POEMS BY Hugh CROMPTON, The Son of Bacchus, and godson of Apollo. BEING A fardel of Fancies, or a medley of music, stewed in four Ounces of the oil of EPIGRAMS.  
Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare Poetae.  
London, Printed by E. C. for Tho. Alsop, at the two sugarloafs over against St. Antholin's Church at the lower end of Watling-street, 1657.   

To my well affected, and no less respected Friend and Kinsman, colonel Tho. Crompton.  
Right Honourable,  
TO make a large pair of gates to a little Cottage, were to throw the house out at the windows, and reduce order into confusion. My wits are little, my leisure little, my Book little; and therefore, (for the sake of correspondency) my Epistle shall be little: and all these being summed up together, in little time the product will prove to little purpose. My Muse is illegitimate, and dares not look upon the Sun of censure; wherefore I presume to shade it under the screen of your goodness. If I should commend myself, it were to say the Crow is white; or if I should pin applauses upon you, it were to set a gloss upon the Sun; or paint Roses with Vermilion. All I aim at, is to beg you the Patron of my imperfe●t Labours. If you please therefore to accept this thimble full of endeavour, you will allow me more honour than can be contained in the cracked vessel of my indesert; And engage my blood to veil bonnet in your service: For I am  
Your loyal Kinsman And servant, Hugh Crompton.   

A fardel OF FANCIES, OR, A MEDLEY OF music, Stewed in three ounces of the oil of Epigrams.  

1. The new Helicon.  
WHat's this advanceth our poetic strains,  
And breeds a sea of fancies in our brains?  
Frames us more high than fortune, and doth keep  
Our minds contented in distresses deep?  
Is it the pimping water that doth flow  
From poetaster's Helicon, or no?  
Is't the Pierian well? the font that uses  
To be attributed unto the Muses?  
Is that so lofty in each puny quill  
That's on the insteps of Parnassus hill?  
Pau●, ●a 〈…〉 it not, it's odious; and I tell ye,  
Such liquour will breed chill-blains in the belly,  
And pimples in the brains; and never climb  
Up to the feeble honour of a rhyme:  
Much less a Poem. But the only stream  
That turns all horrid sorrows to a dream  
Of paradise, and makes a Poet shine,  
Is Bacchus, bounded in a Pipe divine.  
Here's Helicon in hoops, which doth convince  
A Prince's frown, and make a pleasant Prince.  
I told my friend this story, but he swore  
He ne'er knew Helicon had hoops before:  
But he's a foolish Imp, and for his pains,  
I digged a whirl-pit in his greasy brains,  
And filled it with this liquour▪ which began  
To make him stand t' his arms like any man.  
Zounds, he began to swear. And swearing says,  
His blood is up in arms, and he can raise  
A whole Brigade of thoughts, which will not doubt  
(If thought could do it) to give him the rout,  
That routed great Darius, or o'ercome  
The world with one poor finger and a thumb.  
He calls Apollo skip-jack; and abuses  
Cleio, Urania, yes, and all the Muses;  
Spits into Helicon, and then looks sour:  
Disclaims its virtue, and denies its power.  
He swears it poisons Poetry. And then  
He scratches Pallas, till she bleed again.  
And now he falls to swearing by the Lord,  
he'll run Parnassus through with the sword  
Of his invention. And he'd have you know it  
Wine is the Helicon that makes a Poet.   

2. Opportunity.  

I.  
WHy should I not dally (my Dear) in thine eye,  
and chase the dull hours away?  
He that lets such a fair opportunity fly,  
he loses, his aim by delay.  
And it's pity he ever sh●uld sip  
Electar and Nectar, that flows from thy lp..   

II.  
Upon thy fair tresses (which Phoebus excel)  
my diligent fingers I'll twist.  
O there's my desire for ever to dwell,  
and I hope thou wilt never resist.  
And e'er and anon, &c.   

III.  
Upon thy fair breasts I'll be mounted aloft,  
and there in my chariot I'll feel  
The grain of thy body, more precious and soft  
Than the web of Arachne's wheel.  
And e'er and anon, &c.   

IV.  
I'll wander abroad in thy veins; and I'll seek  
the mazes of pleasure and love.  
The garden of Venus it is in thy cheek,  
And thither my fancy shall move.  
And e'er and anon, &c.   

V.  
There, upon the lilies and roses I'll light,  
And gather my sweets like the Bee.  
And I will not go far for a lodging at night,  
For surely the hive shall be thee.  
And e'er and anon, &c.   

VI.  
Where, when I am hurled, my nest I will build,  
Of honeycombs all in a rank.  
I'll buzz in each corner until it be filled,  
And make thee more full in the flank.  
And e'er and anon, &c.   

VII.  
Come then with a Cornish let us combine.  
(I know thou canst easily do't)  
Thou shalt take my heart, and I will take thine.  
And I'll give thee my hand to boot.  
And e'er and anon I will sip  
Electar and Nectar that grows on thy lip.    

3. To his rival.  

I.  
ANd wherefore do thy darts arise  
To her sweet eyes?  
What though she's fair? and others are  
Not of a magnitude so rare  
In virtue and in beauty? yet  
Me thinks to quell  
Those emulating thoughts, that swell  
Beyond thy reason, would be wit.   

II.  
Tell me, what though her fame  
Has raised her name  
Above the crest of all the rest  
Of her own sex, and doth invest  
Her with desert of princely love?  
What's that to thee?  
Why shouldst thou swell with enmity?  
Or from the square of prudence move?   

III.  
What though her face a copy were,  
More bright and clear  
Then all the themes and wanton dreams  
Of Poets in their amorous streams?  
A precedent for future days?  
Must thou therefore  
Repine at my success? and roar  
'Cause fate for me this lot did raise?   

IV.  
Did she ere court thee with delight?  
Or lend least sight  
(By smiles) that she affected thee?  
Or would renounce her faith from me,  
And of thy presents be possessed?  
The Gordian knot  
W' have tied by Hymen's leave, and lot:  
Then robs not of love's interest.   

V.  
Or were't not for that sponsal bond;  
She's not so fond  
To unbequeath her heart till death  
Shall (nolens volens) stop her breath.  
She altars not like nights and noons:  
Lais and she  
Were not of one triplicity,  
she'll not change suitors with new Moons.   

VI.  
Cease then t' importune. And withhold  
Thy shower of gold,  
Mock thou not Jove in lustful love.  
In vain thou seek'st the rock to move:  
Call home thy folly, and refrain;  
Or else who knows  
But thou (in spite of fate) mayst lose  
Thy hopes, thy Charges, and thy pain.    

4. The Irony to Phillis.  
PHillis, O Phillis, shall I raise  
Some lively sooner in thy praise?  
Shall I confess it is my duty,  
To veil my bonnet to thy beauty▪  
And sacrifice to thee (alone)  
〈…〉 Hecatomb, composed on  
Ten thousand scraps of rhymes that be  
Scraped from old ruined Poetry:  
Take wit at interest up, and use  
Some mercenary juggling muse,  
That may uncase to you and me,  
Not what you are, but fain would be.  
And let her spend (at least) an age,  
To trim you ready for the stage  
Of fain, where you shall have progression  
Not for the truth, but the expression.  
Stiffly affirming you more sweet and fair  
Then fresh Aurora, or the air  
In cloudy days, and testify  
How many 〈…〉 overs from your eye  
Took flame, and burned both flesh and souls  
To ashes, or at least to co●les.  
And justify how many pass  
To you, as to the Corinth lass.  
And would not fear the infernal grove,  
So they might but enjoy your love;  
And warm their chiller spirits by  
The sunshine of your sacred eye.  
With thousands more such words as these  
(The marrow of Hyperbolts)  
Say, Shall I thus endeavour? No  
This were t' applaud my mortal foe.  
'Twas her false beauty, too too free,  
That like a tyrant martyred me.   

5. Cruelty.  
GO little Archer, to another zone,  
And there display thy power: make it known  
To savage brutes, whose truculent desires  
Give ground to fury, and enhance the fires  
Of cruel onsets. Chaunt the wilder crew  
Of sensual creatures, such as never knew  
One thought beneath a rigor. Go, and set  
The conquering pile on the Rhinoceret.  
Charm thou the Lion, and the leopard's fume:  
Refrain the subtle foxes with thy plume.  
This were a work of charity, an act  
Of mere necessity; and would be backed  
With popular applause. What though you can  
Not temper them with reason, as a man  
Is by divine instinction? yet you may  
Prohibit their distempers, and allay  
Their desperate madness: for we sadly prove  
No shackle so restringent is as love.  
Then fly away from me, and do not use  
Thy tyranny my freedom to abuse;  
Since it is needless. I was tame before,  
Needing no instigation to adore,  
Where duty bids. Go seek another shaft,  
That may divert the former: and and by craft,  
Reduce me to my reason, that doth lie  
Dazzled and martyred by a virgin's eye.  
O clasp those lids, and let my senses turn  
To their own virtue, or to coals I burn.   

6. The cruel Boy.  
NOr Boreas' blasts, nor Vulcan bellows;  
Nor fortunes low, nor lofty follows;  
Nor outward care, nor inward sorrow,  
Nor news of ill shall come to morrow,  
Could make my intellects more stupid,  
Then has the pregnant bow of Cupid.  
Proud Mars his lusty blows will smart  
Not half so much as his small dart.  
He conquers all men by his quiver,  
And he himself is conquered never.  
And who would think a child should do  
Such noble feats? Consider too  
What aid he hath to hold the fort;  
They are but of the weaker sort.  
His Counter-scarps, halfmoons, and trenches,  
Are managed all by wanton wenches;  
And yet they are not volunteers,  
For they must all be pressed he swears:  
Yet sure if wisdom would but pause,  
In little time she'd find the cause  
Why they so strong their turrets keep,  
'Tis cause their trenches are so deep;  
So deep dame Nature did allot 'em,  
That never man could find the bottom.  
Unlikely than that we should win,  
That sink so low at entering in.   

7. A walk in a summer-morning.  

I.  
JUly inviting in a morning sweet,  
(when fair Aurora played  
With golden Phoebus in a crimson sheet,  
Until they were betrayed)  
Florina (whom the gods applaud  
For beauty) went with me abroad.  
But Oh the blisses, the seraphic blisses  
I found, to feed my soul, in her sweet kisses!   

II.  
Such the perfections of Florina were,  
Such pleasure in her love,  
That every verdant arbour did appear  
As mansions all above  
The Crystalline, where Jove attends  
To welcome all his jovial friends.  
But Oh, &c.   

III.  
Bright were the heavens, and their houses swept:  
Virgo began to rise.  
Agnus a galliard danced, and Hireus' leapt,  
While Philomel defies  
The sleeping Bubo: every sweet,  
To blend loves harmony did meet.  
But Oh, &c.   

IV.  
When I had poised every pleasant show,  
And summed up all in jest,  
I found the total object too too low  
To entertain tho guest.  
For if the Poets had her seen,  
Then deified she should have been.  
But Oh the blisses, the seraphic blisses,  
I found to feed my soul, in her sweet kisses.    

8. Thalius and Clarena.  Thalius. 
What new discu 〈…〉 esy has pressed,  
To be Clarena's bosom guest?  
What policy has overawed,  
(What th' public eye did once applaud,  
And glory in) the cheerful beam  
Of thy curled brow? (loves copious theme).  Clarena. 
Ah woeful wretch, distressed soul,  
Deluded maid, sweet Mars did toul  
My passing bell, for I have found  
With this with this destroying wound,  
I am already pierced; and why  
Should I (poor heart 〈…〉) whose constancy  
Is crossed by love, and whose ill fate  
Sees her sad destiny too late  
O●ce think to live▪ or own the strife  
Of action, which assisteth life?  Thalius. 
Sweet star, let fall thy influence,  
And learn me to unlock the sense  
Of thy enveloped words, let's see  
What in these hieroglyphics be.  
Display the emblems of dark ire,  
And light my limped eyes with fire  
Of thy expression.  [Clarena] 
Charon come,  
I'd fain be at Ellzium.  
I loathe to live. I'll not endure  
My thought should feed on what's impure.  Tha. 
Alas this this is no satisfaction:  
No antidote to my distraction.  
Some sullen fate has lately flown  
Into thy contentation,  
Whose tenure to thy Thalius show,  
That he may aid thee in thy woe.  Clarena. 
Charon where's thy transporting boat?  
Ore Stygian waves I'd gladly float  
Thalius be silent, let me die,  
And never ask the reason why.  Tha. 
Charon keep back, and come not here  
To rob me of my dearest deer:  
Let not her absence me prevent,  
But let me know her discontent.  Clarena. 
Imperfect soul, (whose painted mask  
Shrouds mere deceit) how canst thou ask  
The tenure of my toil, when thou  
Procuredst it but even now?  Thalius. 
Heaven aid my weakness, and declare  
In what respect my failings are.  
Could my Clarena sink as low  
As ere my basest thoughts did grow;  
She, in that depth should not discover  
The least of a deceiving lover.  Clar. 
I but too sadly I am told  
How thou art bribed by lust and gold,  
To violate thy vows, and stain  
Thy fair pretences with foul gain.  Thal. 
To th' gods I swear it is untrue,  
I never loved a she but you;  
Nor did I ere embrace a she  
For lust or gold: gods what say ye?  Clar. 
Report says otherwise.  [Tha.] 
Report,  
Is more uncertain than the Court.  
And will you build your faith upon  
Feeble Reports foundation?  
Heaven can witness I was never  
Shot by a dart from Cupid's quiver:  
Whose bow was not your brow, whose pile  
Was not your own subduing smile.  
Some sad assaults indeed have been  
Acted by these whose loathsome sin  
Is impudence: and they, whose aim  
Is less interested than their fame  
In goodness, flowing with more passion  
Than is received with acceptation.  
Such, such whose ill ambitions are  
To catch in their malicious snare,  
Those that are free; such as would shoot  
And batter down all good repute.  
Cause there might none unspotted be  
To rail at their iniquity.  
'Tis true, by these I have been faced,  
And in a single sense disgraced:  
But unto these I ne'er inclined,  
Nor gave the hostage of my mind.  
Nor did I think Clarena could  
Have once suspected that my blood  
Was so unworthy as to please,  
Or take impress from such as these.  
If I should once be less than thine,  
Alas I should be none of mine.  
Should I (in passion) once agree  
To play upon another she,  
I should suppose my sin most great,  
And (like a hermit) ne'er retreat  
To see thy face; but end my years  
In deserts, where no sign appears  
Of love, and beauty. Clarena,  
Speak thou thyself, thyself, and say,  
I know thou lov'dst me passing well:  
Thy fancy had no parallel.  
And where most love doth reign (we see)  
Thee always is most jealousy;  
And where most jealousie's in fashion,  
There's most critic observation.  
Say the 〈…〉 Clarena, thou, whose eyes  
Have peeped in all my secrecies;  
And out of conscience, say if you  
Ere found what now report doth show.  
Did not yourself (with more intent  
Than they, whose words and compliment  
Proceed from idleness, which draws  
A large discourse from any cause)  
Inspect my life? yet never saw  
The smallest breach in Cupid's law.  Clarena. 
'Tis true.  [Tha.] 
O clear the heavens then,  
And let thy cheeks return again  
To their first splendour. Call no more  
For Charon's boat to cast thee o'er.  
But let's renew our faith, and so  
we'll find Elysium ere we go,  
Placeed in our loves.  [Cla.] 
Pardon, I've done;  
I'll court thee with an orison.  
Pardon, O pardon, I confess  
My own, my own unworthiness.  Tha. 
Can she unworthy be, whose face  
And virtuous temper, and whose grace,  
The glorious angels, nay yet higher,  
The gods (Enraged with earnest fire)  
Wax warm by courting? I'll give o'er,  
Thy pardon's sealed, I'll say no more.  Clarena. 
With kisses then, my own I'll cherish:  
Dumps get you gone; let sorrow perish.  
I'll live and love. Charon avoid,  
More nobly are my thoughts employed.  
Thalius is mine, and boast I may,  
That I am his true Clarena.   

9 The Complaint.  

I.  
AH me! I faint, I fall, I perish,  
Unless my Claria come and cherish  
My blue lips with a balmy kiss  
Sacred bliss,  
That recovers  
The infatuate souls of lovers.  
Come and feed  
Me at need.   

II.  
Where art thou gone, th' art always void,  
When thou shouldst be the best employed.  
Empty, airy, easy, gentle thing,  
Let us cling.  
'Tis an action,  
Gives love-sick spirits satisfaction,  
And doth rout  
Pining doubt.   

II.  
Come let us twined, let's clip and close,  
And drink Nectarian juice, that flows  
●rom the fresh riu'lets of thy lips;  
Where there skips  
Many a Cupid  
To revive a soul that's stupid.  
And relieve  
Us that grieve.    

10. The Refusal.  
NAy do not urge thines eyes: no tear  
shall rear  
〈◊〉 recantation in my heart,  
No art  
●hall disresolve my fixed mind;  
Nor bind  
●o over to another's will.  
I'll fill  
●o fancies but my own, where love  
Doth move  
●e to solicit in this suit,  
I'll do't.  
●hall thy untempered tears recall,  
And thrall  
〈◊〉 heart that's free, to fry and tire  
In fire  
Of vexing fancy? No, I'll first  
Be cursed  
With each pernicious and ill fate,  
But that,  
When I was first polluted in  
The sin  
Of serving thee, thou hadst no purse;  
Nay worse,  
Thou hadst not one poor spark of grace,  
Nor face  
That might entice me, no desert  
Thou wert  
Endowed with. All thy breast within  
Was sin,  
Yet though thou hast no coin nor grace,  
Nor face;  
And though thy sins are manifold,  
Untold:  
It is not this provokes my heart  
To part  
With thine; only my will (I vow)  
Says, go,  
Or otherwise I could have stayed,  
And played  
The fool. I could dispend with all  
Those small  
Defects, and could have born what ere  
Was there  
Of sin too much, only I must  
Be just  
Unto my will, which has forsook  
love's book;  
Then do not welter at my change,  
Think strange  
At no mischance. 'Tis the lame cause  
Withdraws  
My love as won it. Both my love and loathing  
Spring only hence, I love and loath for nothing.   

11. The Check.  
DOwn ye aspiring thoughts, where would ye mount?  
What? would ye veil proud Atlas' brow, or count  
The countless lights of heaven? Do you strive  
(With Polyphemus) to unthrone, and drive  
Great Jupiter from his imperial seat?  
Alas, alas, your power is not so great.  
Review your weakness, span yourselves again,  
I am but dust and ashes; O refrain  
This frailty, and self-flattery, and see  
The inside of thine imbecility.  
I'm but a ponderous clod, and cannot rise  
Above the stage of earth, each thought that flies  
Higher than that, is haughty, and doth prance,  
And may (with its excelsity) advance  
My final ruin. He that looks to sit  
Above his fellows, deals with pride, not wit:  
His guide is Folly, and his friend a stranger;  
The lifeguard of his safety is but Danger.  
Then die conceits, and rest within the tomb  
Of earth, polluted earth, from whence ye come.   

12. The Query.  
SAy; Shall I love her? Ay, or no?  
Her that has left me wounded so,  
So wounded that I must endure  
An endless wound, a wound past cure;  
Past all the cure of physics art,  
That art works nothing on a heart,  
A grieved heart, a heart that groans,  
That groans for love, whom love disowns.  
Whom love (for spite) did set on fire;  
Did set on fire, and then retire;  
Retire (like Nero) to some mont,  
And there in scorn did look upon't,  
Upon the heart she had betrayed;  
Upon the flame that she had made.  
Oh, shall I still her eyes adore?  
Adore her eyes that have given o'er,  
Given o'er to heal me, or recruit  
My faintings, when one look would do't?  
Say, Shall I at her absence grieve?  
Or pin my love upon her sleeve?  
No, all's but passion, and there needs  
No such endeavour, no such deeds.  
Then farewell love, thou restless guest,  
And lodge no longer in my breast.  
I'll walk no more in beauty's light,  
Since 'tis more dangerous than night;  
Full of deceitful Crannies: and  
Will scarcely let good tempers stand  
〈◊〉 day in peace. And hardly knows  
At best) how to pay half it owes,  
●ur offered souls it takes in vain,  
●nd pays our favours with disdain.   

13. The Wish.  

I.  
O That I had by Gyges' ring,  
Or Daedalus his well-flegded wing,  
●r Europe's Bull; or any thing   

II.  
●hat would convey me to that Zone,  
●here my heart (Imped by love) is flown,  
●nd left me dying all alone.   

III.  
●et speaking tears express my woes.  
●h heartless man! Oh fortune! Oh!  
〈…〉 we, bring my heart, or let me go,   

IV.  
●o fetch that tyrant's that possesses  
●ine in her bosom, and near guesses  
the large extent of my distresses.   

V.  
●et since th' hast stolen (by thy sweet power)  
●y heart, and keep'st it in thy tower.  
●nd leavest me in despair to lover.   

VI.  
I'll count such fortune but a bubble:  
And to revenge me of this trouble,  
I'll say thou hast a heart that's double.    

14. The Petition.  

I.  
O Pity, pity him that fries  
Upon the grid-irons of thine eyes.  
What greater plague could hell devise?   

II.  
No iuniper has such a coal:  
No torture can torment a soul  
So bad as love when't doth control.   

III.  
The Sun grows warmer by my fire:  
And by my sighs the winds retire.  
My tears advance the Ocean higher.   

IV.  
O turn, thou Antidote alone,  
And mollify thy heart of stone,  
Before I perish flesh and bone.   

V.  
Change thou thy Marble into moss:  
And do not smell of Charing-cross.  
To lose a hard heart is no loss.   

VI.  
O cool me in thy shady grove:  
And from my senses quite remove  
The sulphurous odour of a stove.   

VII.  
Or else a tyrant thou wilt be,  
That hast the heart to stand and see  
The woeful martyrdom of me.   

VIII.  
Of me, whose labour and endever,  
Was prone to be thy slave for ever,  
And to resist thy fancy never.   

Ix..  
Of me, whose solace, and whose rest  
Could not suppose itself more blessed,  
Then when I thought thou lov'dst me best.   

X.  
Of me, of me, and only me,  
That fancied once, I ne'er could be  
Happy, but in thy company.   

XI.  
And now that thou shouldst be my bane,  
Retorting such reward again,  
Is grief too great for me t' explain.   

XII.  
But since I must be thus withstood,  
And none may quench my boiling blood;  
My passion shall produce a flood.   

XIII.  
A flood of tears shall flow so free,  
That they shall quench these flames in me:  
And then I'll scorn thy Love, and thee.    

15. A brave temper.  

I.  
YOu lumps of the earth, will you never be wise?  
Go barter your plumbets for plumes, and arise.  
Your spirits you tire, like Dun in the mire.  
The gold and the silver that Fortune hath lent you,  
Hold your freedoms in chase, and disfigure the face;  
And in stead of a pleasure, are toils that torment you   

II.  
And these are the blessings your labours beget,  
Y' are clear of the Compters, yet ye are in debt,  
For sadly you find you have prisoned your mind;  
And nothing can bail out your hearts from your purses▪  
Besides you induce panic fear, and abuse,  
Well riveted in by the poor, in their curses.   

III.  
Now as for the Poets, they feel no such weight:  
What they gain in the morning▪ they spend at the night▪  
And when they have done, they lie down with the sun,  
Commending their bodies to heaven's protection.  
And they fear not the thief that disturbs your relief;  
That keeps you awake, and your joys in subjection.   

IV.  
There's none will break through our walls (we presume)  
To rifle our coffers, and ransack our room.  
We have no such things as J●wels and rings.  
No St— thief nor highway man arms at our treasure.  
We do what we please, and ourselves keep the keys  
Of our own enlargement: and take'● at our pleasure.   

V  
Each man is a consul t' himself, and doth sit  
Sole Judge in the Courts of Canary and wit.  
We build not our hopes on the pardons of Popes.  
Our hearts they are clear, and we will not imbrue 'em  
With corruptible crimes, and errors of times,  
We never fall out about meum and tuum.   

VI  
While we in the lofts of our liquour do lie,  
The eyes Astronomy reach not so high;  
For than we have more of riches in store,  
Than they which have purchased Episcopal livings:  
With the lands, and the means of Chapters and Deans,  
Which now's their fee simple for only thanks-givings.    

16. The Search.  
OUt she's gone, and I will follow:  
Help me, help me good Apollo.  
Come Lucina, bring thy taper:  
Lusty Mars lend me thy rapier.  
I'll not stay for time nor danger;  
Nor be dashed by friend or stranger.  
Night and day I'll not be quiet;  
Nor receive my rest, nor diet,  
Till I find  
What my mind  
Feeds upon. No frowning rigor,  
No fierce Wolf, nor furious tiger  
Shall repeal me, or refrain me;  
No engagement shall constrain me.  
No false pleasure shall me flatter;  
No tempestuous storm shall batter  
Down my fixed resolution;  
Nor affront my prosecution,  
Till my breath  
Fails by death.  
But who shall be my attendant,  
Presbyter or independent?  
Pages, sure I need not any,  
Though I might be served by many.  
With no rival I will mingle;  
Love is best when it is single:  
Ergo I alone will wander,  
Till alone I understand her  
That doth sway  
Night and day  
My vexed fancy. Oh but whither  
Shall I ramble to be with her?  
If among the gods I enter,  
There I shall not circumvent her.  
She's not so devoutly given,  
As to lodge her soul in heaven.  
She conceived it not her duty  
To trust more to zeal then beauty.  
Nor could I  
Ere descry  
Any cause why she should do it,  
When I nicely look into it:  
Beauty (Nature's prize and potion)  
Got more profit than devotion.  
Is't not true then? judge you of it,  
We love that most yields most profit;  
Therefore I will never mind her  
In celestial orbs to find her;  
It would be  
Hard for me:  
Yet perhaps she took her station  
In some apparent Constellation,  
Which, if seamen did but know it,  
They would point their staff unto it:  
And for observations, follow  
Her in stead of bright Apollo.  
If among the birds she gathers,  
She'll be noted by her feathers,  
Such as are  
Richly fair  
And will quite forsake loves fountains,  
For the sweet Arabian mountains,  
Where the phoenix lately burned,  
To whose nature she is turned.  
If with Pluto she abideth,  
And within those groves resideth;  
Then I am resolved to think it,  
That she is in every Pinket,  
That is seen  
On the green.  
But why are my thoughts extended  
To such breadth? she's comprehended  
On the surface of the centre  
Where earth's globe doth compliment her.  
She's apparent in each flower,  
And therein displays her power.  
Smell but on the sweetest posies:  
Look upon the blushing roses;  
There thine eye  
Shall descry  
Her, but 'tis too faint and weakly,  
And in them she looketh sickly.  
Th' are but types, and cannot show her  
As she is, one half so pure.  
She is the prop of nature's glory;  
Beauty far exceeding story,  
That may teach perfection better  
By her golden rule and letter.  
Such is she  
Sought by me.  
Now if any man discryes her,  
For loves sake let him surprise her;  
Let him take her by the finger,  
And to Cupid's palace bring her.  
And of her take twice two kisses,  
And he'll need no greater blisses.  
'Tis sufficient to requite all  
His endeavours. So good night all  
You that know  
Lovers woe.   

17. A Woman.  

I  
A Woman is a wanton thing,  
And only serves to dandle,  
A bow that bends without a string:  
A knife without a handle;  
For if thereon your hand you put,  
It's ten to one but you are cut.   

II.  
A woman is a lighted taper,  
She burneth as she sings:  
Lovers (like flies) while there they vapour,  
They scorch away their wings;  
Then down they fall into her pit,  
And there they drown both joy and wit.   

III.  
A woman for her constancy,  
I'll worship and adore:  
For she is bad, and she will be  
The same for evermore:  
Or if she change from doing ill,  
Be sure 'tis done against her will.   

IV.  
A woman is a mystery,  
The learned scan  
Whose bottom ne'er could fathomed be  
By all the art of man:  
And she is one that can adorn  
Her husband's forehead with a horn.   

V.  
A woman's a Theorbo Lute,  
That's always set in tune:  
And if you put your pen unto't  
From midnight until noon;  
Yet she'll be loath to let you go,  
Because she loves the music so.   

VI.  
A woman is a Hartichoak;  
Whose leaves are only good:  
Her pleasant outside doth provoak  
Our veins and vernal blood;  
But if you touch her to the core,  
It's ten to one you find a wh—re.    

18. Disdain.  
IS this love's court of Conscience, to infer  
So many darts on one poor sufferer?  
No triple Geryon, or fierce Hydra found  
So many heads, so many stings to wound  
The Trojan Prince unfortunate. There flies  
Not half so many beamlings from the eyes  
Of well-stored Argus, as my wanton foe  
Hath unlaborious projects to o'erthrow.  
O you unworthy Nature, for your tricks,  
I'm bound to curse you: you that love to mix  
A pride with beauty, you that interlace  
A cursed condition with a comely face;  
That make such active engines, to surprise  
Your friends, and make them suffer sacrifice.  
You that are fair without, but all within  
Foul with ambition, that contains a gin,  
First 'ticing in idolatry to err,  
And then to prize on the Idolater.  
When first this Circe had my senses charmed  
I mounted Cap a pee, most stoutly armed  
T'oppose the adversary, and o'erthrow  
His wanton fury, but he brings his bow  
Unto her hand, and bids her to be sure  
She shoot at such a heart, and stand secure.  
Then in a fury, she began to throw  
Her witchcrafts to increase my former woe.  
A scornful smile upon me than she threw,  
And seconds it with a quick pish or two.  
So spritefully upon me she did fall  
You'd think her body were a soul and all.  
More subtle was she to enlarge my grief  
Then Cacus, or Prometheus (that brave thief)  
To gain celestial fire. She increases  
Her doubled blushes, and sets out her tresses;  
Makes every burnished hair upon her brows,  
A mortal shaft to slay me, but allows  
No thought of love, no fancy, nor desire  
T' allay the fervour, and assuage the fire  
Her beauty kindled. But (disdaining high)  
Displays a brighter banner to my eye,  
As who should say, Thou fondling, if I can,  
I'll triumph in thy misery (poor man!)  
But hang't, I care not, I will act a part  
With resolution; since I find my heart,  
The more it hovers, and with care implores,  
The more it's wounded with disdainful sores.  
I'll call my fancy home, and bid her rest  
Within the private Cottage of my breast,  
And I will be its nurse, and care no more  
For beauty, than she cared for me before.   

19 Commendation.  

I.  
MY Mistress is fair, my Mistress is rare;  
Her beauty's a matchless treasure,  
In every part, for nature and art,  
Fair Venus herself doth measure.  
And upon my soul she has not the mole  
That on dame Venus' cheek did grow;  
Her beauty no blot doth know.   

II.  
Fair Helen of Greece, that Amorous piece,  
That pleasant and notable sinner,  
Although such a flood of rational blood  
Was spilled by her rivals to win her;  
Yet could she not be so lovely as she,  
Whom fortune hath elected forth,  
To conquer me by her worth.   

III.  
So neatly she moves, so swiftly she loves;  
Her glance is enough to ravish.  
Her sanctified eye shines moderately;  
'Tis neither too close, nor lavish:  
Her smile (if she please) can cure each disease  
Where profound empirics may fail,  
Her courtesy can prevail.   

IV.  
An armful of bliss, so sacred as this,  
Jove never composed nor courted;  
With angels so bright, and full of delight,  
The poetic pens never sported.  
Don Quixot would be in combat with me,  
Did his quick knowledge but descry  
My fancy had flown so high.   

V.  
Come then my fair Gem, and value not them  
That can not endure to be quiet.  
In mine arms be thou hurled while the troublesome world  
makes war and rebellion its diet;  
And then my desire shall ramble no higher:  
My heart from care I will set free;  
Thy love is enough for me.    

20. A Letter sent into the country.  
Friend,  
I Give an answer, as it is my duty;  
Because ye wrote to know of Grizels beauty.  
O Monstrous! Beauty I to thee petition,  
Thou art more wondrous than an Apparition:  
More bright than scoured Andirons, and more clear  
Then new Stepony; and as brown as Beer.  
Thou art as blue as starch in every vein;  
Enough to make a Monkey break his chain.  
Her hair (wherein my tangled heart doth lie)  
Shines far more bright than whip cord to mine eye:  
Her breath's a Champion, for it's mighty strong;  
Her eyebrow hair is nigh three inches long▪  
Her eyes, (I vow, I almost had forgot 'em)  
Are broader than a saucer at the bottom:  
Her nose (that Gem which nature did allow)  
Stands jetting, like the coulter of a plow:  
Thy lips (alas too light a word to show  
Their heavy worth) like dried bull-pizles grow  
Both round and riu'led: furrowed deep (together)  
As blue as Azure, and as tough as leather.  
But shall I speak a word unto her mouth?  
It goes from pole to pole, from north to south,  
encompassing a cell, that's full as deep  
As th' devil's arse of Peak; where they that peep  
For bottom, lose their labour; and are fain  
To come away (repenting) back again,  
Her teeth (those bead-rowes that so much have graced (her)  
Are not of Ivoury, not of Alabaster:  
Hast thou e'er seen a mousetrap, that is made  
With steel indented? (art thou not afraid  
To hear the dreadful rapture?) such they be,  
But are not set with such equality.  
Park▪ pales they do resemble. (Help, O heaven I  
My fainting Muse, when themes are so uneven.  
Help good Apollo, raise me ten notes higher.  
●end down Urania: or do thou inspire  
Me with the dregs of Poetry, and sense,  
Let me not write with vulgar eloquence,  
On pieces so imperfect, where doth lie  
In every wrinkled fold, some mystery.)  
Oh the majestic vizard of her chin,  
That bears her chops away through thick and thin.  
●obtail'd thou art, contex●d like a knot,  
thou'rt just like something, but I know not what:  
Thy cheeks fall back, as though for some ill cause,  
Thou wentest to hide them safe, between thy jaws.  
Thy neck shall not be placed in our rhyme,  
We'll keep the neck-verse till another time.  
But Oh thy back, thy shoulders and thy wast,  
Thy bouncing buttocks, and thy thighs, o'ercast  
With Canopies of canvas, and of charge,  
●'le not speak much of them, they are too large  
For ten-feets verses: But I've seen them stand  
Like great Colossus in another land.  
Her inner part's so holy, that I dare  
Not own so proud a thought as t'enter there;  
Lest I blaspheme the Idol; and become,  
For that offence, barred from Elysium.  
Thus I, in part, have told you what I know,  
Of things above, and things that are below:  
And for what's wanting, I must needs refer  
Unto the next return o'th' Carrier.   

21. The invitation to walk.  
CLarena, Come and let's repair  
Into the fields to take the air.  
And in what place so ere we come,  
Thy presence makes Elysium.  
Let rural swains adore thy fame;  
And Courtiers comment on thy name:  
And let the world thy beauty see,  
That Poets may eternize thee.  
Step out with me to yonder bower,  
And there we'll pluck the fairest flower:  
And when w'have done, we'll view, and see,  
Which is the fairest, it or thee:  
Seeest thou those blossomed trees (that shine  
With common glory, not with thine,  
With thine that did receive a gloze  
Beyond the lustre of a rose,  
From heaven's bounty) how they wait  
To wanton in their happy fate  
Of thy sweet presence? where in passion  
Of love, and joy, and emulation,  
They may conspire themselves, and see  
Their own despised deformity.  
●nvade Priapus, see his leeks,  
And set thy lustre on his cheeks.  
And he no sooner will espy  
The heavenly tulip of thine eye,  
But in a passion he will run  
〈…〉 As owls avoid the light of sun)  
●nto a corner, and will power  
●own tears more lavish than a shower,  
To see himself exceeded so,  
And must become a theme below  
●nothers worth. Me thinks I see  
The bushes beckon unto thee.  
The dewy morn has shed a tear,  
●ecause she wants thy presence there.  
Then prithee let's go to the plain,  
Or else let's go to bed again.   

22. A Mole on Celia's Cheek.  

I.  
WHat's that (fair Celia) doth presume  
To th' mansion of (that heavenly room)  
Thy cheek? Doth beauty bud or bloom?   

II.  
Or else did Nature place it there,  
●n emulation, and for fear  
Thou shouldst above herself appear?   

III.  
And so she thought (as well she might)  
She were not th'author of so bright  
A Gem, as on thy cheeks did light.   

IV.  
Or were it by a power divine?  
That so that lively face of thine,  
Might not without a blemish shine.   

V.  
Nor might appear beyond the Moon,  
Which is for earth too high a boon;  
For nothing's perfect that's sublune.   

VI.  
And so each idolising eye  
(That in so bright a Zone doth lie)  
Should take thee for a Deity.   

VII.  
On this account 't might haply be,  
For goddesses do strive (we see)  
In beauty for priority.   

VIII.  
Yet how so ere it came, I wot,  
It serves her for a beauty spot,  
And to her splendour is no blot.   

Ix..  
Venus had one, or else I dare,  
Be so audacious as to swear,  
she'd ne'er been counted half so fair.   

X.  
'Tis poverty that plenty prizes;  
The worth of health by sickness rises;  
And beauty's bettered by disguises.   

XI.  
White, with black spots, doth whiter show;  
And she no woman is (I trow)  
That has not one, 'bove or below.    

23. The Bitter-Sweeting.  

I.  
SAw you Aurora, in her morning dress,  
Ere sable clouds approach  
Her burnished tresses to oppress,  
And veil her crimson Coach?  
So fair, and fairer Claria shines,  
Whose heavenly glance enjoins  
All eyes that view her,  
To praise her and pursue her.   

II.  
Ah! but thou serpent of infernal breed,  
Ambition, that dost rest  
With restless actions, and dost feed  
Within so fair a breast.  
Thou spoylest the glory of this star,  
With thy deforming scar:  
Th' hast blurred her rays,  
Like spotted Cynthia's.   

III.  
Has never fame created in thine ears  
Pallas her pregnant wit?  
Tush, tush, my Claria's fancy rears  
More lively works than it,  
Whence Poets must their phrases draw  
And Satyrs stand in awe;  
And dare not lover  
Against so strange a power.   

IV.  
Ah! but thou seed of pestilential race,  
Incontinency, sprung  
From Pluto's Cave, or some such place,  
My Claria thou dost wrong:  
Poysnest the prudence of her brain  
With infamy, and stain;  
And gainest more  
Hate, than wit gained love before.   

V.  
And now my Claria, for so clear a beauty,  
And wit so pure and free,  
I must embrace it as my duty  
To love and honour thee:  
Yet from those vices that arise,  
I've learned to despise  
A thing that's foul,  
With all, with all my soul.    

24. The Cheat.  

I.  
ONce I did love, and loved true,  
Ah! but it proved in vain.  
Claria, I fell in love with you,  
You vowed to love, and more you said,  
Your love should be divine.  
What prank soever fortune played,  
Yet still you would be mine.   

II.  
This reinforced my new born zeal,  
And did engage me more  
Loves charming blisses to reveal,  
Then ere I durst before.  
I fetched expressions lovers use  
To court their Ladies by,  
From Helicon; and every Muse  
Claria did deify.   

III.  
With Indian pearl, and gifts the best  
Of nature and of art,  
I fed this love, and with the rest  
I gave my wounded heart;  
And then I thought thou hadst been mine,  
No reason urged my doubt,  
My fate was rich, my joys divine,  
With blessings walled about.   

IV.  
Because she did my presents take,  
And own me as her own,  
I little thought she would forsake  
him she had pitched upon:  
I thrived in Confidence; and said,  
Fortune had chose for me  
The prettiest and the wittiest maid  
That ever eyes did see.   

V.  
But when I had conceived so,  
Then I was most deceived:  
Oh little, little did I know  
Of thee I was bereaved.  
Celestial beauty! How couldst thou  
Commit so foul a fact,  
As to infringe a sacred vow  
With ceremony backed?   

VI.  
Unconstant fate, unconstant love;  
Unconstant Lady too.  
I'll scorn you all, and will remove  
My love away from you.  
And since unblemished love must be  
rewarded in such sort,  
Henceforth I'll fix my love on thee  
But for an hours sport.    

25. The Catch.  

I.  
COme to the brim (boy) fill our bowls,  
'Tis wine new vamps our heart:  
And sets a gloss upon our souls  
Beyond the power of Art.   

II.  
'Tis wine that drowns corrupting woes;  
And fortune's fury quenches:  
The poor man whilst in sack he flows,  
He feels no want but Wenches.    

26. The weathercock.  

I.  
Z'Life I reach my sword, for in my rage,  
In thousand bits I'll slash  
The Gnatho●s that defile our age,  
And break their bones to mash.  
Those that will turn  
Ere they will burn,  
And slink at every slash.   

II.  
Those that their Prince and Peers adore  
For interest of their own:  
Those, when their fortunes are blown o'er,  
Will vanish, and are gone.  
And basely will,  
Like swallows, still  
Seek out the warmest Zone.   

III.  
Those that have learned to divide  
Their hearts and tongues in two;  
That will abet on either side,  
Serve both the false and true.  
And you that can  
Praise every man  
That keeps a bribe for you.   

VI.  
If Caesar deign to smile on such,  
No paradise so sweet:  
But if he frowns and frowneth much,  
Their fortune's under feet;  
And then their bliss  
And pleasure is  
Leapt in a winding sheet.   

V.  
If Caesar prays to Mahomet,  
Then thou wilt be a Turk;  
Or if Pope's pardons he will get,  
Thou'lt do the selfsame work.  
Thus doth thy zeal  
To his appeal,  
And in his lap doth lurk.   

IV.  
Shall Caesar's frown, or Caesar's smile  
Ring change in my devotion?  
Or shall I pawn my faith a while  
To amplify my potion?  
No, no I hate  
To wheel with fate,  
Or move with every motion.   

VII.  
Poor is his faith, and poor his friend,  
And poorer his renown,  
Whose joy and sorrow must depend  
On Caesar's smile or frown.  
Such fabrics stand  
On sliding sand,  
And soon are tumbled down.   

VIII.  
'Tis you profess Religion right;  
And hate to hear of evil;  
Yet in the darkest caves you'll light  
A candle to the devil.  
'Tis you whose paint  
Sets forth a Saint,  
Yet you are most uncivil.   

Ix..  
'Tis you that act a double Scene;  
Ye seem to be profound,  
To this or that side ye will lean,  
And stand on any ground.  
'Tis you (I swear)  
That run with th' hare;  
And follow with the hound.   

X.  
My resolution is a rock  
Of steel, and doth disdain  
To yield unto the proudest knock,  
Enchantments are in vain.  
I'll never prove  
To fall in love  
For fear or filthy gain.    

27. The Upstart.  
WHy should I humour every critic fool,  
Whose law's his will, whose ignorance his rule;  
Whose prying censure seldom keeps at home;  
Whose tongue talks only of great things to come;  
Whose heart forgets his unde, and looks higher  
Than the low fabrics of desert aspire:  
Whose arrogancy does abhor the news  
Of quondam poverty, and does refuse  
To honour those who formerly did bless  
Him with old suits, and clothe his nakedness  
For pity's sake. 'Cause now by fate he's risen,  
And hoist upon a cockhorse from a prison:  
Shall he therefore that once was so absurd,  
Now think to claim acquaintance with the bird  
Of worthy Jove? or shall my breath applaud him?  
For by respect of lucre, shall I laud him?  
No, let him perish with his pride, and fall.  
The Devil give him reverence, and all  
His damned crew, for they have reason for't  
Cause he is viceroy of their sable Court:  
▪ 'tis not th' extension of his new swollen fate  
That shall allure me to lick up the bait.  
Nor yet the fury of his pride and passion  
Shall e'er unhasp my temper from its station.  
Do what he can, yet I on no condition,  
Will be a servant unto his ambition.  
Though he's encouraged by an ample fee  
Of nimble Fortune, and has outrun me  
That had the best on't once, yet I will swim  
Through every plague before I'll creep to him.  
Not that I murmur at his good success,  
But laugh and scorn at his unworthiness.  
He that has changed his fleece, and now thinks fit,  
By changing of his flesh to better it.  
He's the true object of the purest hate  
That altars his conditions with estate.   

18. The Declaration.  

I.  
CLara, thou'rt absolutely wise:  
Clara, th' art fair and fine,  
And thou wouldst perfect all my joys  
If thou wouldst but be mine.  
In truth I love thee with my heart,  
Though others tell thee so;  
And say thy love shall ne'er depart,  
Yet still thou seest they go.   

II.  
O trust them not, they'll work thy woe;  
Their love is all in tongue  
Their fiery zeal at first doth show  
It will not tarry long.  
Their love's attended with a curse,  
'Tis barbarous and injust;  
They only love thee for thy purse;  
Or else their love is lust.   

III.  
They promise jointures fair and good,  
Their hearts will be thy debtor:  
All this is 'cause th' have understood  
Thy fortune is the better,  
Is better than their own, (they know)  
And hence it is they move thee;  
But my affection is not so,  
It is for love I love thee.   

IV.  
Wert thou as poor as ere was girl,  
Yet I abhor to halt;  
For in mine eyes thou art a pearl,  
And so thou ever shalt.  
I love those jewels in thy breast,  
Thy virtue and thy wit.  
And all the gods shall me attest,  
I only love for it.    

29. To her Friend.  
'TIs not with haughty malice I aspire  
To court your sense: nor armed with Cupid's fire.  
No wanton philter does enforce my quill,  
The sacred orbs of your blessed ears to fill.  
I'm no rejected Echo, who to gain  
Narcissus' favour, takes a world of pain,  
Divides the wind, the brambles, and the briers;  
Hoping to kindle his untempered fires.  
I mean not thus: 'tis reason doth invade,  
'Tis she that acts, and she that would persuade,  
She (Moved with friendship) bids me, if I may,  
Unveil your eyes, and drive those mists away,  
That shroud the genius of your soul, and draw  
Your frantic fancy to another law,  
Then that of reason: tainted and unjust,  
Created not of honesty, but lust.  
What can you see of virtue, or of art  
In her you love, that may exact your heart  
To yield obedience to her frowns and smiles?  
She's all deceit, and where she comes, beguiles.  
Is it her beauty only, that doth move  
Thy cogitations to the flames of love?  
Shall that frail Gem (when haply it may be  
But counterfeited out by subtlety)  
Be ranked among the virtues? and be thought  
Worthy with souls destruction to be bought?  
What purblind? what misconceived good  
Withholds the nobler practice of thy blood?  
Has Circe charmed you? and will you but please  
To judge the Mine by the Superficies?  
Search home, and see if her alluring skin,  
Can smother the deformities within.  
This done, you'll find (poor soul) she doth impart  
Nothing that's counted rich, but undesert.  
Then curb thy sallies, and thyself inspect.  
Survey these ample errors; and correct  
Them by discretion, purge thy putrid brain  
From this corruption; then begin again.  
With this quaint Siren do not thou be charmed,  
Pity, good nature were no better armed  
With prudent weapons, that they might improve  
Their worthier fortunes in the wars of love.  
Call back thy forces, lay thy siege no more  
Against a garrison that's won before:  
Poor prize, it renders triumph unto no man.  
It's won with too much ease: it's too too common,  
Therefore refuse to storm it, and retire  
If thou intendest to be honoured by her  
Who is thine in all friendship.   

20. Chance.  

I.  
WHat's my offences that my fortunes be  
Enshrined in the tomb of poverty?  
But dust I am, from dust I came;  
And unto dust return I must;  
And he whom fate doth bless  
With health, and wealth, and worthiness,  
Is nothing more: and he must do no less.   

II.  
Man, in the noontide of his glory's but  
A lump of Clay, where a quick soul is put.  
All this you know, he is but so;  
And he that can but say he's man,  
Though fame and fortune say  
He's Prince or Pope, yet here I may  
Presume to match with him: we both are clay.   

III.  
O me! How comes it then to pass that he  
Whose corpse were gendered in the dirt with me,  
Should rise so high? and I, poor I  
Should fall so low as now I do?  
Is't art? no, that's not it,  
Our knowledge no such thoughts admit;  
'Cause some men's worship are beyond their wit.   

IV.  
'Tis neither art nor desert that doth bring  
This man to be a beggar, that a King.  
No virtuous hearts, nor moral parts:  
But that which still drives up the hill,  
And daily doth enhance  
Man's greatness, and his worth advance,  
Can be no other than auspicious chance.   

V.  
Since then by chance we either fall or stand,  
And fortune plays with such a partial hand;  
No heart of mine shall ere repine:  
Nor will I guess unworthiness  
The more in me to rest,  
Though I conceive I am not blessed  
With Princely honours, or a golden Chest.    

31. A tear over Orania's Tomb.  

I.  
OH let me weep, weep out mine eyes  
Upon the tombstone where ●e lies  
Embalmed and enshrined.  
Let not my senses lead me home,  
And leave Orania in the tomb.  
Why should I stay behind?   

II.  
What hope have I of life or bliss,  
Under so dire a fate as this?  
What's man without a heart?  
There was but one twixt she and me,  
And that away from me did flee,  
When hence she did depart.   

III.  
And though the life of sense I kept,  
'Twere better in the urn I slept;  
For sleeping there, I rest.  
And then my heart and I should be  
Fomented in tranquillity;  
And both for ever blessed.    

32. A voyage to the Canaries; or the Sack-pilgrimage.  

I.  
Farewell false pleasures, vain delights;  
Deluding stories, and bewitching glories.  
Farewell false measures and false weights;  
Farewell false glosses and false lights:  
Farewell you Tory-rories;  
But welcome Sack; for I will be  
Engaged unto none but thee.   

II.  
Farewell you streamed cheeks of o'er▪  
You rich attires, and you vain love-sick fires:  
The world's a witch; beauty's a whore;  
Cursed may he be that loves it more,  
Or to its vein aspires,  
My youthful rivals I resign,  
And now go pilgrim to the Vine.   

III.  
Farewell you Castles, Towns, and Towers:  
Farewell relations; and fare ye well fond fashio●▪  
You moral rights, and formal powers,  
Wherein I've wasted many hours,  
Be gone away in passion;  
No aid at all from you I lack,  
In this my pilgrimage of Sack.   

IV.  
Aureous and argent Mines avoid:  
Be gone ye rubies, and also you great booby,  
In this your privy search employed.  
Blinder than Cupid may the guide,  
That still directeth you, be.  
What mettle, earthly or divine,  
Is not engendered by the Wine?   

V.  
Cuckold's farewell, and Cuckolds curs:  
Farewell trunk-breeches, and fare ye well long speeches;  
Farewell you Lords, Dukes, Knights, and Sirs:  
Farewell you dalliance and demurs,  
Farewell you oaks and beeches.  
I neither value man nor tree,  
But such as in the Vineyard be.   

VI.  
Farewell Kings, Princes, Lords, and Popes:  
Farewell false Latins, farewell deluded Satins:  
Halters I'll change for Cable-ropes;  
Embracing Stars and Horoscopes.  
Farewell high heels and pattens.  
Let no dull actor shame the stage;  
The scene is a Sack-pilgrimage.    

33. The Retreat.  

I.  
TEll me Tiresias, was it thou  
Bewitched me unto Cupid's bow?  
Why should I hold this Deer in chase?  
Or wrack my fancy on her face?  
What hope is there to win the prize  
That still refuses and denies?   

II.  
With weary labours night and day,  
Early and late, through clods and clay,  
In health and sickness, bliss and bail  
I wooed her, but 't would not prevail.  
My time, my coin and spirits too  
I spent, but yet all would not do.   

III.  
I manacled each struggling thought,  
And my aspiring soul I brought  
Into subjection; and did spill  
Full seas of tears to gain her will:  
All this I did, and more; but yet  
Her marble heart would not submit.   

IV.  
Therefore I will decline the suit,  
And pluck up fancy by the root.  
I'll bid my straggling heart go home,  
And leave thee to the next that come.  
But may I perish for my pain,  
If ere I cringe to thee again.    

34. Deformity.  
GIve me the Maul of Hercules; the triple  
Head of stern Cerberus: and (thou Disciple)  
Grim Gueryon come, and bring thy furies here.  
Up Hydra, up: Parca, do you appear;  
Call up the damned deformities, and chase  
Each rosy and each purple from the place.  
Bring not loves arrows, nor th' Idalian dart,  
To gall my senses, or love-wound my heart:  
But help, Oh help, I am beset about  
With snaky-haired Medusa, and I doubt  
I shall be frantic: Heaven grant me aid  
To back my weakness, or I am betrayed.  
Bless me! What eyes be these? what flaming saucers?  
What speech is this, more rustical than Chaucer's?  
What Tytian lump is here? what form? what fashion?  
What monster in my breast would make invasion?  
Jove shield me from't, and for succession-sake,  
(With sinful Ixion) let me not mistake  
A cloud for Juno, lest my heirs should be  
Exceeding Centaurs in deformity.  
Shield me, good Venus, from this ugly ghost.  
Else I am ruined, and for ever lost,  
Yet, if by force I must be thrown upon her,  
(To save my reputation and my honour)  
I will embrace her with a formal show  
Of affectation: but (believe it you)  
Those nuptial duties which from me should flow,  
Shall be performed by I care not who.  
Let Incubus the nightmare be her mate,  
Or he that loves to wallow in such fate:  
But if no devil, nor no man will do't  
For love, her lovely gold shall press them to't.  
They shall be mercenary, I'll not scorn  
With her own dowry to exalt my horn:  
Although her body be deformed, and foul,  
Her gold is fair, and may delight a soul.  
Who then but fools (whom nature hath controlled)  
Would not incur the horn, to gripe the gold?   

35. The true beauty.  

I.  
TEmpt not my thoughts with powdered hair,  
With satin, or with Lawn.  
This cannot make a Lady fair,  
Whose honour lies at pawn.  
Bring not thy jewels unto me,  
I neither value them nor thee.   

II.  
Look not so high though fortune please  
Fairly to set thee forth;  
Thy own ambition's thy disease,  
And bridle of thy worth;  
Thy beauty's blured, thy fame destroyed,  
Thy honour's strangled in thy pride.   

III.  
'Tis she that's fair, and only she,  
Whose mind does not advance  
With fate, above her pedigree;  
That glories not in chance.  
Whose beauty has more brightly shone  
To others senses than her own.   

IV.  
Such is my Claria, she that holds  
My heart within her breast:  
Whose parallel, in Cupid's folds,  
Or flocks, did never rest.  
She whose ambitious smoke doth smother,  
Aspiring not above another.   

V.  
She whose own merits might transport  
Her love beyond my case;  
Is humbly pleased my flames to court,  
And offerings to embrace.  
With me she'll laugh, with me she'll sing,  
With me she will do any thing.   

VI.  
She knows no scorn, she'll not deny  
Her lips at my request.  
She ne'er saw me in misery,  
But she would be oppressed.  
Therefore my Claria, only thou  
Must rule my soul and fortunes now.    

36. Sept. 1655. The downfall of the black Boy, and the white girl in Budgerow.  

I.  
COme lend a heart-destroying tear,  
A sigh, a sob, a groan;  
You Black-boy lads, that lately were  
More radiant than the Sun,  
You that did use to crown your pates  
With Beer and Ale divine,  
Come now, and curse your clouded fates,  
As I have cursed mine.   

II.  
You sons of Cypria, that were wont  
There to maintain your games;  
That were devoted to the font  
Where pleasure flows and flames;  
Come mourn with me, and sadly cry,  
The Black-boy is a going:  
Which needs must be (infallibly)  
To our eternal ruin.   

III.  
Ring out our sister's passing-bell;  
And let your tears increase:  
Spin out your days in some dark Cell,  
Where sorrow ne'er may cease.  
What will you do? where will you rest?  
And where will you repose?  
Where will you find so fair a nest,  
Where love and beauty grows?   

IV.  
There, when my money all was spent;  
I went upon the score;  
But now alas I must lament,  
I shall do so no more.  
Sweet Nan (whose soul and virtues are  
For Princely thoughts a shrine)  
O how unblessed thy neighbours are  
In this sad change of thine!   

V.  
Why would you leave us? What distaste  
Did harbour in your mind?  
How came your fancy overcast?  
Why were you so inclined?  
The Black-boyes oil no more will flow,  
His cruse is all exhaust:  
And he that there to drink doth go,  
His labour will be lost.   

VI.  
The black Boy, and the white Girl, both  
Have lost their powers there:  
Which story to unfold I'm loath;  
Nor can without a tear.  
Yet though Budgerow they have forsook,  
And left that throne behind them,  
All you that please for them to look,  
In Abchurch-lane may find them.    

37. The soliloquy.  

I  
OH let me die; and to Elysium go.  
Let me not languish in my woe.  
What glory's here  
That's permanent, or dear?  
That may enchant a soul (with reason blessed)  
To tarry in't, or take one minutes rest.   

II.  
Love is forgotten; and the world is grown  
Like to the Smirnian Actor, who ('tis known)  
When Heaven's name  
O'th' stage he did proclaim,  
Would paint his finger on the earth: and there  
Seem to set his affections, as it were.   

III.  
Society, the darling of delight,  
That turned bale to bliss, made day of night,  
Is quite destroyed  
By avarice and pride.  
Whereas our virtues had extent before,  
Now each regards his own worth, and no more.   

IV.  
Oh let me then lay down my vernal head  
Upon those groves prepared for the dead.  
Good heaven grant  
To death a pursuivant;  
That he may bring me to the Stygian shore,  
Where Charon with his boat may waft me o'er.   

V.  
There shall I see my Doroclea's brow:  
Which sight I've lost, which loss brought me so low.  
She, whose fair eyes  
Might be a Princely prize.  
She that loved true, and to maintain her vow,  
Was forced to fly unto those fields below.   

VI.  
There shall I see her, there shall I enjoy her;  
There will the gods give me a mansion by her;  
Where with sweet kisses,  
Smilings, and sweeter blisses,  
We'll feast: and there (in spite of fate and foe)  
We'll do those Orgies here we left to do.   

VII.  
There shall I see my brethren and my sires,  
That warmed my fancy with Pierian fires,  
That found my Muse  
With buskined hose and shoes;  
And such a spirit on my genius hurled,  
That, for a mind free, I could change the world.   

VIII.  
There Ben would bid me welcome, and his mates,  
Whose fruitful brains, and whose ingenious pates,  
I've crowned with bays  
Of Sack, in former days.  
I was their Ganymede, and they would be  
As jovial as a Jupiter to me.   

Ix..  
There should I reign, and bid a rush for Kings,  
Popes, Lords and Princes, or such mighty things.  
All high' descents,  
Grim looks, or Parliaments.  
All care to gain, or fear to lose estates;  
Guns, Pikes, or Pistols; Swords, or Counter-gates.    

38. The Gender.  
WHy should her beauty thus enchant  
Poor me her woeful supplicant?  
Why do I follow with a tear,  
Her various steps? is she more dear  
Than others are? What though she's cried  
Up to be natures only pride.  
That is no solid cause to summon  
A choice affection, while she's common.  
'Tis true, she is both young and tender;  
And she is of the female gender.  
Were she but so, it would be well;  
But more than this, she doth excel:  
For if the thing discussed be,  
She's common both to two and three;  
Or if to number we must fall;  
You'll find she's common unto all.   

39 To the Nymph.  

I.  
COme, leave this dull retired life,  
And now assume the name of wife  
Ere i● be more than time.  
Why should that flower fall alone  
That might be pulled by every one?  
its glory's now in prime.   

II.  
Hold not your beauty in suspense;  
But in love's inns of Courts commence  
To be a Student fair,  
With him that is resolved to be  
Your unrelenting Votary,  
While he is moved with air.   

III.  
Why startle you from man so much?  
Despising him, whose every touch  
Is th' author of your blisses?  
Why will you unto him allow  
A sullen and tempestuous brow?  
And formalize your kisses?   

IV.  
'Tis man you ought to look upon  
As th' end of your perfection;  
But if you die in scorn,  
Your urn, your issue doth compose  
Heaven's abused: and you must lose  
The end for which y' are born.    

40. Her Reply.  

I.  
YEs, I could follow Cupid's tents;  
But when I see such precedents  
Of woe engendered there,  
I check my fancies, and recall  
My looser resolutions all,  
And sleck my flames with fear.   

II.  
What shall poor tempted Ladies do?  
Into whose bosoms shall they throw  
The Lotteries of their love?  
When every moment we may see  
How unresolved their servants be;  
And how awry they move.   

III.  
Their fat professions are most free:  
Phrases flow fast, of constancy,  
Expression doth excel.  
Now their swift fancy flies as high  
As Titan in the towering sky;  
Then sinks as low as hell.   

IV.  
Bright as the taper of the night,  
At first they do extend their light:  
Exposing love enough.  
And then become ere they have done,  
More odious than comparison:  
Their exit makes a snuff.   

V.  
Give me the solid Lover then,  
That goes away and comes again;  
And breaks no spousal vow:  
That's not by every smile o'erthrown,  
Nor dashed aside by every frown,  
Nor answers every bow.   

VI.  
If such invite me with his flame,  
With equal heat I'll meet the same  
Through every case and state,  
To him my bosom I'll unlace;  
His love and him I will embrace  
In spite of foe or fate.    

41. The Club.  
COme my hearts and alter Cases,  
Burnish all with Sack your faces.  
Light the world with copper Noses,  
Redder than the damask roses:  
Or the torch held out by Hero.  
Strike up voices: sing Fa-lero,  
Since our lives can not be ever,  
Short and sweet delights the liver.  
Yesterday is past returning,  
Quench your spirits from worldly burning:  
Pine you not away with sorrow,  
Nor be careful for to morrow:  
Let your zealots take up quarters  
In their abbeys, and their Dorters.  
We'll drive out the drowsy summers  
With renowned cups and rummers;  
Shun physicians, and their stories,  
And despise their Purgatories.  
Let Galen say what he pleases,  
Sack will sink down all diseases:  
Colic, dropsy, Teeth or phthisic;  
There's no such approved physic.  
This is that the gods affected;  
And for their own use selected.  
This is that sets anguish flying,  
Cheers the heart that lies a-dying:  
Rinces nature from distemper;  
Invests each man in an empire.  
Bids the tailor draw his dagger,  
And the slow-tongued Changeling swagger.  
Here's the cream of the Creation;  
Here's the habit most in fashion.  
Foolish glory's but a bubble;  
Riches may consume as stubble:  
Hang the world, and save the liquour;  
Play about, and booz it quicker:  
Here's a health to him that's loyal  
To the cup, and stands the trial  
Of a vine-disburthening shower,  
And makes Wine his only dowry.  
That's not with new follies lured  
But drink healths to'th quondam St—   

42. The Stand.  

I.  
UNdone, Alas, undone,  
My will my wisdom hath outrun,  
My roving soul hath vainly wrought  
A heinous crime, a grievous faued,  
In seeking where my folly sought.   

II.  
False zeal, how can it be  
That fortune ere should favour thee?  
When to good fortune thou hast been  
Unfavourable, what a sin  
And sorrow, art thou plunged in?    

The Return.  

I.  
THe weary footman having past  
O'er many a hill, and many a dale:  
Through many a storm and many a vale,  
With full desire returns (at last)  
Unto his native bed, and there  
Sucks in his rest with full career.   

II.  
Recalling then into his mind  
The horrid tempests he has known,  
The Alpie grades that he has gone?  
Then pleasantly he begins to find  
The preeminence of that same place  
Where first his life began the race.   

III.  
And having by experience found  
No orb more dulcet than his own,  
No soil so soft to tread upon;  
He re-implants upon this ground,  
And having well resolved, then  
He'll die before he'll leave't again.   

IV.  
Lady, my love's this traveller,  
Its native country is your breast,  
And there it found a native rest:  
Till led by fancy, it did err:  
And being galled by fancy's fraud,  
It by all means would go abroad.   

V.  
Then out it went, and strayed about  
In every hedge, and every hole;  
And scanned the cliffs of many a soul.  
It peep't within, and spied without:  
Making a serious inquisition  
Through every region, and condition.   

VI.  
Some love I found, but thin and sad;  
For every calm and gentle look,  
That from my Mistress eyes I took,  
Ten times ten thousand frowns I had:  
Then did I sigh, and sighing say,  
I will return to Claria.   

VII.  
There's zeal refined, there's love enough;  
There's moral parts, and sacred grace;  
There's good conditions and good face;  
There's not a glance that's rough.  
Then Claria open thou love's door;  
And I will ne'er forsake thee more.    

43. The Entertainment.  
THalius the story thou hast told,  
Is Cupid's bow; and I can hold  
In no repulse, the winged boy  
Has quickly won the victory.  
The willing prize 'tis thou dost win;  
The door is open, enter in.   

44. Claria's Blot.  
WHat's amiable that my Claria needs?  
Be it for feature, fortune, or for deeds,  
Or charitable virtues: can you say  
What is defective in my Claria?  
Survey her beauty, read the story o'er  
Of her chaste life; go open every door.  
Thus having done, return again, and see  
If ere you found a sweeter soul than she.  
One that can dally soft, yet not degrade  
From modesty; nor basely be betrayed.  
One that loves honour, yet in each condition,  
Is an antagonist unto ambition.  
Whose tongue (more shrill than Philomel's) may be  
The hieroglyphic of humility:  
Whose garb's the emblem of a decent maid;  
One that can trade with love, yet lust evade.  
One that is courteous, yet doth scorn to fall  
Into a vein that's hypocritical.  
One that is lovely, yet doth still deny  
To be apparent in each vulgar eye:  
One that is nobly born; and yet is one  
That scorns to call descent in question.  
One that is fair, and yet performs the task  
To veil her modest beauty with a mask.  
Though many fortunes court her, yet they are  
No props of pride; nor cited as a snare  
To trap her lovers. Every thing she does,  
Expresses virtue: liberally she flows  
With wholesome counsel: she retains in store,  
A hand for every work: for every sore  
A proper Salve: she's a sure Physician  
For every accident, and each condition.  
But here's the main perfection that she lacks;  
She (Pays her rent, but) will not pay her tax.  
love's soldiers labour under Claria's ray;  
But my Claria will allow no pay.  
Ah Claria, Claria, if so be you would  
Content your soldiers as (indeed) you should,  
With smiles and kisses, and embraces too,  
You'd ne'er want soldiers to contend for you.  
But here's our woe, when we our arms erect,  
And yet you will allow us no respect.   

45. To the Venerean Cow-herd.  

I.  
FAll on, fall on, (fond Cow-herd) fall  
And hold thy deer in chase.  
The man that never moves at all,  
Is always where he was.  
He plays no play, the fencer knows,  
That keeps his guard and makes no blows.   

II.  
Go armed with courage, and the sin  
Of Cupid, and assault her.  
At one essay I'd either win  
The Mare or lose the halter.  
It is no progress unto honour,  
Only to stand and gaze upon her.   

III.  
It was not Alexander's wit,  
To dally and delay:  
For had he ever practised it,  
He had not born away  
The worshipped wreath of fame, nor hurled  
Reports of conquest o'er the world.   

IV.  
Despair not thou at thy descent,  
Nor th' weakness of thy strength:  
Though now she's flinty to relent,  
She may grow soft at length.  
Perpetual and accustomed knocks,  
Will bruise and break the hardest rocks.   

V.  
What though the glistering lumps of fame  
Upon her beauty strove?  
Even such whose sparks might ye inflame,  
Yet could not gain her love.  
Hold thou thy course, and forward run,  
A torch burns hotter than the sun.   

VI.  
The wanton Goats warm blood will part  
The Diamond in two,  
Which neither Vulcan's fiery art  
Or steel could ever do.  
Some girls choose rather swains in rags,  
Then mighty bashaws and their bags.    

46. The shattered Heart.  

I.  
LOve put his bow into my hand,  
Charged with a golden dart;  
And gave, withal, a strict command  
To shoot into thy heart.  
Moreover unto me he said,  
He would assist me with his aid.   

II.  
Now on the pile of this my dart  
(As lovers use to do)  
I fixed my own aspiring heart,  
And then I shot at you.  
And shooting hit your breast of flint,  
But 'twas so hard it stuck not in't.   

III.  
My heart was shattered at this blow;  
It fell so fierce thereon.  
Thus seeking Claria's heart (I trow)  
My own was overthrown.  
And like a hawk that strikes beside  
The game, my heart fell down and died.    

47. The jubilee.  

I.  
TEll me no more of Jubiles  
Esteemed by the Jews;  
Olympic games, and such as these,  
Which ancient Rome did use:  
And did destroy their cares upon  
The racks of recreation.   

II.  
O tell me not of Turkish glories,  
Great Mah'met and his pride.  
Nor touch me with tyrannic stories,  
How men for zeal have died  
With an implicit faith; to prove  
His blasphemy, and their blind love.   

III.  
All triumph human thoughts require,  
My Claria's breast doth keep:  
She warms chill comfort by her fire,  
And charms the gods to sleep:  
What Roman, Turk, or Jew hath found  
Of bliss, in Claria doth abound.   

IV.  
She is my jubilee alone,  
Let's captived thoughts go free;  
Restoring joys doubt seized on,  
To longed for liberty.  
Here may I bathe each wearied limb,  
And in the pool of Beauty swim.   

V.  
Whose silver streams all griefs allay,  
And make all torments light,  
While I enjoy her smiles by day,  
And sport with her at night,  
What undigested thought shall rest  
Within the angle of my breast?   

VI.  
Let pilgrims seek St. Peter's shrine,  
And Saints, Saints rags adore,  
I'll idolise thy face divine,  
For ever, ever more.  
Let misers and their bags unite,  
Thou art my treasure and delight.   

VII.  
Let they whose airy wills request  
To blow ambitious bellows,  
Lift up the owl to th' eagle's nest,  
And sore above their fellows.  
Yet while I graft upon thy stem,  
I would not change my fate with them.    

48. The Leveller.  

I.  
ALL mortal men are born to die:  
The earth is each man's mother.  
O than my genius tell me why  
One man's above another?  
From dust we came,  
And to the same  
Our tribute's paid: then we resign our powers;  
When death shall strike, we are no longer ours.   

II.  
Why then should one man be a Prince?  
Another poor as Job?  
One clad in Velvet to convince  
Him that has scarce a robe?  
Thus freedom's curbed,  
And we disturbed.  
Shall human statutes gauge our recreation?  
The Law is void since Gospel came in fashion.   

III.  
Where all's alike, who should obey?  
Or who should be attended?  
Or who our failings shall repay,  
Where all men have offended?  
When Cain was tried  
For fratricide,  
It was his God condemned him, I assure ye,  
No man was Judge, nor no man on the Jury.   

IV.  
Yet now our custom's grown so base,  
That he whom fortune blesses,  
Is perched on some commanding place,  
Though he no reason guesses,  
And then this man  
Must pry and scan  
Into my life, and if he finds an error,  
His word shall be my bane, his frown my terror.   

V.  
Since then poor mortals must be led  
By custom, not by reason,  
One step awry I will not tread,  
Than I shall know no treason.  
They shall not see  
One blot in me,  
And then for pardon I'll not vex my senses:  
He needs no mercy that has no offences.   

VI.  
I'll not contrive with State-designes,  
Nor squeeze my brains by thinking.  
I'll press my grapes, and prune my vines,  
And pass my time in drinking.  
Then gallant soul  
Fill up the bowl,  
Whilst fullgrown Bacchus blows delightful bellows,  
And here's a health to all true hearted fellows.    

49. Thorando and Clara.  Thorando. 
I prithee (Clara) let me know  
Whether thou lovest me, or no.  Clara. 
Love thee Thorando, prithee why?  Tho. 
Not for my wealth, but loyalty.  Cla. 
She that loves all that Loyal be,  
Must love whole Myriads more than thee;  
And then how feeble are those rays  
That branch into so many ways?  
One of the which I yield to you,  
Because I think your story true.  Thorando. 
Alas, alas, such love as this  
Will not boy up a lover's bliss;  
There is a love like iuniper,  
Which loyal Cupid doth confer  
In ladies' breasts, and it is such  
As burns the heart at every touch.  
And when we are thus heated, than  
This Juniper cools us again.  
Such is the love that I would have:  
Such is the love that Hero gave  
Unto Leander, and beside,  
In the same faith she lived, she died.  
Such is the love as goes alone:  
And only shoots her darts at one.  
Such is the love as ought to be  
Adored for monopoly.  
Oh! tell me then, and let me know  
Whether thou lov'st Thorando so?  Clara. 
Me thinks I feel my sparks begin,  
To seize upon my soul within:  
But they are feeble, and I doubt,  
For want of breath, they will go out.  Tho. 
Oh! fear not Clara; I will blow  
love's bellows, and will make them grow:  
Thy smoking spirits I will rouse  
With kisses, glances, and my vows.  
Then from his budget he did pull  
His lusty bellows, freighted full.  
And on her sparks he blew so fast,  
That all became on fire at last.  
And ere from thence he could retreat,  
His bellows were consumed with heat.   

50. forced Love.  

I.  
O Do not urge me with an idle tone,  
For my resolved thoughts to own  
What my fixed fancieed not embrace,  
Were a preposterous thing:  
I can not cling  
The●e, where affection will not interlace.   

II.  
Forced love is fretful, and a heart thus snared  
Against its will, proves afterward  
Irregular, and will not stay  
In its own sphere, but glides  
On other sides  
With crooked motions; and will not obey.   

III.  
The toil is tedious; and to her that will  
Only pretend love, to fulfil  
A disposition; must endure  
A soul-offending curse,  
And sorrows worse,  
Because she's branded with a love impure.   

IV.  
Then call thy fancy from th' intended scope;  
Thy labour's void; in vain thy hope.  
No talon here thou canst improve.  
I have no art to shroud  
Love in a cloud.  
And where I can not, there I will not love.    

51. To Thraso.  
SIlence, (bold Thraso) let our wits alone,  
They are no themes to whet thy follies on.  
Cease mongrel, cease thy vanity: 'twere fitter  
Thou shouldst be howling in the currish litter  
Of thy own whelps: where with a doggish look,  
Thou might'st be poring on the Parish-book  
Of Ignorance, and never dare to spy  
Into our Casket with an envious eye.  
Rail not at rhymes, lest Poetry become  
Thy bane, and bring thee to a dunghill tomb  
Of infamy. Poor worm, how dar'st thou follow  
The Peers and Chaplains of the great Apollo,  
With snarling, whining voice? Canst thou not tell  
Their genii are beyond a parallel?  
We scorn equality, tell me what powers  
Are known to man, that we account not ours?  
Who can exceed us? who can go beyond us?  
Where's he that dares assault us? or command us?  
We vie with gods, (Than let not men disclaim us)  
'Tis they make men, and we that make them famous,  
'Tis we that lift up to the stars; and there  
We file the records of their praise, and rear  
A ruined progeny, and do translate  
The feeble rags of a declining fate,  
Into new suits of dignity, and then  
With as much ease we can pull down again  
Their high flown fame, and cut their glory short,  
If once we but conceive a reason for't.  
Then cease (I say) and do not thou assail  
To strive against the strength, that will prevail  
Above thy perished power. Are not we  
The pinnacles of sovereignty?  
To us Kings veil their bonnets; and confess  
Our sacred blessings, and our worthiness  
In all employments; it is we that tread·  
Down every verbal foe, and daring head.  
We are the parents of the gods: if we  
Keep Poems dormant, where's the Deity?  
Jove we invented, Mars and Bacchus too;  
Then are we not their fathers? how think you?  
Our Charter is divine, I'd have you know it,  
No privilege to th' Painter and the Poet.  
'Tis we that crush your vices; and that can  
Conjure the fury of the proudest man  
Into a shuttlecock. 'Tis we that rise  
(With undepressed raptures) to the skies,  
Triumphing there o'er every snarling foe  
That (in a currish humour) barks below.  
Vain hopes than cease, or else Apollo must  
(By th' Organ-bellowes) blow thee unto dust:  
We span the world, the Misers we defy,  
Their gold's an eyesore to a poet's eye;  
We scorn such dross. And he that shall subscribe  
Unto the incantation of a bribe,  
Is but Apollo's bastard, and must be  
For ever branded with indignity.  
We hiss down all his honour, and we hate him;  
And from our covent excommunicate him,  
He's none of us: 'tis only such as find  
An unsuppressed, uncontrolled mind,  
Transcending fortune, with a face that charms  
All grieving sorrows and afflicting harms;  
That pines not in the study, nor contracts  
His cheeks into live Mumma by his acts,  
That overlooks small injuries; and still  
Thinks puny-rogues unworthy of his quill.   

52. Phorco and Parlio.  1. Phorco. 
FAirer than beauty in her pomp descried,  
Or Venus tried  
Unto the third degree,  
Is that seraphic she,  
That vows her love and constancy to me.  2 Parlio. 
Such splendour cannot but amate thy sense:  
Such influence  
Sureed cannot choose but cloy  
All thy felicity;  
And make thee make a footstool of thy Joy.  3. Phorco. 
O no it cannot, but her beauty brings  
A pair of wings  
To me, as to the flies  
Gives Titan from the skies,  
Whereby (as they do) I (poor I) arise.  4 Parlio. 
So, than it seems th' art but a fly at best,  
And here's the jest:  
Until thy Mistress bring  
(By her sweet beams) a wing,  
Th' art but a crippled fly: Alas poor thing!   

53. The Retired Lady.  

I.  
ANd why devoted to the Cave?  
Is this the end?  
The final end? hath nature gave  
You Gems to hide, and not extend?  
Or (like Narcissus) are you bent  
With your sweet self to compliment?   

II.  
When you were born sure Nature meant  
some other thing:  
Whose meaning (by your discontent)  
You'll peevishly to ruin bring.  
The Sun doth shine, the stars hold forth,  
And so should you expose your worth.   

III.  
Why should a face whose magic may  
weak souls recrute,  
The vallons and the veils obey?  
Or wherefore should that tongue be mute,  
Whose harmony to mortal ears,  
Sings high, and sweeter than the Spheres?   

IV.  
●uch, for her country's welfare, came  
into the earth.  
Part of her best parts we may claim,  
As truly forfeit at her birth;  
Yet since forced boons are not so kind,  
We'll beg your face, and virtuous mind.   

V.  
As did Medusa, by her eyes,  
To stones convert  
Each daring look; so thine surprise;  
But 'tis not with Medusa's art.  
As flesh to stones transformed she,  
So stony hearts are broke by thee.   

VI.  
Thy sacred lips, where cherries grow,  
Set round with spice,  
Whence loves electars' freely flow;  
Why in recess constrained so nice?  
Sure he shall die unblessed that misses  
The famous booty of your kisses.   

VII.  
Will thy bright beams be ere the less  
For lightning me?  
Or will it blur thy comeliness?  
Or stigmatize thy dignity?  
Then lie no longer in the Mines:  
Diana's chaste, and yet she shines.   

VIII.  
Pray what avails Danae's tower?  
Or what content  
Is Couched in the golden shower,  
While she receives imprisonment?  
The life of beauty's by resort,  
Not in the prison, but the Court.   

Ix..  
Then bring thine Eastern cheeks abroad;  
And hide no more  
Those Gems each judgement would applaud,  
And with a reverence adore.  
So both yourself and we in this  
Shall have the greater share in bliss.    

54. love's outside.  

I.  
NO more of love, away,  
Avoid fond Girl:  
Seek not our wits to slay  
Only with shells of pearl.  
That was begotten of a lump of earth;  
Spewed from corrupted bowels, so took birth.   

II.  
Shut up thy Magazeen  
In velvet masks,  
Leave not thy beauty seen:  
Nor put fond thoughts to tasks;  
For all the pleasures to our eyes you bring,  
Are but loves wanton shadow, not the thing.   

III.  
What if thine ivory hand  
(Which we adore)  
I boldly durst command,  
Ten thousand times and more,  
To kiss, alas, what were it to suffice  
The thirst of love? or quench the flames that rise?   

III.  
Nay could my licence yet  
More freely slip,  
If Caelia would commit  
The bounty of her lip  
Unto my pleasure, there to play and sport,  
All this is but the Lobby of love's Court.   

IV.  
Or should my bended arms  
Thy wast confine,  
And thou (with equal charms)  
Shouldst lie impaling mine,  
These cannot ravish; nor reside upon  
A heart that presseth at perfection.   

V.  
No fainting breath, no glance,  
Nor leering smile,  
Nor motion shall advance  
My fancy; or beguile  
A thought that's fixed, for I have tried the pain,  
And am resolved I'll ne'er love so again.    

55. To Caelia, in the fields.  
WHy wilt thou go? (fair Caelia) why?  
What's needful, of importance,  
That can without thee, not be done?  
Why wilt thou leave me all alone?  
I have but seen thy face: as yet  
We had no time to speak, nor sit.  
Good Caelia stay, and do not lower,  
Let's couch in this Eglantine bower.  
Behold the quavering sprigs, how they  
Move almost in a sensual way,  
With moral action, seeming too  
Through invitations unto you.  
Come, come, with folded arms, let's lie  
In a proportioned symmetry:  
See you the birds in yonder tree,  
How loving and how pert they be?  
How they from sprig to sprig remove,  
And with their bills decipher love?  
Let me upon thy golden tresses,  
And veins, (those Azure wildernesses)  
Hop like these birds: and let my hand  
Wander along thy unknown land,  
To find how well the fruit doth rise,  
(As in Canaan Israel's spies)  
And if the same I do approve,  
Therein I'll plant my vine of love:  
And with a pleasant pain I'll frame  
A fertile vineyard in the same.  
Come, do not weep; 'twill do thee good:  
It will refine corrupted blood.  
Then struggle not, nor do not shriek,  
I have no weapon that can strike  
A deadly blow. 'Twill not disease thee  
With greater wounds than what shall please thee.  
See yond big-bellied ewe, that (late)  
Received the marrow of her mate:  
She looks most lovely; so will you  
Now you receive your lovers too.  
Then have at all, upon't I'll enter,  
And plant my vine there at a venture.   

56. Her Reply.  
HE that ne'er drank was ne'er a dry:  
And he that ne'er knew liberty,  
Regards it not: and she that can  
Not by experience say what's man,  
Desires him not: but when she knows  
What virtue from his nature flows,  
She's mad t'embrace him, and doth guess  
His presence her best happiness.  
Before I tried thee, I abhorred  
Thy proffered love, and could afford  
No wanton thought; but now I see  
Thy spirits, and their energy;  
My soul to thee I will resign,  
There is no pleasure like thy vine.  
'Twill make me fruitful, and I swear,  
Plant thou always, I'll always bear.  
And though this fruit too ponderous grow,  
I'll gladly die in bearing so   

57 The unequal Match.  
ANd why unto this stump would you be tied,  
That were so hopeful and so fair a bride?  
How dull? how dead? how drowsy? and how cold  
Are all your amplectations? and how old?  
How crazy? crouched? and how feeble is  
He that should surfeit you with Hymen's bliss?  
Better you never had the smallest sense  
Of love, than not in joy its influence.  
What can expected be from him, whose head  
Is fleeced with snowballs; and imbattered  
With sixty years' assaults: whose breath affords  
Him language but in groans, and not in words.  
Pity, thrice pity, that so sweet a she  
Should lose her teeming time, and barren be  
For want of agriculture: what's the cause  
You derogate so far from Cupid's laws?  
And spoil his tenets? why should Gems that shine  
Quite through the surface of your sacred Mine,  
Perish for want of gathering? and decay  
By wrong perusals in an unknown way?   

58. Her Reply.  
'TIs true, he's aged, and therefore we bring  
His well experienced years unto the thing:  
In former times he did the work, and than  
He was well known to be a knowing man.  
And now he's worthy, though his office be  
To digitate, and gravely to o'er-see.  
This makes him happy: (and in him myself  
Bright shining in his lucubrated pelf)  
What ever's planted by another's sweat,  
Dressed, pruned and watered by his wholesome heat,  
Yields him the issue. Hence it then remains;  
He has the profit, others take the pains;  
And I the pleasure: no defect doth come  
For want of husbandry unto my womb.  
Or, though he eyes me with a jealous care;  
I've time enough to horn him, and to spare.  
Age is no watchman, but his eyes give o'er  
At five a clock i'th' even (or before)  
T'incite the heart with jealousy: or see  
The least attempt on his propriety.  
His age-dried limbs dull Morpheus doth confine,  
While youthful Cupid is unfolding mine.   

59 To the academic.  
THink not to daunt us with a daring eye,  
The Maze of logic, or maturity  
Of your taught science, and entangled rules,  
(The scum and dregs of academic pools)  
Boast not of these, nor strive with censure nice)  
T' esteem your deer-bought wisdom by the price.  
Think no excess you have; no power doth dwell  
In this accustomed way, to make't excel.  
This can create no wonder: we disclaim  
All sorts of admiration at the same.  
Who finds by seeking, a concealed treasure,  
Pays equal pains for's profit and for's pleasure.  
He has no novelty: he gains no more  
Than what his fancy did expect before.  
Is this a wonder if it's wisely viewed?  
Or does it savour of beatitude?  
He that's apprentice, though the veriest fool,  
Doth (by instruction) learn his Master's rule.  
He keeps his folly still, although he's made  
A skilful artist in his Master's trade;  
He learned by teaching, hence it came about,  
But he's ingenious gets the trade without.  
Come then my spark: thou of th' Oxonian race,  
And let a word of reason interlace  
With thy ambition. Grammar is thy sphere,  
And thou canst travel in no path but there:  
That's all thou hast; why, thou hast booked it fair,  
Thou canst scarce tell us what the Morals are.  
Thou, of Philosophy, no more hast known  
Then what tradition, and the books have shown.  
Thou keep'st the tract, and only goest by course.  
And I must tell thee, that each carrier's horse  
Performs thy task; and has as much to be  
Adored for, or admired at, as thee.  
Th' adventuring Merchant, that is wasted o'er,  
To seek for jewels on the Indian shore,  
Is not so happy in his far-fetched gear,  
As he that stays at home and finds it here.  
What think'st thou now? Says not th'impartial test,  
That Art's but feeble? Nature is the best.  
Suppose your fancy leads you unto court,  
Perhaps you are able to speak Latin for't;  
And now and then spew out a phrase of Greek;  
But for invention you are far to seek.  
You to the book must go if you would ken  
The customs and Moralities of men.  
We do not so; our method is divine;  
We go by inspiration, nor by line.  
And we can tell you in our modern tongue,  
We know our right, and can revenge our wrong  
Without your Edicts: we can work or play,  
We do not value what the Schoolmen say.  
But you grave wits, (where art and nature meet)  
I humbly worship, and with reverence greet:  
Because I know, where these united are,  
The motion there will be more regular.  
But you it is, 'gainst whom my Muse doth roar,  
That have been taught each science, and no more;  
And of a little make as great a show,  
As if your knowledge had no more to know.   

60. The Drawer to his Lady.  

I.  
THe God of love to me is come,  
And in my fancy flew;  
And bids me seek Elysium  
In nothing else but you.  
The oracle has told me so,  
My vine alone in you will grow.   

II.  
Then let your flames reflex again  
On him, whose glory 'tis  
To Court your eye-beams now and then,  
And steal from you a kiss.  
Let our two hearts move in one sphere;  
And so we will the vineyard rear.   

III.  
The vines we'll prune, the grapes we'll press,  
With secrecy and sport:  
'Twill ask no toil, nor heaviness:  
Taste, and you'll thank me for't.  
Come then, and with the Drawer close,  
And see the juice that from him flows.   

IV.  
Apollo's Nectar is an ass:  
Nepenthe's nothing worth,  
If matched with our canary-glass,  
When love doth set it forth,  
Come then and with the Drawer join,  
His love and liquour is divine.   

V.  
And if we see our labours yield  
Issues and profits deep,  
Thy tun shall once a year be filled,  
And we'll a Tavern keep.  
Good Lady then be pleased to shape  
Your love unto the drawer's grape.   

VI.  
Your belly shall the Cellar be,  
The upper room's your face;  
Whose bright and painted bravery,  
Who cannot but embrace?  
Come then and with the Drawer mix,  
And we will live by Mere-trix.   

VII.  
Thy legs are gallond-pots (my Deer,  
I prithee do not blush)  
The door of entrance, shall be where  
Already hangs a bush.  
Come then, and with the Drawer cling,  
And see the profit of the thing.   

VIII.  
Thy folded arms shall be the Bar,  
Thy nod shall be the Sign;  
Thy words shall serve for bells that are  
In rooms to ring for Wine:  
This done, I dare presume that we  
Shall never out of custom be.    

61. The mystery.  

I.  
BEwitching Boy, how can it be  
That gods and men should bow to thee?  
Thou hast a dart  
Strikes many a heart.  
And yet no Seeker ere could know,  
Or how, or why it should be so  
In love we live, in love we die;  
But we conceive no reason why.   

II.  
This is a mystery that has ●in  
Ere since the age the gods lived in.  
Each age and sex  
This ghost doth vex:  
Jove hurried on by Cupid, he  
To gain the prize, a beast will be.  
In love we live, &c.   

III.  
He's changed unto a Bull, and so,  
Europa must a bulling go;  
And lest he miss  
Soft Leda's kiss,  
Or she should want dame nature's use,  
He'll be a Swan, and she a Goose.  
In love we live, in love we die,  
But we conceive no reason why.   

IV.  
Neptune we rank among the rest,  
As savouring grossly of the beast,  
Before that he  
Deprived will be  
Of Theophanes love (his Dear)  
A pair of Rams horns he will wear.  
In love we live, &c.   

V.  
Why to hell did Orpheus go?  
Hercules', and Aeneas too?  
Did not it prove  
To be for love?  
But here's the thing that startles me,  
What reason for such love may be.  
In love we live, &c.   

VI.  
Some say its beauty that enjoins  
Our roving thoughts, and them confines.  
But Jove I know  
It is not so.  
Our mistress's deformed were,  
Till love and Poems made them clear.  
Then by this argument we prove,  
Love creates beauty that not love.   

VII.  
Some tell us riches is the goad  
That rules our fancy in this road:  
My Genius cries  
It's otherwise:  
'Cause with Quotidian eyes we see  
Love practising on poverty.  
In love we live, &c.   

VIII.  
Some say its virtue we adore,  
And wisely fall in love therefore:  
But I forbear  
To settle here,  
'Cause Cyprian lads I've seen rejoice  
In the polluted arms of vice.  
In love we live, &c.   

Ix..  
No face, nor fate, nor virtues are,  
Love's sole-illaqueating snare.  
No cause can be  
Found out by me,  
Why for a she we take such pains,  
We bruise our limbs, and break our brains:  
Only in love we live and die,  
But never know the reason why.    

62. The country Girl.  

I.  
AP-x on your Dames that scorch with their flames,  
And fire us alive in the city:  
I would they might go to the devil below;  
For they are most wickedly witty.   

II.  
The Jewels they wear in their ears and their hair,  
And their breasts that are open and naked,  
Are as bills that are set on a house to be let,  
And who ever pleases may take it.   

III.  
Their faces do shine like the Sun in the line:  
God a mercy the colours they laid on.  
But did you but see how ugly they be  
When th' are off, them you would be afraid on.   

IV.  
I am for the lass that doth piss on the grass,  
Though the Courtiers unworthy esteem her:  
She is pleasant and neat, and her carriage complete,  
And her cheeks are as brown as a leemer.   

V.  
You freely may sip on her sanctified lip,  
Although she be easily daunted:  
The snow on her brow did nature allow,  
She's neither perfumed nor painted.   

VI.  
She learns not to cheat in the School of deceit;  
Her heart is dissolved in her speeches.  
She scorns that while you the matter shall do,  
One should run away with your breeches.   

VII.  
Her glances they be out of innocency,  
Yet blow for blow she will give duly.  
She gives you your fill, and lets you lie still;  
For she scorns to be counted unruly.    

63. Reproof.  

O You enchanting fairest fair;  
Whose powers more than magic are,  
Upon a mortal breast, forbear  
For want of love, to slay me.  
Let not one ray upon me light,  
Unless affection you unite  
With every aspect, beams so bright  
Cannot but over sway me.   

How could the Africans abide  
To look upon Apollo's pride,  
And to that fiery zone be tied  
In toil exhausting sweat?  
Did not Apollo's power extend,  
Causing earth's bowels to ascend;  
And unto every native lend  
His nourishment with heat?   

Your beauty is this torrid flame,  
Whose colours scorch where e'er they came,  
And brows with furrows do unframe  
And galls me with despair.  
But the Eglantine spicy grove,  
That's in your sacred breast and love,  
Can mitigate that fire above,  
And sunburnt souls make fair.   

Then shut those eyes of iuniper;  
And let them not their heat transfer  
To me your sad Idolater;  
Unless you mean to love.  
Or else beneath these beams I die,  
You gain the guilt of tyranny;  
And so impawn your dignity,  
And grieve the gods above.    

64. Bacchus.  

I.  
AND why such a drought has infested my mouth?  
Is my lip and the cup fallen asunder?  
And do they intend ne'er to end  
Their dissension? Oh it were a wonder  
If I should fall out with so cordial a friend.   

II.  
Fill the bowl, do not think I'll be balked of my drink;  
He that will, falleth lower than folly:  
I will liquour my brains, that my strains  
May with triumph tread down melancholy:  
And this will be freedom in fetters and chains.   

III.  
Had the fool Icarus laid his policy thus,  
His wings (made of wax) had not melted;  
But he well might have flown to the Zone  
Whereto his desires ambitiously pelted:  
And then his Catastrophe ne'er had been known.   

IV.  
Had the sack made him moist, he might have rejoiced,  
And sung his P-wit like a Plover:  
But alas he fell short, and paid for't;  
He was drowned in the sea, and he could not get over:  
Thus twixt fire and water he spoiled the sport.   

V.  
Or if Phaeton in this method had gone;  
Less harm he had done, & more wit he had learned.  
Had he fixed his sack on the back  
Of the Sun, sure the world it would never have burned,  
Nor he and his credit endured the wrack.   

VI.  
Take a soul that is soused in the Sack he caroused,  
He has wings that advance at his pleasure:  
He's endowed with a mind drives the wind,  
And vaults o'er the floods of affliction at pleasure;  
His heart in a dungeon is never confined.   

VII.  
Take a man in his wine, he's for any design;  
He looks in the face of the proudest employment:  
And his will does not rove, nor remove  
The greatest of Princes has no such enjoyment▪  
He dwells where the Deity resteth above.   

VIII.  
He defies the base fear of a Parliamenteer,  
And scorneth the frowns of the high man:  
All his care is, to think on his drink;  
And smilingly biddeth a pox on the dry man  
That wastes in his cell, and consumes with his chink.   

Ix..  
Then again fill the bowl, let it merrily troul:  
Play out with your Rummikins quicker,  
Let the cares of the world, all be hurled  
In your cups, and be drowned in your liquour,  
And drink till your noses with rubies are pearled.   

X.  
Let it fall to your lot to be plunged in the pot;  
And suffer your brains to be sacked with drinking;  
From the merry merry glass do not pass,  
You'll find it is better, if weighed in your thinking,  
Then for to be sacked as Jerusalem was.    

65. The Rejection.  

I.  
ALL in vain turn again,  
Why should I love 'r?  
Since she can love no man,  
I will give over,  
I'll not stay to obey,  
But will retire.  
Why should I thither sly,  
And not enjoy her?   

II.  
Let her still please her will  
With a denial:  
She shall be unto me  
As the sun-dial.  
Let her blood raise the mud:  
All in good season.  
I'll not gaze on her face  
Till I have reason.    

66. love's Arrant.  

I.  
Arm Cupid, arm:  
Gird on thy quiver, take thy bow  
And numbly go  
And seek a she that thou Mayest charm.  
Fly thou into the myrtle grove,  
And there shoot down some pretty dove.   

II.  
For I am flush,  
Big-bellied with desire to prove  
The pain of love,  
And feel the sunshine of a blush.  
Yet will I not engage in heart,  
Unless the object have desert.   

III.  
Go then and seek  
Some glorious brow, some sacred eye,  
From whence doth fly  
Rays all divine, some rosy cheek,  
Wherein such lively grace is carved,  
As may recall a spirit starved.   

IV.  
Shoot such a heart  
As innocency doth control:  
Pierce such a soul  
That loves in love, and not in art.  
Such, if she finds my love divine,  
Melts all her pleasures into mine.   

V.  
Bring not the coy,  
That starts and kicks at every touch;  
There's grace too much,  
She has more zeal than honesty.  
Bring not the proud deformed witches,  
That missing rocks, fall down in ditches.   

VI.  
Bring not the sad  
That seem to thaw the stones with tears,  
Wherein appears  
Some Crocodilish blood they had.  
Nor shoot thou down a fawning she,  
Lest with her smiles she ruin me.   

VII.  
But bring a girl  
Whose mirth is of a heavenly dress;  
Whose wantonness  
Is not a picklock, but a pearl;  
That will no common trader be,  
Though sh' has a good commodity.    

67. The evil Temper.  
Always sighing, always pining,  
Always out of frame;  
Always puling, always whining;  
Evermore the same.  
Always filled with lamentation;  
Love is not feasted so:  
Continual tears, continual passion  
Is but continual woe.  
I hold her temper in derision,  
Since she is guided thus,  
Depart from me with expedition,  
And hug Heraclitus.  
If ere I dally with a lover,  
I'll have a pleasant she,  
That with a cheerful smile blows over  
The proudest injury.  
'Tis vain to mourn for sliding bliss  
That is already gone;  
And full as vain, as vain it is  
With tears to think upon  
Approaching woes; hereby they creep  
Up to more ample sums:  
its time enough for thee to weep  
For mischief when it comes.  
And since thy weeping will not aid  
Thee of the smallest thrall,  
When e'er thy sorrows thee invade,  
Thou needest not weep at all.  
Remember this, and then repent,  
And sweetly thou shalt find  
The peaceful Phoenix of content  
Will build within thy mind;  
And then I could my soul allow  
To thee (my dearest dear)  
But when I see a stormy brow,  
I think the Devil's there.    

EPIGRAMS.  

1. Humility.  
I'Th' petty form this Lady sits,  
Learns innocency more than wits:  
Reads duty-lectures to her sons;  
Bid her but go, and straight she run.  
Poor she at all times, and all places,  
Waits (servant-like) upon the Graces.  
She owns herself most vile and base;  
Yet her descent's the royal race.   

2. The miser's music.  
CHink chink the coin cries, and the music pleases,  
It's like the dainty food that breeds diseases:  
'Tis sweet and bitter, like the Siren charms,  
Lulls us to love first, than leaves us in harms.   

3. The Blush.  
SEest thou the tincture in her face?  
It is the servant to her grace,  
To intimate to thee there's nought  
That's vicious harboured in her thought,  
And doth from Cyprian boys exempt her  
Dazzling the foul lascivious tempter.   

4. A tailor.  
THere was a tailor once a dagger wore:  
He wore it once, and never wore it more.  
He would have drawn and run it at my Bitch,  
I, but his heart would not go through stitch.   

5. To Nell.  
FOnd, fickle, frantic fancy, full of folly;  
Thy mirth is turned into melancholy.  
Thou swearest thou wilt be wiser, and wilt hate  
Thy former vices, but it is too late.  
The Steed is stolen, and now thou shut'st the door;  
But lo, thou shouldst have locked it heretofore.   

6. On Jack.  
JAck calls me rogue. My friend to me affords  
This sage advice, I pray lay hold on's words.  
Pish, pish, said I, 'tis better ten to one,  
To hold his ears, and let his words alone.  
Then by and by, (as it did well appear)  
I loosed his words, and luged him by the ear.   

7. A Sigh.  
SIghing she smiled, and smiling sighed.  
She smiled to see the thing she liked,  
And sighed because she could not get  
It fast into her cabinet.  
Had but her smiles a power, as well  
To draw, as do her sighs repel,  
She might be Mistress of the pray;  
But sighing she blows all away.   

8. Love.  
THey say that love is always blind:  
I think (upon my soul)  
It is not true, because I find  
He always hits the hole.   

9 Sim.  
SIm says he's highly blessed, because he looks  
Upon abundance of religious Books.  
'Tis true, he does so; yet he keeps his sin;  
He looks upon them, but ne'er looks within.   

10. Lucia.  
SWeet Mistress Lucia is a pretty thing:  
A Concubine that's worthy of a King:  
She is so full of beauty, and so fine,  
You'd think she were a spirit all divine.  
I'd swear the same, too, and to th' world I'd tell't,  
But that in truth I know she may be felt.   

11. A Token.  
'TIs not of custom that my Present comes:  
Nor yet with flattering, to enhance the sums  
Of drossy lucre. Neither doth it move  
On legs, as though it came to buy your love:  
For that were too ignoble to prevail;  
Your love's a thing not to be set at sale.  
But hence it cometh, with supposed voice,  
To speak for him, whose speech is somewhat nice;  
Whose timorous spirit hardly dares to show  
The tenure of that love I bear to you.  
Hence then, accept it, only as a sign  
Of his affection, who in heart is thine.   

12. A lock of Hair.  
WHy should we do it upon such things as these?  
What is it they afford us that can please  
A love-sick passion? or assuage the pain  
Of a disordered and distempered brain?  
Has it a privilege that's more than these?  
Only to say it is our Mistresses.  
Poor feeble prize, no author of content:  
What honour rises from an excrement?  
Ay, but I find a higher exposition:  
An Allegory, which on no condition,  
May be omitted for the good of either;  
It is a lock that locks two hearts together.   

13. love's gain.  
LOve is a stock of money: and it's he  
That loves, that puts it out to usury.  
And 'tis the smile of Mistresses, (in jest)  
And wanton dalliance makes the interest.  
But woe is me, infatuate with pain:  
I find my stock begets me little gain;  
For, whereas others (backney-like) get store,  
Mine brings me nil per centum, and no more.   

14. Torio.  
TOorio's in love, and greatly doth rejoice,  
'Cause he has lighted on so brave a choice:  
Yet with my curious eye I can discover  
In her, no beauty that may 'tice a lover.  
But I imagine why my Torio brags;  
She's precious not for beauty, but for bags.   

15. Phorcus.  
PHorcus, one morning (and that's rare)  
Upon his bent knees went to prayer:  
Prayed for remission of his sins;  
And that same morning broke his shins.  
A sad mischance it was, therefore  
He vows to God he'll pray no more.   

16. To the Executioner.  
JErvis the Hangman, when to him I quaff,  
He cries, Your servant sir, it makes me laugh:  
But yet infaith I plainly tell thee Jervis,  
I love thee well, but I abhor thy service.   

17. Thraso.  
IN canting vessels, I have ever found  
The empty Hogshead yields the greatest sound.  
And hence it follows, that thy lofty strains  
Are but the symptoms of thy empty brains.   

18. Gnatho.  
GNatho (whose Muse is not so clear as common)  
Pins his Encomion on a Gentlewoman.  
He at the head begins, and thence doth greet  
Each member, till he comes unto the feet;  
Only the neck he 'scape: I fain would know,  
Why on that part no verse he will bestow.  
I smell the plot, 'tis worthy of your laughter;  
He keeps the Neck-verse for himself hereafter.   

19 Nell.  
NEll's very sick, and to the Cooks will go;  
(Sure sickness cannot be repelled so)  
He fills the board with custard, and with pie:  
And bids her eat, but she cries, No, not I.  
She longs for rolls, and though it be a sin,  
She will have none but the cooks rolling-pin.   

20. Pygmalion.  
WHy does Pygmalion on his picture dote?  
And to the worship of the same devote  
His purest thought? Pygmalion, dost thou see  
More value in thy image then in thee?  
That thou shouldst buckle, and incline thy wit  
To leave thyself, and fall in love with it?  
Alas Pygmalion, thou art but an Ape,  
That for the substance dost adore the shape.   

21. Momus.  
MOmus perhaps thou'lt say I am unkind,  
Because I do not write to thee my mind.  
I tell thee Momus, thou art grown so nought,  
That I cannot allow thee one good thought.  
Yet this my custom shall for ever be,  
When e'er I want a fool, I'll send for thee.   

The Conclusion: Or the Fornicator's farewell on his deathbed.  

I.  
COme you fair eyes, that with inflamed lust  
I once beheld;  
See you my judgement, sad and just.  
For now (alas) I am compelled  
To hang my head, as 'twere half dead,  
Ah me! to th' grave I must.   

II.  
And there my filthy carcase must remain,  
Till the loud trump  
Ring heaven-knells throughout my brain,  
Giving new life to my dead lump:  
And re-inspires, with active fires,  
My empty pores again.   

III.  
Then weep one tear or two before I die,  
And must be gone.  
You can attest, as well as I,  
What cruel wrong to me y' have done.  
And now y' have kend my fatal end,  
Seek you the same to shun.    
FINIS.