Choice DROLLERY: SONGS & SONNETS. BEING A Collection of divers excel. lent pieces of Poetry, OF Several eminent Authors. Never before printed. LONDON, Printed by J. G. for Robert Pollard, at the Ben Johnson's head behind the Exchange, and John Sweeting, at the Angel in Popes-head Alley. 1656. To the READER. Courteous Reader, THy grateful reception of our first Collection hath induced us to a second essay of the same nature; which, as we are confident, it is not inferior to the former in worth, so we assure ourselves, upon thy already experimented Candour, that it shall at least equal it in its fortunate acceptation. We serve up these Delicates by frugal Messes, as aiming at thy Satisfaction, not Satiety. But our design being more upon thy judgement, than patience, more to delight thee, than to detain thee in the portal of a tedious, and seldome-read Epistle; we draw this displeasing Curtain, that intercepts thy (by this time) gravid, and almost teeming fancy, and subscribe, R. P. Choice DROLLERY: SONGS AND SONNETS. The broken Heart. 1. Dear Love let me this evening die, Oh smile not to prevent it, But use this opportunity, Or we shall both repent it: Frown quickly then, and break my heart, That so my way of dying May, though my life were full of smart, Be worth the world's envying. 2. Some striving knowledge to refine, Consume themselves with thinking, And some who friendship seal in wine Are kindly killed with drinking: And some are racked on the Indian coast, Thither by gain invited, Some are in smoke of battles lost, Whom Drums not Lutes delighted. 3. Alas how poorly these depart, Their graves ffill unattended, Who dies not of a broken heart, Is not in death commended. His memory is ever sweet, All praise and pity moving, Who kindly at his Mistress feet Doth die with overloving. 4. And now thou frownest, and now I die, My corpse by Lovers followed, Which straight shall by dead lovers lie, For that ground's only hollowed: If Priest take't ill I have a grave, My death not well approving, The Poets my estate shall have To teach them th' art of loving. 5. And now let Lovers ring their bells, For thy poor youth departed; Which every Lover else excels, That is not broken hearted. My grave with flowers let virgins strew, For if thy tears fall near them, They'll so excel in scent and show, Thyself wilt shortly wear them. 6. Such Flowers how much will Flora prize, That's on a Lover growing, And watered with his Mistress eyes, With pity overflowing? A grave so decked, well, though thou art Yet fearful to come nigh me, Provoke thee strait to break thy heart, And lie down boldly by me. 7. Then every where shall all bells ring, Whilst all to blackness turning, All torch's burn, and all quires sing, As Nature's self were mourning. Yet we hereafter shall be found By Destiny's right placing, Making like Flowers, Love under ground, Whose Roots are still embracing. Of a Woman that died for love of a Man. NOr Love nor Fate dare I accuse, Because my Love did me refuse: But oh! mine own unworthiness, That durst presume so much bliss; Too mickle'twere for me to love A thing so like the God above, An Angel's face, a Saintlike voice, Were too divine for humane choice. Oh had I wisely given my heart, For to have loved him, but in part, Save only to have loved his face For any one peculiar grace, A foot, or leg, or lip, or eye, I might have lived, where now I die. But I that strived all these to choose, Am now condemned all to lose. You rural Gods that guard the plains, And chast'neth unjust disdains; Oh do not censure him him for this, It was my error, and not his. This only boon of thee I crave, To fix these lines upon my grave, With lcarus I soar too high, For which (alas) I fall and die. On the TIME-POETS. ONe night the great Apollo pleased with Ben, Made the odd number of the Muses ten; The fluent Fletcher, Beaumond rich in sense, In Compliment and Courtship's quintessence; Ingenious Shakespeare, Massinger that knows The strength of Plot to write in verse and prose: Whose easy Pegassus will amble over Some threescore miles of Fancy in an hour; Cloud-grapling Chapman, whose Aerial mind Soars at Philosophy, and strikes it blind; Danbourn I had forgot, and let it be, He died Amphibion by the Ministry; Silvester, Bartas, whose translatique part Twinned, or was elder to our Laureate: Divine composing Quarles, whose lines aspire The April of all Poesy in May, Who makes our English speak Pharsalia; Sands metamorphosed so into another We know not Sands and Ovid from each other; He that so well on Scotus played the Man, The famous Diggs, or Leonard Claudian; The pithy Daniel, whose salt lines afford A weighty sentence in each little word; Heroic Draiton, Withers, smart in Rhyme, The very Poet-Beadles of the Time: Panns pastoral Brown, whose infant Muse did squeak At eighteen years, better than others speak: Shirley the morning-child, the Muses bred, And sent him born with bays upon his head: Deep in a dump John Ford alone was got With folded arms and melancholy hat; The squibbling Middleton, and Haywood sage, Th'apologetic Atlas of the Stage; Well of the Golden age he could entreat, But little of the Metal he could get; Threescore sweet Babes he fashioned from the lump, For he was Christened in Parnassus' pump; The Muse's Gossip to Aurora's bed, And ever since that time his face was red. Thus through the horror of infernal deeps, With equal pace each of them softly creeps, And being dark they had Alectors torch, And that made Churchyard follow from his Porch, Poor, ragged, torn, & tacked, alack, alack, You'd think his clothes were pinned upon his back. The whole frame hung with pins, to mend which clothes, In mirth they sent him to old Father Prose; Of these sad Poets this way ran the stream, And Decker followed after in a dream; Rounce, Robble, Hobble, he that writ so high big Basse for a Ballad, John Shank for a Jig: Sent by Ben Johnson, as some Authors say, Broom went before and kindly swept the way: Old Chaucer welcomes them unto the Green, And Spencer brings them to the fairy Queen; The finger they present, and she in grace Transformed it to a May-pole'bout which trace Her skipping servants, that do nightly sing, And dance about the same a Fairy Ring. The Vow-breaker. WHen first the Magic of thine eye Usurped upon my liberty, Triumphing in my hearts spoil, thou Didst lock up thine in such a vow: When I prove false, may the bright day Be governed by the Moon's pale ray, (As I too well remember) this Thou saidst, and seald'st it with a kiss. Oh heavens! and could so soon that tye Relent in sad apostasy? Can all thy Oaths and mortgaged trust, Banish like Letters formed in dust, Which the next wind scatters? take heed, Take heed Revolter; know this deed Hath wronged the world, which will far worse By thy example, than thy curse. Hid that false brow in mists; thy shame ne'er see light more, but the dim flame Of Funerall-lamps; thus sit and moan, And learn to keep thy guilt at home; Give it no vent, for if again Thy love or vows betray more men, At length I fear thy perjured breath Will blow out day, and waken death. The Sympathy. IF at this time I am derided, And you please to laugh at me, Know I am not unprovided Every way to answer thee, Love, or hate, what ere it be. Never Twins so nearly met As thou and I in our affection, When thou weepst my eyes are wet, That thou lik'st is my election, I am in the same subjection. In one centre we are both, Both our lives the same way tending, Do thou refuse, and I shall loathe, As thy eyes, so mine are bending, Either storm or calm portending. I am careless if despised, For I can contemn again; How can I be then surprised, Or with sorrow, or with pain, When I can both love & disdain? The Red head and the White. 1. COme my White head, let our Muses Vent no spleen against abuses, Nor scoff at monstrous signs i'th' nose, Signs in the Teeth, or in the Toes, Nor what now delights us most, The sign of signs upon the post. For other matter we are sped, And our sign shall be i'th' head. 2. Oh! Will● Rufus, who would pass, Unless he were a captious Ass; The Head of all the parts is best, And hath more senses than the rest. This subject then in our defence Will clear our Poem of nonsense. Besides, you know, what ere we read, We use to bring it to a head. 1. Why there's no other part we can Style Monarch o'er this Isle of man: 'Tis that that weareth Nature's crown, 'Tis this doth smile, 'tis this doth frown, O what a prize and triumph 'twere, To make this King our Subject here: Believ'e, 'tis true what we have said, In this we hit the nail o'th' head. 2. Your nails upon my head Sir, Why? How do you thus to vilify The King of Parts, 'mongst all the rest, Or if no king, methinks at least, To mine you should give no offence, That wears the badge of Innocence; Those blows would far more justly light On thy red skull, for mine is white. 1. Come on i'faith, that was well said, A pretty boy, hold up thy head, Or hang it down, and blush apace, And make it like mines native grace. There's ne'er a Bunghole in the town But in the working puts thine down, A boil that's drawing to a head Looks white like thine, but mine is red. 2. Poor fool, 'twas shame did first invent The colour of thy Ornament, And therefore thou art much too blame To boast of that which is thy shame; The Roman Prince that Poppeys topped, Did show such Red heads should be cropped: And still the Turks for poison smite Such Ruddy skulls, but mine is white. 1. The Indians paint their Devils so, And 'tis a hated mark we know, For never any aim aright That do not strive to hit the white: The Eagle threw her shellfish down, To crack in pieces such a crown: Alas, a stinking onions head Is white like thine, but mine is red. 2. Red like to a bloodshot eye, Provoking all that see't to cry: For shame ne'er vaunt thy colours thus Since 'tis an eyesore unto us; Those locks I'd swear, did I not know't, Were threads of some red petticoat; No Bedlams oakered arms affright So much as thine, but mine is white. 1. Now if thon'lt blaze thy arms I'll show't, My head doth love no petticoat, My face on one side is as fair As on the other is my hair, So that I bear by Herald's rules, Party per pale Argent and Gules. Then laugh not 'cause my head is red, I'll swear that mine's a noble head. 1. The Scutcheon of my field doth bear One only field, and that is rare, For then methinks that thine should yield, Since mine long since hath won the field; Besides, all the notes that be, White is the note of Chastity, So that without all fear or dread, I'll swear that mine's a maidenhead. 1. There's no Chameleon red like me, Nor white, perhaps, thou'lt say, like thee; Why then that mine is fare above Thy hair, by statute I can prove; What ever there doth seem divine Is added to a Rubric line, Which whosoever hath but read, Will grant that mine's a lawful head. 2. Yet add what thou mayst, which by years, Crosses, troubles, cares and fears,; For that kind nature gave to me In youth a white head, as you see, At which, though age itself repine, It ne'er shall change a hair of mine; And all shall say when I am am dead, I only had a constant head. 1. Yes faith, in that I'll condescend, That our dissension here may end, Though heads be always by the ears, Yet ours shall be more noble peers: For I avouch since I began, Under a colour all was done. Then let us mix the White and Red, And both shall make a beauteous head. 1. We mind our heads man all this time And beat them both about this rhyme; And I confess what gave offence Was but a hair's difference. And that went too as I dare swear In both of us against the hair; Then jointly now for what is said Lets crave a pardon from our head. SONNET. SHall I think because some clouds The beauty of my Mistress shrouds, To look after another Star? Those to Cynthia servants are; May the stars when I do sue, In their anger shoot me through; Shall I shrink at storms of rain, Or be driven back again, Or ignoble like a worm, Be a slave unto a storm? Pity he should ever taste The Spring that feareth Winter's blast; Fortune and Malice then combine, Spite of either I am thine; And to be sure keep thou my heart, And let them wound my worse part, Which could they kill, yet should I be Alive again, when pleaseth thee. On the Flower-de-luce in Oxford. A Stranger coming to the town, Went to the Flower-de-luce, A place that seemed in outward show For honest men to use; And finding all things common there, That tended to delight, By chance upon the French disease It was his hap to light. And lest that other men should far As he had done before, As he went forth he wrote this down Upon the utmost door. All you that hither chance to come, Mark well ere you be in, The Frenchmens arms are signs without Of Frenchmens harms within. ALDOBRANDINO, a fat Cardinal. NEver was humane soul so overgrown, With an unreasonable Cargazon Of flesh, as Aldobrandine, whom to pack, No girdle served less than the zodiac: So thick a Giant, that he now was come To be accounted an eighth hill in Rome, And as the learned Tostatus kept his age, Writing for every day he lived a page; So he no less voluminous than that Added each day a leaf, but 'twas of fat. The choicest beauty that had been devised By Nature, was by her parents sacrificed Up to this Monster, upon whom to try, If as increase, he could, too, multiply. Oh how I tremble lest the tender maid Should die like a young infant over-laid! For when this Chaos would pretend to move And arch his back for the strong act of Love, He falls as soon o'erthrown with his own weight, And with his ruins doth the Princess fright. She (lovely Martyr) there lies stewed and pressed, Like flesh under the tarred saddle dressed, And seems to those that look on them in bed, Larded with him, rather than married. Oft did he cry, but still in vain to force His fatness powerfuller than a divorce: No herbs, no midwives profit here, nor can Of his great belly free the teeming man. What though he drink the vinegars' most fine, They do not waste his fleshy Apennine; His paunch like some huge Istmos runs between The amorous Seas, and lets them not be seen; Yet a new Dedalus invented how This Bull with his Pasiphae might plow. Have you those artificial torments known, With which long sunken Galeos are thrown Again on Sea, or the dead Galia Was raised that once behind St. Peter's lay: By the same rules he this same engine made, With silken cords in nimble pulleys laid; And when his Genius prompteth his slow part To works of Nature, which he helps with Art: First he entangles in those woven bands, His grovelling weight, and ready to commands, The sworn Prinadas of his bed, the Aids Of Love's Camp, necessary Chambermaids; Each runs to her known tackling, hasts to hoist, And in just distance of the urging voice, Exhorts the labour till he smiling rise To the bed's roof, and wonders how he flies. Thence as the eager Falcon having spied Fowl at the brook, or by the River's side, Hangs in the middle Region of the air, So hovers he, and plains above his fair▪ Blessed Icarus first melted at those beams, That he might after fall into those streams, And there allaying his delicious flame, In that sweet Ocean propagate his name. Unable longer to delay, he calls To be let down, and in short measure falls Toward his Mistress, that without her smock Lies naked as Andromeda at the Rock, And through the Skies see her winged Perseus strike Though for his bulk, more that sea-monster like. Mean time the Nurse, who as the most discreet, Stood governing the motions at the feet, And balanced his descent, lest that amiss He fell too fast, or that way more than this; Steers the Prow of the pensile Galleass, Right on Love's Harbour the Nymph lets him pass Over the Chains, & between the double Fort Of her incastled knees, which guard the Port, The Burrs as she had learned still diligent, Now gird him backwards, now him forwards bend; Like those that levelled in tough Cordage, teach The mural Ram, and guide it to the Breach. Jack of Lent's Ballad. 1. LIst you Nobles, and attend, For here's a Ballad newly penned I took it up in Kent, If any ask who made the same, To him I say the author's name Is honest Jack of Lent. 2. But ere I farther pass along, Or let you know more of my Song, I wish the doors were locked, For if there be so base a Groom, As one informs me in this room, The Fiddlers may be knocked. 3. 'tis true, he had, I dare protest, No kind of malice in his breast, But Knaves are dangerous things; And they of late are grown so bold, They dare appear in cloth of Gold, Even in the rooms of Kings. 4. But hit or miss I will declare The speeches at London and elsewhere, Concerning this design, Amongst the Drunkards it is said, They hope her dowry shall be paid In nought but Claret wine. 5. The Country Clowns when they repair Either to Market or to Fair, No sooner get their pots, But strait they swear the time is come That England must be overrun Betwixt the French and Scots. 6. The Puritans that never fail 'Gainst Kings and Magistrates to rail, With impudence aver, That verily, and in good sooth, Some Antichrist, or pretty youth, Shall doubtless get of her. 7. A holy Sister having hemmed, And blow● her nose, will say she dreamed, Or else a Spirit told her, That they and all these holy seed, To Amsterdam must go to breed, Ere they were twelve months older. 8. And might but Jack Alent advise, Those dreams of theirs should not prove lies, For as he greatly fears, They will be prating night and day, Till verily, by yea, and nay, They set's together by th' ears. 9 The Romish Catholics proclaim, That Gundemore, though he be lame, Yet can he do some tricks; At Paris, he the King shall show A precontract made, as I know, Five hundred twenty six. 10. But sure the State of France is wise, And knows that Spain vents nought but lies, For such is their Religion; The Jesuits can with ease disgorge From that their damned and hellish forge, Fowl falsehood by the Legion. 11. But be it so, we will admit, The State of Spain hath no more wit, Then to invent such tales, Yet as great Alexander drew, And cut the Gorgon knot in two, So shall the Prince of Wales. 12. The reverend Bishops whisper too, That now they shall have much ado With Friars and with Monks, And eke their wives do greatly fear Those bald pate knaves will make't appear They are Canonical punks. 13. At Cambridge and at Oxford eke, They of this match like Scholars speak By figures and by tropes, But as for the Supremacy, The Body may King James' be, But sure the Head's the Pope's. 14. A Puritan stepped up and cries, That he the major part denies, And though he Logic scorns, Yet he by revelation knows The Pope no part o' th' head-piece owes Except it be the horns. 15. The learned in Astrology, That wander up and down the sky, And their discourse with stars, Foresee that some of this brave rout That now goes fair and sound out, Shall back return with scars. 16. Professors of Astronomy, That all the world knows, dare not lie With the Mathematicians, Prognosticate this Summer shall Bring with the pox the Devil and all, To Surgeons and Physicians. 17. The Civil Lawyer laughs in's sleeve, For he doth verily believe That after all these sports, The Citzens will horn and grow, And their ill-gotten goods will throw About their bawdy Courts. 18. And those that do Apollo court, And with the wanton Muse's sport, Believe the time is come, That Gallants will themselves address To Masques & Plays, & Wantonness, More than to fife and drum. 19 Such as in music spend their days, And And study Songs and Roundelays, Begin Begin to clear their throats, For by some signs they do presage, That this will prove a fiddling age Fit for men of their coats. 20. But leaving Colleges and Schools. To all those Clerks and learned Fools, Let's through the city range, For there are Sconces made of Horn, Foresee things long ere they be born, Which you'll perhaps think strange. 21. The Major and Aldermen being met, And at a Custard closely set Each in their rank and order, The Major a question doth propound, And that unanswered must go round, Till it comes to th'Recorder. 22. For he's the City's Oracle, And which you'll think a Miracle, He hath their brains in keeping, For when a Cause should be decreed, He cries the bench are all agreed, When most of them are sleeping, 23. A Sheriff at lower end o'th' board Cries Masters all hear me a word, A bolt I'll only shoot, We shall have Executions store Against some gallants now gone o'er, Wherefore good brethren look to't. 24. The rascal Sergeants fleering stand, Wishing their Charter reached the Strand, That they might there intrude; But since they are not yet content, I wish that it to Tyburn went, So they might there conclude. 25. An Alderman both grave and wise Cries brethren all let me advise, Whilst wit is to be had, That like good husbands we provide Some speeches for the Lady bride, Before all men go mad. 26. For by my faith if we may guess Of greater mischiefs by the less, I pray let this suffice, If we but on men's backs do look, And look into each tradesman's book You'll swear few men are wise. 27. Some threadbare Poet we will press, And for that day we will him dress, At least in beaten Satin, And he shall tell her from this bench, That though we understand no French, At Paul's, she may hear Latin. 28. But on this point they all demur, And each takes counsel of his fur That smells of Fox and Coney, At last a Mayor in high disdain, Swears he much scorns that in his reign Wit should be bought for money. 29. For by this Sack I mean to drink, I would not have my Sovereign think for twenty thousand Crowns, That I his Lord Lieutenant here, And you my brethren should appear Such errand witless Clowns. 30. No, no, I have it in my head, Devises that shall strike it dead, And make proud Paris say That little London hath a Mayor Can entertain their Lady fair, As well as ere did they. 31 S. George's Church shall be the place Where first I mean to meet her grace, And there St. George shall be Mounted upon a dapple grey, And gaping wide shall seem to say, Welcome St. Dennis to me. 32. From thence in order two by two As we to Paul's are used to go, To th' Bridge we will convey her, And there upon the top o' th' gate, Where now stands many a Rascal's pate, I mean to place a player. 33. And to the Princess he shall cry, please your Grace cast up your eye And see these heads of Traitors; Thus will the city serve all those That to your Highness shall prove foes, For they to Knaves are haters. 34. Down Fish-street hill a Whale shall shoot, And meet her at the Bridge's foot, And forth of his mouth so wide a Shall Ionas peep, and say, for fish, As good as your sweetheart can wish, You shall have hence each Friday. 35. At Grace-church corner there shall stand A troop of Grace's hand in hand, And they to her shall say, Your Grace of France is welcome hither, ▪ 'tis merry when Graces meet together, I pray keep on your way. 36. At the Exchange shall placed be, In ugly shapes those sisters three That give to each their fate, And Spaine's Infanta shall stand by Wring their hands, and thus shall cry, I do repent too late. 37. There we a pair of gloves will give, And pray her Highness long may live On her white hands to wear them; And though they have a Spanish scent, The givers have no ill intent, Wherefore she need not fear them▪ 38. Nor shall the Conduits now run Claret, Perhaps the Frenchman cares not for it, They have at home so much, No, I will make the boy to piss No worse than purest Hypocris, Her Grace ne'er tasted such. 39 About the Standard I think fit Your wives, my brethren, all should sit, And eke our Lady Mayris, Who shall present a cup of gold, And say if we might be so bold, We'll drink to all in Paris. 40. In Paul's Churchyard we breathe may take, For they such huge long speeches make, Would tyre any horse; But there I'll put her grace in mind, To cast her Princely head behind And view S. Paul's Cross. 41. Our Sergeants they shall go their way, And for us at the Devil stay, I mean at Temple-bar, And there of her we leave will take, And say 'twas for King Charles his sake We went with her so fare. 42. But fearing I have tired the ears, Both of the Duke and all these Peers, I'll be no more uncivil, I'll leave the Mayor with both the Sheriffs, With Sergeants, hanging at their sleeves, For this time at the Devil. A SONG. A Story strange I will you tell, But not so strange as true, Of a woman that danced upon the ropes, And so did her husband too. With a dildo, dildo, dildo, With a dildo, dildo, dye, Some say 'twas a man, but it was a woman As plain report may see. She first climbed up the Ladder For to deceive men's hopes, And with a long thing in her hand She tickled it on the ropes. With a dildo, dildo, dildo, With a dildo, dildo, dye, And to her came Knights and Gentlemen Of low and high degree. She jerked them backward and forward With a long thing in her hand, And all the people that were in the yard, She made them for to stand. With a dildo, etc. They cast up sleering eyes All underneath her , But they could see no thing, For she wore linen hose. With a dildo, etc. The Cuckold her husband capered When his head in the sack was in, But grant that we may never fall When we dance in the sack of sin. With a dildo, etc. And as they ever danced In fair or rainy weather, I wish they may be hanged i' th' rope of Love, And so be cut down together. With a dildo, etc. Upon a House of Office over a River, set on fire by a Coal of TOBACCO. OH fire, fire, fire, where? The useful house o'er Water clear, The most convenient in a shire, Which no body can deny. The house of Office that old true blue Sir-reverence so many knew You now may see turned fine new. Which no body, etc. And to our great astonishment Though burned, yet stands to represent Both mourner and the monument, Which no body, etc. Ben Johnson's Vulcan would do well, Or the merry Blades who knacks did tell, At firing London Bridge befell. Which no body, etc. They'll say if I of thee should chant, The matter smells, now out upon't; But they shall have a fit of fie on't. Which no body, etc. And why not say a word or two Of she that's just? witness all who Have ever been at thy Honorio go, * haut ghost. Which no body, etc. Earth, Aire and Water, she could not Affront, till choleric fire got Predominant, than thou grew'st hot, Which no body, etc. The present cause of all our woe, But from Tobacco ashes, oh! 'Twas shitten luck to perish so, Which no body, etc. 'Tis fatal to be built on lakes, As Sodom's fall example makes; But pity to the innocent jakes, Which no body, etc. Whose genius if I hit aright, May be conceived Hermaphrodite, To both sex common when they should— Which no body, etc. Of several uses it hath store, As Midwives some do it implore, But the issue comes at Postern door. Which no body, etc. Retired mortals out of fear, Privily, even to a hair, Did often do their business there, Which no body, etc. For men's and women's secrets fit No tale-teller, though privy to it, And yet they went to it without fear or wit, Which no body, etc. A Privy Chamber or prisoned room, And all that ever therein come Uncover must, or bide the doom, Which no body, etc. A Cabinet for richest gear The choicest of the Lady's ware, And precious stones full many there. Which no body, etc. And where in State sits noble duck, Many esteem that use of nock, The highest pleasure next to oc— Which no body, etc. And yet the hose there down did go, The yielding smock came up also, But still no Bawdy house I trow, Which no body, etc. There nicest maid with naked rump, When straining hard had made her mump, Did sit at ease and hear it plump, Which no body, etc. Like the Dutch Skipper now may skit, When in his sleeve he did do it, She may skit free, but now plimp niet, Which no body, etc. Those female folk that there did haunt, To make their filled bellies gaunt, And with that same the brook did launt, Which no body, etc. Are driven now to do't on grass, And make a salad for their A— The world is come to a sweet pass, Which no body, etc. Now farewell friend we held so dear, Although thou helpest away with our cheer, An open house keeper all the year, Which no body, etc. The Phoenix in her perfumed flame, Was so consumed, and thou the same, But the Aromaticks were too blame, Which no body, etc. That Phoenix is but one thing twice, Thy Patron nobler than may rise, For who can tell what he'll devise? Which no body, etc. Diana's Temple was not free, Nor that world Rome, her Majesty Smelled of the smoke, as well as thee, Which no body, etc. And learned Clerks whom we admire, Do say the world shall so expire, Then when you sh— remember fire. Which no body, etc. Beware of fire when you scumber, Though to sh— fire were a wonder, Yet lightning oft succeeds the thunder, Which no body, etc. We must submit to what fate sends, 'Tis wholesome counsel to our friends, Take heed of smoking at both ends, Which no body can deny. Upon the Spanish Invasion in Eighty eight. 1. IN Eighty eight, ere I was born, As I do well remember a, In August was a Fleet prepared, The month before September a. 2. Lishone, Cales and Portugal, Toledo and Granada; They all did meet, & made a Fleet, And called it their Armada. 3. There dwelled a little man in Spain That shot well in a gun a; Don Pedro height, as black a wight As the Knight of the Sun a. 4. King Philip made him Admiral, And charged him not to stay a, But to destroy both man and boy, And then to come his way a. 5. He had thirty thousand of his own, But to do us more harm a, He charged him not to fight alone, But to join with the Prince of Parma. 6. They say they brought provision much As Biscuits, Beans and Bacon, Besides, two ships were laden with whips, But I think they were mistaken. 7. When they had sailed all along, And anchored before Dover, The English men did board them then, And heaved the Rascals over. 8. The queen she was at Tilbury, What could you more desire a? For whose sweet sake Sir Francis Drake Did set the ships on fire a. 9 Then let them neither brag nor boast, For if they come again a, Let them take heed they do not speed As they did they know when a. Upon the Gunpowder Plot. 1. ANd will this wicked world never prove good? Will Priests and Catholics never prove true? Shall Catesby, Piercy and Rookwood Make all this famous Land to rue? With putting us in such a fear, With huffing and snuffing and guni-powder, With a Ohone hononoreera tarrareera, tarrareero hone. 2. ▪ 'Gainst the fifth of November, Tuesday by name, Peircy and Catesby a Plot did frame, Anno one thousand six hundred and five, In which long time no man alive Did ever know, or hear the like, Which to declare my heart grows sike. With a O hone, etc. 3. Under the Parliament-house men say Great store of Powder they did lay, Thirty six barrels, as is reported, With many faggots ill consorted, With bars of iron upon them all, To bring us to a deadly fall. With a O hone, etc. 4. And then came forth Sir Thomas Knyvet, You filthy Rogue come out o' th' door, Or else I swear by God's trivet I'll lay thee flatlong on the floor, For putting us all in such a fear, With huffing and snuffing, etc. 5. Then Faux out of the Vault was taken And carried before Sir Francis Bacon, And was examined of the Act, And stoutly did confess the Fact, And swore he would put us in such a fear. With huffing, etc. 6. Now sure it is a miraculous thing, To see how God hath preserved our King, The Queen, the Prince, and his Sister dear, And all the Lords, and every Peer, And all the Land, and every shire, From huffing, etc. 7. Now God preserve the Council wise, That first found out this enterprise; Not they, but my Lord Monteagle, His Lady and her little Beagle, His Ape, his Ass, and his great Bear▪ From huffing and snuffing, and gunni powder. Other news I heard moreover, If all was true that's told to me, Three Spanish ships landed at Dover,▪ Where they made great melody, But the Hollanders drove them here and there, With huffing, etc. A CATCH. DRink boys, drink boys, drink and do not spare, Troll away the bowl, and take no care. So that we have meat and drink, and money and clothes What care we, what care we how the world goes. A pitiful Lamentation. MY Mother hath sold away her Cock And all her brood of Chickens, And hath bought her a new canvasse smock And righted up the Kitchin. And has brought me a Lockeram bond With a v'lopping pair of breeches, Thinking that Joan would have loved me alone, But she hath served me such yfiches▪ Ise take a rope and drown myself, Ere Is't endure these losses: I'll take a hatchet and hang myself Ere Is't endure these crosses. Or else I'll go to some beacon high, Made of some good dried furzon And there I'll seem in love to fry Sing hoodle a doodle Cuddon▪ A Woman with Child that desired a Son, which might prove a Preacher. AMaiden of the pure Scociety, Prayed with a passing piety That since a learned man had o'erreached her, The child she went withal should prove Preacher. The time being come, and all the dangers past, The Goodwife asked the Midwife What God had sent at last. Who answered her half in a laughter, Quoth she the Son is proved a Daughter. But be content, if God doth bless the Baby, She has a Pulpit where a Preacher may be. The Maid of Tottenham. 1. ASI went to Tottenham Upon a Market-day, There met I with a fair maid Clothed all in grey, Her journey was to London With Buttermilk and Whey, To fall down, down, derry down, down, down, derry down, derry, derry dina. 2. God speed fair maid, quoth one, You are well over-took; With that she cast her head aside, And gave to him a look. She was as full of Lechery As letters in a book. To fall down, etc. 3. And as they walked together, Even side by side, The young man was ware That her garter was untied, For fear that she should lose it, Aha, alack he cried, Oh your garter that hangs down! Down, down, derry down, etc. 4. Quoth she I do entreat you For to take the pain To do so much for me, As to tie it up again. That will I do sweetheart, quoth he, When I come on yonder plain. With a down, down, derry down, etc. 5. And when they came upon the plain Upon a pleasant green, The fair maid spread her legs abroad, The young man fell between, Such tying of a Garter I think was never seen. To fall down, etc. 6. When they had done their business, And quickly done the deed, He gave her kisses plenty, And took her up with speed. But what they did I know not, But they were both agreed To fall down together, down Down, down, derry down, Down, down, derry dina. 7. She made to him low curtsies And thanked him for his pain, The young man is to Highgate gone The maid to London came To sell off her commodity She thought it for no shame. To fall down, etc. 8. When she had done her market, And all her money told To think upon the matter It made her heart full cold But that which will away, quoth she, Is very hard to hold. To fall down, etc. 9 This tying of the Garter Cost her her Maidenhead, Quoth she it is no matter, It stood me in small stead, But often times it troubled me As I lay in my bed. To fall down, etc. To the King on New-year's day, 1638. THis day enlarges every narrow mind, Makes the Poor bounteous, and the Miser kind; Poets that have not wealth in wished excess, I hope may give like Priests, which is to bless. And sure in elder times the Poets were Those Priests that told men how to hope and fear, Though they most sensually did write and live, Yet taught those blessings, which the Gods did give. But you (my King) have purified our flame, Made wit our virtue which was once our shame; For by your own quick fires you made ours last, Reformed our numbers till our songs grew chaste. Fare more than famed Augustus ere could do With's wisdom, (though it long continued too) You have performed even in your Moon of age; Refined to Lectures, Plays, to Schools a stage. Such virtue got why is your Poet less A Priest than his who had a power to bless? So hopeful is my rage that I begin To show that fear which strives to keep it in: And what was meant a blessing soars so high That it is now become a Prophecy. Yourself (our Planet which renews our year) Shall so enlighten all, and every where, That through the Mists of error men shall spy In the dark North the way to Loyalty; Whilst with your intellectual beams you show The knowing what they are that seem to know. You like our Sacred and indulgent Lord, When the too-stout Apostle drew his sword, When he mistook some secrets of the cause, And in his furious zeal disdained the Laws, Forgetting true Religion doth lie On prayers, not swords against authority. You like our substitute of horrid fate That are next him we most should imitate, Shall like to him rebuke with wiser breath, Such furious zeal, but not revenged with death. Like him the wound that's given you straight shall heal, Then calm by precept such mistaking zeal. In praise of a deformed woman. 1. I Love thee for thy curled hair, As red as any Fox, Our fore fathers did still commend The lovely golden locks. Venus herself might comelier be, Yet hath no such variety. 2. I love thee for thy squinting eyes, It breeds no jealousy, For when thou dost on others look, Methinks thou look'st on me. Venus herself, etc. 3. I love thee for thy copper nose, Thy fortune's ne'er the worse, It shows the metal in thy face Thou shouldst have in thy purse Venus herself, etc. 4. I love thee for thy Chessenut skin, Thy inside's white to me, That colour should be most approved, That will least changed be. Venus herself, etc. 5. I love thee for thy splay mouth, For on that amorous close There's room on either side to kiss, And ne'er offend the nose. Venus herself, etc. 6. I love thee for thy rotten gums, In good time it may hap, When other wives are costly fed, I'll keep thy chaps with pap. Venus herself, etc. 7. I love thee for thy blobber lips, 'Tis good thrift I suppose, They're dripping-pans unto thy eyes, And save-alls to thy nose. Venus herself, etc. 8. I love thee for thy huncht back, 'Tis bowed although not broken, For I believe the Gods did send Me to thee for a Token. Venus herself, etc. 9 I love thee for thy pudding waste, If a Tailor thou dost lack, Thou needest not send to France for one, I'll fit thee with a sack. Venus herself, etc. 10. I love thee for thy lusty thighs, For trestles thou mayst boast, Sweetheart thou hast a water-mill, And these are the mill-posts. Venus herself, etc. 10. I love thee for thy splay feet, They're fools that thee deride, Women are always most esteemed, When their feet are most wide. Venus herself may comelier be, etc. On a TINKER. HE that a Tinker, a Tinker, a Tinker will be, Let him leave other Loves, and come follow me. Though he travels all the day, Yet he comes home still at night, And dallies, dallies with his Doxy, And dreams of delight. His pot and his toast in the morning he takes, And all the day long good music he makes; He wanders up and down to Wakes & to Fairs, He casts his cap, and casts his cap at the Court and its cares; And when to the town the Tinker doth come, Oh, how the wanton wenches run, Some bring him basons, and some bring him bowls, All maids desire him to stop up their holes. Prinkum Prankum is a fine dance, strong Ale is good in the winter, And he that thrumms a wench upon a brass pot, The child may prove a Tinker. With think goes the hammer, the skellit and the scummer, Come bring me thy copper kettle, For the Tinker, the Tinker, the merry merry Tinker, Oh he's the man of mettle. Upon his Mistress' black Eyebrows. Hid, oh hid those lovely Brows, Cupid takes them for his bows, And from thence with winged dart He lies pelting at my heart, Nay, unheard-of wounds doth give, Wounded in the heart I live; From their colour I descry, Loves bows are made of Ebony; Or their Sable seems to say They mourn for those their glances slay; Or their blackness doth arise From the Sunbeams of your eyes, Where Apollo seems to sit, As he's God of Day, and Wit; Your piercing Rays, so bright, and clear, Shows his beamy Chariots there. Then the black upon your brow, Sayest wisdoms sable hue, Tells to every obvious eye, There's his other Deity. This too shows him deeply wise, To dwell there he left the skies; So pure a black could Phoebus burn, He himself would Negro turn, And for such a dress would slight His gorgeous attire of light; Eclipses he would count a bliss, Were there such a black as this: Were Night's dusky mantle made Of so glorious a shade, The ruffling day she would outvie In costly dress, and gallantry: Were Hell's darkness such a black, For it the Saints would Heaven forsake; So pure a black, that white from hence Loses its name of innocence; And the most spotless Ivory is A very stain and blot to this: So pure a black, that hence I guess, Black first became a holy dress. The Gods foreseeing this, did make Their Priests array themselves in Black. To my Lady of Carnarvan, January 1. IDol of our Sex! Envy of thine own! Whom not t' have seen, is never to have known, What eyes are good for; to have seen, not loved, Is to be more, or less than man, unmoved; Deign to accept, what I i' th' name of all Thy servants pay to this day's Festival, Thanks for the old year, prayers for the new, So may thy many days to come seem few, So may fresh springs in thy blue rivulets flow, To make thy roses, and thy lilies grow. So may all dress still become thy face, As if they grew there, or stole thence their grace▪ So may thy bright eyes comfort with their rays Th' humble, and dazzle those that boldly gaze: So may thy sprightly motion, beauty's best part, Show there is stock enough of life at heart. So may thy warm snow never grow more cold, So may they live to be, but not seem old. So may thy Lord pay all, yet rest thy debtor, And love no other, till he sees a better: So may the new year crown the old year's joy, By giving us a Girl unto our Boy; I'th' one the Father's wit, and in the other Let us admire the beauty of the Mother, That so we may their several pictures see, Which now in one fair Medal joined be: Till then grow thus together, and howe'er You grow old in yourselves, grow still young here; And let him, though he may resemble either, Seem to be both in one, and singly neither. Let Ladies wagers lay, whose chin is this, Whose forehead that, whose lip, whose eye, then kiss Away the difference, whilst he smiling lies, To see his own shape dance in both your eyes. Sweet Babe! my prayer shall end with thee, (Oh may it prove a Prophecy!) May all the channels in thy veins Express the several noble strains, From whence they flow; sweet Sydney's wit, But not the sad, sweet fate of it; The last great Pembroke's learning, sage Burleighs both wisdom and his age; Thy Grandsire's honest heart express The Veres untainted nobleness. To these (if any thing there lacks) Add Dormer too, and Molenax. Lastly, if for thee I can woe Gods, and thy Godfathers grace too, Together with thy Father's Thrift: Be thou thy Mother's New-years-gift. The Western Husband-man's Complaint in the late Wars. UDs bodkin! I'll work no more: Dost think I'll labour to be poor? No ich have more a do: If of the world this be the trade, That ich must break so knaves be made, Ich will a blundering too. I'll zel my cart and eke my plough, And get a zword if ich know how, For ich mean to be right: I'll learn to zwear, and drink, and roar, And (Gallant leek) I'll keep a whore, No matter who can vight. God bless us! What a world is here, It can ne'er last another year, Warrant ich can't be able to zoe: Dost think that ever chad the art, To blow the ground up with my cart, My beasts be all a go. But vurst a Warrant ich will get From Master Captain, that a vet I'll make a shrewd a do: Warrant then c have power in any place, To steal a Horse without disgrace, And beat the owner too. Ich had zix oxen t'other day, And them the Roundheads vetcht away, A mischief be their speed: And chad zix horses left me whole, And them the Cabbaleroes stole: Chee voor men be agreed, Here ich do labour, toil and zweat, And dure the cold, with dry and heat, And what dost think ich get? Vaith just my labour for my pains, The garrisons have all the gains, Warrant thither all's avet. There goes my corn and beans, and pease, Ich do not dare them to displease, They do so zwear and vapour: When to the Governor ich do come, And pray him to discharge my zum, C have nothing but a paper. Uds nigs dost think that paper will Keep warm my back and belly fill? No, no, go vange thy note: If that another year my vield No profit do unto me yield, Ich may go cut my throat. When any money chove in store, Then strait a warrant comes therefore, Or ich must blundred be: And when c have shuffled out one pay, Then comes another without delay, Was ever the leek azee? If all this be not grief enough, They have a thing called quarter too, O'ts a vengeance waster: A pox upon't they call it uree, I'm zure they make us zlaves to be, And every rogue our master. The Highway man's Song. I Keep my Horse, I keep my Whore, I take no Rents, yet am not poor, I traverse all the land about, And yet was born to never a foot; With Partridge plump, and Woodcock fine, I do at midnight often dine; And if my whore be not in case, My Hostess daughter has her place. The maids sit up, and watch their turns, If I stay long the Tapster mourns; The Cookmaid has no mind to sin, Though tempted by the Chamberlain; But when I knock, O how they bustle; The ostler yawns, the geldings justle; If maid be sleep, oh how they curse her! And all this comes of, Deliver your purse sir. Against Fruition, etc. THere is not half so warm a fire In the Fruition, as Desire. When I have got the fruit of pain, Possession makes me poor again, Expected forms and shapes unknown, Whet and make sharp tentation; Sense is too niggardly for Bliss, And pays me dully with what is; But fancy's liberal, and gives all That can within her vastness fall; Veil therefore still, while I divine The Treasure of this hidden Mine, And make Imagination tell What wonders doth in Beauty dwell. Upon Mr. Fuller's Book, called Pisgah-sight. FUller of wish, than hope, methinks it is▪ For me to expect a fuller work than this, Fuller of matter, fuller of rich sense, Fuller of Art fuller of Eloquence; Yet dare I not be bold, to entitle this The fullest work; the Author fuller is, Who, though he empty not himself, can fill Another fuller, yet continue still Fuller himself, and so the Reader be Always in hope a fuller work to see. On a Shepherd that died for Love. 1. CLoris, now thou art fled away, Aminta's Sheep are gone astray, And all the joys he took to see His pretty Lambs run after thee. she's gone, she's gone, and he always, Sings nothing now but welladay. 2. His Oaten pipe that in thy praise, Was wont to play such roundelays, Is thrown away, and not a Swain Dares pipe or sing within this Plain. 'Tis death for any now to say One word to him, but welladay. 3. The Maypole where thy little feet So roundly did in measure meet, Is broken down, and no content Came near Amintas since you went. All that ere I heard him say, Was Cloris, Cloris, welladay. 4. Upon those banks you used to tread, He ever since hath laid his head, And whispered there such pining woe, That not one blade of grass will grow. Oh Cloris, Cloris, come away, And hear Aminta ' s welladay. 5. The embroidered scrip he used to wear Neglected hangs, so does his hair. His Crook is broke, Dog pining lies, And he himself nought doth but cries, Oh Cloris, Cloris, come away, And hear, etc. 6. His grey coat, and his slops of green, When worn by him, were comely seen, His tar-box too is thrown away, There's no delight near him must stay, But cries, oh Cloris come away, Aminta ' s dying, welladay. The Shepherd's lamentation for the loss of his Love. 1. DOwn lay the Shepherd's Swain, So sober and demure, Wishing for his wench again, So bonny and so pure. With his head on hillock low, And his arms on kembow; And all for the loss of her High nonny nonny no. 2. His tears fell as thin, As water from a Still, His hair upon his chin, Grew like time upon a hill: His cherry cheeks were pale as snow, Testifying his much woe; And all was for the loss of her hy nonny nonny no. 3. Sweet she was, as fond of love, As ever fettered Swain; Never such a bonny one Shall I enjoy again. Set ten thousand on a row, I'll forbid that any show Ever the like of her, high nonny nonny no. 4. Faced she was of Filbard hue, And bosomed like a Swan: Backed she was of bended yew, And wasted by a span. Hair she had as black as Crow, From the head unto the toe, Down down all over, hy nonny nonny no. 5. With her Mantle tucked up high, She foddered her Flock, So buckesome and alluringly, Her knee upheld her smock; So nimbly did she use to go, So smooth she danced on tiptoe, That all men were fond of her, high nonny nonny no. 6. She simpred like a Holiday, And smiled like a Spring, She prattled like a Popinjay, And like a Swallow sing. She tripped it like a barren do, And strutted like a Gar-crowe: Which made me so fond of her, high, etc. 7. To trip it on the merry Down, To dance the lively Hay, To wrestle for a green Gown, In heat of all the day, Never would she say me no. Yet me thought she had though Never enough of her, high, etc. 8. But gone she is the blithest Lass That ever trod on Plain. What ever hath betided her, Blame not the Shepherd Swain. For why, she was her own foe, And gave herself the overthrow, By being too frank of her high nonny nonny no. A Ballad on Queen Elizabeth; to the tune of Sallengers round. I Tell you all both great and small, And I tell you it truly, That we have a very great cause, Both to lament and cry, Oh fie, oh fie, oh fie, oh fie, Oh fie on cruel death; For he hath taken away from us Our Queen Elizabeth. He might have taken other folk, That better might have been missed, And let our gracious Queen alone, That loved not a Popish Priest. She ruled this Land alone of herself, And was beholding to no man. She bore the weight of all affairs, And yet she was but a woman. A woman said I? nay that is more Nor any man can tell, So chaste she was, so pure she was, That no man knew it well. For whilst that she lived till cruel death Exposed her to all. Wherefore I say lament, lament, Lament both great and small. She never did any wicked thing, Might make her conscience prick her, And scorned for to submit herself to him That calls himself Christ's Vicker: But rather chose courageously To fight under Christ's Banner, 'Gainst Turk and Pope, I and King of Spain, And all that durst withstand her. She was as Chaste and Beautiful, And Fair as ere was any; And had from foreign Countries sent Her Suitors very many. Though Mounsieur came himself from France, A purpose for to woe her, Yet still she lived and died a Maid, Do what they could unto her. And if that I had Argus' eyes, They were too few to weep, For our sweet Queen Elizabeth, Who now doth lie asleep: A sleep I say she now doth lie, Until the day of Doom: But then shall awake unto the disgrace Of the proud Pope of Rome. A Ballad on King James; to the tune of When Arthur first in Court began. WHen James in Scotland first began, And there was crowned King, He was not much more than a span, All in his clouts swaddling. But when he waxed into years, And grew to be somewhat tall, And told his Lords, a Parliament He purposed to call. That's over▪ much quoth Douglas though, For thee to do I fear, For I am Lord Protector yet, And will be one half year. It pleaseth me well, quoth the King, What thou hast said to me, But since thou standest on such terms, I'll prove as strict to thee. And well he ruled and well he curbed Both Douglas and the rest; Till Heaven with better Fortune and Power, Had him to England blest. Then into England strait he came As fast as he was able, Where he made many a Carpet Knight, Though none of the Round Table. And when he entered Berwick Town, Where all in peace he found: But when that roaring Meg went off, His Grace was like to swoon. Then up to London strait he came, Where he made no long stay, But soon returned back again, To meet his Queen by th' way. And when they met, such tilting was, The like was never seen; The Lords at each others did run, And near a tilt between. Their Horse's backs were under them, And that was no great wonder, The wonder was to see them run, And break no Staves in sunder. They ran full swift and couched their Spears, O ho quoth the Ladies then, They run for show, quoth the people though, And not to hurt the men. They smote full hard at Barriers too, You might have heard the sound, As fare as any man can go, When both his legs are bound. Upon the death of a Chandler. THe Chandler grew near his end, Pale Death would not stand his friend; But took it in soul snuff, As having tarried long enough: Yet left this not to be forgotten, Death and the Chandler could not cotton. 1. Fare in the Forest of Arden, There dwelled a Knight height Cassimen, As bold as Isenbras: Fell he was and eager bent In battle and in Tournament, As was the good Sr. Topas. 2. He had (as Antique stories tell) A daughter cleped Dowsabell, A Maiden fair and free, Who, cause she was her father's heir, Full well she was y-tought the leer Of much courtesy. 3. The Silk well could she twist and twine, And make the fine Marchpine, And with the needle work. And she could help the Priest to say His Matins on a Holiday, And sing a Psalm in Kirk. 4. Her Frock was of the frolic Green, (Might well become a Maiden Queen) Which seemly was to see: Her Hood to it was neat and fine, In colour like the Columbine, y-wrought full ●eatuously. 5. This Maiden in a morn betime, Went forth when May was in her prime, To get sweet Scettuall, The Honey suckle, the Horelock, The Lily, and the Ladies-Smock, To dight her summer Hall. 6. And as she rome here, and there, Y-picking of the bloomed brier, She chanced to espy A Shepherd sitting on a bank, Like Chanticleer he crowed crank, And piped with merry glee. 7. He leered his Sheep as he him list, When he would whistle in his fist, To feed about him round, Whilst he full many a Carol sung, That all the fields, and meadows rung, And made the woods resound. 8. In favour this same Shepherd Swaine Was like the Bedlam Tamerlaine, That kept proud Kings in awe. But meek he was as meek might be, Yea like the gentle Abel, he Whom his lewd brother slew. 9 This Shepherd beware a freeze-gray Cloak, The which was of the finest lock, That could be cut with Shear: His Awl and Lingell in a Thong, His Tar-box by a broad belt hung, His Cap of Minivere. 10. His Mittens were of Bausons' skin, His Cockers were of Cordowin, His Breech of country blew: All curl, and crisped were his Locks, His brow more white than Albion Rocks: So like a Lover true. 11. And piping he did spend the day, As merry as a Popinjay, Which liked fair Dowsabell, That would she ought, or would she nought, The Shepherd would not from her thought, In love she longing fell: 12. With that she tucked up her Frock, (White as the Lily was her Smock,) And drew the Shepherd nigh, But then the Shepherd piped a good, That all his Sheep forsook their food, To hear his melody. 13. Thy Sheep (quoth she) cannot be lean, That have so fair a Shepherd Swain, That can his Pipe so well: I but (quoth he) the Shepherd may, If Piping thus he pine away, For love of Dowsabell. 14. Of love (fond boy) take thou not keep, Look well (quoth she) unto thy Sheep; Lest they should chance to stray. So had I done (quoth he) full well, Had I not seen fair Dowsabell, Come forth to gather May. 15. I cannot stay (quoth she) till night, And leave my Summer Hall undight, And all for love of men. Yet are you, quoth he, too unkind, If in your heart you cannot find, To love us now and then. 16. And I will be to thee as kind, As Collen was to Rosalinde, Of courtesy the flower. And I will be as true (quoth she) As ever Lover yet might be, Unto her Paramour. 17. With that the Maiden bent her knee, Down by the Shepherd kneeled she, And sweetly she him kissed. But then the Shepherd whooped for joy, (Quoth he) was never Shepherds boy, That ever was so blessed. Upon the Scots being beaten at Muscleborough field. ON the twelfth day of December, In the fourth year of King Edward's reign Two mighty Hosts (as I remember) At Muscleborough did pitch on a Plain. For a down, down, derry derry down, hay down a. Down, down, down a down derry. All night our English men they lodged there, So did the Scots both stout and stubborn, But well-away was all their cheer, For we have served them in their own turn. For a down, etc. All night they carded for our English men's Coats, (They fished before their Nets were spun) A white for , a red for two Groats; Wisdom would have stayed till they had been won. For a down, etc. On the tewelfth day all in the morn, They made a fere as if they would fight; But many a proud Scot that day was down born, And many a rank Coward was put to his flight. For a down, etc. And the Lord Huntley, we hadden him there, With him he brought ten thousand men: But God be thanked, we gave him such a Banquet, He carried but few of them home again. For a down, etc. For when he heard our great Guns crack, Then did his heart fall until his hose, He threw down his Weapons, he turned his back, He ran so fast that he fell on his nose. For a down, etc. We beat them back till Edenbrough, (There's men alive can witness this) But when we looked our English men through, Two hundred good fellows we did not miss. For a down, etc. Now God preserve Edward our King, With his two Nuncles and Nobles all, And send us Heaven at our ending: For we have given Scots a lusty fall. For a down, down, derry derry down, hay, Down a down down, down a down derry. Lips and Eyes. IN Celia a question did arise, Which were more beautiful her Lips or Eyes. We, said the Eyes, send forth those pointed darts, Which pierce the hardest Adamantine hearts. From us, (replied the Lips) proceed the blisses Which Lovers reap by kind words and sweet kisses. Then wept the Eyes, and from their Springs (did power Of liquid Oriental Pearl a shower: Whereat the Lips moved with delight and pleasure, Through a sweet smile unlocked their pearly And bad Love judge, whether did add more grace, Treasure: Weeping or smiling Pearls in Celia's face. On black Eyes. Black Eyes; in your dark Orbs do lie, My ill or happy destiny, If with clear looks you me behold, You give me Mines and Mounts of Gold; If you dart forth disdainful rays, To your own die, you turn my days. Black Eyes, in your dark Orbs by changes dwell, My bane or bliss, my Paradise or Hell. That Lamp which all the Stars doth blind, Yields to your lustre in some kind, Though you do wear, to make you bright, No other dress but that of night: He glitters only in the day. You in the dark your Beams display. Black Eyes, etc. The cunning Thief, that lurks for prize, At some dark corner watching lies; So that heart-robbing God doth stand In the dark Lobbies, Shaft in hand, To rifle me of what I hold More precious fare than Indian Gold. Black Eyes, etc. Oh powerful Necromantic Eyes, Who in your circles strictly pries, Will find that Cupid with his dart, In you doth practise the black Art: And by th' Enchantment I'm poslest, Tries his conclusion in my breast. Black Eyes, etc. Look on me though in frowning wise, Some kind of frowns become black eyes, As pointed Diamonds being set, Cast greater lustre out of Jet. Those pieces we esteem most rare, Which in night shadows postured are. Darkness in Churches congregates the sight, Devotion strays in glaring light. Black Eyes, in your dark Orbs by changes dwell, My bane, or bliss, my Paradise, or Hell. CRUELTY. WE read of Kings, and Gods that kindly took A Pitcher filled with water from the Brook. But I have daily tendered without thanks, Rivers of tears that overflow their banks. A slaughtered Bull will appease angry Jove, A Horse the Sun, a Lamb the God of Love. But she disdains the spotless sacrifice Of a pure heart that at her Altar lies: Vesta's not displeased if her chaste Urn Do with repaired fuel ever burn; But my Saint frowns, though to her honoured name I consecrate a never dying flame: Th' Assyrian King did none i'th' furnace throw, But those that to his Image did not bow: With bended knees I daily worship her, Yet she consumes her own Idolater. Of such a Goddess no times leave record, That burned the Temple where she was adored. A Sonnet. WHat ill luck had I, Maid that I am, To be tied to a lasting vow; Or ere to be laid by the side of a man, That wooed, and cannot tell how; Down diddle down, down diddle me. Oh that I had a Clown that he might down diddle me, With a courage to take mine down. What punishment is that man worthy to have, That thus will presume to wed, He deserves to be laid alive in his grave, That wooed and cannot in bed; Down diddle down down diddle me. Oh that I had a Lad that he might down diddle me, For I fear I shall run mad▪ The Doctors Touchstone. I Never did hold, all that glisters is Gold, Unless by the Touch it be tried; Nor ever could find, that it was a true sign, To judge a man by the outside. A poor flash of wit, for a time may be fit To wrangle a question in Schools. Good dressing, gay , with other fine shows, May serve to make painted fools. That man will beguile, in your face that will smile, And court you with Cap and with knee: And while you're in health, or swimming in wealth, Will vow that your Servant he'll be. That man I'll commend, and would have to my friend If I could tell where to choose him, That will help me at need, and stand me in stead, When I have occasion to use him. do not him fear, that will swagger & swear, And draw upon every cross word, And forth with again if you be rough & plain, Be contented to put up his sword. Him valiant I deem, that patiented can seem, And fights not in every place, But on good occasion, without seeking evasion Durst look his proud Foe in the face. That Physician shall pass that is all for his glass And no other sign can scan, Who to practice did hop, from Apothecary's shop, Or some old Physicians man. He Physic shall give to me whilst I live, That hath more strings to his Bow, Experience and learning, with due deserving, And will talk on no more than he know. That Lawyer I hate, that will wrangle & prate, In a matter not worth the hearing: And if fees do not come, can be silent & dumb, Though the cause deserves but the clearing. That Lawyer's for me, that's not all for his see, But will do his utmost endeavour To stand for the right, and tug against might, And lift the truth as with a Leaver. The Spark I do scorn, that's only well born, And brags of his ancient house, Yet his birth cannot fit, with money nor wit, But feeds on his friends like a Louse, That man I more prize, that by virtue doth rise Unto some worthy degree, That by breeding hath got, what by birth he (had not, A carriage that's noble and free. I care not for him, that in riches d th' swim, And flants it in every fashion, That brags of his Grounds and prates of his Hounds, And his business is all recreation. For him I will stand, that hath wit with his Land, And will sweat for his countries' good, That will stick to the Laws, and in a good cause Will adventure to spend his heartblood. That man I despise, that thinks himself wise, Because he can talk at Table, And at a rich feast break forth a poor jest, To the laughter of others more able. No, he hath more wit, that silent can sit, Yet knows well enough how to do it, That speaks with reason, & laughs in due season And when he is moved unto it. I care not a fly, for a house that's built high, And yields not a cup of good beer, Where scraps you may find, while Venison's in kind For a week or two in a year. He a better house keeps, that every night sleeps Under a Covert of thatch, Where's good Beef from the Stall, and a fire in the Hall, Where you need not to scramble nor snatch. Then lend me your Touch, for dissembling (there's much, I'll try them before I do trust. For a base needy Slave, in show may be brave, And a sliding Companion seem just. The man that's down right, in heart & in sight, Whose life and whose looks doth agree, That speaks what he thinks, and sleeps when (he winks, O that's a companion for me. A copy of Verses of a money Marriage. 1. NO Gipsy nor no Blackamoor, No Bloomesbery, nor Turnbald whore, Can halfe so black, so foul appear, As she I chose to be my Dear. She's wrinkled, old, she's dry, she's tough, Yet money makes her fair enough. 2. Nature's hand shaking did dispose, Her cheeks fair red unto her nose, Which shined like that wanton light, Misguideth wanderers in the night. Yet for all this I do not care, Though she be foul, her money's fair. 3. Her tangled Locks do show to sight, Like Horse's manes, whom hags affright. Her Bosom through her veil of Lawn, Shows more like Pork, her Neck like Brawn. Yet for all this I do not care, Though she be foul, her money's fair. 4. Her teeth, to boast the Barber's fame, Hang all up in his wooden frame. Her lips are hairy, like the skin Upon her brows, as lank as thin. Yet for all this I do not care, Though she be foul, her money's fair. 5. Those that her company do keep, Are rough hoarse coughs, to break my sleep. The Palsy, Gout, and Pleurisy, And I●iue in her leg and thigh. Yet me it grieves not, who am sure That Gold can all diseases cure. 6. Then young men do not jeer my lot, That beauty left, and money got: For I have all things having Gold, And beauty too, since beauty's sold. For Gold by day shall please my sight, When all her faults lie hid at night. The baseness of Whores. TRust no more, a wanton Whore, If thou lov'st health and freedom, They are so base, in every place, It's pity that bread should feed 'um. All their fence, is impudence, Which some call good conditions. Stink they do, above ground too, Of Surgeons and Physicians. If you are nice, they have their spice, On which they'll chew to flout you, And if you not discern the plot, You have no Nose about you. Furthermore, they have in store, For which I deadly hate 'em, Presumed gear, to stuff each ear, And for their cheeks Pomatum. Liquorish Sluts, they feast their guts, At Chuffs cost, like Princes, Amber Plumes, and Mackarumes, And costly candied Quinces. Potato plump, supports the Rump, Eringo strengthens nature. Viper Wine, so heats the chine, They'll gender with a satire, Name's they own were never known Throughout their generation, Noblemen are kind to them, At least by approbation: Many dote on one gay Coat, But mark what there is stamped on't, A stone Horse wild, with tool defiled, Two Goats, a Lion rampant. Truth to say, Paint and Array, Makes them so highly prized. Yet not one well, of ten can tell, If ever they were baptised. And if not, then 'tis a blot, Past cure of Sponge or Laver: And we may sans question say The Devil was their Godfather. Now to leave them, he receive them, Whom they most confide in, Whom that is, ask Tib or Sis, Or any whom next you ride in▪ If in sooth, she speaks the truth, She says excuse I pray you, The beast you ride, where I confide, Will in due time convey you. A Lover disclosing his love to his Mistress. LEt not sweet St. let not these eyes offend you, Nor yet the message, that these lines impart, The message my unfeigned love doth send you, Love that yourself hath planted in my heart. For being charmed by the bewitching art Of those inveigling graces that attend you: Love's holy fire kindled hath in part These never-dying flames, my breast doth send you. Now if my lines offend, let love be blamed, And if my love displease, accuse my eyes, And if mine eyes sin, their sins cause only lies On your bright eyes, that hath my heart inflamed. Since eyes love, lines err, then by your direction, Excuse my eyes, my lines, and my affection. The contented Prisoner his praise of Sack. HOw happy's that Prisoner That conquers his fates, With silence, and ne'er On bad fortune complains, But carelessly plays With his Keys on the Grates, And makes a sweet consort With them and his chains. He drowns care with Sack, When his thoughts are oppressed, And makes his heart float, Like a Cork in his Breast. The Chorus. Then, Since we are all slaves, That Islanders be, And our Land's a large prison, Enclosed with the Sea: we'll drink up the Ocean, To set ourselves free, For man is the World's Epitome. Let Pirates wear Purple, Deep died in the blood Of those they have slain, The Sceptre to sway. If our conscience be clear, And our title be good, With the rags we have on us, We are richer than they. We drink down at night, What we beg or can borrow, And sleep without plotting For more the next morrow. Since we, etc. Let the Usurer watch Over his bags and his house, To keep that from Robbers, He hath racked from his debtors, Each midnight cries Thiefs, At the noise of a mouse, Then see that his Trunks Be fast bound in their Fetters. When once he's grown rich enough For a State plot, Buff in an hour plunders What threescore years got. Since we, etc. Come Drawer fill each man A peck of Canary, This Brimmer shall bid All our senses good-night. When old Aristotle Was frolic and merry, By the juice of the Grape, He turned Stsgarite. Copernicus once In a drunken fit found, By the coruse of his brains, That the world turned round. Since we, etc. 'Tis Sack makes our faces Like Comets to shine, And gives beauty beyond The Complexion mask, Diogenes fell so In love with this Wine, That when 'twas all out, He dwelled in the Cask. He lived by the sent Of this Wainscoated Room; And dying desired The Tub for his Tomb. Since we, etc. Of DESIRE. FIre, Fire! O how I burn in my desire. For all the tears that I can strain Out of my empty lovesick brain, Cannot assuage my scorching pain. Come Humber, Trent, and silver Thames, The dread Ocean haste with all thy streams, And if thou canst not quench my fire, Then drown both me and my Desire. Fire, Fire! Oh there's no hell to my desire. See how the Rivers backward lie, The Ocean doth his tide deny, For fear my flames should drink them dry. Come heavenly showers, come pouring down, You all that once the world did drown. You than saved some, and now save all, Which else would burn, and with me fall. Upon kind and true Love. 'TIs not how witty, nor how free, Nor yet how beautiful she be, But how much kind and true to me. Freedom and Wit none can confine, And Beauty like the Sun doth shine, But kind and true are only mine. Let others with attention sit, To listen, and admire her wit, That is a rock where I'll not split, Let others dote upon her eyes▪ And burn their hearts for sacrifice, Beauty's a calm where danger lies. But Kind and True have been long tried, And harbour where we may confide, And safely there at anchor ride. From change of winds there we are free, And need not fear storm's tyranny, Nor Pirate, though a Prince he be. Upon his Constant Mistress. SHe's not the fairest of her name, But yet she conquers more than all the race, For she hath other motives to inflame, Besides a lovely face. There's Wit and Constancy, And Charms, that strikes the soul more than (the Eye. 'Tis no easy lover knows how to discover Such Divinity. And yet she is an easy book, Written in plain language for the meaner wit, A stately garb, and a gracious look, With all things justly fit. But age will undermine This glorious outside, that appears so fine, When the common Lover Shrinks and gives her over, Then she's only mine. To the Platonic that applies His clear addresses only to the mind; The body but a Temple signifies, Wherein the Saints enshrined, To him it is all one, Whether the walls be marble, or rough stone; Nay in holy places, which old time defaces, Moore devotion's shown. The Ghost-Song. 'TIs late and cold, stir up the fire, Sat close, and draw the table nigher, Be merry, and drink wine that's old, A hearty medicine 'gainst the cold; Your bed of wanton down the best, Where you may tumble to your rest: I could well wish you wenches too, But I am dead, and cannot do. Call for the best, the house will ring, Sack, White and Claret, let them bring, And drink apace, whilst breath you have, You'll find but cold drinking in the grave: Partridge, Plover for your dinner, And a Capon for the sinner, You shall find ready when you are up, And your horse shall have his sup. Welcome, welcome, shall fly round, And I shall smile, though under ground. You that delight in Trulls and Minions, Come buy my four ropes of St. Omers Onions. FINIS.