
If th' upper Manna-Lips distil,  
The Sweets of Every food,  
To Sauce the Appetite (not fill)  
The Lover Limbeck's good:  
To relish which, let Love invent,  
A way to Crane his Instrument.   

4.  
The Thrilloes of her Siren Noise,  
Should Charm an Adder's Ear;  
And were she Echoed all to Voice,  
I'd be in Love with Her:  
To be Chamaeleoned who would care,  
So he might juncate on such Air.   

5.  
I'd have her Panther in her Breath;  
And Phoenix in her Breast,  
The Valleys that are Underneath,  
The Spicery of the East:  
I'd have Her without much a do,  
But Lo! I'd have her Naked too:  
In spite of Fates, thus would I lie  
Mandrackt to all Eternity.    

SONG III.  

1.  
MIne own Basina come a long,  
The Subject of my Song.  
For thee I long:  
And know my Pretty sweetness: know  
Since thou lov'st me,  
I welcome nothing in the World but Thee.   

2.  
Unveyle those Damask Cheeks of Thine,  
Where every graceful Line,  
Is so Divine,  
That were, I to receive my Death,  
By thy Fair Eye,  
I'd Court it, buried in your Pits to lie.   

3.  
Yet cloud thy Face, thy Veil keep on!  
If all should gaze thereon,  
They were undone:  
For it may chance thy random Darts  
Will kill them too.  
Whom I'd not Wish so Good a Death unto.   

4.  
Display thine Arms: thy Wealth, unfold!  
While like to Jove of old,  
In Liquid Gold.  
I do Carouse it in love's Bowl  
To such a Bliss,  
Our Souls shall mingle while our bodies Kiss.   

5.  
Thus will we Live, thus will we Love,  
Till even the gods above,  
Shall Envious prove:  
And after Death we'll Joy as They  
Till that appear,  
We'll have Elysium here, as they have there.    

SONG IU.  

1.  
CHloris forbear a While,  
Do not o'er joy me,  
Urge not another Smile  
Lest it Destroy me.  
That Beauty pleases most,  
And is Best taking  
Which soon is Woon, soon lost  
Kind, yet forsaking.  
I Love a Coming Lady faith! I do!  
But now and then, I'd have her scornful too.   

2.  
o'er cloud those Eyes of thine,  
Bopeep thy Features  
Warm with an April shine,  
Scorch not thy Creatures:  
Still to display thy Ware  
Still to be fooling,  
Argues how rude you are  
In Cupid's Schooling  
Disdain begets a Suit, Scorn draws us nigh,  
'tis cause I would, and cannot, makes me Try.   

3.  
Fairest, I'd have the● Wise,  
When Gallants view thee.  
And Court, do thou despise;  
Fly, they'll pursue thee,  
Fasts move an Appetite,  
Make Hunger greater  
Who's stinted of Delight,  
Falls to't the better.  
Be Kind and Coy by turns, be calm & rough!  
And buckle now and then, and that's enough.    

SONG V.  

1.  
I'll Swear they Lie, who say they Love,  
One only Beauteous Face,  
He's Mad (or Honest) does not prove  
A Score in three days space.  
I'm a la mode Myself; pretend that I  
Am here allover Love and there could Die.  
When Faith! there's no such matter seriously!   

2.  
Most earnest Love is but in jest,  
I Ladies are cheated all:  
I've now a hundred Girls, at least,  
That do me Servant call:  
I've Courted them ali●e, have vowed & sworn  
My flames of Love a like, for All did ●urn:  
When 'tis for Her, who best will serve my Turn.   

3.  
And yet, I think my Love's as True,  
As Constant every way,  
As theirs, who colour for't in Blue,  
And Cupid's prizes play.  
Show me the Lad, who best Loves Feat ca● D●  
I'll Do as much as He (perhaps More too)  
Yet ne'er could Love, above an hour, or so.    

SONG VI.  

1.  
WHat though thy Feature,  
Fairest Creature,  
Passeth curious fancy far.  
And coloured Roses,  
(Cupid's Posees,)  
Do denounce a second War.  
Though ne'er so rare,  
Thy Beauties are,  
They shall not mine Affection win,  
Let her I woe,  
Be willing too,  
And Love me, I'll Love Her again!   

2.  
Black Eyes are loathing,  
Red Lips nothing,  
Nor can busy Toying Do't;  
Or fill the Measure,  
Of Love's Pleasure  
Lest the give her mind unto't.  
●et Her I Court,  
Be mad o'th' sport,  
And Love, and want on freedom show,  
I hate a Maid;  
That seems afraid,  
And cares not where she Does or No.    

SONG VII.  

1.  
FAith do but say the Word and I am gone,  
I can assoon forego,  
Mine easy suit,  
As thou wouldst have it so!  
'Tis but a vain pursuit,  
And little fruit:  
In Lover's Games, when if the best be Won,  
We come but Loser's off, when all is done.   

2.  
Pox on'●! I've Loved thee, now, this hour or two.  
And shall I nothing get:  
Still fast and Pray,  
Then would w'had never met!  
ne'er blush! but come away!  
Love, love's no stay:  
I Love, 'tis true; but let me tell thee too  
I do not Love to make so much a do.    

SONG VIII.  

1.  
MAdam, Y'are not the first I've Loved  
Nor shall you be the last,  
'tis ten to one, but I have proved  
As fair (perhaps as chaste.)   

2.  
And yet, to tell the pains I've lost,  
Their humour still was such,  
'Tis true, a little time they'd cost;  
But faith, it was not much!   

3.  
I ne'er remember that I spent  
Above a month, or so,  
To Win a Girl with Compliment,  
And there's the most a do.   

4.  
No! I have got the trick on't now,  
And troth! I dare a verre,  
I could do her as well as you,  
And you assoon as her.   

5.  
Then pry'thee! Love! be coy no more!  
Smooth off, and be not rough,  
Say but thou never didst before,  
And then 'tis well enough.   

6.  
None e'er shall know what we have done,  
I'll pass my promise for't,  
Only be quick, and let's be gone  
And there's and end o'th' sport.    

SONG IX.  

1.  
THe Suns of Beauty ne'er had shone  
But to give light to more than one.  
Or if to Love me, were a Sin  
I'm Damned to Love thee, thus again:  
But Love and thoughts, are free.  
Neither may they be enclosed, or confined  
To any special object, but unto the General kind:  
So after single dainties,  
If our Appetite be good we may cal●,  
And, (so we do not surfeit) fit and taste and eat of all.   

2.  
Since thy bright eyes have such an art  
With every glance to win a Heart,  
You wrong your Beauties & your Loves  
If what you get you do not prove.  
Your win thus are losses,  
And your Forces but in vain you employ  
If, when you gain a conquest you do not the same enjoy,  
And no Commander ever,  
When, the Rebel foes were slain, or did yield,  
But, to reward the Soldiers, gave the plunder of the field.   

3.  
Love is no Piddler at his Meat,  
The more he feasts, the more he'll eat!  
Then spend not, all that Beauty's store,  
On one, might serve a thousand more:  
While thy Virgin springs are running,  
What matter, who comes there, or who first,  
With your cooling Waters, doth allay his eager thirst.  
Then Dearest, since thou Lov'st me,  
Let us reap the fruits of Love, and enjoy:  
'Tis treason to our Natures, for to Love, and to be Coy.    

SONG X.  

1.  
SInce 'tis the pleasure, of thine Eyes,  
To Kill me, with Love's Tyrannize,  
Faith use me kindly! let me die,  
The fairest death! Thy smiling Eye  
Shall give the Wound, and all true Lovers shall  
Triumph at such a blessed Funeral.   

2.  
And yet alas! who'd think that she,  
Should sin so high, to Murder me!  
But Heaven will quit her and disguise  
The Fact, with name of sacrifice.  
This only of the gods I will implore,  
That dead, I may but Love her, as before.    

SONG XI,  

1.  
ANd pry'thee why (Florella) dost thou move  
My forward Heart, not to proceed in Love?  
Alas! it cannot be  
My Love to thee  
Divinest she,  
Burns with a fire  
Cannot breathe high.  
Nor shall expire:  
For should I once this high blown flame let fall,  
My warned Heart,  
Being taught the Smart  
Would learn the Art  
Never to love at all   

2.  
Perhaps 'twas pity moved thee to Complain,  
And thou might think, so, to redress my pain,  
But oh! good faith not I!  
I'll never try  
That Remedy;  
But will Endure,  
Love's Calenture,  
And not thy Cure:  
For know; my Love soars with so high a wing,  
'Tis pride in me,  
Rather to be  
A slave to thee  
Then be Another's King.   

3.  
Then chide not (dearest Fair) my passions heat?  
Soldiers in Love, must never make retreat:  
What though the fates decree,  
Thou must not be,  
A mate for me:  
And Love conspire,  
To cheat desire,  
With Single fire.  
Yet let me burn and die; that I may see,  
What Joys they prove,  
Ith' Elyzian Grove,  
That Overlove.  
And die for such, as thee.    

SONG XII.  

1.  
STay small Sinner,  
Cease thy suit!  
If thy fair Words, cannot win her,  
Thou wilt never bring her to't:  
'Tis not all thy wiles can Do't.  
Lest of her own Accord she'll Loving be,  
Faith! let her go! she's not a Wench for thee.   

2.  
E'en let her go!  
There are more,  
That now, perhaps, would gladly do:  
Thou may'st choose of half a score,  
Whilst confined in midst of store:  
'Tis merely Dotage, and will Madness prove,  
Pox! Where she cannot like, she will not love.    

SONG XIII,  

1.  
PRoud (Venus now at last) resign,  
Thy long usurped Place,  
And seat Florilla on that shrine,  
Who claims the chiefer grace;  
Whilst quickened with the hallowed fire,  
Of chaste desire,  
All, toward thine Altar, move  
And each man dies  
A Sacrifice  
To thee, the Queen of Love.   

2.  
Venus! alas poor silly Queen!  
One god of love brought forth,  
Which ne'er could see, nor e'er was seen,  
Yet much extolled her Worth:  
But thousand real Cupid's lie,  
In my Fair's Eye,  
And aim, at every Heart,  
Whose Hairs do grow,  
To string your Bow,  
And every Beame's a Dart.   

3.  
Apelles (once) to pourtract out  
That Dame, did, for her sake,  
Go ransack half the world throughout,  
And plundered features take,  
But my sweet love is more Divine,  
Each graceful Line,  
Her nobler Parts do bear,  
And should you seek,  
Upon her Cheek  
There's ne'er a Mole grows there.   

4.  
Yet (Mother Venus) with your Son,  
If you can, One thing do,  
You shall again ascend the Throne,  
And I will homage you:  
Go whip your Boy, and let him try  
His Archery,  
If my Dear, wounded prove,  
You shall redeem  
Yourself the Queen  
And Him, the god of Love.    

SONG XIV.  

1.  
IDle Sinner,  
Sigh no more!  
And I'll inform thee,  
Of an Easier way to win her,  
Then thou try'dst before:  
Sullen Beauty  
Must not move  
Thee, in a whining  
Over weening piece of Duty  
To express thy Love:  
But if,  
ere thou mean, to have her,  
At thy fancy's suit,  
Presume upon her favour,  
Kiss, and put her to't,  
And (trust me) that will Do't.  
Or else,  
Tope a Glass of Claret,  
Love, and hug thy friend,  
For● Mistress, care not for it!  
Till thou seest it mend,  
(If never) there's an End.    

SONG XV.  

1.  
RAre Creature! Since thy Graces have,  
The power to Kill, and Art to Save,  
(Sweet!) let thy Beauties make my Heart  
A Patient, to your Mystic Art!  
Thine Instruments, I will Endure.  
Since, that, which makes the wound, can Cure.   

2.  
Come! let thy locks (whose every Hair  
A willing Lover doth ensnare)  
Fetter my Soul, in those soft Chains,  
Where Beauty linked with Love, remains!  
And keep me bound, that I may be  
Thy Prisoner, yet at Liberty.   

3.  
Thy sprightful Eyes (whose every Dart)  
Hath force, to Kill (or Save a Heart)  
If they shoot frowns on me (my fair)  
I can but languish in despair,  
Second them, with a smile, 'twill move  
A faith in me, 'twas but in Love.   

4.  
Or shouldst thou, suffer me to sip,  
The flowing Nectar, from thy Lip,  
Whose sovereign drops, derived from thence  
(Can quicken, both the Soul, and sense)  
That bliss, would soon, revive again,  
Him, (whom before) thine Fies, had slain   

5.  
Thy Curious Breasts, those pretty things  
Whiter, than Down of Cupid's wings;  
If through, thy Winter Heart, they be  
Frozen, ●o joy- chains, for me,  
Let ●ove, but Touch them, you shall see,  
Those fetters melt, while I am free.   

6.  
Or might I, lulled by love's sweet charms,  
Lodge, within thy folded Arms,  
Where I might find, and taste, and prove,  
The Joys, the sweets, the sports of Love;  
Locked, in those bands, I there should be  
Proud, of my sweet captivity.   

7.  
Then (Dearest) since 'tis Cupid's will,  
That you should heal, with what you kill;  
Say! how canst thou cure, my smart,  
That hast robbed me, of my heart!  
This is the best way, I can tell,  
Give thine in Change, and all is well.    

SONG XVI.  

1.  
BE not Distrustful (Precious love)  
Of my true Zeal and Constancy!  
Nor think, another Saint, can move,  
My settled faith, from thine Idolatry!   

2.  
sovereign of Souls! do not repay  
Protested Love, with Jealousy!  
To thee mine Orisons I pay,  
And am become, Love's constant Votary.   

3.  
●hile Cupid and his Priests attend,  
At this same holy Exercise,  
And to your Glorious beauties send,  
My Heart, a Flaming sacrifice.    

SONG XVII,  

1.  
I Had a Love, a month a go,  
I Wooed, as I were mad,  
And, to say truth, as handsome too,  
As you would wish, t'have had:  
But how it comes about,  
I cannot tell,  
I've e'en forgot the face,  
And know not well,  
Where was the Place,  
Her Beauty, or her Grace,  
Did ever dwell.   

2.  
And yet; I've had a scurvy kind  
Of fancy, to this Love,  
Which some Girls, call, a constant mind  
And say, I faithful prove:  
Sure I'm too hot to hold,  
Yet, when I spy,  
A high and stately brow,  
Whose Majesty,  
Commands us bow,  
To Homage, Oh! even now  
(Me thinks) I'd Dye.   

3.  
But out upon't! I've found the cause,  
And know the reason, why  
I can't obey female Laws,  
Nor quit my Liberty:  
●here Honour keeps the Gate,  
And does deny  
To such, as me, or you,  
The Courtesy,  
To come and go,  
And t'other Knickknack too  
Farewell! say I!    

SONG XVIII.  

1.  
FAir, give me leave, to Love,  
Or Love to Leave,  
●he suit, my gentle hopes, promove  
Your wilder scorns deceive,  
I swear, by those bright Eyes,  
(Love's Heavenly Mysteries)  
And by those Downs of Snow,  
I'm still Resolved to Love.  
What shall I do?  
Shall not my Prayers, your pity move  
To Love me too?  
Or must thine Eyes,  
Still exercise,  
Their Tyranise,  
And I, (sad I) neglected go?   

2.  
They must, they must; I would  
Not have her Love  
Upon such terms, now, though she could  
My high Desires approve,  
'tis more than happiness  
To have the fair success  
To Love, and only so.  
I hate a mutual heat?  
It spoils the sport,  
And so disrellishes the feat  
We care not for't.  
If my desire,  
Can but aspire,  
Her, to Admire,  
I care not wher'e she'll Love, or no.    

SONG XIX.  

1.  
WEll! go thy ways!  
If e'er, I Love again,  
As I have Loved before,  
To Woe a Yoke of Days,  
Yet ne'er know what nor when,  
I'll give thee leave, to hate me then,  
And never Love no more.   

2.  
I could make shift,  
To sit, an hour, and sport;  
(But not t' increase that score)  
Or sigh, at a dead lift,  
But, if I longer Court  
Then, I shall see good reason, for't,  
Faith! never trust me more.  
Yet still be nice!  
Usurp the power thou hast!  
Deny, as heretofore!  
Vphoed thy former price!  
The art Dear, because thouart chaste:  
For shouldst thou now, prove, cheap at last,  
I'd never Love thee, more.    

SONG XX,  

1.  
COme, come, away!  
No Delay  
To our wished delight!  
Sweet quickly hast, unto thy greedy Lover!  
Throw, throw aside  
What may hide,  
The inquisitive sight!  
I'll be the only Veil that shall thee Cover:  
And We,  
Will both agree,  
And thou shalt see,  
How we the time abuse,  
To trifle it away, with empty wishes,  
Fond Dreams,  
Are Childish themes,  
Wherein the creams  
Oth' sport, we always loose,  
And do Neglect the sweeter after blisses.   

2.  
Come! do not Frown!  
Lay thee down!  
'Tis a thing must be done!  
Take off thy hand-good faith! 'tis wondrous pretty?  
Oh! what a coil!  
And a spoil!  
ere this Fort could be Won!  
Nay, though thou cry, or bleed I dare not pity:  
And now,  
I'll show thee how  
Thy Dad, did Do,  
And score up, wealthy Sums  
Of Kisses, on thy Lips, to heighten pleasure:  
Again!  
I can't refrain,  
I fear no pain,  
Oh! now, it comes, it comes!  
'Tis all, thine own, thou shalt have standing measure.    

SONG XXI.  

1.  
WHy (Fair one) dost thou ask of me,  
The Cause I burn in Love, for thee,  
From fire (we know) the Flames arise,  
So, if thine Eyes,  
Can kindle, with your beam,  
The flames possessed,  
Within my Breast,  
Sweet! ask not me but them.   

2.  
Unriddle all the Mysteries,  
The secret Arts and Treacheries,  
Which practised are, i'th' Paphian Cell,  
And when you tell  
Me, what your cause, may be,  
I then may show,  
Some reason too,  
Why 'tis, I burn for thee.   

3.  
Unteach thy Lips, unlearn thine Eyes  
Their fair Deluding Sorceries,  
And if thy Beauties, this can do,  
And blind, me too,  
My living flame soon dies,  
If not, my Fire,  
Can ne'er Expire,  
Whilst Nature lends us Eyes.    

SONG XXII. On the first sight of the Lady M.W. in St. Mary's Church Oxon.  

1.  
POx take this learning! burn these books  
There's a Lady's powerful looks  
Draw, my Thoughts to fix upon,  
Her Divine perfection:  
Whose bright Eyes do gild the day  
Whilst enlightened, by your Ray  
Love can fly no other way.   

2.  
When from the Temple's sacred shrine  
She did glance her Eyes, on mine,  
Cupid there, did light his Dart,  
To inflame my Tender heart:  
Pulpit Thunder could not move,  
Eyes, or thoughts, resolved to prove,  
No Religion sweet, but Love.   

3.  
While my senses here do Jarre,  
Love contrives a double War,  
Through mine Eyes, he throws his Dart,  
Through mine Ears, assaults my Heart  
So this Angel, charmed mine Ear,  
With her Singing, that I swear,  
Those above might rival her.   

4.  
But alas! Those Suns are gone!  
And that Heavenly music done!  
Yet return those murdering Eyes,  
To behold your Sacrifice!  
Nor, think I, thou joy'st to see  
Love- sick-Souls should die for thee:  
But, to Sweeten death for me.   

5.  
Or if that Lady, in whose Breast,  
My fled Heart, is lodged a Guest,  
Will Exchange (but Oh! I fear  
Her's, is strayed, some other where)  
I may Live; if not; I die,  
Martyr, to her Deity,  
To increase, her Victory.   

6.  
Her a brown Hair, a snare might prove,  
To entangle captive Jove:  
In the Circles of her Eye,  
Cupid's fettered Rebels lie:  
Wouldst thou know, who th●s might be  
That hath stolen, my Heart, from me?  
These few marks will say, 'tis she.    

SONG XXIII.  

1.  
FAith! tell me, Chloris pry'thee do!  
(I'll do as much, for thee,)  
Why? when I would, thou, still, sayest No?  
Thou wilt, and yet, thou wilt not too.  
Thou Lov'st the sport, I'm sure, if thou'lt be  
Forward, as I, thouart like t'have none, for me.   

2.  
Consider't (little Fool!) be wise!  
I know the subtlety:  
That which you, now so highly prize,  
When, out o'th' humour, I despise.  
'Tis merely dulness? and vain foppery?  
If, thoust a mind to't speak or faith not I.   

3.  
And, why not, this, at first, as last?  
I knew thy mind was to't:  
No reason, still, to pray, and fast:  
Pined Love, must feast, when that is past.  
Come! Come! be wiser against another suit!  
And ne'er make many words! but pry'thee Do't!    

SONG XXIV.  

1.  
COme Kiss me (sweet) let's banquet on delight!  
And teach Love, how to surfeit! Kiss again!  
You must spend free, to sat his Appetite  
Nay be no niggard! what is nine or ten?  
Love soon digests these (should you thousands score)  
And only, whets his stomach, still, for more.   

2.  
I'll taste those Apples in thine Autumn cheek,  
The cherries, of thy Lips, suffice not me:  
Those are not single Dainties, Love doth seek  
I mean to ravish all the sweets of thee:  
The Taste, to other senses can't dispense;  
I must have sweets, for every sweet of sense.   

3.  
I'll Tou●h, those downy hills, where Love with's Bow,  
Lies, in the valley on a bed of spice,  
O'er which my busy band, shall wand'ring go,  
And search out Cupit, lurked in's Paradise:  
Thence, to thy ●ower of Honey suckles where,  
Venus, shall Court, my stay, to bathe with Her.   

4.  
Then shall I smell, sent from those Lips of thine,  
A scent more sweet, than sallied from the Trees.  
Of Balm, in Eden; kindlier breathed, on mine,  
Then winds, which whistle Phoenix Exequys:  
Or Frankincense for Jove, that's gently sweat,  
From all your Beauties, through a virtual heat.   

5.  
Now, will I hear, by thine harmonious voice  
Such moving accents, as might teach the Spheres,  
A choicer Music and whose powerful noise  
Perforce, acts Raps, on Hearts and Charms all Ears:  
Which, when't hath turned us stones, it then can do,  
As Orpheus did, and make us Dancers, too.   

6.  
Then will I fix mine Eyes, on thee (my dear)  
And nail them, to thy Beauties; let thine Eye,  
Dart all the shafts of Cupid, I'll not fear,  
But stand thy mark: 'twere happy so to Dye!  
Whereon, could I but gaze, my death, to see  
I'd be Enamoured, of Mortality.   

7.  
But say (Dear Heart!) can Love, be sated so  
'Tis true, the senses, thus, are singly pleased,  
But to feast him, alas! 'twill nothing do!  
A greedy Lover's hunger ne'er is eased:  
Since then, for all sweets, Love, at once, dot● call  
Give me not these alone, but give me all.    

SONG XXV.  

1.  
AWay! Chloris give o'er,  
Insult on me, no more!  
But let thine Fie,  
Now, bid a Kingdom die  
And in their funeral flames, thy powers adore.  
And when  
Thou canst not find,  
A nobler mind,  
Then mine,  
Love's deaths, to prove,  
Let pity move  
Thee, to retire,  
And quench desire  
With mutual flames, to Crown my Lo●e.   

2.  
Alas! no Triumph lies,  
In taking single prize,  
Thine Honour's stained,  
Though thoust the Baggage gained,  
And lettest an Army scape thy victories:  
To thee,  
The thing's the same  
An Host t'have ta'en  
As me  
Thine only Slave,  
When thou canst have  
Artillery,  
●n either Eye  
Enough, to make the World a Grave.    

SONG XXVI.  

1.  
'tIs since thine Eyès,  
Did mine, surprise  
(Time vainly lent  
And idly spent)  
groce of hours and more;  
And now grown kind,  
Thou hop'st to find,  
My giddy mind,  
Inclined  
As 'twas before!  
'Tis true: thy Beauties, once did take,  
And for their sake,  
I could have Loved thee too,  
But, e'en Adieu!  
Give me the new!  
For such, as you,  
I'm not i'th' humour, now.   

2.  
Hadst thou been wise,  
And not so nice.  
The rich Treasures  
Of love's pleasures  
Thou mightst have called thine Own;  
But, now, thoust lost,  
What thou lov'd'st most,  
And Fa●e, as just  
Hath crossed  
Thy poor design:  
For hadst thou ta'en me, in the Nick  
For praise, or prick,  
None, could have done, like me,  
But fall'n from that,  
As thou knowst what,  
I would be at,  
I've, nought to do with thee.    

SONG XXVII.  

1.  
KNow (dearest beauty) those your Eyes,  
Whose beams, you so like lightning, dart,  
Have found, a passage, to my heart,  
Which flaming, at Love's Altar, lies,  
And (if not quenched with pity) dies.   

2.  
I Burn, yet you (hard Heart!) restrain  
The Remedy, should cool my heat:  
Oh do not, thus, my passion cheat!  
Starve with a Frown, or heal my pain,  
Or grant me, Love, or force, disdain!   

3.  
Torment not, thus insultingly,  
A martyred, and a kneeling Soul!  
Whose fault, you may with love control!  
Through your preserving murdering Fie,  
(Although it let me live) I die.   

4.  
Yet see, love's deeper Mystery!  
For, though these beams do scorch my heart  
I glory, in the pleasing smart,  
And in the flames, of your bright Eye,  
Dying, to Live, I'd living, Dye.    

SONG XXVIII.  

1.  
TUsh! Love or say thou wilt not  
I'm content!  
'Tis, but an hour, idly spent,  
And e'en that's all,  
Whatever Chance befall:  
Mine Eager Love,  
Admits, no lingering stay,  
Nor will I vainly  
Talk the Time away:  
Tell me thou canst not Love, and I'll be gon●  
I've other Mistresses, to wait upon.   

2.  
Give me the Buxom lass, whose  
Warmer spirit,  
Likes, and Loves, at the first sight!  
My mind requires  
The Freedom, of desires,  
Like busy Bees,  
That Court, the youthful Field,  
And ravish all  
The sweets, the Virgins yield,  
So Giddy Love, (soothed in his Wanton pla●  
Takes, here, and there, a Touch, but th● aw●●    

SONG XXIX.  

1.  
I've seen thy Face, and now can swear,  
Nature hath puzzled Art,  
For Tongue, nor Pen, can ne'er declare,  
How sweet, how Fair thou art:  
Whose high Divinity,  
And awful Majesty,  
All Gazers, so enthral,  
That the Wild fire  
Of my desire,  
Dares not aspire,  
To flame, to Love, unless thou sayest, It shall.   

2.  
How forcing are those Looks of thine!  
How Charming are thine Eyes!  
A thousand hearts kneel at thy shrine,  
A ready sacrifice.  
Each one painting with pain,  
And longing, to be slain  
By a smile from thy Brow:  
No Sword or Shield,  
Used in that Field,  
Where all must yield  
Or Die, for Love, whether they will or no.    

SONG XXX.  

1.  
FAir sinner cloud thine Eyes!  
And shade, those hills of Snow!  
Such proud, and open Enemies,  
A world, may overthrow:  
Those Eyes of thine (though ne'er so Fair)  
But Engines are,  
To work, the Gazer's smart,  
And in thy Breasts (that sacred Land)  
My wand'ring Hand,  
Could never find thy Heart.   

2.  
Sweet Lips! forbear! no more!  
I Court not for a Kiss;  
Nay pry'thee (little Fool!) give o'er!  
I Love thee, not, for this:  
No, though my busy hand, the while,  
Ith' Fortunate Isle  
Of pleasure, franchized be,  
Pox on't! or let my fancy have,  
The thing I crave,  
Or take't, who's will, for me.    

SONG XXXI.  

1.  
MElina, dewed the Roses of her Face,  
With liquild Pearl, distlling from her Eye.  
Which gave, such Orient lustre, to the place  
As doth the milky path, in starry Sky,  
But when her Eyelids, let their Suns arise,  
She made her sorrows, smile, than sighed alas!  
And often doubled, in her mournful Cries,  
Fidelio! Dear Fidelio! 'tis for thee Melina Dies.   

2.  
Who (now my joy is budled up in dust)  
Shall chide the follies of the nicer dames  
Would he but have them yield, they must! they must!  
'twas he, gave love and Beauty, all their flames:  
His Hand, did whisper Love, his fluent Eyes,  
Spoke, such fine Amours and so void of lust,  
That now He's gone, all ocher I despise  
Fidelio! etc.   

3.  
Now may I sigh and count the times are past,  
Suming up, every pleasure, with a Tear,  
Which could they have a date that would but last,  
None, e'er had been so happy, as we were.  
But Envious death, untimely, did surprise,  
That sweet, which if a goddess, had imbrac'●  
she'd drowned the world, with Tears, at's obsequies.  
Fidelio, Dear, etc.   

4.  
Was there a dearth, in the Elysian shade,  
Of those rare Souls, that Courteous are and True  
Or were their Ways of Love, so Common made,  
That, they, must snatch thee hence, to learn them new?  
'Twas so: but (sure) his spirit sullen lies,  
Till I come thither, when (with triumph clad  
We'll Teach, the gods, Loves holier mysteries,  
Till then, I sigh Fidelio, etc.   

5.  
Break Heart! to let my Soul ascend!  
And inquisition make, i'th' Air,  
Amongst all the spirits, there attend,  
To cull out, that's most white and Fair,  
What was our Glory, now, their Pride,  
And that's mine own, mine only friend,  
There is no heaven, without him! so she cried  
Fidelio! dear Fidelio! sigh't her last & died.    

SONG XXXII.  

1.  
I Came, and Locked, and Liked, and Loved  
And frolicked, in her Eye;  
While, fair Florilla, well approved  
The harmless courtesy:  
When, though my hopes were drowned, Love blazed,  
And set on fire, my heart,  
While I still gazed  
On that, which caused my smart,  
Nor could my Tongue,  
declare the wrong  
Whereby, I sadly know,  
No pains above,  
The griefs, they prove,  
Who fall in Love,  
And dare not say, they do.   

2.  
What Privilege takes the nicer she?  
To me, the thing's all one  
Whether of softer Wax she be,  
Or of the Parian stone:  
The sport's the same: then tell me, why  
Fancy, should be so rude,  
For to deny.  
What i●, perhaps, as good▪  
From her that lends,  
And freely spends  
What, Nature, to her scent;  
As from that Dame,  
That counts it shame,  
To play the game,  
Which lost, she may repent.    

SONG XXXIII, King Charles I. in Prison.  

1.  
A Dieu! (fair Love) Adieu!  
And yet, farewell!  
I never yet could tell,  
How much, I honour You,  
Nor You, ne'er knew,  
But yet Adieu!  
A fairer Aim, invites me, now,  
To rescue Majesty,  
From Treachery,  
Though well You know,  
I'd ever do,  
As much, for You,  
Then, pry'thee let me go!  
The sanguine sword a happy triumph brings  
Avenging Ladies wrongs, but more a Kings  
One Kiss! and then I'm gone!  
Farewell Dear Heart!  
Yet though I now depart,  
When (once) the field, is won,  
The War being done,  
And Charles at home:  
When we may freely sit, and tell  
The harmless injuries,  
Of Cupid's Tyrannies  
What present Hell  
The absent feel:  
When all is well,  
And w'have no foes to quell,  
But Cavaliers, secured, from lowed Alarms,  
●'le come and Quarter in thy peaceful Arms    

SONG XXXIV,  

1.  
WHen first, I drove a Trade of Love,  
(Learned, before half my time, was out)  
I thought, if, once I could remove  
The sad Engagements thereabout,  
The Hopes, Despairs and Jealousies,  
(By some, nicknamed Love's Tyrannies)  
● soon, might ease, my miseries.   

2.  
Then strictly I besieged a Face,  
(which I had summoned long go)  
And had design, to storm the place,  
Or to surprise, the Female foe:  
Prepared, Granadoed Oaths to do't,  
Hail shot, of Vows and Prayers (to boot)  
But, see how soon, the Fool came to't!   

3.  
Without a parley to Compound,  
Herself, and all, she did up yield,  
I razed the fortress, to the Ground,  
And became, master of the Field:  
Fell to the spoil: purchased the Best  
Of all the Jewels there possessed,  
Restoring some, reserved the Rest.   

4.  
When I had done, what I could do,  
And once, Love's fiery Try all o'er,  
I Tamed myself, i'th' conquest too,  
Repent, what was done before:  
Thus thought I, when I this did see.  
If in Love's Triumphs, no more pleasure be,  
I'll still Beseige take in, who's well, for me.    

SONG XXXV.  

1.  
LOw, as my fair Florilla's feet, I lie,  
Raped, in an Ecstasy,  
Till I am doomed, either to live or die:  
But oh! her curtained Eye, she does display  
Whose every single Ray,  
Makes me, a lasting everlasting day.   

2.  
Quickened by that enlivening Beam, I move  
As when Antaeus strove,  
From th' Earth she treads, more vigorous I prove:  
Although her Look, such virtual heat, had thrown  
As might excuse the Sun,  
From's Club, to th' Act of Generation.   

3.  
Touched & Kissed my dearest fair, then stood good:  
Resolved all to Blood,  
That Passion, might have made its action,  
●ut Over loving turned to sin, for I  
seemed, as designed thereby,  
●eerly for to Increase and Multiply.   

4.  
●ill, from her Front, (Beaut'ys Majestic throne.  
Fell something, like a Frown,  
which bold desire, hath checked and overthrown.  
Hence I like one, inspired, from above)  
Will (spite of Cupid) prove,  
Venus, the Queen, Florilla, Queen of Love.    

SONG XXXVI.  

1.  
OH! stifle not longer, mine Eager desire!  
Which in its own flames Phoenix like, would expire!  
And closer, than cockles, when, we shall entwine  
(My dearest) I'll breathe out, my Soul, into thine.   

2.  
Thy beauty, shall nourish, as well, as delight,  
Our senses, to feast, and a longing invite;  
Whilst thou, in our dalliance persumest the Air,  
With thy Breath, that's as sweet, as thy Beauties are fair.   

3.  
Thy hand, at whose touch, I do melt, into blood,  
Shall busily range, in an amorous mood,  
Till, at length, being entranced by love's mystical charms.  
Thou, boldly, resign'st thyself, into mine Arms.   

4.  
Where, having given over thy s●lf, for a while,  
That I may discover, thy fortunate Isle,  
Whilst in Admiration, my Passions, are hurled,  
In Embracing, of thee, I do Compass, the world.   

5.  
Nor (sweetest) be pearl not, thy Diamond-eyes!  
For the Treasure thoust lost, in becoming my prize!  
Since Helena, she, as Immortal shall be  
In the Records of Fame, as dull Penelope.   

6.  
Nor do thou Florilla, as Lucrece hath done  
Lay hands, on thyself! cause thy Tarquin is gone!  
For when with rich Wines, I have heightened my Vein  
Full fraught, I'll return to my dearest again,  
And Lucrece, ne'er died, for her being a Whore,  
But, for thought, she should see her young Gallant no more.    

SONG XXXVII.  

1.  
AWay (you Fool!) will thou Love less▪  
Now, thou knowst, I Love more?  
And tax me, with unfaithfulness,  
'Cause I was sure before!  
Love, like all other goods, diffused, is best:  
Nor can One claim, an interest,  
But others may, as much (at least)  
I Loved her, Love you, and will Love the re●●   

2.  
The next, that hath my Fancy Worn,  
I'll serve as I served you;  
Why shouldst thou grudge another's boon!  
I'd give, the Devil his due.  
What though thy Body, pleasure find!  
Wilt thou, therefore, engross my mind!  
When Heaven (surely) ne'er assigned  
Man, to one Woman, but to Woman kin●   

3.  
Who marry, do live single; and who have  
A Union made, of two  
Do, of that Nature, make a slave,  
That, never made, them so:  
Variety (as some do hold)  
The god's delight in, and (of old)  
Women, that were, for Saints, enrolled  
Coupled at will, and shall Man be control    

SONG XXXVIII.  

1.  
YOu! that can die some thirteen times, a day  
At every paltry Ladies Frown!  
Deny yourselves, when she says Nay,  
And be more hers, then Y'are your Own;  
I will inform you, of a way,  
More safe (although less common known)  
Shall bring the work about, for half a Crown.   

2.  
Wouldst have a coloured Beauty, died in grain  
In-laid with Art's and Nature's store,  
Fresh, as a Summer's Evening Rain,  
Soft, as the Down that Leda bore  
Thy wish (unwooed) thou shalt obtain,  
What matter, though she be a Whore!  
she'll do, thy do, as well, what wouldst thou more!   

3.  
Try this, and Trust me for a Trick of Love,  
There comes no Woe, where Women Woe  
Here, presently, Y'are Hand and Glove:  
She's handsome that will handsome Do.  
Will not this more, than Coyness move?  
The nicest, is but Woman too  
Perhaps unchaste, or faith! I'd make her so.   

4.  
Then, who would lackey at a woman's will  
Dogging her close,  
Kyb'd to her heels, yet jealous, still as she went proved  
His services, are disallowed!  
Vexing his thoughts, her's to fulfil  
With Heart, e'en broke, Knees, ever bow●  
To one, that cannot shine, but through ● Cloud   

5.  
'Tis solly, to besiege, an entrenched Dame,  
Wood- stocked with Honour, Conscience, Fear  
When thousands render up the same,  
(On easier terms) thou seek'st for there  
The thing's all one, but for the Name,  
Then, which is best a Prize, bought Dear  
Or what, is freely purchased every where?    

SONG XXXIX.  

1.  
WHy such a Do  
To Win thee!  
What's in thee  
Should tempt me, to woe,  
Or quarrel for a Kiss!  
I could have store,  
Of Creatures,  
Whose Features,  
Are far thine before,  
Would Covet, such a Bliss:  
Then take it kindly,  
With a full Consent,  
And I'll use the friendly,  
To thy best Content:  
Hands off! give thy mind to't!  
And, then, thou shalt see  
If thou, but incline to't  
How pleasant, 'twill be.   

2.  
Throw of thy Gown!  
Unlace thee  
Embrace me,  
And, close, lay thee down,  
And let me Do, my do▪  
Put out the Light!  
I'll dandle,  
And handle,  
Thy Mint, of Delight,  
And will new mould thee, too.  
Lulled, then, in pleasure,  
And thy wanton Bed,  
I'll unfold, the Treasure,  
Of thy Maidenhead:  
Come to't, do not dally!  
But let us agree!  
ne'er stand shall I! shall ay!  
But, at it, let's be.    

SONG XL. The Second Part.  

1.  
NAy pish! go to  
ne'er proffer,  
This offer  
Why what is't you'd do!  
Don't you believe that!  
Sweet, now forbear!  
Nay pry'thee!  
They'll see thee!  
They can't choose but hear,  
Say! what would you be at!  
Oh Sir, you mistake me!  
I am, no such one,  
As you seem, to make me,  
Pray let me alone!  
I promise you, truly,  
Had I known before,  
Y'had been so unruly,  
I'd kept fast the Door!   

2.  
You're such a Man,  
SH' unlucky  
Nay! look ye!  
Do all, that I can,  
I see, you'll have, your way:  
Take off your Hands!  
Nay hear me!  
Forbear me!  
The Door open stands,  
What will my Mother say!  
Thou seest how I Love thee,  
And why I am Won,  
No ne'er yet could move me,  
To what, thou hast Done:  
Delays, they are loathing;  
Then quickly have done,  
And pry'thee say nothing!  
But let us be gone!    

SONG XLI.  

1.  
WHen Love & Beauty, doth combine  
To prove a conquest, and conjoin  
Their Powers in One,  
They seldom yield,  
Or quit, the Field,  
Until, their forces do  
Make Rebels stand,  
To their Command,  
And bend, to such, as you.   

2.  
Thy comely Airs, and hidden Grace,  
Besides the Magic, of thy face,  
With cunning, and  
Enchanting Arts,  
Can charm all Hearts  
Into that Round of Love,  
Which Circle is,  
Of all the Bliss  
Wherein true joys, do move.    

SONG XLII. By Sir, A.G. Mocked by the Author.  

G. 1.  
POx take you Mristress! I'll begun!  
I have Friends to wait upon;  
Think you, I'll myself confine,  
To your Humours! (Lady mine!)  
No, your lowering, seems to say,  
'tis a rainy Drinking day,  
To the Tavern I'll away.   

B. 1.  
Pox take this Drinking? what's to pay!  
I have Lasses for me stay:  
Think you I'll myself besot  
To the Quared, or Pottle-pot;  
No, They only heighten one,  
For this after Action.  
To the Whors-house I'll begun:   

G. 2.  
There have I, a mristress got  
Cloistered in a Pottle pot  
Bri●k and sparkling, as thine Eye,  
When those riches glances fly,  
●lump and bounding, soft and fair,  
Buxom, blithe, and debonair,  
And she's called Sack my Dear.   

B. 2.  
There a mistress won have I,  
Cloistered, in no Nunnery;  
Neat, and brisk, as Spanish Wine,  
Or the Juice in Carnadine.  
Plump and Gallant, and hath store,  
To suffice, me o'er, and O'er,  
And she's Caelia called, my Who●e.   

G. 3.  
Sack is my better mistress far,  
Sack's mine only Beauty-stare;  
Whose Divine and sprightful rays,  
Twinkle in each Nose and Face:  
Should I all her Beauties show,  
Thou thyself, wouldst Lovesick grow,  
And she'd prove, thy mistress too.   

B. 3.  
She is my holy whole delight!  
Whose Beauty stars, make day of night:  
Whose lovely Airs, and comely Grace,  
ne'er adorned Another's Face,  
Did they all thy features see,  
Drinkers, would my Rivals be,  
And be Top't, with none, but thee.   

G. 4.  
She with no ●art scorn, will blast me!  
Yet upon the Bed, she'll cast me:  
And ne'er blush herself to red,  
Nor fear, the loss of Maidenhead:  
Yet she can, I dare to say,  
Spirits, into me convey,  
More, then, thou, canst take away.   

B. 4.  
What thought she scorn, or sometimes frown,  
On the Bed, I'll lay her down;  
Where she blushes not, like one,  
That's ashamed, of what she as done:  
Yet I gain, I dare to swear,  
In an hour, more spirit, from her,  
Then Sack yields thee, in a year.   

G 5.  
Getting Kisses, here's, no coil,  
Here's no Handkercheifes, to spoil!  
Yet, I, better Nectar sipp,  
Then e'er dwelled, upon thy Lip  
And though still, and mute she be,  
Quicker wit, she brings to me,  
Then, e're●, could find in thee.   

B. 5.  
Though for a Kiss, we strive a while,  
Pay tears, to purchase half a smile,  
We scorn, when hence, such bliss, is got,  
The Kissing cup, or Smiling pot:  
Though we talk not, as before,  
Blame us not, to think the more  
Fancying Kingdoms o'er, and o'er.   

G. 6.  
If I go, ne'er look, to see  
Any more, a fool of me!  
I'll no liberty up give,  
Nor a maudlin Lover live;  
Thou shalt, never, bring me to't,  
No not all thy smiles shall do't,  
Nor thy Maidenhead to boot.   

B. 6.  
When I come, I'm sure to find,  
A brave Gallant, to my mind.  
Where I'll, my Liberty, give o'er,  
And be maudlin Drunk no more:  
I shall soon, be, thither led,  
Each smile, shall win me, to her Bed,  
And all, for her Maidenhead.   

G. 7.  
But if thou wilt take the pain,  
To be good, but once again,  
And if one smile, call me back,  
Thou shalt be that Lady Sack:  
Faith! but try, and thou shalt see,  
What a Loving Soul I'll be,  
When I'm Drunk, with none, but thee.   

B. 7.  
But, when all my pains, are spent,  
If thou yeildst no fresh content,  
And lettest Sack, me, reinvite,  
She shall be my whole delight:  
Faith! ne'er try, for than you'll see,  
What a Ranter, I shall be  
When I'm drunk, with her, not thee.  
Never try! for, then, you'll know,  
What brave feats, this Sack, can show,  
When I'm drunk, as driven Snow.    

SONG XLIII.  

1.  
COme my sure drinking Blades!  
Whose never known Trades,  
Are excused, from the Curse of the women,  
From Plot or design,  
But for money or Wine,  
While privileged draughts,  
Are loose, as your thoughts,  
And drink, makes you, only, Freemen,  
Be brisk, as a louse  
Oth' Body or mouse,  
When the Puss, does Catlin a Fiddle,  
For, the Drawer, shall bring  
Ague like, in the Spring,  
A Cure, for a King,  
Oh! 'tis Sack! that's the things  
'tis an All in all,  
That will come, at the call!  
The Sick-man's health,  
And the poor man's wealth  
'Tis a kind of a Riddle-me-riddle:  
Then Oh! my brave bully!  
Why sittest thou so dully,  
And dreyn'st up thy gully  
With sponged Melancholy!  
'Tis a Fiefor-shame, to thy breeding  
To sit, like those  
Make Children shoes,  
And tamper thy chaps,  
Like a Clerk, in's Clapps,  
Or on Brawn, an old Gossip, a feeding  
Cho. It is Wine,  
That's divine,  
Must refine,  
Our dull Souls:  
There's no mirth,  
In the Earth,  
Where's a Dearth,  
Of the Bowls.   

2.  
Come! a Health to a Miss '!  
A brimmer it is;  
To the first Letter this,  
Then syllable all together!  
Oh! a Name, of an Ell.  
That's beyond our spell,  
Would do, rarely well,  
To multiply Cups on either:  
We'll Drink, not fight,  
For a Ladies right,  
He's no Draught's man, that will wrong one,  
And, hence, maintain,  
By the Drink w'have ta'en,  
There's no good Name,  
But a Long one.  
Thus our mistresses live,  
And fates servive,  
While others are perished, and rotten,  
We Saint, each Lass,  
Canonised, in a Glass,  
And their beauties, are never forgotten,  
Cho. It is Wine, etc.   

3.  
Well! how goes the Glass!  
Let's see! has he done it!  
So so; let it pass!  
He's next who begun it!  
'twas I, that swallowed the first, I  
Let's not Drink to halves,  
Like Waltham's Calves,  
And home, again, turn, a thirsty.  
Ralph! prime him a bowl  
Happy man! be his dole!  
Here's sovereign Sack,  
For the brains, and the back,  
'tis good, for the gentle and simple,  
'Tis not, for nought,  
(As, the Wiser, have thought)  
That the Devil's, so near the Temple:  
'twas this (in a word)  
Made, the Cobbler, a Lord  
Till, relapsed, to bewitched water,  
In an ill time (then)  
Recobl●r'd again,  
Was, never, his own man, after:  
Our Soul, is a Salt,  
(As Philosopher's call't,)  
But given, to keep us, from stinking,  
But Nature had (sure)  
Other end, to procure  
A Thirst, for to further, our Drinking!  
Then, why does this Blade,  
Drink, so like a Maid!  
While he thinks, no body does mind him  
Yet, daily he Views  
The Danger, accrue ',  
By leaving the Liquor behind him:  
This youth, suits me best,  
Who, would, ne'er, let it rest,  
Ill Conscience like, were the Bowl his,  
But sucks like a Man,  
With a Throat, like a Crane,  
And wracks down his Body, a whole Piece.  
Say! what pleasure is't,  
For to supply the Twist  
Of a Quean? he's Fool, that will ask it.  
The Ploughman, is sound,  
While he's Tearing the Ground,  
And busied, in Pinning the Basket.  
Cho. It is Wine  
That's Divine  
Must refine  
Our dull Souls,  
There's no Mirth,  
●n the Earth,  
Where's a Dearth!  
Of the Bowl●.    

SONG XLIV.  

1.  
FOrtune is blind,  
And Beauty unkind,  
The Devil take 'em both!  
One is a Witch,  
And the other's a Bitch,  
In neither's, Faith, or Troth:  
There's hazard, in Hap,  
Deceit, in a Lap,  
But no fraud in a Brimmer;  
If Truth, in the bottom, lie,  
Thence to redeem her,  
We'll drain a whole Ocean dry.   

2.  
Honour's, a Toy!  
For Fools, a Decoy!  
Beset, with Care and Fear;  
And that (I wusse)  
Kills, many a Puss,  
Before her Clymacht year:  
But Freedom, and Mir●h,  
Create, a new birth;  
while, Sack's, the Aquavitae  
That vigour, and spirit gives:  
Liquor Almighty!  
Whereby, the poor mortal lives.   

3.  
Let us be Blithe  
In spite, of death's sith!  
And with a heart and half  
Drink to our Friends,  
And think of no ends  
But keep us sound, and safe!  
While healths, do go round,  
No malady's found,  
The maw sick, in the morning,  
For want, of its wont straive,  
Is as a warning,  
To double it, o'er again.   

4.  
Let us maintain  
Our Traffic with Spain  
And both the Indies, sleight●  
Give us their Wines!  
Let them keep their mines!  
We'll pardon Eighty eight!  
There's more certain wealth  
Secured, from stealth,  
In one Pipe of Canary,  
Then, in an Unfortunate Isle;  
Let us be wary  
●e do not Ourselves beguile!    

SONG XLV. Latined thus by the Author.  

1.  
SOrs sine Visu,  
Formaque Risu,  
Sint pro Daemone!  
Haec Malefica,  
Ista Venefica,  
Fallax utraque:  
Sors, mera est Fors,  
Sinusque vecors,  
Sed ●raus nulla; in Toto  
In Fundo si Veritas sit  
Potu Epoto,  
Oceanus Siccus fit.   

2.  
Honor est Lusus,  
Stultis illusus  
Curâ catenatâ;  
Hâcque (ut fatur)  
Catus necatur,  
Morte non paratá:  
Dum vero Graecamur,  
Nos Renovamur  
Nam, Aqua vitae, vinum,  
Vires spiritusque dat,  
Idque Divinum,  
A morte, nos Elevat.   

3.  
Jam simus laeti,  
Spretâ vi Lethi,  
Cordati●sime!  
Vt Combibones  
(Non ut Gnathones)  
Sarti-tectique:  
Dum Pocula spument,  
Morbi absument:  
Ac, manè, Corpus Onustum,  
Prae alienatione,  
Acuit gustum,  
Pro iteratione.   

4.  
Perstet, quotannis,  
Merx, cum Hispanis  
India sit Sola!  
Vinum praebeant!  
Aurum teneant!  
Absit Spinola!  
Sunt Opes, pro Certo,  
Magìs à furto,  
In Vini Potione,  
Quam Terra Incognitâ  
Pro Cautione  
Nè nobis sit Subdola.    

SONG XLVI. At the Surrender of Oxon.  

1.  
THou Man of Men, who e'er thou art,  
That hast a Loyal, Royal Heart,  
Despair not! though thy Fortune frown  
Our Cause, is Gods, and not our Own;  
'Twere sin, to harbour Jealous fears,  
The World laments, for Cavaliers, Cavaliers   

2.  
Those Things (like Men) that swa●m, ●ith Town  
Like Motions, wander up, and down;  
And were the Rogues, not full of blood,  
You'd swear, they men were, made of wood  
The Fellow-feeling-wanton swears,  
There are no Men, but Cavaliers, etc.   

3.  
Ladies, be pearl, their Diamond Eyes,  
And curse, Dame Shipton's Prophecies  
Fearing they never shall be sped,  
To wrestle, for a Maidenhead:  
But feelingly, with doleful tears,  
They sigh, and mourn for Cavaliers, etc.   

4.  
Our grave Divines, are silenced quite.  
Eclipsing thus, our Church's Light:  
Religion's made a mock, and all  
Good ways, as Works, Apocryphal:  
Our Gallants baffled, slaves made Peers,  
While Oxford, weeps for Cavaliers, etc.   

5.  
Townsmen complain, they are undone,  
Their Fortunes fail, and all is gone,  
Rope makers, only live in hopes,  
To have good trading, for their Ropes,  
And Glover's thrive, by Roundheads Ears,  
When Charles returns, with's Cavaliers, Cavaliers.    

SONG XLVII. At General Monks coming to London.  

1  
NOw Lambert's sunk,  
And mighty Monk  
Succeeds, the Tyrannous Cromwell,  
And Arthur's Court.  
'Cause, time is short  
Do Rage, like Devils, from Hell:  
Let's mark the Fate,  
And course of State  
Who rises, while the other, is sinking,  
And believe, when this is past,  
'Twill be, our turn, at last;  
By the good old cause of Drinking.   

2.  
First Sa ' fleum Noll,  
He swallowed all,  
His smeller, showed he Loved it:  
But Dick his Son,  
As he were none,  
Gave't off! and had reproved it:  
But that his Foes,  
Made Bridge, on's Nose,  
And cried him down, for a Protector,  
Proving him, to be a Fool  
That would, undertake to Rule,  
And not fight, and drink, like Hector.   

3.  
The Grecian Lad▪  
He Drank like mad.  
Minding no Work above it;  
And (San's question)  
Killed Ephestion,  
Cause, he'd not approve it:  
He got Command,  
Where, God had Land,  
And, like a right Maudlin Younker,  
When he Tippled all, and Wept,  
He laid him down, and Slept,  
Having no more Worlds to Conquer.   

4.  
Rump Parliament,  
Would needs invent  
An Oath, of Abjuration,  
But Obedience,  
And Allegiance,  
Now, are all in fashion:  
Then here's a Bowl,  
With Heart, and Soul,  
To Charles, and let All, say Amen to't.  
Though, they brought the Father down,  
From a triple Kingdom Crown,  
we'll Drink the Son, up again to't.    

SONG XLVIII.  

1.  
NOw the State's brains, are addle,  
With a new fiddle f●ddle,  
And Politic Body Disordered,  
And reels too and fro,  
(As Good fellows do)  
In reason, that cannot be bordered:  
While, Drunk with their Wealth,  
(Made Sweeter by Stealth)  
They, Cooped in their Own,  
Seek Kingdoms to come▪  
And fancy, beyond-sea-Vagaries;  
We, sit Close at Home,  
Content, with Lipp Room;  
In the Infinite Space,  
Of an Ocean Glass,  
Near Sail to, but Drink the Canaries:  
And in our Opinion,  
Have greater Dominion,  
Then They, when their Conquests besot 'em;  
We Discover i'th' Cup,  
That is, Well dried up,  
A New Newfoundland, in the bottom;  
Then heighten our Souls,  
With aspiring Bowls,  
For Crosses, & Cares w'have forgot 'em.   

2.  
Pox on Cupid, and's Whimsies,  
That makes a Man dimn's Eyes,  
With Plaints to an Idle-fekt-Mistresse;  
And, Spaniel-li●e, Whimper,  
And ●●hine, till the Simper,  
Or Laugh, at his Woe, and his Distress:  
Let Mongrels that are  
Betwixt hope, and fear,  
Their Fortunes bemoan,  
With a Grievous- Groan,  
While we, merry Lads, that have drank hard  
In our Jeers, well warm,  
Near Think, nor Catch harm;  
Nor Sensible are,  
Of Sorrows, or Care,  
Nor of Tears, but those of the Tankard:  
That Spare-Rib (called Woman)  
Or proper, or common,  
Shall, ne'er, take us off from our freedom;  
we'll Drink deep, and draw,  
With a hungry Maw,  
As Sponges were there, for to feed 'em;  
And for a recruit,  
Fresh Bottles shall do't  
Or bottles, I'm sure, we shall need 'um.   

3.  
Let's curse that dull Miser  
That will Club, but his ●iser,  
And suck out his gill, with the Bulkers;  
While Taverns, they bugger,  
Trunk in Hugger mugger;  
Our throats a●e like Open Sepulchers:  
Each Man, with is ●owle,  
Like a Good dry soul,  
And a Managed Quart,  
To solace the Heart,  
The Word Have at all, so we fall on,  
And hug, his Design,  
Who, at close o'th' Wine,  
Entitles, by Stealth,  
A Requiring Health,  
Till, the pint, turn Pimp to the Gallon.  
Thus wash away Sorrow,  
With thoughts of to Morrow,  
Or any past thing that befell ye;  
For, Sack is a sure,  
And a Sovereign Cure,  
Of any Disease, it will heal ye,  
What would a Man more,  
Out of Nature's store,  
Then Women and Wine by the belly?    

SONG XLIX.  

1.  
NOw, w' are high flown,  
Let's laugh▪ and lie down,  
And revel, in the pride of our blood,  
For Melancholy,  
'S an idle folly  
That, never brought any to Good:  
Since Mirth, enlivens our Souls,  
And heightens, our Spirits, with Comforting bowls;  
Which, when with Courage o'er grown,  
A Well manag'd-Woman, shall soon take them down.   

2.  
we'll ransack Nature,  
T' Enjoy the Creature,  
And cull out the prime of her Store;  
For Wine, and Women,  
Shall make us the men,  
In plenty, what need we be poor?  
Then drink! and more drink! let's call,  
Cause, that does afford us, our Meat, Cloth, and All:  
'Tis that, must keep us Alive  
While, Duck-like, all weathers, we Tipple, &—   

3.  
I like that man well,  
That strikes me handsel,  
Ith' Morning, with a fresh fasting-Groat▪  
And when we enter't,  
Cries, hang't! let's venture't!  
Then doubles it, to Mend our Draught,  
And when our Hands are well in,  
Until, the hard Midnight repeats it again;  
Then sleep a while for recrute,  
And let the dry Morning, afresh, call us to't.   

4.  
Thus, free from Thinking,  
Perpetual Drinking  
Be- Lethe's the Cares of the World;  
Our Doses, a Gallon,  
The Quart's, a small one;  
Then, see, that it down stairs be hurled:  
And with It, ply us all Day  
And, make it Your Work, for to keep us in Play;  
But if, unfilled to the Brim,  
The devil take drawer, or Dunstan take him.    

SONG L. At the Request of Sr. John Kyrle.  

1.  
LEt half God Bacchus, now resign,  
His Demy- ships, usurped Place!  
Pomona's Juice, is more Divine,  
More Sovereign, her Grace;  
Queen Apple! She,  
My Love shall be,  
There's none, I admire, beside Her,  
Dame Barley's sap,  
And Blood o'th' Grape,  
Must yield to puissant Cider.   

2.  
This, was the Nectar, warmed the Gods,  
While Adam Wight, in Eden, Delves:  
Nor must the Mortal, know the odds,  
Reserved for themselves,  
Till Meddling Eve,  
Laughed in her sleeve,  
And was resolved, what ere betide her,  
To have a Taste,  
Of the Fruit (at last)  
That affords, Everlasting Cider.   

3.  
This done, the Old Boy, she did call  
To Taste, and Eat; had He been Wise,  
To squeeze, and drink, Flesh could not Fall,  
'T had, rather made it Rise:  
The Trojan Youth,  
Had ne'er (in truth)  
Got Venus' Boon, had he denied Her,  
That Thing, on I'd,  
Which pressed, and tried,  
Made Potable Gold, for a Cider.   

4.  
A Dragon watched th' Hesperideses,  
King Pippin's ●ody to secure,  
And daunt achieving Hercules,  
Who ne'er was Friend to Brewer,  
For with the Thought,  
Of this he fought,  
Had the Jaws of the Beast, been Wider,  
He would have dared,  
To pass the Guard,  
For a powerful Rummer of Cider.   

5.  
Sherbet, Coffee, and Chocolate,  
Are Heathenish Drinks, compared to this,  
That Water (too) Unchristened, late  
Surnamed Mirabilis:  
Let Spain and France,  
Their Wines Advance,  
Our Herefordshire, they say, that tried her,  
Doth now produce  
A Nobler Juice,  
The Muses, and the Mortals Cider.   

6.  
Those of this Isle,  
Are blest the while,  
Whom Nature be friends with her bounty  
If this Song fail,  
'Tis long of Ale,  
Being Shire of Another County.    

SONG LI. After Worcester Fight.  

1.  
THe Kings gone!  
W' are All undone!  
Ore ' poured, by the Sword!  
The Crown's lost!  
Our Fortunes crossed!  
While Cromwel's their Good Lord!  
Our Hopes, to see  
A Hierarchy  
●mall Comforts, now afford,  
When Bulkers Teach,  
And Troopers preach  
●f God, the Devil a Word.   

2.  
Yet ne'er pine!  
●or season Wine!  
With Tears of Misery!  
The Glass Crown!  
●et Fortune drown!  
Or Hang, no whit care I!  
The Thousandth Cup,  
Shall, puff us up  
●o Fancy Monarchy:  
religion  
‛ Sans King, is None,  
But Drinking Loyalty.    

SONG LII. On the Act against Titles of Honour  

1.  
DRaw the Wine!  
Fill the Bowl!  
ne'er repine!  
Or Condole!  
At the Usage, the States, lay upon us  
Though they Trample us down,  
Under foot, from a Crown,  
If we, but hold up  
For a plentiful Cup,  
we'll forgive, all the mischief, th'ave done  
Let our Honours,  
And our Manors,  
Be confiscate, to their Powers;  
If we Sack,  
May not Lack,  
The whole World shall be Ours:  
And while their kindness, this fair Boon, afford  
Though we cannot spend, we'll be as dru● as Lor●   

2.  
Then about  
Give the Glass!  
Suck it out!  
Let it pass!  
And who Tipples, as long, as He's able,  
Though He's shrunk, from Sr. John,  
To Poor Jack, all is One;  
Let's Lady, take snuff,  
If he drink, but Enough,  
We'll install him Kt. of the Round Table:  
Other Titles,  
Are but Trifles,  
Not deserving our Thinking,  
Hence we'll make,  
Laws, to take  
Our Degrees, from Good Drinking:  
Honour's a Pageant, we disclaim the Thing,  
shoed be a Knight, where Charles is not a King?   

3.  
Drink away!  
Have at all!  
While we stay,  
Let us call,  
●nd, as Lilburn would have us, be freemen,  
And who Tope out their Time,  
Till the Midnight shall Chime,  
Their Mistresses, They  
Shall be Ladies of the May,  
And Themselves, of the Bottles, the Yeomen  
The Commanders,  
That were Ranters,  
Shall Commence, now, to be Hector  
And be still  
As Gentile  
As the Kingdom's Protector's  
And bear, (despite of States, or Hera●● Rules  
Ith' Pockets, Argent, in their Faces, Gules.    

SONG LIII. When the Parliament would ha●● Crowned Cromwell.  

1.  
THe Parliament,  
Had a shrewd Intent,  
To make their Lord a King,  
But He (Good man)  
Do, what they can,  
Will yield, to no such thing:  
He sought to God,  
And fought abroad,  
Our Freedoms, home to bring,  
Nor dares He make  
For Charles his sake,  
Himself a Glorious King.   

2.  
Then in a Word,  
Let's praise our Lord;  
Who, did so well, Project!  
His kingdom's not,  
Of this World, but  
Another's he'll Protect,  
And, spite of Those,,  
Who might oppose  
The Wardship, of the Throne,  
Till the King comes,  
The three Kingdoms,  
he'll keep still, as his Own.   

3.  
What need he care  
To be styled O. R.  
When O. P. does as well?  
The Things, the same,  
But, for the Name,  
Kingdom, or Common Weal▪  
It, only, Mads,  
Us bonny Lads,  
Who, while we Qua●se, and Sing,  
What e'er we think  
We fear, to Drink  
A Health, unto the King.    

SONG LIV. On the Act for Marriages.  

1.  
LAst Parliament Sat,  
And the Speaker did prate,  
A Jury of Years, to no purpose;  
For Acts, and for Law,  
To keep us, in awe,  
They baffled, the Rules of Lycurgus.  
For, when seven Years,  
They had Sat Sans Peers,  
(Without Wit, or Fears)  
And, we looked, when Jeers, should go trimmer  
They gave us, at last,  
Of their Office a Cast,  
And what d' ye think was't?  
A Put off with a Pitiful primer.   

2.  
And, once in a Mood,  
When sitting was Good,  
And their Wives, they had put them, upon it  
They thought, of a Knack,  
To silence, the Clack,  
That Men, might not tell, when th'a● done it  
When, this passed, they had,  
They sat still, like Mad,  
Till the fiery faced Lad  
In Zeal and Uprightness, had told 'em  
If they left not the House,  
Without any Excuse,  
To a better use,  
He'd make it too hot, for to hold 'um.   

3.  
So in came, of late,  
the Devil would ha'te  
For seldom (they say) comes a better  
Such Hebrew Jews,  
you pick, and choose,  
Not, one, of the Law knows a Letter.  
And, now th'ave begun,  
Such an Act th'ave Done,  
And a Pattern shown,  
To marry, or Hang, take you whether,  
For next trick they shows  
Will be, for to Choose,  
A New-way, to Noose,  
Since both, do by fate, go together.   

4.  
When woe, ●omes to woe  
●o the Justice we go,  
And those (who have hands) are to shake 'em,  
And, he that can, speaks  
A. B. C. D. takes,  
But Justices, the Devil take 'um!  
Girls, that are Sporting,  
Must stay, till fourteen,  
‛ Ere they be Courting,  
Who, would have begun at Eleven,  
And Men, till Sixteen  
(Was e'er such trick seen?)  
Stomach, it sticks in,  
When They'd have fallen to't e'er, twi● seve●   

5.  
Those Youths that are Kind,  
And have now a Month's mind,  
I'd wish, ere the Close of September  
To make a● Cock sure▪  
And firm, to Endure,  
That, Each, take his Love by the member  
Who Wivings adjourn,  
And now slip their Turn,  
Were better, to Burn:  
The Word, it is hard, but a True One  
If I were, well-rid,  
Of the Wife, that I did  
〈◊〉 the Old way-wed,  
I'd hang e'er, I'd Vent●●● the new one  
Cho. Oh Parliament! Parliament! pitiful Clown  
What would You be at?  
It puzzles the Rules  
Of the Laws, and the Schools,  
This Question to state  
Whether they were more Knaves, than you are Fools.    

SONG LV. A Round.  

1.  
COme smoo●h off your Liquor!  
It makes th' Wit quicker,  
And he, that his Water refuses,  
Whilst we Laugh and Sing  
And quaff healths, to the King,  
Shall ne'er have a Bout with the Muses.   

2.  
The next to Queen Mary:  
Fill it up! we'll not spare ye;  
We came hither, to wash ou● Gully:  
How now! what's a clock?  
Give the Drawer a Knock  
We loose time, while he fills it, so dully.   

3.  
To the Duke swallow franker,  
Since we have the Spanker  
We'll every man Drink out, an od-peice.  
He, that fails, of his whole one,  
Were he graver, than Solon.  
Shall have all the rest, in his Codpiece▪    

SONG LVI. A Round.  

1.  
A Pox on those Od-mates!  
And half witted Clode-pates!  
That ne'er knew the price, of a Pottle!  
Nor ever took part,  
Of a tedious Quart,  
But tamper their Chaps,  
On the dow-backed Sops.  
Of pitiful Aristotle!  
Cho. Blaze up to the King, say I,  
Fill the Cup,  
Tope it up,  
Let it pass, 'tis the vote of the Commons,  
To Sing, Drink and Fight,  
In the world's despite.  
That the Crown may be Charles' his, or no man's.   

2.  
A fig for Jandunus!  
Here 's Sack that can tune us,  
In our mirth, to a note above Ela.  
While the Round-head Rogues,  
Like Birds (called Hogs)  
In damnable qualms,  
Howle out Wisdoms psalms  
To a Presbyterian Selah  
Cho. Blaze up, etc.    

SONG LVII. A Round.  

1.  
COme do not flinch!  
Quaff it about!  
Let not a Wench,  
Draw you out,  
Of a Tavern:  
Since we know what our Company are,  
We'll be as Honest, and we'll Drink as fair,   

2.  
Give us the Bow'e!  
Fuddle it all!  
What Honest Soul,  
Will not call  
For a Whole one,  
And send about a Mistress' health,  
If, all refuse it, I'll begined myself.   

3.  
Here's to the best,  
In Christendom!  
Pox send the rest,  
All and some,  
To the Devil!  
We'll ply the Pots, and the Wenches too  
But 't must be, when, w' have nothing else, to do   

4.  
I will have Nan,  
You shall have Bess,  
Do what you can,  
I'll no less,  
Do unto Her,  
He shall give Jane, and Tom shall give Mal●  
A Blow o'th' Navel, so have at it all.    

SONG LVIII. A Round.  

1.  
COme Crown, with pity, my hearty Pai●  
Inspire, with Courage my lusty Vein  
And when we shall entwine,  
(Dearest Valentine!)  
I'll spend all in thine,  
Arms, again.   

2.  
And when thou findest, my skill is such,  
That for a little, I'll teach thee much,  
My Hand shall rovingly,  
Sooth thee, movingly  
And we'll Lovingly  
Take a Touch.    

SONG LIX. A Round.  

1.  
LEt's chase away, mad Melancholy!  
Hang pinching▪  
(Spite of Wenching!)  
Curse States!  
Damn Fates!  
Here's a jolly  
Cup, to the Bully!  
Tope thy Liquor, and see this health go round.  
And He that swallows a Beer-bowle,  
Leaves Thinking,  
Minds his Drinking,  
And shall,  
Quaff all,  
May that Dear-soul,  
Ever be Cheerful,  
And his sorrows, as his soul, be drowned  
Then here's to Mall, with the Scallop smock  
Let's fancy the time, she all up took,  
And to Betty-fair,  
That does it, to a Hair,  
Were it a Mile to the bottom  
I'd take every jot down,  
And not a spoonful to Joan,  
I Love a hairy Bush well,  
But Pox on things like a Bushel,  
As for little Nan,  
I'll Touch her, if I can,  
Or silken sim'pring Sarah  
I'm sure she carries good Ware,  
And I'll Trade with her Anon.    

SONG LX. A Round, at the Request of Sir W.S.  

1.  
OF all things!  
We call things,  
For my part, I'd have but one  
For fair things  
As Rare things,  
I do not care a Button:  
Of all the feeling Gear,  
That ever I came near  
Were it a brown, Red, or Yellow  
For Praises, or fo● Prick,  
To the principle I'll strick  
That a Black thing has no fellow.   

2.  
Girls i'th' Dark  
When they stark,  
Are naked, as the Truth is;  
And with care,  
Trim their Ware,  
As flippant, as their youth, is,  
And do the best they can  
To fit themselves, for Man,  
I'd have, at last, they should well know,  
The chiefest Grace they Lack,  
If their Tackle be not Black,  
For a Black thing, etc.   

3.  
If you'll feel,  
One Gentle  
She's Argent 'bout the Navel  
When she bears  
Right her Gears  
Her Honour point is sable:  
The Damo'sels that are Fair  
But for an outside are  
theyare rotten ere they are Mellow,  
But Oh! The Black! The Black!  
'Tis she will hold you tack  
For a Black thing, etc.   

4.  
The choice Grace,  
Of a Face,  
By a black Patch, out-set is:  
The best Stone,  
Fairest she'wn,  
Within a foil of Jet is:  
If e'er it be my Doom,  
To Cover and to Come,  
At the nodding of the Pillow  
Of all the pleasant Pack,  
Commend me to the Black;  
For a Black thing, etc.    

SONG LXI. A Round.  

1.  
MIne own Dear, Honey, Bird, Chuck!  
Cone sit thou down by me!  
And thou and I will Truck  
For thy Commodity!  
The weather is Cold and Chilly,  
●nd heating will do thee no harm,  
Then put a hot thing in thy Belly!  
To keep thy body warm!   

2.  
●ur Land-Lady hath brought us,  
The best the house affords;  
●is time to lay about us,  
Then pry ' thee make no words!  
〈◊〉 now thou art young and tender  
Although thy— be rough,  
●e Fort if thou'lt to me Surrender,  
●'le Man it well enough.   

3.  
●nd by the, whispering palme's sweat,  
And thine Eyes like Noon,  
●y panting breasts (as thy pulse) beat,  
●hou'lt do it to some Tune!  
Then Give thy mind to't (my Honey!)  
Thou shalt have no cause to rue,  
That ever thou hazard'st thy—  
To one oath ' Jovial Crew.    

SONG LXII. A Round.  

1.  
YOur Loudon Wenches are so Stout,  
They care not what they Do,  
They will not let you have a Bout,  
Under a Crown, or two:  
They Dawbney their Chaps, and Curl their 〈◊〉  
Their Breathes perfume they do,  
They're Tails are peppered with the Po●●  
And that you are welcome too.   

2.  
But give me the Buxom Country Lass!  
Hot-piping, from the Cow,  
She'll take a Touch, upon the Grass,  
Yea! Marry! and thank you too.  
Her Colour's fresh as Rose in june,  
Her Skin's as soft, as Silk,  
She'll do her Business to some Tune  
And freely spend her Milk.    

SONG LXIII. A Mock.  

1.  
LAy that Sullen Garland by thee!  
Keep it forth ' Elysian, shade!  
Take my Wreath of Lusty Ivy  
Not of that faint Myrtle made!  
When I see thy Soul descending,  
To that cool, and fertile plain,  
Of sad Fo●les that lack attending  
Thou shalt have the Crown again,  
Now drink Wine, and know the odds  
'Twixt that Lethe, and the gods!   

B. 1.  
Cast that Ivy Garland from thee!  
Leave it for some Wilder-Blade!  
Venus' wreath would best become thee,  
Not for Blazing Bacchus made:  
When my high flown Soul's ascended,  
●o Love's bright and warmer Sphere,  
Where with Chaplets I'm attended,  
Thou an Ivy Bush shalt wear:  
Now be Sober! and you'll prove!  
Mortals Tipple, gods do Love.   

2.  
Rouse thy dull, and drowsy Spirits!  
See these Soul Reviving-streams!  
Stupid Lover's Brain inherits  
Nought, but vain, and empty Dreams:  
Think not then thy dismal Trances  
With our Raptures can contend;  
The Lad that Laughs, and Sings & Dances,  
May come sooner to his End:  
Sadness may, some pity move,  
Mirth, and Courage Ravish Love.   

B. 2.  
Welcome merry Melancholy▪  
Fancying Beavtie's quickening Beams!  
Boon Companions Wits, are folly  
Shrunk in over wetting streams:  
Think not, than thy Ranting Humour,  
May with Modesty contend,  
Lesser Talkers often Do more  
When they come unto their End:  
Rudness, Easy Girls may move,  
Civil Carriage, Charms a Love.   

3.  
Fie then on that Cloudy Forehead!  
Open those Vein-like crossed Arms!  
You may as well call back the buried  
As raise Love, with such dull Charms:  
Sacrifice a Glass of Claret  
To each Letter of her Name;  
The gods have oft descended for it,  
Mortals should much more, the same,  
If She come not at that Flood  
Sleep will come, and that's as Good.   

B. 3.  
Cloudy Brows do presage Weeping;  
And who would not hear our Cries?  
Who the Grave, hath had in Keeping,  
Would to pity Love arise:  
Offer up a Yoke of Kisses,  
To the Damo'sell you adore!  
Jove for such a Bliss as this is,  
Would come, now though ne'er before:  
If this way, she can't be had,  
Drinking comes, and that's as Bad.    

SONG LXIV. A Mock.  

1.  
FEar not (my Genius) to unfold  
My silent Thoughts by these▪  
Let Women, born, to be controlled,  
Receive them, as they please,  
Their long Usurped Monarchy,  
Hath made me, hate, their Tyranny.   

B. 1.  
Tremble (Ill Nature!) to betray,  
In idle Words, thy thought,  
That Women▪ who, our Passions, sway  
Should be Controlled, as Naught:  
Their long continued Hierarchy  
Hath made me Love, their Sovereignty.   

2.  
Let them, and their Magnetic Charms,  
As Harbingers before 'em,  
Possess themselves of Cupits Arms,  
As Baits, for to Adore 'um.  
I'll ne'er commit Idolatry,  
To Subjects, born, as well as I.   

B. 2.  
Let some one, whose detracting Tongue  
Is Usher, to his Wit,  
Their Beauties and his Judgement wrong  
Whilst I, admireing sit.  
It cannot be Idolatry,  
To Worship, such Divinity.   

3.  
Their Deity, with them, must fade,  
It cannot be denied,  
Then since, the Pretty things, were made;  
Out of Old Adam's side:  
Le's Love them still, but know't 'tis thus  
We'll Do't, because theyare part of Vs.  
And let this then, Suffice the Elves  
To say, we Love them, as our selves.   

B. 3.  
Their Deity can ne'er Decay,  
'Twere Sin to say, it should,  
Then since theyare Forms not Cast in Clay  
But of a finer Mould:  
We'll Love them still, with all our Hearts,  
Because, they are our Better parts:  
And let this satisfy poor Men,  
To purchase thus their Rib again.    

SONG LXV. A Mock.  

1:  
NOw, I confess, I am in Love,  
Although I thought, I never should:  
But, 'tis with one, dropped from above,  
Whom Nature made, of better Mould:  
So Fair, so Good, so all Divine,  
I'd quit the World, to make her Mine.   

B. 1.  
I'll ne'er, Confess yet dare be hanged,  
(Although I hope 'twill ne'er be so,)  
If the best Girl, that ever Twang'd  
Do make me Buckle, to her Bow:  
Or Fair, or Foul, what e'er she be,  
Of all the World, she's not for me.   

2.  
Have you not seen, the Stars retreat,  
When Sol salutes our Hemisphere,  
So shrink those Beauties, called Great,  
When, sweet Rosella, doth appear:  
Were she, as other Women, are,  
I should not Love her, nor Despair.   

B. 2.  
Have you not seen Eclipsed Sol,  
When spangle Stars, supply the Day,  
So shine those Beauties, thought but small,  
When Fair Florella's gone away  
But all alike, I must refuse,  
Nor e'er will pick, if I may choose.   

3.  
For I could, never, bear a mind,  
Willing to stoop, to common faces,  
Nor Confidence enough, could find,  
To aim at one, so full of Graces:  
Fortune, and Nature did Decree,  
No Woman should be fit for me.   

B. 3.  
For I was, ne'er, so given to't,  
With every Common Lass, to Trade,  
Nor e'er had th' Impudence, to Do't,  
With any Modest graceful Maid.  
Nor Fate nor Art could ever move,  
My sullen Heart, to thoughts of Love.    

SONG LXVI. A Mock.  

1.  
BE gone! Thou Fatal Fever! from me, now be gone!  
Let Love alone!  
Let his Aetherial flames, possess my Breast!  
The fires, of thy consuming heat, no aid requires,  
But swift Desires,  
Transport my passions, to a Throne of Rest  
Where I, who in the pride of health, could never feel,  
Such warmth to move.  
By Sickness tamed,  
I'm so Inflamed,  
I fee'le, no joy, but Love.  
And he, who trifled many tedious hours away  
My Love to try.  
In little space,  
Hath gained the Grace,  
To have more power, than I.   

B. 1.  
Away! you Grievous Things, called Mistress' away  
Yield Sack the Day!  
Let her Diviner sparks, in flame my Breast  
The heat, of whose Virtue's so Complete  
That for the feat,  
My fancy's carried, here to seat its rest:  
Where I, who in the height of Love, coul● never, find  
Such warmth, to stir.  
By Sack in spird,  
Am now, so fired,  
I joy in None, but Her:  
And I, who have been Occupied, an hour sometimes  
A Love, to Win,  
In lesser space,  
Have gained the Grace,  
To care not for't, a Pin▪   

2.  
Depart! Thou fatal Fever from me, no● Departed  
Think not my Heart  
To thy dull flames, shall be a Sacrifice▪  
A Maid (Dread Cupid) now hath on the A●tar lai●  
By thee betrayed,  
A Rich Oblation, to restore thine Eyes:  
But yet, my fore acknowledgement, sha●● testif●●  
Thou hast no Craft,  
To bend thy Bow,  
Against a Foe,  
That aimed, to catch the shaft;  
●or did I fear, though at my Bosom, all at once,  
Such Darts did move;  
She that receives,  
A thousand Sheaves,  
She can no more, but Love.   

B. 2.  
●F— for all you Female Creatures, now a F-  
ne'er think my Heart,  
In your Weak flames, shall burn a Sacrifice,  
● Blade (god Bacchus!) here, hath at the Tavern had  
Now by thee made,  
A stronger Fire, to Blaze out his Fies:  
●ut yet, my late acknowledgement shall Justify,  
Thou hast no Craft,  
My flames, to Drown,  
When once, high flown,  
With ne'er so great a Draught:  
●or would I care, though for an Ocean, all at once,  
My Guts had space,  
He that Topes up,  
The thousandth Cup!  
He can no more but Blaze.   

3.  
No more Physicians, let me try your Brains!  
Pray give me o'er!  
I have a Cure, in Physic, never read; no more!  
Though you, as skilful Doctors, all the world do know,  
In Learning flow,  
You may as well go practice on the Dead:  
But, if my Gerard deign, to view me, wit●  
His Glorious Looks  
I make no doubt,  
To Live without  
Physicians, and their Books:  
'tis he, who with his balmy Kisses, can restore  
My latest breath,  
What bliss is This!  
To Gain a Kiss,  
And save, a Maid, from Death!   

B. 3.  
No more; You Physickt Ladies! I'll you helps implore  
But give you o'er!  
I have a Cure, your Beauties, ne'er did pro●●●  
Though you, have saving Virtues, Love 〈◊〉 Lovers know  
And tell you so,  
Practise on those, that swear they'll die for Love  
But if I view, Canaries sparkling Beauties,  
In a Glass,  
I Question not  
The Going to pot,  
' Spite of a Lady's Face:  
'Tis she, who with her Sugard Kisses, ca● Preserv●●  
My failing Breath;  
What bliss like this,  
A Cup, to Kiss,  
And save, a man from Death!  
〈◊〉 you (Divine ones of another world I bow,  
And will allow,  
●our sacred precepts, if you'll grant me this,  
●at He, whom I adore, even next your Deity,  
May go with me,  
without his presence, there can be no bliss:  
teach your Tenants of Eternity, to those,  
That aged be,  
●o not persuade,  
Love sick Maid  
There's any Heaven, but He:  
● stay! methinks an Icy slumber doth possess  
My wearied Brain,  
●ay bid him Die,  
you think, I  
●hall never Wake again.   

B. 4.  
〈◊〉 you (Divines Beauties of the World!) I vow  
● will allow,  
●our sacred Titles, if you'll one thing prove!  
●at Sack whom I before you all, my Mistress make,  
● may not Lack,  
without her, there can be small sport in Love  
● read your Lectures, of Sobriety, to those,  
That Punies be,  
●o not persuade,  
Topeing Blade,  
●uch Drink's in Heaven, as She.  
But stay! Methinks a giddy whimsy toxicate  
my warmed Brain;  
E'en let me Die,  
If you think I,  
Shall ne'er Blaze up again.    

Mock SONG LXVII. To Dr. Smith's Ballad— Will women's &  

1.  
HAve Men there idle tricks begun  
Pox out! what means their cou●●  
Shall Poets prate, till Breath be gone,  
Yet men still worse and worse?  
Bob Wisdom's Psalms, are never the near  
To the Lad, that's proud of his Cod- 〈…〉  
Which makes the Vicious, fret and swea●  
And me, to Bann and Curse.   

2.  
I once was minded, to be Du●●b  
And ne'er to make a Word;  
Although that Mankind, all and som●  
Were hanged who'd care a T—?  
But now my Tongues at no Command,  
I cannot hold it, with my Hand,  
As easily, as Cocks can stand,  
My Reason's R'yme afford.   

3.  
And first, I'll violent hands lay on,  
There Puffs, and perfumed Ware;  
Their pride, so with a powder shown,  
Does go against the Hair.  
For though, their Clothes, are out at Elbow  
The are Captains, strait, with their Blades of Bilbo,  
With them six pence, and the devil in hell go!  
'T would make one stamp and stare.   

4.  
Their down right thoughts, ne'er mind their ●ooks  
Th'ave e'en almost forgot 'em;  
For since Old Nad, fallen of o'th' hooks,  
men's Fingers, ne'er itched less at 'um.  
And if they can but the Scriptures abuse,  
They Laugh (as if they could not choose,)  
At Moses, Hopkins, and Sternolds Muse,  
'T would make all Women hate 'um.   

5.  
Their Faces, are rubbed in such sort,  
With pieces, of brass kettle;  
As if they were Old Dogs o'th' sport,  
And Metal bear, on Metal:  
They with their antic Mops, and Mows,  
Will Face down Truth, how e'er the world goes,  
Lily has no such signs as those,  
Will times, and things ne'er settle?   

6.  
With these, they are emboldened so,  
And look so tow'rdly on 'em,  
That Others wives (forsooth) they'll know,  
When little thanks they con 'em:  
And every night they feast their Cullies,  
With bowl of sack ne'er think it full is,  
As easily, as Whores get Cullies,  
ne'er think what has undone 'um.   

7.  
Ofttimes you'd think 'twere all their Own  
They take so much, upon 'em;  
When presently, they are struck Dumb  
You'd wonder, what's come on 'um.  
They are so sullen, and stout God mend 'um!  
We Maids can never tell wher'e to send 'em  
I would the Whores (with a Pox) would end 'em  
Or Heaven keep us from 'um.   

8.  
Their rude Demeanour, is a scare Crow,  
For Women, for to fear 'em;  
Their bitter Oaths do so far go,  
That surely, I'll beware 'em:  
And when with many a Jeggam-bobb  
Th'ave got you, into the Pound of ●obb  
They'll leave you, as Bobabill, left Cobb  
The Devil will (once) not spare 'um.   

9  
Sometimes, theyare all i'th' fire of Love,  
And live, like Salamander,  
And then I wish some queans, would prove  
And each of these, a Pauder:  
But (the plain truth, for to illustrate)  
They are such Creatures Women must hate,  
And if their Wills, you can't frustrate,  
They'll bring your Souls, in Danger.   

10.  
Two Mere maids (once) had got an Ecle,  
Whose body they'd a plot on;  
Dear love (quoth they) weare true as steel  
But Jeers, they would not Cotten:  
For thinking him sure, as Louse in Bosom,  
He wriggles his Tail and strair, out goes 'em  
So quickly slipped a way, to lose 'em  
Him saw they ne'er a jot on.   

11.  
Or if some men to good be broughed  
And purpose, what th'ave spoken;  
'Tis ten to one, th'ave ne'er a groat,  
Then Silver, can't be broken:  
Who else is Sped, is Matched with a Stallion  
He'll have her, soon at the Lock Itallian,  
She's Fool and Ass, and Tatter-de-mallian;  
That Weds, for ne'er a Token.   

12.  
The holy Sisters, often pray,  
And Scriptures, Eke unfold,  
Yet men, as though 'twere out oth'way,  
ne'er hark, to what is told:  
You may speak, as well, to an Image of dough,  
Not one, cares whether, you Teach, or no,  
Their Hearts are as hard, as Iron too,  
As tough, but not so cold.   

13.  
When will (d'ye think) this Gear go tri●  
And e'er, be brought to good?  
Good faith! I think 'twill ne'er begin:  
What never? No! would it would!  
They have so many conceits and whimsei●;  
That one may scribble, until he dimn's eye  
Their souls are black as stocks, of Chimneys  
'Tis pity by the Rood!   

14.  
Troth! Queans would serve 'em well ● enough  
When (once) to work they get 'em:  
(One finding Tools, and t' other Stuff  
And they their Task to set 'em:  
Where (naked, as Truth, they should work their fill,  
And every Jack, should have his Gill,  
And lay it on, take 't off who's will,  
Good faith! Who would not let 'um?   

15.  
And now w'have brought 'em in by Troops,  
To Girls o'th' lewder sort,  
We'll keep 'em close, as Cocks in Coops,  
For the Trappanning sport  
Nay now, we have 'em within their Carcase  
We'll neither favour Earl or Marquis,  
I've made this staff too short.   

16.  
Now God a bless, our Noble Queen!  
Who gives Examples many,  
But men (as if they ne'er had been)  
Will not be ruled by any:  
Nay here's the thing mortality grieve would  
That men should go to Hell, thick and three fold  
To save them, I'd not set foot, o'er threshold  
They'll ne'er be worth a penny.    

Mock SONG LXVIII, To I pry'thee don't Fly me, etc.  

1.  
POx on thee! get from me,  
This does not become thee,  
I cannot abide,  
One un-frenchefied,  
A Curse on your Gaffers and john's!  
Your mops, and your mows!  
With your half legged shelled Shoes,  
Your Gammer's and Dames  
With such rustical Names!  
And a full mouthed Oath,  
As a Cifre, to both,  
You may keep for the Clowns, and their Sons;  
For aspiring (at first) to have been all as one  
The Devil's foot was Cleft for a distinction.   

2.  
Abatements Degrading,  
Are for men of Trading,  
Who since have foregone  
By Birth, what's their own  
And their souls are disposed there after:  
What pleasures in that  
To be called God knows what,  
Sir, Richard's of Fame,  
Above any Nickname,  
That sounds halt or lame  
And is like a May-game  
To provoke all the hearers, to laughter,  
He that bears a base mind, or Mechaniquely lives  
Reverts, his own Arms, or a Batoun he gives,   

3.  
I Love those Contrivements,  
Of noble Achievements,  
Where Argent, and Or  
Prefer men before  
The Vulgar, for Wisdom and breeding;  
For why should a Fool,  
The Wiser, o'er Rule  
Who's Lord of the Soil  
But untilled, the while,  
As to Manners or Arts,  
Though a Giant in Parts  
And is better worth hanging, then feeding  
Clounisme is dross, and course flesh, but rust is,  
'Tis common (though unclean) to be both Clerk and Justice.   

4.  
For why should we be,  
Of the new Paritye,  
'Cause there are a few,  
Of the Levelling Crew,  
Who would have us all equal & brothers  
Such turbulent Spirits,  
May they have their Demerits  
Lose health, wealth & blood  
With their Country's good  
And be condemned fit,  
To pay, for their Wit,  
And hang out o'th' reach of all others:  
Pesantry's base, and who's born to't must wear it,  
But Honour is the Merit of the Persons, that bear it.   

5.  
Were I Prince, for my part,  
Let others, go try for't,  
I'd soberly Rule,  
And small ones befool,  
Who squander their times, out in Drinking,  
I'll not Intoxicate,  
With Canaries, my Pate;  
The Scout, I'll assure ye,  
And every Mercury,  
With each book of News,  
I will so far use,  
To Furnish Discourse after Thinking:  
All the Name I desire, is a Person of honour  
And he is but a Fool, that relies not upon her.    

Mock SONG LXIX. Full Forty times over, etc.  

1.  
JUst twenty times over, and twenty to that,  
I musing, have wondered, what 'twas you'd be at,  
Whilst you pine, and look pale, like your Liquor that's flat;  
For he's a cold Drinker,  
Who now becomes Thinker,  
Since thus runs the play  
If you sit up all night, you are Ready next Day.   

2.  
There's a pipe, lately Broached, which would not be shut,  
With Legions of Bottles prepared, for the Gut.  
If you give but your mind to't, you'll swallow a Butt:  
Then stand not so dully,  
But laver your Gully  
With Beer Bowl in fist.  
If you charge it but Well you may hit whom you list.   

3.  
Some idle Companions, when with them, you sit.  
Will talk and fly high, as if th' had all the Wit,  
When (alas!) it appears, th' have the Devil a bit,  
Their biscuit Jests after  
Th' are steeped in their Laughter,  
And pipes, being broke,  
With Tobacco (once) out, they will vanish i'th' Smoke.   

4.  
Some stately proud High Boys, do rant it, and call  
As if they could Tipple, the Devil and all;  
But stand to them stiffly, they'll, easily fall;  
Then to't! never fear 'em,  
Set Foot, and come near 'em  
By Toping about,  
Be their Heads ne'er so empty, they cannot hold it out,   

5.  
Some pu'nies, whose Cheeks, are with blushes, o'er laid:  
To fuddle a Gallon, will not be afraid,  
Put them to't, and but tell them, They Drink like a Maid.  
Then cry but have at it!  
Box on them that hate it▪  
If e'er, they refuse.  
To Water, as thou dost, or I, let them choose.    

Mock SONG LXX.  

1.  
LOve is a Fable,  
No man, is able,  
To say 'tis this, or 'tis That;  
And idle passion,  
Of such a fashion,  
'Tis like, I cannot tell what.   

B. 1.  
Love is a True thing,  
It is no new thing,  
To call't by good name, or bad;  
A busied Action,  
Of such a faction,  
'Tis like, to make a Man Mad.   

2.  
Fair in the Cradle,  
Fowl in the Saddle,  
Always too cold, or too hot.  
An arrant Liar,  
Fed by desire,  
It is, and yet, it is not.   

B. 2.  
Fair in the Whittle,  
Fowl in the spital,  
Always too moist, or too dry:  
A very Telltruth,  
Papped up with Hell Broth,  
One knows not wherefore, nor why   

3.  
Love is a Fellow,  
Clad all in Yellow,  
The Cankerworm of mind:  
A privy mischif,  
And such a sly Thief,  
No man, knows where, him to find.   

B. 3.  
Love is a Dam'sell,  
Clad to the Hams well,  
That wears a worm, in the tail  
A mere pickpocket  
Yet, when we smoke it,  
To find it out, we ne'er fail.   

4.  
Love is a wonder  
'Tis here, and 'tis yonder,  
'Tis common, to all men we know;  
A very chearer,  
E'er one's better,  
Then hang him, and so let him go:   

B. 4.  
Love is no wonder,  
Over or under,  
'Tis common, as pissing a bed;  
'Twill Cheat and Cousin  
Folke by the Dozen  
'Tis better to hang, then be fed.    

SONG LXXI. A Mock.  

1.  
TO Love thee, without flattery, were a Sin,  
Since thou art, all Inconstancy, within;  
My heart, is only governed by mine Eyes,  
The newest object, is the greatest prize:  
Then Love me just, as I Love thee  
Until a fairer, I can see.   

B. 1.  
To Love thee, and to Flatter, were a Sin,  
Since thou hast, ever to me, constant been  
My heart and eyes, are governed by thy will,  
The principle is she, I'll stick to't still:  
Then Love me just, and Love no more,  
But just, as I Loved thee before.   

2.  
My heart, is now at liberty, and can  
Know all that's fair, as you know, all that's man  
Then why should you, so fond think it strange?  
Since that, I know, thine Appetite to change:  
Then Love me, just, as I Love thee,  
Until a fairer I can see.   

B. 2.  
My heart, is only yours, and can find,  
By knowing thee, all that is Woman kind!  
Then why should you (or any) think it strange  
That I should like my choice too well to Change  
But Love me, just and Love no more,  
Variety I do abhor.   

3.  
I hate this constant doting, on a Face,  
Content ne'er dwelled a week in any place;  
Then why should you, or I Love one another  
Longer, than we, can be content together?  
Then Love me, just as I Love thee  
Until a fairer I can see.   

B. 3.  
I like a real fondness, every where,  
Where true Love dwells, content, last all the year:  
Then let us like, and Love and live together  
Since, if a part, there's no content in either:  
Do thou Love me, and thou shalt be,  
The only fair and fairest she.     


For Fruition, In Answer to Sir, John Suckling.  
POx on those hearts that singly frieze with cold  
I Love two minds, that one opinion hold:  
Were I to bless the better sort of men.  
I'd wish them Loving, to be Loved again.  
Love Cormorant-like, on every pray doth fall:  
And's hunger starved, where there is none at all  
'Tis the Grand confidence, & mighty hope,  
Unsheathed of fear, with winter tears dried up,  
That Love, taketh pleasure in; That can be none,  
That only dwells, in Contemplation:  
Like drowsy Dreams at midnight, when all day,  
Our Bodies have been wearied, some strange way.  
Oh! how 'twould irk me! sure I mad should go  
Did I but hear my mistress, twice say no!  
No thought our Expectation screw's so high,  
But single! Woman soon can satisfy.  
And what low-spirit, won't aspire, to that,  
Which may be purchased, at so cheap a rate?  
She's honest, that does yield although Poor fool.  
She be as hot as Summer, warm as Wool.  
He that hath missed her, has to say, at last,  
‛ Even pray who's will, if I must ever fast,  
Then (fairest Ladies) use what nature gave  
Never denying, what we ever, Crave  
Confirming us that that's not strange at all,  
Our Fathers did, we do, and Children shall.   

Another for Fruition, In Answer to Sir, John Suckling.  

GO on! Bold Boy! and put her to't be wise!  
Not knowing how to keep lost paradise  
The wicked plagues thou hast, wouldst ne'er have cease?  
But reign, at height! and would it not thee please  
If, gently from night frights, for real joy,  
Thou wert awaked? who sleeps, can ne'er en●oy   

Not to enjoy, is worse, than not to have:  
And that ne'er cloyed, for which we still do crave  
Who holds himself less happy, by that mean  
Might hope, with as much reason, to wax lean  
By feeding to the full; they purchased, once,  
Oh how we relish it! and kiss for th' nonce!   

'Tis more than requisite, upon this score  
The choicest thing that man does, is not more  
The world is wide; of blessings it is one  
To Multiply Come! Come! it must be done!  
As sure as Drink! Each one's obliged unto't  
" He that ne'er Occupyes, will ne'er have fruit.   

Women enjoyed (for they are none before)  
Are like a fine Romance, read o'er and o'er:  
Fruitions sprightful, & the play's not known,  
What 'tis or is not till that act, be done:  
To save our longing, that a blessing is,  
" Heaven unknown, is a Fool's Paradise.   

And as in prospects, where the scrutimous eye  
Unrandomed can itself ne'er satisfy,  
And will not be confined, so Liberty.  
Quickens that pleasure, which restrained would die  
He that hath store to tell must needs be rich,  
He's only poor, that knows not, which is which.    

Answer to Sir, I. S.  

1.  
GIve me (dear Lad!) the pure white & red  
When I court Meaden-bead,  
Such even (unequalled) Grace,  
Of Airs and other, you know what's in face.  
Enough to make one mad! let me but have  
A Beauty, that will move,  
'Tis all I crave;  
Unhandsome dulls the Edge of Love.   

2.  
We know there are such things, as foul & fair  
They no impostures are;  
For though some youth (of late)  
Liked certain colour, at uncertain rate,  
That does not warrant me, from choosing right,  
If Black and Blue Ivy  
With Red and White  
That Fancy, is mere Fantasy.   

3.  
What boots an Appetite, if there's no meat,  
That we can Love or Eat;  
But if I view a Dish,  
Well garnished, and set forth, 'tis as I'd wish  
As with our Watches, where the inside's made  
Perhaps of Steel or Bras●,  
Our Value's laid,  
Upon the Gold or Silver Case.    

THE Adventure August, 26. 1645.  
'TWas in that Month (as in old Writ I find  
Wherein the female, must be served in kind,  
And more precisely, if the time you seek,  
It was about the very waist o'th' week,  
Inclining toward the Navel of the day.  
‛ Even betwixt Hawk & Buzzard (as they say)  
In Holbourn height whence Grays-Inn Gate not far is,  
Whom should I meet with, but my Friend Jack Harris?  
Th' unluckyest wag ere Mother's smock was wrapped in,  
'Twas that same Jack, whose Christian name, is Captain.  
With single eye, he quickly me espied,  
For why? indeed I was o'th' surer side.  
Oh! School-fellow quoth he, well met! and by trips,  
I'm sure, we seldom use to part, with dry Lips,  
So back he comes again, a good luck on ye!  
Thou wile have drink, no matter who has Money.  
Well! go thy ways! march on! I'll follow you,  
On toward the Fair of St. Bartholomew!  
But in the road, near to the Wall of Hatton,  
We happened upon Woman. 'twas a fat one  
And if Descriptions may not be distrustful,  
She was full-ful i'th' waist, or very wasteful.  
For persons of her calling, you may ask all,  
If amongst twenty, you shall find one Rascal.  
She duck's it home, I speak it to her laud,  
The Epithet, unto her House, was Bawdy  
Where though the Plying place, was then in Smithfield,  
Was Wench enough as long as back could pith yield  
To hold us tack— indeed, of creature comfort  
One might have had ours Belly, full, butmum fort!  
Jack proffered once, but what? quoth he by G— I,  
Will make exchange, with thee, body for body,  
And I dare swear 't, had been no robery,  
'Twas such a Pocky piece of Mobery  
But that which made my Worship, laugh i'th' close,  
She still was hitting Jack i'th' Teeth, with's Nose,  
And that is much, you'll say, whoever shall see't,  
To think his Nose and Teeth should ever meet  
But in as dead a time, as e'er was thought on  
In comes Su. Cox, of yore, but now Su. Broughton  
With Whores as fast as hops and thick as fly-blows,  
But could not hope for knocking here, but— dry blows.  
As when our Tails new sucked by Leech, are dry;  
So are they now, as Kix, from Lechery  
For were it upon pain of much worth,  
I could not hint, much less have held it forth.  
So, having pawned our credit, there for eight pence,  
We kiss, kind Mrs. Laws, and so go strait thence  
Indeed it was that mere necessity,  
That has none moved us to't, I press it t'ye,  
Because we would not of the laws be guilty  
The business was (like Norton's) base & filthy.  
So now we bend our cause towered, Well of Clerks  
Unlike to Aristotle's, of you marken  
Coming through Lane of Mutton street of Turnbe●  
Where that Joan lives, whose plackets rend & torn all  
Above the Rising of the Hill, there is one  
The left hand, as you go a House of prison  
Where Jack had been, upon a business,  
I guessed by his wry look, and that a true sign  
So passing by John of Jerusalem,  
Whom we call St too what ere you call him  
To th' Red-bull-Widow we were one time wheeling;  
Where some folk say, I've had a fellow-feling▪  
But let it pass away Jack Harris rambles,  
Down by the place where lofty Turk shows Gamble  
Which we had seen too, but for dearth of six pence,  
But they, who did, have never seen such tricks since.  
Well! Jack drives on amain, a pox forsake him!  
He made me sweat like grains, to over take him  
I called out friend! look here! by Wiecham's Crosyer,  
Here lies a pretty Girl i'th' lane of Hofyer,  
Here at a Barber's House; I think it the man,  
That kept Queen Madasina as his Leman.  
I say (quoth Jack) come on! by Jove! I score her!  
So never stops, nor stays, till at Pie Corner,  
Where, in he turns at house ye leaped Castle.  
For worse, full many a Giant oft did wrestle  
Here were the Beefs, the Muttons, and the pigs hot  
A rare Encounter for man Chegan Quixot.  
(He was a plaguy Mutton-man, ●ousavez,  
But here's the Devil and all for the sow's Babies.  
For at this time 'tis (true, as I do tell ye)  
You may have pigs, and wenches by the belly.  
Then straight appears, do but observe the hap, Sir,  
One Jack called Name sake, there concerned as Tapster,  
As good a Lad, as ever handled spigget  
Of powerful Sack and Ale (he's not for Swigget)  
To whom our John (knowing no money stirred)  
How dost thou chuck (quoth he) my honey bird▪  
Replied he (Capt. Dear) at all adventures  
We'll wet ourselves together. So Jack enters:  
And trips up stairs, as quick, as come penny,  
Where we find, what's before good company  
Three female idle feaks, who longed for pig's head▪  
(For near this place, there's many a hundred ligs dead)  
Three strapping Queans, much like, for haunch and butteress  
Toboso's Dull, Malipiero, Tornes and Joan Gutterez▪  
One ● accosted thus, wilt please you (Madam  
T' accept of Gloves, for Fairings (would you had 'um!)  
But quoth the Man of Ale, what is't d'ye lack ho!  
Some Canns (cries Jack) an ounce o'th' best Tobacco.  
Which we sucked off, until our colours, rose high,  
And knocked in peals, like to the Bells of Osney  
Drink and more Drink still as for Gold, cried Midas,  
Let's drink out Thursday, ne'er take care for Fridays!  
When up there comes two Demy Lads o'th' catling,  
Whom I rebuked (quoth Jack) Hall! hold your prattling!  
But oh! 'twas such a charming dose of Music,  
Would cure the Tarrantula were you sick,  
Like to a Coffin, strung with guts of screech Owl,  
And sung, as when sometimes y'have heard a Bich howl  
Comparison, I know, no fitter one,  
Then your hoars Whooping in a Reed of Bitteron,  
And made more Mouths, in quarter of an hour,  
Then ever God Almighty did four.  
Their Trebles (too) were both High base, beside one  
Oth' sticks, was like to that the Devil rides on.  
But up they strike (and so does Jack) a plain Dance:  
That Cratchet, ne'er comes into's head, o'th' Main-chance.  
But he is rare for Friscols nay what's worse  
He treads a measure, like a Miller's Horse.  
But in the Close of all, I beckoning,  
Unto him, said how goes the Reckoning?  
How shall this Nag be curried? 'tis a short one  
And soon enough (quoth He) you Fiddlers! sport on:  
Play off your Canns (you Rogues) your Case I'll warrant,  
If Fidle's good& indeed, Jack, had a care on't.  
For why! when Head was light as Cork or Feather,  
And they had been, some thrice by th' Ears together  
And were as drunk as ere, were Sows of David!  
(For while there's any Liquor moves they'll have it)  
And busied were 'bove stairs, with bonny Bess  
HE had left them Fiddle (yea and money less.  
Jack urged me to't, I made not any word,  
Disliking Bardolph's Edge of penny, Cord,  
And vile reproach: for had there trial been  
'Twould grieve o●e, suffer, for a Vyallin  
And (Oxford Organist, like Meredith)  
Live merry life and die a merry death.  
But 'twould not fadge— Jack call then his name sake  
Did suffer what I could not do, for shame sak●▪  
He did but proffer, in his Far to Whisper,  
To know how the Case stood, aut par, aut despair,  
But fancying (as it seems) jack's way of payment,  
Cries welcome Gentlemen! ne'er seized on Royment.  
I proud it was no worse, as erst with Pordage  
Rejoiced at heart to be excused o'th' Mortgage,  
But clear of that (as after calm comes Tempest!  
Ensures Sir Henry's woe, where you have him dressed  
In a sweet prickle sweeter sure, was never heard  
Lest when at Devil, Iteby— pawned Everard.  
Or else, that morn, at sign of Oxford, Beaton  
For two and ten pence (faith! that was a n●at one.)  
Well! from the Castle, as before I told ye)  
We went to th' sign, of (what the Devil would ye?)  
'Twas (as I take it) to the sign o'th' White Hart,  
Or Sign that he was Drunk, for then he's right for't:  
But thither 'twas we went, where God shall sa'me)  
I thought the Drawers, or the Devil, would ha'me,  
For honest Jack had called, for Drink and more Drink,  
Then goes for money (which trick some but poor think)  
But you may hope, as quick return, from Phlegeton,  
As from Jack Harris, if once he be gone.  
And is he gone? the Devil go with him! I swear,  
I felt him going, whilst he stayed there  
For Jack (although he seldom goes to Church)  
ne'er comes to Tavern but he leaves i'th' lurch.  
With Quart of Sack into a Box the wedge me,  
Where who (the Devil!) did they think should pledge me?  
Th' old Soldiers safe enough, and even as well is,  
As heart, could wish, i'th' smoke with Peter Ellis,  
Or else good man (though I) being now past hope,  
He's bayling Richardson, or Boiling Sope.  
Then fancied I Jack's way of pay, by whisper,  
The mark was fair enough, but faith! I missed her.  
The Mistress liking no such trick in ten,  
Would hear no more, than did Brickenden  
His Father's Lectures— matter sure not much is,  
I'll e'en adventure, to escape your clutches,  
When going, fairly off, in mine opinion;  
(Drunk as the driven-snow or Leek or Onion)  
A fellow, tall of hand and foul of Finger,  
Hardy of Toe (indeed he was a Swinger)  
Begins to fall to's work, aboard he claps me,  
(Or rather under board) whate'er behaps me,  
I must Endure, flings me, from Post to Pillar,  
In troth I bore that time, like any Thiller.  
Then did he quit me, in length, thirteen paces,  
Takes up again,) A pox' on such Embraces!  
Hold thy dead doing hand (quoth I) set Iron side,  
But harder he, than was that Iron-side  
Who managed Corbett, while yet lived my Grand Sir  
Had no remorse, was like the Country Answer  
To what's Clock! Iron Steel and brass upon't.  
HE had made a puny, of 'Gins Passamont  
(My story, sure may pass, i'th' rank, of woe  
Yanguesian Carrier's! ne'er used Sancho so.  
He Chucks me, too and fro, like Doit or farthing,  
But could not get a penny, by the bargin.  
Until there came to me, as best became her,  
One of a great House, was Sir, name to Chamber  
With Money, thick and thick, without ambages  
It was the gross Remainder of her Wages.  
Some seven whole Groats, and half reserved (sans mockings)  
Out of her vast revenues to buy-stockings.  
Which she did drop, peice-meal, since with her 'twas hard  
And gave, by fits and girds as some get Bastard,  
Or Devil Horse colts: finding her hardhearted,  
We like a fool and's money, were soon parted  
And with dry thanks, to my redeemrest Betty  
I e'en go home, and there's an end— that's pity!   

Marston, Alehouse; April, 13th 1648.  
I And two friends of mine; who ne'er had been there  
Did take a walk to Marston, after dinner.  
And here's the truth (whatever praters say)  
'Twas of all days, upon a Satursday.  
And (if I do not much mistake the Chorus)  
Pembroke his Exit had the day before us.  
But w' had no Vollyet when we went hence  
To send us packing with a Vengeance.  
But fair and softly, out o'th' East-port,  
We march a long. But here's the best sport.  
One of us three, whether he be sick,  
I can't tell well, but he took Physic;  
And in a word (for nothing swerve●)  
It was a Morning's draught of Scurvy  
(Or else Sage) Ale (for you may ha' both)  
And now it had broke the Jewish-Sabboth,  
And Worked like mad, As for a Privy,  
There was none, but where th' Ox in Livy.  
Might do his business— It no scoff is,  
He needed much a House of Office.  
As for a Bush, be could not choose one,  
Or any Ditch, but Madge or Susan  
Had seen him do his need (for hark it pray)  
Those passages are full, each market day)  
At length he spies a Hedge, and we must lineed.  
He had no stool, but oft untrussed a point.  
With that one cried slid I could spurn ye (friend)  
When think'st we shall come to our journey's end—  
Hold! time enough says he- Indeed 'twas scarce one  
(I think) o'th' Clock, but we arrived, at Marston.  
Where when we came (to tell the manner fully)  
We went up toward the House, of the Ruff Cully:  
Which, being near the Church, (as is my Custom)  
I asked for th' Wat'ring-house, thinking there must some  
Be sold i'th' Town well knowing Thief to Gallows  
Is not so proper; as near Church, an Alehouse  
But faith! here's none! at last, a good luck on ye!  
They show us where we may have Ale for Money:  
Then longer there to stay 'twas folly for,  
So straight we trade to th' House of Oliver,  
For so mine Host was named, whose sign was little,  
Of none at all, only children's Whittle.  
And Pissing Clouts of all sorts, there were in place,  
And eke the Mother's Waistcoat with a greenlace.  
And the old Boys Breeches too, which were not slovenly  
For they were right true blue (by th' Mass 'twas Coventry)  
The Devil had been here, for (I'll be sworn)  
What ere the Cry and Wool was, th' Hogs were shorn●.  
But coming near the Door, the Child beseeches One,  
Having bewrayed himself, to help is breeches on  
When straight (a sight which one much ●touter-fears)  
In comes mine Hostess with hair 'bout her Ears.  
For (truth to stain) the cause, of this her frowsing,  
Was at her Neighbour's house she had been a Lousing.  
But in good time she came (as it did fall out)  
And having farmed his Linings clapped on Tayl-clout.  
She prays us draw near house, we tripping than,  
Gloze after found o'th' Board, a dripping-pan.  
But hark ye, friends! 'tis well, if they a crust eat,  
The dripping-pan, was no such sign of Roast-meat.  
For I believe ('tis worth your listenning.)  
Spit ne'er went there since Nanties' Christening.  
But now 'twas used (with Comb, halterd with pack thread,)  
To fetch the Nits out of young Alces black-head.  
Well having ta'en away the spoons & platter,  
We sat us down (to make short of the matter)  
Where ten to one, but that a body shall  
Meet, with the stories of the Prodigal.  
I mean i'th' ball but you may call't a kitchen  
For it was all their Room! when comes the Witch in,  
Ugly as Pluto's dam, whom straight we call to's  
To show a Room— she lead us through the Malt-house  
Thence to the Hay-born, but (I can't tell how then)  
At length, we crowded are, into the Cow-pen.  
Which being unthatcht, the busy Sun, would scarce let's  
Stay long, but thence, to th' Garden, sown with harsle●s▪  
We drive away where, by chance, at a Barns end,  
(Whither for many years God did no Cor● send.)  
We found a shady place, where, like to fin● fools▪  
One on the Grass sat down, and two, on Joynt-stooles.  
And for a Table, where to set the Water;  
She brings the Washing block— the legs came after.  
Then like to Mother Gubbins mode in Chauces  
Sends out the Flagon covered with a Saucer  
And was (indeed) well filled (to th' brin● e'en up)  
Hostess (says one) go fetch a Drinking-cup▪  
Which spying ask, let's see! what pot d'y● carry▪  
What's in it! Medicines from the Apothecary  
One swore it was, the others said sure 'ti● not▪  
But furred it was, like old wife's Earthen piss-p●  
The Ale, which sets one, soon one's wits on side  
Was brewed (indeed) for th' Bumps at Whitsuntide.  
Or Friday night, against Sunday, thinking then some,  
Would come and sting their Noses, after En'som.  
And was as muddy, to our senses outward,  
As is a standing pool, whose cream is, Cow-turd.  
Well! here's to th' King? all knowing then it down must,  
One for a Gully-soaker, calls a brown crust!  
But oh! how brown it was good faith! I can't see't!  
Hopkins affliction bread to this, was Manchet.  
And was as sour, to the taste, I swear,  
As if all Israel's Leven had been there,  
When they were feeding, on their Eastere Victual.  
They ne'er marked, what St. Paul says of a Little.  
But this I'll say (which not the least disgrace is)  
I'm sure it made us make ill favoured faces:  
I pray the show me friend (if e'er thou seest one)  
That looks but half so sour as did H. Beeston  
Now having done, and all things taken away,  
We call mine Hostess, ask her what's to pay;  
A Groat (quoth she) for which we give her six pence.  
Then she beseeches us to come, some weeks thence,  
And none should be more welcome: urges reason,  
Says Beans and Harslets, than would be in season,  
But if I come where I'd not wish with Pug Jipp  
I'll give you leave, to Kiss my Tail, wi●h Dog-whipp  
Hence, this shall bear part, in my Litany,  
From Marston Alehouse, Lord deliver me!   

To W. M. Esq I being in a Course of Physic and newly recovered of a Squinancy, February, 1659.  
FOr Burr of Ear, and Burr in Throat,  
'Tis better with me, then i'th' Moat-  
Ed- Chamber, when for fear of Squincy.  
Tongue was wormed, and Woolsie Lincy.  
Hooded Head like Hawk with Muzzle,  
(A Sight, would put one, to the Puzzle)  
Not unlike Ben. Jonson's Morose,  
That was wrapped and wrapped before us.  
Those thousand things (if I could speak 'em  
As Hampshire-hony, Album Graecum,  
Flack Wool, with Drop of Aquavitae,  
Ears of Jew (a Dose would fright ye)  
For the Vunla, the seeds of Cummin  
With Roasted Egg and Dog's T— some in.  
All these are laid aside, but worse!  
I'●e Medicines, now, ●or any Horse.  
Potions and Vomits, with a clyster,  
Bolus and Mass of Pills, for Mister  
Bold, diseased with St●ne o'th' Kidney,  
Or Bladder (not like Kester Sidney  
Who was wont, with knitting Needle  
‛ E●e he pissed, with Tool to meddle  
To make passage, for his Urine.)  
No! I am sound, as Roach: but curing,  
Mongst other Griefs, (for nothing swerve I)  
The Downright Dropsy, and the Scurvy,  
For I am not, so full of Mocks,  
Or Riches, to nick name the Pocks,  
Or see the searchers, of the City,  
To cry, when I am Dead— 'tis pity.  
This man e'en pined away with Grief,  
He's e'en Consumed to nought— in brief,  
Let him make One amongst this Weeks  
Account— Consumption- Eighty six.  
But hark you Friend, though I am still,  
At Death's Door, will I fear none ill,  
And therefore, send this, as a warning,  
To tell you, I will come i'th' morning,  
And Drink your Health, however far I,  
Till then, and ever;  
Your, Bold Harry.   

A Journey from Oxon, 1656.  
HALL.,)  
WHen I lately came from Oxford,  
Unlike that Lad, that under knocks board  
When he does cry— White— I Love thee,  
For, friend! I think you can't disprove me  
I never yet, was known to flinch,  
From any Moisture, (less from Wench)  
But being now, with foot in stirrup,  
To take my leave, o'th' City Syrup.  
(E'en at the Sign of Babe and Eagle,  
Hight Billy shawes) they did inveigle  
Mine easy Swallow, to a full Can,  
(Whereat some think, I shrewdly pull can)  
Though ways (I wot) were ne'er more dirty,  
In all my years (and they are thirty)  
I was resolved (hap what hap will)  
Upon the fourteenth day of April,  
To take my Journey, toward London,  
So spirred my Mare, & strait she ruined on.  
But what said slipper, to his Bitch,  
Soft swift! for neither Spurr, nor switch,  
Could ever make her mend her p●ce,  
She was no kin, to those, o'th' race.  
But fair and softly (thou knowst) far goes,  
For all our harps and so my Mare does.  
Step stately, ere she trespass Shotover,  
I once thought I should ne'er have got over  
But being near arrived at Wheatly,  
(Bel or not, I care not greatly)  
My Palfrey (Hall) that then I rod on,  
Moved, as at heel, she'd had a todd on:  
And while Indentures, here she's drawing,  
Like one that humming stands, and hawing,  
When she was e'en gone past recover  
As though she would assign me over.  
To Mother Earth, just, in the nick on't,  
(For London Hackneys have the trick on't)  
Behold a wight, with Jade e'en tired!  
Like Duck, or worryed Cat! bemyred!  
Whom after turmoil, that would toil (man)  
I found to be, a City Oyl-man;  
Whom others some, do term a Salster,  
Supposed son, of Oxford Maltster,  
but by his Look, seemed half a Scholar:  
(And faith! he proved a pretty Droller!)  
Who having his sad tale recounted,  
Took horse, (I do not say he mounted)  
For why? (I've seen a Tinker Mastiff  
With Budgett on; to travel as stiff)  
As did this Tit, less high, than some Ass,  
Nor yet that Tit, that's Christened Thomas.  
But of that race, that is so British,  
And Gentle too, poor thing! not Skittish.  
Whose Height, we reckon not by th' hand,  
But by the inch, ('tis quickly scanned.)  
To curry's coat, would not much wrong one,  
'Twould soon be done, he's not a long one.  
Yet with this I'ade, whose Sirnam's spittle,  
We came, by little, and by little.  
(And that goes far, to th' Inn at Tetsworth,  
Whence (Friend I'll tell thee (he that sets  
With Palfrey, that is but indifferent, (forth  
(But his (I think) the worst that ever went)  
ere he shall elymbe the Hill of Stoken—  
I cannot say to's praise be't spoken  
But to my Grief (I'll tell thee no lie,  
For if I should, 'twere but a folly)  
'Twould anger one, that's more than stoic,  
And make him swear (perhaps curse) so thick  
Though it did half provoke, my laughter,  
To see the Beast draw hind Legs after  
(As we did once, at Marston, view,  
When after Table, Legs they drew.)  
But up we got with much a do,  
When lo! his Jade had dropped a Shoe.  
But Shoe! what's that! worse luck! his Boot heel  
Was torn away, then thought I's foot he'll  
Run (if he could) Stark mad, but 't won't do  
He wanted Heel, and Palfrey Shoe,  
And now my sleve was full with Laughter,  
He drives on Beast, himself drives after.  
'T had joyed thee (Hall) as Babe doth nipple,  
T'have seen the Lame, halt, 'fore the Cripple.  
But all was well, when come to Stoken  
Church, in the next verse, or I'm broken.  
Whence going off, who dost think over  
Took us, but one cleped, Western Drover?  
Not he, who furnished out, i'th' Leaguer,  
Sir William Davenant's, Pert, and Meager.  
I speak't not favour for, nor Malice,  
He's Christened John, Sir named Wallice.  
Not he, whom Gill did notch, like Tallies  
Nor he, who when he was beside.  
Ith' Straw of Bed, cried out, I'm wi●e.  
Nor be that drew out T— so Stayward,  
Though like, as ●obbin, to blind Bayard.  
And half his Countrymen, a Jockey  
And plangy Rogue, at Whore so Pocky;  
For why? Quoth he, in every Town,  
Upon the Road, for half a Crown.  
I'm furnished out, with trim Baggages,  
(And who sets work, must pay the wages)  
Nay! he would undertake for five pound,  
From mount, to th' peer, the wives, to S-round  
But now, w' are come to Town with Church  
Where Vick is often left, i'th' lurch,  
For why! the Crew, of Country fellows,  
Would hardly climb that hill for Alehouse  
Much less, for Evensong, or Matins,  
They ne'er pleased High-shoe yet, ne Pattens  
(For Sickness green▪ or for the Pthisick  
They needed had, none other Physic)  
Now (truth to said, for lies I can't forge)  
W' had mighty Ale, at sign o'th' St. George,  
thoust seen the Apes of Cherry lickum,  
●o drunk I made the Wights, at Wiccham.  
Where like Alvarez, in L●uellen,  
(I fear, I shall not bring it well in)  
Penny in pouch I gave to Begar,  
Whose Coat ne'er Blazoned was by Segar,  
'Twas Verrey, of a thousand pieces.  
Or like to joseph's, who e'er sees his,  
And for this slender Rag of Money,  
His Motto was a goodluck on ye!  
But did not after, throw old Shoes,  
For why? I trow the man had none.  
So on we ride, as mortal reckons,  
Some seven miles more, to Town of beacons.  
Field, where Horses up being put,  
I went to rove, the rest to 
* Host of the Crown.  Rut.  
But knowing Wife, was Coached by Jasper,  
I made return to th' Inn, i'th' Vesper:  
Where was the Drolling Dr Wilson,  
(Whose jest with mirth and laughter fills one)  
With Scholars three, and Towns-man Zouch  
Who, while we drank, did sleep on Couch.  
But Sucking well, and keeping coil,  
In Drover comes, and man of Oil,  
Their Brains, with Mutton broth, half-setled  
(For Wiccham-Ale, them shrewdly nettled.)  
At whom we laugh till after midnight,  
When us to Kennel, Drawers did light.  
But they, being drinkers, but for need,  
And not for Custom, mark their speed!  
They were as sick, as Dogs, next mo●ning  
As who would take it, for a warning.  
With that I take mine Host to task,  
March to the Cellar, broach a Cask  
Where, Vessel large I bid them fill't,  
Till Tongue, and Liquor ran at tilt  
Then does he, recommend his Tapster,  
(Who was his Eldest Son, by hap Sir)  
Unto me for a man of Learning,  
Indeed, 'twas beyond my Discerning,  
But I was to believe't, the rather,  
Because his Tutor, was his Father:  
And they were so alike (God bless 'em!  
For scholarship (I speak to please 'em!)  
Vt Canibus catuli— Lad! (to try ye.)  
Go on (quoth I) with your Qui mihi.-  
But he would have't haec ades, though  
I cried, 'twas then, huc animo.  
Then 'bout we drink (for I would have't in)  
Till not two words of (but all) Latin,  
Was spoke i'th' Room: mine Host could talk ne'er  
A word of English, like the Falkner.  
Oth' Marquis, but next drawing deep  
Put him to silence, and to sleep.  
Well! Parents head, being laid full law,  
Ith' Cellars bottom, on I go  
To th' son, and he goes on to the Tap,  
Then begs, that I would verses cap.  
But one great Bowl and murdering X  
Did so his Pericranium Vex.  
That down, he fell on Father, Captus  
Aebri●tate, minus Aptus  
(As I thought) for to bring't about  
When sober, since if there, 'twould out.  
Like Hawk he casts, and there lies Yexing,  
But not a syllable of X ing.  
Where in this pickle (Precious Nosegays▪)  
I lodged 'em, like the sign o'th' Cross-Keyes.  
And taking Horse, from thence I packed on,  
Nor stopped, nor stayed till come to Acton.  
From thence, I posted straight to London,  
And thither got before the Sun down,  
Where lighting, at the Boar so blue,  
With Cod so yellow, soon I threw  
My willing body, to the Devil—  
Where Wine being good, and Drawer civil.  
I fixed myself with Quart and Friend,  
To Drink thy Health, and there's an End.   

An Allusion to Doctor Lluellin's Shone Price. Occasioned by some Scholars beating the Soldiers, Nou. 6. 1646. Oxon.  
Jack,  
I Had wrote before, but's best, as 'twas,  
For Ugly Cromwell— Let that pass!  
Thou knowst, one dared, as well, t'have went in Hell,  
As for to pass, the Soldier's Sentinel,  
No Letter, now (I'll hold a styver)  
Goes without Bristol or Calyver.  
And though surprised theyare used, like sole on heel,  
May be exchanged, for a Broom-man Colonel.  
But mine once snapped (as 'tis hap hazard)  
Is prizoned— 'slid they'll slit her Mazzard!  
And faith! thou knowst, 't would come but odd in,  
To tear the sheets of Joseph Goodin.  
But now it comes (pry'thee be more sweet  
And stay here Jack and wipe thy forefeet.)  
Now if belief, where faith and love is,  
I've fed on nothing, but Anchovies.  
And sirrah Jack! I think no body puts  
In's belly better, then at Body cuts:  
Come friend, 'twould make your palate water,  
To dine on these, with salad after,  
I would the King (but Pox why wish I one)  
Would give such Topers a Commission,  
A Friend of yours, I'll hold a wager,  
Would not be long, from being Major.  
But yet (methinks) my Guts be lank yte,  
I long for such another Banquet.  
Our Food was sweet (believe you that too)  
But sour sans came with the Tattoo.  
And yet the Rogues (if I may speak one thing)  
Can't boast them Scot free, from our Reckoning,  
Faith! I'd consent (if they would tarry)  
That they should rend the Ordinary  
We paid 'em well (yes ready down)  
For every Pint, a good cracked Crown:  
And (ere a Baker could have bolted)  
The Pottle-pot, was 'bout their jolt-head:  
As for the Quart (ere we could end it)  
One at the Captain's head did send it.  
Oth' Chamber-floor (how e'er disgusted)  
The Blood say, thicker than the Dust did,  
And now I think on't (Jack) my muse is  
About to tell what more the news is.  
The youth o'th' guard (but small friends) lift ho●  
Came not to suck the Milk of Bristo '  
But oh! his scarf, his scarf! God bless us.  
'Twas neither Red, nor Blew by I—  
But such (although we cared not for't all)  
As oft hath frighted Bumpkin mortal.  
View all the Colours, of Dame Iris,  
View Pedlars Pack, what that same tire is  
And if there be an odd piece, join't  
See Shoestrings, or see Codpiece point;  
I say, this Pedlar, nor that Rainbow,  
Did ne'er such Colour, died in grain, show.  
'twas Orange Tawny (Jack) yellow as safferu,  
As who should say, no colour for a Tavern●  
And this must fright us sure we are all undone,  
As Mortal feared, when Bul-Calf came from London,  
Or else when Cromwell, riding mere's Colt on,  
Displayed his Tawny Colours, with—  
Well! something comes to Door, with that, we cry all,  
Curtis! Lay Kester down! unstring the Vial!  
One bids the guard give fire, then blow their Matches,  
Which we ne'er thought to meet while we Sung Catches;  
After some pause, (for this thou knowst would tyre one)  
He draws his Pistol out, his huge Cold-iron.  
You Rogues (said he) I will revenge these crimes,  
For I am sent from th' Guard by Good Man Grimes:  
Your Countenances shall look dully,  
For want of Sack, to wash your Gully,  
Your Carcases (without all Scoffin,)  
Shall wish a Sack▪ But for their Coffin;  
From your Anchores I'll you wean thus,  
(Which fit you, for the Sports of Venus)  
Your Oysters bought (I make no quarrel)  
Sometimes i'th' (Perk, sometimes i'th' Barrel▪  
I'll send, to those well- minded Sisters,  
That want provokers, more than Clysters.  
Thened shall be said ('tis worth two shillings tha●  
They are my Coolers, I their Billings-gat.  
At this one night (brave Father Lasher,)  
Our Major he, the Hober-dasher;  
But to the Wise, one word's enough,  
They swore Vdz niggs, we swore Vdz bluffy  
And, ere a zealous eye could twinkle,  
Their Hands they shake, their Hams they crinckl●  
In what a shitten- Case, I wisse now,  
Was that same suivelling Coward Biscow,  
Which faster run, Spectator Poses,  
Either their Heels or else their Noses:  
Who scaped, to the Main Guard went  
Which was of Grimes his Regiment.  
Knocked to the Guard they come, and faith that was hard,  
Not one of them, without a Broken Mazzard,  
And all away, in such post haste are gone,  
As 'twere from Blincow, yes & Rowlandson.   

On Oxford Visitors, setting up their Commissions on the College Gates, etc. 1648.  
ITh' name of Father Abraham, what are ye,  
Disturb our Peace 'tis time for to beware Ye—  
But oh the Devils! here they come, they come!  
The Children, run and cry out there's the Mumme.  
Look here again! thus fly they to, and fro,  
That Sucklings, Goblins ne'er did fright Men so  
Why what's the matter Friends? I hope that all's safe!  
D'ye run away, be instinct like Sir John Falstaff,  
And stare, and buff, and puff, as if ye had been  
Mauld, by th' unlucky Rogues in Kendal Green;  
The Women, in such tirrits, and frights do go,  
Dame Quickly, near feared swagg'ring-Pistol so.  
Why what should daunt 'em thus? with that, we turn us,  
(For 'twas a thing, that might, in time, concern us)  
When, half amazed, they cry out God save all!  
The White thing yonder up against the wall—  
Then— Lord have mercy on us! well! we'll see,  
What in the Name of God, these Devils be.  
So, on we go; where appears (at first sight)  
Ten Misbegotten-Slaves, in black and white,  
Incarnate Devils, who (forsooth) are sent  
From far, by the Infernal Parliament  
To greet us here (but 'tis untowardly this)  
Not (as St. Paul says) with a Holy Kiss.  
But here, these cursed Embassaders of Hell,  
Must sit and Judge the Tribes of Israel;  
And such a Jury, none could e'ere devise,  
Since first the Devil held his Grand Assize.  
Say what these Monsters are? who can describe,  
The several Species, of this Round-head Tribe—  
But how comes Cheynel in amongst the rest,  
Oth' Holy Sect? 'tis true, the Man's possessed;  
He'll make mad work, and sniv'ling Wilkinson  
Why who? (the Devil) should send him for one?  
But why should Harris be excluded thus?  
He looks, for all the World, like Aeacus,  
Or bearded Moses in an Ale Wife's Hall,  
Joined to the stories, of the Prodigal:  
But 'twas opposed by th' Lower houses sense,  
Who thought, his Years, might use some Conscience.  
Thus our blessed Reformation comes from Them,  
As Christ did, once, into Jerusalem,  
Riding on Asses-Colts: Conspirators  
Of Hellish- Mischiefs! Oxford's Visitors!  
Pox on such Visits! could we but dispense  
With this, we'd Court the Plague, or Pestilence.  
All Souls looked to't, ye are Damned, and oh! God bless us!  
They'll dare, to lay their Violent hands on Jesus;  
Christ Church (cause Militant they'll scourge with dread,  
And Brazen Nose, though 'twere a Brazenhead.  
But oh! New College, double Woe to You,  
Their Zeal puts all down, yea the Sisters too,  
And why? you Traitors hated, and the Oath,  
To Covenant with Baal, and Ashtoroth  
The Gods o'th' Nations, and your better sense  
Distinguished Treason from Obedience.  
Balliol shall far the better being a Scot,  
The Devil, look over Lincoln! Hood shall not!  
God's body! Corpus Christi do ned it please us,  
Oriel shall down and Exeter by Jesus;  
And let the Fellows know of Trinity,  
We will reduce them to a Unity.  
Cursed Generation! wretched viperous Crew!  
Mischief to All! oh! to your Mother too!  
Ere such be our Reformers we'll be Damnned?  
So many Knaves, and shall not some be flamned?  
Gownsmen are privildged in such Causes; thus  
Saint Paul did fight, with Beasts, at Ephesus.  
So will the Paul's at Oxford, e'er they'll be  
Enslaved, to Presbyterian Tyranny.  
This is their rest, they suffer can no more,  
Then Royal Martyr Charles hath done before:  
He that lives best, a tedious life prorogue,  
Ere I'll comply, I'll see you hanged you Rogu●s!   

To my FRIEND, V. O. etc.  

WEll (Val.) my Courage up doth bristle,  
●ike Pistols, to redeem, my whistle,  
Which Thou, at House, of Sindery,  
Didst filch; (for who could hinder ye)  
Where I, (as many simple man)  
Put Churl, upon a Gentleman,  
Abating, vigorous Canary,  
With thine unballowed vin de Pari,  
Thy Champagne, Shabley, and Burgundy,  
(Such Gear, as thou'lt Repent of, one day,)  
Intoxicating Pericranion  
With Whimsy vile (as 'tis with many one)  
Till Thou, to shame (as I may say)  
As Pan, on syringe, hold, did lay  
Tookest up my Pipe, and wentest away.  
Foul fall thy Glewy Fingers! may the Itch,  
Or (what's as good) thy Dear Wine's namesake Pitch,  
Spoil thee, for making Pills, of Turpentine,  
(Provided, there may be no hurt in mine.)  
Well! 'twill strain charity, if, ever, I  
Forgive thee, for this piece, of Thievery,  
Whereby th' hast Robbed me (and many Men)  
Of Dulce Laborum Lenimen:  
My Mirth, my Pleasure, and my Solace,  
Wherewith, the Shepherd, erst, did woe Lass▪  
For Cares, and Griefs (whatever ail ye)  
Mulcentur, Fistulâ pastorali:  
It makes us sound, Tarrantula  
It cures, nay there's scant a flaw  
It heals not; Chorus sancti viti,  
It helpeth strait: (or more's the pity.)  
And tell me who's so crank, as are,  
The merry Girls, of Lanchashire,  
Who oft▪ in Hall— from whence our family  
Descends (cleped Bold, (or many lie)  
Have handled, feet and danced as madly  
As, after Piers, the youth, of bradly,  
Oh! I have made such Girl's dan●● after  
My pipe, as (friend) would move your laughter.  
Thou knowst 'Twas a-la-mode the France,  
(Unused, to whistle Dog a Dance)  
Ne Scotney, nor the Lad, of I slewight,  
Can be compared, to my Whistle-wright.  
(Away wherewith, you handy went,  
To breach, of a Commandment)  
Had Orpheus, played, on this, (d'ye see)  
He had Redeemed, Eurydice.  
Whose Charming-strains, & sweet 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
Have baffled, quite, Mirae Poemata:  
For which my Reason (I'll be true t'ye) was  
To wear, a pipe; Neglect a Hudibras  
Well! hear famed Ancient Pistol, tell ye once  
What falls on those, confront, the Helicons!  
He says, that Gaping, ghastly wounds, and Blisters  
(Look to it) shall untwine, the fatal-sisters,  
Wherefore (good Val.) return, my Flajulate  
Thou know'st that Clotho colum bajulae  
Lachesis trabit, it ne'er mock at)  
The word, for Atropos, is, Occat.  
Was't not enough, to lessen Salary.  
With vin d' O bryan, vin sellery  
Graves Wines, Bordeaux, Wines of Nautz  
Vin d' Hermitage, vin d' Orleans,  
Vin de Bov'ry, vin de Boon,  
Vin d' Catore, vin Sheroon,  
Vin pallet, vin de moy and vin dee,  
Vin Court, vin Greenshield, d' Amant (pox in thee!)  
But thou must put me to the purchase,  
Of such a pipe, which used in Churches,  
Hath brought to pulpit, Roger Karum,  
(As Bumkin swears) who long before 'em  
Knew not (Jack Falstaf wise) since ever born  
Church inside more, then does a pepper cor●  
As pan, with syrinx, thou with syringe, meddl●  
That's thy True pipe, not mine, and now I've said all  
Dear Val: thine own, but can't be merry,  
Till, thou restore, my Hotteterre.   

Postscript.  
Direct to Him, who now in snuffi●,  
Within the Rolls, at House of Office.    

On the Death of Oliver Cromwell, Septemb. 3. 1658.  
Go with a vengeance! had he twenty lives,  
He needs must go (they say) the Devil drives,  
●or went he hence away, like Lamb so mild  
〈◊〉 Falstaf, wise like any Chreesoom-Child.  
〈◊〉 Arthur's Bosom, he's not hush, yet died  
●●st as he did (at Turning of the Tide.  
〈◊〉 with it such a wind the sails, did swell,  
●aron, ne'er made a quicker pass to Hell.  
Now as there must be wonders to portend  
●●ery notorious birth, or dismal end,  
●●st as when hot spurs Grannam's (cat of yore  
〈◊〉 Kitten, or when Pokins, lost a Boar)  
when this Prodigy of Nature fell,  
〈◊〉 self seemed half unhanged: Tempests foretell:  
●●refull Events, Boreas was out of breath,  
〈◊〉 by his Soul inspired at his d●ath.  
●●en full of this same Blustering sir, he throws  
●●wn sturdy Oaks & Elms, to kiss his Toes:  
●●●self was Heart of Oak, so now they strive  
Sympath with him, dead as when Alive:  
Trees, now, as men, like Trees, reverted stood  
you'd think, the devil had been gone to wood  
All things were Topsy-turvy: Thus be fell  
The Wrath of Heaven, and the prey of hell   

On the Death of the Famous Apoth. Mr. Gideon De Laune. 1658.  
GReat Lord of Medicine! whose sing 〈◊〉 ski●  
Out did Dispensatories, and whose 〈◊〉  
Was Art's best Law: since death knew n● more 〈◊〉  
And ready ways to kill, than he to Cum  
This salves were e'en as Catholics as 〈…〉  
And all this Remedies were Sovereign.  
Nature's Preservative! who seemed it out  
The Hopes and Arms of his Posterity:  
And if her debt had not his Justice tried  
I'd lay my life upon't, he had not died  
But is he dead— Dead! as I live rude dea●  
How dared thou be so bold, to filch his Bre●  
That gave so many life? how knowst but he  
May hasten time to make an end of thee?  
Thus shall his Fate, Philosophy control  
And leave the drooping world without a Soul▪  
Infection's rife, and raging since his Fall,  
And each Disease, is Epidemical:  
●f Nature prove short lived, hence you may read  
●he sad (but certain) cause- Delaun is dead.   

New Years Day. 1657. To my Dear Friend W.M. Esq  
THough amongst the numerous throng I'm hither come  
With one poor Item, 'tis my total sum  
A poet's stock (though no great matter 'tis)  
●s all that one can wish, and such is this.  
Health that's the joy of life, and soul of Mirth,  
●ane to despair, and comfort of our birth,  
May't with your years, as clearly last & rise  
As 'twas ere winds had blasted Paradise!  
Wealth! the support of pleasures, and th● Crow●  
Of worldly hope! the Glory and Renown  
Of fortunes white Boys: the fond Beggars grudge  
Envied of only those deserve not much.  
May this (and each) year, yield to m● Loved moil  
As a Perpetual-triumph and a spoil!  
Now, as who not enjoy, or Covet mor●  
Are but their Riches Gaolers, & still Poo●  
May the same equal temper, the same fire  
(That never flagged too low, nor ca● mount higher  
Inflame your Breast; where to be ever se●●  
That which all seek (but find not) tru● content  
May all your Aims atchive their purposed end  
And never find, what 'tis to want a friend  
Unless the kinder Heavens had me assigned  
As much of power to serum you, as of mind  
Then need you, wish no more for't shoul● be known  
How far I prise your fortunes 'bove min● own  
Amongst other gifts, I'll give you thi● gift too  
I ne'er found friend, so much a friend, as you.   

To Mr. I. Gamble on his Setting and Publishing the Lyric Poems, of T.S. Esq  
(Jack)  
IN this Age when there is scarcely One  
That Offers, at a Composition,  
Save those sad Souls, within the verge go fall  
Of Worcester-house, or Haberdasher's Hall,  
That thou shouldst set thyself to setting lays  
Doth challenge, both our wonder, and our praise.  
Nor is't in such a Mood, as't may be said,  
That Gamble, had a Cratchet in his Head.  
For (to be brief) it will be long enough,  
‛ Ere any other, will enlarge the stuff  
That Nature lent him to so blessed a use,  
As is the setting forth of stanley's muse.  
And to some Tune th'st done it! not by rote  
Here's ne'er a tittle, but is worth the note.  
All is so humoured, both the strong and weak,  
Me thinks the very note, doth seem to speak  
And Emphase every phrase: so kindly done,  
Stanley inspired the Words, and thou the Tone.  
Here's such variety, so seasoned too,  
'Twill please the Women (that I'm sure 'twill do.)  
Counter to th' Tenor, of Tom Sternhold's psalm  
That's Mongrelled, with Another, to the sam●  
Thy Fancy, Trebles others and thy scene  
Still changing, shows, thy base was never mean  
Oh! how 'twill go against the hair of thos●  
Who drink, in Rhyme! and exercise in Prose  
Seeing thine idle hours, in their own way,  
Have out done all their work, (and that their play.  
The Song was Stanley's and hath gain's the Baye●  
Thine is the Prick, and thine shall be th● praise   

On the hopeful R. Baron of Gray's Inn Esq 1647.  
BAron of wit! 'twere sin to blazon forth  
Under a meaner style, thy mighty worth:  
●Twere but a trick of state, if we should bring  
The Muse's Lower-house to Vote thee King,  
Thou highly dost deserve it, and the Bays  
●hould crown thy brows to thine Eternal preys.  
Whilst ushered by the graces thou are sent,  
●o sit as King, i'th' Poet's Parliament.  
The famous Sidney's soul (I think) had gone  
Relict till the Resurrection,  
●nd never been espoused, now had not she  
Round out her match, and wedded been to thee.  
We have some things called Poets who although  
They ne'er were versed beyond the Christ-cross Row  
And never swallowed possum, think th' are able  
To be partakers at the Muses-Table  
Who ne'er inspired were by the Nine Sisters  
But took their Learning as folks do their Glisters  
And should you come to tell them what you lack  
Their wits (like ware ill-placed in Pedlars pack)  
They have, but know not whe●e; perhaps their bundle  
May yield a ballad for the Widow Trundle  
Or some such business wherein is shown  
A mournful Ditty, to the pleasant tune  
Fortune my Foe: or else-pox what d'ye call it  
When th'ave no more conceit than has ● Mallet  
But from their spongy Brains may squeeze a sonnet  
When th'ave a sortnight chewed their Cu● upon it  
And shall such clumsied humours ever be  
Renowned with the Name of Poetry!  
No, 'twere a sin beyond a pardon, you  
Deserve the Poet's Name, and Laureate to  
Thy Book swells high, thy Line's well wrought! not weak!  
Thy words might teach Apollo how to speak  
In better Phrase, which had he done like thee,  
Daphne had ne'er been turned into a Tree.  
Thy twisted Plot so nice a hand hath spun  
You'd think, it were not only made but done  
And you would not believe me, should I tell  
How soon this work was done when 'tis so well.  
Go on (Dear friend) enlarge thy spreading Fame,  
And let thy Pen mortallize thy Name.   

To Mrs. M. M. Delivered of a Daughter, after the Death of two Sons March, 1. 1659.  
The Eastern Sages, guided by their Star  
●rought less Devotion (though they came from far  
To greet their new born Manchild God, than I  
To Gratulate your safe Delivery,  
Hence as a guerdon for your single-worth  
May you need no deliverer, but bring forth  
And let your num'erous offspring grow to be  
The Hope and Pride of all Posterity!  
Sure God considered it, and in this one  
For two be took, made Restitution.  
Thrice blessed be that Womb! whose plenteous Birth  
Can furnish heaven, & yet people Earth.   

An Epitaph Written on the Tomb of Mary, Wife of Tho. Ingram, of Temple Newsham, in the County of York Esq dying in the Birth of two Children, Oct. 2. 1656.  
Reader,  
WIth reverence approach this Tomb  
Here lies, a Pattern for the Time's 〈◊〉 com●  
The Glorious envy of her Sex, where all  
Graces and virtues were habitual.  
A Wife as one would wish! be this her Pride!  
She ne'er displeased her husband till she died.  
To show her Womb uncurst a double-birth  
Gave fruit at once to heaven, & to earth,  
But heaven was their centre, deeming meet  
The swathing linen for their Winding-sheet,  
The Mother, loath to stay behind, but knew  
Her infants parted, and departed too.  
Triumphs, and hallelujahs! heaven's possessed  
By Mary, with a Babe at either Breast!  
They were too good for this World—  
Here they lie.  
Children and Heirs to all Eternity.   

The Morning Visit on his Mistress.  
IT had been morn, but fairer Celia lay  
With Curt●ind-eyes, and so controlled the day  
When to her sacred shrine, in lovely guise  
I came to pay my Morning-sacrifice,  
She lay like Danae when (blessed hap!)  
Jove in a storm of Gold assailed her Lap:  
But had he Celia seen, h● had confessed,  
She had best welcome, for so great a Guest.  
Whose single Entertainment was such cheer,  
As all the gods might come and banquet there.  
Her Locks (or I might better say) her R●yes  
Might from the Delphic Poets purchase prais  
Rather then Phoebus' beams, they do but light  
The night of day, but these mak● day of night.  
A purer red, her Damask Che●ks disclose,  
Then when the Sun salutes the bashful Rose:  
Or when the morn in crimson Robes arrayed  
Blushes to think, her night sports were betrayed.  
Her Lips (but here I want expression,)  
For nothing, e'er could make comparison  
Were sealed, as if they pleasure took in this,  
That modestly they could each other Kiss.  
On which such balmy drops of dew arise,  
As ne'er distilled, from Trees in Paradise;  
Whereat mine easy Genius, prompted me,  
To taste the Fruit, of this Forbidden Tree.  
'twixt Eve's, and this sort, here the difference lies,  
By that, Flesh fell, but this doth make it rise.  
Now, mine encouraged hand, presumes to Touch,  
Her downy Breasts, whose rising hills, are such,  
That every Grace might court them for her Sphere,  
And all the Muse's joy, t' inhabit there.  
In whose blessed ●allyes, Love and Beauty lie,  
And there decree, the Murders, of her Eye,  
Where, now, my willing hand (in fond amaze,)  
Would seem to dwell▪ & circle in this maze,  
But curious Fancy, will not be confined;  
How well Love finds the way, though he be blind!  
From thence, I wander o'er the neighbouring Hill,  
Whose bottom sounts such odorous streams distil,  
As Cupid, tired, with chase Lovers hearts  
Comes there, to bathe, himself, and cool his Darts:  
And Venus, when her Doves unharnessed were,  
Hath whipped 'em thither, for to Water there.  
Here's the Elysian Fields! the happy Grove,  
Where beauty banquets, with the god of love!  
Whose shade, with violets strewed, and Lilies spread,  
Do seem a Chaplet, for her Maidenhead:  
Where, after feasting, Venus, with her Son,  
Sports, on the banks, of this same Helicon▪  
And Love-knots tie, (what pretty sport th'ave found?)  
With grass, that grows upon this holy ground▪  
Which, curling round Loves fingers (prett● Plot!)  
He shows his Mother, what fine rings h'as got,  
And kissing, did entreat her, to bestow.  
One single thread to make a string for's bow  
And asked, (as if the Lad could something do)  
Whether, he might not have that quiver, too  
But Venus frowned, & with the Flowers by  
She whipped the Boy, for's waggish Knavery,  
And sharply told him, with Majestic Grace  
'Twas Sacrilege, to take, from such a Place  
And though to see or touch, she did approve  
Ye▪ for such tricks she'd banish him tha● Grove  
So, took him by the hand, & thence they go  
And wanton on the melting Field of Snow:  
And when, th'had kissed each other, and were Friends,  
Venus (to make the Little Rogue amends)  
Told him, that, for his Bow she would allow,  
The half bend Circle, in my Celia's Brow;  
And, when he was resolved, to slay tame Hearts,  
The Glances, of her eyes, should serve, for Darts:  
And for his string (if he must needs have two)  
Her locks would yield him strings, and fetters too.  
Who, being thus provided needs would try,  
To wound her, with her own Artillery  
For well he knew, she did defy, and scorn,  
The Shafts, which were, within his Quiver, worn:  
(For, being baffled, by her, on a Day,  
He, angry, threw his Bow, and all away:)  
But, since he's better furnished, dares defy,  
His former Foes, and sue for Victory:  
But wary Venus, did the Fight defer,  
And caused her Son, to m●ke a Truce, with Her:  
Which, being entered, Love & She Combine  
To Conquer All, and therefore do conjoin,  
Their single Forces, and their Power in One,  
Wherefore— take heed!- for All the world's undone.   

To the Lady, M. W.  
SO does the Body, when the Soul has gone,  
And pawned him, till the Resurrection,  
Regreet each other, as I salute You,  
Who art my Life, my Light and Glory too.  
But oh! what torments do those Lovers prove,  
That find their Service, ill repaid with love?  
And must I be o'th' Number? can there be,  
A Loving Soul that more can Honour Thee?  
Thou art my Fancy's Idol, and hast won  
My Soul, unto a Superstition,  
That never needs Repentance; I dare die,  
A ready Martyr, to thy Deity:  
And was there ever Saint so Tyraniz'd  
To fire that Altar, where She's Idolised?  
But I'm a Younger Brother, not born high,  
I would be Nothing, so I were no● I:  
Ah! shall not well-stampt Love go currant, where  
Unlucky Fortune, hath denied a share?  
But when two Souls together Match we do,  
Must there be made a Match of money too?  
●et not our Friends control our Loves, we'll prove  
Dead, to Obedience, so we live to love;  
Though 'tis acknowledged that your worth alone,  
Might make a Kingdom proud of such a one  
None can dislike our Loves, for here's the odds  
When Men make Others Lovers, Us the Gods.  
Then be as Kind▪ as Beauteous and turn all  
My former Plagues, into a Cordial  
And may thy Body, near my Purchase be  
●f ere my Soul prevaricate from thee! moved,  
Then (Dearest) speak my Life, with Pity  
Or bid me Die, because I over-loved.   

Epitaph, D. Arthur: Ingram, E. A. Eborac. P. M. S.  
REquiescite Magni Manes!  
Illud jam ex morte consecuti, quod in vitâ meriti:  
Quantu● Bonum Mortalitas!  
Incertum  
Magnis nè Triste quia Potuit,  
An Felix, quia Debuit mori:  
D. Arthurus Ingramius E. A.  
Claritudine Titulorum, Nobilitate Sanguinis, Amplitudine Fortunae,  
Grande Nomen:  
Sed  
Rarâ Animi indole, &  
Pietate, inter paucos eximiâ  
Vt Reliquis omnibus, ità & se ipso Major.  
Quotumquemque sc. videris  
In Excelso humilem  
In re lautâ sobrium,  
In inconsta●ti Constantem?  
Iste Vir Maxumus  
Fortunae bona primus, inter Virtutes, consecravit  
Fuitquè probus, & prae omnibus, & per omnia.  
Ecclesia Filius, & Pater,  
Pupillus & Patronus:  
Suis Copiis, illi Militanti, Militabat:  
Adeò Catholicè Ben●ficus,  
Adeò ingratiis Liberalis,  
Vt se omnium faceret, atque omnes suos.  
Charitatis in lectissimam conjugem, supramodum Egregiae  
Cujus ipsa, quantumvis h●c erexerit marmoreum  
Firmius adhuc monumentum s●cum gestat in Pectore:  
Omnia in h●c Herôe Immortalia,  
Praeterquàm una Mortalitas.  
Quid fles Viator?  
Non est iste, quem vides, virtutis Tumulus,  
Sed Delubrum.   

Englished, and Engraven, Thus.  
REst ye in peace, Great Souls! who purchased have  
What You deserved in Life, now, by the Grave  
How great a Good's Mortality!  
'Tis an uncertainty,  
Whether more sad or happy thing it be,  
For that he could, or that he ought to die:  
Sir Arthur Ingram Knight  
By Title, Noble Blood, & fortune's height,  
A Name of Weight:  
But,  
For the rare endowments of the mind,  
And piety, which amongst few hath shined  
As every other one he did outdo,  
He, than himself, was also greater too.  
Say, amongst thousands, one where shalt thou see  
In High Things, Low  
In Plenty Sober too  
And Constant in Inconstancy?  
This Best of men was He  
Who Fortune Goods amongst virtues, first, did sacred make to be:  
Through (and beyond) all, was his honesty.  
The Church's Son and Father, so  
A Pupil, and a Patron too.  
With his supplies he did supply her want  
When militant  
So catholicly Beneficial,  
Whether men would or no, so liberal,  
As he'd make all men his, and himself all.  
Of Love, to's choice Wise, not to be expressed  
Whereof she bears (though here the marble rest)  
A monument more lasting in her breast.  
All things Immortal in this Hero were  
But mere Mortality:—  
Why Weepest thou here?  
That which thou seest within this vaulted Room  
The Temple is of virtue not the Tomb.   

Epitaph on R. Webb, hanged for Ravishing a Child of five years old May, 19 1651.  
HEre lies cursed Webb! who living, spun though short,  
So fair a thread, a Halter choked him for't,  
●or Bardolph's like 'twas cut with vile reproaches  
●nd Edge of Penny-Cord-so Bonas noches!   

The Visit on Mrs. S. L.  
FAir Suaviana having made it day,  
Before the Lazy Sun began to stir  
And caused the Delphic Priests mistaking lay  
Their offerings at her Shrine & worship her;  
Guided by th' influence of her Starry eyes,  
I came to pay my morning sacrifice  
A Yoke of Kisses, and a shower of Tears  
Made up of sighs and prayers 'twixt hopes and fears.  
Oh when she issued from her bed (love's Sphere)  
Such sudden flashes lightened here and there  
That as one Planet-struck Amazed I stood  
To see such brightness sally, through a cloud.  
Then o'er her world-like head, she gently threw,  
A flaming petty Coat, which to the view,  
Appeared by the reflection of her Eyes,  
As the Sun sets ere winds and storms arise  
But (as small Love would have it) on her Hips  
It tentered was, as loath for so Eclipse  
So fair a prospect, underneath which place  
Her scalloped smock was pretty. Faith! it was.  
And now the height of mine Ambition is  
The hem of such a Garment but to kiss,  
As on a velvet Couch she seated was  
To sheathe her Legs within a silken Case  
Her Thighs were laid a cross, as who should say  
A good luck on ye! blessed for all the day!  
Which as she did untwine, you might have seen  
●he place where Love & Beauty frolic in;  
●he Port was to the view, half open set,  
●he folding doors were Coral, hinged in jet.  
within a Court, with Crimson Velvet lined  
●hich Love for his own Lodgings had assigned;  
●here several Chambers were, and beside these,  
●here were no other Rooms, but Room to Ghuess.  Caetera desiderantur.  

Translation, Eleg. 4. Lib, 2. Ovid: Amorum.  
THere's no one certain in beauty▪ can me move,  
There are a hundred causes why▪ love  
If one behold me, with a modest Eye,  
I'm fired: ensuared even by that modesty  
Is she no Clown? I'm pleased with on well-bred  
And gives me hope, she's Active in a Bed  
If like the Sabine dames, she Coy, doth fit,  
I think she would, but she dissembles it.  
If Learned; I'm pleased with Ingenuity  
If Rude, she's pleasing by simplicity:  
There's one, who says Callimac●us to m●  
Writs ill, whom I please, she'll soon pleasing 〈◊〉  
Another, does me, and my Verses blame  
With her, I'd have a little of that same  
Doth she step stately, motion takes me a  
Hardhearted Girls, prove kinder, wh● well man  
This cause she sings, and can command her Voice,  
To Kiss her, as she sings, should be my choice.  
This o'er the murmuring chords runs swiftly and  
Who can refrain, to Love so quaint a hand?  
This, to a measure, can herself advance  
And bend her tender Body in a Dance:  
To say nought of myself, whom, all sake● move  
Hippolytus would there Priapus prove.  
Thou cause thouart tall, equall'st the Heroes dead,  
And liest a mighty Body in a bed,  
This short one's sweet, All comes to Net, is Fish  
Both long and short, are even as I'd wish.  
〈◊〉 she not bred; I guess what if she were;  
〈◊〉 she well dressed, she shows her good gifts there.  
〈◊〉 taken with a fair maid, or a yellow,  
●ay lust, even in a Black thing has no fellow.  
Black locks dangle on her snowy Neck  
〈◊〉 with such, was seen herself to Deck:  
〈◊〉 yellow, such Aurora flow from thee:  
〈◊〉 Love, fits me, for every History.  
Youth me provokes, old Age provokes me too  
For manners; that, this better to the view  
Nay all the City Girls, one can approve  
For all of these, I've an Ambitious Love.   

To R. B. Esq having Read his Mirza.  
THy scene was Persia, but too like our own,  
Only our Soffie has not got the Crown,  
Methinks it so concerns us, as it were  
A Romance there, but a true story here.  
Had Johnson lived t'have seen this work he'd said  
thou'dst been his bravest Boy! stroked the o'th' head  
Given thee his blessing in a bowl of Win●  
Made thee's Administrator, or Assign.  
But father Ben. I think was too much Poe●  
To have much wealth (one need not ca● who owe i●  
Besides had Elder Sons, yet, where there's merit,  
Or custom, Younger brothers oft inherit.  
What though of's Gold thoust got the Devil a bit,  
I'ne sure thouart heir apparent to his Wit  
Which thou hast in that vigour, and high shine  
As when he wrote his Strenuous Catiline.  
Hence be't observed amongst our Chronologers,  
Since Johnson inspired Baron— Years.  
You are so much each other (no dispraise)  
Robin and Ben are now synonomas  
Nor can time blast a Wit: thine's ripe as His  
That Age, a Johnson crowned, a Baron this.   

Elegy at the Funerals of W. Moyle Esq May 28. 1660.  
SAd, as forsaken Lovers! black as night light!  
When yet un-chaosed to be christened  
Heavy as Laden consciences! and Pale,  
As childish fears! Why mourn ye? What d'ye ail?  
You, that were wont for to out dare the Sun  
In's Glory, now, as if your souls were gone  
And left your bodies pawned until they come;  
Grief and disaster (only fill the Room.)  
But Oh!—  
I've met the Cause! Behold! and see  
The subject (once) of your Idolatry!  
Moyle that was (late) the glory and the prize  
Of Arts and Nature's mysteries, here lies  
Cold as the hand of fate, as breathless grown  
As winds were in the first confusion:  
Here sigh and weep! whilst in a sacred boast  
I tell what you and all the world have lost.  
Moyle! the loved Moil! whom 'tis as hard to praise  
As 'twas to imitate his works and ways.  
He was (believe me Reader for 'tis rare?)  
Que in whom all choice Gifts implanted were.  
Man Miracle! who when alive possessed,  
All engrossed virtue, in his Catholic Pressed,  
Where all the graces dwelled as 'twere their Sphere  
And every muse, took up her Lodging there.  
And sadly, now, to Celebrate his Hearse,  
Burden their Eyes, with tears, their hands with verse.  
His Country's Joy! and Grief! None was more free  
Hearted, or handed, to the Poor, than He;  
If good works prove short-lived here you may read  
The sad (but certain) cause, 'Tis he is dead.  
No truth in Proverbs! April showers (they say)  
Bring forth the fragrant flowers of following May.  
April hath cropped our Primrose there it lies,  
From hence transplanted, into Paradise.  
Thus do we sow our seed, to rot i'th' Earth  
That it may quicken to a second Birth;  
Thus is he laid in Ground, never to Die,  
But to spring up, to all Eternity.   

New Years Day, to my Dear Friend, W. M. Esq  
NOw Janus bids the world a good New-year  
Faces about, then sets us as we were.  
When (by your means) I'm cleared of that great doubt,  
And care I had to bring the year about.  
Now custom summons me, with every man  
(As springs pay Tribute to the Ocean)  
To make Returns, and offer at that shrine  
Whence I derive, that all I dare call mine.  
And (as in duty bound, should thither come  
Not with a single gift, but Hecatomb.  
See the Stenography of Dearth and Scant.  
Some want no store, and I no store of want.  
And can but this advantage gain thereby  
To privilege my down right Poetry.  
Oh could rhyme pay my scores! or make amends,  
I'd have such verses at my Finger's Ends:  
As without biting, Knuckles should distil,  
H●d I steadily my Wit at will,  
Till mounted●n ●n the spreading wings of Fam●  
You should triumphant ride, & your vast name  
Be Echoed, till it had reached either Pole,  
And so become immortal as your Soul  
Or were I rich! but this age will not yield  
More Argent, to me, than my Griffon's Field,  
Or could he with his displayed Sable Wing,  
As Pegasus did once, create a Spring,  
Which like Pec●olus with its silver streams,  
Should still bring fresh supplies to mine extremes;  
Had I this wish, my Chief should never view  
A Moil but Argent, and imbordured too.  
But oh! this will not do! no stock can serve  
To Pay, or Praise you, so as you Deserve.   

A Frolic to W. M. Esq Returned from France,  

1.  
OH for a Bowl, whose wide capacious fraught  
Was never fathomed by a Poet's draught!  
To welcome Moils return, I'd drink it up  
Of thanks, the day should be, of grace the cup.   

2.  
I'd court the dreary, Sea-gods now to send,  
Their Ocean in a frolic while each friend  
Of Moils shall suck it to an Ebb and they  
With tears of joy augment its flow again.   

3.  
Moyle whom so oft we fancied it our bowls  
Thy very name revived our duller Souls,  
And lent so kind a flavour to the wine,  
It relished good or bad, as th' health was thine.   

4.  
Thou travelst not like those, who only know  
To spit at wine, to beat a drawer, or so,  
To ruffle Boot-hose-tops, or pleat a Cuff  
Or set a Circumcised, Codpiece off.   

5.  
No, thou art better bred, thou wentest to view  
Strange manners lik'st the best, & learnd'st them too.  
Our glorious envy, though we cannot tell  
How much thou improv'dst thy parts, we know how well   

6.  
Hence at my noble Moils, return from France  
The winds did whistle, to the waves to dance  
The sea-nymphs sung, and seemed to wanton more  
Than when the courtly floods Leander bore   

7.  
But had they known, as I, how fair a shrine  
Thou cam'st t' adore (Hero's, being dull to) ●hine;  
they'd snatched thee from her while each rival she  
Had in her calm embraces swallowed thee.   

8.  
Now happy pair! where every mutual kiss,  
Informs what pain it is to want that bliss:  
The graces guard her! while each muse shall be  
Or drunk in fancy, or in Love with thee.    

The Hangman's Motto upon Burning the Covenant.  
BEhold the Covenant and Kingdom quit!  
That, first set this on fire, now this sets it.  
Rebellion, to the sin of Witchcraft, turned  
The Covenant, doing thus, was, therefore Burned:  
The Covenant (God bless us!) was an Oath  
Like a god-dam'-me, to a Faith and Troth.   

TO His Sacred Majesty Charles the II. At His happy Return.  
SO comes the Sun after a half-years night,  
To the Benumbed, and Frozen Muscovite,  
As we (Britain's Influence!) welcome you  
Who are our Light, our Life, and Glory too.  
Your Presence is so Sovereign, counter Fate,  
It makes, alone, our Island Fortunate:  
Whilst we (like Eastern Priests) the night being done,  
Fall down, and Worship You, our Rising Sun.  
But!—  
As Devotees (of old) did use to stay  
Below the Font, nor durst approach to lay  
Their Duties on the Sacred shrine, so I  
(Not qualified for the Solemnity  
Of Offering at Your Altar) stand at door,  
And wish as much as they, who give you more.  
May You live long and happy, to improve  
In Strangers, Envy; in Your Subject's Love!  
And married may Your Computation run  
Even, as Time for every year a Son!  
Until Your Royal Offspring grow to be  
The Hope, and Pride of all Posterity!  
May every Joy, and every choice Content,  
Be trebled on You! & what e'er was meant,  
My Sovereign's care & trouble, may it prove  
Quiet and Calm, as are th' Effects of Love!  
Last, having lived a Pattern of such worth,  
As never any Age did yet bring forth,  
Ascend to Heaven; where th' Eternal Throne  
Crown You with Grace, shall Grace You with a Crown.   

St. George's Day, Sacred to the Coronation of his Most Excellent Majesty Charles the II. By the Grace of God, King of England, Scotland, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, etc.  
TRiumphs! and hallelujahs! let us Sing!  
Hallowing the Day to our three Kingdomed King!  
Thus Vpper-Jove (once) when secured, and free  
From Heaven-assayling- Gigantomachie,  
Convened the gods, at his commanding call,  
Like Charles and's Peers, at George's Festival.  
'Twixt Those, and These, there is but one Remove:  
Lieutenant's here, to the Supreme above.  
St. George for England! Andrew! Dennis. They  
Are, but as Vigils, to our Holiday.  
A Roman Triumph is, Compared to This,  
A Whitsun Ale: A mere Parenthesis.  
Scarce hath the lazy Sun his Circuit gone,  
But! Revolution! Revolution!  
Our King Proclaimed! Restored! and Crowned! A Year  
Like Plato's, sets us Even as we Were.  
Blessed be the Time! oh may it henceforth be,  
Calendared England's Year of Jubilee!  
For ever Sacred, to the Crown of Charles,  
And early Fame, o'th' (Arch) Duke's Albemarles.  
He that does claim, the Ends o'th' Earth his Own,  
May boast more Kingdoms, but not such a Crown.  
A Crown which o'er your fairer Temples, hurled  
As Drake did once, encircles all the World.  
Thanks to th' Eternal Powers! who preserved  
For You, so Long, what You so soon deserved.  
Shame on the Vile-vsurpers'! what their Source  
Of violence swayed, your patience won perforce.  
When, they were died in grain with Royal-Blood,  
And nothing was, but as they made it good.  
When Hell had so enhanced Rebellion,  
To Kill the Heir and take Possession.  
(Oh 'tis Forgiven! may it be Forgot!  
He came to's own, & they received him not.)  
When we o'th' Loyal, in despair were hurled,  
As if your Kingdoms, were not of this World,  
When doubts and horror, as at Day of Doom Come!,  
Had seized us all, then! lo! Your Kingdoms  
See! where He's Crowned! A King of Kings! like Saul!  
As Proper too, it may be not so Tall.  
As Glorious, as the Sun, on Easter Day,  
●●rke, like the Morningstar, does gild the Way  
Glocester's translated to another Sphere,  
To Celebrate a Coronation, There.  
● sacred Treason to His Brother Prince!  
seizing His Birthright, and Pre-eminence!  
●e took Possession first, received a Crown,  
●o●-like-to-fade, an Everlasting One.  
●s if the Grand Disposer, had assigned,  
eternity to Heirs by Gavelkinde.  
But— He that Wished Himself and Heir were gods,  
The next Son King of France, (as no great odds)  
Had he but known, the Wealths your Nations bear,  
T' had been his Wish, t' have Lived a Subject Here  
When the Great Lord of Light, with's fiery Horse,  
Does, Giantlike, rejoice to run his Course.  
The Beasaunts of the Sky are Sabled quite,  
Suffering Eclipse, from such redundant Light.  
But Charles his Starry Peers, about Him Shon●  
As if They meant, to rival with the Sun  
(Yet had an Eagle-Eye been Scrutinous,  
Sol in's full-Glory, was less Glorious)  
Oh may Those Planets, that so Stately move  
Ith' Lower Orb, be lately fixed above!  
Th' Exalted Heads, o'th' Higher minded Crew  
Had they their Lights again, to take a Vie●  
Of this fair Prospect, where Divinity,  
Is so well tempered, with Humanity.  
Graces, and Virtue, throned alike in You:  
'Twould e'en Convince them, Their Conceits were True.  
Had they kenned Likeness, they'd ne'er grudged You room,  
On Earth, as His Vicegerent till He Come.  
Their King, and Ours are Name-sakes: for'tis true,  
Y'have been our Saviour, and Redeemer too.  
Safety was, erst, ill-sorted with Committee,  
And Liberty, with Keepers, (more's the Pity!)  
You are Anointed too, and so was Christ,  
And to the King, must be annexed the Priest,  
And Prophet too, for till You came, the Elves  
Did serve God worse than they served themselves.  
He that refused the Host, because it came,  
As Christ did once, into Jerusalem)  
Upon an Ass, had he seen What ours do,  
He had Received it and been Thankful too.  
The Devil's a Saint! Both Prester-John and Joan  
Handle the Word, without a Mitten on.  
Works are Apocriphaed, as little worth,  
Every She- Hinter, would be holding forth,  
The Surplice, Table, Rails, are railed upon  
As the Appurtenance of Babylon.  
But You Undiffering Sect, and Protestant,  
The Church will cease, from being Militant.  
Here Lord increase our Faith! for he that tells  
Your Worth, and Gests, must needs write Miracles  
At fatal Worcester, when Your Arms were grown  
Wearied and faint with Execution,  
By Multitudes oppressed, which still pursue,  
(though utter Ruin could not injure You.)  
●ust as the Soul is from the Body flown,  
Unseen, You scape their Inquisition;  
Like Bird from Snare: But— like You there was None  
'Twas like Yourself: Without Comparison.  
Wonders are not yet ceased: here's Divine Care  
Kings have their Angels truly- Tutelar.  
But! hast! my Muse, unto the Muse's King,  
And low, present Him, with this Offering▪  
Know! and advance Your Friends! Your Foe● keep down▪  
And may no Argyle-hand come near your Crown  
And when the Princes of the World shall dare,  
In an ambitious-strife, to Cull the Rare  
Accomplished Lady, of such eminent Worth,  
As Romance never feigned, nor Age brought forth,  
To serve You as a Queen oh! may She prove  
One, that shall still achieve Your Princely love!  
Let the continuing pleasures of the Bed  
Be iterations of a Maidenhead!  
And as in years, so in Affection grow,  
That when she's Old, You may not Think her so!  
Peace be forever here! no Disputes rise,  
But which awes Most, Your Armies, or her Eyes.  
May from Your Royal Loins an Issue come,  
To Govern all the Tribes of Christendom!  
And let that Race supply this sceptre's sway  
While Stars shall rule the Night, or Sun the Day:  
May all Your Sons be like You in th' Extreme!  
And ('tis presumed) None ere shall be like Them.  
Else we despair when Fate shall lead You home,  
Of One, like You, lest Jove himself should come.  
Go late to Heaven! (though too soon I fear  
They'll spoil us Here, to be enriched There)  
Where (Course being finished) take (as St. Paul hath  
A Crown of Glory!— You have kept the Faith.  
This Day's Commemoration still remain!  
But— May I never see the Like again.   

Anniversary, To the Kings Most Excellent Majesty CHARLES the II. On His Birth and-Restauration-Day, May 29. Having Resolved to Marry with the Infanta of Portugal, May 8th. 1661.  Connubio jungam Stabili, Propriamque dicabo. 
LEt us fall down! and Worship Charles His Ray!  
A Sun that Summer's all our Year to May!  
Had Phoebus ever shone so fair as This,  
Daphne had scraped her Metamorphosis.  
The Priest o'th' East, by th' influence of your Worth,  
Mistaking Shrines, shall now Adore the North.  
The Guiding- Star, o'th' Manchild God, did gain  
Less Seekers there, than does our Charles His Wain.  
Sol in Aspect with Luna! Lo! a Queen  
Coming from far! famed Beauty's Magazine!  
The Wealth o'th' World! the Glory of the Earth!  
Fair as the Star that Blazed at Charles His ●irth!  
A Queen of Beauty, Love, and Innocence!  
Sweet as the Smoke presumed with Frankincense!  
A Feature made up of such Harmony,  
As Nature had her nicest Symmetry  
Reserved till Now Her more than Glorious Eye,  
Shines like a Diamond set in Ebonye.  
Whereat, the God of Love, does Light His Darts  
When He resolves the spoil of sullen Hearts.  
Her World-like Head, tressed with such lovely Brown,  
That every single Hair deserves a Crown.  
Whose All, and Every Part, do so excel,  
Plutarch could ne'er have found Her Parallel.  
For sure as Heavens have designed Her Queen,  
'Twas only Charles could Match with Katherine  
Thus like the Southern Queen she's drawing on  
To Commune with our Wiser Solomon  
we'll 'bate the Spice and Camels (Gifts too small  
Bringing Her single Self, She gives. Us All.  
When two such Planets in Conjunction are  
At every Birth, how Great will be the Sta●r!  
Twice did Our Edward win the People's Love  
By Mien, & Person— Oh how Charles would move!  
'Twixt their two Fates the only difference is  
That gained it for a Time, for ever, This.  
As erst to Caesar, Nations now agree  
To yield to One that's more August than Herald  
How timely did the Grecian fall a sleep!  
Had He now Lived, there were no cause to Weep  
He little thought the Sea had ever hid  
A World, where You should outdo what He did.  
How timely did the Swedish Charles retreat!  
And quit the Earth in dread of Charles the Great!  
'Tis one Excuse for Atheists, that they view  
A Deity, and think there's None, but You.  
When two such Planets in Conjunction are,  
At Every Birth, how Great will be the Star!  
Blessed be this Month for ever! Nature's Pride!  
Worth all the Seasons of the Year beside!  
A month that such a flower has brought forth,  
As decks the South, and perfumes all the North!  
What York and Lancaster could ne'er have done,  
Till they were well Contracted into One.  
This month scarce owns a day that hath not shown  
More Triumph in it, then in Annals known.  
For un-beholden to his Usher's Shower,  
He (of himself) affords Another Flower,  
So rare, that, amongst Nature's Glories seen  
'Twill be unquestioned, which is King and Queen.  
May from this precious Plant an Offspring rise  
To make all Christendom a Paradise!  
That every Son may be AUGUST, we pray  
And every Daughter Lady of the May!  
— Tecum Sociales impleat annos  
Quae nisi Te, nullo Conjuge, Digna fuit:  Ovid.  

On the Thunder, Happening after the Solemnity of the Coronation of CHARLES the II. On Saint GEORGE'S Day, 1661.  Exhilarant ipsos gaudia nostra Deos. Mart. 
Heaven's! we thank you, hat you Thundered so!  
As We did here, you Cannonadoed too.  
A brave Report! as if you would outvie  
Volleys, discharged by Charles His Cavalry.  
'Twas still in Clouds and Tempests your voice came!  
For less than That could not have spoke His Name.  
Thus Mighty Jove, Co partner in our Joy,  
Out- sounded, what we cried, Vive le Roy!  
A sacred kind of Rival-ship! for here,  
We gladly Feign, what they are doing there  
'Tis a bold Challenge (but I'll make it good)  
Whether our Flames were lesser than their Flood?  
As if St. George's Bonfires would have done  
More, than They could, by Inundation.  
Avaunt Philosophy, we plainly prove,  
The World must burn, but— 'Tis with Charles his love.  
Well! let us think upon't! who ere did view  
The Sun in's Glory, but 'twas cloudy too?  
Great Lights Eclipse the ●ess: nor were you made  
To shine so clear, as not t' admit a shade.  
You are Our Light, Our Comfort, and Our Hope;  
Every good Subjects is, your Heli●trope.  
Two Suns, at once, within our Horizon!  
Whilst we dispute, which was the fairer one!  
A pretty Emulation! Both did strive  
Who should receive most beams, who most should Give:  
'Til th' upper-Lamp shrunk in his useless ray,  
And left, the Conquering Charles, to rule the Day.  
'Twas his Discretion, for had Both shone Bright,  
Heat had surpassed the comfort of the Light;  
Then did he weep for joy,— A lovely weather!  
It Reigned as Heaven and Earth would come together:  
And yet— these April-tears, would have us know,  
They grieved above, at Male Contents bel●w.  
To see, that Heaven, should design a Court  
For Us, like Theirs, and some— not Thank them for't.   

RITES on the Famous and Renowned, Sir CHARLES LUCAS, and Sir CHARLES LISLE: Murdered at Colchester, Aug. 28. 1648. Their Funeral Solemnised, June 7. 1661.  
ARe Lisle and Lucas Dead, and not Day done?  
Nor a perpetual darkness mask the Sun?  
Is Nature still alive? No Signs sore-run,  
To presage general- Confusion?  
Methinks their Fall should have unhinged the Spheres  
And the whole World been made a Grave with Theirs!  
Heavens! was Jove asleep? or's Thunder spent?  
To put up this Uncivil Compliment,  
Without Revenge?— Rebels will hardened be,  
(Great God) e'er long, to make a Shot at Thee.  
Ye Powers look to't! Attempts ne'er swelled so high,  
To threat a Surer Gigantomachy:  
This only may prevent their rage, for fear,  
Lest Charles and George should lead an Army There.  
They're in Commission still, but here's the odds,  
Princes employed them then, but now, the Gods.  
But Death was sudden to call either hence,  
ere he could summon him— His Excellence.  
Fate might have spared Them longer, till they'd done  
That Service throughly they so well begun.  
England hath dearly missed them, We had seen  
Charles in his Throne ere this, & never been  
Acquainted, with an army's Government,  
Or what is meant, by Power of Parliament.  
Black Tom had slept long since, with Essex-Calfe,  
Lucas his other Blow had laid him safe.  
Or Loyal Lisle (after his Noble wont)  
Had fought, the other time in's Shirt, t' have Doneed.  
Religion might have flourished, learning flown,  
When Now We have so Much (God help's) W' have None.  
But Heaven for-stalled Them; Saw, a Work so Great,  
Inferior Mortals never could Complete,  
So took't upon Themselves, to let us know,  
The Gods above, must have a hand below,  
As if Great Charles could not be placed in's Sphere,  
Unless the Finger of Heaven Throned Him there.  
Only th' Eternal-Council did Decree  
These Famous Soldiers, should o'th' party be  
And when the Gods had mustered all their Force,  
George should Command the Foot, and Charles the Horse  
But oh! the World must still lament the Falls  
And Deaths of these Renowned Generals.  
Valours! so awed by Circumspection,  
Jove might have been secured i'th' Garrison,  
(As sure as Gloucester) Mars locked down & swore  
Had he been there himself he could no more;  
For having (past belief) maintained the town,  
To save their Lives, they sacrificed their own.  
Whose blessed Souls to th' skies ascended are,  
To raise for th' King, Auxiliaries There,  
To Garrison a Heavenly Colchester,  
Where Jove, made mighty Lucas Governor,  
That Royal Charles, and all his Loyal Peers,  
Might Rule for ever, amongst his Cavaliers.  
This only was Olympic Lisle his Care  
To see that none o'th' Rebels should come There.  

Here lies their Prince's hopes, the Rebels rods,  
Who living fought like Men, and died like Gods.    

A POEM, to the King's and Queen's most Excellent Majesties at Hampton-Court.  

1.  
IN Rapture carried up above,  
I found the Gods were All in Love:  
And a Question started,— Whether  
Heaven, and Earth should come Together?  
So Strongly were the Deities  
Affected with Our Paradise.   

2.  
But in CHARLES and CATHARINE,  
Such Divinity was seen,  
As their Pattern make the Odds  
Little, betwixt Men, and Gods:  
So They Vowed, We should have Here,  
A Heaven, on Earth, as They have There.   

3.  
Juno need Jealous be no more,  
(Though Cause be Greater than before)  
That Her Brother-Husband Jove,  
Should Descend, to Filch a Love,  
Since, if He chance to quit His Sphere,  
He would not leave a Godhead There.   

4.  
For when His Lieutenants know,  
The Blessings, that are Here below,  
And have once but understood,  
That Woman can be Great and Good,  
They'll Unpeople soon the Place,  
And plant Their Heaven in Her Face.   

5.  
The half-ashamed God of Day,  
Saw Her, and did Court Her Ray,  
Wishing, that Her Glorious Eye,  
Might excuse Him from the Sky;  
Only He grudged His Sister Moon  
A Share, i'th' Light, of such a Noon.   

6.  
beauty's Great Queen, would have come Down,  
In quest, of What surpassed Her Own,  
And with Her brought the God of Fight,  
As Gallant, to maintain Their right:  
But subscribed, to Our Blessed Pair,  
As Queen of Beau●y, God of War.   

7.  
The Deities of Wisdom (too)  
Had set their Station up, Below:  
Mercy, and Justice fled from Earth,  
Had made amends for Our late Dearth:  
But wary Jove bespoke Them thus,  
There's God King CHARLES will outdo Vs.   

8.  
The Power of Love (as Mortals know)  
Was Commissioned Down Below,  
To Compliment, that Sovereign Choice,  
To speak which, Wonder wants a Voice:  
Who, Proud of stay, does Heaven refuse,  
'Cause Here, was such a one, to Choose.   

9  
His Mother, seeing the pretty El●e,  
Designing thus t' Advance Himself,  
Rebuked Him, not, (as erst) for fear  
Of's Random-shooting Here and There;  
But Charged Him to take up His Rest,  
In CATHARINE's & CHARLES his breast.   

10.  
Thus hath Our King and Queen of Love,  
Endeared Themselves to Those Above,  
Who'd quit Their Immortality,  
If to Come hither, were, to Die:  
Wherefore to make Their Loves all Even,  
They shall Die late, and Go to Heaven.    


In Hampton Court.  
SI quis opes nescit, (sed quis tamen Ille? Britannas'  
Hampton Curta, tuos, Consulat, Ille, Lares.  
Contulerit, toto, cum sparsa Palatia, mundo,  
Dicet ibi Reges, hîc, habitare, Deos.   

On Hampton Court.  
WHo knows not England's Wealth (but who is He?)  
Let him O Hampton Court repair to thee.  
When he hath scanned, the whole worlds, vast Abodes,  
he'll say, that Kings dwell there, but here, the Gods.    

On Bold-Hall in Lancashire, the Ancient Seat of our Family, now too like to become Extinct.  
THat Hall from Bold, did take its Name,  
And Bold, his Name again, from Hall,  
Hath told us, long, from whence we Came;  
But, Lord knows, whither 'tis, we shall—   

To Sir W. L. Of the Parliament at Oxon, Kal. Jan.  
THou man of Worth! as free as Air to Friends,  
Advancing Public not your Private Ends.  
Your Country's Wealth whose loud desert doth call,  
To bring for New-year's gifts, our hearts & All;  
For now the duller sense hath understood;  
Though God makes years new, yet you make them good.  
I therefore to your crowded Altar bring,  
My little Self, and all an Offering:  
But All this All is nothing, yet although,  
In power I ebb, in will I'll overflow.  
When if so mean a Present may suffice,  
You have the offerers heart, your sacrifice.  
And so you have my New years gift: but you  
Must give me leave, ●o give one prayer too.  
Live blest i'th' lower house, till mighty Jove,  
Shall make you Peer i'th' upper house above.   

satire, on the Adulterate Coin Inscribed, ●he Commonwealth, etc.  
THat Commonwealth which was our Common-woe  
Did Stamp for Currant, That, which must not Go  
Yet it was well to Pass, till Heaven thought meet  
To show both This & That were Counterfeit.  
Our Crosses were their Coin! Their God our Hell!  
Till Saviour Charles became Emanuel.  
But now— the Devil take their God Avaunt  
Thou molten Image of the Covenant!  
Thou lewd Impostor! State's, and Traffique's Sin  
A Brazen Bulk, faced with a Silver Skin!  
Badge of Their Saints-Pretences, without doubt!  
A Wolf within, and Innocence without!  
Like to Their Masqued Designs! Rebellion  
Filmed with the Tinsel of Religion!  
Metal on Metal, here, we may disclose;  
Like Cerecloth stripped from Cromwell's Copper Nose  
Thou Bastard Relic of the Traitorous crew!  
A mere Invent, to give the Devil's Due!  
Or (as a Learned Modern Author saith)  
In their own Coin, to pay the Public Faith!  
Heavens! I thank you! that, in mine extreme  
I never loved their Money more than Them!  
Cursed be those Wights! whose Godliness was Gain,  
Spoiling God's Image in Their Sovereign!  
They made our Angels evil! and 'tis known,  
Their Cross and Harp were Scandal to the CROWN.  
Had, amongst the Jews, Their Thirty Pence been used  
When Judas trucked for's Lord, 't had been refused  
Worse than that Coin which our Boys, Fibbs do call!  
A Scotish Twenty-pences is worth them All!  
To their eternal shame, be't brought tothth' Mint!  
Cast into Medals: & their Names stamped in't!  
That Charon (when they come for Waftage o'er,  
May doubt his Fare, and make them wait on shore:  
For, if Repentance ransom any thence,  
Know!— Charles' his Coin must pay their Peterpences.  Prima peregrinos obscaena Pecunia mores Intulit. Juv.  

To the Lady, F. C.  
FAir Beauteous-Eys! why do you longer give  
My hopes that life, to tell me that I live;  
Since if (Dear Fair! You with a smiling eye,  
Do throw a Dart, thousands would gladly die.  
So wished a Death, and in the pleasing fire,  
Of those blessed flames, give up their Souls t' Expire.  
But when a frown shall cloud those shining Eyes,  
Which yet consume their Martyred Sacrifice,  
And ch●ck a lively-hope with dead despair,  
Making a careful life, a lively Care.  
When this effect your mystic Beauties prove,  
To make Love Conquer, and yet conquer love.  
Eyes! tell me not I live, since you bequeath  
At best, a dying-life, or living death.  
Sweet lips forbear! no more a treacherous kiss  
Shall never tempt my credulous heat to wish.  
Those sugared baits, betraying Souls to smart,  
With flattering smiles, to slay a lover's heart.  
Though this you thought, too mild a death would prove,  
To kill a Servant, with a Dart of Love.  
And found a nearer way to Antedate.  
My latter day, with a disdainful Fate;  
Causing those lips which made me for to know,  
You loved me once, now to procure my woe.  
And to be once deposed from love, is more  
A death to lovers, than was life before;  
Lips say not then I live, since that your breath,  
Can speak my doom, or kisses melt to Death.   

On the Death of Mary Princess Dowager of AURANGE.  
Hail Graceful Mary! summoned up, to be  
A Member Saint i'th' heavenly Hierarchy!  
For, since your Virgin Name-sake's, peered with You,  
Our Ave-Maryes, must be doubled too.  
What Zeal of Glory did your highness move,  
To rob low-countries, to enrich th' Above?  
Or was it in a Compliment you fell?  
To leave, Henrietta ' thou a Parallel?  
Was't not enough that Gloucesters' shining Star  
Shrunk the Pair-Royal to a Royal Pair?  
And, as Ambassador, to fit, your State,  
Prepared the ways, knowing the Path was Straight  
But must (Oh Times!) more Royal Blood be Spilt  
To make atonement for the Subjects Gild?  
Thus the Lamb suffers, while the Fox still thrives,  
Heaven's kingdom's near! 'tis time t'amend our lives  
Cursed be that Bane of Greatness! a Disease,  
That scandals Galen and Hypocrates!  
So loathsome (too) the Soul would hardly, own  
The Body, at the Resurrection!  
Here let our souls, flow from our eyes in Tears!  
Like those whose hopes, are stifled, by their fears!  
Another Branch, lopped from the Royal Tree!  
And shall the Shrubs, remain secure, & free?  
Oh! if our Earthly gods, like men, must lie,  
How like the Beasts that perish, shall Vassals die?  
'Tis, for the Nation sins, a Punishment  
On Princes falls, they'd live, if we'd Repent.  
All things immortal in this Lady are,  
But mere mortality, and that lies here;  
Whose goodness needs no gloss to set it off,  
Say but— 'twas Charles his Daughter, that's enough.  
Oh! may her son, like her, live to Inherit,  
The Mother's Virtue, and the Father's Spirit!  
When heaven, will bless, it's blessing, with that good  
Which cannot be expressed, (less understood)  
The Age's Joy, and Grief! Envy, and Pride!  
You could not think her Mortal, till she died.  
The wonder of her sex! less great than good!  
Honouring her Name, Ennobled by her Blood!  
But—  
Cease to Mourn!  
A Princess never dies,  
But only as the sun does set to rise.  
In brief, be this inscribed upon her Tomb,  
Here lies the Miracle of Christendom.  
O he! Jam satis est! O he Libelle! Mar.  
— Dirus Exclamat Charon  
Quò pergis Audax?— Sen.  
Expect the second Part.    

A Catalogue of some Books Printed for H. Brome, at the Gun in Ivy-lane.  
THe New Common Prayer with choice Cuts in Copper, newly engraven, suited to all the Feasts and Fasts of the Church of England throughout the Year, in a Pocket Volume.  
Doctor Spark's Devotions on all the Festivals of the Year.  
The Alliance of Divine Offices, exhibiting all the Liturgies of England since the Reformation; by Hamon L'estrange, Esq in fol.  
Justice Revived, or the whole Office of a Country Justice, in 8.  
The Exact Constable, with his Originals and Power, in the Offices of Churchwardens, Overseers of the Poor, Surveyors, Treasurers, and other Officers, as they are now established by the Laws and Statutes of the Land: both by, Edw. Wingate, Esq  
Dr. Brown's ●epulchral Urns, and Garden of Cyrus, in 8.  
Two Essays of Love and Marriage, 12.  

Choice Poems  
Floddan Field in nine fits, etc.  
Mr. Richard Brome, his Royal Exchange.  
The Jovial Crew.  
English More.  
Love sick Conceit.  
New Exchange.  
Covent Garden Weeded.  
Queen and Concubine.  
All the songs on the Long Parliament and Rump, from 1640. to 1660.  
Songs and other Poems, by A. Brome. Gent. Mr. Boy's Translation on the sixth Book of Virgil.  
Aeneas his Voyage from Troy to Italy, an Assay upon the third Book of Virgil, in 8.  
The Pourtraicture of his sacred Majesty King Charles the second, from his birth 1630. till this present year 1661. being the whole story of his escape at Worcester, his Travels and Troubles.  
Chisul's Danger of being almost a Christian, in 12.   

Choice Occasional Sermons  
Mr. Grenfield's Sermon, in behalf of the Loyal party.  
Mr. Stone's Sermon at St. Paul's, Octob. 20 1661., against Rebellion.  
Mr. Walwin's Sermon, on the happy Return of King Charles the second.  
Eight Choice Sermons preached by Bishop Usher in Oxford, in the time of War, in 4.  
A Treatise of Moderation, by Mr. Gaul in 8.  
St. Boneventure's Solioquys, in 4.  
All Mr. L'Estrange's Pieces against Mr. Bagshaw and the Presbyterians.  
Speeds Husbandry, in 8.  
The glories and Magnificent Triumphs of the Restitution of King Charles the Second, showing his Entertainment in Holland, and his passage through London, and the Country, comprising all the Honours done to, and conferred by him: By James Heath, formerly Student of Ch. Ch. in Oxon.  
The Covenant discharged, by J. Russel in 4.  
The complete art of Water-drawing, in 4.  
The Harmony of the World, in 8. in 3 parts.  
The Temple of Wisdom, useful for all persons, being a Magical Discourse, in 8. both by John Heyden Esq  
Jews in America, by Mr. Thorogood, in 4.  
Blood for Blood, in 35. Tragical stories; the five last being the sad product of our late Rebellion in 8.  
A Discourse of all the Imperfections of Women, in 8.  
Mr. Morton's Rule of Life, in 8.  
A Geographical Dictionary of all the Towns and Cities in the World.  
Holy Anthems, sung in all Cathedrals and Collegiate Churches in England.  
Schriverius Lexicon Greek and Latin, the fourth Edition much enlarged.  
A learned Exposition on the Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Canticles and the Major Prophets, by John Trap, M.A.  
The Crumbs of Comfort.  
The History of the Bible,  
The List of the Loyal party. And Case.   
FINIS.