SONGS And other POEMS  
By ALEX. BROME Gent.  
Dixero quid si fortè jocosius, hoc mihi juris  
Cum Venià dabis—  Hor. 1. Sat. 4. 
The second Edition Corrected and enlarged.  
LONDON, Printed for Henry Brome, at the Gun in Ivy Lane 1664.   


Vera Effigies A: Brome. 1661.  
CARMINA: DESUNT.   

CARMINA DESUNT  
VERA EFFIGIES A: Brome. 1654.   

CARMINA DESUNT  
VERA EFFIGIES A: Brome. 1654.   

CARMINA DESUNT  
VERA EFFIGIES A: Brome. 1654.   

CARMINA DESUNT  
VERA EFFIGIES A: Brome. 1654.    

Fiat Editio altera  
Jo. Berkenhead April 28. 1663.   

To the Honourable, SR. JOHN ROBINSON Knight and Baronet, His Majesty's Lieutenant of the Tower of LONDON.  
THe many great obligations which your nobleness hath from time to time laid upon me, do merit a more serious acknowledgement than this rude and toyish address can pretend to; whose design is only to beg pardon and protection, for that I being seduced to print these youthful vanities, have thus audaciously sheltered them under your celebrated Name. I should not have done it, but that I well know the greatness of your soul, and the Kindness you have for me, are a sufficient screen to keep off any offence that I can commit against you: and I have considered also, that there are four great things committed to your custody; the Soldiers, the Lions, the Guns, and (which is more powerful) the Money. So that if any should have an itch to snarl at me, they will not dare to open their mouths, lest they should be thought to bark at you; In whose Regiment I desire to list this Volunteer, being encouraged by this consideration; that, together with those great and serious Emblems and instruments of power, with which you are entrusted, the Apes and Catamountains, and other properties of diversion, do there find safety and subsistence; That those privileges may extend to this Brat of mine, which is no less ridiculous, is the ambition of,  
SIR, Your grateful Servant and great Honourer ALEX. BROME.   

To the Reader.  
TO the Collection of these Papers two accidents have concurred; a lozy disease, and a long vacation: the one inclining me to do nothing else, and the other affording me nothing else to do.  
To their publication I might allege several reasons; namely, gratification of Friends, importunity, prevention of spurious Impressions. But these are in Print already in many grave Authors, with exact formulas to express the bashfulness of the Author, and the badness of the work, etc.  
There are another sort of reasons, not expressed but implied; as, an ambition to be in Print, to have a Face cut in Copper, with a Laurel about my head, a Motto and Verses underneath, made by myself in my own commendation, and to be accounted a Wit, and called a Poet.  
But, to say the truth, none of all these prevailed with me; for I made few of my Friends acquainted with the design; and these few told me, I should expose myself to the censure of the new Generation of JUDGE-WITS; who, like Committee-men, or black-Witches in Poetry, are created only to do mischief. Nor did I fear any illegitimate Impression hereof, conceiving that no body would be at the charge of it. And to gratify friends this way, were instead of quitting ●●● obligations, to create new.  
Now as to the honour of being in print, with its privileges, 'tis much like being a Parliament-man; those that deserve it, need not court it, but will be so, whether they desire it or not; those that merit it not, may come in by purchase; such author's, like Men that beget Daughters, must give portions to be rid of their issue.  
These reasons being laid aside, as deficient, it will be expected that I should present you with better, but indeed I have them not about me; and for that reason, I am bold to affirm, that I am not bound, in strictness, to give any man any reason for doing this. For why I made these rambles, I can give no other account then a poor man does, why he gets Children; that is his pleasure, and this mine. And as with him in his case, 'tis with me in mine; having brought our Brats into the World, 'tis our duty to provide for their preservation.  
I dare not say these Poems are good, nor do I certainly know whether they be or not; for the Wits are not yet agreed of a standard; nor shall I declare them bad, lest others out of respect to me, should be of the same opinion.  
But this I assure you, that I have been told to my face, that they are good, and was such a fond fool to believe it; else you may be confident, they had ne'er been exposed to view; for upon my credit, I have no ambition to be laughed at. And 'twere a great disingenuity to offer that to my Friends, which I myself should dislike.  
All that is terrible in this case, is, that the Author may be laughed at, and the Stationer beggared by the Books invendibility. It concerns him to look to the one, I am provided against the other. For 'tis as unkind and unmanly to abuse me for being a bad Poet, as it is to rail at a Dwarf for being little and weak: it being my desire to be as good as any that can jeer me; and if I come short by the Head, who can help it? yet I desire to be thus far ingenuous, to let the World know, though they may esteem or call me a Poet, by this they may see I am none, or at least so mean a one, that 'twere better I were none.  
To beg acceptance of this, upon the old promise of never Writing more, were to make the publishing this a wilful sin, which I shan't commit. And though at present I resolve against encumbering my thoughts with such unprofitable meditations; yet I will ne'er abjure them; being no more able to perform vows never to Write again, than Widows theirs never to Marry again.  
And now, being taught by custom, to beg something of the Reader, it shall be this; that in reading and judging these Poems, he will consider his own frailty, and fallibility; and read with the same temper and apprehension, as if himself had written, and I were to judge: and if he cannot find matter here to please himself and love me, let him pity my disastrous fate, that threw me into this sad distemper of rythming.  
But as to the men of a severer brow, who may be scandalised at this free way of writing, I desire them to conceive those Odes which may seem wild and extravagant, not to be Ideas of my own mind, but Characters of divers humours set out in their own persons. ●nd what reflected on the Times, to be but expressions of what was thought and designed by the persons represented; there being no safe way to reprove vices then r●ging among us, but to lash them smilingly.  
Perhaps it may be expected I should have interlarded this address with ends of Latin, to declare myself a Scholar. But the reason why I do not, is because by this late happy change I shall have occasion to employ that little Latin I have to a better use, and make it more advantageous to me.  
Farewell.   

To his honoured Friend Mr. ALEXANDER BROME, on the publishing his Poems.  
SIR,  
YOur ingenuous Book you were pleased to trust with me, had before this time come to your hands, had I either sooner known of your return to London, or found an handsome opportunity of conveying it thither with safety. Though your modesty i● pleased to invite Censure, I find it is more than your great felicity in this way of Poetry can be liable to: Nor should I have thought those two or three slight Animadversions here enclosed, to have been worth the mentioning, were it not that I would have you believe I use such freedom with you, as to have done more if I had found occasion: though I doubt not but you have or will communicate these Papers to some other friends of more refined judgement than I ca● pretend to. This I am sure, that by publishing of them yo● will oblige, not only all Men, but some of the Gods; especially your Namesake Bacchus (called also Bromius) whose worth your wit hath so much advanced, that, though Excise should cease, we should in pure conscience think we could not purchase him at too dear a rate. Cupid himself who hath hitherto exercised chief dominion in Poetry now vails Bonnet to Him; were it not, that, whilst you s● handsomely magnify the power of Wine, your Readers ar● forced to fall in Love with your Muse: and, amongst them none more affectionately, than  
SIR, Your most obliged humble Servant R. B.   

To the Ingenious Author Mr. Alexand. Brome.  

PRaise is the shade of Virtue, and ne'er fell  
Into contempt, till Men ceased to do well.  
'Twas profit spoilt the world. Till then (we know it,)  
The Usnrer struck sails unto the Poet.  
Kings Envied them their bays; for though the Crown  
Had more of justre, it had less renown.   

Then be thou (Brome) my Subject; Thou whose mind  
Large, as the bounds of Nature, hath calcined  
Things high and low, and drawn conceptions thence,  
Which Adam scarcely known in's Innocence,  
T' adorn thy style, and feed poetic fire,  
And make thy highflown Raptures to fly higher:  
What can be thought or said to set thee forth?  
Or what Embellishment can gild thy worth?  
Great Merits (like good Claret) need no sign  
(Who ere proclaimed that the Sun did shine?)  
'Tis easy to begin, and hard to end;  
When but to speak thy Name, is to commend.   

But leave I thee the Fountain; for the stream,  
Thy book, is now my more peculiar Theme,  
The Scene of Wine and Women. Thy smart pen  
Refines our Loves, and liquors o'er again,  
And teaches us new lessons. Shall I whine  
To a coy Mistress, swear, and lie, and pine,  
And die, and live again, and change more shape●,  
Then Proteus did, or four and forty Apes,  
To win my loss of Liberty, when I,  
Enthroned by fancy in true Sovereignty,  
Can out of nothing, whensoe'er I please,  
Create a million of such Mistresses?  
And write a Sonnet to my Airy she,  
Or steal a better Sonnet (Brome) from Thee?  
No, No, for know my love's best bill of Diet  
Is first free thoughts, the next is to be quiet.   

Hence too I'll quit the Taverns, for I find  
No Wine is like the Nectar of the Mind.  
Conceit is a good Cellar; Here we may  
Drink without sin, and spend without Decay,  
And frolic and be merry; Or else we  
May read thy book, and tipple Poetry;  
And sing the praises of the nobler Vine,  
And send a health to the great God of Wine.  
This, This, is pleasure, and cheap too, that's better,  
For know the Muse is apt to be a debtor.   

All this we learn from thee; go on, and be  
A miracle in future History.  
Thou show'st us mirth, and nobler ways to woe;  
And Vindicatest thy profession too.  
If Law and Business can produce such strains,  
we'll owe no Wit to leisure, but to Brains.   
W. Paulet E medio Templo.   

To the Ingenious Author Mr. A. B.  

HOw! how! what miracles in print?  
A Poem with the Politics in't?  
'Tis strange, but I will not rehearse  
All the Probatums of thy verse.  
This only; when the nose and Bum  
Had frighted all our miseries dumb,  
When force hag-rid our Land and Seas,  
Had made laws truths Antipodes;  
When treason, (like the blood) was found  
To circulate all England round;  
Thou (Brome) to cure the Kingdoms wrong  
Didst hatch new loyalty with a song.  
Music (as once Saul's eldest Devil)  
Fettered Rebellious rampant evil;  
Rhyme oft times over-reaches reason;  
A verse will counter-charm a Treason.  
Had Cromwell learned the grace to sing,  
H'had fled to Heaven for his King.   
Rob. Napeir Emedio Templo.   

To my ingenious Friend Mr. Brome, on his various and excellent Poems: An humble Eglog.  
Daman and Dorus.  
Written the 29. of May, 1660.  Daman. 

HAll happy day! Dorus sit down:  
Now let no sigh, nor let a frown  
Lodge near thy heart, or on thy brow.  
The King! the King's returned! and now  
Let's banish all sad thoughts, and sing  
We have our Laws, and have our King.   Dorus. 

'Tis true, and I would sing, but oh!  
These wars have sunk my heart so low  
'Twill not be raised.   Daman. 

What not this day?  
Why 'tis the twenty ninth of May:  
Let Rebels spirits sink; let those  
That like the Goths and Vandals rose  
To ruin families, and bring  
Contempt upon our Church, our King,  
And all that's dear to us, be sad;  
But be not thou, let us be glad.   

And Dorus, to invite thee, look,  
Here's a Collection in this book,  
Of all those cheerful songs, that we  
Have sung so oft and merrily  
As we have marched to fight the cause  
Of Gods Anointed, and our Laws:  
Such songs as make not the least odds  
Betwixt us mortals and the Gods:  
Such songs as Virgins need not fear  
To sing, or a grave Matron hear.  
Here's love dressed neat, and chaste, and gay  
As gardens in the month of May;  
Here's harmony, and Wit, and Art,  
To raise thy thoughts, and cheer thy heart.   Dorus. 
Written by whom?  Daman. 

A friend of mine,  
And one that's worthy to be thine:  
A Civil swain, that knows his times  
For business, and that done makes rhimes;  
But not till then: my Friend's a man  
Loved by the Muses; dear to Pan:  
He blessed him with a cheerful heart:  
And they with this sharp wit and art,  
Which he so tempers, as no Swain,  
That's loyal, does or should complain.   Dorus. 
I would fain see him:  Daman. 

Go with me  
Dorus, to yonder broad beech-tree,  
There we shall meet him and Phillis,  
Perigot, and Amaryllis,  
Tityrus, and his dear Clora,  
Tom and Will, and their Pastora:  
There we'll dance, shake hands and sing,  
We have our Laws,   
God bless the King.  
Iz. Walton.   

To my worthy Friend Mr. Alex. Brome.  

WIne ne'er to run more clear through quill was, made  
Then through thine is the praise of it conveyed;  
And as by Xeuxis grapes so painted were,  
That even birds to peck at them drew near;  
So, who thy lively Poems see, will think  
That as they read of Grapes the juice, they drink:  
Thou dost not treat us with short Epigrams,  
Like Usurer's glasses, only holding drams;  
But in thy Songs thy wit is copious found,  
As Wine in Conduits when a King is crowned.  
There strength of fancy, to it sweetness joins,  
Unmixed with water, nor st●m'd with strong lines.  
The lover who in many a frosty night,  
Did Serenade, his Mistress out of sight,  
And to his Gitthar songs most doleful howl  
In consort with the Bellman and the Owl,  
Now takes his Brimmer off, and to her flies,  
Singing thy Rhimes, and strait she is his prize.  
She doth no more her Rednosed lover scorn,  
But fairer thinks than blushes of the morn;  
And would have Hymen's torches lighted be  
By th' nose, that's a Linck-boy compared by thee.  
He tells her no part of a woman aught  
Unto Stars, Sun, globes, roses like be thought:  
But that th●se names which raise so high a pride,  
Are but to Taverns fit to be applied.  
A Country Parson i'th' Rumps reign did woe  
His auditory Honestly to do,  
And wear brave souls, which he enforced by those  
Thy songs only reformed by him to prose,  
Which he had heard at market over night:  
Thus do thy fancy's profit and delight.  
Carry the cause then for this man is black,  
That he may have from Vintner's Tithes of Sack;  
Wherein he will not crave so much, as did  
The Levite who some of his Parish bid;  
That sailed to Green-land that they should not fail  
Thence of their prey to bring him the tenth Whale.  
But to reward him higher, let him get  
Tithes of thy muse, and so be out of's debt.  
And now me thinks, while thou abroad dost show  
Thyself in print to the World's open view,  
From all that wear brave souls no voice doth stir,  
But welcome Sir, y'are kindly welcome Sir.  
Yet if the envious at thee do repine,  
They shall be but like flies drowned in thy Wine.   
C. W.   

To his dear friend Mr. Alex. Brome, upon the publishing his Poems.  

MY kind Affections will show forth thy wit,  
Although't be by a simple opposite;  
For thou preventest all Ingenuous pro●ms,  
Engrossing all the wit within thy Poems;  
But yet there's something left for me to do,  
Which would be folly if performed by you:  
And that's to praise●oth ●oth thee, and them, whose glory  
Shall reign with thy loyal Congratulatory  
And daring Speech, made in Clothworkers-Hall,  
Which overcame, and made the General,  
Who made us all, by making all his men,  
Rank as they were, to bring our Kings again,  
By being subject to our Lawful Prince,  
Whose damned Exile, made us Slaves ere since:  
And so confined thy fancy, that thy Fame  
(Till his return was) kept without a Name.  
Though thou hast been Libellish all these times,  
Against the changing Powers; yet some Crimes  
Thou didst conceal, which did thy prudence show,  
To keep their vices for their overthrow;  
Reserving still some strength as a redoubt,  
Fearing the Rumpish rear might face about;  
And made our Kings de facto, and of right  
In Charles the Second justly to unite;  
Who soon enlarged thy Muse, which free,  
Hath bound us to our Laws for liberty:  
To whom I do subscribe, (since our Commander,  
In name as good as is Great Alexander).   
Cham Steynings.   

To his Ingenious Friend Mr. A. B. upon his most excellent Poems.  

IN our late Chaos, when the giddy world  
Was to th' Abyss of cursed Rebellion hurled▪  
And its distempered Pilots did advance  
Nothing but dull and sordid Ignorance;  
When to be either learned, or witty, gave  
Occasion to make this or t'other slave:  
Then Atlas- like thou didst that world sustain,  
Destined to thrive by thy Poetick-brain.   

Divinity we there saw stifled, and  
The Law was only practised underhand:  
The Glory of our School eclipsed; a shade,  
No life, nor Beauty gave, but Horror had  
All Modes and Methods Ravished from our eye,  
To cancel Name of King and Loyalty;  
For each of which, thou mad'st a fit supply,  
As some instruct their Boys by Poesy.   

Nay Millions more had driven with that stream,  
Had not thy sense and light diverted them,  
Those who drooped in despair, had dropped away,  
But Thy Prophetic Numbers made them stay;  
And did re-animate their spirits here,  
Foretelling them their Sun would once uppear.   

Most of the younger Fry, that never saw  
A Crown or Gospel flourish with the Law,  
Had been depraved in soul, but that the Star  
(Thy Lines put forth) directed how and where  
They ought to worship, so they were kept free  
From the Time's guilt, others Apostasy.   

The puisne Law-wrights too may spare to look  
On this grave Sirs reports, or tother's Book  
For what's Authentic, but (at will) from thee,  
May fraught their Skulls with Law's Epitome:  
And henceforth we shall have them cease to Bawl  
Cook upon Littleton, but Brome on all.   

The Brethren of the Crowd throughout the Town,  
Who lost their time to keep't, were out of Tune  
More than their Instruments; as if their Arts  
Were merely but to play, not play their parts,  
Till furnished with a Song or two from you;  
Then they grew proud upon't, and wealthy too;  
Nor was't ill husbandry, or either's wrong,  
To give, or get their money for a Song.   

We find in every Science, Art, or Trade,  
Ambition some Competitors has made;  
But here THOU art particular, and like,  
For Poesy, as Painting was Vandyke.  
Such reputation hast thou gained, that when  
A piece of Wit has by some other Men  
Been richly clothed, and spoken; Hear their dooms,  
Upon our lives, 'Tis Alexander Brome's.  
But———   

As Pictures by their soils seem better dressed,  
I can but be, Thy Blackamoor at Best.   
Valentine Oldis.   

For his much honoured Friend Mr. Alexander Brome.  
Honoured Sir,  
YOur ingenious Letter which came to my hands long after its date, had sooner received an Answer, if my frequent absence, and many haesitations between Willingness and Inability to serve you, had not caused this respite. And now let me tell you my opinion; that, though Eulogies upon Authors are at no time necessary, yet I think them never more superfluous, than when Verses are commended with more Verses; which if they be better, disparage their Friend; if worse Themselves. We know it is against a Rule of Art to lay Metal upon Metal, and that Cook who besprinkles the borders of his dish with the same meat which it contains, will be thought rather to dawb then garnish it. I am sure it will be so here, with your curious entertainment, unto which the Reader must needs come with such an eager Appetite, as to reproach, or at least neglect, all that stands in his way. And I should much wonder why you would be such a Mezentius to yourself, as to bind my dead Muse to your own living one; but that I suppose, being secure of immortality, you are proof against all contagion. Had you laid this command upon me, when you favoured me with the perusal of your Book, those brisk and frolic airs might have so volatilised my thoughts, that it had been as easy for me to write, as for the beasts to dance when they heard Orpheus' Harp. But now you bid me be warm, when you have long since withdrawn the fire: and call me to a work unto which my pen is so much a stranger, that it is now many years since I made a verse in English. Believe it Sir, 'tis to me as great a Metamorphosis, as when a City was turned into a Bird, on a sudden, to lay by all that is solid and severe, and soar aloft in the airy ways of Fancy, led only by the tinkling of Rhymes, as Bees by the noise of a Candlestick: At present, I am sure, whilst business is much upon me, I am charmed against such transmutations. You that are a wonder yourself in this kind, would be less so, if any were like you; that can reconcile Poetry with Westminster-Hall, where nothing of a fine spinning (not so much as Cobwebs, they say) can have a place: that can swallow down the rank phrases of our Law, like so many heads of Garlic, next your heart in a morning; and before night breath forth soft and Jovial airs, surpassing the most captivated votaries of Love or Wine: these are tossed about like the Sibylls prophetic leaves, and at length you find them crowning every Feast, and dancing on the lips of every Lady. But for mine own part, if perhaps I have been found of late amongst our Academical Versifyers, it was but as Cleaveland's Presbyterian danced, only— in obedience to the Ordinance. For you must know, that Doctors appear in Verse, as old men sometimes have done in a Morris, not so much for ostentation of Ability, as for uncouthness of the sight, and to show how ready they are to be laughed at for his Majesty's service. And I could tell some who would censure me for levity, should they see me play the Poet in such good company as yours, who yet call upon me to do the same here, where I am to be dull by my place. In short Sir, if it be necessary that such a Champion as you should not come forth into the field without your Dwarf, I heartily wish I were able to serve you in that condition: However, give me leave I pray you to remain in downright Prose  
Sir, Your assured Friend and most humble Servant, H. T.   

POEMS.  


SONG I. Plain Dealing.  

1.  
WEll, well, 'tis true,  
I am now fallen in Love,  
And 'tis with You:  
And now I plainly see,  
While you're enthroned by me above,  
You all your arts and powers improve  
To Tyrant over me;  
And make my flames th'Incentives of your Scorn,  
While you rejoice, and feast your Eyes to see me thus forlorn.   

2.  
But yet be wise,  
And done't believe, that I  
Did think your Eyes  
More bright than Stars can be;  
Or that your Face Angels outvies  
In their Celestial Liveries  
'Twas all but poetry.  
I could have said as much by any She,  
You are not beauteous of yourself, but are made so by me.   

3.  
Though we, like Fools,  
Fathom the Earth and Sky,  
And drain the Schools  
For names t'express you by:  
Out-rant the loudest Hyperboles  
To dub the Saints, and Deities,  
By Cupid's Heraldry:  
We know you're Flesh and Blood as well as Men,  
And when we will can mortalize, and make you so again.   

4.  
Yet, since my Fate  
Has drawn me to this Sin,  
Which I did hate,  
I'll not my labour lose:  
But will love on, as I begin,  
To th' purpose, now my hand is in,  
‛ Spite of those Arts you use;  
And let you know, the World is not so bare,  
There's Things enough to love, besides such Toys as Ladies are.   

5.  
I'll love good Wine;  
I'll love my Book and Muse,  
Nay all the Nine;  
I'll Love my real Friend;  
I'll Love my Horse; and, could I choose  
One, that would not my Love abuse,  
To her my Heart should bend.  
I'll love all those, that laugh, and those, that sing;  
I'll love my Country, Prince, and Laws; and those, that love the King.    

SONG II. The Indifferent.  

1.  
MIstake me not, I am not of that mind  
To hate all woman kind;  
Nor can you so my patience vex;  
To make my Muse blaspheme your sex,  
Nor with my Satyrs by't you;  
Though there are some in your free- State.  
Some things in you, who'd Candidate,  
That he who is, or loves himself, must hate;  
Yet I'll not therefore slight you.  
For I'm a Schismatic in Love,  
And what makes most abhor it,  
In me does more affection move,  
And I love the better for it.   

2.  
I vow, I am so far from loving none,  
That I love every one;  
If fair I must, if brown she be,  
She's lovely, and for Sympathy,  
'Cause we're alike, I love her;  
If tall, she's proper; and if short,  
She's humble, and I love her for't:  
Small's pretty, fat is pleasant, every sort  
Some graceful good discover;  
If young, she's pliant to the sport;  
And if her visage carry  
Grey hairs and wrinkles, yet I'll court,  
And so turn Antiquary.   

3.  
Be her hair red, be her lips grey or blue,  
Or any other hue,  
Or has she but the ruins of a nose,  
Or but eye-sockets, I'll love those;  
Though scales, not skin, does cloth her,  
Though from her lungs, the scent that comes  
Does Rout her teeth out of their gums;  
I'll count all these for high Encominms,  
Nor will I therefore loathe her.  
There are no rules for beauty, but  
'Tis as our fancies make it:  
Be you but kind, I'll think you fair,  
And all for truth shall take it.    

SONG III. The Resolve.  

1.  
TEll me not of a face that's fair,  
Nor lip and cheek that's red,  
Nor of the tresses of her hair,  
Nor curls in order laid;  
Nor of a rare seraphic voice,  
That like an Angel sings;  
Though if I were to take my choice,  
I would have all these things▪  
But if thou wilt have me love  
And it must be a she,  
The only argument can move  
Is, that she will love me.   

2.  
The glories of your Ladies be  
But Metaphors of things;  
And but resemble what we see  
Each common object brings.  
Roses out-red their lips and cheeks,  
Lilies their whiteness slain:  
What fool is he that shadows seeks  
And may the substance gain?  
Then if thou'lt have me love a Lass  
Let it be one that's kind,  
Else I'm a servant to the glass  
That's with Canary lined.    

SONG IU. The Wary Wooer.  

1.  
FAith, you're mistaken, I'll not love  
That face that frowns on me,  
Though it be handsome, 't shall not move  
My centred soul that's far above  
The magic of a paint,  
That on a Devil writes a Saint:  
I hate your Pictures and Imagery.  
I'm no love- Sinon, nor will tamely now  
Lie swaddled in the trenches of your brow.   

2.  
Though you are witty what care I?  
My danger is the more;  
Nay should you boast of honesty,  
Woman gives all those names the Lie:  
In all you hardly can  
Write after that fair copy, Man▪  
And dabble in the steps we've gone before.  
We you admire, as we do parrots all  
Not speaking well, but that they speak ' at all.   

3.  
That Lass mine arms desire t'enfold,  
Born in the golden age,  
Guarded with Angels, but of Gold,  
She that's in such a shower enroled  
May tempt a Jove to be  
Guilty of Love's Idolatry,  
And make a pleasure of an Hermitage;  
Though their teeth are not, if their necks wear pea●▪  
A Kitchenwench is Consort for an Earl.   

4.  
'Tis money makes the man, you say,  
'T shall make the Woman too;  
When both are clad in like array  
December rivals youthful May:  
This rules the World, and this  
Perfection of both Sexes is;  
This Flora made a Goddess, so 'twill you:  
This makes us laugh, this makes us drink and sing;  
This makes the beggar trample o'er his King.    

SONG V. The Counsel.  

1.  
WHy's my friend so melancholy?  
Prithee why so sad, why so sad?  
Beauty's vain, and Love's a folly,  
Wealth and women make men mad.  
To him that has a heart that's jolly  
Nothing's grievous, Nothing's sad.  
Come, cheer up my La●.   

2.  
Does thy mistress seem to fly thee?  
Prithee don't repine, don't repine:  
If at first she does deny thee  
Of her love, deny her thine;  
She shows her coyness but to try thee,  
And will triumph if thou pine.  
Drown thy thoughts in wine.   

3.  
Try again, and done't give over,  
Ply her, she's thine own, she's thine own;  
Cowardice undoes a Lover  
They are Tyrants if you moan;  
If not thy self, nor love can move her,  
But she'll slight thee and be gone:  
Let her then alone.   

4.  
If thy courtship can't invite her,  
Nor to condescend, nor to bend;  
Thy only wisdom is to slight her,  
And her beauty discommend.  
Such a niceness will requite her;  
Yet if thy Love will not end,  
Love thy self and friend.    

SONG VI To his Mistress.  

1.  
LAdy you'll wonder when you see  
With those bright twins of eyes,  
These ragged lines that ●r●wle from me,  
And note the contrariety  
That both in them and in their Author lies:   

2.  
I that came hither with a breast  
Coated with Male about;  
Proof 'gainst your beauty, and the rest,  
And had no room for Love to nest,  
Where reason lodged within, and love kept out.   

3.  
My thoughts turned like the needle, about,  
Touched by Magnetic love:  
And fain would find some North-pole out,  
But wavered 'twixt desire and doubt;  
Till now they're fixed, and point to you above.   

4.  
Lend me one Ray, and do but shine  
Upon my verse, and me;  
Your beauty can enrich a line,  
And so you'll make 'em yours, not mine;  
Since there's no Helicon like love and thee.    

SONG. VII. To his Mistress.  

1.  
WHy dost thou frown my dear, on me?  
Come change that angry face.  
What though I kissed that Prodigy,  
And did her ugly limbs embrace?  
'Twas only 'cause thou wert in place.   

2.  
Had I sucked poison from her breath,  
One kiss could set me free:  
Thy lip's an Antidote 'gainst Death;  
Nor would I ever wish to be  
Cured of a sickness but by thee.   

3.  
The little birds for dirt repair  
Down from the purer sky,  
And shall not I kiss foul and fair?  
Wilt thou give Birds more power than I?  
Fie, 'tis a scrupulous nicety.   

4.  
When all the World I've ranged about,  
All beauties else to spy,  
And, at the last, can find none out,  
Equal to thee in beauty; I  
Will make thee my sole Deity.    

SONG VIII. The hard Heart.  

1.  
STill so hardhearted? what may be  
The sin thou hast committed?  
That now the angry Deity  
Has to a Rock congealed thee,  
And thus thy hardness fitted?  
To make one act both sin and curse,  
And plague thy hardness with a worse.   

2.  
Till thee there never was but one  
Was to a Rock translated,  
Poor Niobe that weeping stone:  
She ever did, thou ne'er dost moan,  
Nor is thy scorn abated.  
The tears I send to thee are grown  
Of that same nature, and turn stone.   

3.  
Yet I, dear Rock, must worship thee,  
Love works this superstition,  
And justifies the Idolatry  
That's shown to such a stone as thee,  
Where it foreruns fruition.  
thou'rt so magnetic, that I can  
No more leave thee, than to be Man.   

4.  
But thou, I warrant thee, dost suppose  
This new design will slay me,  
And r●vel out my life with woes  
Till death, at last, mine eyes shall close;  
Then in thy breast thou'lt lay me,  
That all may read, lo here I lie  
T 〈…〉 bed in thy heart, slain by thine eye.   

5.  
But I, I vow, will be more wise,  
And love with such discretion;  
When I read coyness in thy eyes,  
I'll robe mine with like cruelties,  
And kill with prepossession.  
Then I'll turn stone, and so will be  
An endless monument to thee.    

SONG. IX. Love's Anarchy.  

1.  
LOve, I must tell thee, I'll no longer be  
A Victim to thy beardless Deity:  
Nor shall this heart of mine,  
Now 'tis returned,  
Be offered at thy shrine,  
Or at thine Altar burned▪  
Love, like Religion's made an airy name,  
To awe those souls whom want of wit makes tame.   

2.  
There's no such thing as Quiver, Shafts, or Bow,  
Nor does Love wound, but men imagine so.  
Or if it does perplex  
And grieve the mind,  
'Tis the poor masculine Sex:  
Women no sorrows find.  
'Tis not our persons, nor our parts, can move 'em,  
Nor is't men's worth, but wealth, makes Lady's love 'um.   

3.  
Reason henceforth, not love, shall be my guide,  
My fellow-creatures shan't be Deisied;  
I'll now rebel be,  
And so pull down  
That Distaff-Monarchy,  
And Females fancied crown.  
In these unbridled times who would not strive  
To free his neck from all prerogative?    

SONG X. The Libertine.  

1.  
Persuade me not, I vow I'll love no more,  
My heart has now ta'en quarter;  
My fetters I'll no more adore,  
Nor madly run, as heretofore,  
To break my freedoms Charter:  
He, that once fails, may try again;  
But who so often fooled has been,  
And still attempts, commits a triple sin:  
He's his own humours Martyr.  
I'll use my liberty to run  
Abroad, and still be choosing:  
Who would confine himself to one  
That has power of refusing?   

2.  
The unconfined Bee, we see, has power,  
To kiss and feel each flower;  
Nor is his pleasure limited  
To th' ruins of one maidenhead,  
Nor tied to ones embraces:  
But having's will of one, he'll fly  
T'another, and there load his thigh.  
Why should he have more privilege than I?  
Since both our amorous cases  
Differ in this alone; his thighs,  
When he abroad doth room,  
Loaden with spoils return, But mine  
Come weak and empty home.   

3.  
The self same beauty that I've often sworn  
Dwelled only in my dearest,  
I see by other Ladies worn,  
Whom the same Graces do adorn:  
I like that face that's nearest.  
This I salute, and walk with that;  
With this I sing, with t'other chat,  
I've none to Catechise me where? or what?  
Nor will be tied t' a Querist.  
Thus out of all, Pygmalion like,  
My fancy limns a woman;  
To her I freely sacrifice,  
And rivalled am by no man.    

SONG. XI. The Contrary.  

1.  
NAy prithee do, be coy and slight me,  
I must love, though thou abhor it,  
This pretty niceness does invite me:  
Scorn me, and I'll love thee for it.  
That World of beauty that is in you,  
I'll overcome like Alexander.  
In amorous flames I can continue  
Unsinged, and prove a Salamander.   

2.  
Do not be won too soon I prithee,  
But let me woe, whilst thou dost fly me.  
'Tis my delight to dally with thee,  
I'll court thee still if thou'●t deny me:  
For there's no happiness but loving,  
Enjoyment makes our pleasures ●lat;  
Give me the heart that's always moving,  
And's not confined t' one, you know what.   

3.  
I've fresh supplies on all occasions,  
Of thoughts, as Various as your face is,  
No Directory for evasions,  
Nor will I court by common-places.  
My heart's with Antidotes provided,  
Nor will I die die you frown on me;  
I'm merry when I am derided,  
When you laugh at me, or upon me.   

4.  
'Tis fancy that creates those pleasures  
That have no being but conceited;  
And when we come to dig those treasures,  
We see ourselves our selves have cheated:  
But if th'ar● minded to destroy me,  
Then love me much, and love me ever,  
I'll love thee more, and that may slay me,  
So I●hy ●hy Martyr am, or never.    

SONG XII. The Young Lover.  

1.  
TUsh! never tell me, I'm too young  
For loving, or too Green,  
She stays at least seven years too long  
That's wedded at fourteen.  
Age and Discretion fit  
Grave Matrons, whose desires and youths are past.  
Love needs not, nor has wit.  
They in whose youthful breast dwells nought but frost  
Can only mourn the days, and joys, they've lost.   

2.  
Lambs bring forth Lambs, and Doves bring Doves  
As soon as they're begotten:  
Then why should Ladies linger loves,  
As if not ripe till rotten.  
'Tis envious age persuades  
This tedious heresy for men to ●oe  
Stale Nymphs and Vestal maids,  
While they in modesty must answer No.  
Late Love, like late Repentance, seldom's true.   

3.  
Grey hairs are fitter for the Grave  
Than for the bridal bed;  
What pleasure can a lover have  
In a withered Maidenhead?  
Dry bones and rotten limbs  
Make Hymen's Temple turn an Hospital:  
Age all our beauty dims.  
Though Lands must not till one and twenty fall,  
The laws to love prescribe no time at all.   

4.  
Nature's exalted in our time;  
And what our Grandames then  
At four and twenty scarce could climb,  
We can arrive at ten.  
Youth of itself doth bring us  
Provocatives within, and we do scorn  
Love-powders and Eringoes.  
Cupid himself's a child, and 'twill be sworn,  
Lovers like Poets, are not made, but born.    

SONG XIII. To his Mistress.  

1.  
MY Theodora, can those eyes  
From whence such glories shine,  
Give light to every soul that pries,  
And only be obscured to mine,  
Who willingly my heart resign,  
Inflamed by you, to be your sacrifice?   

2.  
Send out one beam t'enrich my soul,  
And chase this gloomy shade,  
That does in clouds about me roll,  
And in my breast a hell has made;  
Where fire still burns, still flames invade.  
And yet lights power and comfort both control.   

3.  
Then, out of gratitude, I'll send  
Some of my flames to thee,  
Thus lovingly our gifts we'll blend;  
And both in joys shall wealthy be:  
And love, though blind, shall learn to see,  
Since you an eye to him and me can lend.    

SONG XIII. To a Widow.  

1.  
NAy, dry (for shame) those blubbered eye●,  
And cease to sigh that breath away,  
Fates are not moved with tears and cries,  
Nor formal sighs as vain as they,  
Joys are not joys, that always stay,  
And constant pleasures don't delight but cloy.   

2.  
Though he be gone, that was your dear,  
Must you for ever mourn and pine  
The Sun that's buried the last Year,  
Does now in newer glory shine.  
Your Nuptial joys and pleasures be  
Not dead, but only inherited by me,   

3.  
Hymen's an Artist, and can do  
The next time better than before,  
Giants great heights can reach unto,  
But on their shoulders dwarves reach more.  
Men more refined do daily grow,  
The nearer to Divinity they go.   

4.  
Then don't (my dear) thy heart confine,  
To one whose being's past away,  
And make me with desires, to pine,  
Whilst he must glut, that can't enjoy.  
Love's stifled, when it is confined,  
To this or that; it's object is mankind.    

SONG XV. To his Friend that had vowed Small-Beer.  

1.  
LEave off fond Hermit, leave thy vow,  
And fall again to drinking  
That beauty that won't sack allow,  
Is hardly worth thy thinking,  
Dry love, or small, can never hold,  
And without Bacchus, Venus soon grows cold.   

2.  
Dost think by turning Anchorite;  
Or a dull Small-Beer sinner.  
Thy cold embraces can invite,  
Or sprightless Courtship win her?  
No, 'tis Canary that inspires,  
'Tis Sack, like Oil, gives Flames to amorous Fires.   

3.  
This makes thee chant thy Mistress name,  
And to the heavens to raise her;  
And range this universal frame  
For Epithets to praise her.  
Low liquors render brains unwitty,  
And ne'er provoke to love, but move to pity.   

4.  
Then be thyself, and take thy Glass,  
Leave off this dry Devotion,  
Thou must like Neptune court thy lass,  
Wallowing in Nectar's Ocean,  
Let's offer at each Lady's shrine,  
A full crowned bowl, first here's a health to thine.    

SONG. XVI. On Claret.  

1.  
WIthin this bottle's to be seen,  
A scarlet liquor that has been  
Born of the royal vine;  
We but nickname it when we call  
It Gods drink, who drink none at all,  
No higher name than Wine   

2.  
'Tis Lady's liquor: here one might  
Feast both his eye and appetite,  
With beauty and with taste,  
Cherries and Roses which you seek.  
Upon your Mistress lip and che●k  
Are here together plac'●.   

3.  
Physicians may prescribe their whey  
To purge our Reins and Brains away,  
And clarify the Blood;  
That cures one sickness with another,  
This routs by wholesale altogether,  
And drowns them in a flood.   

4.  
This Poets makes, else how could I  
Thus ramble into Poetry,  
Nay and write Sonnets too;  
If there's such power in junior wines,  
To make one venture upon lines  
What could Canary do?   

5.  
Then squeeze the vessels bowels out  
And deal it faithfully about,  
Crown each hand with a brimmer;  
Since we're to pass through this red Sea,  
Our noses shall our Pilots be  
And every soul a swimmer.    

SONG XVII. A Mock-Song.  

1.  
'TIs true, I never was in love:  
But now I mean to be,  
For there's no art  
Can shield a heart  
From love's Supremacy.   

2.  
Though in my nonage I have seen  
A world of taking faces;  
I had not age nor wit to ken  
Their several hidden graces.   

3.  
Those virtues which though thinly set,  
In others are admired,  
In thee are altogether met,  
Which make thee so desired.   

4.  
That though I never was in Love  
Nor never meant to be  
Thyself and parts  
Above my arts  
Have drawn my heart to thee.    

SONG XVIII. Reasons of Love.  

1.  
Prithee, why dost thou love me so?  
Or is it but in show?  
What is there that your thoughts can pick about me?  
If beauty in my face you view,  
'Twas ne'er writ there unless by you,  
I little find within, nor you without me.   

2.  
I han't the Rhetoric of the foot:  
Nor lean long leg to boot,  
Nor can I court with congees, trips, and dances;  
I seldom sing, or if I do,  
You'll scarce tell whenever I sing or no,  
I can't endure Love-stories and Romances.   

3.  
I neither know, nor love to play  
And fool my time away;  
Nor talk in Dialects to please your fancy:  
Nor carve the Capon or the Quail,  
But hue it through from head to tail,  
A compliment to me is Negromancy.   

4.  
I boast not of a pedigree,  
That Lords or Lordlings be,  
Nor do I lace my name with Grandsire's story,  
Nor will I take the pains to look  
For a fools coat i'th' Herald's book,  
My fame's mine own, no monumental glory.   

5.  
I am not fashioned of the mode,  
Nor rant i'th' Gallants road,  
Nor in my habit do observe decorum:  
Perfumes shall not my breath belie,  
Nor clothes my body glorify,  
They shall derive their honour, 'cause I wore 'em,   

6.  
No frizling nor scarce locks, and yet  
Perhaps more hair than wit:  
Nor shall Sweet-powders vanity delight you;  
Though my hairs little, I'll not carry  
A wig for an Auxiliary.  
If my locks can't, another's shan't invite you▪   

7.  
And which is worse, I cannot woo  
With Gold as others do,  
Nor bait your love with Lordships, Lands, and Towers▪  
Just so much money I have by,  
As serves to spoil my poetry,  
Not to expose me to the higher powers.   

8.  
Nay you shan't make a fool of me,  
Though I no Statist be,  
Nor shall I be so valiant to fight for ye,  
I han't the patience to court,  
Nor did I ere do't, but in sport,  
I won't run mad for love, nor yet go marry.   

9  
And yet I know some cause does move,  
Though it be not pure love  
'Tis for your honour's sake that you affect me;  
For well you know, she that's my Lass,  
Is canonised in every glass,  
And her health's drunk, by all that do respect me.   

10.  
Then love thou on, I'll tipple till  
Both of us have our fill,  
And so thy name shall never be forgotten;  
I'll make thee Helen's fame survive,  
Though she be dead and thou alive,  
For though thou'rt not so old, thy heart's as rotten.    

SONG XIX. Epithalamy.  

1.  
NAy fie, Platonics still adoring,  
The fond Chimeras of your brain?  
Still on that empty nothing poring?  
And only follow what you feign?  
Live in your humour, 'tis a curse  
So bad, 'twere pity wish a worse.  
We'll banish such conceits as those,  
Since he that has enjoyment knows,  
More bliss, than Plato could suppose.   

2.  
Cashiered wooers, whose low merit  
Could ne'er arrive at nuptial bliss,  
Turn Schismatics in love, whose spirit  
Would have none hit 'cause they do miss.  
But those reproaches that they vent  
Do only blaze their discontent.  
Condemned men's words no truth can show,  
And Hunters when they prove too slow,  
Cry Hares are dry meat, let 'em go.   

3.  
Th' enamoured youth, whose flaming breast  
Makes Goddesses and Angels all;  
In's contemplation finds no rest,  
For all his joys are sceptical,  
At his fruition flings away  
His Cloris and his Welladay,  
And gladly joins to fill our Quire.  
Who to such happiness aspire  
As all must envy or admire.    

SONG XX. An Ode of Anacreon paraphrased.  
Beauty's force.  

I Wonder why Dame Nature thus  
Her various gifts dispenses;  
She every creature else but us  
With arms, or armour fences.  
The Bull with bended horns she arms;  
With hoofs she guards the Horse;  
The Hare can nimbly run from harms,  
All know the Lion's force.   

2.  
The Bird can danger fly on's wing,  
She Fish with fins adorns,  
The Cuckold too, that harmless thing,  
His patience guards, and's horns.  
And Men she valiant makes and wise,  
To shun or baffle harms;  
But to poor Women she denies  
Armour to give, or arms.   

3.  
Instead of all, this she does do;  
Our Beauty she bestows,  
Which serves for arms and armour too,  
'Gainst all our powerful Foes,  
And 'tis no matter, so she doth  
Still beauteous faces yield  
we'll conquer sword and fire, for both  
To beauty leave the field.    

SONG XXI. Love's without Reason.  

1.  
'TIs not my Lady's face that makes me love her,  
Though beauty there doth rest,  
Enough t' inflame the breast  
Of one, that never did discover  
The glories of a face before;  
But I that have seen thousands more  
See nought in hers, but what in others are,  
Only because I think she's fair, she's fair.   

2.  
'Tis not her virtues, nor those vast perfections,  
That crowd together in her,  
Engage my soul to win her,  
For those are only brief Collections,  
Of what's in man in folio writ;  
Which by their imitative wit  
Women like Apes and Children strive to do;  
But we that have the substance slight the show.   

3.  
'Tis not her birth, her friends, nor yet her treasure,  
My freeborn soul can hold;  
For chains are chains though gold;  
Nor do I court her for my pleasure,  
Nor for that old Morality  
Do I love her, 'cause she loves me?  
For that's no love, but gratitude, and all  
Loves that from fortunes rise, with fortune's fall.   

4.  
If friends, or birth, created love within me,  
Than Princes I'll adore,  
And only scorn the poor,  
If virtue or good parts could win me,  
I'll turn Platonic, and ne'er vex  
My soul with difference of sex,  
And he that loves his Lady 'cause she's fair,  
Delights his eye, so loves himself, not her.   

5.  
Reason and Wisdom are to love high treason,  
Nor can he truly love,  
Whose flame's not far above,  
And far beyond his wit or reason,  
Then ask no reason for my fires,  
For infinite are my desires.  
Something there is moves me to love, and I  
Do know I love, but know not how, nor why.    

SONG XXII. The Damosel.  

1.  
SInce Women are still,  
By-pretenders to skill,  
Supposed to be swayed by their will,  
And not by their judgement nor reason,  
Than it shall be mine,  
To uphold the design,  
In spite of the hits  
Of the fellows called Wits,  
That jeer every thing that's in season.   

2.  
Though youthful I be,  
And buxom to see,  
And supposed to be frolic and free,  
And ripe for the thing you wot on,  
I'll not sacrificed be  
To the Gingerbread he,  
Whose clothes are in print  
And his hair has butter in't  
And his fancies and whimsies has got on.   

3.  
For the Youth in their bud,  
That do sail in the 'slud,  
Of their active and flaming blood,  
Like furious undertakers;  
Are fiery at first,  
But have soon done their worst,  
Then they shrink their heads in,  
And care not a pin  
For the sport, nor yet the sport-makers.   

4.  
But give me that he  
That is threescore and three  
And can neither hear, smell, or see,  
He will serve well enough for a cover;  
He will tickle, and touch,  
Though his strength be not much,  
He can't do, but desire,  
And that kindles his fire,  
While he father's the sports of a lover.   

5.  
O the tooth without peers!  
And the silver hairs!  
And the gouts, and the coughs of old years!  
I would have such an one for the nonce;  
I can Chronicles find,  
In his limbs, and his mind,  
While his face tells the story  
Of memento mori,  
With an Almanac in his bones.    

SONG XXIII. A Dialogue.  

1.  

Amoretta.  
O For the balmy coral of a lip!  
Where I with kissing Chemistry may sip.  
Castalian quaffs of Nectar to delight me,  
And every kiss may to a new invite me.   

Oenophil.  
Give me a bowl wherein I'll tumble Bacchus,  
To bathe our souls, we'll drink till Sack doth crack us   

Midas.  
But let my chests groan with the gilded oar,  
Where having much is prologue unto more.   

Oenophil.  
Who dotes on beauty, fancies but a toy.   

Midas.  
Who Wine adores, does overwhelm his joy.   

Oenophil.  
And he that gapes for gaudy dirt or treasure,  
Still feels desires, but no content nor pleasure.   

Chorus.  
Then let's unite our desires, but let reason be our guide,  
What in each is not found, in all swells like a tide.    

2.  

Amoretta.  
A beauteous face can a young fancy raise,  
And myrtle glorifies, as well as Bays.  
Love, like the soul, informs the flesh that's stupid,  
Nor can Apollo more inspire than Cupid.   

Oenophil.  
Where full-fraught cups, with sprightly liquors flow, it  
Unwraps your brain, and makes each wight a Poet.   

Midas.  
Where boundless treasure reigns 'twil raise the soul,  
And wit and love both conquer and control.   

Amoretta.  
Still give me love, give me my lovely lass.   

Oenophil.  
I'll count no other mistress, but the glass.   

Midas.  
But give me chink, nor love, nor wit shall plague us.  
For Po and Hippocrene both vail to Tagus.   

Chorus.  
Then let's unite our desires, but let reason be our guide  
What in each is not found in all swells like a tide.     

SONG XXIV. To his Mistress affrighted in the wars.  

1.  
COme sigh no more, but kiss again,  
These troubles shall never trouble me;  
Your sighs are but wind, and your sorrows vain;  
They'll never the sooner for us agree.  
Let Canons keep roaring  
And bullets still fly,  
While I am adoring  
Thee, my deity.  
Hang this wealth! let money flee,  
They cannot undo me, while I have thee.   

2.  
I'll be thy Champion to defend  
Thy person from all these dangers and harms;  
No Army's so sure as a real friend,  
Nor Castle defends like a lover's arms.  
But if I can't daunt 'em,  
By valour and might,  
Your face shall enchant 'em,  
For beauty can fight.  
There's no armour can men free  
From the naked power of such beauties as thee.   

3.  
I Venus serve, a fig for Mars,  
Loves arrows may wound, but never kill me;  
Me thinks there's no pleasure in bloody wars,  
But I long to be wounded and taken by thee?  
When our bullets are kisses,  
And our field is a bed,  
And the top of our bliss is  
A pure maidenhead.  
Both will strive to lose the day,  
And both shall be conquered, yet not run away.    

SONG XXV. Upon the Cavaliers departing out of London.  

1.  
NOw fare thee well London,  
Thou next must be undone,  
'Cause thou hast undone us before;  
This cause and this tyrant,  
Had never played this high rant,  
Were't not for thy Argent and Or.   

2.  
Now we must desert thee,  
With the lines that begird thee,  
And the red-coated Saints Domineer,  
Who with liberty fool thee,  
While a Monster doth rule thee,  
And thou feelest what before thou didst fear:   

3.  
Now justice and freedom  
With the laws that did breed 'em,  
Are sent to Jamaica for gold,  
And those that upheld 'em,  
Have power but seldom,  
For justice is bartered and sold.   

4.  
Now the Christian Religion  
Must seek a new Region,  
And the old Saints give way to the new;  
And we that are loyal  
Veil to those that destroy all,  
When the Christian gives place to the Jew.   

5.  
But this is our glory  
In this wretched story,  
Calamities fall on the best;  
And those that destroy us  
Do better employ us,  
To sing till they are suppressed.    

SONG XXVI. On the fall of the Prices of Wine.  

1.  
NOw our thanks to our powers above us,  
And to him that above them doth sit,  
Who to show how entirely they love us,  
Have found out the way  
To repair the decay  
Of the famished and foundered Wit,  
And new drench the Poetical Tit.   

Chorus.  
Welcome desired August to us  
Thou Comfort and delight dost give us  
'Twas November did undo us,  
But 'tis August does relieve us.   

2.  
Give's a rousing beer-glass of Canary,  
The half-pint and thimble's our foe;  
We will be no more tributary  
To the Spaniards pride,  
Nor make Vintners ride,  
When we are not able to go,  
Or dare not our faces to show.   
Chorus, etc.  

3.  
We defy now the Malter and Hopper,  
Whose Pride would have made us surmise,  
Our Helicon lay in his Copper;  
And He'll sell wit and art,  
At three half pence a quart;  
And with that he would make us so wise,  
To be able to cheat the Excise.   
Chorus, etc.  

4.  
Let us venture to take the Canaries,  
And then we'll make Sack of our own;  
For he that those Islands carries,  
Wins the Indies to boot,  
And all Spain added to't;  
The Turk and the Pope we'll not own,  
But rule the whole World alone.   
Chorus, etc.  

5.  
'Tis the means and the end of our study,  
It does make our invention o'erflow  
While the channel of ale makes it muddy  
A Mayor or a Knight  
By bunches may write,  
If his theme be the grape, and by it  
Be esteemed a Divine and a wit.   
Chorus, etc.   

SONG XXVII. The Old Man's Delight.  By R. B. 

HO boy, hay boy,  
Come come away boy,  
And bring me my longing desire,  
A Lass that is neat,  
And can well do the feat,  
When lusty young blood is on fire.   

Let her body be tall,  
And her waist be small,  
And her age not above eighteen,  
Let her care for no bed,  
But here let her spread  
Her mantle upon the green.   

Let her face be fair,  
And her breasts be bare.  
And a voice let her have that can warble,  
Let her belly be soft,  
But to mount me aloft,  
Let her bounding buttocks be marble.   

The Addition by A. B.  

Let her have a cherry lip  
Where I Nectar may sip;  
Let her eyes be as black as a slow;  
Dangling locks I do love,  
So that those hang above,  
Are the same with what grows below.   

Oh such a bonny Lass  
May bring wonders to pass,  
And make me grow younger and younger;  
And when ere we do part,  
She'll be mad at the heart,  
That I'm able to tarry no longer.     

SONG XXVIII. HE Dialogue translated.  
Q. WHat made Venus strike her Son?  
A. 'Cause he loft his bow and quiver.  
Q. Where is his bow and quiver gone?  
A. To my Mistress without doubt.  
Q. Prithee how came that about?  
A. She did but ask, and he did give her;  
For being blind, he easily ers,  
And knew not his Mother's face from hers.  

Chorus.  
Oh blame him not for what he did do;  
Which of us all would not err so too?    

SONG XXIX. Out of Catallus.  

1.  
MY Lesbian, let us live and love,  
Let crabbed Age talk what it will.  
The Sun when down, returns above,  
But we, once dead, must be so still.   

2.  
Kiss me a thousand times, and then  
Give me a hundred kisses more,  
Now kiss a thousand times again,  
Then t'other hundred as before.   

3.  
Come a third thousand, and to those  
Another hundred kisses fix;  
That done, to make the sweeter close,  
we'll millions of kisses mix.   

4.  
And huddle them together so,  
That we ourselves shan't know how many,  
And others can't their number know,  
If we should envied be by any.   

5.  
And then, when we have done all this,  
That our pleasures may remain,  
we'll continue on our bliss,  
By unkissing all again.   

6.  
Thus we'll love, and thus we'll live,  
While our posting minutes fly,  
we'll have no time to vex or grieve,  
But kiss and unkiss till we die.    

SONG XXX. The Attempt.  

WHy should I blush or be dismayed,  
To tell you I adore you?  
Since Love's a power, that can't be stayed,  
But must by all be once obeyed,  
And you as well as those before you.  
Your beauty hath enchained my mind,  
O let me not then cruel find.  
You which are fair, and therefore should be kind.   

2.  
Fair as the light, pure as the Ray,  
That in the gray-eyed morning  
Leaps forth, and propagates a day:  
Those glories which in others stray  
Meet all in you for your adorning.  
Since nature built that goodly frame,  
And Virtue has inspired the same,  
Let love draw yours to meet my raging flame.   

3.  
Joy of my soul, the only thing,  
That's my delight and glory,  
From you alone my love does spring,  
If one love may another bring,  
'Twill crown our happy story.  
Those fires I burn withal are pure  
And Noble, yet too strong t'endure;  
'Twas you did wound, 'tis you that ought to cure.    

SONG XXXI. To a Lady that turned her Cheek.  

1.  
ANd why this coyness, Lady mine?  
What needs all this ado?  
'Tis but a swap, my lips for thine,  
A gentle touch, and go.  
Nay let such kisses still be kept,  
Let him that is denied  
Your lip, and will your cheek accept,  
Lie only by your side.   

2.  
I hate to kiss your drugs and foils,  
'Tis flesh that I affect,  
And you whose art your nature spoils,  
I like not, but suspect.  
Pray why's your mouth more shy than mine?  
Amed I as sound as you're?  
My lips let in as much good wine,  
And send out words as pure.   

3.  
Expect no courtship more from me,  
Nor words, that you, and I  
May in our judgements plainly see,  
Make but a ranting lie:  
Leave these coy humours and be plain:  
Deny, or else be free,  
Look not for love, w'thout love again,  
I'll kiss, if you'll kiss me.    

SONG XXXII. Practic Love.  

1.  
PRithee Caelia tell me, why  
Thou fool'st away thy precious hours,  
Beauty fades, and youth doth fly,  
There's no trust to futurity.  
Time presents only in our powers.  
She that her present joys doth deser,  
Would love at the last, when none will love her,  
And so proves her own Idolater,   

2.  
Either love or say you will not,  
For love or scorn's all one to me,  
Diversion's pleasant, though it fill not;  
Denials vex us, but they kill not,  
We're murdered by credulity,  
O 'tis a Tyranny still to invite,  
The mind, and enrage it with feigned delight,  
To raise, and then baffle the appetite.   

3.  
If you'd let me be but quiet,  
Not see your face, nor hear your name?  
Though I can't conquer love. I'd fly it,  
For absence, business, friends, or diet,  
Would quench or else divert my flame:  
But you're so imperious grown, and so cruel,  
'Cause you see that my heart is combustible, you will  
Not put out the fire, but still put in fuel.   

4.  
'Twas not your face, nor yet my eye,  
That this devouring flame begot,  
If either did alone, pray why  
Did you not kill, and I not die  
Then when we knew each other not?  
'Twas their constellation was my undoing,  
You by being beauteous, and I by viewing  
Paid in contribution to my own ruin.   

5.  
Come then let's love now while we may,  
And let me know what I may trust to,  
Desires are murdered by delay,  
Our youth and marrow will decay,  
And Love, for want of use, will rust too.  
This kissing and courting not any thing spells,  
In spite of the story the Platonist tells,  
If it were not in order to something else.    

SONG XXXIII. Translated out of French.  

1.  
NOw I'm resolved to love no more,  
But sleep by Night, and drink by day:  
Your coyness, Cloris, pray give o'er,  
And turn your tempting eyes away.  
From Ladies I'll withdraw my heart  
And fix it only on the Quart.   

2.  
I'll place no happiness of mine  
A puling beauty still to court  
And say she's glorious and divine,  
The Vintner makes the better sport.  
And when I say my Dear, my Heart;  
I only mean it to the Quart.   

3.  
Love has no more prerogative,  
To make me desperate courses take,  
Nor me t'an Hermitage shall drive,  
I'll all my vows to th' goblet make  
And if I wear a Capuchoones  
It shall a Tankard be or none.   
Added.  

4.  
'Tis Wine alone that cheers the soul,  
But love and Ladies make us sad;  
I'm merry when I court the bowl,  
While he that courts the Madam's mad,  
Then Ladies wonder not at me,  
For you are coy, but wine is free.    

SONG XXXIV. Translated out of French.  

1.  
CLymena still complains of me  
And I of her complain too.  
But would you know the cause, why we  
This quarrel did attain to.  
'Tis 'cause I am not true says she,  
And I say that again too.   

2.  
I cannot choose but wonder why  
This lovely Toy doth blame me,  
If my heart wears inconstancy;  
It is but what became me.  
Since she was fickle, why not I?  
I'm but as she did frame me.   

3.  
Time was I thought our flames of love,  
Would turn for ever brighter;  
But when she did so faithless prove,  
I vowed I would requite her,  
I quickly did my flames remove,  
And now for ever slight her.    

SONG XXXV. To a Painted Lady.  

1.  
LEave these deluding tricks and shows,  
Be honest and downright;  
What Nature did to view expose,  
Don't you keep out of sight.  
The novice youth may chance admire,  
Your dress, paints and spells:  
But we that are expert desire  
Your sex for somewhat else.   

2.  
In your adored face and hair,  
What virtue could you find,  
If Women were like Angels fair,  
And every man were blind?  
You need no pains or time to waste  
To set your beauties forth,  
With oils, and paint, and drugs, that cost  
More than the face is worth.   

3.  
Nature herself, her own work does  
And hates all needless arts,  
And all your artificial shows  
Disgrace your Natural parts.  
You're flesh and blood, and so are we,  
Let flesh and blood alone,  
To Love all compounds hateful be,  
Give me the pure, or none.    

SONG XXXVI. To a coy Lady.  

1.  
I Prithee leave this peevish fashion,  
Don't desire to be high-prized,  
Love's a Princely noble passion,  
And doth scorn to be despised.  
Though we say you're fair, you know,  
We your beauty do bestow,  
For our fancy makes you so.   

2.  
Don't be proud 'cause we adore you,  
We do't only for our pleasure,  
And those parts in which you glory,  
We by fancy weigh and measure.  
When for Deities you go,  
For Angels, or for Queens, pray know,  
'Tis our fancy makes you so.   

3.  
Don't suppose your Majesty  
By Tyranny's best signified,  
And your Angellick natures be.  
Distinguished only by your pride.  
Tyrant's make Subjects rebels grow,  
And pride makes Angels Dev'ls below,  
And your pride may make you so.    

SONG XXXVII. The Recovery.  

1.  
HOw unconcerned I can now  
Behold that face of thine!  
The Graces and the dresses too,  
Which both conspired to make thee shine,  
And made me think thou wert divine.   

2.  
And yet me thinks thou'rt wondrous fair,  
But I have no desires,  
Those Glories in thy face that are,  
Kindled not in my heart those fires,  
For that remains, though this expires.   

3.  
Nor was't my eyes that had such power  
To burn myself and you,  
For than they'd every thing devour,  
But I do several others view,  
Unsinged, and so don't think it true.   

4.  
Nay both together could not do't,  
Else we had died ere this,  
Without some higher power to boot,  
Which must rule both, if either miss,  
All tother to no purpose is.   

5.  
It puzzles my Philosophy,  
To find wherein consists  
This power of love, and tyranny,  
Or in a Lover's eye, or breast  
Be't where it will, there let it rest.    

SONG XXXVIII. Advice to Caelia.  

1.  
MY lovely Caelia, while thou dost enjoy  
Beauty and youth, be sure to use 'um,  
And be not fickle, be not coy,  
Thyself or Lovers to destroy.  
Since all those Lilies and those Roses,  
Which Lovers find, or love supposes,  
To flourish in thy face,  
Will tarry but a little space;  
And youth and beauty are but only lent  
To you by nature, with this good intent,  
You should enjoy, but not abuse 'em,  
And when enjoyments may be had, not fond to refuse 'um.   

2.  
Let lovers flattery ne'er prevail with thee;  
Nor their oiled compliments deceive thee,  
Their vows and protestations be  
Too often mere Hypocrisy:  
And those high praises of the witty  
May all be costly, but not fit ye,  
Or if it true should be  
Now what thy lovers say of thee,  
Sickness or age will quickly strip away  
Those fading glories of thy youthful May;  
And of thy graces all bereave thee;  
Then those that thee adored before will slight thee, and so leave thee.   

3.  
Then while thou'rt fair and yonng, be kind, but wise,  
dote not, nor proudly use denying;  
That tempting toy thy beauty lies  
Not in thy face, but lovers eyes.  
And he that dotes on thee may smother  
His love, i'th' beauty of another,  
Or flying at all game  
May quench, or else divert his flame.  
His reason too may chance to interpose,  
And love declines as fast as reason grows.  
There is a knack to find loves treasures  
Too young, too old, too nice, too free, too slow, destroys your pleasures.    

SONG XXXIX. The Mad Lover.  

I Have been in love, and in debt, and in drink  
This many and many a year;  
And those three are plagues enough one would think  
For one poor mortal to bear.  
'Twas drink made me fall into Love,  
And Love made me run into debt,  
And though I have struggled and struggled and strove,  
I cannot get out of them yet.  
There's nothing but money can cure me,  
And rid me of all my pain.  
'Twil pay all my debts,  
And remove all my lets,  
And my Mistress that cannot endure me,  
Will love me, and love me again,  
Then I'll fall to loving and drinking amain.    

SONG XL. The Murmurer.  

1.  
LEt's lay aside plotting and thinking,  
And meddling with matters of State,  
Since we have the freedom of drinking,  
'Tis a folly to scribble or prate.  
The great ones have nothing to think on,  
But how to make fools of the small;  
We Cavaliers suffer and drink on,  
And care not a louse for 'em all.   

2.  
We thought it was matter of danger  
To be Rebels against our Prince;  
But he that is not a mere stranger,  
May see it is otherwise since.  
'Tis only the petty Delinquent  
With whom the matter goes hard;  
Where ever much boldness and Chink went,  
There honour's bestowed and reward.   

3.  
To keep up a turbulent nature,  
And fear neither God nor the King;  
To be a significant Traitor,  
Is an advantageous thing.  
But since it has ever been so,  
And so it will ever be,  
Let it end as it did begin, so  
That it never do trouble me.    

SONG XLI. A Round.  

SIt round, sit round, leave musing and thinking,  
Hang caring and working, let's fall to our drinking;  
The works of our hands  
Shall purchase no lands,  
But in spite of all care we'll be frolic;  
He that does the glass skip,  
May he die of the pip,  
Or be lousy that none shall endure him;  
Or be plagued with the stone or the colic,  
And find ne'er a Surgeon to cure him.    

SONG. XLII. The Cavalier.  

WE have ventured our estates,  
And our liberties and lives,  
For our Master and his mates,  
And been tossed by cruel fates,  
Where the rebellious Devil drives,  
So that not one of ten survives.  
We have laid all at stake  
For his Majesty's sake,  
We have fought, we have paid,  
We've been sold and betrayed.  
And tumbled from nation to nation,  
But now those are thrown down  
That usurped the Crown,  
Our hopes were that we  
All rewarded should be,  
But we're paid with a Proclamation.   

Now the times are turned about,  
And the Rebel's race is run:  
That many headed beast, the Rout,  
Who did turn the Father out  
When they saw they were undone,  
Were for bringing in the Son.  
That fanatical crew  
Which made us all rue,  
Have got so much wealth,  
By their plunder and stealth,  
That they creep into profit and power:  
And so come what will,  
They'll be uppermost still;  
And we that are low,  
Shall still be kept so  
While those domineer and devour.   

Yet we will be loyal still,  
And serve without reward or hire,  
To be redeemed from so much ill,  
May stay our stomaches, though not fill;  
And if our patience do not tyre,  
We may in time have our desire.    

SONG XLIII. A Wife.  

1.  
SInce thou'rt condemned to wed a thing,  
And that same thing must be a she;  
And that same she to thee must cling  
For term of life of her and thee;  
I'll tell thee what this thing shall be.   

2.  
I would not have her virtuous,  
For such a wife I ne'er did see;  
And 'tis a madness to suppose  
What never was, nor e'er shall be;  
To seem so is enough to thee.   

3.  
Do not desire she should be wise,  
Yet let her have a waggish wit;  
No circumventing subtleties,  
But pretty slights to please and hit,  
And make us laugh at her, or it.   

4.  
Nor must thou have one very just,  
Lest she repay thee in thy kind;  
And yet she must be true to trust;  
Or if to sport she has a mind,  
Let her be sure to keep thee blind.   

5.  
One part of valour let her have;  
Not to return but suffer ill,  
To her own passion be no slave  
But to thy law's obedient still,  
And unto thine submit her will.   

6.  
Be thou content she have a tongue,  
That's active so it be not loud;  
And so she be straight-limbed and young,  
Though not with beauty much endowed,  
No matter, so she be but proud.   

7.  
Tired she should be, not satisfied,  
But always tempting thee for more,  
So cunningly she be ned espied.  
Let her act all parts like a whore,  
So she be ned one, I'd ask no more.   

8.  
But above all things, let her be  
Short lived and rich, no strong-docked Joan,  
That dares to live till 53,  
Find this wife, if thou must have one;  
But there's no wife so good as none.    

SONG XLIV. On the Queen's Arrival.  

1.  
FRom the Lusitanian Shore,  
Our triumphing Ships are come  
Proudly with their royal lading,  
Which Britain, that now truly's great, enjoys at home,  
And needs no more abroad to room,  
But may now give over trading.  
For we have that Jewel whose value is more,  
Then all one India's Spice, or t'other India's Ore.   

2.  
Katherine Queen of love!  
England's joy and admiration!  
Fit to be made a Spouse to Jove,  
Spain's terror, yet their emulation;  
The Portuguez riches, their glory and pride,  
Who now are become but a rifled nation,  
Such a celestial consort to bring  
To the embraces of Britain's King:  
The world yields not so glorious a Bride,  
Nor is there a Prince that merits the bliss  
Of so great beauty, but so good a King as this.   

3.  
Now let sea and land rejoice,  
Tagus yields us golden sands;  
All that have feet, or hands, or voice,  
In these two united lands,  
Lift them up, rejoice and sing;  
Blessed Queen and happy King!   
Chorus.  

Long live Charles and Katherine!  
To testify our joy,  
We sung Vive le Roy;  
But now we'll sing Vive le Roy & la Reigna.    

SONG XLV. A Friend.  

Feign would I find out a friend that is true;  
That we may live freely together:  
But men are grown false, and friends are but few,  
And as fickle in mind as a feather.   

That man I suspect, who much zeal does pretend,  
And will not our frailties connive at,  
His looks and his words are both framed to his end;  
While some underhand-cheat he does drive at.   

He that still laughs in tune, and smiles in my face,  
And appears very courteous and civil;  
If I trust him but once, I shall find him as base  
And perfidious as the Devil.   

A man of a niggardly soul I despise,  
His Avarice makes him slavish;  
For he that his wealth more than honour doth prize,  
Will not only be sordid but knavish.   

He that soon grows rich from a beggarly life,  
Is not for my conversation;  
He's as proud as a Presbyter Parson's wife,  
Or a new made corporation.   

But he that is generous, jolly and wise,  
Good natured and just to any one,  
Such person I love and extol to the skies;  
He shall be my friend and companion.     

PART. II.  

SONG I. The Royalist.  
Written in 1646.  

1.  
COme, pass about the bowl to me,  
A health to our distressed King;  
Though we're in hold, let cups go free,  
Birds in a cage may freely sing.  
The ground does tipple healths apace,  
When storms do fall, and shall not we;  
A sorrow dares not show its face,  
When we are ships and sack's the sea.   

2.  
Pox on this grief, hang wealth, let's sing,  
Shall's kill ourselves for fear of death?  
We'll live by th' air which songs doth bring,  
Our sighing does but waste our breath:  
Then let us not be discontent,  
Nor drink a glass the less of Wine;  
In vain they'll think their plagues are spent,  
When once they see we don't repine.   

3.  
We do not suffer here alone,  
Though we are beggared, so's the King;  
'Tis sin t' have wealth, when he has none,  
Tush! poverty's a Royal thing!  
When we are larded well with drink,  
Our heads shall turn as round as theirs,  
Our feet shall rise, our bodies sink  
Clean down the wind, like Cavaliers.   

4.  
Fill this unnatural quart with sack;  
Nature all vacuums doth decline,  
Ourselves will be a Zodiac,  
And every mouth shall be a sign.  
Me thinks the Travels of the glass,  
Are circular like Plato's year,  
Where every thing is as it was;  
Let's tipple round; and so 'tis here.    

SONG II. The Commoners.  
Writtenin 1645. to the Club men.  

COme your ways  
Bonny Boys  
Of the Town,  
For now is your time or never;  
Shall your fears  
Or your cares  
Cast you down?  
Hang your wealth  
And your health,  
Get renown,  
We all are undone for ever.  
Now the King and the Crown  
Are tumbling down,  
And the Realm doth groan with disasters,  
And the scum of the land,  
Are the men that command,  
And our slaves are become our masters.   

2.  
Now our lives,  
Children, wives  
And estate,  
Are a prey to the lust and plunder,  
To the rage  
Of our age.  
And the fate  
Of our land  
Is at hand,  
'Tis too late  
To tread these Usurpers under.  
First down goes the Crown,  
Then follows the gown;  
Thus levelled are we by the Roundhead,  
While Church and State must  
Feed their pride and their lust.  
And the Kingdom and King confounded.   

3.  
Shall we still  
Suffer ill  
And be dumb?  
And let every Varlet undo us?  
Shall we doubt  
Of each Lout,  
That doth come,  
With a voice  
Like the noise  
Of a Drum,  
And a sword or a Buffcoat to us?  
Shall we lose our estates  
By plunder and rates  
To bedeck those proud upstarts that swagger,  
Rather fight for your meat,  
Which these Locusts do eat,  
Now every man's a beggar.    

SONG III. The Pastoral.  
On the King's Death. Written in 1648.  

WHere England's Damon used to keep,  
In peace and awe, his flocks  
Who fed, not fed upon, his sheep,  
There Wolves and Tigers now do▪ prey,  
There Sheep are slain, and Goats do sway,  
There reigns the subtle Fox  
While the poor Lamkins weep.   

2.  
The Laurelled garland which before  
Circled his brows about,  
The spotless coat which once he wore,  
The sheephook which he used to sway,  
And pipe whereon he loved to play,  
Are seized on by the rout,  
And must be used no more.   

3.  
Poor Swain, how thou lamentest to see  
Thy flocks o'erruled by those  
That serve thy Cattle all like thee:  
Where hateful vice usurps the Crown,  
And Loyalty is trodden down;  
Down skrip and sheephook goes,  
When Foxes Shepherds be.    

SONG IU. A Mock-Song.  

Hung up Mars  
And his wars,  
Give us drink,  
We'll tipple my Lads together;  
Those are slaves,  
Fools and knaves,  
That have chink,  
And must pay,  
For what they say,  
Do, or think,  
Good fellows account for neither;  
Be we round, be we square,  
We are happier than they're  
Whose dignity works their ruin:  
He that well the bowl rears,  
Can baffle his cares,  
And a fig for death or undoing.    

SONG V. The Trooper.  

1.  
COme, come, let us drink,  
'Tis in vain to think,  
Like fools on grief or sadness;  
Let our money fly  
And our sorrows die,  
All worldly care is madness;  
But Sack and good cheer  
Will in spite of our fear,  
Inspire our souls with gladness.   

2.  
Let the greedy clowns  
That do live like hounds,  
That know neither bound nor measure  
Lament each loss,  
For their wealth is their cross,  
Whose delight is in their treasure,  
But we that have none,  
Will usetheirs as our own,  
And spend it at our pleasure.   

3.  
Troul about the bowl,  
The delight of my soul,  
And to my hand commend it.  
A fig for chink,  
'Twas made to buy drink;  
Before that we go we'll end it:  
When we've spent our store,  
The land will yield us more,  
And jovially we will spend it.    

SONG VI The Goodfellow.  

1.  
STay, stay, shut the gate;  
T' other quart, faith, it is not so late,  
As you're thinking;  
Those Stars which you see,  
In this hemisphere, be  
But the studs in your cheeks by your drinking.  
The Sun is gone to tipple all night in the sea boys;  
Tomorrow he'll blush that he's paler than we boys,  
Drink wine, give him water, 'tis sack makes us the boys.   

2.  
Fill, fill up the glass,  
To the next merry Lad let it pass,  
Come away w'it;  
Come set foot to foot,  
And but give your minds to't,  
'Tis heretical six, that doth slay wit.  
No helicon like to the juice of the Vine is,  
For Phoebus had never had wit, or diviness,  
Had his face not been bow-dyed as thine, his, and mine is.   

3.  
Drink, drink off your bowls,  
We'll enrich both our heads and our souls  
With Canary;  
A carbuncled face  
Saves a tedious race;  
For the Indies about us we carry.  
Then hang up good faces, we'll drink till our noses,  
Give freedom to speak what our fancy disposes;  
Beneath whose protection is under the Roses.   

4.  
This, this must go round,  
Off your hats, till that the pavement be crowned  
With your beavers  
A red-coated face  
Frights a Sergeant at mace,  
And the Constable trembles to shivers.  
In state march our faces like those of the Qu●rum,  
When the Wenches fall down & the vulgar adore 'em,  
And our noses, like Link-bois, run shining before 'um.   

An Addition by M. C. Esquire.  
5.  
Call, call, honest Will,  
Hang a long and tedious bill,  
It disgraces;  
When our Rubies appear,  
We justly may swear,  
That the reckoning is true by our faces.  
Let the Bar-boy go sleep, & the drawers leave roaring.  
Our looks will account without them, had we more in  
When each pimple that rises will save a quart scoring.    

SONG VII. The Mock-Song by T. J.  

1.  
HOld, hold, quaff no more,  
But restore  
If you can, what you've lost by your drinking,  
Three Kingdoms and Crowns,  
With their Cities and Towns,  
While the King and his progeny's sinking.  
The studs in your cheeks have obscured his star boys,  
Your drinking mischarriages in the late war boys,  
Have brought his prerogative now to the bar boys.   

2.  
Throw, throw down the glass,  
He's an Ass  
That extracts all his worth from Canary;  
That valour will shrink  
That's only good in drink,  
'Twas the cup made the camp to miscarry.  
You thought in the world, there's no power could tame ye,  
You tippled and whored till the foe overcame ye,  
Gods nigs, and ne'er stir, Sir, has vanquished God dam me.   

3.  
Fly, fly from the Coast,  
Or you're lost,  
And the water will run where the drink went,  
From hence you must slink  
If you have no chink;  
'Tis the course of the royal Delinquent.  
You love to see Beer-bowls turned over the thumb well, well;  
You like three fair Gamesters, four Dice, & a Drum  
But you'd as lief see the Devil as Fairfax or Cromwell.   

4.  
Drink, drink not the round  
You'll be drowned  
In the source of your sack and your sonnets:  
Try once more your fate  
For the King against the State,  
And go barter your beavers for bennets.  
You see how they're charmed by the Kingdom's enchanters,  
And therefore pack hence to Virginia for planters;  
For an Act and two Redcoats will rout all the ranters.    

SONG VIII. The Answer.  

1.  
STay, stay, prate no more,  
Lest thy brain, like thy purse run ' th' score  
Though thou strain'st it;  
Those are Traitors in grain,  
That of sack do complain,  
And rail by 'tis own power against it.  
Those Kingdoms and Crowns which your poetry pities,  
Are fallen by the pride and hypocrisy of Cities,  
And not by those brains that love sack & good ditties.  
The K. and his progeny had kept 'em from sinking,  
Had they had no worse foes, than the Lads that love drinking,  
We that tipple ha' no leisure for plotting or thinking.   

2.  
He, he is an Ass  
That doth throw down himself with a glass  
Of Canary;  
He that's quiet will think  
Much the better of drink,  
'Cause the cups made the camp to miscarry you lie,  
You whore though we tipple, and there my friend  
Your sports did determine in the month before July,  
There's less fraud in plain dam me, than your sly by my truly:  
'Tis Sack makes our bloods both the purer & warmer;  
We need not your priest or the feminine charmer,  
For a bowl of Canaries a whole suit of armour.   

3.  
Hold, hold, not so fast;  
Tipple on, for there is no such haste  
To be going:  
We drowning may fear,  
But your end will be there  
Where there is neither swimming, nor rowing:  
We were Gamesters alike, and our stakes were both down boys,  
But Fortune did favour you being her own boys,  
And who would not venture a cast for a crown boys.  
Since we wear the right colours he the worst of our foes is,  
That goes to traduce us, and fond supposes,  
That Cromwell is an enemy to Sack and red noses.   

4.  
Then, then quaff it round,  
No deceit in a brimmer is found;  
Here's no swearing,  
Beer and Ale makes you prate  
Of the Kirk and the State,  
Wanting other discourse worth the hearing:  
This strumpets your Muses, to ballad or flatter  
Or rail, and your betters with froth to bespa●ter,  
And your talk's all diurnals and Gunpowder matter:  
But we (while old Sack does divinely inspire us)  
Are active to do what our Rulers require us,  
And attempt such exploits as the world shall admire us.    

SONG IX. The Levellers Rant.  
Written in 1648.  

TO the Hall, to the hall,  
For justice we call,  
On the King and his powerful adherents & friends,  
Who still have endeavoured, but we work their ends.  
'Tis we will pull down what e'er is above us,  
And make them to fear us, that never did love us;  
We'll levelly the proud, and make every degree  
To our Royalty bow the knee;  
'Tis no less than treason  
'Gainst freedom and Reason  
For our brethren to be higher than we.   

2.  
First the thing, called a King,  
To judgement we bring,  
And the spawn of the Court, that were prouder than he,  
And next the two Houses united shall be,  
It does to the Romish religion enveagle;  
For the State to be two headed like the spread-eagle  
We'll purge the superfluous Members away,  
They are too many Kings to sway,  
And as we all teach;  
'Tis our Liberty's breach,  
For the Freeborn Saints to obey.   

3.  
Not a Claw, in the Law,  
Shall keep us in awe;  
We'll have no cushion-cuffers to tell us of hell;  
For we are all gifted to do it as well;  
'Tis freedom that we do hold forth to the Nation,  
To enjoy our fellow-creatures as at the creation:  
The Carnal men's wives are for men of the spirit,  
Their wealth is our own by merit;  
For we that have right,  
By the Law called Might,  
Are the Saints that must judge and inherit.    

SONG X. The New Courtier.  
Written in 1648.  

SInce it must be so,  
Then so let it go,  
Let the Giddy-brained times turn round;  
Since we have no King let the goblet be crowned,  
Our Monarchy thus we'll recover;  
While the pottles are weeping, we'll drench our sad souls  
In big-bellied bowls,  
Our sorrows in Sack shall lie steeping,  
And we'll drink till our eyes do run over;  
And prove it by reason,  
That it can be no Treason  
To drink and to sing  
A mournival of healths to our new-crowned King.   

2.  
Let us all stand bare,  
In the presence we are;  
Let our noses like bonfires shine,  
In stead of the Conduits, let the pottles run wine,  
To perfect this new Coronation;  
And we that are loyal,  
In drink, shall be Peers,  
While that face, that wears  
Pure Claret, looks like the bloud-royal,  
And out-stares the Boars of the Nation:  
In sign of obedience,  
Our oaths of Allegiance  
Beer-glasses shall be,  
And he that tipples ten,▪ s of the Nobility.   

3.  
But if in this Reign,  
The Halberted train  
Or the Constable should rebel,  
And should make their twy-billed militia to swell,  
And against the King's party raise arms,  
Then the Drawers like Yeomen  
Of the Guard, with quart-pots,  
Shall fuddle the sots,  
While we make 'em both cuckolds and freemen,  
And on their wives be up alarms.  
Thus as each health passes,  
We'll triple the glasses,  
And hold it no sin,  
To be loyal and drink in defence of our King.    

SONG XI. The Safety.  
Written in 1648.  

SInce it has been lately enacted high Treason,  
For a man to speak truth of the heads of the state,  
Let every wise man make use of his reason;  
See and hear what he can, but take heed what he prate.  
For the proverbs do learn us,  
He that stays from the battle, sleeps in a whole skin,  
And our words are our own, if we can keep 'em in;  
What fools are we then, that to prattle begin  
Of things that do not concern us?   

2.  
Let the three-kingdoms fall to one of the prime ones  
My mind is a Kingdom, and shall be to me,  
I could make it appear, if I had but the time once  
I'm as happy with one, as he can be with three,  
If I could but enjoy it.  
He that's mounted on high, is a mark for the hate  
And the envy of every pragmatital pate,  
While he that creeps low, lives safe in his state,  
And greatness doth scorn to annoy it.   

3.  
I am never the better which side gets the battle,  
The Tu●s or the Crosses what is it to me?  
They'll never increase my goods or my cattle,  
But a beggar's a beggar, and so he shall be,  
Unless he turn Traitor.  
Let Misers take courses to heap up their treasure,  
Whose lust has no limits, whose mind has no measure;  
Let me be but quiet and take a little pleasure,  
And little contents my nature.   

4.  
My petition shall be that Canary be cheaper,  
W'thout patent or custom, or cursed excise;  
That the Wits may have leave to drink deeper and deeper,  
And not be undone, while their heads they baptist  
And in liquor do drench 'em,  
If this were but granted, who would not desire,  
To dub himself one of Apollo's own choir?  
We'll ring out the bells, when our noses are on fire  
And the quarts shall be the buckets to 〈◊〉   

5.  
I account him no wit, that is gifted at railing,  
And flirting at those that above him do sit;  
While they do out wit him with whipping and go●●ing▪  
Than his purse and his person both pay for his wit▪  
'Tis better to be drinking:  
If Sack were reformed into Twelve pence a quart,  
I'd study for money to merchandise for't,  
And a friend that is true, we together will sport:  
Not a word, but we'll pay them with thinking▪    

SONG XII. The Companion.  

WHat need we take care for Platonical Rules?  
Or the precepts of Aristotle?  
They that think to find learning in books are bu● fools,  
True Philosophy lies in the bottle.  
And a mind  
That's confined  
To the mode of the Schools.  
Ne'er arrives at the height of a pottle  
Let the sages  
Of our ages  
Keep a talking  
Of our walking,  
Demurely, while we that are wiser,  
Do abhor all  
That's moral  
In Plato  
And Cato  
And Seneca talks like a Sizer.   
Chorus.  

Then let full bowls on bowls be hurled,  
That our jollity may be completer,  
For Man though he be but a very little world,  
Must be drowned, as well as the greater.   

2.  
We'll drink till our cheeks are as starrd ' as the skies;  
Let the pale-coloured students flout us,  
And our noses like Comets, set fire on our eyes,  
Till we bear the whole heavens about us.  
And if all  
Make us fall,  
Then our heels shall devise  
What the stars are a doing without us.  
Let Lilly  
Go tell you  
Of thunders  
And wonders,  
Let Astrologers all divine;  
And let Booker  
Be a looker  
Of our natures  
In our features,  
He'll find nothing but Claret in mine.   
Chorus. Then let full bowls, etc.   

SONG XIII. Copernicus.  

1.  
LEt the bowl pass free  
From him to thee  
As it first came to me,  
'Tis pity that we should confine it,  
Having all either credit or coin yet,  
Let it e'en take its course,  
There's no stopping its force,  
He that shuffles must interline it.   

2.  
Lay aside your cares,  
Of Shops and Wares,  
And irrational fears;  
Let each breast be as thoughtless as his'n is,  
That from his bride newly risen is;  
We'll banish each soul,  
That comes here to condole,  
Or is troubled with love or business.   

3.  
The King we'll not name,  
Nor a Lady t' inflame  
With desire to the game,  
And into a dumpishness drive all,  
Or make us run mad, and go wive all;  
We'll have this whole night  
Set a part for delight,  
And our mirth shall have no corrival.   

4.  
Then see that the Glass  
Through its circuit do pass,  
Till it come where it was;  
And every nose has been within it,  
Till he end it that first did begin it;  
As Copernicus found,  
That the Earsh did turn round,  
We will prove so does every thing in it.    

SONG XIV. The Painter's Entertainment.  

1.  
THis is the time, and this in the day  
Designed for mirth and sporting,  
We'll turn October i●●● May,  
And make St. Luke's feast  
As pleasant and long as the rest  
We'll in our own faces our colours display,  
And hollow our yearly resorting.   

Then let the bowls turn round round,  
While in them our colours we mingle,  
To raise our dull souls from the ground,  
Our arts and our pains are thus crowned▪  
And happy are we,  
That in unity be▪  
'Tis a hell upon earth to be single.   
Chorus.  

'Twas love at first that brought us hither,  
And love stall keep us here together.   

2.  
First to the Master of the feast,  
This health is consecrated;  
Thence to each sublimary guest,  
Whose soul doth desire,  
This Nectar to raise and inspire;  
Till he with Apelles himself doth contest,  
And his fancy is elevated,   
Then let, etc.  
Chorus. 'Twas love, etc.  

3.  
Lo how the air, the earth, and th' seas,  
Have all brought in their treasure,  
To feast each sense with rarities,  
Plump Bacchus brings wine,  
And Ceres her dainties doth join;  
The air with rare music doth echo, and these  
All club to create us pleasure.   
Then let the bowls, etc.  
Chorus. 'Twas love, etc.  

4.  
Now in our fancies we will suppose  
The word in all its glory;  
Imagine all delight that grows,  
And pleasures that can  
Fill up the vast soul of a man;  
And glut the coy palate, the eyes, ears and nose,  
By the fancy presented before you.   
Then let the bowls, etc.  
Chorus. 'Twas love, etc.  

5.  
We'll use no pencil now but the bowl,  
Let every artist know it,  
In sack we will portray each soul;  
Each health that is took,  
Will give us the livelier look;  
And who's he that dares our fancy control,  
When each Painter is turned a poet?   
Then let the bowls, etc.  
Chorus. 'Twas love, etc.  

6.  
And though we cannot the day extend  
Beyond its proper measure;  
The night and it themselves shall blend,  
We care not for night,  
When our hearts and our heads are all light,  
Nor the time, nor the company shall have an end,  
Honest mirth of itself is a treasure.   
Then let the bowls, etc.  
Chorus. 'Twas love, etc.   

SONG XV. The Cnre of Care.  

1.  
WHy should we not laugh and be jolly?  
Since now all the world is mad;  
All lulled in a dull melancholy:  
He that wallows in store,  
Is still gaping for more;  
And that makes him as poor,  
As that wretch that never any thing had.  
How mad is the damned money-monger,  
That to purchase to him and his heirs,  
Grows shriuled with thirst and hunger?  
While we that are bonny,  
Buy Sack for ready money,  
And ne'er trouble scriveners nor Lawyers.   

2.  
Those Gulls that by scraping and toiling,  
Have swelled the Revenues so vast,  
Get nothing by all their turmoiling,  
But are marks for each tax,  
While they load their own backs,  
With the heavier packs,  
And lie down galled and weary at last;  
While we that do traffic in Tipple,  
Can baffle, the gown and the sword,  
Whose jaws are so hungry and gripple;  
We ne'er trouble our heads,  
With indentures or deeds,  
But our Wills are comprised in a word.   

3.  
Our money shall never Indite us,  
Nor drag us to Goldsmiths-hall;  
Nor Pira's, nor storms can affright us:  
We that have no estates,  
Pay no taxes or rates,  
But can sleep with open gates,  
He that lies on the ground cannot fall:  
We laugh at those fools, whose endeavours  
Do but fit 'em for prisons or fines,  
While we that spend all are the saviours;  
For if thiefs do steal in,  
They go out empty again,  
Nay the Plunderers lose their designs.   

4.  
Then let's not take care for to morrow,  
But tipple and laugh while we may,  
To wash from our hearts all sorrow;  
Those Cormorants which  
Are troubled with an itch,  
To be mighty and rich,  
Do but toil for the wealth which they borrow.  
The Mayor of the Town with his ruff on,  
What a pox is he better than we?  
He must veil to the men with the buff on;  
He Custard may eat,  
And such luberly meat,  
But we drink and are merrier than he.    

SONG. XVI. Content.  
Out of Anacreon.  

1.  
IF wealth could keep a man alive,  
I'd only study how to thrive;  
That having got a mighty mass,  
I might bribe the fates to let me pass:  
But since we can't prolong our years,  
Why spend we time in needless sighs and tears?  
For since Destiny  
Has decreed us to die,  
And all must pass o'er the old ferry;  
Hang riches and cares,  
Since we han't many years,  
We'll have a short life and a merry,   

3.  
Times keep their round, and destiny,  
Observes no● whenever we laugh or cry,  
And Fortune never does bestow,  
A look on what we do below:  
But men with equal swiftness run  
To prey on others, or be preyed upon;  
Since we can take no course,  
To be better or worse,  
Let none be a melancholy thinker;  
Let the Times the round go,  
So the cups do so too,  
Ne'er blush at the name of a Drinker.    

SONG XVII. Mirth.  
Out of Anacreon.  

1.  
WHen our brains well liquored are,  
Then we charm asleep our care,  
Then we account Machiavil a fool with his plots,  
And cry there's no depth, But the bottom o'th' pots,  
Then Hector compared with us, will be  
But a coward, and Croesus' beggarly:  
Then with songs our voices we raise,  
And circled our Temples with bays;  
Then Honour we account but a blast of Wind,  
And trample all things in our mind.  
The valiant at arms,  
That are led by fond charms,  
Get their honour with harms,  
While he that takes up  
A plentiful cup,  
To no danger is brought,  
But of paying his groat.  
Then quickly come Lad and fill our cups full,  
For since down we must all be laid,  
'Tis held a good rule  
In Bacchus' free-school  
'Tis better lie drunk then dead.    

SONG XVIII. The Independants Resolve.  
Written in 1648.  

COme Drawer and fill us about some wine,  
Let's merrily tipple the day's our own;  
We'll have our delights, let the country go pine,  
Let the King and his Kingdom groan.  
The Crown is our own, and so shall continue;  
We'll Monarchy baffle quite,  
We'll drink off the Kingdom's revenue,  
And sacrifice all to delight.  
'Tis power that brings  
Us all to be Kings,  
And we'll be all crowned by our might.   

2.  
A fig for divinity lectures and law,  
And all that to Loyalty do pretend;  
While we by the sword keep the Kingdom in awe,  
Our power shall never have end:  
The Church and the State we'll turn into liquor,  
And spend a whole Town in a day;  
We'll melt all their bodkins the quicker  
Into Sack▪ and drink them away.  
We'll keep the demeans,  
And turn Bishops and Deans,  
And over the Presbyter sway.   

3.  
The nimble St. Patrick is sunk in his bogs,  
And his Countrymen, sadly cry O hone, O hone!  
St. Andrew and's Kirk-men are lost in the fogs,  
Now we are the Saints alone.  
Thus on our Superiors and Equals we trample,  
And Jockey our stirrup shall hold:  
The City's our Mule for example,  
That we may in plenty be roul'd.  
Each delicate dish,  
Shall but Echo our wish  
And our drink shall be cordial gold.    

SONG XIX. On Canary.  

1.  
OF all the rare juices,  
That Bacchus or Ceres produces,  
There's none that I can, nor dare I  
Compare with the princely Canary;  
For this is the thing  
That a fancy infuses;  
This first got a King,  
And next the nine Muses  
'Twas this made old Poets so sprightly to sing,  
And fill all the world with the glory and fame on't,  
They Helicon called it, and the Thespian-spring,  
But this was the drink, though they knew not the name on't.   

2.  
Our Cider and Perry,  
May make a man mad but not merry;  
It makes people windmill-pated,  
And with crackers sophisticated;  
And your hops, yeast, and malt,  
When they're mingled together,  
Makes our fancies to halt,  
Or reel any whither:  
It stuffs up our brains with froth, and with yeast,  
That if one would write but a verse for a Belman  
He must study till Christmas for an shilling-jest▪  
These liquors won't raise, but drown, and overwhelm man.   

3.  
Our drowsy Metheglin  
Was only ordained to inveigle in;  
The Novice that knows not to drink yet,  
But is fuddled before he can think it;  
And your Claret and White,  
Have a Gunpowder fury,  
They're of the French spirit,  
But they want long endure you.  
And your holiday Muscadine, Allegant, and Tent,  
Have only this property and virtue that's fit in't:  
They'll make a man sleep till a preachment be spent,  
But we neither can warm our blood nor our wit in ' 〈…〉   

4.  
The Bagrag and Rhenish  
You must with ingredients replenish;  
'Tis a wine to please Ladies and toys with,  
But not for a man to rejoice with:  
But 'tis Sack makes the sport,  
And who gains but that flavour,  
Though an Abbess he court,  
In his high shoes, he I have her.  
'Tis this that advances the drinker and drawer,  
Though the father came to Town in his hobnails and leather,  
He turns it to Velvet, and brings up an Heir,  
In the Town in his ●hain, in the field with his feather▪    

SONG XX. The Leveller.  

1.  
NAy prithee don't fly me,  
But sit thee down by me,  
I cannot endure  
A man that's demure  
Go hang up your Worships and Sirs;  
Your congees and trips,  
With your legs, and your lips;  
Your Madams and Lords,  
And such finikin words,  
With the compliments you bring,  
That do spell NOTHING;  
You may keep for the chains and the furs:  
For at the beginning, was no Peasant or Prince,  
And 'twas policy made the distinction since.   

2.  
Those Titles of honours  
Do remain in the Donours.  
And not in that things,  
To which they do cling.  
If his soul be too narrow to wear 'em,  
No delight can I see  
In that word called degree,  
Honest Dick sounds as well  
As a name of an ell,  
That with titles doth swell,  
And sounds like a spell,  
To affright mortal ears that hear 'um.  
He that wears a brave soul, and dares gallantly do,  
May be his own Herald and Godfather too.   

3.  
Why then should we dote on,  
One with a fools coat on?  
Whose Coffers are crammed,  
But yet he'll be damned.  
Ere he'll do a good act, or a wise one;  
What Reason has he  
To be ruler o'er me?  
That's a Lord in his chest,  
But in's head and his breast  
Is empty and bare,  
Or but puffed up with air,  
And can neither assist nor advise one,  
Honour's but air, and proud flesh but dust is;  
'Tis we Commons make Lords, and the Clerk makes the Justice.   

4.  
But since men must be  
Of a different degree,  
Because most do aspire,  
To be greater and higher,  
Then the rest of their fellows and brothers,  
He that has such a spirit,  
Let him gain it by's merit;  
Spend his brain, wealth, or blood  
For his Country's good,  
And make himself fit  
By his valour or wit,  
For things 'bove the reach of all others;  
For honour ' s a prize, and who wins it may wear it,  
If not, 'tis a badge and a burden to bear it.   

5.  
For my part let me  
Be but quiet and free,  
I'll drink Sack and obey,  
And let great ones sway,  
Who spend their whole time in thinking;  
I'll ne'er busy my pate  
With secrets of State,  
The News-books I'll burn all,  
And with the Diurnal  
Light Tobacco, and admit  
That they're so far fit,  
As they serve good company and drinking.  
All the name I desire, is an honest Goodfellow;  
And that man has no worth, that won't sometimes be mellow.    

SONG XXI. The Royalists Answer.  

1.  
I Have reason to fly thee,  
And not sit down by thee;  
For I hate to behold,  
One so saucy and bold,  
To deride and contemn his superiors:  
Our Madams and Lords,  
And such mannerly words,  
With the gestures that be  
Fit for every degree,  
Are things that we and you  
Both claim as our due,  
From all those that are our inferiors.  
For from the beginning there were Princes, we kno●  
'Tis you Levellers hate 'em, 'cause you can't be 〈…〉   

2.  
All Titles of honours  
Were at first in the donours;  
But being granted away,  
With the Grantee stay,  
whenever he wear a small soul or a bigger.  
There's a necessity  
That there should be degree;  
whenever 'tis due we'll afford  
A Sir John, and my Lord;  
Though Dick, Tom, and Jack,  
Will serve you and your pack;  
Honest Dick's name enough for a Digger.  
He that has a strong purse, can all things be or do,  
He is valiant, and wise, and religious too.   

3.  
We have cause to adore,  
That man that has store,  
Though a Boar or a sot,  
There's something to be got;  
Though he be neither honest nor witty;  
Make him high, let him rule;  
He'll be playing the fool,  
And transgress, then we'll squeeze  
Him for fines and for fees.  
And so we shall gain,  
By the wants of his brain;  
'Tis the fools-cap that maintains the City.  
If honour be air, 'tis in common, and as fit,  
For the fool and the clown, as for the champion or the wit.   

4.  
Then why mayn't we be  
Of different degree?  
And each man aspire  
To be greater and higher  
Than his wiser and honester brother;  
Since Fortune and Nature  
Their favours do scatter;  
This hath valour, that wit,  
Tother wealth, nor is't fit  
That one should have all;  
For then what would befall  
Him, that's born not to one nor to t'other?  
Though honour were a prize at first, now 'tis a chattel,  
And as merchantable grown as your wares, or your cattle.   

5.  
Yet in this we agree,  
To live quiet and free,  
To drink Sack and submit,  
And not show our wit  
By our prating, but silence, and thinking,  
Let the politic Jews  
Read Diurnals and News,  
And lard their discourse,  
With a Comment that's worse;  
That which pleaseth me best,  
Is a song or a Jest,  
And my obedience I'll show by my drinking.  
He that drinks well, does sleep well; he that sleeps wel● doth think we●  
He that thinks well, does do well, he that does well, mu●● drink we●●    

SONG XXII. The safe Estate.  

1.  
HOw happy a man is he,  
Whose soul is quiet and free,  
And liveth content with his own!  
That does not desire  
To swell nor aspire,  
To the Coronet, nor to the Crown.  
He doth sit and devise,  
Those Mushrooms that rise,  
But disturbs not his sleep,  
At the quoil that they keep,  
Both in Country and Town;  
In the plain he sits safe,  
And doth privately laugh  
At high thoughts that are tumbling down.   

2.  
His heart and his head are at rest,  
And he sleeps with a sorrowless breast,  
That aspires not to sit at the helm:  
The desires of his mind,  
To's his estate are confined;  
And he lets not his brains to o'er whelm.  
He's for innocent sport,  
And keeps off from the Court;  
And if sad thoughts arise,  
He does only devise  
With Sack to repel 'um.  
Though the times do turn round,  
He doth still keep his ground,  
Both in a Republic and Realm.   

3.  
He wears his own head and ears,  
And he tipples in safety with's peers,  
And harmlessly passeth his time:  
If he meet with a cross,  
A full bowl he doth toss,  
Nor his wealth, nor his wit, are his crime.  
He doth privately sit  
With his friend clubbing wit;  
And disburd'ning their breasts  
Of some innocent jests,  
And not higher doth climb.  
He smiles at the fate  
Of those Courtiers of State,  
That fall down 'cause their thoughts are sublime.   

4.  
But Princes and Nobles are still,  
Not tenants for life, but at will,  
And the giddy-brained rout is their Lord:  
He that's crowned to day,  
A Sceptre to sway,  
And by all is obeyed and adored;  
Both he and his Crown,  
In a trice are thrown down;  
For an Act just and good,  
If misunderstood,  
Or an ill-relished word;  
While he that scorns pelf,  
And enjoys his own self,  
Is secure from the Vote or the Sword.    

SONG XXIII.  

Th' Astrologers,  
That trade in Stars,  
Tell me I have not long to live;  
Yet do I cry;  
Lo here am I,  
Let fortune still  
Do what she will,  
I'll neither care nor grieve.   

2.  
Fortune I know,  
Is still my foe,  
And lets me not grow fat, nor thrive;  
But I, I vow,  
Will never bow,  
Nor dote and be  
As blind as she,  
But keep myself alive.   

3.  
This I do know,  
We all must go;  
Though some go sooner, others later;  
But why so fast?  
There's no such haste;  
Some post are gone,  
We'll but jog on,  
Bait first, and then walk after.   

4.  
The clown and's beast  
Make haste to rest,  
But Lords and Courtiers sit up longer:  
Before we part,  
Fill t'other quart;  
Wash t'other eye,  
And then we'll try  
whenever death or man be stronger.   

5.  
In th' interim,  
Fill to the brim;  
Travelling will make us weary;  
Since th' journey's great,  
And hurts our feet,  
Bacchus shall be  
A horse for me,  
He's strong enough to carry.    

SONG XXIV. The Politician.  
Written in 1649.  

WHat madness is't for him that's wise,  
To be so much self-hating?  
Himself and his to sacrifice,  
By meddling still with things too high,  
That don't concern, but gratify  
His lechery of prating.  
What is't to us who's in the ruling power?  
While they protect, we're bound to obey,  
But longer not an hour.   

2.  
Nature made all alike at first,  
But men that framed this fiddle  
Of government, made best and worst,  
And high and low, like various strings,  
Each man his several ditty sings,  
To tune this state down diddle.  
In this grand wheel the world, we're spokes made all,  
But that it may still keep its round,  
Some mount while others fall.   

3.  
The blinded Ruler that by night,  
Sits with his host of Billmen,  
With their chalked weapons, that affright  
The wondering clown that haps to view  
His Worship, and his Gowned crew,  
As if they sat to Kill men.  
Speak him but fair, he'll let you freely go:  
And those that on the high rope dance,  
Will do the same trick too.   

4.  
I'll ne'er admire  
That fatuous fire,  
That is not what it seems,  
For those, that now to us seem higher:  
Like painted bubbles blown i'th' air,  
By boys, seem glorious and fair,  
'Tis but in boys esteems.  
Rule of its self's a toil and none would bear it,  
But that 'twixt pride and avarice,  
And close revenge they'll share it.   

5.  
Since all the world is but a stage,  
And every man a player;  
They're fools that lives or states engage;  
Let's act and juggle as others do,  
Keep what's our own, get others to;  
Play whiffler clown or Mayor:  
For he that sticks to what his heart calls just,  
Becomes a sacrifice and prey  
To the prosperous whirlegigs lust.   

6.  
Each wise man first best loves himself,  
Lives close, thinks and obeys;  
Makes not his soul a slave to's pelf;  
Nor idly squanders it away,  
To cram their maws that taxes lay,  
On what he does, or says;  
For those grand cords that man to man do twist,  
Now are not honesty and love  
But self and interest.    

SONG XXV. The Prisoners.  
Written when O. C. attempted to be King.  

COme a brimmer (my bullies) drink whole ones or nothing,  
Now healths have been voted down,  
'Tis Sack that can heat us, we care not for clothing,  
A gallon's as warm as a gown;  
'Cause the Parliament sees,  
Nor the former nor these,  
Could engage us to drink their health,  
They Vote that we shall  
Drink no healths at all,  
Nor to King, nor to Commonwealth,  
So that now we must venture to drink 'em by stealth.   

2.  
But we've found out a way that's beyond all their thinking;  
To keep up Good-fellowship still;  
We'll drink their destruction that would destroy drinking,  
Let 'em Vote that a health if they will.  
Those men that did fight,  
And did pray day and night  
For the Parliament and its attendant,  
Did make all that bustle,  
The King out to justle,  
And bring in the Independent,  
But now we all clearly see what was the end on't.   

3.  
Now their Idol's thrown down with their sooterkin also,  
About which they did make such a pother,  
And though their contrivance made one K. to fall so  
We have drunk ourselves into another.  
And now (my Lads) we  
May still Caveliers be,  
In spite of Committees frown:  
We will drink, and we'll sing,  
And each health to our King,  
Shall be Royally drunk in the Crown,  
Which shall be the Standard in every Town.   

4.  
Those politic would-bees do but show themselves asses,  
That other men's calling invade,  
We only converse with pots and with glasses;  
Let the Rulers alone with their trade.  
The Lion of the Tower,  
Their estates does devour,  
Without showing law for't or reason;  
Into prison we get,  
For the crime called debt,  
Where our bodies and brains we do season,  
And that is ne'er taken for murder or treason.   

5.  
Where our ditties still be, give's more drink, give's more drink boys,  
Let those that are frugal take care;  
Our Gaolers and we will live by our chink boys,  
While our Creditors live by the air.  
Here we lie at our ease,  
And get craft and grease,  
Till we've merrily spent all our store;  
Then as drink brought us in,  
'Twill redeem us again;  
We got in because we were poor,  
And swear ourselves out on the very same score.    

SONG XXVI. Satisfaction.  

1.  
I Have often heard men say,  
That the Philosophers of old,  
Though they were good, and grave, and grey,  
Did various opinions hold;  
And with idolatry adore  
The Gods that themselves had made before;  
And we that are fools do do no more.   

2.  
Every man desires what's good;  
But wherein that good consists,  
Is not by any understood.  
This sets on work both pens and fist;  
For this condemns what that approves,  
And this man doth hate, what that man loves;  
And that's the grand wheel that discord moves.   

3.  
This would valiant be, that wise,  
That's for th' sea, and this for land;  
All do judge upon surmise,  
None do rightly understand;  
These may be like, but are not that,  
Something there is that all drive at,  
But only they differ about the WHAT.   

4.  
And from all these several ends.  
Spring's diversity of actions,  
For every man his studies bends,  
As opinion builds his faction.  
Each man's his own God-smith; what he  
Thinks good, is good to him, and we  
First make, and then adore our deity.   

5.  
A mind that's honest, pure, and just,  
A sociable life and free,  
A friend that dares not break a trust,  
Yet dares die, if occasion, be;  
A heart that dictates to the tongue,  
A soul that's innocent and strong,  
That can, yet will not do any wrong:  
He that has such a soul, and a mind,  
That is so blest, and so inclined,  
What all these do seek for, he does sinned.    

SONG XXVII. The Club.  

1.  
PRithee bened so sad and serious,  
Nothing's got by grief or care;  
Melancholy's too imperious,  
Where it comes 'twill domineer;  
If thou hast a cloudy breast,  
In which thy cares would build a nest;  
Then drink good Sack, 'twill make the rest,  
Where sorrows come not near.   

2.  
Be it business, love, or sorrow,  
That possesses thus thy mind,  
Bid them come again to morrow;  
We are now to mirth inclined,  
Fill thy cup and drown them all,  
Sorrows still do for liquor call,  
We'll make this Bacchus festival,  
And cast our cares behind.   

3.  
He that has a heart that's drowsy,  
shall be surely banished hence;  
We'll shun him as a man that's lousy,  
He's of dangerous consequence:  
And he that's silent like a block,  
Deserves to be made a laughingstock,  
Let all good fellows shun that rock,  
For fear they forfeit sense.   

4.  
Still those clocks, let time attend us,  
We'll not be to hours confined;  
We'll banish all that may offend us,  
Or disturb our mirth designed;  
Let the glass still run its round,  
And each goodfellow keep his ground,  
And if there be any flincher found,  
We'll have his soul new-coined.    

SONG XXVIII. The Prodigal.  

1.  
NAy persuade not, I've swore  
We'll have one pottle more,  
Though we run on the score,  
And our credits do stretch for't;  
To what end does a father  
Pine his body, or rather  
Damn his soul, for to gather  
Such store, but that he has this fetch for't;  
That we sons should be high boys,  
And make it all fly boys,  
And when he does die boys,  
Instead of a Sermon we'll sing him a catch for't.   

2.  
Then hang the Dull wit  
Of that white-livered cit,  
That good-fellows does hit  
In teeth with a red-nose;  
May his nose look blue,  
Or any dreadfuller hue,  
That may speak him untrue,  
And disloyal unto the headnose;  
'Tis the scarlet that graces,  
And sets out our faces,  
And that nature base is,  
That esteems not a Coppernose, more than a Lead-nose.   

3.  
All the world keeps a round,  
First our Fathers abound  
In wealth and buy ground,  
And then leave it behind 'em:  
We're strait put in black,  
Where we mourn and drink Sack,  
And do t'other knack,  
While they sleep in their graves we ne'er mind 'em:  
Thus we scatter the store,  
As they raked it before;  
And as for the poor,  
We every them as fast as our fathers did grinned 'um.    

SONG XXIX. The Antipolititian.  

1.  
COme leave thy care, and love thy friend;  
Live freely, don't despair,  
Of getting money there's no end,  
And keeping it breeds care.  
If thou hast money at thy need,  
Good company, and good Wine,  
His life, whose joys on wealth do feed,  
's not half so sweet as thine.   

2.  
I can enjoy my self and friends,  
W'thout design or fear,  
Below their envy, or base ends,  
That Politicians are.  
I neither toil, nor care, nor grieve,  
To gather, keep, or lose;  
With freedom and content I live,  
And what's my own I use.   

3.  
While men blown on with strong desires  
Of riches or renown,  
Though ne'er so high, would still be higher,  
So tumble headlong down:  
For Prince's smiles turn oft to frowns,  
And favours fade each hour;  
He that to day heaps Towns on Towns,  
To morrow's clap't i'th' Tower.   

4.  
All that we get by all our store,  
's but honour or dominion;  
The one's but trouble varnished o'er,  
And tother's but opinion.  
Fate rules the roast, Times always change;  
'Tis fancy builds all things;  
How madly then our minds do range,  
Since all we grasp hath wings.   

5.  
Those empty terms of rich and poor,  
Comparison hath framed;  
He hath not much that covets more,  
Want is but will, nicknamed.  
If I can safely think and live,  
And freely laugh or sing,  
My wealth I'll not for Craesus' give,  
Nor change lives with a King.    

SONG XXX. The New Gentry.  

1.  
ENough for shame! leave off this fooling;  
Prithee cringe no more,  
Nor admire the illgotten store  
Of the upstart Mushrooms of our Nation,  
With blind and groundless adoration;  
If thy nature still wants schooling,  
As thou dost grow old, grow wise,  
For age can easily advise,  
And make thee know,  
'Tis only such as thou  
That bring and keep both fools and knaves in fashion.   

2.  
We make each other proud and knavish,  
For where ever we  
Great abundance chance to see,  
There we fling both power and honour,  
As if wealth were the only donour;  
And our natures are so slavish,  
That we tamely will submit,  
All our reason, strength, and wit;  
And pay, and pray  
Great men in power, that they  
Will take our Liberty and trample on her.   

3.  
What is't makes all men so much covet,  
Toiling more and more,  
To increase a needless store;  
So violently tug and hall for't,  
Venturing body and soul and all for't?  
The rich are flattered▪ and they love it;  
We obey their shall's and musts;  
And to gratify their lusts,  
We madly strive  
Who first ourselves shall give,  
And all that is ours to them, if they'll but call for't▪   

4.  
If we did take no notice of them,  
Like not, nor applaud  
Their spoils obtained by force and fraud;  
But would live content and jolly,  
Laughing at their painful folly,  
And would neither fear nor love them:  
Underneath their loads, they'd groan,  
Or with shame would throw them down;  
And live as free  
From needless cares as we:  
'Slight pomp and wealth, that makes men melancholy.   

5.  
Pray what are all these gaudy bubbles  
That so boast and rant,  
Of what they think they have, but han't?  
But men that had the luck of living,  
And made others fall their thriving;  
Hailstones got in storms of troubles:  
That for valour are as fit  
For Knights, as to be Squires for wit,  
Inspired with pride,  
Did what good men defied,  
Grown great by Protean turning and conniving.   

6.  
That man that would have me adore him,  
With my heart, he must  
Be noble, powerful, wise, and just,  
And improve his parts and power  
To support, not to devour,  
Nor pride; nor lust, must e'er rule o'er him.  
Th' bugbear greatness without this,  
An idle, empty pageant is:  
He that doth rise,  
And is not good and wise,  
I honour not, but pity and deplore him.    

SONG XXXI. The Cheerful Heart.  

1.  
WHat though these ill times do go cross to our will?  
And fortune still frowns upon us?  
Our hearts are our own, and they shall be so still;  
A pin for the plagues they lay on us.  
Let us take t'other cup,  
To keep our hearts up,  
And let it be purest Canary;  
We'll ne'er shrink or care,  
For the crosses we bear,  
Let 'em plague us until they be weary.   

2.  
What though we are made, both beggars and slaves,  
Let us stoutly endure it, and drink on:  
'Tis our comfort we suffer, 'cause we will not be knaves,  
Our redemption will come e'er we think on't.  
We must flatter and fear  
Those that over us are,  
And make 'em believe that we love 'em,  
When their tyranny's past,  
We will serve them at last,  
As they served those that have been above 'um.   

3.  
The Levites do preach, for the Goose and the Pig,  
To drink wine but at Christmas and Easter;  
The Doctor doth labour our lives to new-trig;  
And makes nature to fast, but we feast her;  
The Lawyer doth bawl,  
Out his lungs and his gall,  
For the Plaintiff and for the Defendant;  
At books the Scholar lies,  
Till by Flatus he dies,  
With the ugly hard word at the end on't   

4.  
But here's to the man that delights in Sol fa,  
'Tis Sack is his only Rosin;  
A load of heigh-ho's are not worth a ha, ha;  
He's the man for my money that draws in.  
Come a pin for this Muck  
And a fig for ill Luck;  
'Tis better be blithe and frolic,  
Then to sigh out our breath,  
And invite our own death  
By the Gout or the stone, and the colic.    

SONG XXXII. Made and Set Extempore.  

1.  
WHen our glasses flow with Wine,  
And our souls with Sack are raised;  
When we're jeered we do not repine;  
Nor are proud when we are praised:  
'Tis Sack alone can raise our souls,  
A pin for Christening drinking-bowles.   

2.  
Let the Drawer raise our fancies,  
With his wit-refining drink;  
Hang your stories and Romances;  
Those are fit for them that think:  
Let him love that has a mind,  
We to drinking are inclined.   

3.  
Wit and love, are th' only things  
Which fill the thoughts of Kings and us;  
Imagination makes us Kings,  
And that's raised by doing thus.  
Drink your Sack, let wit alone,  
Wit by drinking best is shown.    

SONG XXXIII. The Answer to the Curse against Ale.  

1.  
OGag for shame that strumpet muse!  
Let not her Spanish tongue abuse  
Our wholesome and Heroic English juice.   

2.  
'Twas not this loyal liquor shut  
Our Gates against our Sovereign, but  
Strange drinks into one tub together put.   

3.  
When Ale was drink Canonical,  
There were no thiefs, nor watch, nor wall,  
Men neither stole, nor lacked, for Ale was all.   

4.  
That Poet ought be dry or dumb,  
And to our brown- bowls never come,  
Who drinking Ale, vents only dregs and scum.   

5.  
Nor had that Soldier drunk enough,  
For Ale both valour gives and buff,  
Makes men unkickable, and cudgel-proof.   

6.  
'Twas the meal, not mealman, was the cause  
The mill fell down; for one small clause  
In one meal-act, hath overthrown our laws.   

7.  
The worth of Ale none can proclaim,  
But by th' assistance of the same,  
From it our Land derives its noblest name.   

8.  
With this men were inspired, but not  
As kick shaw-brains are now (God wot)  
Inspired, that is, run mad, none knows with what.   

9  
How did our stout forefathers make,  
All Antichristian Nations quake,  
When they their Nut-brown bowls and bills did take!   

10.  
What noble sparks old Ale did kindle!  
But now strange drinks do make men dwindle,  
And Pigmies get, scarce fit to sway a spindle.   

11.  
This liquor makes the drinkers fight  
Stoutly, while others stoutly write:  
This both creates the Poet, and the Knight.   

12.  
This makes the drawer in his Gown  
And chain, to ride and rule the Town,  
Whose orient Nose exemplifies his frown.   

13.  
How reverently the burly Host,  
With baskethilted pot and tossed,  
Commands the baked-meats, and then rules the roast;   

14.  
But oh the Brewer bears the bell!  
This makes him to such highness swell,  
As none but Ale-inspired, can think or tell.   

15.  
Divert that curse then, or give o'er,  
Don Philip can hurt Ale no more,  
Then his Armado, England heretofore.    

SONG XXXIV. The Reformation.  

1.  
TEll not me of Lords or Laws,  
Rules or Reformation;  
All that's done's not worth two straws,  
To the welfare of the Nation.  
Men in power do rant it still,  
And give no reason but their will,  
For all their domination.  
Or if they do an act that's just,  
'Tis not because they would, but must,  
To Gratify some party's lust,  
Or merely for a fashion.   

2.  
Our expense of blood and purse.  
Has produced no profit.  
Men are still as bad or worse,  
And will be what e'er comes of it.  
We've shuffled out, and shuffled in,  
The persons, but retain the sin,  
To make our game the surer:  
Yet spite of all our pains and skill,  
The knaves all in the pack are still,  
And ever were, and ever will,  
Though something now demurer:   

3.  
And it cannot but be so,  
Since those toys in fashion;  
And of souls so base and low,  
And mere Bigots of the Nation,  
Whose designs are power and wealth,  
At which by rapines, fraud, and stealth,  
Audaciously they vent'r ye;  
They lay their consciences aside,  
And turn with every wind and tide,  
Puffed on by Ignorance and pride,  
And all to look like Gentry.   

4.  
Crimes are not punished 'cause they're crimes,  
But 'cause they're low and little;  
Mean men for mean faults, in these times,  
Make satisfaction to a tittle;  
While those in office and in power,  
Boldly the underlings devour.  
Our Cobweb-laws can't hold 'um.  
They sell for many a Thousand crown,  
Things which were never yet their own,  
And this is law and custom grown,  
'Cause those do judge that sold 'um.   

5.  
Brother's still with Brother's brawl,  
And for trifles sue 'em;  
For two pronouns that spoil all,  
Those contentious Meum, Tuum:  
The wary lawyer buys and builds,  
While the Client sells his fields,  
To sacrifice to's fury;  
And when he thinks to obtain his right,  
He's baffled off, or beaten quite,  
By th' Judges will, or Lawyers slight,  
Or ignorance of the Jury.   

6.  
See the tradesman how he thrives  
With perpetual trouble,  
How he cheats, and how he strives  
His Estate t'enlarge and double;  
Extort, oppress, grind, and encroach,  
To be a Squire and keep a coach,  
And to be one o'th' Quorum,  
Who may with's brother worships sit,  
And judge without law, fear, or wit,  
Poor petty thiefs that nothing get,  
And yet are brought before 'um.   

7.  
And his way to get all this  
Is mere dissimulation;  
No factious lecture does he miss,  
And escapes no schism that's in fashion;  
But with short hair and shining shoes,  
He with two pens, and's notebook goes,  
And winks and writes at random;  
Thence with short meal, and tedious Grace,  
In a loud tone and public place,  
Sings Wisdoms hymns, that trot and pace,  
As if Goliath scanned 'um.   

8.  
But when death begins his threats,  
And his Conscience struggles,  
To call to mind his former cheats;  
Then at heaven he turns his juggles,  
And out of all's illgotten store,  
He gives a dribbling to the poor,  
In a Hospital, or a School-house;  
And the suborned Priest for's hire,  
Quite frees him from th' infernal fire,  
And places him i'th' Angel's choir;  
Thus these Jack-puddings fool us,   

9  
All he gets by's pains i'th' close,  
Is that he died worth so much,  
Which he on's doubtful seed bestows,  
That neither care nor know much;  
Then fortunes favourite, his heir,  
Bred base, and ignorant, and bare,  
Is blown up like a bubble;  
Who wondering at's own sudden rise,  
By pride simplicity and vice,  
Falls to three sports, drink, drab, and dice▪  
And makes all fly like stubble.   

10.  
And the Church the other twin,  
Whose mad zeal enraged us,  
Is not purified a pin,  
By all those broils in which she engaged us,  
We our wives turned out of doors,  
And took in Concubines and Whores,  
To make an alteration:  
Our Pulpiteers are proud and bold,  
They their own Wills and factions hold,  
And sell salvation still for Gold,  
And here's our Reformation.   

11.  
'Tis a madness then to make  
Thriving our employment,  
And lucre love, for Lucre's sake,  
Since we've possession, not enjoyment▪  
Let the times run on their course,  
For opposition makes them worse,  
We ne'er shall better find 'em;  
Let Grandees wealth and power engross,  
And honour too, while we sit close,  
And laugh and take our plenteous dose  
Of Sack, and never mind 'um.    

SONG XXXV. For the General's Entertainment.  

1.  
FArewell all cares and fears, let Gladness come,  
Let's all strive which shall most rejoice;  
No more the Trumpet, or the Thundering Drum,  
Shall interrupt our peace with noise;  
But all their Offices shall be  
Inherited by sprightly melody.  
Th'inchanting Lute and the melodious Lyre,  
With well tuned souls does make  
A full harmonious Quire.   

2.  
In vain do we ourselves, ourselves destroy;  
In vain do English, English beat:  
Contests are cruel, we must now wear joy,  
And all in love, each other greet.  
Our civil discords now shall cease,  
And lose themselves in a desired peace▪  
All things by war are in a Chaos hurled,  
But love alone first made,  
And still preserves the World.   

3.  
The Trophies of the Conquerors of old,  
And all the spoils with which they're crowned,  
Were all but types of what we do behold,  
What they did seek for, we have found.  
Here peace and plenty sweetly kissed,  
And both loyalty and virtue, twist;  
Then let our joy rise high, that all may share it;  
Let wealth and honour meet desert;  
He that wins Gold may wear it.    

SONG XXXVI. On Sir G. B. his Defeat.  

1.  
PRay why should any man complain,  
Or why disturb his breast or brain,  
At this new alteration?  
Since that which has been done's no more  
Than what has been done before;  
And that which will be done again,  
As long's there are ambitious men,  
That strive for domination.   

2.  
In this mad age there's nothing firm▪  
All things have periods and their term,  
Their Rise and Declinations.  
Those gaudy Nothings we admire,  
Which get above, and shine like fire,  
Are empty vapours, raised from th'ground,  
Whose mock-shine past, they quickly down  
Must fall like Exhalations.   

3.  
But still we Commons must be made  
A galled, a lame, thin, hackney jade,  
And all by turns will ride us;  
This side, and that, no matter● which,  
For both do ride with spur and switch,  
Till we are tired; and then at last,  
We stumble, and our riders cast,  
'Cause they'd not feed, nor guide us.   

4.  
The insulting Clergy quite mistake,  
In thinking Kingdoms passed by book,  
Or Crowns were got by prating;  
'Tis not the black-coat, but the red,  
Has power to make, or be the head;  
Nor is it words, or oaths, or tears,  
But Muskets, or full Bandeliers,  
Have power of Legislating.   

5.  
The Lawyers must lay by their book,  
And study Lambert more than Cook,  
The sword's the learned'st pleader;  
Reports and judgements will not do't,  
But 'tis Dragoons, and Horse, and foot:  
Words are but wind, but blows come home;  
A stout tongued Lawyer's but a Mome,  
Compared to a stout File-leader.   

6.  
Luck, wit, or valour, rule all things,  
They pull down, and they set up Kings;  
All laws are in their bosom:  
That side is always right that's strong,  
And that that's beaten must be wrong;  
And he that thinks it is not so,  
Unless he's sure to beat 'em too,  
Is but a fool t' oppose 'um.   

7.  
Let them impose taxes or rates,  
'Tis but on those that have estates,  
Not such as I and thou are,  
But it concerns those worldlings, which  
Are left, or made, or else grow rich;  
Such as have studied all their days,  
The saving and the thriving ways,  
To be the mules of power.   

8.  
If they reform the Church or State,  
We'll ne'er be troubled much thereat,  
Let each man takes opinion;  
If we don't like the Church you know,  
Taverns are free and there we go;  
And if every one would be  
As clearly unconcerned as we,  
They'd ne'er fight for Dominion.    

SONG XXXVII. Against Corrupted Sack.  

1.  
SACK! once my comfort and my dear delight,  
Dull mortals quickening spirit;  
Thou didst once give affections, wit, and might;  
Thou mad'st the Lover, and the Wight;  
Thou mad'st one die, and t'other fight;  
Thou mad'st the Poet, who made both; and thou  
Inspir'dst our brains with genial fire till now,  
The hast justly lost thy honour,  
'Cause thoust▪ lost thy power and merit.   

2.  
Now we depose thee from th'usurped throne,  
Since thou'rt degenerate and disloyal;  
Thou hast no proper father of thine own,  
But art ● bastard got by th' Town,  
By Aequiv●ke generation,  
Thy Bawds, the Vintners do compound thee more,  
Then Flavel or Bess Beer ere drugged a whore;  
Nor canst thou now inspire, nor ●eed,  
Nor cherish; but destroy all.   

3.  
Oh where's that sprightly Poetry and Wit,  
That should endure for ever?  
Had Homer drank thy mixture, he had writ  
Lines that would make the Reader spit;  
Nor beyond puns would Pindar get;  
Virgil and Horace, if inspired by thee,  
Had writ but lewd and pagan poetry;  
Dull dropsied▪ lines, or else as dry and raging as a Fever.   

4.  
Treasons committed and contrived by thee,  
Kingdoms and Kings subverted;  
'Tis thou makest Rulers fools and cowards be,  
And such as ought to bend the Knee,  
Madly invade the Sovereignty;  
Thou throw'st us on all actions, vi●e and fell,  
First mak'st us do, and then thou mak'st us tell;  
And whom we swore to serve,  
By thee we ●asely have deserted▪   

5.  
Thou plague of bodies and th' unnatural Nurse,  
Of Sickness and Physicians;  
Rain of wit, and strength, and fame, and purse,  
That hast destroyed poor mortals worse  
Than the great plague, or M●rosh curse.  
In fifty nine th' haste spilt more English blood  
Then e'er in eighty eight the Spaniard could  
By his Armado, or can since destroy  
By's Inquisitions.   

6.  
Hence from my veins, from my desires be gone;  
I loathe thee and defy thee;  
I'll now find out a purer Helicon,  
Which wits may safely feast upon,  
And baffle thy hobgoblin Don;  
And live to see thee and thy mongrel race,  
Contemned and rooted out of every place;  
And those thou'st fooled and wronged like me,  
For ever ever fly thee.    

SONG XXXVIII. The Lamentation.  
Written in 164●.  

1.  
MOurn London, mourn▪  
bath thy polluted ●oul in tears:  
Return, return;  
Thou hast more cause of grief, than th' hadst fo● 〈◊〉▪  
For the whole▪ Kingdoms now begins  
To feel thy sorrows, as they saw thy sins,  
And now do no  
Compassion show  
Unto thy misery and woe▪  
But slight thy sufferings as thou didst theirs.   

2.  
Pride, towering pride,  
And boiling lust, those fatal twins  
Sat side by side,  
And are become plantations of sins.  
Hence thy Relellions first did flow,  
Both to the King above, and him below:  
And fordid sloth,  
The Nurse of both,  
Have raised thy crimes to such a growth,  
That sorrow must conclude as sin begins.   

3.  
Fire raging fire,  
Shall burn thy stately towers down,  
Yet not expire;  
Tigers and Wolves, or men more savage grown,  
Thy children's brains, and thine shall dash,  
And in your blood their guilty talons wash;  
Thy Daughters must  
Allay their lust;  
Mischiefs will be on mischief thrust,  
Till thy Cap tumble, as thou mad'st the Crown▪   

4.  
Cry London cry!  
Now now petition for redress;  
Where canst thou fly?  
Thy emptied chests augment thy heaviness,  
The Gentry and the Commons loath,  
Th' adored Houses slight thee worse than both;  
The King poor Saint,  
Would help but can't:  
To heaven alone unfold thy want▪  
Thence came thy plagues, thence only pity flow'th.    

SONG XXXIX. The Riddle.  
Written in 1644.  

1.  
NO more, no more,  
We are already pined;  
And sore, and poor,  
In body and in mind:  
And yet our sufferings have been  
Less than our sin.  
Come long-desired peace we thee implore,  
And let our pains be less, or power more.   

2.  
Lament, Lament,  
And let thy tears, run down,  
To see the rent  
Between the Robe and Crown;  
Yet both do strive to make it more  
Than 'twas before:  
War like a serpent has its head got in,  
And will not end so soon as't did begin.   

3.  
One body Jars,  
And with its self does fight;  
War meets with wars,  
And might resisteth might;  
And both sides say they love the King,  
And peace will bring:  
Yet since these fatal civil broils begun,  
Strange Riddle! both have conquered, neither won.   

4.  
One God, one King,  
One true Religion still;  
In every thing  
One Law both should fulfil;  
All these both sides does still pretend  
That they defend:  
Yet to increase the King and Kingdoms woes,  
Which side soever wins, good subjects lose.   

5.  
The King doth swear,  
That he doth fight for them;  
And they declare,  
They do the like for him:  
Both say they wish and fight for peace,  
Yet wars increase:  
So between both, before our wars be gone,  
Our lives and goods are lost, and we're undone.   

6.  
Since 'tis our curse,  
To fight we know not why▪  
'Tis worse and worse  
The longer thus we lie:  
For war itself is but a Nurse  
To make us worse.  
Come blessed peace, we once again implore,  
And let our pains be less, or power more.    

SONG XL. On the Kings Return.  

1.  
LOng have we waited for a happy End  
Of all our miseries and strif;  
But still in vain; the Swordmen did intend,  
To make them hold for term of Life;  
That our distempers might be made,  
Their everlasting livelihood and trade.   

2.  
They entail their Swords and Guns,  
And pay, which wounded more,  
Upon their Daughters and their Sons,  
Thereby to keep us ever poor.   

3.  
And when the Civil wars were passed,  
They civil Government envade,  
To make our taxes, and our slavery last,  
Both to their titles, and their trade.   

4.  
But now we are redeemed from all,  
By our Indulgent King;  
Whose coming does prevent our fall;  
With loyal and with joyful hearts we'll sing.   
Chorus.  

Welcome, welcome royal May,  
Welcome long desired Spring,  
Many Springs and Mays we've seen,  
Have brought forth what's gay and green;  
But none is like this glorious day,  
Which brings forth our Gracious King.    

SONG XLI. A Catch.  

LEt's leave off our labour, and now let's go play;  
For this is our time to be jolly;  
Our plagues and our plaguers are both fled away;  
To nourish our griefs is but folly.  
He that won't drink and sing,  
Is a Traitor to's King;  
And so's he that does not look twenty years younger,  
We'll look blithe and trim,  
With rejoicing at him  
That is the restorer, and will be the Prolonger,  
Of all our felicity and health,  
The joy of our hearts, and increase of our wealth;  
'Tis he brings our trading, our trading brings riches,  
Our riches brings honours, at which every mind itches,  
And our riches bring Sack, & our Sack brings us joy,  
And our joy makes us leap, and sing Vive le Roy.    

SONG XLII. For General Monk his entertainment at Cloath-workers-Hall.  

1.  
RIng Bells! and let bonfires out-blaze the Sun!  
Let echoes contribute their voice!  
Since now a happy settlement's begun,  
Let all things tell how all good men▪ rejoice.  
If these sad Lands by this,  
Can but obtain the bliss  
Of their desired, though abused peace;  
We'll never never more  
Run mad, as we have heretofore,  
To buy our ruin; but all strife shall cease.   

2.  
The Cobbler shall edify us no more,  
Nor shall in divinity set any stitches.  
The women we will no more hear and adore,  
That preach with their husbands for the breeches.  
The Fanatical tribe,  
That will not subscribe  
To the orders of Church and of State,  
Shall be smothered with the zeal  
Of their new common-weal,  
And no man will mind what they prate.   
Chorus.  

We'll eat, and we'll drink, we'll dance, and we'll sing,  
The Roundheads & Caveys no more shall be named;  
But all join together to make up the ring;  
And rejoice that the many-headed dragon is tamed.  
'Tis friendship and love, that can save us, and arm us;  
And while we all agree, there is nothing can harm us.    

SONG XLIII. The Advice.  

1.  
HE that a happy life would lead,  
In these days of distraction,  
Let him listen to me, and I will read  
A lecture without faction;  
Let him want three things,  
Whence misery springs,  
All which do begin with a letter;  
Let him bound his desires,  
With what nature requires,  
And with reason his humours fetter.   

2.  
Let not his Wealth prodigious grow,  
For that breeds cares and dangers;  
Makes him hated above and envied below,  
And a constant slave to strangers.  
He is happiest of all,  
Whose estate is but small,  
Yet enough to delight and maintain him:  
He may do, he may say,  
Having nothing to pay,  
It will not quit costs to arraign him.   

3.  
Nor must he be clogged with a Wife;  
For household cares encumber;  
And do to one place confine a man's life,  
'Cause he can't remove his lumber.  
They're happiest by far,  
Who unwedded are,  
And forage on all in common;  
From all storms they can fly,  
And if they should die,  
They ruin nor child nor woman.   

4.  
Nor let his brains overflow with wit,  
That caper's o●●'s discretion;  
'Tis costly to keep, and 'tis hard to get,  
And 'tis dangerous in the possession.  
They are happiest men  
Who can scarce tell ten,  
And beat not their brains about reason;  
They may speak what will serve,  
Themselves to preserve,  
And their words are ne'er taken for treason.   

5.  
But of all fools there is none like the Wit,  
For he takes pains to show it;  
When his pride, or his drink, work him into a fit;  
Then strait he must be a Poet:  
Then his Jests he flings,  
Both at States and at Kings,  
For Applause, and for Bays and Shadows:  
Thinks a verse saves as well  
As a circle or a spell,  
Till he rhithmes himself to the Barbadoss.   

6.  
He that within these bounds can live,  
May baffle all disasters;  
To Fortune and Fates commands he may give,  
Which worldlings make their masters.  
He may sing, he may laugh,  
He may dance, he may quaff;  
May be mad, may be sad, may be jolly;  
He may sleep without care,  
And wake without fear,  
And laugh at the whole world, and its folly.      

BALLADS.  

I. The satire of Money.  

1.  
IT is not the Silver or Gold of its self,  
That makes men adore it; but 'tis for its power:  
For no man does dote upon pelf, because pelf;  
But all court the Lady in hopes of her Dower.  
The wonders that now in our days we behold,  
Done by th' irresistible power of Gold,  
Our Love, and our Zeal, and Allegiance do mould.   

5.  
This purchaseth Kingdoms, Kings, Sceptres, & Crowns;  
Wins Battles, and conquers the Conqueror's bold;  
Takes Bulwarks, and Castles, and Armies, and Towns,  
Our prime Laws, are written in letters of Gold:  
'Tis this that our Parliaments calls, and creates;  
Turns Kings into Keepers, and Kingdoms to States,  
And Peopledoms this into High-doms translates.   

3.  
This plots doth devise, then discovers what th' are;  
This makes the great folons the lesser condemn:  
Sets those on the bench that should stand at the bar;  
Who judge such as by right, aught to execute them:  
Gives the boisterous Clown his unsufferable pride;  
Make● Beggars, and ●●ols, and usurpers to ●ide,  
While ruin'd properties run by their side.   

4.  
Stamp either the arms of the State, or the King,  
St. George or the breeches, C. R. or O. P.  
The Cross and the fiddle, 'tis all the same thing.  
This still is the Queen, who ere the King be.  
This lines mens Religion, builds doctrines and truth,  
With zeal, and the spirit; the factious endu'th,  
To club with St. Katherine, or sweet sister Ruth.   

5.  
This made our black Senate to sit still so long;  
To make themselves rich by making us poor;  
This made our bold Army so daring, and strong;  
And that made them drive 'em like Geese out of door.  
'Twas this made the Covenant-makers to make it;  
And this made our Levites to make us to take it;  
And this made both makers and takers forsake it.   

6.  
This spawned the dunghill crew of Committees and ' Strators,  
Who lived by picking their Parliaments Gums;  
This made, and then prospered Rebels and Traitors,  
And made Gentry of those that were the Nations scums.  
This Herald gives arms, not for merit but store;  
Gives Coats unto such, as did sell coats before;  
If their nockers be lined but with Argent and Or.   

7.  
'Tis this makes the Lawyer give judgement and pledd,  
On this side, or that side, on both sides or neither,  
This makes Yeomen Clerks, that can scarce write or read,  
And spawns arbitrary orders as various as the weather:  
This makes the blew-lecturor prey, preach and prate,  
Without reason or truth against K. Church, or State,  
To show the thin lining of his twice-covered pa●e.   

8.  
'Tis this that makes Earls, Lords, Knights, & Esquires,  
Without breeding, descent, wit, learning, or merit;  
Makes Ropers and Ale-drapers Sheriffs of Shires,  
Whose trade's not so low, nor so base as their spirits  
This Justices makes, and wise ones we know;  
Furred Aldermen likewise, and Mayors also,  
Makes the old wife to troth, and makes the Mare go.   

9  
This makes the blue aprons write themselves worshipful,  
And for this we stand bare, and before 'em do fall;  
They leave their young Heirs well fleeced with wool,  
whom we're too call Squires, and they're to pay all;  
Who with beggarly souls, though their bodies are gaudy,  
Court the pale Chambermaid, and nickname her a Lady;  
And for want of discourse they do swear and talk bawdy.   

10.  
For money men's lives may be purchased and sold,  
'Tis money breaks laws, and that mends 'em again;  
Men venture their quiet and safety for gold,  
When they won't stir a foot their rights to maintain.  
This Doctors createth of Dunces, and those,  
Commanders that use to pollute their hose;  
This buys the spruce gallant his verse and his prose.   

11.  
This marriages makes, 'tis the centre of love;  
It draws on the man, and it pricks up the woman;  
Birth, virtue, and parts, no affection can move,  
While this makes Lords bow to the brat of a Broom-man.  
Gives virtue, and beauty to the lass that you woe,  
Makes women of all sorts and ages to do;  
'Tis the soul of the world, and the worldling too.   

12.  
This horses procures you, and hawks, hounds, and hares;  
'Tis this keeps your Groom, and your Groom keeps your Geldings;  
It buys Citizens wives as well as their wares,  
And makes your coy Ladies so coming and yielding;  
This buys us good Sack, which revives like the spring;  
This gives the poetical fancies their wing;  
This makes you as merry as we that do sing.    

11. Upon a Signpost, set up at Skoale in Norfolk.  

1.  
DId none of you hear,  
Of a wonder last year;  
That through all Norfolk did ring;  
Of an Inn and an Host,  
With a Sign and a post,  
That might hold (God bless us) the King.   

2.  
The building is great,  
And very complete,  
But can't be compared to the sign;  
But within doors, I think  
's scarce a drop of good drink,  
For Bacchus drinks all the best wine.   

3.  
But here's the design,  
What's amiss in the Wine,  
By wenches shall be supplied;  
There's three on a row  
Stands out for a show,  
To draw in the Gallants that ride.   

4.  
The first of the three,  
Diana should be,  
But she cuckolded poor Actaeon,  
And his head she adorns  
With such visible horns,  
That he's fit for his hounds for to pray on.   

5.  
'Tis unsafe we do find  
To trust Women kind,  
Since horning's a part of their trade;  
Diana is placed  
As a Goddess that's chaste,  
Yets Actaeon a Monster she made.   

6.  
The next wench doth stand,  
With the scales in her hand,  
And is ready to come at your beck;  
A new trick they've found,  
To sell Sack by the pound,  
But 'twere better they'd sell't by the peck.   

7.  
The last of the three  
They say prudence must be,  
With the serpent and horn of plenty;  
But plenty and wit  
So seldom doth hit,  
That they fall not to one in twenty.   

8.  
But above these things all,  
Stands a fellow that's small,  
With a Quadrant discerning the wind,  
And says he's a fool  
That travels from Skoale,  
And leaves his good liquor behind.   

9  
Near the top of the sign,  
Stand three on a line,  
One is Temperance, still pouring out;  
And Fortitude will  
Drink what Temperance fill,  
And fears not the stone or the gout.   

10.  
The next to these three,  
You'll an Usurer see,  
With a prodigal child in his mouth;  
'Tis Time (as some say)  
And well so it may,  
For they be devourers both.   

11.  
The last that you stare on,  
Is old father Charon,  
Who's wafting a wench o'er the ferry;  
Where Cerberus does stand,  
To watch where they land,  
And together they go to be merry.   

12.  
Now to see such a change,  
Is a thing that is strange,  
That one, who as stories do tell us,  
His money has lent  
At fifty per cent,  
A College should build for good fellows.   

13.  
But under this work,  
Does a mystery lurk,  
That shows us the founder's design;  
He has chalked out the way  
For Gallants to stray,  
That their lands may be his in fine?   

14.  
That's first an Alebench,  
Next hounds, than a wench,  
With these three to roar and to revel;  
Brings the prodigals lands,  
To the Usurer's hands,  
And his body and soul to the Devil.   

15.  
Now if you would know,  
After all this ado,  
By what name this sign should be known;  
Some call't this, and some that,  
And some I know not what;  
But 'tis many signs in one.   

16.  
'Tis a sign that who built it,  
Had more money than wit,  
And more wealth than he got or can use;  
'Tis a sign that all we  
Have less wit than he,  
That come thither to drink, and may choose.    

III.  

A new Diurnal of passages, more  
Exactly drawn up then heretofore.  
Printed and published, 'tis ordered to be  
By Henry Elsing the Clerk of the P.   

June 1. 1643.  

SInce many Diurnals (for which we are grieved,  
Are come from both Houses, & are not believed  
The better to help them for running and flying,  
We have put them in Verse, to Authorize their lying  
For it has been debated, and found to be true,  
That lyings a Parliament Privilege too:  
And that they may the sooner our conquests rehearse '  
We are minded to put them in Galloping verse:  
But so many maimed Soldiers from Reading there came,  
That in spite of the Surgeons, make our verses go lame.  
We have ever used Fictions, and now it is known,  
Our Poverty has made us Poetical grown.    

Monday.  

On Monday both Houses fell into debate,  
And were likely to fall by the ears as they sat;  
Yet would they not have the business decided,  
That they (as the Kingdom is) might be divided.  
They had an intention to Prayers to go,  
But Extempore Prayers are now Common too.  
To Voting they fall; and the key of the work,  
Was the raising of money for the State and the Kirk.  
'Tis only-Free-loan; yet this order they make,  
That what men would not lend, the should Plunder and take.  
Upon this, the word Plunder came into their mind,  
And they all did labour a new one to find:  
They called it distraining, yet thought it no shame,  
To persist in the Act, which they blushed for to name.  
They Voted all persons from Oxford that came,  
Should be apprehended: and after the same,  
With an Humble Petition, the King they request,  
he'd be pleased to return, and be served like the rest.  
A message from Oxford conducing to peace,  
Came next to their hands, that Arms might cease.  
They Voted, and Voted, and still they did vary,  
Till at last the whole sense of the House was contrary  
To reason; they knew by their Arms they might gain,  
What neither true reason, nor Law can maintain.  
Cessation was voted a dangerous plot;  
Because the King would have it, both Houses would no●.  
But when they resolved it, abroad must be blown,  
(To baffle the world) that the King would have none.  
And carefully muzzled the mouth of the press,  
Lest the truth should peep through their juggling dress.  
For they knew a cessation would work them more harms,  
Then Essex could do the Cavaliers with his arms.  
While they keep the Ships and the Forts in their hand,  
They may be Traitors by Sea, as well as by Land.  
The Forts will preserve them as long as they stay,  
And the Ships carry them and their plunder away.  
They have therefore good reason to account war the better,  
For the Law will prove to them but a kill letter.    

Tuesday.  

A Post from his Excellence came blowing his Horn,  
For Money to advance, and this spun out the Morn;  
And straight to the City some went for relief,  
The rest made an Ordinance to carry Powder-Beef.  
Thus go up the Roundheads, and Essex advances,  
But only to lead his Soldiers new dances.  
To Reading he goes, for at Oxford (they say)  
His wife has made Bulwarks to keep him away.  
Prince Rnpert, for fear that the name be confounded,  
Will saw off his horns, and make him a Round-head.  
The news was returned with General fame,  
That Reading was taken ere ever he came:  
Then away Road our Captains, and Soldiers did run,  
To show themselves valiant, when the Battle was done,  
Preparing to plunder, but as soon as they came,  
They quickly perceived it was but a flame:  
An Ordinance of Parliament Essex brought down;  
But that would not serve him to batter the Town.  
More money was raised, more Men and Ammunition,  
Carts loaded with Turnips, and other provision.  
His Excellence had Chines and Rams-heads for a present,  
And his Council of War had Woodcock and Pheasant:  
But Venus had 5000. Calf's heads all in carts,  
To nourish his Men and to cheer up their hearts:  
This made them so valiant, that that very day,  
They had taken the Town but for running away.  
'Twas Ordered this day, that thanksgiving be made,  
To the Roundheads in Sermons, for their beef, and their bread,    

Wednesday.  

Two Members this day at a Conference sat,  
And one gives the other a knock on the pate.  
This set them a voting, and the upper House swore,  
'Twas a breach of privilege he gave him no more.  
The lower the breaking their Members head voted  
A breach of their privilege; for it is to be noted,  
That Treason and Privilege in it did grow;  
'Twas a breach of his Crown and dignity too.  
Then came in the Women with a long long petition,  
To settle Militia and damn the Commission.  
For if fight continue, they say they did fear,  
That Men would be scarce, and Husbands be dear:  
So plainly the Speaker the business unties,  
That presently all the Members did rise:  
They had hardly the leisure all things to lay open,  
But some felt in their Bellies if they had not a Pope;  
Some strictly stood to them, and others did fear,  
Each carried about them a fierce Cavalier:  
This business was handled by the Close-Committee,  
That privately met at a place in the City:  
So closely to voting the Members did fall,  
That the humble Sisters were overthrown all:  
But they and their helpers came short at the last,  
Till at length the whole work on Prince Gri●●ith was cast;  
And he with his troup did handle the matter,  
He pleased every Woman, as soon as he came at her.  
The business had like to have gone on their side,  
Had not Pym persuaded them not to confide.  
For rather than peace, to fill the Commonwealth,  
He said he'd do ten every night himself.    

Thursday.  

This day a great fart in the house they did hear,  
Which made all the Members make buttons for fear;  
And one makes nine speeches while the business was, hot,  
And spoke through the nose that he smelled out the plot.  
He takes it to task, and the Articles draws,  
As a breach of their own Fundamental laws.  
Now Letters were read which did fully relate  
A victory against Newcastle of late;  
That hundreds were slain, and hundreds did run,  
And all this was got ere the battle begun:  
This than they resolved to make the best on;  
And next they resolved upon the Question,  
That Bonfires and praises, the Pulpit and Steeple,  
Must all be suborned to cozen the People:  
But the policy was more money to get,  
For the conquest's dear bought, and far enough fet;  
Such victories in Ireland, although it be known,  
They strive to make that Land as bad as our own▪  
No sooner the money for this was brought hither,  
But a crowd of true Letters came flocking together,  
How Hotham and's army, and others were beaten.  
This made the blue Members to startle and threaten:  
And these by all means must be kept from the City,  
And only referred to the Privy-Committee:  
And they presently with an Extempore Vote,  
(which they have used so long, that they learned by rote,)  
They styled them malignant, and to lies they did turn them,  
Then Corbet in stead of the Hangman, must burn them:  
And he after that an Ordinance draws,  
That▪ none should tell truth that disparaged the cause.  
Then P. like a Pegasus trots up and down,  
And takes up an angel to throw down a Crown:  
He stands like a Centaur and makes a long speech,  
That came from his mouth, and part from his breech:  
He moves for more Horse, that the Army may be  
Part Mans-flesh and Horseflesh, as well as he;  
And he'll be a Colonel as well as another,  
But durst not ride a horse, 'cause a horse road his Mother.    

Friday.  

Sir Hugh Cholmley for being no longer a Traitor,  
Was accused of treason in the highest Nature;  
'Cause he (as they bade him) his Soldiers did bring,  
To turn from Rebellion, and fight for the King:  
They voted him out, but, nor they nor their men  
Could vote him into the house again.  
Sir David's Remonstrance next to them was read,  
From the City's round body, and Isaac's the head:  
'Twas approved; but one cause produced a denial,  
That all Traitors be brought to a Legal trial:  
For 'tis against reason to vote or to do  
Against Traitors when they are no other but so;  
Because about nothing so long they sit still,  
They hold it convenient Diurnals to fill:  
And therefore they gave their Chronographer charge  
To stuff it with Orders and Letters at large.  
The King by's Prerogative, nor by the Law,  
Can speak, nor print nothing his people to draw:  
Yet Pennyles Pampleters they do maintain,  
Whose only Religion is Stipendiary gain.  
Who Cum Privilegio, against King and the State,  
The treason that's taught them (like Parrots) they prate.  
These Hackneys are licenc't what ever they do,  
As if they had Parliament privilege too.  
Thus than they consult; so zealous they are,  
To settle the peace of the Kingdom by war:  
But against Civil war their hatred is such,  
To prevent it they'll bring in the Scots and the Dutch.  
They had rather the Land be destroyed in a minute,  
Then abide any thing that has loyalty in it;  
And yet their rebellion so neatly they trim,  
They fight for the King, but they mean for King Pym  
These all to fight for, and maintain are sent  
The Laws of England: but New-England is meant;  
And though such disorders are broke in of late,  
They keep it the Anagram still of a State:  
For still they are plotting more riches to bring,  
To make Charles a rich and glorious King;  
And by this rebellion this good they will do him,  
They'll forfeit all their Estates unto him.  
No Clergy must meddle in Spiritual affairs,  
But Layton ne'er heard of it, losing his ears,  
For that he might be deaf to the prisoners cries,  
To a spiritual Gaolers' place he must rise.  
The rest have good reason for what they shall do,  
For they are both Clergy and Laity too:  
Or else at the best, when the question is stated,  
They are but Mechanics newly translated.  
They may be Committees to practise their bawling,  
For stealing of horses is a spiritual calling.  
The reason why people our Martyrs adore,  
'Cause their ears being cut off, their fame sounds the more.  
'Twas ordered the Goods of Malignants and Lands,  
Shall be shared among them, and took into their hands.  
They send spirits for more malignants to come,  
That every one in the house may have some.  
Then down to Guildhall they return with their thanks,  
To the fools whom the Lottery has cheated with blanks.    

Saturday.  

This day there came news of the taking a Ship,  
(To see what strange wonders are wrought in the deep)  
That a troop of their Horse ran into the Sea,  
And pulled out a Ship alive to the key;  
And after much prating and fight they say,  
The ropes served for traces to draw her away:  
Sure these were Sea-horses, or else by their lying  
They'd make them as famous for swimming as flying.  
The rest of the day they spent to bemoan  
Their Brother the Round-head that to Tyburn was gone,  
And could not but think it a barbarous thing,  
To hang him for killing a friend to the King:  
He was newly baptised, and held it was good  
To be washed, yet not in water, but blood.  
They ordered for his honour to cut off his ears,  
And make him a Martyr; but a Zealot appears,  
And affirmed him a Martyr, for though 'twas his fate  
To be hanged, yet he died for the good of the State.  
Then all fell to plotting of matters so deep,  
That the silent Speaker fell down fast asleep:  
He recovers himself and rubs up his eyes,  
Then motion's his house that 'twas time to rise.  
So home they went all, and their business referred  
To the Close-Committee by them to be heard;  
They took it upon them, but what they did do,  
Take notice that none but themselves must know.    

Postscript.  

Thus far we have gone in Rhithm to disclose,  
What never was uttered by any in prose;  
If any be wanting, 'twas but a mishap,  
Because we forgot to weight by the map;  
For over the Kingdom their orders were spread,  
They have made the whole body as bad as the head;  
And now made such work, that all they can do,  
Is but to read Letters and answer them too.  
We thought to make Finis the end of the story,  
But that we shall have more business for you.  
For (as their proceedings do) so shall our Pen,  
Run roundly from Monday to Monday again.  
And since we have begun, our Muse doth intend▪  
To have (like their votes) no beginning nor end.     

IV. On the demolishing the Forts.  

IS this the end of all the toil,  
And labour of the Town?  
And did our Bulwarks rise so high,  
Thus low to tumble down?   

All things go by contraries now,  
We fight to still the Nation,  
Build Forts to pull down popery,  
Pull down for Edification.   

These Independents tenets, and  
Their ways so pleasing be,  
Our City won't be bound about,  
But stands for liberty.   

The Popish doctrine shall no more  
Prevail within our Nation;  
For now we see that by our works,  
There's no Justification.   

What an Almighty army's this,  
How worthy of our praising,  
That with one vote can blow down that;  
All we so long were raising!   

Yet let's not wonder at this change,  
For thus 'twill be withal:  
These works did lift themselves too high,  
And pride must have a fall.   

And when both Houses vote again,  
The Cavies to be gone;  
Nor dare to come within the lines,  
Of Communication:   

They must reserve the sense, or else  
Refered to the Divines,  
And they had need sit seven years more,  
Ere they can read those lines.   

They went to make a Gotham on't,  
For now they did begin  
To build these mighty banks about,  
To keep the Cuckoos in.   

Alas what need they take such pains!  
For why a Cuckoo here,  
Might find so many of his mates,  
he'll sing here all the year.   

Has Isaac our L. Mayor, L. Mayor,  
With Tradesmen and with wenches,  
Spent so much time, and cakes and beer,  
To edify these trenches!   

All trades did show their skill in this,  
Each wife an Engineer:  
The Mayoress took the tool in hand,  
The maids the stones did bear.   

These Bulwarks stood for Popery,  
And yet we never feared 'um.  
And now they worship and fall down,  
Before those calves that reared 'um.   

But though for superstition,  
The crosses have been downed,  
Who'd think these works would Popish turn,  
That ever have been round?   

This spoils our Palmistry; for when  
we'll read the City's fate,  
We find nor lines nor crosses now,  
As it hath had of late.   

No wonder that the Aldermen,  
Will no more money lend,  
When they that in this seven years,  
Such learned works have penned.   

Now to debase their lofty lines,  
In which the wits delighted,  
'Tis thought they'll ne'er turn Poets more,  
Because their works are slighted.   

These to a doleful tune are set,  
For they that in the town,  
Did every where cry Up go we,  
Now they must sing down down.   

But if that Tyburn do remain,  
When t' other slighted be,  
The City will thither flock and sing,  
Hay, hay, than up go we.    

V. The Clown.  

1.  
AH sirrah, is't a come to this?  
That all our Weez-men do so miss?  
Esdid think so much avore,  
Have we kept veighting here so long.  
To sell our Kingdom for a zong,  
O that ever chwor a bore!   

2.  
Echave a be a Cavaliero,  
Like most weeze-men that escood hear, o.  
And shoor sdid wish 'em well,  
But within sdid see how the did go  
To cheat the King and Country too,  
Esbid 'em all vorwell.   

3.  
Thoo whun the club-men wor so thick,  
Esput my zive upon a stick.  
And about eswent among 'em;  
And by my troth esdid suppose  
That they were honester than those  
That now do zwear they'll hang hang.   

4.  
Was't not enough to make men vite,  
When villains come by de and night,  
To plunder and undo▪ 'em;  
And Garizons did vet all in,  
And steep the Country to the skin,  
And we said nothing to 'um?   

5.  
But we had zoon a scurvy pluck,  
The better Men, the worse luck;  
We had knaves and vools among us▪  
Zome turned, zome cowards run away,  
And left a view behind to try,  
And bloody rogues to bang us:   

6.  
But now 'tis a come to a scurvy matter,  
Cham in the house of the Surgan-strater,  
That have no grace, nor pity;  
But here they peel, and pole, and squeeze;  
And when cha ' paid them all their fees,  
They turn me to the mittee.   

7.  
Like furies they zit three and three,  
And all their plots to beggar we,  
Like Pilate and the Jews;  
And zome do ze that both do know,  
Of thick above, and those below,  
'Tis not a turd to choose.   

8.  
But though Echood redeem my grown,  
Es went to London to compoun,  
And ride through ween and weather;  
Estaid there eight and twenty week,  
And chowor at last so much to seek,  
As when Es vur'st come thither.   

9  
There whun's zeed voke to Church repair,  
Espied about vor Common-Prayer;  
But no zuch thing scold see.  
The said the Commonest that was there,  
Was urom a tub, or a wicker chair;  
They called it stumpere.   

10.  
Es hured 'em pray, and every word,  
As the wor sick, they cried O Lord:  
And those stone still again,  
And warrant my life escould not know,  
Whun they begun or had ado,  
But when they said amen,   

11.  
They have a new word, 'tis not preach,  
Zdo think zome o'me did call it teach;  
A trick of their devizing:  
And there so good a nap sdid vet,  
Till 'twas ado, that's past zun-zet,  
As if ' twor but zun-rising.   

12.  
At night so 'zounds chwar into bed,  
Sdid all my prayers without book read;  
My Creed and Pater noster:  
Me think zet all their prayers to thick,  
And they do go no more a leek,  
Then an Apple's like an Oyster.   

13.  
Chad nead to watch, so well as pray,  
Whun c have to-do with zuch as they,  
Or else Es may go seek;  
They need not bid a monthy vast;  
Warrant if zoo be these times do last,  
'twool come to zeav'n a weak.   

14.  
Es waited there a huges time,  
And bribed thick men to know my crime,  
That esmed make my peace,  
At last esvown my purse was vat,  
And if chwould be reformed of that,  
They wood give me a release.   

15.  
Esgid 'em bond voor neenscore pown,  
Bezides what chad a paid 'em down,  
And thoo they made me swear,  
Whun chad a reckoned what my cost are,  
Es sweared chood even zit down aloster,  
Warrant by my troth chawr weary.   

16.  
Thoo when scum home esbote some beass,  
And chowr in hope we should ha' peace,  
Case here's no Cavaliers,  
But now they zed's a new quandary,  
'Tween Pendents and Presbytary,  
I'm aghast they'll go by the ears.   

17.  
Esbore in hon 'twould never last,  
The mittees did get wealth so vast,  
And Gentlemen undoo;  
ud's wonderkins toold make one mad,  
That three or four livings had,  
Now can't tell whare to goo.   

18.  
Chazeed the time when escood gee  
My dater more than zix of the:  
But now by bribes and stortions;  
Zome at our wedden ha' bestowed  
In Gloves more than avore this wood  
A made three daters portions.   

19  
One am owed me three hundred pown,  
Es zend vor zome, he paid it down;  
But within three days after,  
Each had a ticket to restore  
The same again, and six times more;  
isn't this a cozening matter!   

20.  
Whun chood not do't smote to black-rod,  
A place was ne'er a made by God,  
And there chowr vain to lie,  
Till chad a gidd'n up his bon,  
And paid a hundred more in hon,  
And thoo smed come awy.   

21.  
Nay now they have a good hon made;  
What if the Scots should play the jade,  
And keep awy our King?  
War they not mad in all these dangers,  
To go and trust the King with strangers?  
Was ever such a thing?   

22.  
We ha' nor scrip nor scroll to show▪  
Whether it be our King or no;  
And if they should deny an,  
They'll make us vight vor'n once more,  
As well's agenst'n heretovore,  
How can we else come by'n.   

23.  
We had been better paid 'em down  
Their forty hundred thousand pown,  
And so a zet 'em gwine,  
Vor I'm aghast avore the goo,  
they'll hav' our grown and money too,  
I'm sore afeard of mine.   

24.  
Another trick they do devise,  
The vive and twenty part and size;  
And there at every meeting,  
We pay vor wives and children's pole,  
More than they'll ever yield us whole,  
'Tis abomination cheating.   

25.  
We can nor eat, nor drink; nor lie;  
We our own wives by and by;  
We pay to knaves that cozen;  
My dame and I ten children made,  
But now we do give off the trade,  
Warrant fear should be a dozen.   

26.  
Then lets to clubs again and vight,  
Or let's take it all out right;  
Warrant thus they mean to sare,  
All thick be right, they'll strip and use,  
And deal with them as bad as Jews;  
All custen voke beware.    

VI On a Butcher's Dog that bit a Commanders Mare, that stood to be Knight of a Shire.  

1.  
ALL you that for Parliament Members do stand,  
For County, Burrough, or City;  
Listen now to my song, which is doleful for, and  
A lamentable ditty.   

2.  
For you must take notice that there was a Dog,  
Nay a Mastiff-dog (d'ye see)  
And if this great Dog were tied to a great clog,  
It had been full happy for we.   

3.  
And eke there was a great Colonel stout,  
That had been in many a slaughter;  
But this Mastiff to eat him was going about,  
As you shall hear hereafter.   

4.  
You bloody Malignants, why will you still plot?  
'Twill bring you to hanging you know.  
For if this Dog had done what he did not,  
How had he been used I trow!   

5.  
But happy was it for sweet Westminster,  
When they went to make their choice;  
That this plot was found out, for why should this ●ur  
In Elections have any voice?   

6.  
For surely this Mastiff, though he was big,  
And had been lucky at fight;  
Yet he was not qualified worth a fig,  
And therefore he fell a biting!   

7.  
But whom do you think? A thing of great note,  
And a worthy Commanders Mare;  
O what a strange battle had there been fought,  
Had they gone to fight dog, fight bear!   

8.  
This Dog was a Leveller in his heart,  
Or some Tub-preaching Cur;  
For honour or greatness he cared not a fart,  
And loved neither Lord nor Sir:   

9  
For when the Commander was mounted on high,  
And got above many a brother,  
It angered this dog at the guts verily,  
To see one man above another;   

10.  
And therefore he run at him with open mouth,  
But it seems the Dog was but dull,  
He had as good took a bear by the tooth,  
As mistook a horse for a bull:   

11.  
But this plot was discovered in very good time,  
And strangely, as you may perceive,  
For the people saw him committing this crime;  
And made him his biting leave.   

12.  
And so they were parted without any harm,  
That now any body seeth,  
For it seems this Dog that made all this alarm,  
Did but only show his teeth.   

13.  
So this Cavalier cur was beaten full sore,  
And had many a knock on the pate,  
But they served him aright if they had beat him more,  
For meddling with matters of State.   

14.  
Now heaven look down on our noble Protector,  
His Commanders and Members eke,  
And keep him from the teeth of every Elector,  
That is not able to speak.   

15.  
And hang all such dogs as their honours do hate,  
Let them clear themselves if they can,  
For if they be suffered to be in the State,  
They'll conspire against horse and man.    

VII. The new Knight Errand.  

1.  
OF Giants and Knights, & their wonderful fights,  
We have stories enough in Romances;  
But I'll tell you one new, that is strange and yet true,  
Though t' other are nothing but fancies.   

2.  
A Knight lately made of the Governing trade,  
Whose name he'll not have to be known;  
Has been trucking with fame, to purchase a name;  
For 'tis said he had none of his own.   

3.  
He by Fortune's design, should have been a Divine,  
And a pillar no doubt of the Church;  
Whom a Sexton (God wot) in the belfry begot,  
And his Mother did pig in the porch.   

4.  
And next for his breeding, 'twas learned hog-feeding,  
With which he so long did converse,  
That his manners and feature, was so like their nature,  
You'd scarce know his sweetness from theirs.   

5.  
But observe the device of this Nobleman's rise,  
How he hurried from trade to trade;  
For the grains he'd aspire to the yeast; & then higher,  
Till at length he a Dray-man was made.   

6.  
Then his dray-horse and he, in the streets we did see,  
With his hanger, his sling, and his jacket;  
Long time he did watch, to meet with his match;  
For he'd ever a mind to the placket.   

7.  
At length he did find, out a Trull to his mind,  
And Ursula was her name;  
O Ursly quoth he, and O Tom then quoth she,  
And so they began their game.   

8.  
But as soon as they met, O such babes they did get,  
And bloud-royal in 'em did place:  
From a swineherd they came, a she-bear was their Dam;  
They were suckled as Romulus was.   

9  
At last when the rout, with their head did fall out,  
And the wars thereupon did fall in,  
He went to the field, with a sword, but no shield,  
Strong drink was his buckler within:   

10.  
But when he did spy, how they dropped down and die,  
And did hear the bullets to sing;  
His arms he flung down, and run fairly to town,  
And exchanged his sword for his sling:   

11.  
Yet he claimed his share, in such honours as were  
Belonging to nobler spirits;  
That ventured their lives, while this Buffoon survives,  
To receive the reward of their merits.   

12.  
When the wars were all done, he his fight begun,  
And would needs show his valour in peace;  
Then his fury he flings, at poor conquered things,  
And frets like a hog in his grease;   

13.  
For his first feat of all, on a Wit he did fall,  
A wit as some say, and some not;  
Because he'd an art, to rhithm on the quart,  
But never did care for the pot;   

14.  
And next on the cocks, he fell like an Ox,  
And took them and their Masters together;  
But the combs and the spurs, kept himself & his Sirs,  
Who are to have both or neither.   

15.  
The cause of his spite, was because they would fight,  
And, because he durst not, he did take-on;  
And said they were fit, for the pot, not the pit,  
And would serve to be eaten with bacon.   

16.  
But fleshed with these spoils, the next of his toils,  
Was to fall with wild-beasts by the ears,  
To the Bearward he goeth, & then opened his mouth;  
And said, oh! are you there with your bears.   

17.  
Our stories are dull, of a cock and a bull,  
But such was his valour and care:  
Since he bears the bell, the tales that we tell,  
Must be of a cock and a bare.   

18.  
The crime of the bars was, they were Caveliers,  
And had formerly fought for the King;  
And pulled by the Burrs, the round-headed Curs,  
That they made both their ears to ring.   

19  
Our successor of Kings, like blind fortune, flings  
Upon him both honour and store:  
Who has as much right, to make Tom a Knight,  
As Tom has desert, and no more.   

20.  
But Fortune that whore, still attended this Brewer,  
And did all his achievements reward;  
And blindly did fling, on this lubberly thing,  
More honour, and made him a Lord.   

21.  
Now he walks with his spurs, and a couple of curs  
At his heels, which he calls Squires:  
So when honour is thrown on the head of a clown;  
'Tis by Parasites held up, and Liars.   

22.  
The rest of his pranks, will merit new thanks,  
With his death, if we did but know it;  
But we'll leave him and it, to a time and place fit,  
And Gregory shall be funeral Poet.    

VIII. The New Mountebank.  
Written in 1643.  

IF any body politic,  
Of plenty or ease be very sick,  
There's a Physician come to Town,  
Of far fetched fame and high renown;  
Though called a Mountebank, 'tis meant,  
Both words being French, a Parliament;  
Who from Geneva and Amsterdam,  
From Germany and Scotland came;  
Now lies in London; but the place,  
If men say true, is in his face.  
His Scaffold stands on Tower-hill,  
When he on Strafford tried his skill;  
Off went his head, you'll think him slain;  
But strait 'twas voted on again.  
Diurnals are his weekly-bills,  
Which speak how many he cures or kills:  
But of the Errata we'll advise,  
For cure read kill, for truth read lies.  
If any Traitor be diseased  
with a sore-neck, and would be eased;  
There is a pill, they call a Vote,  
Take it ex tempore it shall do't.  
If any conscience be to strict,  
Here's several p 〈…〉 from Lectures picked,  
Which swallowed down will stretch it full,  
As far as 'tis from this to Hull.  
Is any by Religion bound,  
Or Law, and would be loser found;  
Here's a Glister which we call  
His privilege o'r-topping all.  
Is any money left, or plate,  
Or goods? bring't in at any rate:  
He'll melt three shillings into one,  
And in a minute leave you none.  
Here's powder to inspire the lungs,  
Here's water that unties your tongues;  
Spite of the Law, 'twill set you free,  
To speak treason only lispingly.  
Here's Leeches, which if well applied,  
And fed, will stick close to your fide,  
Till your superfluous blood decay,  
Then they'll break and drop away.  
But here's a sovereign Antidote,  
Be sure our Sovereign never know't;  
Apply it as the Doctor pleases,  
'Twill cure all wounds and all diseases.  
A drug none but himself e'er saw,  
'Tis called a Fundamental Law:  
Here's Glasses to delude your sight,  
Dark Lanterns here, here bastard light.  
This if you conquer trebles the men,  
If lose a hundred, seems but ten.  
Here's Opium to lull asleep,  
And here lie dangerous plots in steep.  
Here stands the safety of the City,  
There hangs the invisible Committee.  
Plundring's the new Philosopher's stone,  
Turns war to Gold, and Gold to 〈…〉 e:  
And here's an Ordinance that shall,  
At one full shot enrich you all.  
He's skilled in the Mathematics,  
And in his circle can do tricks,  
By raising spirits, that can smell  
Plots that are hatched as deep as hell:  
Which ever to themselves are known,  
The Devil's ever kind to his own.  
All this he gratis doth, and saith,  
He'll only take the Public Faith,  
Flock to him then make no delay,  
The next fair wind he must away,    

IX. The Saint's Encouragement.  
Written in 1643.  

FIght on brave Soldiers for the cause,  
Fear not the Caveliers;  
Their threatenings are as senseless, as  
Our Jealousies and fears.  
'Tis you must perfect this great work,  
And all Malignants slay,  
You must bring back the King again  
The clean contrary way.   

'Tis for Religion that you fight,  
And for the Kingdoms good,  
By robbing Churches, plundering men;  
And shedding guiltless blood.  
Down with the Orthodoxal train,  
All Loyal Subjects slay;  
When these are gone, we shall be blest,  
The clean contrary way.   

When Charle● we've bankrupt made like us,  
Of Crown and power bereft him;  
And all his loyal subjects slain,  
And none but Rebels left him.  
When we've beggar'd all the Land,  
And sent our Trunks away;  
We'll make him then a glorious Prince,  
The clean contrary way.   

'Tis to preserve his Majesty,  
That we against him fight,  
Nor are we ever beaten back,  
Because our cause is right;  
If any make a scruple on't,  
Out Declarations say,  
Who fight for us, fight for the King,  
The clean contrary way.   

At Keynton, Branford, Plymmouth, York,  
And divers places more;  
What victories we Saints obtained,  
The like ne'er seen before!  
How often we Prince Rupert killed,  
And bravely won the day,  
The wicked Caveliers did run  
The clean contrary way.   

The true Religion we maintain,  
The Kingdom's peace, and plenty;  
The privilege of Parliament  
Not known to one of twenty:  
The ancient Fundamental Laws,  
And teach men to obey;  
Their Lawful Sovereign, and all these,  
The clean contrary way.   

We subjects Liberties preserve,  
By prisonment and plunder,  
And do enrich ourselves and state  
By keeping the wicked under.  
We must preserve Mecannicks now,  
To Lecturize and pray;  
By them the Gospel is advanced,  
The clean contrary way.   

And though the King be much misled  
By that malignant crew;  
He'll find us honest, and at last,  
Give all of us our due.  
For we do wisely plot, and plot,  
Rebellion to destroy,  
He sees we stand for peace and truth,  
The clean contrary way.   

The public faith shall save our souls,  
And good outworks together;  
And ships shall save our lives, that stay  
Only for wind and weather.  
But when our faith and works fall down,  
And all our hopes decay,  
Our Acts will bear us up to heaven,  
The clean contrary way.    

X.  
Written in 1648.  

COme let us be merry,  
Drink Claret and Sherry,  
And cast away care and sorrow;  
He's a fool that takes thought for to morrow.  
Why should we be droopers,  
To save it for Troopers.  
Let's spend our own,  
And when all is gone,  
That they can have none,  
Then the Roundheads and Cavies agree.   

2.  
Then fall to your drinking,  
And leave of this shrinking;  
Let Square-heads and Roundheads go quarrel,  
We have no other foe but the barrel;  
These cares and disasters,  
Shall ne'er be our Masters:  
English and Scot,  
Doth both love a pot,  
Though they say they do not,  
Here the Roundheads and Cavies agree.   

3.  
A man that is armed  
With liquor is charmed,  
And proof against strength and cunning;  
He scorns the base humour of running.  
Our ●rains are the quicker,  
When seasoned with liquor,  
Let's drink and sing▪  
Here's a health to our King,  
And I wish in this thing  
Both the Roundheads and Cavies agree.   

4.  
A pox of this fight!  
I take no delighting,  
In killing of men and plunder;  
A Gun affrights me like a thunder.  
If we can Live quiet,  
With good drink and diet,  
We want come nigh,  
Where the bullets do fly:  
In fearing to die,  
Both the Roundheads and Cavies agree.   

5.  
'twixt Square-head and Round-head  
The Land is confounded,  
They care not for fight or battle,  
But to plunder our goods and cattle.  
When ere they come to us,  
Their chiefest hate,  
Is at our Estate,  
And in sharing of that,  
Both the Roundheads and Cavies agree.   

6.  
In swearing and lying,  
In cowardly flying,  
In whering, in cheating, in stealing,  
They agree; in all damnable dealing.  
He's a fool and a widgeon,  
That thinks they've Religion,  
For Law and right,  
Are o'er ruled by might;  
But when they should fight,  
Then the Roundheads and Cavies agree▪   

7.  
Then while we have treasure,  
Let's spare for no pleasure:  
He's a fool that has wealth and won't spend it,  
But keeps it for Troopers to end it.  
When we've nothing to leave 'em:  
Then we shall deceive 'em,  
If all would be  
Of such humours as we,  
We should suddenly see  
Both the Roundheads and Cavies agree.    

XI. The Scots Curanto.  
Written in 1645.  

COme, come away to the English wars;  
A fig for our Hills and Valleys,  
'Twas we did begin, and will lengthen their jars;  
We'll gain by their loss and follies;  
Let the Nations  
By invasions▪  
Break through our bars;  
They can get little good by their salleys.   

2.  
Though Irish and English entered be,  
The State is become our Debtor:  
Let them have our Land, if their own may be free,  
And the Scot will at length be a getter.  
If they crave it,  
Let them have it,  
What care we?  
We would fain change our Land for a better.   

3.  
Long have we longed for the English Land,  
But we're hindered still by disasters;  
But now is their time, when they can't withstand,  
But are their own Country's wasters.  
If we venture,  
We may enter  
By command,  
And at last we shall grow to be Masters.   

4.  
When at the first we began to rebel,  
Though they did not before regard us;  
How the name of a Scot did the English quell,  
Which formerly have outdared us.  
For our coming  
And returning,  
They paid us well,  
And royally did reward us.   

5.  
The better to bring our ends about,  
We must plead for a Reformation;  
And tickle the minds of the giddy-brained rout,  
With the hopes of an innovation.  
They will love us,  
And approve us,  
Without doubt,  
If we bring in an alteration.   

6.  
Down with the Bishops and their train,  
The Surplice, and Common-prayers,  
Then will we not have a King remain,  
But we'll be the Realms surveyors:  
So by little,  
And a little  
We shall gain  
All the Kingdom without gainsayers.   

7.  
And when at the last we have conquered the King,  
And beaten away the Caveliers;  
The Parliament next must the same ditty sing,  
And thus we will set the Realm by the ears.  
By their jarring,  
And their warring  
We will bring,  
Their estates to be ours, which they think to be theirs.   

8.  
And thus when among us the Kingdom is shared,  
And the people are all made beggars like we;  
A Scot will be as good as an English Leard;  
O! what an unity this will be  
As we gain it,  
We'll retain it  
By the sword,  
And the English shall say, bonny blue cap for me.    

XII.  
Written in 1643.  

THough Oxford be yielded, & Reading be taken,  
I'll put in for quarter at thy Maidenhead:  
There while I'm insconsed, my Standards unshaken,  
Lie thou in my arms, and I in thy bed.  
Let the young zealots march with their wenches,  
Mounting their tools to edify trenches,  
While thou and I do make it our pleasure,  
To dig in thy Mine for the purest Treasure,  
Where no body else shall plunder but I   

And when we together in battle do join,  
We scorn to wear arms but what are our own;  
Strike thou at my body, and I'll thrust at thine,  
By nakedness best the truth is made known.  
Cannon's may roar, and bullets keep flying,  
While we are in Battle, we never fear dying.  
Isaac and's wenches are busy a digging,  
But all our delight is in japping and jigging,  
And no body else shall plunder but I   

And when at the last our bodies are weary,  
We'll strait to the Taverns our strength to recruit;  
Where, when we've refreshed our hearts with Canary,  
We shall be the fitter again to go to't.  
We'll tipple and drink until we do stagger,  
For then is the time for Soldiers to swagger.  
Thus night and day we'll thump it and knock it,  
And when we've no money then look to your pocket,  
For no body else shall plunder but I    

XIII. A New Ballad.  

1.  
A Ballad, a Ballad, a new one and true,  
And such are seldom seen;  
He that want write Ballads, and sing 'em too,  
Has neither Wit nor Spleen:  
For a man may be furnished with so much matter,  
That he need not lie, or rail, or flatter;  
'Twill run from his tongue as easy as water,  
And as swiftly, though not so clean.   

2.  
To see how the times are twirled about,  
Would make a dog laugh, 'tis true;  
But to see those turn with 'em, that had the Rumpgout,  
Would make a cat to spew.  
Those Knaves that have lived upon sequestration,  
And sucked the blood of the best of the Nation,  
Are all for the King by a new translation;  
He that won't believe't is a Jew.   

3.  
The poor Caveliers thought all was their own,  
And now was their time to sway;  
But friends they have few, and money they've none,  
And so they mistook their way.  
When they seek for preferments the Rebels do rout 'um.  
And having no money, they must go without 'em,  
The Courtiers do carry such stomaches about 'em:  
They speak no English but PAY:   

4.  
And those very rebels that hated the King,  
And no such office allow;  
By the help of their boldness, and one other thing,  
Are brought to the King to bow:  
And there both pardons, and honours they have,  
with which they think, they're secure and brave,  
But the title of Knight, on the back of a Knave,  
〈…〉 's like a saddle upon a sow.   

5.  
Those men are but fools as matters now stand,  
That would not be Rebels and Traitors,  
To grow rich and rant o'er the best of the land,  
And tread on the poor Cinque Quatres;  
To do what they list, and none dare complain,  
To rise from a cart and drive Charles his wain,  
And for this be made Lords and Knights in grain;  
O 'tis sweet to ambitious natures!   

6.  
If the times turn about 'tis but to comply,  
And make a formal submission;  
And with every new power to live and die,  
Then they are in a safe condition:  
For none are condemned but those that are dead,  
Nor must be secured, but those that are fled,  
And none but the poor rogues sequestered:  
The great ones buy remission.   

7.  
The Fortieth part of their riches, will  
Secure t'other thirty nine;  
And so they will keep above us still;  
But hang't, we'll ne'er repine.  
The Devil does into their natures creep,  
That they can no more from their villainy keep,  
Then a Wolf broke loose, can from killing of sheep,  
Or a Poet refrain from wine.   

8.  
Now Heaven preserve our Merciful King,  
And continue his grace and pity,  
And may his prosperity be like a spring;  
And stream from him to the City!  
May James and George, those Dukes of renown,  
Be the two supporters of England's Crown!  
And may all honest men enjoy what's their own!  
And so I conclude my ditty.    

XIV. The Holy Pedlar.  

1.  
FRom a Foreign shore  
I am not come to store,  
Your Shops with rare devices:  
No drugs do I bring from the Indian King;  
No Peacocks, Apes, nor Spices:  
Such wares I do show,  
As in England do grow,  
And are for the good of the Nation;  
Let no body fear  
To deal in my ware,  
For Sacrilege now's in fashion.   

2.  
I the Pedlar am,  
That came from Amsterdam,  
With a pack of new Religions;  
I did every one fit,  
According to's wit,  
From the Tub to Mahomet's pigeons.  
Great trading I found,  
For my spiritual ground,  
Wherein every man was a meddler;  
I made people decline,  
The learned Divine,  
And then they bought Heaven of the Pedlar.   

3.  
First Surplices I took,  
Next the Common-prayer-book,  
And made all those Papists that used 'em;  
Then the Bishops and Deans,  
I stripped of their means,  
And gave it to those that abused 'um.  
The Clergymen next,  
I withdrew from their Text,  
And set up the gifted brother:  
Thus Religion I made,  
But a matter of trade,  
And I cared nor for one or tother.   

4.  
Then Tithes I fell upon,  
And those I quickly won;  
'Twas profane in the Clergy to take 'em;  
But they served for the Lay,  
Till I sold them away,  
And so did Religious make 'em;  
But now come away  
To the Pedlar I pray;  
I scorn to rob or cozen;  
If Churches you lack,  
Come away to my pack,  
Here's thirteen to the dozen.   

5.  
Church Militants they be,  
For now we do see,  
They have fought so long with each other;  
The Rump's Churches threw down,  
Those that stood for the Crown,  
And sold them to one another.  
Then come you factious crew,  
Here's a bargain now for you,  
With the spoils of the Church you may revel:  
Now pull down the bells,  
And then hang up yourselves,  
And so give his due to the Devil.    

XV. A Serious Ballad.  
written in 1645.  

I Love my King and Country well,  
Religion and the Laws,  
Which I'm mad at the heart that e'er we did sell,  
To buy the good Old Cause.  
These unnatural wars,  
And brotherly jars,  
Are no delight or joy to me;  
But it is my desire,  
That the wars should expire,  
And the King and his Realms agree.   

2.  
I never yet did take up arms,  
And yet I dare to die;  
But I'll not be seduced by fanatical charms,  
Till I know a Reason why.  
Why the King and the State,  
Should fall to debate,  
I ne'er could yet a reason see,  
But I find many one,  
Why the wars should be done,  
And the King and his Realms agree.   

3.  
I love the King and the Parliament,  
But I love them both together;  
And when they by division asunder are rend,  
I know 'tis good for neither:  
Which so e'er of those  
Be victorious,  
I'm sure for us no good 'twill be;  
For our plagues will increase,  
Unless we have peace,  
And the King and his Realms agree.   

4.  
The King without them can't long stand,  
Nor they without the King;  
'Tis they must advise, and 'tis he must command,  
For their power from his must spring.  
'Tis a comfortless sway,  
Where none will obey;  
If the King han't's right, which way shall we?  
They may Vote, and make Laws,  
But no good they will cause,  
Till the King and his Realms agree.   

5.  
A pure Religion I would have,  
Not mixed with humane wit;  
And I cannot endure that each ignorant knave,  
Should dare to meddle with it.  
The tricks of the Law,  
I would feign withdraw,  
That it may be alike to each degree.  
And I feign would have such,  
As do meddle so much,  
With the King and the Church agree.   

6.  
We have prayed and paid that the wars might cease,  
And we be free men made:  
I would fight, if my fight would bring any peace,  
But war is become a trade.  
Our servants did ride  
with swords by their side,  
And made their Master's footmen be;  
But we will be no more slaves,  
To the beggars and knaves,  
Now the King and the Realms do agree.    

XVI. An Ode.  
Written in 1643.  

WHat's this that shrouds,  
WIn these Opacous clouds,  
The glorious face of heaven, and dims our light?  
What must we ever lie  
Mantled in dark stupidity?  
Still grovelling in a daily night?  
And shall we have no more the sun allowed?  
Why, does the Sun grow dim? or do the stars grow proud?   

2.  
Why should false zeal  
Thus scorch our common-weal,  
And make us slight bright Phoebus' purer fires?  
Why do these planets run?  
They would, but cannot be the Sun:  
Yet every saucy flame aspires.  
Though they've no reason to affect the same,  
Since they have nought of fire, but the mere rage and name▪   

3.  
Now since our Sun  
Has left this Horizon;  
Can all the stars though by united power,  
Undark the night,  
Or equal him in light?  
And yet they blaze to make him lower.  
That star that looks more red than others are,  
Is a prodigious Comet, and a blazing-star.   

4.  
The World's undone,  
When stars oppose the Sun,  
And make him change his constant course to rest;  
His foaming Steeds,  
Flying those daring deeds,  
Ith' stables of the North or West,  
Whence we may fear he'll never more return,  
To light & warm us, with his rays, but all to burn,   

5.  
Heaven made them all,  
Yet not Anarchical;  
But in degrees and orders they are set;  
Should they all be  
In a grand committee,  
In heaven's painted chamber; yet  
Sol would out shine them: guide me Phoebus' ray,  
And let those Lanterns keep their borrowed light away.   

6.  
Let's not admire  
This new fantastic fire,  
That our vain eyes deceives and us misleads:  
Those Bears we see  
That would our Lions be,  
Want tails, and will want heads.  
The world will soon into destruction run,  
When bold blind Phaeton's guide the chariot of the sun▪    

XVII. Palinode.  

1.  
NO more, no more of this, I vow  
'Tis time to leave this fooling now,  
Which few but fools call Wit;  
There was a time when I begun,  
And now 'tis time I should have done,  
And meddle no more with it.  
He Physic's use doth quite mistake,  
That Physic takes for Physic's sake.   

2.  
My heat of youth, and love and pride,  
Did swell me with their strong springtide,  
Inspired my brain and blood,  
And made me then converse with toys,  
Which are called Muses by the boys,  
And dabble in their flood.  
I was persuaded in those days,  
There was no crown like love and bays.   

3.  
But now my youth and pride are gone,  
And age and cares come creeping on,  
And business checks my love;  
What need I take a needless toil,  
To spend my labour, time and oil,  
Since no design can move.  
For now the cause is ta'en away,  
What reason is't th' effect should stay?   

4.  
'Tis but a folly now for me,  
To spend my time and industry,  
About such useless wit;  
For when I think I have done well,  
I see men laugh, but cannot tell,  
Where't be at me, or it.  
Great madness 'tis to be a drudge,  
When those that cannot write, dare judge.   

5.  
Besides the danger that ensu'th,  
To him that speaks, or writes the truth,  
The proemium is so small,  
To be called Poet, and wear bays,  
And Factor turn of Songs and Plays,  
This it no wit at all.  
Wit only good to sport and sing,  
's a needless and an endless thing.   

6.  
Give me the Wit that can't speak sense,  
Nor read it, but in's own defence,  
Ne'er learned but of his Grannum,  
He that can buy, and sell, and cheat,  
May quickly make a shift to get,  
His thousand pound per annum.  
And purchase without much ado,  
The Poems and the Poet too.    

XVIII. A Ballad.  

OLd England is now a brave Barbary made,  
And every one has an ambition to ride her:  
K. Charles was a horseman that long used the trade,  
But he road in a snaffle, and that could not guide her.   

Then the hungry Scot comes with spur and with switch,  
And would teach her to run a Geneva career;  
His Grooms were all Puritan, Traitor, and witch;  
But she soon threw them down, with their pedlery gear.   

The long Parliament next came all to the block,  
And they this untamable Palfry would ride;  
But she would not bear all that numerous flock;  
At which they were fain themselves to divide.   

Jack Presbyter first gets the Steed by the head,  
While the reverend Bishops had hold of the bridle:  
Jack said through the nose, they their flocks did not feed,  
But sat still on the beast, and grew aged and idle:   

And then comes the Rout with broomsticks inspired,  
And pulled down their Graces, their sleeves, and their train,  
And sets up sir Jack, who the beast quickly tired,  
With a journey to Scotland; & thence back again.   

Jack road in a doublet, with a yoke of prick-ears,  
A cursed splay-mouth, and a Covenant-spur,  
Rides switching and spurring with jealousies and fears,  
Till the poor famished beast was not able to stir.   

Next came th' Independent a devilish designer,  
And got himself called by a holier name;  
Makes Jack to unhorsed, for he was diviner,  
And would make her travel as far's Amsterdam:   

But Nol a rank rider gets first in the saddle,  
And made her show tricks, and curvate and rebound;  
She quickly perceived that he road widdle, waddle,  
And like his Coach-horses threw his Highness to ground.   

Then Dick, being ●ame, road holding by the pummel,  
Not having the wit to get hold of the rain;  
But the Jade did so snort at the sight of a Cromwell,  
That poor Dick and his kindred turned footmen again▪   

Next Fl●etwood and Vane, with their Rascally pack,  
Would every one put their feet in the stirrup;  
But they pull ' the saddle quite off of her back,  
And were all got under her before they were up.   

At last the King mounts her, and then she stood still,  
As his Bucephalus, proud of this Rider;  
She cheerfully yields to his power and skill,  
Who is careful to feed her, and skilful to guide her.     

EPISTLES.  

I. To C. C. Esquire.  

Inspired with love and kindled by the flame,  
Which from your eye and conversation came,  
I proceed Versifier, and can't choose,  
Since you are both my Patron and my Muse.  
Whose fair example makes us know and do;  
You make us Poets, and you feed us too.   

And though where ere you are is Helicon;  
Since all the Muses proudly wait upon.  
Your parts and person too; while we sit here,  
And like Baal's Priests our flesh do cut and tear.   

Yet, for our lives, can't make our baggage Muse,  
Lend us a lift, or one rich thought-infuse;  
Or be as much as midwife to a quibble,  
But leave us to ourselves with pangs to scribble  
What, were we wise, we might well blush to view,  
While we're invoking them, they're court you.  
Yet I conceive (and won't my notion smother)  
You and your house contribute to each other.  
〈…〉 hills, such dales, such plains, such rocks, such springs,  
And such a confluence of all such things  
As raise and gratify the Muses so,  
That in one Night I was created PO▪  
That's half a Poet, I can't reach to ET,  
Because I'm not a perfect Poet yet;  
And I despair perfection to attain,  
Unless I'm sent to school to you to gain.   

Alas! Sir, London is no place for verse;  
Ingenious harmless thoughts, polite and tearse:  
Our Age admits not, we are wrapped in smoke;  
And sin, and business, which the Muses choke.  
Those things in which true poesy takes pleasure,  
We here do want; tranquillity and leisure:   

Yet we have wits, and some that for wits go,  
Some real ones, and some that would be so;  
But 'tis illnatured wit, and such as still,  
To th' subject or the object worketh ill.  
A Wit to cheat, to ruin, to betray;  
Which renders useless, what we do or say:  
This wit will not bear verse, some things we have;  
Who in their outside do seem brisk and brave:  
And are as gaudy as old Kelles' purse;  
But full as empty too. And here's our curse;  
Few men discern the difference 'twixt Wit  
That's sterling, and that's not, but looks like it.  
Enrich us with your presence, make us know  
How much the Nation does to Derby owe.  
But if your business will not be withstood,  
Do what you can, since you can't what you would.   

Those lovely sport of your frolic Muse,  
Wherewith you biest me, send me to peruse;  
And out of gratitude, I'll send you mine;  
They'll rub your virtues, and so make them shine:  
Your charity and patience will in them,  
Find work t'acquit, what justice must condemn.  
And if you please, send one propitious line,  
To dignify these worthless toys of mine:  
The Reader charmed by yours, may be so bold,  
To read o'er mine, which else he'd not behold;  
And then in Spite of envy, pride, or lying,  
Must say qua,〈◊〉 met with something worth the buying.    

II. The Answer.  

WHen in this dirty corner of the World,  
Where all the rubbish of the rest is hurled  
Both men, and manners; this abandoned place,  
Where scarce the Sun dares show his radiant face;  
I met thy lines, they made me wondering stand,  
At thy unknown, and yet the friendly hand:  
Strait through the Air m'imagination flew  
To every Region I had seen, or knew;  
And kindly blest (at her returning home)  
My greedy ear, with the glad name of Brome;  
Then I reproached myself for my suspense;  
And mourned my own want of intelligence,  
That could not know thy celebrated Muse,  
(Though masked with all the art, that art can use)  
At the first sight, which to the dullest eyes,  
No names concealed, nor habit can disguise.  
For who (ingenious friend) but only thee,  
(Who art the soul of wit, and courtesy)  
Writes in so pure, an unaffected strain,  
As shows wits ornament, is to be plain;  
Or would caress a man condemned ●o lie  
Buried from all humane society.  
'Mongst brutes and bandogs in a Lernaean fen,  
Whose Natives have nor souls, nor shape of men?   

How could thy Muse, that in her noble flight,  
The boding Raven cuffed; and in his height  
Of untamed power, and unbounded place,  
Durst mate the haughty Tyrant to his face;  
Deign an inglorious stoop, and from the sky,  
Fall down to prey on such a worm as I?  
Her seeing (sure) my state, made her relent,  
And try to charm me from my banishment;  
Nor has her charitable purpose failed,  
For when I first beheld her face unveiled;  
I kissed the paper, as an act of grace,  
Sent to retrieve me from this wretched place,  
And doubted not to go abroad again  
To see the world, and to converse with men:  
But when I taste the dainties of the Flood,  
(Ravished from Neptune's table for my food)  
The Lucrine Lake's plump Oysters I despise,  
With all the other Roman luxuries:  
And, wanton grown, contemn the famous Breed  
Of Sheep and Oxen, which these mountains feed.   

Then as a Snake, benumned and fit t'expire,  
If laid before the comfortable fire,  
Begins to stir, and feels her vitals beat  
Their healthful motion, at the quickening heat:  
So my poor muse, that was half starved before,  
On these bleak cliffs; nor thought of writing more.  
Warmed by thy bounty, now can hiss and spring;  
And ('tis believed by some) will shortly sting:  
So warm she's grown, and without things like these,  
Minerva must, as well as Venus' freeze.   

Thus from a High-lander I strait commence  
Poet, by virtue of thine influence;  
That with one Ray, can clods, and stones inspire,  
And make them pant, and breath poetic fire:  
And thus I am thy creature proved, who name  
And fashion take from thy indulgent flame.   

What should I send thee then, that may befit  
A grateful heart, for such a benefit;  
Or how proclaim, with a poetic grace,  
What thou hast made me from the thing I was;  
When all I writ, is artless, forced, and dull;  
And mine as empty as thy fancy full?  
All our conceits, alas! are flat, and stale,  
And our inventions muddy, as our Ale:  
No friends, no visiters, no company,  
But such, as I still pray, I may not see:  
Such craggy, roughhewn rogues, as do not fit;  
Sharpen and set, but blunt the edge of wit;  
Any of which (and fear has a quick eye)  
If through a perspective I chance to spy,  
Though a mile off, I take th' alarm and run,  
As if I saw the Devil, or a Dun.  
And in the Neighbouring rocks take sanctuary,  
Praying the Hills to fall, and cover me;  
So that my solace lies amongst my grounds,  
And my best company my Horse and Hounds.   

Judge then (my friend) how far I am unfit  
To traffic with thee, in the trade of Wit,  
How Bankrupt I am grown of all commerce,  
Who have all number lost, and air of verse.  
But if I could in living song set forth,  
Thy Muse's glory, and thine own true worth,  
I then would sing an Ode, that should not shame  
The writer's purpose; nor the Subject's name:  
Yet, what a grateful heart, and such a one,  
As (by thy virtues,) thou hast made thine own,  
Can poorly pay, accept for what is due,  
Which if it be not Rhythm, I'll swear 'tis true.  C. Cotton.   

III. To his University Friend.  
Dear Captain,  

WAnt, the great Master of three greater things,  
Art, Strength, and Boldness, gives this letter wings,  
To kiss (that is, salute) you and say A. B.  
To his renowned Captain S. P. D.  
And to request three greater things than those,  
Things that beget good verse, and Stubborn prose.   

The first is drink, which you did promise, would  
Inform the brain; as well as warm the blood:  
Drink thats as powerful and strong as Hector,  
And as inspiring as the old Poet's Nectar,  
That dares confront the legislative Sack,  
And lends more Greek then your grave Patriarch;  
But you may see here's none; for if that I,  
Had been well wet, these had not been so dry.   

The next is money; which you said should be  
Paid, and it may be 'twas, but not to me.  
Why (Friend) d'ye think a man as big about  
As I, can live on promises, without  
Good drink or money? how'll good Sack be had?  
And who can live without Sack, or with bad?  
What e'er your Academics talk or teach,  
Mind what they do, they mind not what they preach:  
In public they may rail at Pope and Turk,  
And at the layeties avarice have a Firk;  
And say their aim is all to save the soul;  
But that Soul's money, which does all control:  
Which I do only by the want on't know,  
But when it comes thou'lt see 'twill wonders do.   

The third is wit, which you affirmed here,  
Was in your Mines, and digged up every where;  
Jests, Verses, Tales, Puns, Satyrs, Quibbles too,  
And certain Bristol words that like wit show:  
But none on't comes as yet, and all I see,  
Is, you've the wit to keep it all from me▪  
'Tis troublesome and costly to have much;  
And if you had it, you would never grudge  
Your needy Friend a little; prithee do  
Send me the last, and I'll get t'other two.    

IV. The Answer.  

YOur Letter found us at good Claret,  
Such as you should be at, or are at.  
The lines were good; but that I wonder  
As much as at a bladders thunder;  
That you who are not used to preach,  
That never to that art could reach;  
Your letter should so well divide,  
Into the first, third, second head.  
Prithee tell me, just then came ye,  
Before you writ, from your C.  
Or hadst thou heard some Independent;  
First it, and thirdly it, till no end on't?  
Thirdly from you is as ill sounded,  
As Mass delivered by a roundhead:  
Or if your old Recorder should  
Try to speak Latin that is good.   

Drink the first head, you wisely laid;  
Drink always gets into the head:  
Drink in plain silly troth you had,  
As strong as hop, or furnace made,  
Such as our Sophisters do take,  
When they old Latin jests would break;  
Such as if your Clients drink,  
Of law suits they would never think:  
Such as with Beef, and Mutton were  
Enough to make you Knight o'th' shire:   

But that it comes not you may thank  
Your Thames which swelled above its bank.  
I think the London Brewer's plot  
To increase the Thames, that we should not,  
By our sublime and noble Beer,  
Shame all their puddle liquor there.  
So great the flood here, that the people  
Were wondrous afraid for your Paul's-steeple;  
Lest we should hear next Almanac,  
How London Bridge did fall or shake:  
Lest it Westminster-hall should drown,  
And then no place should there be found,  
Where men their gold and silver may  
Upon the Lawyers throw away.   

But stay, it may be all is lost,  
Broke by the ice, or stopped by frost.  
Perchance the Boat-men let it run,  
Which either of us would have done:  
It may be they drew out the Vessel,  
To cheer themselves at merry Wassail:  
Perchance the Barrel in the way  
Did fall upon an holiday,  
Upon a Revel or a Wedding;  
Or else, it may be, it called at Reading,  
Where the bold rout did rant of late,  
As if they drunk such beer as that:   

But if at last it there arrive,  
Drink it out while 'tis alive;  
Let not old Gossips of it▪ taste,  
When they do praise their husband's last;  
When they tell stories, and do cry  
For their poor babe that last did die:  
Nor it the Country Clients give,  
When thou dost fees from them receive;  
But make a fire and send about,  
For all thy Friends the merry rout:  
Fetch out the bowl and drink it up,  
And think on him that filled the cup.   

Your next is money, which I promise,  
Full fifty pounds alas the sum is,  
That too shall quickly follow, if  
It can be raise ' from Strong or Tiffe.  
Pray pray that each month we may choose  
New Members for the commons house.  
Pray that our Act may last all year,  
That we may sooner spend our Beer.  
Pray that the Scholars may drink faster,  
And larger cups than they did last year.  
Pray heaven to take away th' Excise,  
Pray I say with weeping eyes:  
Pray our malt grow good and cheap,  
And then of money expect an heap.   

For Poems; Tom desires me tell ye,  
He minds not now his feet, but belly:  
He must for Pulpit now prepare,  
Or make bills for Apothecar—  
Y'and leave off these barren toys  
Which feed not, only make a noise:  
Yet he would fain from you receive,  
What your more happy Muse did give,  
Which made Protectors love to hear,  
Though themselves wounded by them were  
Songs, which are played on every tongue,  
And make a Christmas when they're sung.   

Thus wishing you much mirth and wit,  
As the Lord Mayor doth speak and spit.  
Wishing and praying till I'm weary,  
That you may drink the best Canary:  
And that you may have Clients many,  
And talk in Guildhall wise as any;  
That the rich Londoners may fall out,  
And go to Law till money's all out;  
That every Citizen hate his Neighbour,  
As his wife doth Pope and Tiber:  
That the grave Alderman love no man,  
More than they did the Prayer-Common:  
That Quarrels long may thence be spun  
About a Whistle or a Spoon:  
That th'itch of law may infect all London,  
Till you are rich, and they are undone:  
That you may keep your good Dame yet here,  
Or when she dies may find a better:  
That two hours' prayer and long Sermon,  
you may not hear above each term one:  
And then your pew may be so easy,  
That you may sleep when e'er it please ye:  
That when from Tavern late you come,  
You miss the watch returning home;  
Or if you meet th'unmannered rabble,  
You may not out-wit the Constable.    

V. To T. S.  

THy Letter Friend, had the hard fate,  
To find me with a busy pate,  
Which still continues, and will do,  
Till you meet me, or I meet you:  
Than prithee come thy ways to me,  
Or else I vow i'll come to thee.   

So well I love thee that I dote,  
And make this shameless▪ Letter show't:  
And it is more than I can do,  
To live in love and business too.   

P. B. and G. I had the luck  
To see, and drink a little pluck.  
Which they both said, they'd do again,  
But broke their words like honest men,  
And showed themselves as errand liars,  
As th' were apprentice to the Tryers.  
But will they e'er preach truth d'ye think,  
Who are so false in point of drink?  
Since that some persons got some places,  
Deceit and lying have been graces.   

I'm also told P. P. was here,  
But ne'er came at me though so near.  
Which I don't take amiss, for I  
Suppose his love's not wont to lie  
On the Male Sex, but by his Vote,  
Breeches should veil to petticoat.   

The drink that came from honest Tim,  
Had two ill properties, like him:  
'Twas long a coming, but alas!  
In going swift as lightning 'twas:  
There's none of't left, you may conclude,  
By this, which is both flat and rude:  
Nor drink I Sack; and so this time,  
Instead of wit, you've only rythme.  
Wit is scarce and wanting here  
With us, as money with you there.   

Our Prince of Poets, who once writ,  
What all admired, for art and wit,  
Did lately stoop his Muse, and make her  
To write a Ballad of a Quaker:  
Which I have sent thee here withal,  
To see how wits do rise and fall:  
Just as our drink is bad or good,  
So verse is writ, so understood;   

But oh the money (Tom) the money!  
As strong as Samson, sweet as honey;  
How long! how long it is a coming!  
Such reckoning, such receipts, such summing,  
Belong to't, I shall choke I think,  
Before 'tis melted into drink!  
Those things you'll have me pray for, I  
Can't find in our Church-Liturgie.  
To you therefore I make my suit,  
That you will set the boys to do't;  
For I am told the Directory,  
And your new prayers made ex-tempore,  
Are all for money very fit,  
Because they're only made for it.   

I like thee that apply'st thy parts,  
To preaching and such thriving arts,  
I prithee practise physic too;  
For if one wont, yet both will do.  
A handsome person with neat band,  
Small cuffs, white gloves, smooth tongue and hand;  
If both a Doctor and a Priest,  
What Lady's able to resist?  
You may talk bawdy freely then,  
Before coy women and old men:  
And be of no Religion too,  
Yet profess all as others do.   

While the poor Poet tugs for wit,  
To make men laugh at him and it:  
And nothing gets by all his pain,  
But censures various and vain.  
From such as say they Judges are,  
And yet did never plead at bar:  
Undo their malice that condemn,  
Let them write while we laugh at them.  
A Poem I have sent thee here,  
That dies if thou shouldst be severe:  
And cause I have none worth sending down,  
I've bought one cost me half a crown:  
And Dick Brome's Plays, which good must be,  
Because they were approved by thee:  
All which I hope will bring me back  
What all so Love, and I so lack.  
When my glass Beads to India come,  
They'll bring me Pearls and Diamonds home:  
And thou wilt like the powers above,  
Return a blessing for a Dove.    

VI The Answer.  

MY Friend, in troth, I'm glad to hear,  
That noise of Clients fills thy ear;  
Be sure let them not soon agree,  
Before thou art well greased with fec.  
If thou wantest coin, the Cockneys Guildhall,  
Or Westminster will to thee yield all:  
Prithee sleece each City Coxcomb,  
When they for law to th' Hall in flocks come:  
Make them pawn their garments wedding;  
Their Cup-boards, Hangings, and their bedding;  
That when another Parliament  
Shall borrow for the good intent  
Of zeal, upon the faith called public;  
They may be poor and mangy Job-like:  
That when again the Pulpit claws  
Them to send plate into the Cause,  
Their spoons, and rings to th' Hall of Grocers,  
Their very wives may cry out no Sirs.   

But why dost bid me come to thee?  
I have no term there, nor no fee;  
What should a Scholar do at London,  
But to spend money, and be undone?  
When here with us a whole day's expense,  
Will not swell up beyond one six pence:  
When we can play, and laugh, and drink,  
And still the money slowly shrink;  
When we here talk o'th' State as boldly,  
As ever the Mercurius told lie.  
When we of policy are still chattering,  
(All which, 'tis true, we owe to Mat. Wren)  
When we know all the Pretty sputher,  
Betwixt the one house and the other:  
When we can over one full flagon,  
Relieve or plunder Coppenhagen:  
When we do know what is, what not is,  
Related in the Hall, where Scottish  
Rags, once called colours, still remain;  
Tell me what profit 'tis, or gain,  
For me to take such useless pain,  
To come and hear all there again.   

But yet (remember now I promise,  
And will perform as sure as Rome is.)  
Near Easter term, like arrow swift, I  
Will ride up to thee, miles full fifty.  
‛ Shalt see me come on Oxford beast,  
Which shall have one good leg at least;  
Such a doughty horse, upon  
Whose nose more than its legs shall run:  
So thin a Creature that I've tried it,  
When its Master did bestride it:  
I plainly through his belly spied  
The boot and leg on th' other side:  
Next this, I'll get coat, boots, and spurs,  
And then Sir quickly I am yours:  
I'll come unless (which happen may)  
Galled Buttocks stop me on the way.   

Whether his ends be good or sinister,  
G. now from head to foot's a Minister:  
My judgement is he is turned Divine,  
Only to have therewith to buy wine:  
He came home with each empty pocket,  
That th' one could not the other mock at:  
What ever others do I'll swear  
Safely, he used no Simony there:  
He swears since He's a Country Parson,  
That he finds coming worldly cares on:  
Says, he believes since he has been there,  
You Lawyers do not only sin there;  
But that in Knavery White-Hall-gate,  
Outdoes all 'twixt Lud and Algate.   

Our Friend P. is by this at Paris;  
Or if not there, he very near is:  
God send him home whole wind and limb,  
And keep his nose sound to the brim.   

Some rogues say, Tim provides for one day,  
To wit, the Sabbath or the Sunday:  
That at that time he always is sick,  
Enough to stay at home and Physic.   

The Poet I confess doth stoop here,  
From what is writ i'th' hill of Cowper:  
But for new bays what need care D.  
Who so long since did bravely win 'em:  
Should such proud Spirits always do good,  
What they performed would then be too good.   

Thou next wouldst have me turn Divine,  
And Doctor too, indeed 'tis fine,  
Physic and preaching ill agree,  
There is but one Religio Medici.  
Paul and every other 'postle,  
(As the Scripture doth to us tell)  
That had the gift of healing, did  
Not cure the belly, heart or head,  
By Herbs, or Potions, Purge or Treacle▪  
But by a plain downright miracle.  
I never heard that learned Moses,  
Whom God himself for Prophet chose his,  
In Egypt was Physician, though there  
He killed as many men, as if he were.  
How pretty I should show I'faith,  
(As in his Sums Aquinas saith)  
With hourglass in one fist, and  
With Urinal in the other hand:  
To have my Apothecary say,  
Such a lady's sick to day;  
And strait to have my Sexton calling,  
And ask me when he shall toll all in.  
If I must needs be both, then name ye  
what kind of Doctor you would have me:  
Chemic? alas the costly Furnace,  
Will quickly my small purse unfurnish;  
Or Galenist? that won't agree  
With my other trade Divinity:  
Nor with Preachers now the mode is,  
To strive to make themselves Methodists.  
I wish you would a Lawyer had me,  
That indeed had quickly made me;  
'Tis they bring all unto their purses,  
The Country's money, and their curses,  
By poring on some mouldy Record,  
And bringing fools unto an accord.  
With Poet's Men so hardly deal,  
They are scarce part o'th' Common-weal.  
Father Apello, and Mother Muses,  
Gave all away to Pious uses:  
So that their Children must fair ill,  
That have nought left them but the bare hill.   

Lastly, my Friend, you are too hard,  
To challenge a small Oxford Bard,  
To send you verse in hungry Lent,  
A fasting time, and Penitent:  
When I should be confessing sins  
Of mine, and too of other men's;  
You'd force me to commit one more,  
(And sure 'twere not the least o'th' score)  
To make bad Rhithmes: which needs are dismal,  
When Stomach's great, and Commons is small:  
To tell y'a plain, but Christian truth,  
Verse must be fat, that would be smooth.  
An Army (said the King of Sweden,  
(He that did know so well to lead one)  
Is a great beast, which if you draw,  
You must begin first from the maw.  
So say I of the beast a Poet,  
(And all our Rhithming Kindred know it)  
Who ere intend a Poem to make,  
He must beging first with his stomach;  
Good sooth, at this dull time o'th' year,  
When we must drink plain physic beer;  
When all to temperance are bend here,  
To expiate the sins o'th' Winter:  
When we must leave our former merr'ment;  
Because forsooth our bloods now ferment:  
When we must no more Taverns survey,  
But be content with juice of Scurvy:  
When such thin Commons do us serve,  
As would a very Spaniard starve:  
When we've such fish, set on our board,  
Which scarce your fish-whores would afford,  
Without stopped nose to look upon;  
Nor swear 'tis sweet, though 'twere her own:  
At this lean time I say, troth, scarce I  
Can write as well as P. from Jersey:  
Whose Rhythmes were yet so paltry that  
All men that heard them, wished his fate:  
Prayed rather than such stuff to hear,  
They might with th' Author lose each ear.  
Upon my conscience such a mood in,  
As I am now, was learned John Goodwin,  
When he so high of Worster fight,  
In Elimosynary verse did write:  
Such Rhythmes the King might thank that day,  
Which forced him to run away,  
Out of their sound that would have more  
Grated his ears then's loss before:   

(In such a meager season now  
By all the Poet's hills I vow)  
Should I be forced my muse to raise,  
She'd sound as bad as Sterries' praise:  
I think I should come short of Whither,  
Whose quill had ink, but not one feather:  
Nor in this humour verse can I brew,  
Better than Psalms turned out of Hebrew:  
Unhappy Psalms! that so long lasted,  
To be at length so metaphrasted,  
By good old provost Francis R●us,  
A Member of the other House:  
Who with much pains and many a pang,  
At last made David's Lute cry twang:  
The sacred Harp so sadly by him strung,  
Seems as if still it on the Willows hung.   

Then be content till after Easter,  
By that I'll cheer my Muse, and feast her  
And then (God send it prove no lie,)  
She that can't now creep, shall fly.    

VII. An Epistle from a Friend to the Author upbraiding him with his writing Songs.  

DEar friend, believ'e my love has spurred me on,  
For once to question thy discretion:  
And by right reason deified by thee,  
I blame thee for the wrongs to Poesy  
Thou hast committed; in betraying it  
To th' censure (not the judgement) of each wit;  
Wit, did I say? things whose dull spirits are  
Apt only to applaud, what e'er they hear,  
Be't good or bad, so throated to their mind,  
Johnson and Taylor like acceptance find.   

Why pedler'st thus thy muse? Why dost set open  
A shop of wit, to set the fiddlers up?  
Fie prodigal, canst statuated shine,  
By the abuse of Women, praise of Wine?  
Or such like toys, which every hour are  
By every pen spewed forth int' every ear.   

Thy comely Muse dress up in robes, and raise  
Majestic splendour to thy wreath of bays:  
Don't prostitute her thus, her Majesty,  
(Like that of Princes) when the vulgar see  
Too frequently, respect and awe are fled,  
Contempt and scorn remaineth in their stead:  
But I have done, and fear I've done amiss,  
Being doubtful, lest thou'lt give thy Fiddlers this.  I. B.   

VIII: The Answer.  

DId I not know thee (friend) and that this fit  
Comes not to show thy malice but thy wit,  
I might this action censure, and reprove  
As well thy want of judgement, as of love;  
And think my Muse, were doubly now forlorn;  
Below thy envy, yet not above thy scorn:   

But yet I wonder why thy reason thus,  
Which thou call'st right, and's magnified by us,  
And justly too, should vote me indiscreet;  
Because my Poems do with all sorts meet,  
How can I help it? Who can circumscribe  
His words or works, within the small-wise tribe?  
And you the hearers kind applause do blame,  
When charity bids us all do the same.  
If good we must, and if the wit be such,  
That it does need, who would not lend a crutch?  
W●●re mortal Writers, and are forced t' a truce,  
For he that gives, may well expect abuse.   

Johnson and Taylor in their kind were both  
Good Wits, who likes one, need not t'other loath.  
Wit is like beauty, nature made the Jone  
As well's the Lady. We see every one  
Meets with a match: Neither can I expect,  
Thou more my Muse then Mistress shouldst affect;  
And yet I like them both, if thou don't too,  
Can't you let them alone for those that do?   

Now if thou'dst know the very reason why  
I write so oft, to please myself, say I.  
I know no more why I write more than thee,  
Then why my Father got more sons than me,   

Nor peddling call't, for those in Cheap as well,  
As they at Fairs expose their wares to sell:  
But I give freely mine, and thought it be  
To Fiddlers, yet 'tis to a company;  
And all those gifts are well bestowed, which  
At once do make us merry, and them rich.   

If making Sonnets were so great a sin,  
Repent; 'twas you at first did draw me in:  
And if the making one Song be not any,  
I can't believe I sin in making many.   

But oh! the Themes displease you, you repine,  
Because I throw down Women, set up Wine:  
Why that offends you, I can see no reason,  
Unless 'cause I, not you, commit the treason.  
Our judgements jump in both, we both do love  
Good Wine and Women; if I disapprove  
The slights of some, the matter's understood,  
I'm ne'er the less beloved by th' truly good.  
You'd have no fancy blown upon, but must  
Have all new broached or caned to please your gust;  
When this demand of yours is grown as old  
As what you quarrel at, and as often told;  
And there's old Wits that will as much condemn  
Your novelty, as you can censure them.   

Now for those robes in which you'll have me dress  
My homely Muse, and write with loftiness;  
Talk of State-matters, and affairs of Kings;  
Thou knowst we've beat our heads about those things,  
Till I'd my teeth near beat out, after all  
My toil, the worms must turn poetical.  
He that courts others ears, may use designs,  
Be coy and costive; but my harmless lines,  
If they produce a laughter are well crowned,  
Yet though they've sought none, have acceptance found,  
With these I sport myself, and can invite  
Myself and friends t'a short and sweet delight;  
While all our tedious toils, which we call Plays,  
Like the great Ship, lie slugging in their Bays▪  
And can no service do without great cost  
And time, and then our time and stomach's lost,   

But I must write no more for fear that we  
Be like those brethren in divinity.  
Whilst thou dost go to make my flash expire,  
I raise thy flame and make it burn much higher:   

Only because thou doubtest I should bestow  
Thy lines upon my Fiddlers, thou shalt know,  
That had they been upon a business fit,  
And were I subject equal to my wit,  
't'had gone, and thou shouldst sing them too, and so  
Be both the Poet and the Fiddler too.    

IX. To a Lady destring the Copy of a Song.  
Madam,  

YOu are a Poetess 'tis true,  
Nor had we men been Poets but for you;  
'Tis from your sex we've learned our art and wit;  
'Tis for your sakes that we do practice it.  
Your subtler sex first ventured on the tree,  
Where knowledge grew, and plucked the fruit which we  
Did only taste, and that at second hand,  
Yet by that hand, and taste we're all trep●n'd;  
And our posterity the doom endures;  
You opened our eyes, as you know who did yours:  
By your command this Song thus rudely penned,  
To you I do commit, though not commend;  
To show what duty I'm arrived unto,  
You cannot sooner bid, than I can do:  
Nor can your active soul command and sway,  
With more delight and pride, then mine obey.  
I will not say this Poem's bad or good,  
'Tis as 'tis liked, and as 'tis understood.  
A Poem's life, and death dependeth still  
Not on the Poet's wit, but Readers will:  
Should it in sense seem rascal, low and dull,  
Your eye can make it sprightly, plump, and full:  
And if it should be lame, I hope 'twill be,  
('Cause somewhat like yourself) more pleasing t'ye:  
If it should trip, assist it with your hand,  
You may lend feet, for you can make things stand.  
One touch of yours can cure its evil, and then  
'Tis made by your fair hand, not my blunt pen,  
Useful for love, or slighting you'll it find;  
For love before, or for disdain behind:  
Be't as you please, to more it can't aspire;  
'Tis all it can deserve, or I desire.    

X. To his Friend C. S. Esquire.  

Inspired with plumbroth, and mined pies,  
This Letter comes in humble wise,  
To know how Su. and how you do?  
Or whether you do do, or no:  
Whether you Christmas keep, or not?  
For here we such a Mayor have got,  
That though our Taverns open stand,  
Church doors are shut, by his command:  
He does as good as say (we think)  
Leave off this preaching, and go drink:   

But this I doubts no news to you,  
The country's Atheist part, part Jew;  
And care no more for Christ or's Mass,  
Then he for them: So let 'em pass:  
And could the Priests be sure of pay,  
They'd down with that, and t'other day.   

Yet spite of all our mayor could say,  
We would not fast, though could not pray.  
Here's feasting still throughout the City,  
And drinking much (the more's the pity).   

And that's the cause why all this time,  
I did not answer your last Rhithme:  
Nor did I know; 'Tis not my fashion,  
In verse to make a disputation:  
What ever Su. and you have writ,  
Shows both your kindness and your wit:   

But only I desire to know  
If you're a Member made or no;  
For here we have a great ado,  
About our choice, whom, how, and who  
Elects, or is Elected; some  
To be made Members, send, and come;  
While others of the wiser sort,  
Sat still at home, and care not for't.  
Richard, 'tis thought, has no intent  
To have an endless Parliament:  
Nor must they share his goods and lands,  
For what he has he'll keep in's hands:  
Much is not left to be divided,  
The business has so well been guided;  
Nay he himself (I tell no lie)  
Wants money more than you or I:   

No reason therefore can I see,  
Why you should bustle much to be  
A Senator, unless it were,  
For honour; yet that is but air,  
And not the sweetest, or safest, but still  
Depends on other people's will.   

But trust me (Charles) you have a vain  
That does more love and honour gain;  
And longer keep't then all the tricks,  
Of those that study Politics.  
Protections needless, for (they say)  
You owe no debts, that you can pay;  
To Nature one, which during life,  
You cannot pay, nor that t' your Wife:   

Yet I would have you come away,  
That though the House don't meet, we may:  
When every one gets up, and ride,  
'Tis good to be o'th' rising side:  
For as i'th' Church, so 'tis i'th' State;  
Who's not Elect, is Reprobate.    

XI. To C. S. Esquire.  
Justice,  

I've waited long to find thee here;  
Peeped into th' house, but could not see thee there▪  
I went to th' other House, but they're so new,  
They no such name or person ever knew.   

'Twas for this cause, my pen has slept so long;  
I hoped to see thee in that learned throng:  
And did believe some Borough would in pity,  
Have sent thee up to dignify our City:  
But Corporations do not well discern  
What's for their good, and they're too old to learn.   

Had our whole Senate been such men as thou,  
They'd not been routed, but sat still till now▪  
But they'd be meddling, and to voting fall,  
Against the sword, and that out-votes them all;  
Had they observed thy Council, they'd been safe;  
Stick to the strongest side, and think, and laugh.   

What matter is't what those in Office say,  
When those that are in power, do answer nay?  
A Cutler's shop affords us stronger law,  
Then Cook or Littleton e'er read, or saw:  
But be content, let them do what they will,  
Be thou a Justice I'm Attorney still.  
A poor Attorney is a safer thing  
Now, then to be Protector or a King.  
Our noble Sheriff's a dying, and I fear  
Will never feast us more in Taunton-shire.   

Pray tell your lovely Sue, I love her still,  
As Well's I dare, let her not take it ill,  
I write not to her, I've time enough, 'tis true,  
But have not wit enough to deal with Sue.    

XII. To C. S. Esquire.  

DEar Charles, I'm thus far come to see thy face,  
Thy pretty face, but this unhappy place  
Does not afford it, and I'm told by some,  
That want of Tithes, make thee thou canst not come;   

Why (Charles) art thou turned Priest? and at this time,  
When Priests themselves have made their coat a crime?  
And tithes, which make men Priests, do so decay,  
One other Schism will preach them quite away:   

Thou'lt ne'er become it well, for I do find,  
Wit in a Pulpit is quite out of kind;  
Thou canst not stand long, nor talk much, and loud,  
Nor thrash, nor cozen the admiring crowd;  
And (which is worse) though thoust a face, and hand,  
A diamond ring, white glove, and clean lawn band,  
Able to tempt an Abbess, yet, I find,  
Thou canst not satisfy the Lady's mind,  
What ere the matter is: But thou art wise,  
And dost best know thine own infirmities.   

Let me advise thee (Charles) be as thou art,  
A Poet, so thou needest not care a—-  
For all the turns of time: who ere did know  
The Muses sequestered? or who can show,  
That ever wit paid taxes, or was rated?  
Homer and Virgil ne'er were decimated:  
Ovid indeed was banished, but for that,  
Which women say, you ne'er were excellent at.  
But (Charles) thou art unjusticed, I'm told  
By one, who though not valiant, yet is bold:  
And that thou hast unfortunately met,  
The blinded scourge o'th' Western-Bajazet:  
Thrown from the bench like Lucifer, and are  
In a fair way to be brought to the bar.  
I'th' interim hang 'twixt both, as law doth name us,  
A billa-vera-man, or Ignoramus.   

But I can't learn wherefore it is, nor how,  
Though I've enquired of both, perhaps nor thou;  
Some say 'tis for thy valour, which our time,  
In a wise Magistrate, accounts a crime:  
If it be true, thou hast ill luck in this,  
To have two virtues; and both placed amiss,  
To thwart each other; when thou shouldst have been  
A valiant Captain, wisdom was thy sin,  
And so uncaptained thee; and now the time  
Calls for thy wisdom, valour is thy crime:  
And so unjusticed thee; unlucky wretch!  
Two virtues want'st, yet hast too much of each!▪  
Who ere composed thy mind, played Babel-tricks,  
Brought lime and timber, when he should bring bricks.   

But we live in an age so full of lies,  
I dare not trust my ears, nor scarce my eyes.  
I hope this is a lie too: but if true,  
'Tis an affliction (Charles) that's justly due  
To thy desert; Our State holds it unfit,  
One man should be a Justice, and a wit.  
Go ask thy Lady, if it were ever known,  
A Man should be a Justice, and do none.   

Come, be advised by me, set out a book  
In English too, where Justices may look,  
And learn their trade; let Precedents, of all  
Warrants and Mittimuses, great and small;  
All Ale-heuse Licenses, and other things,  
Which to the Justice's instruction brings,  
Be there inserted; that the age to come,  
(The children of such men as can get some)  
May glorify thy memory, and be  
Thy praises trumpets to posterity:   

As from one Looking-glass thrown on the ground;  
In every piece, a perfect face is found,  
So from thy ruins, all may plainly see,  
Legions of Justices as wise as thee.   

Now having taken all this pains to see  
Thy worship, and can find nor it, nor thee,  
Pray come to T—- bring thy beloved Sue,  
My Mat. and I will meet with her and you;  
And though my Mat's no Poet, you shall see,  
She'll sit and laugh with, or at us, that be:  
I'll make thy Lady merry, and laugh until,  
She break that belly, which thou canst not fill.   

Mean time pray give her one prolific kiss;  
Tell her it comes from me, and if that miss,  
Give her another; and if both won't do,  
Do that with three which can't be done by two.  
If thou comest not, I shall have cause to curse  
Tithes, like the laity, and it may be worse:  
My sufferings are more, than theirs can be,  
They'll keep their tithes, but tithes keep thee from me.   

But if thou canst not come, be sure to write;  
Don't rob at once, my hearing and my sight.  
If thou bring'st not thy body, send thy wit,  
For we must laugh with thee, or else at it.    

XIII. To C. S. Esquire.  

1.  
SInce we met last, my Brother dear,  
We've had such alterations here,  
Such turnings in and out:  
That I b●ing fat and breathless grown,  
My side I meant to take was gone,  
E'er I could turn about.   

2.  
First I was for the King, and then  
He could not please the Parliament men,  
And so they went by th' ears:  
I was with other fools sent out,  
And stayed three days, but never fought  
'Gainst King or Cavaliers.   

3.  
And (Brother) as I have been told,  
You were for the Parliament of old,  
And made a mighty dust;  
And though perhaps you did not kill,  
You proved yourself as valiant still,  
As ever they were just.   

4.  
You were engaged in that war,  
When C. R, fought against C. R.  
By a distinction new.  
You always took that side that's right,  
But when Charles with himself did fight,  
Pray of which side were you?   

5.  
Should I that am a man of law,  
Make use of such a subtle claw,  
In London or in Ex'ter;  
And be of both sides as you were,  
People would count me then, I fear,  
A Knavish Ambidexter.   

6.  
But since all sides so tottering be▪  
It puzzles wiser men than me,  
Who would no● have it uttered;  
What side to take they cannot tell,  
And I believe they know not well  
Which side their bread is buttered.   

7.  
Here's fore-side, and here's backside too;  
And two left sides, for aught I know,  
I can find ne'er a right:  
I've been for th' middle twenty years,  
And will be still, for there appears  
Most Safety and delight.   

8.  
But if the times think that too high,  
By creeping lower, I'll comply,  
And with their humour jump.  
If love at th'belly may not enter  
In an Italian way, I'll venture,  
To love the very Rump.   

9  
So here's t'you (Charles) a Rubber's too't;  
Here's a Cast more; if that won't do't,  
Here's half a dozen more, and  
To every feather here's a glass;  
Nay rather than I'll let it pass,  
Here's a years healths before hand.   

10.  
If loving it, and drinking to't,  
And making others drink to boot,  
Don't show my good affection.  
I'll sit down disaffected still,  
And let them all do what they will,  
Until our next Election.   

11.  
But I'm concerned (me thinks) to find  
Our Grandees turn with every wind,  
Yet keep like Corks above:  
They lived and died but two years since  
With Oliver their pious Prince,  
Whom they did fear and love.   

12.  
As soon as Richard did but reign,  
They lived and died with him again,  
And swore to serve him ever:  
But when Sir Arthur came with's men,  
They lived and died with him again,  
As if Dick had been never.   

13.  
And when Prince Lambert turned them out,  
They lived and died another bout,  
and vilified the Rump;  
And now for them they live and die,  
But for the Devil by and by,  
If he be turned up trump.   

14.  
Yet still they order us and ours,  
And will be called Higher Powers:  
But I will tell you what;  
Either these slaves forswear, and lie,  
Or if they did so often die,  
They've more lives than a Cat.   

15.  
Let the times run, and let men turn,  
This is too wise an age to burn,  
We'll in our Judgement hover,  
Till 'tis agreed what we must be,  
In the interim take this from me,  
I'm thy eternal Lover.    

XIV. To his Friend W. C.  

DEar Brother Will. thy dearer John and I,  
Now happy in each others company,  
Send thee this greeting, and do wish that we,  
By thy addition, may be made up three;  
Two make no sport, they can but sit and sip;  
Here's t'you, and thank you's no good fellowship.  
We're Melancholy 'cause we drink alone,  
For John and I together spell but one:  
Three is the perfect number, that is able  
To difference a solitude from a rabble.   

Here, if we mix with company, 'tis such  
As can say nothing, though they talk too much:  
Here we learn Georgics, here the Bucolics,  
Which building's cheapest, timber, stone, or bricks.  
Here's Adam's natural Sons, all made of Earth,  
Earth's their Religion, their discourse, their mirth:   

But on the Sunday thou'dst admire to see,  
How dirt is mingled with Divinity.  
Such disputations, writing, singing, praying,  
So little doing good, and so much saying;  
It tires us weak lunged Christians, and I think,  
So much the more, 'cause there's so little drink:  
And that so bad, that we with them are feign  
To go to Church and sleep, and home again,  
Twice in a Sabbath, and to break the rest,  
With tedious repetions, and molest  
The Servants memories with such piteous stuff,  
As wisemen think once said's more then enough.  
Thus do we spend our time, and meet with nothing,  
But what creates our trouble, and our loathing.   

Come then away, leave Butchers, leave thy Lord,  
Our Country here shall both, or more afford.  
Jack here's a Lord, a Prince, (nay more) a friend,  
He and his bottles make the Vulgar bend:  
And if thou didst believe him, or know me,  
I am more Butcher than they two can be:   

If all these things won't make thee come away,  
I am resolved to thee-ward, if thou'lt stay.  
Drink till I come, that I may find thee mellow,  
'Tis ten to one, thou'lt meet or make thy fellow.    

XV. To his Friend I. B. Upon his Tragedy.  
In 1652.  

THou may'st well wonder, and myself should be  
Dumb, if I should be dumb in praising thee:  
Since I've occasion now to exercise  
Sublimest thoughts, yet not hyperbolise.   

But since we two are Brothers, and subscribe,  
Both Volunteers to the Poetic Tribe,  
I dare not do't, lest any Dulman says,  
We, by consent, do one another praise:  
Yet dare applaud thy work, and thee in it,  
So good in language, plot, and strength of wit,  
That none but thou can equalled. Not a line,  
But's thine, thine good, and good because 'tis thine.  
So that my duller sight, can hardly see  
Whether thou mak'st it excellent, or it thee.  
Let those, whose anvil-heads, beat all delight,  
Into a toil, at every line they write.  
Now, veil to thee, and fairly yield the bays;  
Since all their works compared with thine are plays.  
So far I like thy worth, that I should be  
Enticed if possible to flatter thee.    

XVI. To a Potting Priest upon a Quarrel.  
In 1643.  

I Cannot choose but wonder, Mr.——-  
That we two wisemen, had so little wit,  
As without quarrel, jealousies, or fears,  
Worse than the times, we two should go by th' ears.  
I marvel what inspired this valour in you,  
Though you were weak, you'd something strong within you.  
'Twas not your learning, neither can I think,  
That 'twas your valour, but John D—- strong drink.  
Love and good liquor, have a strong command,  
T' make cowards fight, longer than they can stand.  
I need not ask your reason, for 'twas gone;  
Nor had you sense enough to feel you'd none:  
Was it to show your Mistress you could fight;  
Living i'th' woods, you'd be an Errand Knight?  
That Lady may have cause enough to rue,  
That has no better Champion than you.  
You might have saved that labour, each man reads.  
You're a wild man both in your looks and deeds:  
By th' wonders of your drinking, men may see,  
You are a Hero without Chivalry:  
You thought a duel, would your Mrs. please,  
But proved a Thraso, not an Hercules.  
I might have thought myself a Worthy too,  
Because I tamed a Monster, that is you:  
Your Zeal (me thought) was greatly kindled,  
That went to make a Pulpit of my head.  
Blame me not, though I struck, for I was vexed,  
To be so basely handled, like your Text;  
With subtle Sophistry, that when you missed  
In words, you would confute me with your fist:  
But such weak Sillogisms from you ran,  
As I could never read in Keckerman:  
That brain-aspiring drink, so much did dip us,  
You mistook Aristotle, for Aristippus.  
Your head that should be King, was now pulled down,  
While that rebellious Beer usurped your crown:  
And your Mechanic heels gazed on the stars,  
As if they went to turn Astronsmers:  
Your legs were altogether for commanding,  
And taught your foolish head more understanding:  
Your body so reversed, did represent.  
(Being forked) our bi-corned Government:  
Your wits were banished, and your brains were drowned,  
While your Calves-head lay centred to the ground:  
Thus being black without, within a beast,  
I took you for a Tinker, not a Priest.  
In your next Sermon, let your audience hear,  
How you can preach damnation to strong Beer.  
I have returned your knife at your demand;  
But if I've put a sword t'a mad man's hand,  
Let me advise you, when you fight again,  
Fight with a worse, or be a better man.    

XVII. To his Friend Mr. W. H. upon the death of his Hawk.  
In 1643.  

WHat will you suffer thus your Hawk to die?  
And shan't her name live in an Elegy?  
It shall not be, nor shall the people think  
We've so few Poets, or so little drink:  
And if there be no sober brain to do it,  
I'll wet my Muse, and set myself unto it.  
I have no Gods, nor Muse to call upon,  
Sir John's strong barrel is my Helicon:  
From whence uncurbed streams of tears shall flow,  
And verse shall run, when I myself can't go.   

Poor bird, I pity this thy strange disaster,  
That thou shouldst thus be murdered by thy master.  
Was it with Salt? I'm sure he was not fresh,  
Or was't thy trusting to an arm of flesh?  
Or 'cause 'twas darksome, did his eyesight fail,  
Meeting a Post, he took it for a Rail.  
And yet I wonder how he missed his sight;  
For though the night was dark, his head was light:  
And though he bore thee with a mighty hand,  
Thou needs must fall, when he himself can't stand.  
'Tis but our common lot, for we do all  
Sometimes for want of understanding fall:  
But thou art served aright, for when the hadst flown,  
What e'er thou took'st, thou took'st to be thy own.  
And 'tis but Justice, that each plundering knave,  
That such a life doth lead, such death should have.  
Rejoice you Partridge, and be glad ye Rails:  
For the Hawks talons, are as short's your tails.  
If all the Kingdoms bloody foes, as she,  
Would break their necks, how joyful should we be.  
Well, at her burial, thus much I will tell,  
In spite of schism, her bells shall ring a knell.    

XVIII. To his Schoolmaster Mr. W. H. upon his Poem called Conscientiae accusatricis Hypotyposis.  
In 1644. Sir,  

WHen I read your work, and thought upon,  
How lively you had made description,  
Of an accusing conscience, and did see,  
How well each limn did with th' Archtipe agree.  
I wondered how you could limed out so well,  
Since you b'experience can't its horror tell.   

Trust me, I'd praise it, but that I suppose,  
My praise would make it more inglorious;  
In love to th' work and workman, I thought meet,  
To make your verses stand on English feet.  
But whenever well done, or ill, I here submit  
Unto your censure, both myself and it.   

I'm man, I'm young, unlearned, and thereupon  
I know, I cannot boast perfection.  
In fettered tasks, wherein the fancy's tide,  
Do what one can, the lustre won't abide:  
No Ideoms kiss so well, but that there is  
Between some phrases some Antithesis.   

What e'er is good, in each unpolished line,  
I count as yours, the faults alone are mine.  
I wish each foot and line, as strong, and true;  
As my desire to love, and honour you.    

XIX. To his Friend T. S.  
Tom,  

SInce thou didst leave both me and this town,  
The sword is got up, and the law's tumbled down.  
Those eager disputes between Harrington and Wren,  
At length have inspired the Red-coated Men:  
Whose sides, not their heads, do wear the Lex terrae:  
With which they will rule us until we be weary.   

We know not whose highest (what e'er people brawl)  
Whether Wallingford-House or Westminster-Hall:  
You made a contest neither pulpit nor tub-like,  
What's fittest, a Monarchy or a Republic:  
But Desborough says, that Scholar's a fool,  
That advances his pen against the war-tool.   

We have various discourses and various conjectures,  
In Taverns, in Streets, in Sermons, and Lectures:  
Yet no man can tell what may hap in the close,  
Which are wiser, or honester, these men or those.  
But for my part I think 'tis in vain to contest,  
I sit still and say, he that's strongest is best.   

The World keeps a round, that original sin,  
That thrust some people out, draws other folks in:  
They have done they did not know what, and now  
Some think that they do not know what they may do.  
But State matters (Tom) are too weighty and high,  
For such mean private persons as thou art, and I.  
We will not our Governors calling invade,  
We'll mind our own good, let them follow their trade:  
Launch forth into th' Pulpit, much learning will be,  
A hindrance to thy Divinity:  
'Tis better to mind what will clothe ye, and feed ye,  
Then those empty titles of M. A. and D. D.   

I have one thing to beg, and I won't be denied,  
You must once more mount Pegasus, and you must  
O'er the County of D. whose praise must b'expre●▪ ri 〈…〉  
In a Poem to grace our next County feast;  
Which will be next term, 'twas what I designed;  
But want wit and time to do't to my mind:  
Thou hast Subject and wit, if thou hast but a will,  
Thou mayst make a Poem, next that Coupers-hill.   

Remember thy promise, to send me my book,  
With a copy of thine, for which I do look;  
And let not a Letter come hither to me,  
But freighted with Poems, and written by thee:  
And I out of gratitude shall take a care,  
To make a return of our City ware.   

I'll vex thee no more with this paltry rhythme,  
For fear it should make thee misspend thy time:  
And so I have this Apology for't,  
Though it be'nt very sweet, it shall be pretty short.    

XX. To the Meritoriously Honourable Lord Chief Justice of the Kings-Bench.  

GReat Sir, and Good! beloved, and obeyed!  
To whose great worth, honour's not given but paid.  
To whose great love, and knowledge we all owe,  
All that we have of law, and that we know;  
Who with strong reason, from the factious claws  
Of wilful fools, redeemed our sacred laws.   

Full twenty years have I a Servant been,  
To this Profession, I live by and in:  
Eight years a Master, and in all this space,  
Have nothing done that mis-became my place;  
Nor have my actions been Derogatory  
Unto my Client's profit, or the glory  
Of this renowned Court; and therefore I  
Now humbly beg to be at liberty.  
Justice, and reason both command, that he  
Who served, so long, should at the last be free:  
For this I served, for this our Nation fought,  
And prayed, and paid so much; nor do I doubt,  
T' obtain my wish herein, could I but find,  
Desert in me proportioned to your mind.   

The benefit o'th' Clergy I desire,  
That I may be admitted of that Quire.  
Who their own Pleas, in their own names enrowl,  
And may perform my place without control.   

My Lord, you've power and will to do't, and though  
I am not worthy, if you think me so,  
Your Lordship's test can constitute me that,  
Which my abilities can near reach at.   

My comfort is, 'tis what you don't deny  
To some, that read and write as bad as I:  
And there's a kindness which belongs to such,  
As having little worth, beg where there's much.  
Caesar that valiant General was adored  
More for his liberal hand, then for his Sword;  
And your great Archetipe his Highness does  
Derive more honour from the mouths of those  
Whom he hath gratified, then by the death  
Of those his conquering sword deprived of breath.   

Freedom's a Princely thing to give, 'tis that  
Which all our Laws do stand for, and aim at;  
And 'twill be some addition to your fame,  
When I with tongue, and pen enlarged, proclaim,  
'Mong all your Noble acts, you made a room,  
In your great heart, for— A. B.    

XXI. A New-years-gift presented to the same.  
My Lord,  

DId I not find it by experience true;  
Beggars are many, but Thanks-givers few.  
I had not dared t'envade your eye, with this,  
Mean gratulation whose ambition is,  
But to be pardoned, and the faults to smother,  
With this which were committed by the other:  
Yet since 'tis gratitude, it may please you,  
If not as good, yet as 'tis strange and new.   

Great Atlas of our laws and us, whose will,  
Is always active, backed by unmatched skill;  
To rule the Nation, and instruct it too,  
And make all persons live, as well as know:   

Though being among the undiscerning throng,  
You suffered once, you acted all along:  
Your sufferings did but like the Martyr's flame;  
Advance your Person, and exalt your name:  
Disclosed your virtues, from their ●ullen Ore,  
Make your gold shine, which was pure gold before:  
Your noble soul tells us from whence you came,  
You've both the British Nature and the name:  
By your example, you instruct us what  
Our Grandsires were, and what they aimed at.  
Ere the fantastic French, or selvish Dutch,  
Were grafted on our stocks, our souls were such,  
As yours is now; Now we by you may see,  
What once we were, what now we ought to be.   

Great Men, great favours, to great men repay,  
With great rewards, but I can only say,  
Your Lordship, your great kindnesses have thrown  
On one, that can return, or merit none:  
But you must pay, and thank yourself for me,  
With your own goodness; That vast Treasury,  
That found your love so generous and immense,  
To cast on me, can find you Recompense.   

A gift of worth my fortune can't bring forth,  
Proportioned to your kindness, or your worth.  
Let me send what I can, it will not be  
Enough for you, though't be too much for me:   

What more to do or say, I cannot tell;  
Much I can't do, nor can say much, and well:  
But what I can not do, I will desire,  
And what I can't express, I shall admire.   

May this new year be prosperous may each hour▪  
Bring you new blessings, in a plenteous shower!  
May Heaven still smile upon you, and still bless  
All that you do, and all that you possess!  
May you live long and flourish too, that I  
When I need succour, may know where to fly,  
And find supplies! May all your actions be  
As beneficial t'all, as this to me,  
That when you die (great pity 'tis you should)  
Th' whole land may mourn, not as you're great, but good.  
And though I have not ransacked Sea and Shore,  
To make you richer than you were before;  
I hope this geateful, though but rude address,  
May please you more, though it hath cost me less.    

XXII. To his Honoured Friend R. Henly Esquire.  
Sir,  

THough I wooed you not in Verse, or Prose,  
To make my name, and me more glorious:  
By being your Clerk, the work is done, I find;  
Not that I'm worthy on't, but you are kind:   

Therefore these lines address themselves to you,  
Not givenfreely t'you, but paid as due:  
And that they may your kind acceptance win,  
They've Sack (their common badge) with them and in;  
And I presume, without much scruple; you  
May drink old Sack, although the year be new:   

But though I am not rich enough to send  
Gifts fit for you t'accept; nor do intend  
T'enrich Peru: nor think it fit to give  
Our betters that, by which ourselves should live.  
This will, I hope, your candid nature move,  
'Cause I give freely what I dearly love;  
And I believe 'tis true, what I've been told,  
You love good Sack, as well as your partner Gold.  
I know not whether you'll like this or no;  
But if it be not good, my will is so:  
May it prove excellent! and may all those,  
That drink it freely, be ingenuous:  
That is, be found or made so! unto yours and you,  
May this year prove as prosperous as new:  
May we live quiet, and lay by our swords:  
And have no more lawless and boisterous Lords!  
May the Law stand! may Justice rule the roast;  
One sober Judge rules better than an host:  
And be assured this truth you'll ever find;  
I'll be as dutiful as you are kind.  
Nor shall you in your Rolls find out a Man,  
Would serve you more than I, though many can.    

XXIII. To his Friend J. H. Esquire.  

1.  
IF thou canst fashion no excuse,  
To stay at home, as 'tis thy use,  
When I do send for Thee.  
Let neither sickness, way, nor rain,  
With fond delusions thee detain,  
But come thy way to me.   

2.  
Hang such a sickness, that has power,  
To seize on thee at such an hour,  
When thou shouldst take thy pleasure:  
Go give thy Doctor half a Fee,  
That it may never trouble thee,  
Until thou art at leisure.   

3.  
We have a Cup of Cider here,  
That scorns that Common strumpet, Beer,  
And such dull drinks as they're.  
Their potions made of Hops and Malt,  
Can only make our fancies halt,  
This makes them quick as air.   

4.  
Ceres with Bacchus dares compare,  
And swears her fruits the liquor are,  
That Poets so implore:  
A fip of Sack may work a verse,  
But he that drinks a bowl of Hers,  
Shall thunder out a score.   

5.  
To morrow morning come away,  
Friday we'll vote a happy day,  
In spite of Erra Pater;  
And bring with you a spark or twain,  
Such as will drink, and drink again,  
To treat about the matter.    

XXIV. To a Gentleman that fell sick of the small Pox, when he should be married.  
Sir,  

WHen you view these chequered lines and see,  
How (bate the colour) like your face they be.  
You'll think this sheet to be your looking-glass;  
And all these spots, the Echoes of your face:  
Wherein Disease and Love their field have pight,  
To try which is more lovely Red, or White;  
Like our late Soldiers, who more rage did show,  
Unto the place that fed them, than their foe.   

Sickness, (loves Rival) envy in the place,  
Where Cupid chose to pitch his tents, your face  
Went to write foul, but Cupid made it prove  
Spite of his spite, the alphabet of love:  
So as they strove, love served him in his trim;  
For as that set on you, this set on him:  
And love that conquers all things, soon made known,  
To him a burning greater than his own.  
Accursed disease! dost thou come, crawling hither,  
To separate whom Heaven had joined together?  
Hadst thou no time to vent thy rage, but this  
When swelling hopes did down towards their bliss?  
I'th' inter-regnum 'twixt desires and joys,  
The cursed Vigil of blessed holy days!  
What pity 'tis that face where love has been  
So oft, so proud to play so sweetly in;  
By thy dire hand should be o'r-turned thus,  
●●s to be made a Campus Martius;  
Wherein the angry York and Lancaster,  
New-vamp, and do retrieve their musty stir?  
As if the Red-rose and the White would be,  
Where e'er they met, still at Antipathy;  
A face that was as clear as day, as bright,  
Should bud with stars like an enameled night:  
Your sickness meant to turn Astronomer;  
Your face the Heaven, and every spot a Star:  
Or else would write an Almanac, and raise,  
by those red Letters, nought but holidays.   

Were it your Butler's face, a Man would think,  
They had but been new boilings of the drink:  
Or had his nose been such, one would have swore  
'Twere red with anger, 'cause he drank no more:  
Or had your keeper such, he'd sell it all  
For hartshorn to make hafts of knives withal.  
Or if your Cooks were such, how it would fit,  
To grate your ginger, or nutmegs with it?  
But why on your face? what was his design?  
Was it to break the Hymeneal twine,  
That was half twisted? Tush! he's much mistake;  
Your love was past the Criss-cross of a look:  
And your affections are of riper age,  
Then now to gaze on beauty's title-page;  
Or barely dwell upon the face, those toys  
Are Oceaned in the hopes of future joys.   

Then blush no more, but let your Mrs. know,  
They're but Love-letters written on your brow,  
Etched by th' Engravers hand, there she may see,  
That beauty's subject to mortality:  
How frail a thing it is, how vain t'adore it,  
What fools are they that love or marry for it;  
And that this sickness which hath curbed you, is  
But the sad prologue to your future bliss.  
An Ember-week or Lent, which always falls,  
As Fasting-eves before your Festivals.  
'Twill make you prise your joy the more when't comes,  
Ushered along by tedious Martyrdoms.  
How acceptable is a plenteous boul,  
When 'tis carowsed by a thirsty soul!   

So have I seen the winter strip the trees,  
To fit them for their vernal Liveries!  
And cloth th' old Earth in grey, nip every thing,  
before it rowles itself into the spring.  
So has black night begot a gray-eyed day,  
So Sol does rout conspiring clouds with Ray;  
As through this sickness, does your joys come on,  
And gulf your hopes in firm fruition:  
When your red-rose, clubs with your Ladies white,  
And as the ancient flowers did unite;  
Your happiness will swell, and you will prove  
The Gemini of joy, as now of love.   

These things I guess not by your face, I find  
Your front is not the Index of your mind:  
Yet by your Phys'mony, thus much is meant,  
You are not spotless, though you're innocent.  
Sir if these verses go a halting pace,  
They stumble in the valleys of your face.    

XXV. To his Friend Mr. I. B. being at London in the Author's retirement.  

THough we are now analysed; and can't find,  
How to have mutual presence, but in mind;  
I'm bold to send you this, that you may know,  
Though you're above, yet I do live below.   

Though I've no bags that are with child with gold,  
And though my fireless chimneys catch the cold,  
For want of great revenues, yet I find  
I've what's as good as all, a sated mind:  
I neither money want, nor have I store;  
I have enough to live, and ask no more:  
No tip-toed turret, whose aspiring brow,  
Looks down and scorns the humble roofs below:  
My cottage lies beneath the thunder's harms,  
Laughs at the whispers of the winds, or storms.  
My rooms are not in-lined with Tapestry;  
But ragged walls where a few books may lie.  
I flight the silks, whose ruffling-whispers pride,  
And all the world's Tautologies beside:  
My limbs inhabit but a Country dress,  
Not to adorn, but cover nakedness.  
My family's not such, whose gentry springs,  
Like old Mecaenasses, from Grandsire Kings.  
I've many kindred, yet my friends are few;  
Those few not rich, and yet more rich than true:  
I've but a drachm of learning, and less wit;  
Yet that's enough to fright my wealth from it:  
As if those two seldom or never meet,  
But like two Generals that with bullets greet.   

I study to live plenteously, though scant;  
How not to have, yet not to care, nor want:  
We've here no gaudy feminines to show,  
As you have in that great Seraglio:  
He that weds here, lies cloistered in a maid;  
A Sepulchre where never man was laid.  
Ours are with Loadstone touched and never will,  
But right against their proper pole lie still.  
Yours like Hell-gates, do always open lie,  
Like Hackney-jades they stand at livery:  
Like treasuries where each one throws his mite;  
G●lph● of contraries, at once dark and light.  
Where who so enters, is like gold refined;  
Passing through fire, where Moloch sits enshrined,  
And offers up a whole-burnt sacrifice,  
To pacify those fiery Deities.   

I have no far-fetched dear-bought delicates,  
Whose virtues prized only by their rates:  
No fancied Kick-shaws that would serve t' invite,  
To a fourth course the glutted appetite.  
Hunger's my Cook, my labour brings me meat,  
Which best digests, when it is sauced with sweat:  
They that have pluresies of these about them,  
Yet do but live, and so do I without them.   

I can sit in my study soon or late,  
And have no Troopers quarrel with my gate;  
Nor break the peace with it, whose innocence  
Stands only guarded in its own defence:  
No debts to sue for, and no coin to lend;  
No cause to fear my foe, nor slight my friend:   

Yet there is one thing which me thinks I han't,  
And I have studied to supply that want;  
'Tis the Synopsis of all misery;  
'Tis the tenth want (Dear Friend) the want of Thee.  
May we once more enjoy ourselves, for neither  
Is truly blest, till we are blest together!    

XXVI. An Elegy on a Lady that died before her intended Nuptials.  

AMong the train of mourners, whose swollen eyes  
Wallow in tears of these sad obsequies;  
Admit me as a cipher here to come,  
Who though am nothing, yet can raise a sum:  
And truly I can mourn as well as they  
Who'd clad in sable weeds, though mine is grey.  
Excuse me Sir, passion will swell that's penned;  
Thank not my tears, I cannot but lament,  
To see a Lady ready for your bed,  
To death's embraces yield her maidenhead:  
And that Angellick Corpse, that should have been  
A Cabinet to lodge your Jewels in,  
Should now b'imbalmed with dust, and made a prey  
To the happy worms, who may call that day  
On which her limbs unto their lot did fall;  
Your sad Solemnities, their Festival:  
Should I not mourn, I could not pay the due,  
Of tears to her, or sympathy to you:  
For Death did flay you both, when she did die,  
So who writes one's must write both's Elegy.  
She was too good for you, she was too high,  
A wife for Angels, to get Angels by:  
Whom you and all did love, and did suppose,  
To be an Angel in a mortal's clothes:  
But Heaven to undeceive you let you know,  
By her mortality, she was not so.    

XXVII. On the great crier at Westminster-Hall.  

WHen the great Crier in that greater room,  
Calls Faunt-le-roy, and Alexander Brome.  
The people wonder (as those heretofore,  
When the dumb spoke) to hear a Crier roar.  
The kill crew of Criers that do stand,  
with Eunuch's voices, squeaking on each hand,  
Do signify no more, compared to him,  
Then Member Allen did to patriot Pim.  
Those make us laugh, while we do him adore;  
Theirs are but Pistol, his mouth's Canon-bore.  
Now those fame-thirsty spirits that endeavour  
To have their names enlarged, and last for ever,  
Must be Attorneys of this Court, and so  
His voice shall like fame's loudest trumpet blow  
Their names about the World, and make them last,  
While we can lend an ear, or he a blast▪    

XXXVIII. To the memory of that loyal Patriot Sir I. Cordel Kt.  

THus fell the grace and glory of our time,  
Who durst be good when goodness was a crime.  
● Magistrate that justly wore his gown,  
While England had a King, or King a Crown;  
But stoutly flung it off, when once he saw  
Might knock down right, and lust did justle law.  
His soul scorned a Democracy, and would,  
No longer stay, then while the Kingdom stood;  
And when that fled, his followed it, to be,  
Joined to his King i'th' Hieromonarchy,    

XXX. To his Mistress lodging in a room where the Sky was painted.  
In 1642.  

WHen (my Diviner soul) I did of late,  
In thy fair chamber, for thy presence wait,  
Looking aloft, (Thou knowst my look is high,  
Else I'd ne'er dare to court Thee) I did spy.  
Sun, Moon, and Stars, by th' painters art appear  
At once all Culm'nant in one Hemisphere:  
My small Astrology made me suppose,  
Those Symptoms made the room prodigious.  
Old time, (I thought) was cramped and night and day,  
Both monosyllabled, to make me stay;  
He'd broke his steps of days and hours that he  
Might roll himself into Eternity.  
The Sun, as tired, with the course he ran,  
Centred himself in the Meridian:  
And 'cause 'twas there, I could not think it night,  
Nor durst I call it day, 'cause 't gave no light:  
I found the cause, and ceased to admire;  
Thy eyes had stolen his sight, my heart his fire:  
And that's the cause why Sun and Moon looked dim,  
Thy brighter face out lustred her and him:  
But (which increased my wonder) I could see,  
No Meteor portend this prodigy;  
Comets all winked at this, nor could I spy  
One Blazing-star, but my portentive eye:  
But as I mused, what Omen this should be,  
They all stood still, as much amazed at me:  
The wand'ring Planets had forgot to vary;  
Gazing on me, because all stationary:  
Envying thy beauty, they're together gone,  
To make a perfect constellation:  
And their conjunctions t' imitate our lips,  
Was but a loving kiss, not an Eclipse:  
Sol draws a Regiment of stars, to be  
Tapers to light thee into bed to me:  
Yet could not shine, until they were inspired  
By the same flames, by which my heart was fired.  
Come then lie down, do thou withdraw thy light,  
They'll be, to please us, a perpetual night:  
Sol shall be Cupid, blind, and thou his mother,  
And as we've marred one Sun, we'll get another.    

XXXI. A New-years-gift.  

THe season now requires a Man should send  
Some worthy present to his worthier Friend:  
And I (though poor in purse) do wear a heart,  
That is ambitious to perform a part  
In celebration of this newborn day;  
And having nothing to present, I'll pray,  
This year may be to me, as well as you,  
So much more blest than t'other, as more new.  
And in it so much happiness abound,  
To turn us all to good, yet not turn round.  
And may the Sun, that now begins t'appear  
I'th' Horizon to usher in the year,  
Melt all those fatuous Vapours, whose false light  
Purblinds the World, and leads them from the right;  
And may our Solemnising like that rise once again,  
Mounted triumphant in a prosperous reign:  
May all those Phytons that spite o'th' crown,  
Would guide his Chariot, tumble headlong down:  
So shall the Land with happiness be crowned,  
When men turn right, and only years turn round.    

XXXII. On the Queen's going beyond Se●.  

WHen on the watery World, our glorious Queen  
'Gan to be tossed▪ as on the land sh' had been,  
The joyful waters did begin t'aspire,  
And would trans-element▪ themselves to fire▪  
And ever since it has been hard to swear,  
Whether the Earth, or Water highest were.  
The late scorned Sea will now itself prefer,  
Bearing the best that earth could boast of; Her,  
When first she launched, th' ambitious ●aves no more  
Would kiss the lips of their oft-washed shore,  
But with united motion all did rise  
To bear the ship; that her, to kiss the skies.  
The ship, like Noah's ark, did float about,  
And kept the waters that would enter, out:  
For were the world redrowned, what good has been  
In it, in her Epitomised is seen.  
The sturdy billows, if they did arise,  
Were checked by th' power of her Majestic eyes:  
When ever any to rebel appears,  
For grief it did dissolve itself to tears;  
The moving compass had forgot to stir,  
Instead o'th' North-pole pointed still at her;  
At which the Pilot wondering, he spies  
Two North-poles culminant at once, her eyes:  
No marvel then, the compass pointed thither,  
For her magnetic soul draws all things with her.  
The Ocean scorned Neptune's tridentine sway,  
And would no more a King but Queen obey:  
Nay Neptune thought she had a Venus been,  
Sprung from the frothy Sea to be his Queen;  
And whispering Zephyrus, if he did stir,  
'Twas not to blow, but to suck breath from her;  
The Mariners, when e'er she breathed, thought  
That precious Amber 'bout the ship did float.  
Widow Arabia did begin to grieve,  
To see a Phoenix on the waters live.  
The Semi-lunar Dolphin having seen  
Her face, would strait salute her as the Queen.  
The amorous Sirens did altogether throng,  
Hoping t' entice her to them by a song.  
Her brow (as though command were written there)  
Did more sway them, than all their voices her.  
The little fishes met and did rejoice,  
Dancing to th' music of the Sirens voice:  
All in their several postures strove t' express  
How much her presence would their mansions bless:  
All praying her to stay, but all in vain,  
At length (though loath) they landed her again.  
The shoar's a Paradise, where she was driven.  
And (but her Charles lacked her) it had been Heaven.    

XXXIII. Upon his Mare stolen by a Trooper.  
In 1644.  

WHy let her go, I'll vex myself no more,  
Lest my heart break, as did my stable door.  
'Twas but a Mare; if she be gone, she's gone;  
'Tis not a Mare that I do stand upon.  
Now by this Cross I am so temperate grown,  
I'll bridle nature, since my mare is gone.  
I have a little learning, and less wit;  
That wealth is sure, no thief can pilfer it.  
Riches they say have wings, my Mare had so;  
For though she had legs, yet she could hardly go:  
But thiefs and fate have such a strong command,  
To make those go, which have no feet to stand.  
She was well skilled in writing Elegies,  
And every mile writes, Here my Rider lies.  
Now since I've ne'er a beast to ride upon,  
Would I might never go, my verse shall run.  
I'll mount on Pegasus, for he's so poor,  
From thief or trueman, one may ride secure.  
I would not rack invention for a curse,  
To plague the Thief, for fear I make him worse:  
I would not have him hanged, for that would be  
Sufficient for the law, but not for me.  
In charity I wish him no more pain,  
But to restore me home my Mare again.  
And 'cause I would not have good customs alter,  
I wish who has the Mare, may have the Halter.    

XXXIV. Upon riding on a tired Horse.  

'TWas hot, and our Olympic Charioteer,  
Limbecked the body of the Traveller;  
Which to prevent, I like the Sun did go:  
He was on horse back, I on horseback too:  
So on we go to view the desolation  
Of that half-plague to our distressed Nation:  
But my Horse was so superstitious grown,  
He would fall down, and worship every stone:  
Nay he in reverence to each holy place,  
Was often seen to fall upon his face.  
And had I been inclined to Popishness,  
I needed have no other cross but this:  
Within a mile or two, without command,  
Do what I could, this Jade would make a stand:  
I praised him, thinking glory were a spur  
To prick him on, all would not make him stir.  
All worldly things do post away we know,  
But yet my Horse would neither run nor go.  
What everlasting Creature should this be,  
That all things are less permanent than he!  
So long I kicked the people did suppose▪  
The arm-less man had beat a drum with's toes:  
But though a march or an alarm I beat,  
The senseless Horse took all for a retreat:  
The people's jeers moved me to no remorse,  
No more than all my kicks did move my Horse:  
Had Phaeton's horses been as mine is, They  
Needed no reins, they'd never run away.  
I wished for old Copernicus to prove,  
That while we both stood still, the Earth would move▪  
Oh for an Earthquake, that the hills might meet,  
To bring us home, though we moved not our feet!  
All would not do, I was constrained to be,  
The bringer up of a Foot Company.  
But now in what a woeful case were I,  
If like our Troopers I were put to fly.  
I wish all cowards (if that be too much)  
Half of our Hosemen, which I'll swear are such;  
In the next fight when they begin to flee,  
They may be plagued with a tired Horse like me.    

XXXV. To his Friend I. B.  

THou thinkst that I to thee am fully known;  
Yet thou'lt not think how powerful I am grown:  
I can work miracles, and when I do  
Think on thy worth, think thee a wonder too:  
Thy constant love and lines in verse and prose,  
Makes me think thee and them miraculous.  
Myself am from myself, both here and there I  
Suppose myself grown an Ubiquitary.  
We are a miracle, and 'tis with us  
As with John Baptist and his Lazarus:  
ay thou, and thou art I, and 'tis a wonder,  
That we both live, and yet both live asunder:  
Come then, let's meet again; for until we  
Unite, the times can't be at ●●ity.  
But if this distance must still interpose  
Between my eye and thee, yet let us close  
In mind, and though our necks by-forked grown,  
Spread-Eagle like, yet let our Breasts be one.    

XXXVI. Translated out of Perseus.  

I Don't remember I did dip,  
In the Caballine spring my lip:  
Nor on two-toped Parnassus' sleep,  
That thence I should a Poet creep.  
The pale Pyrene and Helicon,  
I for those men will let alone,  
T'whose brows the rambling Ivyes cling;  
Yet I a clown my verses bring  
To th' Muse's altars. Who did show  
The Parrot 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, who the Crow  
Of old with hollow voice to prate?  
Or Pies our words to imitate?  
Art's Master, Need, which wit bestows;  
This Artist makes us come to those  
Words which our Nature us denies,  
Make Crows turn Poets, and the Pies  
Turn Poetresses that can sing,  
Sweet verses from the Pegasean spring.    

XXXVII. Upon the miscarrier of Letters betwixt his Friend and Him; An Execration.  

ANd why to me? dull scanner of the ground,  
Was there no other packhorse to be found,  
To bear the weight of such a grand abuse  
But only I? I'll wake my sleeping Muse;  
And send her post to th'black abyss of Hell,  
To fetch me curses, curses dire and fell.  
I'll mount on Pegasus, and make him go  
From Friend to Friend, as swift as thou art slow.  
Perfidious Traitor! could thine impious hands  
Dare to miscarry, what true love commands?  
Had it been news, or pamphlets, or the rude  
Inventions of the cock-brained multitude;  
New models of Religion, or the false,  
Ly-legends which we here call Diurnals;  
Had there been treason against the King or State,  
They deserved thine, and thou hadst scaped my hate▪  
But these were embassies of souls that be  
So pure, they dare dispute with purity;  
That will not club with treason, nor betrothe,  
Their souls to schism, but are estranged from both▪  
Had they been compliments, or th'adulterate froth  
Of ink-horn-wits, t' had ne'er incensed my wrath.  
For 'tis but reason such vain toys as they are,  
Should be dissolved to their first matter, Air.  
Had they been merely issues of the brain,  
And had been lost, that might to work again.  
But when the heart's engaged, what pity 'tis  
A child of that should ever far amiss?  
Hadst thou but known how sweet those accents were,  
How full of love thou wouldst have took more care.  
Why didst thou go to stop that blessed Trine,  
That was to be 'twixt their aspects and mine?  
Dost thou not know what good, what blessed effects  
The Land will have from such benign aspects?  
Alas when Mercury doth meet with Jove;  
Lily can tell thee their portents are love:  
I'm loath to study for some new found curse,  
For fear I should be heard, and thou be worse.  
First for thy Horses, would their teeth may be  
Greased at each Inn, which none may help but me▪  
May all their old diseases never fail;  
Their feet have scabs doubled for every nail,  
That thou may'st like Tom. Long for ever go,  
And ne'er come where thou art assigned unto,  
And so may'st ne'er be trusted with a pack,  
Unless of plagues, and may those break thy back.  
May'st thou ne'er carry loyal letters more?  
But Pockie-songs betwixt a Pimp and's whore.  
But when th' sweat and travelled all the day,  
May'st thou have neither meat, drink, bread nor pay▪  
May all the way be strewed with Downs his men;  
And thou escaping one, may'st meet with ten.  
And may they take thy horses and thy store,  
And bang thy sides because thou hast no more.  
May all these plagues unite that they may be  
As great a plague to thee, as thou to me.    

XXXVIII. To his Mistress.  

YOur pardon Lady; by my troth I err,  
I thought each face a painted Sepulchre,  
That wore but beauty on't; I did suppose,  
That outward beauty had been ominous.  
And that ●● had been so opposite to wit,  
As it ne'er wisdom met, nor virtue it.  
Your face confutes me, and I do begin  
To know my error, and repent my sin:  
For on those Rosy cheeks I plainly see,  
And read my former thoughts deformity.  
I could believe Hyperboles, and think  
That praise to low that flows from pen and ink:  
That you're all Angel; when I look on you,  
I'm forced to think the Rampant'st fictions true:  
Nay I dare swear (though once I did abhor it)  
That Men love Women, and have reason for it.  
The Lapidaries now shall learn to set  
Their Diamonds in Gold, and not in Jet.  
The Proverb's crossed, for now a man may find  
Abeauteous face i'th' Index of a mind.  
How I could praise you, and your worth display,  
But that my ravished pen is forced to stay:  
And when I think t' express your purer fashion,  
My expressions turn to stupid Admiration.  
Nature's perfection! She by forming thee?  
Proves she has now infallibility:  
You're an Enchiridion, whom Heaven did print,  
To copy by, with no Errata in't.  
You're my Urania, nay within you be  
The Muses met in their Ter-trinity:  
Else how could I turn Poet, and retain  
My banished Muse into my thoughts again!  
See what your wit, see what your beauty can;  
T'make a Poet's more than t'make a Man;  
I've wit b'infusion, nay I've beauty too,  
I think I'm comely, if you think me so.  
Add to your virtue's love, and you may be  
A wife for Jous, pray let that Jove be me.    

XXXIX. To his Mistress married to another.  

MArried! and I not dead! it cannot be;  
Is nothing certain but uncertainty?  
Can truth itself prove false? I should as soon  
Have thought the Sun varied into a Moon;  
And that the Poles that ne'er knew how to vary,  
Turned Planets now, and grow unstationary.  
But Sol has changed his course, and we all know,  
Those we call Poles, are Planetary too.  
You whom I thought a Goddess, now I see,  
Are but a woman, by inconstancy.  
See what the covetous love of wealth can do,  
It makes fair Ladies false and foolish too.  
I could be sorry now, or vexed, or worse;  
But wrath or sorrow will enlarge my curse:  
That anger's foolish, and that sorrow's vain,  
That's used for that which can't be had again.  
But what's this thing called marriage? must you be  
Cloistered by that from all society?  
Must only he enjoy you as a Bride?  
And by his feast, famish the whole World beside?  
You only did proclaim, when you did wed,  
That both together meant to go to bed:  
What need all this ado? can't we (my honey)  
Do the same thing without the Ceremony,  
Or proclamation? where two hearts agree,  
Marriage is but a superfluity.  
Nature did ne'er intend (without all doubt)  
T'hang such a Jewel only in his snout:  
Nor were you made only for one Man's food;  
Nor for the private, but the common good.  
You have my heart, and do but lend me thine,  
I'll give the Priest the lie, and say th' art mine.    

XL. On the turncoat Clergy.  

THat Clergymen are changeable, and teach  
That now 'gainst which they will to morrow preach  
Is an undoubted truth; but that in this  
Their variation they do aught amiss,  
I steadfastly deny; The World we see,  
Preserves itself by mutability:  
And by an imitation each thing in it  
Preserves itself by changing every minute;  
The Heavenly orts do move, and change, & there's  
The much admired music of the spheres:  
The Sun, the Moon, the Stars do always vary,  
The times turn round still, nothing stationary.  
Why then should we blame Clergymen, that do,  
Because they're Heavenly, like the Heavens go?  
Nay th' Earth itself, on which we tread (they say)  
Turns round and's moving still; then why not they?  
Our bodies still are changing from our birth,  
Till they return to their first matter, Earth.  
We draw in air, and food, that air and food  
Incorporates, and turns our flesh and blood:  
Then we breathe out ourselves in sweat, and vent  
Our flesh and blood by use, and excrement,  
With such continual change, that none can say,  
He's the same man that he was Yesterday.  
Besides, all Creatures cannot choose but be,  
By much the worse for their stability:  
For standing pools corrupt, while running springs  
Yield sweet refreshment to all other things.  
The highest Church-things oftenest change, we know,  
The weathercock that stands o'th' top does so:  
The bells when rung in changes best do please,  
The Nightingale, that minstrel of the trees,  
Varies her note, while the dull Cuckoo sings  
Only one note, no auditory brings.  
Why then should we admire our Levites change,  
Since 'tis their natural motion? 'Tis not strange  
To see a Fish to swim, or Eagle fly;  
Nor is their Protean mutability,  
More worth our wonder, but 'tis so in fashion,  
It merits our applause, and imitation.  
But I conclude, lest while I speak of change,  
I shall too far upon one subject range.  
And so become unchangeable, and by  
My practice, give my doctrine here the lie,    

XLI. To his Friend Mr. I. W. on his Translation of a Romance.  

FRom foreign soil He at the first did spring,  
Whom conquest crowned, and custom kept our King;  
And from the same, this fancy, whom this pen  
Has of an Alien made a Denizen.  
Dispute who dares: The issue of the brain  
Admits a transplantation, like the train  
That buds with Stars; and in this do hit,  
The two fac Totums, Monarchy and wit.  
The industrious Merchant glutted with the things  
That are produced by our mother-springs,  
Ransacks the Ocean, trafficking for more  
And rarer beauties from the foreign shore;  
And makes our happiness not only be  
In necessaries, but variety.  
So thou with equal diligence hast gone,  
To fetch the merchandise of Helicon:  
Not but that wit and fancy here will be  
A Native and Staple commodity:  
Or that composing stories and Romances,  
Were only entailed to wits that live beyond Seas:  
But as in dearth, we oft supply our store,  
From those that we perhaps relieved before.  
So now when rare Inventions and immense,  
Are parched and shrunk up into hardly sense,  
For want of due rewards that should distil  
From these new Tympanies, and we call hills,  
You're fain to forage for what e'er must be,  
Beyond Diurnals, or a Mercury.  
Yet bened discouraged, for here's no Excise,  
Nor custom paid on these commodities;  
And he that trades in wit by Sea or Land,  
Needs not a convoy, fears no Rocks nor Sand.  
This traffic is secure against the thump  
Of Spain's armada or the Belgic Trump,  
And the proceed on't, though in this mad Nation,  
Is free from plunder, and from sequestration.  
I do commend thy choice too, for of all  
The Sciences, this is most cordial;  
Presenting notions to the curious mind,  
Of what below we never see nor find.  
Herein do differ History, and this;  
This shows what ought to be, that shows what is;  
Ungrateful we, if that we should receive  
This precious Jewel, and should nothing give  
To Thee, or to its Author; therefore I  
Offer these lines to both your memory,  
To testify my thanks, though not my skill:  
What's so well done, must not be praised ill:  
But I nickname my duty, when I say  
I give, or offer, when I only pay.    

XLII. A Satire on the Rebellion.  

URge me no more to sing, I am not able  
To raise a note; Songs are abominable:  
Yea David's Psalms do now begin to be  
Tuned out of Church, by hymns extempore.  
No accents are so pleasant now as those  
That are Caesura'd through the Pastor's nose.  
I'll only weep our misery and ruth,  
I am no Poet, for I speak the truth.  
Behold a self against itself doth fight,  
And the left hand prevails above the right.  
The grumbling guts, i'th' belly of the State,  
Unthankful for the wholesome food they ate;  
Belch at their head, and do begin to slight  
The Cates, to which they had an appetite:  
They long for kickshaws, and new fangled dishes;  
Not which all love, but which each fancy wishes.  
Behold a glorious Phoebus tumbling down,  
While the rebellious Bears usurp the Crown.  
Behold a Teem of Phaeton's aspire  
To guide the Sun, and set the World on fire:  
All goes to wrack, and it must needs be so,  
When those would run, that know not how to go.  
Behold, a lawful Sovereign, to whose mind  
Dishonesty's a stranger, now confined.  
To the Anarchick power of those whose reason  
Is flat Rebellion, and their truth is Treason.  
Behold the loyal Subjects peeled and polled.  
And from Algiers to Tunis bought and sold:  
Their Goods sequestered by a legal stealth,  
The private robbed t' uphold the Commonwealth.  
And those the only plunderers are grown  
Of others States, that had none of their own.  
Robbers no more by night in secret go,  
They have a Licence now for what they do:  
If any to the Rulers do complain,  
They know no other godliness but gain:  
Nor give us any plaster for the sore  
Of paying much, but only paying more.  
What e'er we do or speak, how e'er we live,  
All is acquitted if we will but Give;  
They sit in Bulwarks, and do make the laws  
But fair pretences to a fouler cause,  
And Horse-leech-like cry give, what e'er they say,  
Or sing, the burden of their song is Pay.  
How wretched is that State! how full of woe,  
When those that should preserve, do overthrow!  
When they rule us, and o'er them money reigns,  
Who still cry Give, and always gape for gains!  
But on those Judges lies a heavy curse,  
That measure crimes by the Delinquents purse:  
The time will come when they do cease to live,  
Some will cry Take, as fast as they cried Give.    

XLIII. On a pair of Virginals.  

DEath, that ties up the tongues of Man & Beast,  
And to each thing gives a Quietus est;  
Gives me a tongue; and I that could not be  
Blest with a voice, now boast variety.  
The tale of Amphion, which could make each tree  
Dance to his music, is fulfilled in me.  
For lo the liveless Jacks lavaltoes take,  
At that sweet music which themselves do make:  
The various-sounding strings in consort come,  
To make my narrow bulk Elysium;  
Just Emblem of the State; for in this wise,  
He just now falls. that but just now did rise.  
O would the Subjects in this Realm agree,  
And meet like strings to make one harmony!    

XLVI. On a Comedy called The Passionate Lovers.  

THough I ne'er saw this Play, nor e'er did know  
The Author well, nor love with passion so,  
To be a dame for Terence Comedy, 
Heautontim●rumeno●.   
But do suppose who e'er the lover be,  
That's really such as the Poet writ,  
He'd have less love, if he had had more wit.  
Yet as th' old Topers, when their drink's gone,  
Do love to sit, and see the work go on:  
And as old men when their performance fails,  
Can clap their wings with telling smutty tales:  
So though we've lost the life of plays the stage,  
If we can be Remembrancers to th' age.  
And now and then let glow a spark in print,  
To tell the World there's fire still lodged i'th' flint,  
We may again b' enlightened once and warmed,  
Men can't be civil till they be informed.  
Walk wisely on: Time's changeable, and what  
Was once thrown down, is now again reached at.  
And we may see pleasure and honour crown  
The Stage, when inconsistent Tubs kicked down.    

XLV. To the High: Sheriff of S.  
Sir,  

YOu have given us Poets entertainment,  
Good cheer and wine; we give you Poet's payment,  
Good words and Rhythme; but you outdo us here▪  
You match our Rhythme; but we can't match your cheer.  
And here's the reason, which our Muses grieves,  
Sheriffs are made Poets, but ne'er Poet's Sheriffs.    

XLVI. To G. B. Esquire.  

I Promised to come to you Sir, 'tis true,  
And I intended what I promised you.  
But Heaven (that all things orders) thought not fit  
We two should meet, and therefore hindered it:   

Not that our meeting had offensive been  
To God or Man, for we had sailed between  
The dangerous rocks of company, which wits  
And no wits dash against, when in their fits,  
They scoff at sacred matters, and blaspheme,  
Or make Statesmen or businesses their theme.  
But such a World of Heavenly drink came down,  
The floods did rise and all the Country drown;  
Men that had souls unswimable like mine,  
Float as drowned Flies do in a glass of Wine.  
Horses and boots were useless, and you know,  
I have no hanging look; and being so  
Fat, have the art of sinking, I was ne'er  
Bred 'mong the fish, nor e'er at Westminster,  
Saw any drowned, though you and I both know,  
Some have been used as badly there, and though  
I use the feather 'tis the t'other end,  
Not that which me from drowning can defend;  
This work's for Saylors, not a land Attorney,  
For 'tis become a voyage, not a journey.  
And he that goes to Ex'ter now from hence,  
From that exploit, may very well commence  
A Navigator; which t' attempt I fear,  
And thought it safer to stay drinking here:  
And send you this from him that's far more willing  
To write ten verses, then to pay one shilling.    

XLVII. To his reverend Friend Dr. S. on his pious and learned Book.  

THe times are changed, and the misguided rout,  
Now tug to pull in, what they tumbled out:  
And with like eagerness, the factious crew,  
Who ruin'd all, are now exposed to view:  
Their vizor's of, and now we plainly see  
Both what they are, and what they aimed to be,  
And what they meant to do to us and ours,  
If either ours or we were in their powers.   

That viprous brood of Levi who gnawed through  
Their mother's bowels, and their Fathers too,  
To break a passage to their lewd designs  
have found th' effects of all their under-mines;  
And see themselves out-acted in their show,  
By sucking Sprouts, that out of them did grow.  
They're now out- winked, out- fasted, and out- tongued,  
Their Pupils reap those fields which they had dunged:  
Who split the Church into so many Schisms,  
The zeal of these eats others Patriarchisms:  
And Vermin-like they do that Corpse devour,  
Whose putrefaction gave them life and power:  
Now they repent (though late) and turn to you,  
Of the Old Church that's constant, pure, and true.   

Thanks to such lights as you are, you have stayed  
In that firm truth, from which they fond strayed,  
Endured reproach, and want, all violent shocks,  
Which rolled like Rillows, while you stood like Rocks,  
Unmoved by all their fury, kept your ground,  
Fixed as the Poles, whiles they kept twirling round:  
Submitted to all rage, and lost your all,  
Yet ne'er complied with, or bowed knee to Baal.  
You preached for love of preaching, with desire  
T' instruct, and to reform, while pay and hire,  
Which made them preach, were ●a'n away from you;  
You still strove on, and led the people through  
That Wilderness of error, into which  
Those Ignes fatui, tempted by the itch  
Of Pride and change had led them, when the Times  
Envying your worth, voted your Sermons crimes;  
And made it Treason to relieve or hear you;  
And constituted to affront and jeer you;  
Those Patentees of graces and good livings,  
Grown rich with fees, & fat with full thanksgivings;  
Who rolled a stone upon your mouths for fear  
Truth would find out a resurrection there:  
Then from the press you piously did show  
What, why, and how, we should believe and know;  
And pray and practice; made it out to us,  
Why our Church-Institutes were these and thus;  
And how we ought t' observe them, so that we  
May find them that, which of themselves they be,  
Commands and comforts: This Sir we do find  
Performed by this rare issue of your mind:  
Your pious and your profitable lines,  
Which can't be praised by such a pen as mine's,  
But must b' admired and loved, and you must be  
For ever thanked and honoured too by me,  
And all that know or read you; since you do  
Supply the pious and the learned too.  
So well, that both must say, to you they owe  
What good they practise, and what good they (know.    

XLVIII. To Colonel Lovelace on his Poems.  

SO through the Chaos crept the firstborn ray,  
That was not yet grown up to be a day,  
And formed the World; as do your powerful rhythmes,  
Through the thick darkness of these Versless times:  
These antingenius days, this boy strous age,  
Where there dwells nought of Poetry but rage:  
Just so crept learning forth the ravenous fire  
Of the Schismatic Goths and Vandals ire:  
As do in these more barbareus days our times,  
When what was meant for ruin, but refines.  
Why may ned we hope for Restauration, when  
●● ancient Poet's Towns, the new raise men;  
The tale of Orpheus and Amphion be  
Both solid truths with this Mythology?  
For though you make not stones and trees to move;  
Yet men more senseless you provoke to love.  
I can't but think, spite of the filth that's hurled  
Over this small Ench'ridion of the World,  
A day will break, when we again may see  
Wits like themselves, club in an Harmony:  
Though Pulpiteers can't do it, yet 'tis fit  
Poets have more success, because more wit.  
Their Prose unhinged the State; why mayn't your (verse  
Polish those souls, that were filled rough by theirs?  
Go on, and prosper; though I want your skill,  
In weighty matters 'tis enough to will.  
And now the Reader looks I should help rear  
Your glories Trophy, else what make I here?  
'Tis not to praise you; for one may as well  
Go tell Committees that there is an Hell;  
Or tell the World there is a Sun; as praise  
Your amorous fancy, which itself can't raise  
'Bove Envies reach or flatteries; Ladies love  
To kiss those accents; who dares disapprove  
What they style good? our lines, our lives and all,  
By their opinions either rise or fall:  
Therefore the cause why these are fixed here,  
Is livery-like to show some great man's near:  
Let them stand bare, and usher, not commend;  
They are not for Encomiums, but t' attend.    

XLIX. To his Friend Thomas Stanley, Esq on his Odes Set and Published by Mr. John Gamble.  

STanley the Darling of Apollo, thou  
That mak'st at once both Verse and Music too;  
So sweet a Master of so sweet a Muse,  
Whom not to name with honour, were t' abuse.  
How thy words flow! How sweetly do they Chime,  
When thy pure Couplets do embrace in Rhyme!  
How quick, how lovely, and how full of Sense  
Thy Fancy is, and all that springs from thence!  
Which Gamble has enlivened by his Art,  
And breath ' an Active Soul through every part:  
And so deduced thy Mind to us, that we  
May feast our Ears and Souls with rarity.  
How much to Thee, how much to Him we owe,  
We can conceive, but cannot make you know;  
Nor have we thanks proportioned to your worth,  
Thou that didst make, and He that set them forth,  
In such a lively Dress too, We admire  
What we can't praise, what we can't do, Desire;  
And therefore turn our praises into prayers,  
That Thou'lt make more such Odes, He more such (Airs.    

I. On the famous Romance, called The innocent Impostor.  

'TWill be expected now that I should raise  
Some Monument unto the Author's praise,  
The Works, or the Translators; else I fear,  
The Reader will wonder what I do make here.  
'Tis grown Apocryphal, and by the Wits  
Quite voted down; Who hold it not befits  
A trueborn Fancy, to be Smith-field-wise  
Put off with Toll and Vouchers; this defies  
Such Crutches; for 'tis of so clear a Nature,  
'Twill pass without the Chaplains Imprimatur,  
Or our Certificates: Besides I carry  
Such a dislike to all things Customary,  
I'll cheat all expectation, and will be  
Thankful to them, but chiefly unto thee.  
In these Self-ended times we only do,  
Or thank or praise those we're beholding to:  
So call our Justice Charity, and say  
We do bestow, when we do only pay:  
For though the work be rare; yet should it be  
Still in its dress, what had it been to me?  
And though translated by this worthy pen,  
If not exposed to the view of Men,  
I had ne'er seen't perhaps, But since all three  
Have clubbed in this production, I must be  
Grateful to all, and to give all your right,  
Must praise, and love, and thank Bellay, Dod, Wright.    

LI. On Dr. J. his divine Romant.  

HOw rare! how truly noble's this design,  
To make us fall in love with things Divine!  
And raise our passions with such pious flames,  
To court those truths, which lay disguised in names  
Perplexed and crabbed, and did heretofore  
L●e undiscovered in their sullen Ore;  
And seemed unamiable to the sense,  
'Cause unattainable but by th' expense  
Of undelightsome labour and much time.   

This new invention expiates the crime,  
Which did too much adhere to youthful love,  
Directs the soul to dote on things above;  
And consecrates th' affections to extend  
Their violent motion to their proper end.   

The ravished Puipit, which of late was made  
A place, not of instruction but of trade;  
Where Higlers in Divinity did sell  
Salvation to us, and made heaven and hell  
At their disposal, and the way to bliss,  
More hard and crabbed than it ought or is;  
And did advance the people, or condemn  
To this or that, just as we humoured them:  
Made some those heavenly dishes to dearest  
And loath, loath they so nastily were dressed.   

But this ingenuous Author makes that food  
Delightsome to the taste as well as good;  
And with such flowers the paths to virtue strews,  
That the dull soul to heaven delighted goes.  
What love, what praise, what great reward is fit  
To his great worth, who with Celestial wit,  
Informs and sanctifies our minds, and brings  
Our souls above these low terrestrial things!  
A crown of Stars must deck his learned brow,  
The laurel Garland's too unworthy now.    

LII. On the loss of a Garrison.  

ANother City lost! Alas poor King!  
Still future griefs from former griefs do spring.  
The World's a seat of change; Kingdoms and Kings,  
Though glorious, are but sublunary things:  
Crosses and blessings kiss; there's none that be  
So happy, but they meet with misery.  
He that ere while sat centred to his Throne,  
And all did homage unto him alone;  
Who did the Sceptre of his power display  
From pole to pole, while all this rule obey,  
From stair to stair now tumbles, tumbles down,  
And scarce one pillar doth support his Crown.  
Town after Town, are lost Field after Field,  
This turns, and that perfidiously doth yield:  
He's banded on the traitorous tongues of those  
That Janus like, look to him and his foes.  
In vain are Bulwarks and the strongest Hold,  
If the besiegers bullets are of gold:  
My soul be not dejected; wouldst thou be  
From present trouble, or from danger free?  
Trust not in rampires, nor the strength of walls;  
The town that stands to day, to morrow falls:  
Trust not in Soldiers, though they seem so stout;  
Where sin's within, vain is defence without.  
Trust not in wealth, for in this lawless time  
Where prey is penalty, there wealth is crime:  
Trust not in strength or courage; we all see  
The weakest ofttimes do gain the victory:  
Trust not in honour, honour's but a blast,  
Quickly begun, and but a while doth last.  
They that to day to thee Hosanna cry,  
To morrow change their note for crucify:  
Trust not in friends, for friends will soon deceive thee;  
They are in nothing sure, but sure to leave thee:  
Trust not in wits; who run from place to place  
Changing Religion as chance does her face,  
In sp●te of cunning, and their strength of brain,  
They're often catched and all their plots are vain:  
Trust not in Counsels Potentates, or Kings;  
All are but frail and transitory things.  
Since neither Soldiers, Casties, wealth, or wit,  
Can keep off harm from thee, or thee from it:  
Since neither strength nor honour, friends nor Lords,  
Nor Princes, peace or happiness affords,  
Trust thou in God, ply him with prayers still,  
Be sure of help; for he both can, and will.    

LIII. Upon the King's imprisonment.  

IMprison me you Traitors? must I be  
Your fettered slave, while you're at liberty  
T'usurp my Sceptre, and to make my power  
Gnaw its own bowels, and itself devour?  
You glorious villains! Treasons that have been  
Done in all ages, are done o'er again;  
Expert proficients, that have far outdone  
Your Tutor's Precedents, and have outrun  
The practice of all times, whose acts will be  
Thought Legendary by Posterity.  
Was't not enough you made me bear the wrong  
of a rebellious sword, and viperous tongue,  
To lose my State, my Children, Crown, and Wife;  
But must you take my liberty and life?  
Subjects can find no fortress but their graves,  
When servants sway, and Sovereigns are slaves:  
'Cause I'll not sign, nor give consent unto  
Those lawless actions that you've done and do,  
Nor yet betray my Subjects, and so be  
As treacherous to them, as you to me:  
Is this the way to mould me to your wills,  
To expiate former crimes by greater ills?  
Mistaken fools to think my soul can be  
Grasped or infringed by such low things as ye!  
Alas though I'm immured, my mind is free,  
I'll make your very Gaol my liberty.  
Plot, do your worst, I safely shall deride  
In my Crowned soul, your base inferior pride,  
And stand unmoved, though all your plagues you (bring,  
I'll die a Martyr, or I'll live a King.    

LIV. On the Death of King CHARLES.  

HOw! dead! nay murdered! not a Comet seen!  
Nor one strange prodigy to intervene!  
I'm satisfied; heaven had no sight so rare;  
Nor so prodigious as his murderers are,  
Who at this instant had not drawn the air,  
Had they not been preserved b'his Funeral Prayer.   

And yet who looks aright, may plainly spy  
The Kingdom's to itself a prodigy;  
The scattered stars have joined themselves in one,  
And have thrown Phoebus' head long from his throne.  
They'd be the Sun themselves, and shine, and so  
By their joint blaze inflame the world below,  
Which b●●imitation does t' a Chaos fall,  
And shake itself t' an Earthquake general.  
And 'tis the height of miracle that we  
Live in these wonders, yet no wonders see.  
Nature groaned out her last when he did fall,  
Whose influence gave quickening to us all:  
His soul was anthemed out in prayers, and those  
Angellike Hallelujahs sung in prose,  
David the second, we no difference knew  
Between th' old David's spirit and the new:  
In him grave wisdom so with grace combines,  
As Solomon were still in David's loins:  
And had he lived in K. David's time,  
HE had equalled him in all things but his crime.   

Now since you're gone, great P. this care we'll have,  
Your books shall never find a death or grave;  
By whose diviner flame, the world must be  
Purged from its dross, and changed to purity;  
Which neither time nor treason can destroy;  
Nor ignorant Error that's more fell than they.  
A piece like some rare picture, at remove,  
Shows one side Eagle, and the other Dove:  
Sometimes the Reason in it soars so high,  
It shows affliction quells not majesty,  
Yet still Crown, dignity, and self denied,  
It helps to bear up courage, though not pride;  
Trodden humility in robes of state,  
Meekly despising all the frowns of fate.  
Your Grandsire K. that showed what good did flow,  
From the tall Cedar to the shrub below.  
By violent flame to ashes though calcined,  
His soul int' you we transmigrated find;  
Whose leaves shall like the Cybel's be adored,  
When time shall open each prophetic word:   

And shall like Scripture be the Rule of good  
To those that shall survive the flaming flood:  
Whose syllables are Libraries, and can  
Make a small volume turn a Vatican.  
So th' hunted Bezoar when he's sure to die,  
Bequeathes his cordials to his enemy.   

Rest Royal dust, and thank the storms that drove  
Against their will you to your haven above.  
They have but freed you from those waves that curled  
Their bloody power to drown this boisterous world:  
They've but changed Throne for throne, and Crown for Crown;  
You took a glorious, laid a thorny down.  
You sit among your Peers with Saints and Kings,  
View how we plot for sublunary things;  
And labour for our ruin; you did fall  
Just like our Saviour, for the sins of all,  
And for your own; for in this impious time,  
Virtue's a vice, and piety's a crime.  
The sum of all whose faults being understood,  
Is this, We were too bad, and you too good,    

LV. On the King's Death.  

WHat means this sadness? why does every eye  
Wallow in tears? what makes the lowering sky  
Look clouded thus with sighs? is it because  
The great Defender of the Faith and Laws,  
Is sacrificed to the barbarous rage,  
Of those prodigious Monsters of our age?  
A prey to the insatiate will of those  
That are the Kings and Kingdoms cursed foes!  
'Tis true, there's cause enough each eye should be  
a Torrent, and each man a Niobe,  
To see a wise, just, valiant, temperate man  
Should leave the World, who either will or can  
Abstain from grief? To see a Father die,  
And his half-self, and Orphans weeping by:  
To see a Master die, and leave a State  
Unsettled, and Usurpers gape to have't.  
To see a King dissolve to's mother dust,  
And leave his headless Kingdom to the lust,  
And the ambitious wills of such a rout,  
Which work its end, to bring their own about;  
'Tis cause of sorrow; but to see thee slain,  
Nay murdered too, makes us grieve o'er again:  
But to be killed by Servants, or by Friends;  
This will raise such a grief as never ends:  
And yet we find he that was all these things,  
And more, the best of Christians and of Kings,  
Suffered all this and more, whose sufferings stood  
So much more great than these, as he more good.   

Yet 'tis a vain thing to lament our loss;  
Continued mourning adds but cross to cross.  
What's passed can't be recalled; our sadness may  
Drive us to him, but can't bring him away;  
Nor can a Kingdoms cries re-state the Crown  
Upon his head, which their sins tumbled down.  
Rest then my soul, and be contented in  
Thy share of sufferings, as well as sin:  
I see no cause of wonder in all this,  
But still expect such fruits of wickedness.  
King's are but Earth refined; and he that wears  
A Crown, but loads himself with griefs and fears:  
The World itself to its first nothing tends;  
And things that had beginnings, must have ends.  
Those glorious lamps of Heaven, that give us light,  
Must at the last dissolve to darkness quite.  
If the Celestial Architectures go  
To dissolution, so must earthy too.  
If ruin seize on the vast frame of nature,  
The little World must imitate the greater:  
I'll put no trust in wealth, for I do see  
Fate can take me from it, or it from me:  
Trust not in honour, 'tis but people's cry,  
Who'll soon throw down what e'er they mounted high:  
Nor trust in friends; he that's now hedged about,  
In time of need can hardly find one out:  
Nor yet in strength or power; for sin will be  
The desolation of my strength and me:  
Nor yet in Crowns and Kingdoms; who has all,  
's exposed to a heavy though a royal fall.  
Nor yet in wisdom, policy, or wit;  
It cannot keep me harmless, or I it:  
He that had all man could attain unto,  
He that did all that wit or power could do;  
Or grace or virtue prompt, could not avoid  
That sad and heavy load our sins have laid  
Upon his innocent and sacred Head, but must  
Submit his person to bold Rebels lust;  
And their insatiate rage, who did condemn  
And kill him, while he prayed and died for them.  
Our only trust is in the King of Kings,  
To wait with patience the event of things;  
He that permits the Father's tumbling down,  
Can raise, and will, the Son up to the Crown:  
He that permits those traitor's impious hands,  
To murder his anointed, and his Lands  
To be usurped, can when he sees it fit,  
Destroy those Monsters which he did permit;  
And by their headlong and unpitied fall,  
Make the Realms Nuptial of their Funeral.  
Mean time that Sainted Martyr from his throne,  
sees how these laugh, and his good subjects groan;  
And hugs his blessed change, whereby he is  
Robbed int' a Crown, and murdered into a bliss.    

LVI. A Funeral Elegy.  

Gone are those Halcyon days, when men did dare  
Do good for love, undrawn by gain or fear;  
Gon are our Heroes whose vast souls did hate  
Vice, though't were clothed in sanctity or state;  
Gon is our A●brey who did then takes time  
To die, when worthy men thought life a crime;  
One whose pure soul with nobleness was filled,  
And scorned to live when peace & truth were killed;  
One, who was worthy by descent and birth,  
Yet would not live a burden on the earth;  
Nor draw his honour from his Grandsire's name,  
Unless his progeny might do the same:  
No guilded Mammon, yet had enough to spend,  
To feed the poor, and entertain his friend:  
No gaping Miser whose desire was more  
T' enrich himself, by making's neighbour poor,  
Then to lay out himself, his wealth and health,  
To buy his Country's good and Commonwealth.   

Religion was his great delight and joy,  
Not as 'tis now to plunder and destroy;  
He leaned on those two pillars, faith and reason;  
Not false Hypocrisy, nor headlong Treason:  
His piety was with him bred and grown;  
He'd build ten Churches, e'er he'd pull down one:  
Constant to's principles; and though the times  
Made his worth sin, and his pure virtue's crimes;  
He stood unmoved, spite of all troubles hurled,  
And durst support, but not turn with the World.   

Called to the Magistracy, he appeared  
One that desired more to be loved then feared:  
Justice and Mercy in him mingled so,  
That this flew not too high, nor that too low:  
His mind could not be carved worse or better,  
By mean men's flattery, nor by great men's letter:  
Nor swayed by Bribes, though proffered in the dark,  
He scorned to be half Justice, and half Clerk;  
But all his distributions ev'nly ran,  
Both to the Peasant, and the Gentleman:   

He did what nature had designed him to,  
In his due time, while he had strength to do:  
And when decay and age did once draw nigh,  
He'd nothing left to do but only die:  
And when he felt his strength and youth decline,  
His body's loss strengthened his souls design:  
And as the one did by degrees decay,  
Tother ran swifter up the milky way.   

Freed from those sicknesses that are the pages  
Attending Natures sad decay and ages,  
His spotless soul did from his body fly,  
And hover in the heavenly Galaxy,  
Whence he looks down, and lets the living see,  
What he was once, and what we ought to be.    

LVII. Upon the Death of that Reverend and learned Divine, Mr. Josias Shute.  

TUsh, tush ● he is not dead; I lately spied  
One smile at's firstborn Son's birth; and a bride  
Into her heart did entertain delight  
At the approach of her wished wedded night:  
All which delights (if he were dead) would turn  
To grief; yea mirth itself be forced to mourn.  
Inspired Poets would forget to laugh,  
And write at once his and Mirth's Epitaph.  
Sighs would engross our breath, there would appear  
Anthems of joy, lymbecked into a tear:  
Each face would be his deathbed; in each eye,  
'Twere easy then to read his Elegy;  
Each soul would be close-mourner, each tongue tell  
Stories pricked out toth' tune o'th' Passing bell;  
The World redrowned in tears, each heart would be  
a Marble-stone, each stone a Niobe.   

But he alas is gone, nor do we know,  
To pay for loss of him deserving woe;  
Like Bankrupts in our grief, because we may  
Not half we owe him give, we'll nothing pay:  
For should our tears like the Ocean issue forth,  
They could not swell adequate to his worth:  
So far his worth's above our knowledge, that  
We only know we've lost, we know not what.  
The mourning Heaven, beholding such a dearth  
Of tears, showers rain to liquifie the earth,  
That we may see from its adulterate womb,  
If it be possible, a second come:  
Till then 'tis our unhappiness, we can't  
Know what good dwelled in him, but by the want.   

He was no whirligig Lect'rer of the times,  
That from a heel-block to a Pulpit climbs;  
And there such stuff among their Audients break,  
They seem to have mouth, and words, yet cannot speak:  
Nor such as into Pasqnil Pulpits come  
With thundering nonsense, but to beat the Drum  
To Civil Wars; whose Texts and Doctrines run,  
As if they were o'th' separation:  
And by their spiritual law have married been  
Without a ring, because they were no kin:  
Knowledge and zeal, in him so sweetly met,  
His Pulpit seemed a second Olivet;  
Where from his lips he would deliver things,  
As though some Seraphin had clapped his wings:  
His painful Sermons were so neatly dressed,  
As if an Anthem were in prose expressed:  
Divinity and Art were so united,  
As if in him both were Hermophradited.  
Oh what an ex'llent Surgeon has he been,  
To Set a conscience (out of joint by sin;)  
He at one blow could wound and heal; we all  
Wondered to see a purge, a cordial:  
His Manna-●reathing Sermous often have  
Given all our good thoughts life, our bad a grave.  
Satan, and Sin, were never more put to't,  
Then when they met with their still-conquering Shute:  
His life was the use of's doctrine; so 'twas known  
That Shute, and Saint, were convertible grown:  
He did live Sermons; the Profane were vexed  
To see his actions comments on his Text:  
So imitable his virtues did appear  
As if each place to him a Pulpit were:  
He was himself a Synod, ours had been  
Void (had he lived) or but an idle din:  
His Presence so divine, that Heaven might be  
(If it were possible) more Heavenly.   

And now we well perceive with what intent  
Death made his soul become nonresident:  
'Twas to make him (such honours to him given)  
Regius Professor to the King of Heaven:  
By whom he's prelated above the skies,  
And the whole World's his See t'Episcopize:  
So that (me think) one Star more doth appear  
In our Horizon, since his being there;  
Death's grown tyrannical by imitation,  
'Cause he was learned, by a sequestration  
He took his living; butfor 's Benefice  
He is rewarded with eternal bliss.  
Let'a all prepare to follow him, for he's  
But gone to Glory ' School, to take degrees.    

LVIII. To the memory of Doctor Hearn, who died September, 15. 1644.  

SAd Spectacle of grief! how frail is Man!  
Whose self's a bubble, and his life a span!  
Whose breath's like a careering shade, whose sun  
Begins to set, when it begins to run.  
Lo this Man's sun sets i'th' Meridian;  
And this man's sun, speaks him the son of Man.   

Among the rest that come to sacrifice  
To's memory the torrents of their eyes;  
I though a stranger, and though none of those  
That weep in rhythme, though I oft mourn in prose:  
Sigh out some grief, and my big-bellyed eyes,  
Long for delivery at his obsequies:  
For he that writes but truth of him, will be,  
Though without art, slandered with poesy:  
And they that praise him right in prose or verse,  
Will by the most be thought Idolaters.  
Men are incredulous; and yet there's none  
Can write his worth in verse, but in his own.  
He needs no other monument of fame,  
But his own actions, to blaze out his name.   

He was a glory to the Doctor's Gown;  
Help to his Friends, his Country, and his Town:  
The Atlas of our health, who oft did groan  
For others sickness, e'er he felt his own:  
Hypocrates, and Galen, in his brain,  
Met as in Gemini; it did contain  
A Library of skill, a panoply,  
A Magazine of ingenuity:  
With every Art his brain so well was mated,  
As if his fancy had been calculated  
For that Meridian; he none would follow,  
But was in skill the Britannish Apollo:  
His Patients grow impatient, and the fears  
Of death, lymbecked their body into tears.   

The widowed Muses do lament his death;  
Those that wrote mirth, do now retract their breath,  
And breathe their souls in sighs; each strives to be  
No more Thalia, but Melpomene:  
He stood a Champion in defence of health,  
And was a terror to death's Common-weaith:  
His Esculapian art revoked their breath,  
And often gave a nonsuit unto death.  
Now we've a rout, death kills our General,  
Our griefs break forth, grow Epidemical.  
Now we must lay down arms, and Captives turn  
To death; man has no rampire but an urn:   

In him death gets an University;  
Happy the bodies that so near him lie,  
To hear his worth and wit, 'tis now no fear  
To die, because we meet a Hearne there.   

Earthquakes, and Cemets usher great men's fall,  
At his we have an Earthquake General;  
Th' ambitious valleys do begin t' aspire,  
And would confront the Mountains, nay be higher;  
Inferior orbs aspire, and do disdain  
Our Sol; each Bear would ride in Charles his wain:  
Our Moon's eclipsed, and th' Occidental Sun  
Fights with old Aries for his Horizon:  
Each petty Star gets horses, and would be  
All Sols, and join to make a prodigy.  
All things are out of course, which could not be,  
But that we should some eminent death foresee.   

Yet let's not think him dead who ne'er shall die,  
Till time be gulfed in vast eternity:  
'Tis but his shadow that is passed away;  
While he's eclipsed in earth, another▪ day  
His better part shall pierce the skies, and shine  
In glory 'bove the Heaven's Chrystaline.  
We could not understand him, he's gone higher  
To read a Lecture to an Angel's Choir:  
He is advanced up a higher Story,  
To takes degrees i'th' upper Form of glory:  
He is our Prodrome, gone before us whither  
We all must go, though all go not to gether:  
Dust will dissolve to dust, to earth; earth are all men;  
And must all die, none knows how, where, nor when.    

LIX. An Elegy on the death of his Schoolmaster, Mr. W. H.  

MUst he die thus? has an eternal sleep  
Seized on each muse, that it can't sing nor weep?  
Had he no friends? no merits? or no purse  
To purchase mourning? or had he that curse  
Which has the scraping worldling still frequented,  
To live unloved and perish unlamented?   

No, none of these; but in this Atlas fall,  
Learning for present found its funeral:  
Nor was't for want of grief, but scope and vent;  
Not sullenness, but deep astonishment;  
Small griefs are soon wept out; but great ones come  
With bulk, and strike the strait lamenters dumb.   

This was the Schoolmaster that did derive  
From parts and piety's prerogative,  
The glory of that good, but painful art;  
Who had high learning yet an humble heart.  
The Drake of Grammar learning, whose great pain,  
Circled that globe, and made that voyage plain.   

Time was, when th' artless pedagogue did stand  
With his vimineous Sceptre in his hand,  
Raging like Bajazet o'er the tugging fry;  
Who though unhorsed were not of th' infantry;  
Applying, like a glister, hic haec hoc,  
Till the poor Lad's beat to a whipping-block;  
And schooled so long to know a Verb and Noun,  
Till each had Propria mari●us of his own:  
As if not fit to learn As in prasenti;  
But legally, when they were one and twenty.  
Those few that went to th' Univers'ties then,  
Went with deliberation, and were men;  
Nor were our Academies in those days  
Filled with chuck-farthing Bachelors and boys,  
But Scholars with more beard and age went hence,  
Then our new Lapwing-Lectures skip from thence.   

By his industrious labour, now we see  
Boys coated born to th' University,  
Who sucked in Latin, and did scorn to seek  
Their scourge and top in English but in Greek:  
Hebrew, the general puzler of old heads,  
Which the grey dunce with pricks and comments reads,  
And dubs himself a Scholar by it, grew  
As natural t' him as if he'd been a Jew.   

But above all, he timely did inspire  
His Scholars breasts with an aetherial fire:  
And sanctified their early learning so,  
That they in grace, as they in wit did grow:   

Yet neither's grace nor learning could defend him  
From that mortality that did attend him;  
Nor can there now be any difference known,  
between his learned bones, and those with none.  
For that grand Lev'ler death hurls to one place,  
Rich, poor, wise, foolish, noble, and the base.   

This only is our comfort and defence,  
He was not immaturely ravished hence.  
But to our benefit, and to his own,  
Undying fame and honour, let alone,  
Till he had finished what he was to do,  
Then naturally split himself in two.   

And that's one cause he had so few moist eye●,  
He made men learned, and that made them ●ise,  
And overrule their passions, since they see  
Tears would but show their own infirmity:  
And 'tis but loving madness to deplore  
The fate of him, that shall be seen no more:  
But only I cropped in my tender years,  
Without a tongue, or wit, but sighs and tears;  
And Yet I come to offer what is mine,  
An immolation to his honoured shrine;  
And retribute what he conferred on me,  
Either to's person, or his memory.  
Rest pious soul, and let that happy grave  
That is entrusted with thy Relics have  
This just inscription, That it holds the dust  
Of one that was Wise, Learned, Pious, Just.    

LX. An Epitaph.  

IF beauty, birth, or friends, or virtue could  
Preserve from putrefaction flesh and blood,  
This Lady had still lived; and had all those,  
And all that Nature, Art or Grace bestows.  
But death regards not bad or good;  
All that's mortal is his food.  
Only here our comfort lies,  
Though death does all sorts confound,  
Her better part surmounts the skies,  
While her Body sleeps i'th' ground.  
Her soul returns to God, from whom it came,  
And her great virtues do embalm her name.    

LXI. An Epitaph upon Mrs. G.  

WHo ever knows or hears whose sacred bones  
Rest here within these monumental stones;  
How ●ear a mother, and how sweet a wife,  
If he has bowels, cannot for his life,  
But on her ashes must some tears distil,  
For if men will not weep, this marble will.     

EPIGRAMS Translated.  

I. On Rome.  

traveler, thou look'st for old Rome in the new,  
And yet in Rome, thou nought of Rome canst view.  
Behold the frame of walls, disjointed stone,  
And the vast Theatre, that's overthrown;  
Lo here's Rome's carcase still; thou may'st behold  
How the new Rome is threatened by the old.  
Learn hence the power of fate, fixed things decay,  
But that that's always tossed & moved, does stay.    

II. On a Quarrel.  

A Humorous fellow in a Tavern late,  
Being drunk and valiant, gets a broken pate;  
The Surgeon with his instruments and skill,  
Searche● his skull deeper, and deeper still,  
To feel his brains, and tries if those were sound,  
And as he keeps ●d● about the wound,  
The fellow cries, Good Surgeon spare the pains;  
When I began this brawl, I had no brains.    

III. On a Lover.  

WHat various griefs within my breast do grow?  
I burn, yet from my flames my tears do flow.  
I'm Nile, and Aetna both together grown,  
For the same grief does both inflame and drown.  
O let my tears, make my strong flames expire,  
Or let my tears be drunk up by my fire.    

IV. On Gold.  

IN vain was Danae closed in brazen Tower,  
No brazen fort keeps out a golden shower.    

V. To a Friend.  

THou sentest me Wine, I'd too much Wine before;  
Send thirst, if thou wouldst send to plea●● me more.    

VI On Alexander.  

GRreat Alexander thought the World too small,  
Which he with's warlike hand subdued and beat.  
But did not he himself most little call?  
He in a little World could not be great.    

VII. On a Bankrupt.  

A Bankrupt heard a Thief enter by stealth  
His house by night, and search about for's wealth.  
In vain (quoth he) thou look'st for goods by night,  
For I myself can see none when 'tis light.    

VIII. On a Priest and a Thief.  

A Priest did with a thief together come,  
To th' place where he was to receive his doom;  
Said; be not sad, do but believe, and thou  
Shalt be a guest, to feast with Angels now.  
He sighed, and said; if you'll true comfort show,  
Go then and take my place, I'll stay below.  
No, quoth the Priest, this day I keep a fast,  
And cannot eat until this day be past.    

IX. On Love and Death.  

LOve once and Death changed weapons, & Death took  
Loves fiery dart, while Cupid got Death's hook.  
Love at the body, Death at th' mind lets fly,  
This makes old men to love, and young men die.    

X. On Women.  

WOmen are pleasant evils, and they have  
Two proper seasons, when in bed or grave.    

XI. On the Wolf Sentenced.  

THe Country people once a Wolf did take,  
That of their Sheep & Lambs did havoc make▪  
Some voted that he should be crucified;  
Others would have him in the fire be fried:  
Some, to be hewed in pieces with a sword,  
And to be thrown to dogs to be devoured:  
Among the rest, one whom unlucky fate  
Had doomed to th' troubles of a married State,  
(The common lot of men) oh? Friends (says he)  
Lay by your forks, and ropes, that knotty be;  
The sword, the fire, the guns, the cross, the whip●,  
Are but slight tortures, I have one outstrips,  
All those, if you would punish him to th' life,  
Fit for his crimes, then let him wed a wife.    

XII. On one more learned than others.  

THou mak'st thyself more learned than thy betters,  
And brag'st thou knowst Greek, Hebrew, Latin letters.  
Thou hast them in thy forehead, and thy hand,  
As if th' hadst all the tongues at thy command;  
For the executioner has made thee more  
Lettered by far than thou wert e'er before.    

XIII. On Galla.  

BLame not fair Galla that she'd married be,  
(Though she be fair) to one that could not see:  
For in that thing in which she took delight,  
And which he loved, there is no need of sight.    

XIV. On one Lousy and Poor.  

A Lousy fellow once was asked, how he  
Having so many cattle, poor could be?  
He answered hence proceeds my poverty,  
Though I'd sell all for nought, yet none would buy.    

XV. A happy Death.  

LEarn to live well, if thou'dst die happily;  
And that thou may'st live happy, learn to die.    

XVI. On Nero.  

WHen bloody Nero his own mother slew,  
He did not hurt her face, or eyes, 'tis true;  
But ripped her bowels up; 'twas justly done,  
They'd guilt enough in breeding such a Son.    

XVII. On Love.  

LOve is a Merchandise, and Venus drove  
The first Monopoly; Rich only Love:  
What cannot fortune hire alas for gold?  
When Gods themselves for this are bought and sold?    

XVIII. Rules of Drinking.  

IF the Philosopher says true, the first  
Draught ' is refeshment unto them that thirst;  
The second, mirth and wit doth still afford;  
But perfect drunkenness issues from the third.  
If to these rigid rules you'll me confine,  
Hence glasses; I'll in flagons drink my Wine.    

XIX. A vain Beastor.  

THou needest not boast, cause thou afore does go,  
If that be honour, my dog does so too.    

XX. To Momus.  

THou call'st me beggar, Momus, and dost tell  
I must not triumph so, nor so much swell,  
Because I have but little; and yet that  
Is not my own, but other men's Estate:  
Why shouldst thou thus upbraid me with my want?  
Must I be blamed because my fortunes scant?  
I'm honest still; thou liv'st by theft alone;  
Between us two the difference is none;  
For both of us on others bread do dine;  
Only thou stealest thy meat, I beg for mine.    

XXI. On Phillis Tears.  

WHen Phillis comes t'her husband's grave, she brings  
No garlands, nor with Odorif'rous things  
Sprinkles the ground: only her tears doth shed  
Upon the grave, wherein her joy was laid.  
The flowers do strait spring up, as if she had power  
To ripen with her eyes, and moisten with her shower.    

XXII. On a proud Fool●  

THou call'st me ignorant; 'tis true; but how,  
If I know more than Socrates did know?  
He knew one thing, that he did nothing know;  
I know two things, that I know nought, nor thou.    

XXIII. On Time.  

OUr joyful years do pass too soon away,  
A minute's grief seems an eternal day.    

XXIV. On a blind, and lame Beggar.  

HOw happily fate hath together joined,  
Two feeble men, one lame, and t' other blind●!  
The blind Man bears the lame, the lame supplies  
By his direction, t' other's want of eyes.  
See what the iron power of need can do,  
It makes the blind to see, the lame to go.    

XXV. On a Spartan Lady.  

A Spartan Lady bravely stew her son,  
Because she saw him from the battle run;  
Thou canst not be (quoth she) a Spartan known,  
Unless thy valiant mind declare thee one.    

XXVI. On Philip of Macedon.  

JOve, shut the gates of heaven, for Philip says,  
He'll enter it; since earth and sea obeys  
His powerful sceptre, there is left no room  
On earth for him, he must to heaven come.    

XXVII. The Answer.  

I Will not though I may, shut heaven gates,  
Nor do I care for Philip, or his threats:  
If Earth and Sea his sceptre do obey,  
The way to Heaven's too narrow, Hell's his way.    

XXVIII. Frugality.  

USe thy Estate, as if thou'dst die to day,  
Yet spare thy Estate as if thou'dst live for ay:  
He's truly wise who whenever he spend or spare,  
Observes the mean, and does extremes forbear.    

XXIX. On two Wives.  

I Blame him not, who having one wife had,  
Another seeks; the last was good or bad;  
If good, he hopes there are of such good store;  
If bad, he hopes, he shall have such no more.    

XXX. On a Murderer.  

A Flying Murderer lay beneath a wall  
That was all ruinous, and like to fall:  
An Angel to him did in's sleep appear,  
Bade him be gone, and lodge some other where:  
No sooner gone, but down the wall strait fell;  
Then he thanks God, that he escaped so well.  
The Angel said, Dost think I like thy deed▪  
Because from this destruction I thee freed?  
Sins of this nature never scape my curse▪  
thou'rt saved from this death, to meet a worse.    

XXXI. On a Fisherman.  

A Fisher while he angled in a brook,  
A dead man's skull by chance hung on his hook;  
The pious man in pity did it take,  
To bury it, a Grave with's hand did make;  
And as he digged, found gold: Thus to good men,  
Good turns with good turns are repaid again.    

XXXII. On a burnt Ship.  

UNhappy Ship, that must by flames expire,  
And having scaped by waters, fall by fire!  
The Stepdame Sea hath safely landed Thee;  
Thy mother Earth's more treacherous than she.    

XXXIII. Aliter.  

I That ere while, of waters was afraid,  
For lack of waters, am by fire destroyed:  
You waves, whom late I cursed, I now implore,  
Then I'd too much, and now I long for more.    

XXXIV. On a Covetous Man.  

THou that art counted rich, I count thee poor;  
Use only shows our wealth; we have no more  
Than what we use; what we keep for our heirs,  
We cannot say 'tis our goods, for 'tis theirs.    

XXXV. On Hermocrates.  

HErmocrates make's will, when sickness came,  
And made himself Exec'tor of the same:  
Then he began to count, how much 't would cost  
To th' Doctor and himself, for the health he'd lost;  
But when he saw to how much it did come,  
He'd rather die, then give so great a sum:  
So to keep's wealth, and to save charges, dies;  
His Heirs do mourn in Sack, and braveries.    

XXXVI. On a poor and sick Man.  

WHen age and sickness did upon me seize,  
Of age none could, of want none would me ease.  
With palsyed limbs, I to my grave did go,  
And there did end my want and sickness too:  
The laws of fate preposterously were placed;  
I found my grave at first, my death at last.    

XXXVII. On a Hare.  

A Hare unsafe by land, leaped into th' main,  
Flying land-dogs, was by a sea-dog slain.  
Poor worm! flies she to Earth, to Sea, to Sky,  
Each hath a dog, and she by dogs must die.    

XXXVIII. On Balaams' Ass.  

THe Prophet Balaam wondered heretofore  
An Ass could speak, and now there's none speak more.    

XXXIX. Upon Democritus and Heraclitus.  

WEep Heraclitus; it fits the age where in  
Nothing but filth, nothing but sorrow's seen:  
And laugh Democritus, laugh while thou list,  
Nothing but folly, nought but vain thou seest.  
This always weeps, that still remains in gladness;  
Yet both endure one labour, both on sadness.  
Now need requires (since all the World is mad).)  
A thousand laughing, and a thousand sad:  
'Tis time the World turned (madness is so sore)  
T' Anticera, the grass to Hellebore.    

XL. Out of Catullus.  

MY Mistress saith she'll marry none but me,  
Though Jove himself should force her unto it:  
But women's words unto their lovers be  
So firm, they may in wind or waves be writ.    

XLI. On an Astronomer that tried by rules of Art to find whether he were a Cuckold.  

Stargazing fool? thou from the signs wouldst see,  
And Planets face what thy wives dealings be.  
She does her works below, where Sun ne'er pries,  
And though she's light, she mounts not to the skies,  
'Cause she's kept down by men; if in the sphere  
Thou Venus see, thou think'st thy wife is there:  
And if the Bull or Aries thou dost see,  
Thou think'st they are reflections of thee.  
Fool keep at home: when thou abroad dost go,  
In imitation her legs do so too:  
And when thou gazest in the skies to know  
Her works, she does even what she please below.    

XLII. On Geneva's Arms.  

GEneva bears the Eagle and the Key;  
The Empires this, and that the Papacy:  
If th' Emperor's Eagle, and the Pope again  
Resume his Key, where is thy Empire then?    

XLIII. To a sad Widow.  

WHile widowed wife, for thy drowned husband thou  
Dost with perpetual tears thy cheeks bedew,  
Eternised in three graves his happy shade,  
In water twice, and once in Earth is laid.    

XLIV. On a bribed Judge.  

TWo parties had a difference, and the cause  
Did come to be decided by the Laws:  
The bribing Plaintiff did the Judge present  
With a new Coach; Tother with same intent,  
Gives him two Horses; each with like design,  
To make the Judge to his own side incline.  
The cause being tried, the Plaintiffs overthrown;  
O Coach (quoth he) thou art the wrong way gone;  
The Judge replied, It cannot but be so;  
For where his Horses draw, your Coach must go.    

XLV. To a jealous Husband.  

IN vain thou shutt'st thy doors by day, in vain  
Windows by night, thy wife's lust to refrain;  
For if a Woman only chaste will be  
In watch and ward, she has no chastity.    

XLVI. On proud Rome.  

SHut up (ye Gods) the gates of Heaven above,  
And do thou keep thy heavenly Castle Jove:  
Now sea and Land are subject unto Rome;  
Only to Heaven they've yet a path to come.    

XLVII. Against Mourning.  

MEn justly praise the Thracians who do mourn  
When children from their mother's womb are born;  
But dead, they think they every way are blest,  
Because the fates have laid them to their rest.  
For well they know, all men are born to ill,  
But being dead, they've peace and quiet still.    

XLVIII. Epigramma in Juliam.  

ME nive candenti petiit modo Julia, rebar.  
Igne carere nivem, nix tamen ignis erat.  
Quid nive frigidius? nostrum tamen urere pectus  
Nix potuit manibus, Julia, missa tuis.  
Quis locus insidiis dabitur mihi tutus amoris,  
Frigore concreta si latet ignis aquâ?  
Julia sola potes nostras extinguere flammas,  
Non nive, non glacie, sed potes igne pari.    

XLIX. Translated.  

JUlia once struck me with a ball of snow;  
I thought snow was not fire, yet that was so.  
Then snow what's colder? yet 't had power t' inflame  
My breast, when from my Julia's hand it came?  
What place have lovers free from treacheries,  
When fire within congealed water lies?  
Julia alone can make my flames expire,  
Yet not with ice, or snow, but equal fire.    

L. An Essay of the Contempt of Greatness: being a Dialogue of Lucian made English.  Lucian, 

WIth a long beard and broad, with hair untrimed,  
Coatless, and shooe-less, almost naked limbed;  
A wand'ring life you lead, as beasts do do,  
No certain place are you confined unto:  
On the bare ground, and in the open air,  
You rest your bones; the mantle which you wear,  
Your only garment both for night and day;  
Though rough and course, had worn itself away;  
But by the dirt that does thereon abide,  
Its gaping crannies daily are supplied;  
The earth and air both, you about you bear:  
As earth 'tis dirty, and as thin as air:  
Grave Sir, what may you be pray?   Cynicus 

Youngman, why  
Seems this so strange t' you? here you see live I  
Content with what I can with ease obtain,  
And without injury or danger gain:  
What costs no grief, nor trouble, I can feed  
And clothe myself withal, I nothing need,  
But unconcerned can pass by and deride  
All, but what serves to nourish, warm, and hide:  
Pray tell me, do you think, that viciousness  
Lies in superfluous luxury?   L. 
Surely yes.  C. 

And don't you judge frugality in men  
To be a virtue too?   L. 
I do.  C. 
Why, then  

When you see me more thriftily to live  
Then other men, and them their minds to give  
To cost and dainties, can it justice be  
To wink at those, and only censure me?   L. 

Alas Sir, 'tis not Thriftily you live,  
But niggardly and basely. God does give  
With liberal hand his gifts, and with the same  
We ought to take them, and we're much too blame  
If we neglect them; for we shall make void  
Those blessings, which he sends to be enjoyed.  
You pine yourself, make your enjoyment scant  
By wilful affectation still to want,  
And live in poverty.   C. 

Therefore I pray,  
Since we are gone so forward in the way;  
Let's well consider, what by wanton's meant,  
Or penury, and what's sufficient.   L. 
Please you, let it be so;  C. 

Is that which can  
Supply the just necessity of man,  
Esteemed sufficient? or d'ye judge or know  
A thing to be desired beyond that?   L. 
No.  C. 

May it be then called indigence or want,  
Or poverty, when men sufficient han't?   L. 
It may no doubt.  C. 

Then I've sufficient, for I am without  
Nothing that should supply necessity:  
More I nor crave nor want.   L. 
How can that be?  C. 

You'll quickly know, if you do well pertend  
And observe rightly, what's the proper end  
Those things were made for, which you say we need▪  
Is not a house a shelter?   L. 
Yes indeed.  C. 
And are not garments cover?  L. 
True, they be.  C. 

Both these defend and cover us, that we,  
Whom these do shelter, and do cover so,  
By their defence and warmth should better grow.   L. 
No question.  C. 

Do my feet now seem to you  
The worse, because not covered from your view?   L. 
I know not truly.  C. 

If you do not know,  
Learn what's the office of the feet.   L. 
To go.  C. 
And do my feet go worse than others do.  L. 
Perhaps they don't.  C. 

Nay they do not, I know;  
And since their office they perform as well  
Naked as clad, why should the clad excel?  
And for my body, why's not that as good  
As other men's? if it were not, it would  
Be more diseased, infirm and weak than theirs:  
But no infirmity in mine appears;  
And therefore since that health and strength do show  
A body's excellence, why's not mine so?  
Does this appear diseased?   L. 
Not to me.  C. 

Therefore my feet or body cannot be  
In want of other covering; for ne'er doubt it,  
If they did want, they'd be the worse without it;  
For vows a real evil to mankind;  
What e'er we need, we languish till we find.  
I thrive in body, and look fresh you see,  
And sound and strong; my meat does nourish me:  
That fare that's counted course and vile by you,  
Makes me both strong and healthful.   L. 
Very true.  C. 

Else how could aged I who've lived so long,  
Remain so nimble, active, and so strong?  
Did I on dainties feed, and gaily go,  
To pamper appetite as others do;  
Dwingle and pine I should, like them whose food,  
Though twice more costly, is not half so good.   L. 
Perhaps you might.  C. 

What reason then is there,  
Why you should pass a censure so severe  
Upon my way of living, and esteem it  
Wretched and miserable?   L. 

I so deem it,  
Because great nature (whom we all adore)  
And the great Gods this spacious world did store,  
With such variety of gifts, and those so good,  
So excellent both for our ease and food,  
In such abundance too, that they supply  
Our coy delight as well's necessity,  
And made all common as ' the world is, that  
All might of all alike participate:  
These blessings than we may, nay aught t'enjoy,  
And not to be so overnice and coy,  
To slight them all, or all but very few,  
As they're neglected by the beasts and you:  
Water you drink as beasts do, and you eat  
What you next find, as dogs do drink and meat;  
And lodge's all alike; to rest or feast,  
You have no better pattern than the beast:  
The grounds your common bed, and for your clothes,  
They're such as every beggar justly loathes.  
You do content yourself with things thus vile,  
Thus poor, and thus contemptible; the while  
Our bounteous God spreads his unwearied hand,  
And with variety gluts sea and land;  
Puts his fat cattle on our flowery plains,  
And fructifies the teeming earth with rains;  
Who makes returns in fruits such various store,  
Nature herself doth seem embroidered o'er.  
The tugging Bee brings her mellifluous juice,  
Extracted from all flowers for man's use:  
Oil like a deludge over-whelms the ground;  
And Amber floating on the sea is found:  
Peoples the seas with fishes, and each field,  
Groans as o'er burdened with the corn they yield;  
With various rare productions of such things  
As our delight, and with't our wonder brings.  
But above all the amorous fruitful Vine,  
Hugs the tall trees, and the heart-cheering Wine,  
Blushes and swells in the plump grapes which be  
Drunk with their own rare juice, and why should we  
B'endowed with these abilities which we find,  
Do fill the body, and adorn the mind?  
Why have we strength, and art, and wit to frame  
Such stately fabrics, but t'enjoy the same?  
And why does Art such various things produce,  
But for our ornament, delight, and use?  
If you do well in slighting these things thus,  
God did not well in sending them to us:  
Should you by any other be debarred  
Th' enjoyment of these things, how ill and hard  
would it appear t' you? it would vex your mind,  
As much as if you're fettered and confined:  
Why then does your own self restrain,  
And limit from them thus?   C. 

I should disdain  
Indeed to be confined by other men,  
And kept from these enjoyments so; but then  
Hear me a little; let me ask you this;  
Suppose a man that rich and bounteous is,  
Should make a sumptuous feast, and should invite  
Guests of all sorts, and please their appetite  
With cheer of all sorts too; for strong men strong  
Dishes; and for the weaker palates mix among  
Some milder delicates, and fill his feast  
To the degree and palate of each guest;  
If 'mong the guests there should be one that would  
Snatch and devour all that on th' table stood,  
Reaching from end to end; though lusty and strong,  
Yet eats those meats that to the weak belong;  
Out-sits all others and out-feeds 'em too,  
Would you think this man temperate?   L. 

Surely no.  
Nor temperate, nor good.   C. 

But then suppose  
Another person should neglect all those  
Delicious junkats, and that costly fare,  
And those enticing delicates that are  
Superfluously invented to invite  
To new attempts the sated appetite,  
And placeth in one plain and wholesome dish,  
All that he needs, and all that others wish,  
And feeds but sparingly thereon, don't you  
Think this a temperate man?   L. 

Indeed I do  
And on just reason.   C. 

Do you apprehend  
By what I say, what 'tis I do intend?  
Or shall I tell you?   L. 
Pray explain your mind.  C. 

God's this feast- Master, who of every kind  
With store of various blessings has supplied  
Our various wants, and vast desires beside:  
For healthy men and strong he doth provide,  
Such diet as their health and strength can 'bide;  
The sick and weak he doth with food supply  
Apt for their sickness and infirmity:  
Not that we all should upon all things feed;  
But all have all things that they truly need:  
Yet so enraged our vast desires still be,  
And so insatiate is our mind, that we  
Reach at, and gripe what e'er we meet withal;  
And always think what e'er we have too small  
T' appease our appetite that still aspires;  
And new enjoyments breed but new desires:  
The Land and Seas both contribute their store  
To our fond wills, yet still we long for more.  
What nature scatters with her liberal hand  
O'er the wide earth, we ransack for; no land,  
No Sea so dangerous, nor so far remote,  
But we invade to fill the craving throat,  
And oft neglect what's wholesome, and what's good,  
Because 'tis easy, or 'tis common food;  
Preferring things bought dearly, and fetched far,  
Before all such as in their nature are  
Useful and good; as if their virtue were  
Not to be good, but difficult and dear:  
And therefore choosing rather to endure  
A restless, than a quiet life and pure.  
Consider all those things, which you provide  
To gratify your humour, lust, or pride:  
Your stately buildings, costly furniture;  
Embroidered garments, made to tempt the viewer;  
Your gold and silver jewels, and your rings,  
And such unneedful, and unuseful things;  
For which you vainly ransack every nation,  
Not for necessity, but ostentation:  
With how much toil, and how much danger they  
Must be procured and purchased for you, nay  
With how much blood and slaughter of poor men,  
Whom your vain luxury does make so, when  
They for their livelihood must plow the seas,  
And traverse foreign land merely to please  
Your pampered appetites, and find their grave  
I'th' bosom of an unrelenting wave;  
Or if they scape the seas, they meet by land  
Men crueler than waves, or rocks, or sand:  
And when they are through dangers, costs, and pains,  
Purchased and brought, dusturb our hearts and brains,  
And cause dissensions, treacheries, and blows;  
Murders and thefts, frauds, rapines, make friends foes;  
Make brothers brawl with brothers, and inspires  
Sons with unnatural rage against their Sires;  
Husbands destroy their Spouses, and the Wives  
Break off all bonds, and snatch their husband's lives.  
So did it make Euriphile of old,  
Basely betray her husband for his Gold.  
Yet when all's done, these costly garments can  
Warm or defend or dignify a man,  
No more than those which only serve for use:  
Nor do your stately fabrics more conduce  
Unto our shelter and protection, than  
Those humble Co●●ages, which old wise men  
Built for necessity, to guard, and warms  
Against the rage of rapine or of storms:  
Those spacious dishes, and vast goblets too,  
Wherein you riot, not for need, but show;  
Though beaten silver, or of massy gold,  
Can't make the liquor better, which they hold;  
Nor make the food more wholesome, nor more sweet;  
Nor make you see the poison you may meet  
Subtly conveyed into them: Nor d' your heads  
Or bodies rest more on your downy beds;  
Nor sleep more sound 'cause your bedsteads be  
(What ere you dream) of gold or Ivory:  
Nay we do often find, those men enjoy  
More quiet and contented sleep, who lay  
Their wearied bodies on the humble ground,  
And with Heaven only canopyed around,  
Then those can find, who roll their limbs in beds  
Of Down, or spread with Persian Cover-leds;  
Nor is their health, or strength the more, who eat  
The most delicious, and most costly meat,  
Then theirs whose diet is but mean and small,  
To nourish and refresh themselves withal:  
We see the pampered bodies often wax  
Tender, infirm, unfit for manly Acts:  
Consumptive, full of pains and maladies,  
Unknown by persons temperate and wise;  
For luxury and sloth, how e'er it pleases,  
Serves but to feed Physicians and diseases:  
Yet what a bustle do men make, what dust  
To gratify their palate, pride, and lust?  
Nay which is more than this, so vile, so vain  
men's hearts are grown, and so corrupt their brain,  
That they pervert the use of things, and bend  
The Creatures use against the Creatures end.   L. 
Pray Sir, who do so?  C. 

You wh' abuse poor Men.  
Although you're fellow Creatures, and have been  
Made of the selfsame matter, and inspired  
With the same soul and form, and have acquired  
The same perfections too; and by their birth,  
Have as good interest in what's here on Earth,  
As the Greatest He; only by policy,  
By fraud, or force kept in a low degree,  
By those that property devised, and framed  
Bounds for those things which nature free proclaimed:  
So brought degrees into the World, and so  
Masters and Servants made, and high and low,  
To gratify men's lazyness and pride,  
Some must be served, adored and deified;  
Mounted in state and triumph, born along  
On others shoulders, through th' adoring throng,  
And the poor slaves, are harnessed for that toil,  
And used like beasts; do asses work the while,  
And those in highest honour with you stand,  
Who most poor slaves can tread on and command:  
But you blame me because I do despise,  
And won't partake of such slight vanities,  
But live content with what I do enjoy;  
Not grasping superfluities that cloy,  
And indispose the mind, and with them bring  
Cares and vexations, which to them do cling:  
Nor are they only difficult to gain,  
But also in the enjoyment very vain:  
You don't consider how few things, how small  
A wise contented man may live withal;  
With plenty and with comfort; all those things  
We truly need are few and mean; this brings  
Your scorn on me, to think or say at least  
least I live so, I live but like a beast:  
But by that rule the Gods themselves would be,  
('Cause they want nothing) verier beasts than we.  
Consider rightly, and you'll clearly find,  
Which is the best way to dispose your mind:  
Or to want much, or little, 'tis the fate  
Of the inferior, and the infirmer State,  
To want more than the nobler and the strong;  
Thus to weak infants do more wants belong  
Then to th' adult; and thus sick persons do  
Want more than healthful; and the women too  
Want more than men; and men want more than Cod,  
For they want nothing: Therefore those, by odds,  
Approach most nearly to the sacred choir,  
Who want the least, and who the least desire.  
Can you suppose great Hercules, that he  
Whom noble acts proclaimed a Deity,  
Was in a wretched miserable case,  
Because without a garment he did trace  
Th' uneven Earth, and wandered up and down  
Without a purple robe, or costly gown;  
His body almost naked, only dressed  
In a rough skin ta'en from a slaughtered beast;  
Desiring none of all those trifles that  
We vainly prise, and at so dear a rate?  
Surely he could not miserable be,  
Who others did protect from misery;  
Nor was he poor; his power did extend  
To sea and land; where ever he did bend  
His force, he won the victory, and ne'er  
Met with his conqueror, nor with his Peer:  
D' you think he wanted garments or such things,  
Who conquered and commanded Lords and Kings?  
'Tis not to be imagined; no, he was  
Content and sober in his mind; and as  
He valour showed, he showed his temperance too,  
And ne'er indulged himself (as now men do)  
With vain delights. Or what say you to me  
Of Theseus' his disciple? was not he  
King of the Athenians, and most valiant too  
Of all his stout contemporaries, who  
By his renowned actions, justly won  
The reputation of great Neptune's Son?  
Yet was his body naked, his feet bare,  
Nor did he shave his beard, or cut his hair.  
His limbs were hard and hairy, and in that  
He our bold Ancestors did imitate;  
Who held a smooth and softly skin to be  
An argument of men's effoem'nacy:  
And this their actions spoke them men, even so  
Their plain and simple fashions showed them too;  
They thought a beard man's natural ornament,  
And Lions too; and that the Mane was sent  
For the same end to Horses; and there is  
In both by nature placed a Comelyness,  
A grace and ornament; these I propose  
Unto myself to imitate, not those  
Ridiculous men of this deluded age,  
Whose undiscerning fancies do engage  
Their fond desires to dote on Luscious fare  
And gorgeous vain attire, and only there  
Place their imaginary Happiness:  
For my part I desire not, I profess,  
My hough should differ from a Horse, but be  
Like Houghs as Chirons were, all's one to me:  
I am the nobler much and happier,  
That no more garments than the Lions wear;  
And that my palate does no more require,  
Or choicer delicates then Dogs desire;  
No better Lodging than the Earth I crave;  
And for my dwellinghouse the world I have;  
And for my diet I provide such meat,  
As without cost or trouble I may eat:  
That Gold and Silver bravely I despise,  
From the desire whereof all ills arise,  
That do befall Mankind; Seditious jars,  
Slaughters and treacheries, Rebellion, Wars,  
Things that ne'er touch my heart, who little have  
Yet nothing want, not more then little crave:  
Thus stands the case with me; and now you know  
Both my profession, and my practice too;  
All which is different from Common strains,  
And from the opinion of Vulgar brains,  
From whom no wonder we in habit do  
Differ, since we in Principles do too:  
But I admire at you, who attribute  
IT all sorts of Men their habit and their suit;  
To th' Harper his peculiar garb, and so  
To the Tragedian his; and yet you do  
No habit of distinction yet devise,  
Or set apart for virtuous Men or wise;  
But vainly think it fit that they should go  
Apparelled as the fools and vulgar do,  
A thing both ill and inconvenient too:  
And certainly if any habit is  
Proper for th' good and wise, 'tis such as this  
I wear, which the luxurious Gallants hate,  
And more than Vice scorn and abominate:  
My garments course, and rough, and made of hair;  
My hair's unshav'n, and both my feet are bare;  
Yours are like Pathics, spruce and finical,  
Essoeminate Courtiers that cannot at all  
Be from the rout distinguished or known;  
Nor by your habits difference nor your own:  
Your garments soft like theirs, and gay like theirs,  
You wear as many as the gallant wears:  
As various too in colour and in shapes,  
As Protean as Jove in all's escapes:  
So gay your coats, and cloaks, so neat your shoes,  
To trick and comb your hair, such art you use,  
And so much time and cost thereon bestow,  
To curl and powdered for the smell and show,  
To tempt, and cheat each other; you that would  
Have people think you're happy, wise and good,  
Outdo the Vulgar in these vanities,  
Those Vulgar which so proudly you despise:  
Yet you must grant that they don't come behind,  
In parts of body, nor in gifts of mind,  
The gay'st of you, but are as strong to toil;  
As stout to fight as you, whom lust can foil,  
And want on pleasures conquer and subdue  
As soon as those are least esteemed by you:  
You in your meat, drink, sleep, and your array,  
Are as luxurious and vain as they;  
You scorn forsooth to walk a foot, but will  
By Beasts or by poor men, be carried still,  
Whilst I without relenting can abide  
Both heats and colds, and what ere can betid  
Us mortals, and with equal mind I bear  
All things that God sends down, what ere they are,  
For which content you count me miserable;  
Whereas you thriving worldlings are not able  
So to compose your souls to be content  
With your condition, but do still relent,  
Vex, and repine in every State; all that  
Is present you dislike, still aiming at  
Things absent with great longing; when you lie  
Cold in the Winter, you for Summer cry;  
And when the Summer's heat you do obtain,  
You Summer loath, and Winter court again:  
Too hot still, or too cold, like bodies ill,  
You are repining and complaining still:  
The same effects diseases in them do  
Produce, Your Customs do beget in you:  
'Twixt both this only difference we find,  
They're in their bodies sick, you in your mind:  
Yet not content that your own selves are so  
Misled, you'd tempt and draw in others too  
To these absurdities and ills with which  
You have perplexed your lives, led by the itch  
Of blind desire and custom, not the laws  
Of Reason and of Judgement; your lust draws  
And hurries you which way it will; you go  
By violent motion, whenever you will or no:  
Like to light bodies swimming on a stream,  
Your lusts drive you, as does the torrent them;  
Just as a Rider on an untamed horse,  
Is carried, not by's will, but th' horse's force;  
Can nor go where he please, nor get on's feet,  
Whom if one should in his fierce hurry meet,  
And ask him where he rides, if truth he says,  
His answer must be, Where my Horse doth please.  
To the same question you must answer too,  
Where your affections hurry you, you go:  
Pleasure sometimes, sometimes ambition drives,  
And sometimes avarice does rule your lives;  
Contrary passions work contrary ways;  
Fear this way, anger that way, all your days  
You're tossed like empty ships from this to that,  
Desiring still, but ne'er agreeing what:  
You are on many Horses mounted, true,  
All wild, and all untamable by you;  
You climb the craggy rocks, you cross the Seas,  
Stick at no hard or dangerous passages;  
No Country so remote, no toil so great;  
No danger so apparent, cold or heat,  
Or pain or hunger frights or hinders you;  
If your affections bid you go, you do:  
While my contemned life keeps me at home  
Safer, and quieter, than you that room:  
I can converse with whom I please, and do  
What I (that is my reason) prompts me to;  
The ignorant, though rich, I can contemn,  
And with a freeborn mind slight theirs, and them:  
Th' intemperate, and effeminate from me fly,  
Fearing my habit, and my gravity;  
The wise, the modest, and the virtuous be  
The sole companions and delight of me;  
While I contemn the wanton Men and vain,  
Whose glory's in their wealth, attire and train;  
And bravely can their wealth and them deride,  
And make my scorn, that which they make their pride:  
View but the Statues of the Gods, and see  
If they're not simple-habited like me.  
In the Barbarians Temples, or the Greeks,  
Who ere the God's attire and fashion seeks,  
Shall find their habit, and their beards, and hair.  
Just as my hair, and beard, and habit are:  
They are not painted, combed, nor trimmed like you;  
No upper coat made to misled our view:  
But one loose simple vest like mine, they do  
Wear both to cover and adorn them too:  
Therefore henceforth do you slight me no more,  
Nor yet upbraid me, as you've done before  
For my plain habit, since the gods prefer  
It before all the rest, and for their wear,  
Make choice of this attire, and wisely do  
Led us by precept, and example too;  
Which when thou'st pondered well, thou'st find it then,  
Better to be like gods, then like vain men.    

LI. A Paraphrase upon the first Chapter of Ecclesiastes.  

THus said the Royal Preacher, who did spring  
From holy David Israel's blessed King;  
All things are vain, most vain, nay vanity,  
Yea vanity of vanities they be.  
See how the industrious mortals toil and care!  
Look how they travel, how turmoiled they are!  
When their work's ended, and their race is run,  
What profit gain they underneath the Sun?  
This Generation that appears to day,  
To morrow vanisheth and fleets away:  
In whose unstable mansion there comes  
The next, to fill their Predecessors rooms:  
And these but come and go; but this vast frame  
Th' Earth still remains, though not the very same:  
The glorious Heavenly Charioteer new dressed,  
Riseth in burnished glory in the East,  
And circles this vast Globe with constant Race,  
Till it returns to its first rising place.  
Th' unconstant wind that now doth southward blow,  
Anon to th' North from whence it came, will go:  
It whirleth still about, yet in its change,  
It still returns from whence it first did range:  
The posting River, though about it wanders,  
Curling itself in intricate Meanders,  
Yet with a greedy, and a head strong motion,  
It runs to its original the Ocean:  
Whose vast unsatiate womb it cannot fill;  
For as its taking, so 'tis giving still;  
And by alternate gratitude supplies  
The thirsty Earth, and makes new streams arise,  
Which by an ever active imitation  
Return from whence they had crigination:  
Thus in this toilsome fabric every thing  
Is full of labour, and doth trouble bring  
To the still craving Mortal, whose false breast,  
Vainly supposes this a place of rest;  
And while he toils his labours to possess,  
Endures more troubles than he can express:  
The restless Eye is never satisfied  
With viewing objects; nor doth th' ear abide  
Content with hearing; But the senses all  
Grow by fruition more hydropical;  
And every fresh enjoyment strait expires,  
And's buried in the flames of new desires.  
The thing which hath been in the days of yore,  
Shall be again, and what's now done no more,  
Than what hereafter shall again be done;  
And there's no new thing underneath the Sun;  
There's no Invention; that which we style wit,  
Is but remembrance; and the fruits of it,  
Are but old things revived. In this round World,  
All things are by a revolution hurled.  
And though to us they variously appear,  
There are no things but what already were:  
What thing is there within this world that we  
Can justly say is new, and cry Come see?  
We can't remember things that have been done  
Ith' Nonage of the World, when time begun;  
And there will come a time, when those that shall  
Succeed us, shan't remember us at all;  
When things that have been, or that shall be done,  
Shall be entombed in vast oblivion:  
I that your Preacher am, was he that swayed  
A Royal Sceptre, and have been obeyed  
By th' Israelites, and in Jerusalem  
Did wear great Judah's Princely Diadem,  
And used my wealth, my power, and strength of mind,  
To seek and search for wisdom, and to find  
Thereby the causes and effects of all  
Things done upon this subsolary ball;  
The works of our great Architect surveyed;  
The firm foundation which his hand had laid;  
The various superstructures small and great,  
men's labours how they strive to Counterfeit;  
And in their several postures how they strive  
To feed, and fence, and keep themselves alive;  
How they do love and hate, are foes and friends,  
Upon mistaken grounds, and false self-ends;  
How they do do, and undo, how they pant  
And tug to kill imaginary want;  
What they both do and suffer, how and why,  
Their self-created troubles I did spy:  
And in my Towering over-search I see  
Both what Men are, and what they ought to be:  
A sore and tedious travel to the mind,  
Which our great God in wisdom has designed  
For us poor Sons of mortals, and thought fit  
That we therein should exercise our wit.  
All that hath been, and all that hath been done,  
All Creatures actions underneath the Sun;  
My searching soul hath seen by contemplation,  
And lo all's vanity, and the souls vexation:  
All men, all things are crooked and perverse,  
Full of defects are it, and they, and theirs,  
All so imperfect that they're not at all;  
And (which we may the great'st vexation call)  
This crookedness cannot be rectified;  
Nor those defects (though numberless) supplied:  
When I arrived the very top of all,  
That the mistaken Mamonists miscall,  
And think their chiefest blessings; wealth and wit,  
With all th' additaments that cleave to it:  
Then did I to my heart Communicate  
And said; Lo I've attained a vast estate,  
And do in wisdom far transcend all them  
That reigned before me in Jerusalem;  
And to complete the wisdom of my mind,  
To my large knowledge have experience joined;  
I did apply my active mind to know  
Wisdom and folly, nay and madness too:  
And from th' experience of all, I find  
All this is but vexation of the mind:  
For in much wisdom lies much grief; and those  
That increase knowledge, but increase their woes.    

LII. A Speech made to the Lord General Monck, at Cloth-workers-Hall in London the 13. of March, 1659. at which time he was there entertained by that worthy Company.  

NAy then let me come too with my Address,  
Why mayn't a Rustic promise, or profess  
His good affection t' you? Why not declare  
His Wants? how many, and how great they are?  
And how you may supply them? Since you may  
See our hearts mourn, although our clothes be grey.   

Great Hero of three Nations! Whose blood springs  
From pious and from powerful Grandsire Kings,  
With whose bloud-royal you've enriched your veins,  
And by continued Policy and Pains  
Have equalled all their Glory; so that now  
Three Kinglefs Sceptres to your feet do bow,  
And court Protection, and Alliance too;  
And what great men still reached at, stoops to you:  
But you're too truly Noble to aspire  
By Fraud or Force to Greatness, or t' acquire  
Sceptres and Crowns by robbery, or base  
And wilful breach of Trusts, and Oaths; nor place  
Your happiness in ravished Dominion,  
Whose Glory's only founded in opinion,  
Attended still with danger, fear, and doubt,  
And fears within, worse than all those without:  
You must still watch, and fear, and think, and must  
Lose all content to gratify one lust;  
Should you invade the Throne, or aim at Pelf,  
Throw down three Nations to set up yourself;  
" Kings are but royal slaves, and Prisoners too,  
" They always toil, and always guarded go.   

You are for making Princes, and can find  
No work proportioned to your power, and mind,  
But Atlas-like to bear the World, and be  
The great Restorer of the Liberty  
Of three long captived Kingdoms, who were thrown  
By others strong, delusions, and their own  
Misguided zeal, to do and suffer what  
Their very Souls now grieve and tremble at;  
Debauched by those they thought would teach and rule 'em,  
Who now they find did ruin and befool 'em:  
Our meanings still were honest, for alas!  
We never dreamt of what's since come to pass;  
'Twas never our intent to violate  
The settled Orders of the Church or State,  
To throw down Rulers from their lawful Seat,  
Merely to make ambitious small things great;   

Or to subvert the Laws; but we thought then  
the Laws were good, if managed by good men;  
And so we do think still, and find it true;  
Old Laws did more good, and less harm then new;  
And 'twas the plague of Country's and of Cities,  
When that great bellied house did spawn Committees.   

We fought not for Religion, for 'tis known,  
Poor Men have little, and some great Ones none;  
Those few that love it truly, do well know,  
None can take't from us, whenever we will or no.   

Nor did we fight for laws, nor had we need;  
For if we had but gold enough to feed  
Our talking Lawyers, we had Laws enough,  
Without addressing to the sword or Buff.   

Nor yet for Liberties; for those are things  
Have cost us more in Keepers, than in Kings▪   

Nor yet for Peace; for if we had done so,  
The Soldiers would have beat us long ago:  
Yet we did fight, and now we see for what;  
To shuffle men's Estates; those owners that  
Before these wars, could call Estates their own,  
Are beaten out by others that had none.  
Both Law and Gospel overthrown together,  
By those who ne'er believed in, or loved either.  
Our truth, our trade, our peace, our wealth, our freedom,  
And our full Parliaments, that did get, and breed 'em,  
Are all devoured, and by a Monster fell,  
Whom none, but you, could satisfy, or quell:  
You're great, you're good, you're valiant, and you're wise;  
You have Briarcus hands, and Argus eyes;  
You are our English Champion, you're the true  
St. George for England, and for Scotland too:  
And though his story's questioned much by some,  
whenever true, or false, this Age and those to come,  
Shall for the future find it so far true,  
That all was but a Prophecy of you;  
And all his great and high Achievements be  
Explained by you in this Mythology.   

Herein you've far out done him; he did fight  
But with one single Dragon: but b' your might,  
A Legion have been tamed, and made to serve  
The People, whom they mean t' undo and starve:  
In this you may do higher, and make fame  
Immortalize your celebrated name.  
This age's glory, wonder of all after,  
If you would free the Son, as he the Daughter.    


LIII. Leges Convivales quod faelix faustumque convivis in Apolline sit.  
NEmo asymbolus, nisi umbra huc venito,  
Idiota, insulsus, tristis, turpis abesto.  
Eruditi, Urbani, Hilares, modesti adsciscuntur,  
Nec lectae foeminae repudiantur.  
In apparatu, quod convivis corruget nares nil esto,  
Epulae delectu potius, quam sumptu parantur;  
Obsonatur, & coquus convivarum gulae periti sunto;  
De discubitu non contenditur  
Ministri à dapibus oculati, & muti,  
A poculis auriti, & celeres sunto.  
Vina puris fontibus ministrantur, aut vapulet hospes,  
Moderatis poculis provocare sodales fas esto,  
At fabulis magis quam vino velitatio fiat,  
Convivae nec muti, nec loquaces sunto.  
De seriis, aut sacris, poti, & Saturi ne disserunto;  
Fidicen nisi accersitus non venito.  
Admissorisu, tripudiis, choreis, cantu, salibus,  
Omni gratiarum festivitate sacra celebrantur;  
Jeci sine felle sunto,  
Insipida poemata nulla recitantur;  
Versus scribere nullus cogitur;  
Argumentationis totius strepitus abesto;  
Amatoriis querelis, ac suspiriis liber angulus esto.  
Lapitharum more, Scyphis pugnare, vitrea collidere,  
Fenestras excutere, supellectilem dilacerare ne fas esto  
Qui foras dicta vel facta eliminet, eliminator,  
Neminem reum pocula Jaciunto.  
Focus perennis esto.   

Ben. Jonson's sociable rules for the Apollo.  
LEt none but Guests or Clubbers hither come;  
Let Dunces, Fools, sad, sor did men keep home;  
Let learned, civil, merry men b'invited,  
And modest too; nor the choice Ladies slighted:  
Let nothing in the treat offend the Guests,  
More for delight than cost prepare the feasts:  
The Cook and Purvey'r must our palates know;  
And none contend who shall sit high or low:  
Our waiters must quick-sighted be and dumb,  
And let the drawers quickly hear and come:  
Let not our wine be mixed, but brisk and neat,  
Or else the dinkers may the Vintners beat.  
And let our only emulation be,  
Not drinking much, but talking wittily:  
Let it be voted lawful to stir up  
Each other with a moderate chirping cup;  
Let none of us be mute, or talk too much,  
On serious things or sacred let's not touch  
With sated heads and bellies: Neither may  
Fiddler's unasked obtrude themselves to play:  
With laughing, leaping, dancing, jests and songs,  
And what ere else to grateful mirth belongs;  
Let's celebrate our feasts; And let us see  
That all our jests without reflection be:  
Insipid Poems let no man rehearse,  
Nor any be compelled to write a verse:  
All noise of vain disputes must be for born,  
And let the lover in a corner mourn:  
To fight and brawl (like Hector's) let none dare,  
Glasses or windows break, or hangings tore.  
Who ere shall publish what's here done or said,  
From our Society must be banished:  
Let none by drinking do or suffer harm,  
And while we stay, let us be always warm.    

LIV. Cromwell's Panegyric, upon his riding in triumph over the baffled City of L.  

SHall Presbyterian bells ring Cromwel's praise,  
While we stand still and do no Trophies raise  
Unto his lasting name? Then may we be  
Hung up like bells for our malignity:  
Well may his Nose, that is dominical,  
Take pepper in't, to see no Pen at all  
Stir to applaud his merits, who hath lent  
Such valour, to erect a monument  
of lasting praise; whose name shall never die,  
While England has a Church, or Monarchy.  
He whom the laurelled Army home did bring  
Riding Triumphant o'er his conquered King,  
He is the General's cipher now; and when  
He's joined to him, he makes that one a Ten.  
The Kingdom's Saint; England no more shall stir  
To cry St. Geooge, but now St. Oliver:  
He's the Realms Ensign; and who goes to wring  
His Nose, is forced to cry, God save the King.  
He that can rout an Army with his name,  
And take a City, ere he views the same:  
His Soldiers may want bread, but ne'er shall fear  
(While he's their General,) the want of Beer;  
No Wonder they wore Bays, his Brewing-fat  
(Helicon-like) makes Poets Laureate:  
When Brains in those Castalian liquors swim,  
We sing no Heathenis● Pean, but an Hymn;  
And that by th' Spirit too, for who can choose  
But sing Hosanna to his King of Jews?  
Tremble you Scottish zealots, you that han't  
Freed any Conscience from your Covenant:  
That for those bald Appellatives of Cause,  
Religion, and the Fundamental Laws,  
Have pulled the old Episcopacy down;  
And as the Mitre, so you'll serve the Crown:  
You that have made the Cap to th' Bonnet vail,  
And make the Head a servant to the Tail.  
And you cursed spawn of Publicans, that sit  
In every County, as a plague to it;  
That with your Yeomen Sequestrating Knaves,  
Have made whole Counties beggarly, and slaves.  
You Synod that have sat so long to know  
Whether we must believe in God, or no;  
You that have torn the Church, and sat t' impair  
The Ten Commandments, the Creed, the Prayer;  
And made your honours pull down heaven's glory,  
While you set up that Calf, your Directory:  
We shall no wicked Jews-eared Elders want,  
This Army's made of Churches Militant:  
These are new Tribes of Levi; for they be  
Clergy, yet of no University.  
Pull down your Crests; for every bird shall gather,  
From your usurping backs a stolen feather:  
Your Great Lay-Levite P. whose Margin tires  
The patient Reader, while he blots whole quires,  
Nay reams with Treason; and with Nonsense too,  
To justify what e'er you say or do:  
Whose circumcised ears are hardly grown  
Ripe for another Persecution:  
He must to Scotland for another pair;  
For he will lose these, if he tarry here.  
Burges that Reverend Presbydean of Paul's,  
Must (with his Poundage) leave his Cure of Souls,  
And into Scotland trot, that he may pick  
Out of the Kirk, and nicknamed Bishopric.  
And Will the Conqueror in a Scottish dance,  
Must lead his running Army into France.  
And that still-gaping Tophet Goldsmiths-Hall,  
With all its Furies, shall to ruin fall.  
We'll be no more gulled by that Popish story,  
But shall reach heaven without that Purgatory:  
What honour does he merit, what renown  
By whom all these oppressions are pulled down:  
And such a Government is like to be  
In Church and State, as eye did never see:  
Magicians think he'll set up Common-Prayer;  
Looking in's face, they find the Rubric there:  
His Name shall never die, by fire nor flood,  
But in Church-windows stand, where pictures stood:  
And if his soul loathing that house of clay,  
Shall to another Kingdom march away,  
Under some Barns-floor his bones shall lie,  
Who Churches did, and Monuments defy:  
Where the rude Thrasher, with much knocking on,  
Shall wake him at the Resurrection.  
And on his Grave, since there must be no Stone,  
Shall stand this Epitaph; That he has none.    

LV. A Record in Rhythme, Being an Essay towards the Reformation of the Law, offered to the Consideration of the Committee appointed for that purpose. Written by some men of Law, at a time when they had little else to do.  By A. B. 
London, ss.  

BE it remembered now that formerly,  
To wit, last Term o'th' holy Trinity,  
Before the Keepers of the liberty  
Of England, by the full authority  
Of the long Parliament at Westminster,  
Priscilla Morecrave widow came, by her  
Attorney M. B. and prefers,  
I'th' Court of Upper Bench, a bill of hers,  
Against one Roger Pricklove, who doth lie  
A prisoner in the Marshals Custody  
Et caetera, and 'tis upon a plea  
Of trespass on the Case, Pledges there be  
To prosecute the suit, to wit, John Do  
And Richard Roe. And the said bill also  
Doth follow in these very words, to wit  
In legal manner, London, Scilicet.   

Declaration.  By M. B. 

Priscilla Morecrave Widow, doth complain  
Of Roger Pricklove, who doth now remain,  
Prisoner to th' Marshal of the Marshalsea▪  
Of the said Keepers of the Liberty  
Of England, by authority and power  
Of Parliament, i'th' Bench superior,  
Before the same Keepers themselves that be,  
For that (to wit) whereas the aforesaid she  
Priscilla Morecrave, is a person just,  
Honest, and faithful, one that never durst  
Give the least cause for to be thought unchaste,  
But hath lived ever modest, and was graced,  
With godly education, and demurely,  
Behaved herself; and all her life most purely,  
Hath with the zealous and precise consorted;  
And free from all uncleanness was reported,  
Who never was amongst the well affected,  
Stained with a Crime, or in the least suspected;  
But with the pious people of this Nation,  
Hath had good fame, credit, and reputation;  
By which good reputation, she hath gained  
Not only love, and favour, but obtained  
A plentiful estate, by which most freely  
She managed her Affairs; And that Ralph Seely,  
One of the Assembly late at Westminster,  
A godly-Gospel-preaching-Minister,  
Was earnest suitor in the way of Marriage,  
To have her for his yoke-fellow; his carriage;  
And his most Saintlike loving humble speeches,  
Had her consent to all that he beseeches.  
And she agreed to give him all content,  
To wed him by the Act of Parliament:  
Three times the Contract published, than their trust is  
That all shall be completed by the Justice:  
But this said Roger all aforesaid knowing,  
Maliciously intending her undoing,  
To blast her reputation, and dishonour  
Her unstained Chastity; to cast upon Her  
Infamous obloquy, to dis-repute Her;  
And to deprive her of her foresaid Suitor;  
By breaking of the marriage was intended;  
To leave her to the world lost, and unfriended;  
In month September, day of the same Eleven,  
One thousand six hundred fifty and seven,  
Of our Lord's year, as by our computation,  
Our Commonwealth reckons from th' incarnation,  
At London in the parish of St. Marry  
Bow, in the ward of Cheap, he then contrary  
To truth most falsely and maliciously  
In hearing of right worthy Company,  
And honourable persons, Noble Lords,  
Did speak these false, and most reproachful words,  
To and off her the Plaintiff; that's to say,  
You are a Pocky Whore, and at this day  
You have three Bastards living, which do dwell,  
Two in Pickhatch, and one in Clarkenwell:  
By reason of which false malicious speaking  
Of the said Roger, to her great heart-breaking;  
The godly Gospel-Minister, her Suitor,  
Forbears his former suit, and for the future,  
Did make profession he would never take her  
To be his Consort, but did quite forsake her;  
And all her friends with whom he had repute,  
Do now esteem her for a Prostitute;  
Whereby she is the worse, and damnified,  
One thousand and five hundred pounds, beside;  
And thereupon she doth her suit produce,  
In th' Upper Bench, because of this abuse.    

Imparlance.  By A. B. 

And now until this day, that is to say,  
On Monday three weeks after Michael's day  
In this same Term, which very day until  
Roger had leave t' emparl unto that Bill,  
And then to answer it; before the same  
Keepers, as well the said Priscilla came,  
I'th' Court of Upper Bench, at Westminster  
By that Attorney named before, for her,  
As the aforesaid Roger, who doth come  
By his Attorney A. B.  
And doth defend the force and injury,  
When, where, et ceaeera. And said that she,  
The said Priscilla, ought not maintain, nor  
Have thereupon her Suit against him, for  
Protesting, not acknowledging that she  
Is half so honest as she'd seem to be;  
Nor is her body, or her life so clear,  
Nor so unsported, as she would appear;  
Nor is she of so chaste a reputation,  
As is pretended by her Declaration:  
Protesting also that the said Ralph Seely  
(Though oft together did both he and she lie)  
Ne'er meant to Marry her, but all his power,  
Of love was quenched in less than half an hour.  
Besides he'd quite undo her; if he had,  
His learning was so small his life so bad.   

For Plea he saith that at the time, wherein  
She does suppose these slanderous words t'have been  
Spoke by th' aforesaid Roger, she the said  
Priscilla was nor Widow, Wife, nor Maid;  
And though she passed for an unbroken Virgin,  
She catched th' aforesaid Presbyter in her begin;  
And with his wall-eyed Saintship played the sinner,  
Who b'ing inspired by a Thanksgiving dinner,  
Did carnally her body know, to wit  
The crime of Fornication did commit;  
In the same Ward, and Parish, to his Honour,  
He at one clap got three great Boys upon her.  
All which for privacy were put to feeding  
At Bridewell and Pickhatch, to learn good breeding:  
And she in recompense clapped him so sore,  
With Anglice French- POX, it made him roar;  
And put his Genitals in such a pickle,  
That all his Parish women did article,  
And out him of his Benefices twain,  
And into Scotland made him troth again:  
Wherefore (as lawful 'twas) on this occasion,  
He spoke the words laid in the Declaration.  
And this he Justifies, and judgement crave,  
If she this suit ought to maintain or have.    

Replication.  By I. H. 

And she the said Priscilla doth maintain her  
Said Action, against all that's said to slain her;  
And saith this Court nor will nor can forejudge her,  
For aught that's pleaded by the foresaid Roger;  
But though by his said Plea, she's forced to carry,  
Her suit against him, yet she ought to carry;  
Protesting therefore she's not such a liver,  
Nor of such Fame, as the said Plea doth give her  
Out for to be, but that she hath not varied  
One jo● in life from what she hath declared:  
And on the said Ralph's part protesting farther,  
That of the Kirk he was a Godly Father;  
And of as pure and chaste a conversation,  
As any Presbyter within the Nation:  
And free from any lustful act committing,  
With her, or any other deed unfitting:  
For Replication saith, she was not knowing  
Of the said Ralph but three years' last foregoing:  
During which time, and till the said words spoke were  
By the said Roger (that almost have broke her)  
She lived a Matron's life, chaste, grave, and thrifty,  
And came unto the Age of three and fifty;  
And the said Ralph all the said time, by reason  
Of his much preaching in and out of season;  
And of his fasting long, and longer praying,  
And from his peoples not their duties paying,  
In the same Ward and Parish, grew so weakly,  
That of his life he did despair weekly:  
Which weakness had so very much outworn him,  
That in his bed he was not able turn him;  
Till that a learned Doctor of the College  
Who of his sickness had full perfect knowledge,  
For gaining of his health did much exhort him,  
To wed an honest Matron to Comfort him:  
Which the said Ralph well liking, and well knowing  
The honour to the said Priscilla owing,  
And thinking that delays might greatly worse him,  
With Zeal, did Court her for a wife to nurse him:  
And she in pity to his weak Condition,  
Did condescend to be his she Physician,  
And for their joint desires better carrying,  
A day by both appointed was for marrying:  
But on the sudden off the same was broken  
By the said Roger's words aforesaid spoken;  
By means whereof, he the said Ralph, endure  
Could not the said Priscilla for a Cure,  
But of relief his expectations failing,  
And his long sickness more and more prevailing;  
In Month October, day thereof that first is,  
In the Lord's year that formerly expressed is;  
At the said Ward, the said Ralph much in trouble,  
Did die, to's loss, possessed of living double:  
And left the said Priscilla to bemoan her,  
For that no other man would after own her;  
And that she truly doth reply and done't lie,  
She prays may be inquired by the Country.    

rejoinder.  By A. B. 

And the aforesaid Roger saith the Plea  
By her the said Priscilla formerly  
Put in and pleaded by her Replication,  
In the aforesaid manner, form, and fashion,  
And the whole matter that's contained there,  
Are not sufficient in the law, for her  
The said Priscilla, to maintain her aforesaid  
Suit against him, and there need be no more said:  
Nor by the laws of England is it fit,  
That he should make answer unto it;  
This to aver he's ready. Whereupon  
For want of better Replication  
In this behalf, he doth a judgement pray,  
And that she from having her action may  
Be barred, for this against him; And for  
The causes why he doth in Law demur  
Upon that Replication, he the said  
Roger according to the Statute made,  
And in such case provided, doth declare  
And show to th' Court of Upper Bench that's here,  
These causes following, to wit, that this  
Said Replication insufficient is,  
Negative, pregnant, and uncertain, rude,  
Double, wants form, and does not conclude  
Rightly, according to the legal way.    

Joining in Demurrer.  By A. B. 

And she the said Priscilla here doth say,  
That the said Plea which by reply has been  
Pleaded by her, and what's contained therein,  
In point of Law, good, and sufficient be,  
Her suit against him to maintain; And she  
That Plea and matter, pleaded as above,  
Is ready here both to maintain and prove,  
As this Court shall consider, and think fit,  
And 'cause he does not answer it, nor yet  
Deny the Replication any way,  
The said Priscilla (as before) doth pray  
Judgement, and damages to be judged to her,  
For all this injury which he did do her:  
But 'cause this Court here not advised is  
Of giving judgement of the premises,  
A day's given to both parties to appear  
I'th' Upper Bench, before the Keepers here  
At Westminster, till Monday after eight  
Days of St. Hillary, for the receipt,  
And hearing of their Judgement upon it,  
For that the Court is not advised as yet.     

LVI. To the Kings most Sacred Majesty, on his miraculous and glorious return 29. May, 1660.  

NOw our Spring-royal's come, this cursed ground,  
Which for twelve years with Tyrants did abound,  
Bears Kings again, a memorable Spring!  
May first brought forth, May now brings home our King;  
Auspicious Twenty ninth! this day of Mirth  
Now gives Redemption, which before gave Birth.   

Hark, how th' admiring people cry, and shout,  
See how they flock and leap for joy; the Rout,  
Whose Zeal and Ignorance, for many years,  
Devised those Goblins Jealousies and Fears,  
And fight blindfold in those puzzling Mists,  
Raised by the conjuring of their Exorcists,  
Wounded, and chased, and killed each other while  
Their Setters-on did share the prey, and smile  
Now the delusion's o'er, do plainly see  
What once they were, what now they ought to be  
THE abused Trumpet that was only taught  
To inspire Rebellion, now corrects its fault;  
Tuned by your Fame; and with more cheerful voice,  
Contributes sounds, and helps us to Rejoice:  
The Guns which roared for your best subjects blood,  
Disown their cause now better understood;  
The Bells that for sedition long chimed in,  
As if themselves too, Rebaptised had been,  
Convert their notes echoing with louder peal,  
The harmony of Church and Common-weal:  
While in contiguous Bonfires all the Nation  
Paint their late fears, and sport with Conflagration;  
'Bout which rejoicing Neighbours friendly meet,  
And with fresh wood the kind devourer greet.   

Mean while, th' old Subjects, who so long have slept  
In Caves, and been miraculously kept  
From Rage and Famine; while the only thing  
That fed and clothed them, was the hope of King,  
Do all New-plume themselves to entertain  
Your longed-for Majesty, and welcome Train.   

And (as in Job's time 'twas) those Spurious things,  
Who look like Subjects, but did ne'er love Kings,  
Appear among your Subjects in array  
That's undiscernible, unless more gay.  
All with loud hallows pierce the smiling skies,  
While brandished Swords please and amaze our eyes.   

Why then should only I stand still? and bear  
No part of triumph in this Theatre?  
Though I'm not wise enough to speak t' a King  
What's worth his ear, nor rich enough to bring  
Gifts worthy his acceptance; though I do  
Not ride in Buff and Feathers, in the show;  
(Which Pomp I did industriously eschew,  
That Cost being more to me, than th' show to you)  
Nor do I love a Soldier's garb to own,  
When my own Conscience tells me I am none.  
Yet I'll do duty too, for I've a mind  
Will not be idle, but will something find  
To bid my SGVERAIGN Welcome to his own  
Long-widowed Realm, his Sceptre, Crown & Throne;  
And though too mean and empty it appear,  
If he afford a well-pleased Eye and Ear,  
His power can't by my Weakness be withstood,  
Be't what it will, he'll find, or make it good.   

Hail long-desired Sovereign! you that are  
Now our sole joy and hope, as once our fear!  
The Princely Son of a most pious Sire  
Whose Precepts and Example did inspire  
Your tender years with virtues, that become  
A King that's fit to rule all Christendom:  
Which your great Soul hath so improved since,  
Europe can't show such an accomplished Prince:  
Whose whole life's so exemplary, that you  
Convinced those foes, which we could not subdue;  
And those that did t' your Court t' abuse you come,  
Converted Proselytes returned home:  
Such strong and sympathetick virtues lie  
In your great name, it cures when you're not nigh,  
Like Weapon-salve; If fame can reach up to  
This height of Cures, what will your person do?  
Your Subjects highest Ambition, and their Cure,  
Bold Rebels terror, you that did endure  
What e'er the Wit or Malice of your foes  
Could lay on you or yours, yet stoutly chose  
To suffer on, rather than to requite  
Their injuries, and grew Victorious by't;  
And by your patient suffering did subdue  
The Traitor's fury, and the Traitors too.   

The great King maker's favourite, a Prince  
Born to a Crown, and kept for't ever since.  
From Open force, from all the Close designs  
Of all your Foes, and all our Catilines,  
From all th' insatiate malice of that bold  
Bloodthirsty Tyrant, from his sword, and gold,  
Which hurt you more; and from your own false Friends,  
Whom he still kept in pay to serve his ends  
Yet you're delivered out of all these things,  
By your Protector, who's the King of Kings.  
No more that proud Usurper shall proclaim  
Those partial Conquests which but brand his name,  
To all posterity, no more remember,  
His thrice auspicious third day of September;  
Since he fought not for victories, but paid;  
Nor were you conquered by him, but betrayed:  
And now your May, by love, has gotten more,  
Than his Septembers did, by blood, before.   

Thanks to that Glory of the West, that Star,  
By whose conductive influence you are  
Brought to enjoy your own, whose em'nent worth  
These Islands are to small to Echo forth:  
Whose courage baffled fear, whose purer soul  
No bribes could e'er seduce, no threats control,  
But strangely crossed the proverb, & brought forth  
The best of Goods from th' once-pernicious North,  
To whose Integrity, your Kingdoms owe  
Their restauration, and what thence does flow,  
Your blessed arrival; with such prudence still  
He managed these affairs, such truth, such skill,  
Such valour too, he led these Nations through  
Red Seas of Blood, and yet ne'er wet their shoe.  
Blessed be the Heavenly powers, that hither sent  
That Noble Hero, as the instrument,  
To scourge away those Furies, and to bring  
To's longing subjects our long absent King.   

Welcome from foreign Kingdoms, where you've been,  
Driven by hardhearted Fate, and where you've seen,  
Strange men and manners; yet too truly known,  
No Land less Hospitable than your own;  
From those that would not, those that durst not do  
Right to themselves, by being kind to you;  
From professed foes, and from pretended friends,  
Whose feigned love promotes their covered Ends.  
" King's treating Kings, springs not from love, but state,  
" Their love's to policy subordinate.  
From banishment, from dangers, and from want,  
From all those mischiefs that depend upon't,  
You're truly welcome, welcome to your throne,  
Your Crowns and Sceptres, and what ever's your own,  
Nay to what's ours too, for we find it true,  
Our wealth is gotten and preserved by you.  
Welcome 't your Subjects hearts, which long did burn  
With strong desires to see your blessed Return.  
Welcome t' your friends, welcome t' your wisest foes,  
Whose bought Experience tells them now, that those  
Riches they've got by plunder, fraud, and force,  
Do not increase, but make their fortunes worse,  
Like Robbers spoils, just as they come, they go,  
And leave the wretches poor and wicked too.  
They see their error, and that only you  
Can give them pardon, and protection too.  
Since you're come out o'th' fire, twelve years refined,  
With hardened body, and Experienced mind.   

Only that crew of Caitiffs, who have been,  
So long, so deeply plunged in so great sin,  
That they despair of pardon, and believe,  
You can't have so much mercy to forgive,  
As they had villainy t' offend, and so  
They to get out, the further in do go.   

These never were, and never will be true  
(What e'er they say or swear) to God or you.  
The scum and scorn of every sort of men;  
That for abilities, could scarce tell ten;  
And of estates proportioned to their parts;  
Of mean enjoyments, and of worse deserts,  
Whom want made bold, and impudence supplied  
Those gifts, which art and nature had denied;  
And in their practice perfect Atheists too,  
(For half-wit, and half-learning makes men so).   

These first contrived, and then promoted all  
Those troubles, which upon your Realm did fall;  
Inflamed three populous Nations, that they might  
Get better opportunity and light  
To steal and plunder, and our goods might have,  
By robbing those, whom they pretend to save,  
Our new commotions new employments made,  
And what was our affliction grew their trade:  
And when they saw the plots, th' had laid, did take,  
Then they turned Gamesters, and put in their stake,  
Ventured their All; their Credit which was small,  
And next their Conscience which was none all,  
Put on all forms, and all Religions own,  
And all alike, for they were all of none:  
A thousand of them han't one Christian soul,  
No Oaths oblige them, and no Laws control  
Their strong desires but penal ones; and those  
Make them not innocent, but cautelous.  
Crimes that are scandalous, and yield no gain,  
Revenge or pleasure, they perhaps refrain;  
But where a crime was gainful to commit,  
Or pleased their lust or malice; how they bit!  
This did invade the Pulpit, and the Throne,  
And first made them, than all that's ours, their own▪  
Deposed the Ministers and Magistrates,  
And in a godly way, seized their estates;  
Then did the Gentry follow, and the Rich,  
Those neutral sinners, by omission, which  
Had good estates, for it was not a sin  
To plunder, but t' have aught worth plundering.  
And by religious forms, and shows and paints,  
They're called the godly party, and the Saints.  
By crafty artless Oratory, they  
Venturing to make Orations, preach, and pray,  
Drew in two silly souls, that were  
Caught with vain shows, drawn on by hope and fear,  
Poor undiscerning, all believing Elves,  
Fit but to be the ruin of themselves;  
Born to be cozened, trod on, and abused;  
Loved to be fooled, and easily seduced:  
These beasts they make with courage fight and die,  
Like Andabates, not knowing how, nor why,  
Till they destroyed King, Kingdom, Church, and Laws,  
And sacrificed all to Molochs Cause:  
While those possess the fruit of all the toils  
Of these blind slaves, and flourish with their spoils,  
Plumed with gay feathers stolen, (like Aesop's Crow)  
They seem gay birds, but it was only show.   

Now public lands and private too, they share  
Among themselves, whose maws did never spare  
Ought they could grasp; to get the Royal lands,  
They in Blood Royal bathed their ravenous hands.  
With which they shortly pampered grew, and rich,  
Then was their blood infected with the itch  
Of Pomp, and Power, and now they must be Squires,  
And Knights and Lords, to please their wives desires,  
And Madam them. A broken tradesman now,  
Pieced with Church-lands, makes all the vulgar bow  
Unto his honour, and their Bonnets veil  
To's worship, that sold Petticoats, or Ale.  
In pomp, attire, and every thing they did  
Look like true Gentry, but the Soul, and Head,  
By which they were discerned, for they were rude,  
With harsh and ill-bred natures still endued;  
Proud, and penurious. What Nobility  
Sprung in an instant, from all trades had we!  
Such t' other things, crept into t' other House,  
Whose Sires heeled stockings, and whose Dam● sold souse.  
These were Protectors, but of such a crew,  
As people Newgate, not good men, and true:  
These were Lord Keepers, but of Cows and Swine,  
Lord Cobblers, and Lord Drawers, not of Wine.  
Fine Cockney-pageant Lords, and Lords Gee-hoo,  
Lords Butchers, and Lords Butlers, Dray-Lords too.   

And to transact with these was hatched a brood,  
Of Justices and Squires, nor great, nor good,  
Raised out of plunder, and of sequestration,  
Like Frogs of Nilus, from an foundation;  
A foundered Warrior, when the wars did cease,  
As naturally turned Justice of the Peace,  
And did with boldness th' office undertake,  
As a blind Coach-horse does a Stallion make.   

These filled all Country's, and in every Town  
Dwelled one or more to tread your Subjects down.  
And to complete this Stratagem of theirs,  
They use Auxiliary Lecturers;  
Illiterate Dolts, picked out of every Trade,  
Of the same metal, as Jeroboams, made,  
That ne'er took Orders, nor did any keep,  
But boldly into others Pulpits creep,  
And vent their Heresies, and there inspire  
The vulgar with Sedition, who desire  
Still to be cheated, and do love to be  
Misled by th' ears, with cozening Sophistry,  
These sold Divinity, as Witches do  
In Lapland, Winds, to drive where e'er you go.  
The Sword no action did, so dire and fell,  
But that some Pulpiteers pronounced it, Well.   

With these ingredients, were the Country's all  
Poisoned, and fooled, and awed, while they did call  
Themselves the Cities, or the Counties, and  
Do in their names, what they ne'er understand  
Or hear of. These did that old Dry-bone call  
Up to the Throne, (if he were called at all)  
And vowed to live and die with him; and then  
Addressed to Dick, and vowed the same again.  
And so to Rump; but these vows were no more  
Than what they vowed to Essex long before,  
And so performed; they died alike with all,  
Yet lived on unconcerned in their fall:  
So as these Corks might swim at top, they ne'er  
Cared what the liquor was, that them did bear.   

These taught the easy people, prone to sin,  
And ready to imbibe ill customs in,  
To betray trusts, to break an Oath, and Word,  
Things that th' old English Protestants abhorred.   

And lest these Kingdoms should hereafter be  
Took for enchanted Islands (where men see  
Nothing but Devils haunt, as if God and  
All virtuous people had forsook the land,  
And left it to these Monsters) these took care,  
To make us match and mix our blood with their  
Polluted issue; and so do, as when  
God's sons did take the daughters once of men.  
To fright men into this, they did begin  
To decimate them, for original Sin.  
Children that were unborn, in those mad times,  
And unconcerned in what they Voted crimes,  
If guilty of Estates, were forced to pay  
The tenth to those, who took nine parts away.   

The Law was made a standing pool, and grew  
Corrupt, for want of current; thence a crew  
Of monstrous Animals out daily crawled,  
Who little knew, but impudently balled;  
And made the Law the Echo of the Sword,  
With such lewd cattle were the Benches stored,  
That made the Gown ridiculous, Now and then  
The Malefactors were the wiser men,  
Most times the honester; these did dispense,  
And rack the Laws, 'gainst equity and sense,  
Which way the Buff would have them turn; by which  
They long continued powerful and Rich.   

Now they'll all wheel about, and be for you,  
For (like Chameleon's) they still change their hue,  
And look like that that's next them; they will vow,  
Their hearts were always for you, and are now.  
'Tis no new Wit, 'tis in a Play we know,  
Who would not wish you King, now you are so?   

Yet you can pardon all, for you have more  
Mercy and love, than they have crimes, in store.  
And you can love, or pity them, which none  
But you could do; you can their persons own,  
And with unconquered patience look on them,  
Because your Nature knows not to condemn.  
You'll let them live, and by your grace convince  
Their treacherous hearts, that they have wronged a Prince,  
Whom God and Angels love and keep; whose mind  
Solely to love and mercy is inclined;  
Whom none but such as they would hurt, or grieve,  
And none but such as you could e'er forgive  
Such men and crimes. Those feathers nevertheless  
Plucked from your Subjects backs, their own to dress,  
Should be replucked, or else they should restore,  
They'll still be left Crows, as they were before.  
But if you trust them,—   

And now you are returned to your Realm,  
May you sit long, and steadfastly at th' Helm,  
And rule these headstrong people: may you be  
The true Protector of our Liberty.  
Your wisdom only answers th' expectation  
Of this long injured, now reviving Nation.   

May true Religion flourish and increase,  
And we love virtue, as the ground of peace;  
May all pretences, outward forms, and shows  
Whereby we have been gulled, give way for those  
True act of pure religious, and may we  
Not only seem religious, but be.   

Of taking Oaths, may you and we be shy,  
B●t being ta'en think no necessity  
O● power can make us break them! may we ne'er  
Make wilful breach of promises! nor e'er  
Basely betray our trusts! but strive to be  
Men both of honour, and of honesty!  
And may those only that are just, and true,  
Be alwa e● honoured, and employed by you.   

Next let our sacred Laws in which do stand  
The wealth, the peace, and safety of our Land,  
be kept inviolable, and never made  
Nets to the small, while the great Flies evade!  
May those that are entrusted with them be  
Men of sound knowledge, and integrity,  
And sober courage; such as dare, and will,  
And can do Justice! We have felt what ill  
Comes by such Clarks and Judges as have been,  
For favour, faction, or design put in,  
Without respect to Merit, who have made  
The Law to Tyrant's various lusts a Bawd,  
Perverted Justice, and our Rights have sold,  
And Rulers have been overruled by Gold:  
Then are the people happy, and Kings too,  
When, they that are in power, are good, and do.   

On these two Bases let our peace be built  
So firm and lasting, that no blood be spilt,  
No Country wasted, and no treasure spent  
While you and yours do reign; no future rent  
Disturb your happiness; but may we strive  
Each in his sphere, to make this Nation thrive,  
Grow plentiful, and powerful, and become  
The Joy or Terror of all Christendom.  
And those, who▪ lately thought themselves above us,  
May, spite of fate, or tremble at, or love us,  
May no encroaching spirit break the hedge  
Between Prerogative, and Privilege.   

And may your sacred Majesty enjoy  
Delights of Mind, and Body, that ne'er cloy!  
Not only be obeyed, but loved at home,  
Praised and admired by all that near you come!  
And may your Royal Fame be spread as far  
As valiant, and as virtuous people are!   

And when you're Majesty shall be inclined,  
To bless your Realms with heirs, oh may you find  
A Spouse that may for Beauty, Virtue, Wit,  
And royal birth, be for your person fit!  
May you abound in hopeful heirs, that may  
Govern the Nations, and your Sceptres sway,  
Till time shall be no more, and pledges be  
Both of your love, and our felicity.   

May you live long and happily, and find  
No pains of body, and no griefs of mind:  
While we with loyal hearts Rejoice, and Sing  
God bless your Kingdoms, and   
God save our KING.    
THE END.  

A Catalogue of some Books Printed for H. Brome, at the Gun in Ivy-lane.  
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 Sepulchral Urns, and Garden of Cyrus, in 8.  
Two Essays of Love and Marriage, in 12.  
The Royal Exchange, a Comedy in 4. And four New Plays in 8. by R. Brome.  
A Treatise of Moderation, by Mr. Gaul, in 8.  
St. bonaventure's Soliloquies, in 4.  
Jew's in America, by Mr. Thorogood, in 4.  
All Mr. L'Estrange's Pieces against Mr. Bagshaw, and the Presbyterians.  
Speeds Husbandry, in 8.  
All the Songs, and Poems of the Rump, in 8. from 1640 to 1660.  
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.  
The Glories and Magnificent Triumphs of the Restitution of King Charles the Second, showing his Entertainments 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 John Russel, in 4.  
The complete art of Water-drawing, in 4.  
Chisul's Danger of being almost a Christian, in 12.  
Aeneas his Voyage from Troy to Italy, an Assay upon the third Book of Virgil, in 8.  
The Transtation of the sixth Book of Virgil, 4. both by J. Boys Esq  
Mr. Walwin's Sermon on the happy Return of King Charles the second.  
Mr. Grenfield's Sermon in behalf of the Loyal party.  
Mr. Stone's Sermon at St. Paul's, Octob. 20. 1661. against Rebellion.  
Blood for Blood, in 35 Tragical stories; the five last being the sad product of our late Rebellion, in 8.  
Trap on the Major Prophets, etc. in fol.  
A Discourse of all the Imperfections of Women, in 8.  
Mr. Morton's Rule of Life, in 8.  
A Geographical Dictionary of all the Town● and Cities in the World.  
The Jovial Crew, or Merry Beggars, by R. Brome, Gent. Salmasius in English.  
Holy Authems, sung in all Cathedrals in England.  
Schriverius Lexicon Greek and Latin, the fourth Edition much enlarged.  
Eighteen Choice Sermons preached by Bishop ●sher in Oxford, in the time of War, in 4.  
The Crumbs of Comfort.  
The History of the Bible.  
The List of the Loyal Party. And Case.  
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  
Flodden-field in 9 Fits; or an Excellent History of the memorable battle fought between the English and Scots in the time of Henry the 8th 1513.  
The new Common-Prayer with choice Cuts in Copper, suited to all the Feasts and Fasts of the Church of England throughout the year, in a Pocket-Volume.  
Oldsworth's Holy Royalists.  
Songs and other Choice Poems, by Mr. Henry Bold, in 8.   

Mr. Brome's Songs.