LONDON DROLLERY: Or, The Wit's Academy.  
BEING A Select Collection of the Newest Songs, Lampoons, and Airs Alamode.  
WITH Several other most Ingenious Pieces of Raillery never before Published.  
By W. H.  
London, Printed by F. Eglesfield, at the S in St. Pauls-Church-Yard. 1673.   

THE EPISTLE TO LONDON DROLLERY.  
Reader,  
THe other Drolleries going so swift away,  
Why should I think that this should make a stay;  
For this by several Critics has been scanned,  
And Stationer to, before he'd take't in hand;  
And being well approved before it came to th' Press,  
I cannot think that it will have a less  
Esteem abroad then any of the rest,  
Because it has endured so severe a test.  
Suspend thy Censure till thou'st fully seen't,  
I do not doubt but thou'lt find something in't  
Will please thy Pallet: Is thy mind Jocose,  
Here's that will please, unless thou'rt too Morose:  
And being suited to all humours so,  
‛ Nought but but Impartiality can have a low  
Esteem for it; The envious I value not,  
For they in Peccadillo things will be so hot,  
And wreak their spite on any, though unknown,  
And all forsooth because 'tis not their own.  
If aught do please thee, then I'm well paid,  
For all these things unto that end was made:  
If not, then leave it, 'tis all one to Will,  
I was W. H. and so shall be still.  
Dated on May-day when so loud it Thundered, 
 In Anno Seventy three and Sixteen hundred.   

LONDON DROLLERY.  

A New Song.  

TOo fair and unkind, when I did discover  
Those charms, to which all that see you submit.  
Your languishing eyes first made me a lover,  
And then you that Empire kept by your wit;  
For you, the soft fetters of Phillis I broke  
To put on a Lass! a more rigorous yoke,  
Poor Phillis was kind her slave to preserve,  
You doom me to wait, and force me to starve.   

2.  
Away with Devotion which makes you uneasy,  
And with you good humour so ill doth agree,  
Faith try but the pleasure, and when Zeal would seize ye,  
You'll find the fit better employed upon me:  
For Love the dull Cloister as highly exceeds  
As numbering of hearts does dropping of Beads;  
And Saints like to Iris are never Divine,  
Till Mortals are suffered to kneel at their shrine.    

A New Song.  

1.  
LOng betwixt love and fear Phillis tormented,  
Shunned her own wish, yet at last she consented  
But loath the day should her blushes discover.  
Come gentle night she said,  
Come quickly to my aid,  
And a poor shameface Maid,  
Hid from her Lover.   

2.  
Now cold as I see, I am now hot as fire,  
I dare not tell myself mine own desire,  
But let day fly away, and bid night hast her.  
Grant ye kind Powers above,  
Slow hours of parting love,  
But when to Bliss we move,  
Let 'em fly faster.   

3.  
How sweet it is to Love, when I discover  
That fire which burns my Soul, warming my lover,  
'Tis pity Love so true, should be mistaken,  
If that then he might be  
False or unkind to me,  
Let me die e'er I see  
That I am forsaken.    

A New Song.  

1.  
TAke heed fair Clelia how you tame  
With your disdain Dorastus' fame,  
A noble heart when once denied,  
Swells into such a height of pride.  
'twill rather burst, then deign to be  
A worshipper of Cruelty.   

2.  
You may use common Lovers so,  
My Sighs at last to Storms will grow,  
And blow such scorn upon this Pride,  
Will blast all I have magnified.  
You are not fair when Love you lack,  
Ingratitude makes all things black.   

3.  
O do not for a flock of Sheep,  
And golden showers when as you sleep;  
Nor cause Ambition often swells,  
Forsake the place where honour dwells.  
In Damon's Palace you'll never shine  
So bright as in those Arms of mine.    

A New Song in the Fatal Jealousy.  

1.  
I Languish all Night, and sigh all the Day,  
And much to be pitied I am,  
Ere since your bright eyes  
My heart did surprise,  
I could not extinguish the flame:  
But since you have known  
My heart was your own,  
Who before was so kind, now scornfuller grown:  
If so cruel you prove,  
To the man that you love,  
Ah Phillis, Ah Phillis, what Fate  
Alas is reserved for the man that you hate.    

The Devout Drunkard, being a Mock to, O Love if e'er thou'lt ease a heart; And to that Tune.  

1.  
O Bacchus if thou'lt ease a Soul  
That owns thy Juicy power,  
And bleeds for that high chirping bowl,  
For which mine eyes ne'er ceasing roll  
Until I see that hour.  
Under the Tun, I fainting waste  
A thousand times I wish to taste;  
But when I see such halting haste,  
To ease me of my thirsty pain,  
I bleed with grief in every vein.   

2.  
But thus as I sat all alone,  
I'th' deep and shady vault,  
Continuing still in grief and moan,  
A neighbouring drawer than came down  
Which was the man in fault.  
O how I strove the Rogue to chide,  
He blushed and strived his fault to hid,  
And swore the tattling Echo lied.  
And prayed my Passion then forbear  
Lest it should come to's Master's ear.   

But Bacchus yet I'd die to gain  
But one poor parting Cup,  
Although it lately filled my Brain,  
Impose on me all racks of pain  
If soon I drink't not up.  
Thus are poor Mortals oft abused,  
Who long God- Bacchus trade have used,  
'Cause drawers often have refused:  
When we do burn with thirsty flame,  
To give us that would quench the same.    

The Dutch Insolence the occasion of the War with them, ending with an Elegy on Mr. boil.  
WHen the Dutch States with Insolence were grown  
So monstrous big, they scarce had room for one,  
They sought about for more, yet naught could please  
But the Dominion of the British Seas:  
In order unto which, they load the main  
With Men of War, and all the world disdain,  
Their Sails being filled with what themselves are full  
They under Sail did then attempt to pull  
The power into their own hands, from her that nursed  
Them up; they did attempt, but in the attempt they burst:  
For when calm Albion's King a while had viewed  
The monstrous preparations of this rude  
Ignoble people, straight he launched forth  
A mighty Navy, mighty for its worth,  
But for its Conduct more; being led by him  
Whose glorious Actions might the Caesar's dim,  
Illustrious James it was, whose powerful Arm  
The Dutch felt burning hot, when he scarce warm:  
And 'mongst the Noble train did wait upon  
His Royal Highness, noble boil was one:  
A noble youth, who in his Aspect bore  
The Characters of good, and great in store:  
His person built to such a height and due  
Proportion, as any thing that's true:  
And with his person, such his actions were  
That every move was pleasing, every move did dare  
To something great: yet with such modest mean,  
He was admired, and loved as soon as seen;  
And though the convex of his body wore  
This taking Aspect, yet within was more:  
For there a genius sat, so strung, that straight  
To what you touched, if what you touched had weight:  
Above her great reason sat, which did control  
The expanding vigour of his mighty Soul:  
Which like a fermentation else had broke,  
The polished cask, before this fatal stroke:  
True courage now it was, upon whose wings  
He climbed the Tragic stage, and dared such things  
That Mars himself no sooner saw, but sent  
In fire and smoke, to him a Complemement:  
But spiteful Death, who in an ambush lay,  
In this great Tragedy to choose his prey:  
Had hid himself within that Cloud of Smoke,  
That Mars had sent, and gave that fatal stroke  
By which he fell, yet honourably died  
In's Country's Service, by his Prince's side:  
His Soul then being fled, to whom 'twas due,  
A contest here then about his body grew;  
The Earth claimed it as hers, and had prepared  
In her own bowels to have it there interred;  
But Neptune greedy of so great a prize,  
Did bounce and foam, and at the Deck did rise  
To demand his Dead, at which the tall  
Ship bowed her lofty Head, and Sails and all,  
For nothing else could Neptune's wrath appease  
But that same body, to adorn his Seas,  
At which the Marble wept, and does weep yet,  
'Cause that his Name's not in her Forehead writ.   

On the Death of the Earl of Sandwich.  
IS Sandwich dead? Is that brave Hero gone  
Of England's Architect, the corner Stone.  
Did he not think his dearest blood to dear  
To spend for us? and we deny a tear:  
Let's give him that, which we cannot deny  
To an expiring Valiant Enemy.  
Let's drain our eyes, and make him float again  
In our Salt tears, as once upon the Main.  
Let every one give honour to his Hearse,  
And every Poet cast on it a Verse.  
But O brave Sandwich, whose Pen must that be,  
That on thy Death can write an Elegy;  
Thou diest not like a Mortal; and if so,  
What Mortals Pen to write thy Death doth know.   

The Obsequious Lover, A SONG.  

1.  
When I contemplate on thy parts  
My dear Corrinna, I despair,  
Because thou'rt Mistress of all hearts,  
And all expect to have a share   

2.  
How then can I expect to find  
So much as one good look from thee,  
Since all that know thee are so kind  
Thy Votaries they Vow to be.   

3.  
One for thy Voice admires thee much,  
Another for thy Dancing to,  
But if a Lute thou chance to touch  
They stand amazed, and cannot go.   

4.  
A third admires thy sparkling eyes  
That shine like Diamonds in the night,  
A fourth doth praise thy lips likewise,  
Being of a Ruby colour right.   

5.  
A fifth sets forth thy ruddy cheek  
As being of so pure a hue,  
That when for Roses they do seek,  
There they're found, as if there they grew.   

6.  
A sixth admires thy Swanlike skin,  
A seventh doth praise thy foot and hand,  
Another so thy neck and chin,  
A ninth thy waste which may be spanned.   

7.  
A tenth thy hair and other parts  
To share 'em all they do agree,  
On which they all do fix their hearts,  
But yet I hope thy heart is free.   

8.  
Grant me but that Corrinna then,  
'Tis only that which I do crave,  
I shall be happiest of all men,  
If I may live and die thy Slave.    

The Prologue to Arvicagus and Felicia.  
YOu are Trapand: Invited to a Play  
Which e'er half done, you'll with yourselves away.  
'tis long, 'tis sad: nay you must mark the Plot,  
Then Court not Vizard Masques, or Censure not:  
Some think if they had known as much before,  
They would have made Abatement at the door:  
We'll do it yet; but now I think I'll stay,  
For he that took your money's gone away:  
Something would yet be done,  we begin,  
Well to an old Play, you have a new Prologue in,  
That's more than promised; What if both be ill,  
Where are we then, we are your debtors still:  
To quit scores, take full liberty to day  
To Censure loud the Actors and the Play:  
But at another time when the Play is good,  
Sat Silent, that we may be understood.  
Your Pardons Gentlemen, alas 'tis not we  
That dare Impose: though Poets saucy be,  
For we confess 'tis very just and fit,  
When they show none, you should Proclaim your wit,  
Take your full Licence as you used to do,  
But find just faults, or else they'll censure you.   

On a Shrew.  
SShrew being blamed, because she showed  
Not so much Reverence as by right she owed  
Unto her Husband: She replied she might,  
Forbear then complaint of me, I do him right,  
His will is mine, he would bear Rule, and I  
Desire the same only by Sympathy.   

The Prologue to the Widow.  
NOw that the Season of the War is past,  
We well had hoped to see you here at last,  
But you this Winter find out other ways  
To kill yourselves, and to destroy our Plays,  
You meet in Masquerade to pass your time  
Without the help of Reason or of Rhyme,  
You talk, and cheat each other in disguise,  
And draw ten blanks of Beauty for one prize  
Were Visor of, and all were bound to come,  
And show your homely Faces in the Room,  
Each one would cry to see the rest appear,  
Now what the devil do these damned faces here.  
Then he who seemed a Lord in that dumb show,  
Prove some young Spark of Pater-Noster-Row.  
And she who in disguise appeared so pretty,  
Turns up her Masque and shows the Orange Betty.  
Thus tired with want of pleasure home we creep,  
And all next day, you lie a Bed and sleep,  
Mean time our empty Seats, your absence mourn,  
We sigh (but Poets think of you with scorn)  
For Courting still yourselves, you seem to say,  
That you Heaven Love, you have more wit than they,  
And that one Scene o'th' Couch, is worth a Play.   

The Epilogue to the Widow.  
THe Stage is like a Gaming-house, where you  
Still throw at all, we bring more old than new  
And you of late have so successful been,  
That to our cost, what e'er we set, you win  
But now we so much cunning understand  
To lose but little, and to starve your hand,  
We butter not, but take the safest way  
To set you a small sum, a poor old Play  
If you are kind, throw out for this one stake,  
For faith 'tis all we can at present make  
The Poets and the Players now are poor,  
But in our next new house, we'll set you more.   

A Song in the Dutch Lovers.  

1.  
A Myntas led me to a Grove  
Where all the Trees did shade us;  
The Sun itself, though it had striven,  
It could not have betrayed us.  
The place secured from humane Eyes,  
No other fear allows,  
But when the Winds that gently rise,  
Do kill the yielding Boughs.   

2.  
Down there we sat upon the Moss,  
And did begin to play  
A thousand wanton tricks, to pass  
The heat of all the day.  
A many Kisses he did give,  
And I received the same,  
Which made me willing to receive  
That which I dare not name.   

3.  
His Charming Eyes no aid required  
To tell their Amorous Tale;  
On her that was already fired,  
'Twas easy to prevail.  
He did but kiss, and clasp me round,  
Whilst those his thoughts expressed,  
And laid me softly on the ground:  
O who can guests the rest!  
And there I took my rest.    

The second Song in the Dutch Lovers.  

1.  
AH false Amyntas! can that hour  
So soon forgotten be,  
When first I yielded up my power  
To be betrayed by thee?  
Heaven knows with how much Innocence  
I did my heart resign  
Unto thy faithless Eloquence,  
And gave thee what was mine.   

2.  
I had not one reserve in store,  
But at thy Feet I laid  
Those Arms which conquered heretofore,  
Though now thy Trophies made.  
Thy Eyes in silence told their Tale  
Of Love in such a way,  
That 'twas as easy to prevail,  
As after to betray    

When only one doth guide the Ship,  
That neither Card nor Compass knows,  
The Master, Pilot, Men asleep,  
The stately Ship is split on shoals.  
But when they wake, they start, and tore, and cry,  
Who's in the fault? Nor I, nor I, nor I.  
Even so it fares with a High and Mighty State,  
Not guided by the Master, but the Mate.   

The Disconsolate Girl for the loss of her Love, lately Pressed to Sea.  
The Tune, Bory Versaile.  

1.  
AS I was sitting on the Grass  
Within a silent shady Grove,  
I overheard a Countrey-Lass,  
Was there bewailing of her Love.  
My Love, says she,  
Is ta'en from me,  
And to the Wars is pressed and gone;  
He's marched away,  
And gone to Sea,  
Alack, alack and welladay,  
And left me here alone.   

2.  
My Love he was the kindest man,  
There's none that's like him in the Town,  
He'd gently take me by the hand,  
And give me many a brave green Gown.  
With kisses sweet  
He would me greet,  
And often sing a roundelay;  
And sometimes smile,  
Then chat a while,  
That so we might the time beguile,  
A livelong Summer's day.   

3.  
My Love on May-day still would be  
The earliest up of all the rest,  
With scarves and Ribbons than would he  
Of all the Crew be finest dressed;  
With Morris-Bells,  
And fine things else:  
But when the Piper began to play,  
He danced so well,  
I heard 'em tell,  
That he did all the rest excel,  
And bore the Bell away.   

4.  
The Man that took my Love away,  
Was too too harsh, and too severe,  
I gently on my Knees did pray  
That he my Love would then forbear.  
I offered too  
A breeding Ewe,  
And eke a Lamb that was my own:  
Do what I could,  
It did no good,  
But left me in this pensive mood  
To sigh and make my moan.   

5.  
I now will pray the Wars may cease,  
That I again may see my Love;  
And that the Bullets may him miss,  
I will entreat the Powers above;  
Which if they grant,  
I then will chant  
Abroad their Praises every day;  
And with my charms  
Secure from harms  
My dearest Love within mine Arms,  
And leave off Welladay.    

A Song in Praise of Drinking.  
Tune, Mr. Smith 's Jig, called Mrs. Madge 's Jig.  

1.  
COme take up your Cups, and leave off this  
Prittle prattle, Boys,  
Away with disputes, they're only  
Fit for the Schools:  
Then trole it about, and call for the  
t' other Pottle, Boys,  
Who loves not the Juice of the Grape  
Are counted but Fools.  
For poring on Books will make a man  
Dull and muddy too,  
And often doth fill the Brain with  
Frenzy and pains;  
But we with Canary, without any  
Pain or study too,  
Copernicus-like, can turn the World  
Round with our Brains.   

2.  
A Couple I knew that were besotted  
With Love of late,  
And both to be free from Cupid's  
Bands did desire;  
The one did resolve to study, and  
Make his Book his Mate,  
The other by Bacchus resolved  
To extinguish her Fire.  
For he that by Study did think  
To cast those thoughts away,  
Did meet with a Subject still that  
Did add to his Flame.  
But t'other by Drinking the thoughts  
Of Love did so allay,  
He had almost forgotten that ever  
He had any Dame.   

3.  
Then off went their Hats, and off  
Went all their studious thoughts,  
And every one did praise the  
Juice of the Vine.  
And then unto Bacchus all did there  
Confess their faults,  
And vowed they'd be daily offering  
Unto his Shrine.  
For Mars is mad, and Cupid's an  
Ass, and Apollo too,  
Who thinks by Fight and Charms,  
And Books to undo us,  
But Bacchus shall be our Protector,  
And him we'll follow to;  
Being under his Banner, what  
Mischief can ever come to us.    

The Courtiers Wooing a Country-Lass.  
The Tune Jonson's Jig.  

TEll me my Betty, why so nice and coy,  
Remember the merry pastimes that we have had,  
We might ere this a gotten a Lusty Boy,  
A pox of a Jointure, I think thou'lt make me mad.  
I'll settle upon thee kisses sweet and plenty,  
From one unto two, and so from ten to twenty,  
Nay more than that, I'll settle myself upon thee,  
The finest covering yet thou ere hadst on thee.   

2.  
When that is done, I'll give thee a Silken gown  
Shall trail behind thy feet a pretty space,  
Of the modishest Silk that now is wore in Town,  
And laid in every seam with Silver Lace;  
Thy Petticoat shall be of Silk Prunellay,  
O'th' self same piece that was made for Arabella.  
Thy Stockings of London Silk, well knit together,  
And thy every days shoes shall be of Spanish leather.   

3.  
I'll take thee a house in any street i'th' Town,  
Which thou shalt pitch upon for thy delight,  
And furnish some o'th' Rooms with Beds of down  
For thee and I to lie on every Night;  
Thou also shalt have a Chambermaid to attend thee,  
Shall study to please thy humour and never offend thee.  
And whensoever thou shalt call upon her,  
She'll answer Madam, a purpose to give thee honour.   

4.  
Some days we will betake us to a Play,  
And then we'll Coach about to see our Friends,  
And then another day, tothth' Park away,  
Or wheresoever still thy Fancy bends,  
And so tothth' Mulberry Garden we'll have a fling to,  
And then in St. James his Park we'll see the King to,  
Where many fine Gallants and Ladies walk for pleasure,  
But thee alone shall still be my greatest treasure.   

5.  
If this will do, then let me know thy mind,  
And give me but a kiss to Seal the same,  
Thou shalt have two for one, I'll be so kind  
And pay it on thy Lips, from whence it came.  
She than did fly into his arms to cheer him,  
And wished no other harm might ere come near him.  
As he was hers, so she was his for ever,  
And nought but death, should ere their true Love sever.    

On a Neat but Noble Cheese-feast lately in London.  
To the Scotch Tune, Sat thee down by me.  

1.  
I'll tell you of a Treat in Throckmorton-street,  
Where many good Friends of late there did meet,  
Where divers sorts of Cheese was so well dressed,  
That I ne'er yet saw such a Cows-bobby Feast.   

2.  
The first dish of Cheese that was then served in  
Was three fat Pullats, with Bacon between  
Laced round with Sprouts, that I'll swear at first sight,  
I thought 'thad been Bacon and Pullats downright.   

3.  
The next dish of Cheese that came to the board  
Was a whole half-Lamb a dish for a Lord,  
But I know 'twas Cheese, I'd a swore 'thad been  
The Baby of a Ewe, or very near a kin.   

4.  
The third dish of Cheese that was then brought up,  
Was a Pie with Oysters, and Shrimps to the top  
Mingled with Sweetmeats, but that I knew  
'Twas Cheese, I'd thought 'thad been a Pie to.   

5.  
The fourth dish of Cheese, though t'other were clean,  
Yet this all Foul, all Fat, none Lean,  
As wild Ducks, Woodcocks, and Larks, so well done,  
You'd swear 'twere not Cheese, but foul every one.   

6.  
Now God to bless our good Benefactors both  
That gave us such Cheese, first Boiled in broth,  
The next Rost, then Baked, than Rost again to,  
None toasted, as the Welshmen uses to do.    

The Welshman's Wooing his Mistress.  
To the Scotch Tune as above.  

1.  
SHinkin was tell Hur sorrowful tale,  
Of Hur pright Pigsney live in Wale;  
How Hur was to Guenith a Wooing Ride,  
With Hur brave Puckler and Sword by her side.   

2.  
First Hur was take Hur by the white hand,  
And lead Hur over the Mountain land,  
Which Hur Cousin Shinkin, ap Morgan, ap Shone,  
Was ferry well kenow was all her own.   

3.  
Then Hur was Sing Hur a Wisdom Song,  
Was make in London create while ago  
Of Hur Puty pright, but Guenith was scorn,  
That Shinkin with Love was quite forlorn.   

4.  
Then Hur was call for Welsh Harp, to try  
To play fore Guenith Melodiously,  
But Hur was grieve, cause Guenith was chide,  
That Shinkin with Love was almost died.   

5.  
Then Hur was dance a Coranto to,  
Was learn in London pig while ago,  
But Hur was slight still all Shinkins art,  
That Shinkin for Love was preak her heart.   

6.  
Last Hur was reckon her Pedigree true,  
From Shinkin, ap Thomas, ap Rees, ap Hugh,  
But Guenith was cry, and from her was flew,  
So Hur was bid Cruel Guenith adieu.    

The Innocent Girls Revenged.  
A Song and true Story.  

1.  
JInny and Nelly together,  
Did both of 'em fancy Will,  
Yet Willy regarded neither,  
But Courted his Molly still,  
Yet Willy they say,  
Did keep'm in Play,  
And privately called 'em his dear,  
And Jinny and Nelly,  
The Truth to tell ye,  
Did both of 'em make him good cheer   

2.  
To day would Willy to Jinny go,  
O'th' morrow with Nelly would be,  
But neither o'th' Girls did ever know  
That he with both was so free;  
For Jinny did think  
She was at the brink  
Of Marriage with Willy alone,  
And Nelly likewise,  
Did always surmise,  
That she should have Willy or none.   

3.  
Jinny sometimes to Willy gave  
A Favour, and Gloves, or Rings,  
And Nelly would always ready have  
The like, or some other things,  
But what e'er he got,  
He kept not a jot,  
But gave 'em to Molly at Night,  
That Willy and Molly,  
Did laugh at the folly  
Of Jinny and Nelly outright.   

4.  
But Molly would still be prating,  
As Women are use to do,  
And spoke of the Lasses treating  
Of Willy, and presents to,  
And how he gave her  
The Rings and Favours,  
That they had presented to Willy,  
And then by your Leaves,  
They laughed in their sleeves  
That Lasses should e'er be so silly.   

5.  
But now I must tell you the knack on't,  
To Jinny and Nelly 'twas known,  
That Molly did use to crack on't  
In several places in Town,  
But Nell on her Breast,  
Did see at a Feast  
The Favour to Willy she gave,  
And Jenny likewise,  
On her finger espies  
The Ring she'd given to the Knave.   

6.  
Then Jinny and Nelly acquainted  
Some friends of theirs that were come,  
And told how their credits were tainted  
By Will and Mall in the Room.  
Then they by a Wile,  
Did Willy beguile,  
And got him into a yard by,  
And so they mumped him,  
For sound they pumped him,  
Until he for pardon did cry.   

7.  
Then Molly did kick and fling to,  
And fumed like a furmety pot,  
So from her they took the Ring to,  
And what of theirs she had got,  
Then out they pulled her,  
And presently cooled her,  
For under the Pump they placed her,  
And when they had done,  
They bid her go home,  
And brag how much they had graced her.    

A Song to the first Figure Dance at Mr. Young's Ball in Feb. 72.  

1.  
COme Lads and Lasses,  
And hasten your paces,  
For this is a merry Dancing day;  
'Tis Mayday you know  
And the Clock has struck Two  
And now the Piper gins to play.  
The May-Pole's seated,  
And Bower's completed,  
With Cakes and Ale attending,  
And Cream and Cheesecakes,  
With Cider and Biscuits,  
And all of the Parishes sending.   

2.  
My Lord and Lady  
Have long been ready,  
And both of them decked as fine as may be,  
So rich on my word  
He looks like a Lord,  
And she's as fine as a Bartholomew Baby.  
She is dressed to day  
So wonderful gay,  
With that she has gotten together;  
And likewise is he  
As Gallant as she,  
With his new fashion Hat and Feather.   

3.  
There's John a the Mill to,  
With Joan a the Hill to,  
Have both been there an hour ago;  
And Will of the ●ell to  
With high dancing Nell to  
And clad in their best Apparel to.  
And George a the green,  
Is there to be seen,  
Together with cherry cheeked Hester;  
And Betty and Richard,  
With dainty fine Bridget  
Who came with her capering Kester.   

4.  
Then for our-Town hay,  
They every one cry,  
And each did take his Lass by th' hand;  
And about they go  
The Green too and fro,  
And round the Maypole: then make a stand.  
So the Piper then  
Fell to it again,  
And Sellenger's Round did Play 'em,  
And to it they went,  
They were all so bend,  
The Devil a one could stay 'um.   

5.  
And so they continue  
With all their Retinue,  
Until they were tired with Dancing quite;  
The Piper likewise,  
Could scarce keep his eyes  
Open, for playing from morn till night,  
Then hay for the Ale  
And Cakes they do call,  
And down in the Bowers they set 'em,  
And when they had done,  
Then every one,  
Away to their homes did get 'em.    

A Song on the Morris at Mr. young's Ball,  
And to that Tune.  

SOme Pretty Ladies on a day,  
Did go abroad a Maying,  
And on the gentle grass they lay,  
Till the Fiddler fell a Playing.  
Then in a trice  
They all did rise  
With every one a Feather,  
And hand in hand  
They made a stand  
Four and four together.   

2.  
Then every one began to meet,  
And timed the Music truly,  
And with their pretty nimble feet  
Did keep their measures duly.  
Then all came out,  
And Danced about,  
And fixed into a figure,  
And so began  
The Morris than  
With pretty might and vigour.   

3.  
And first fair T. D. did begin,  
Whose dancing scarce has fellow,  
And Lovely S. B. followed in  
Whose dress was comely yellow.  
Then pretty Li  
Tripped out and in,  
And footed it most neatly;  
And witty Sin  
did likewise with  
The rest do all completely.   

4.  
Then strait-limbed Gr. wheeled about  
Her pretty La. to greet still  
Who in no figure was out  
But handsomely did meet still.  
Then airy Ma  
Got credits Badge,  
By'r true and lofty measure;  
She well did do,  
And so did to  
Pretty lively L— r.   

5.  
Thus have you heard the Morris out,  
Though none were so o'th' crew than  
They prettily did turn about  
And ev'ry one danced true then.  
And at the last,  
But not too fast,  
They made their Honours neatly;  
And who can say  
That very day  
But all was done completely?    

On his Valentine.  

IF I may claim my own, than you are mine  
Throughout this year to be my Valentine;  
But you perhaps may brand me with the Name  
Of Impudent; but Madam, know the blame  
Is not in me; for 'twas a chance of mine  
That drew yourself to be my Valentine:  
Therefore if you will needs displeased be,  
You must with chance be angry: not with me.    

A Scotch Song.  

1.  
KIlt thy Coat Paggy,  
Kilt it to thy knee,  
Change thy mind dear honey,  
And gang along wi' me.  
But Ise not kilt my Coat,  
Nor Ise not change my boon;  
Nor Ice not kiss no Lads  
Tall Will cooms to Toone.   

2.  
Change thy mind sweet Paggy,  
For Willy Leov's not thee;  
To Leove, and not Leove again  
Is a foolish fantasy:  
I prithee sweet Leove be waise,  
And well advised be,  
And quickly kilt thy Coat  
And gea along with me.   

3.  
There's nothing can withstand  
A willing settled moind,  
There's neither Sea nor Land,  
Shall make me stay behind;  
But the steans that lie in Fields  
My pillows needs must be,  
But, O mine ean sweet Willy  
Ise long to Ligg with thee.    

A New Catch.  

1.  
HE that Marries a Girl that's fair,  
If he be a Cuckold, he needs not despair,  
He may be saved without a Prayer  
For the sins of his Wife shall save him.  
But he that Marries an ugly Whore,  
And takes a Wench on another score,  
May say his Prayers o'er and o'er,  
But at length the Devil will have him.    

The Old and Decrepit Beggar's Wedding.  

WHilom there was an Aged Beggar Old,  
In his life full fourscore Winters told;  
His Head all frozen, Beard long, white as snow,  
With a staffs prop. uneath else might he go  
With bleared eyen, all parched dry and cold  
With shaking-Palsey, little could he hold:  
His  so tattered, for they were so worn,  
Older than he, in many pieces torn;  
The subtlest eye, and prying'st brain, those seen,  
Both could not guests what stuffed had ever been:  
On's Cloak more several patches there did stick,  
That laboured Algebras with all his Magic,  
Can once tell how to number; and was fuller  
Than was the Rainbow of each various colour:  
But not so fresh: so faden when they were seen,  
That none could guests, which red, which blew, which green,  
His Turf-house leaned to an old stump of Oak,  
A hole a top there was to void the smoke:  
Covered with stolen boughs, which could not be fed,  
But by his daily begging, daily Bread:  
There on a little bench I'll leave him then,  
Within a while I'll speak of him again.   

Another Beggar-woman, a little sundered  
From him, whom all the Town said was a hundred:  
Toothless she was, nay worn were all her gums,  
And all her fingers too were worn to thumbs:  
Wrinkles, deep graves to bury all delight,  
Eyes new sunk holes; little she had of sight:  
Little could speak, as little Sense could tell,  
Seldom she heard, sometimes the great Town-bell.  
A long forgetfulness her Legs had seized,  
For many years her Crutches had them eased.  
, thousand rags tore with the wind and weather,  
Her Housewifry long since had sowed together.  
No livelihood, but Charity grown cold,  
As she was this, more than her years made old.   

In a hot Summer's day, they out did creep,  
Inlivened just like flies, for else they sleep:  
Creeping at last, each one to other get  
Lousing each other, kindly thus they met:  
Apollo's Masterpiece shining did aim  
To light dead ashes sparks: not make a flame.  
To stir up Nature in 'em now so cold,  
And whither Cupid dwells in them who are old?  
Now heat and kindness made him try to kiss her,  
Her palsied-head so shaked he still did miss her:  
He thought of modesty, she 'gainst her will  
Striving to please him, could not hold it still:  
She mumbled, but he could not understand her,  
But cried sweet Hero, I'll be thy Leander:  
She said before we met, cold as a stone is,  
I was: but now am Venus, thou Adonis.  
Such heights of passions, Love had brought these two,  
As youngest Lovers, when they gi'en too woe:  
For Cupid's reign o'er Mankind still will have,  
He governs from the Cradle to the Grave:  
Their virtues such, not sin; yet would not tarry,  
So heated, vowed a contract then to Marry:  
This Marriage now divulged was every where  
To Neighbour Beggars; Beggars far and near.  
The day appointed, and the Marriage set,  
The lame, the blind, the deaf, they all were met,  
Such throngs of Beggars, Women, Children seen,  
Mustered all on the Town's fair grassy green:  
The Bridegroom led between two lame men so,  
Because our Bridegroom fast he could not go:  
The Bride was led by Blindmen, close behind,  
Because you know that Love is always blind.  
The Hedge-Priest then, which they did with them bring,  
Married them both with an old Curtain Ring.  
No Father there was found, or could be ever,  
She was so old, that there was none to give her;  
With acclamations now of louder joy,  
Prayed Hymen Priapus to send a Boy  
To show a miracle in vows most deep,  
The Parish swore their Children all to keep.  
Then Tom a Bedlam wound his horn: at best  
Their Trumpet, now to bring away the Feast,  
Picked Marrowbones they'd found lately in th' street,  
With Carrots, kicked out of Kennels with their feet:  
Crusts gathered up, for biscuit 'twas so dried  
As if't lain in Alms-Tubs long, and more beside:  
Many such dishes had, but yet 'twould cumber,  
Any to name them; more than I can number:  
Then came the Banquet, that must never fail,  
Which the Town gave; that's white-bread, and strong Ale;  
Each was so Tipsy that they could not go,  
And yet would dance, and cry for Music ho:  
Grid-irons & Tongues, with Keys they played on to,  
And blindmen sung to them, as used to do:  
Some that were there, on hollow sticks did sound,  
And so melodiously they played a round:  
Lame men, lame Women, mingled cried advance,  
And so all limping Jovially did Dance:  
The Deaf men to, for they must not forbear,  
When they saw this, although they could not hear:  
Which was their happiness: now to the house  
Of Bridegroom brought the Bride, each Drunk as Mouse.  
No room for any but them two they saw,  
So laid them down in Bed of fresher straw;  
Then took their leaves, put out the rushy light,  
But they themselves did revel all the night:  
The Bridegroom busles now, kissed, and said friend,  
But when he kissed, thought 'twas at t'other end:  
He cried her mercy, said he could not look  
It was so dark, and thought he had mistake:  
No said the Bride most sweetly than y'are right,  
As if our Taper here were burning bright:  
They bust, and kissed, and bust again, and kissed,  
And she though Palsy head, it seldom missed;  
They both now filled with Ale, brains in't did steep  
So Arms in Arms, our Lovers fell asleep:  
So, for the will, though nothing else indeed  
To Love, the Beggars built a Pyramid.   

The Epilogue to the Beggar's Wedding.  

TOthth' Beggars Trade, I've served 2 Prenticeships,  
For which I know I've tasted several whips:  
Give your advice, d'ye think I now am made  
Free o'th' Beggar's Company, and the Trade:  
My mind in secret to your ear I speak,  
Is such, as I am sure I shall not break,  
Unless in passion, when no meat I get,  
When Belly-timber wants, 'twill make one fret.  
For otherwise, when abroad I lead my Scorta,  
We each may say, Omnia mea, mecum porta,  
And being Philosophers, there's none will scant  
Their pittance to us, that we ne'er shall want,  
Then let Boreas burst his cheeks, anth ' Sea roar,  
The Beggar's bark can ne'er be tumbled o'er:  
What fit subject for my Muse can be,  
Than make Descriptions of our company;  
But being in haste, and for some causes vexed  
I'll cease: and happily may say more i'th' next.   

For the Beggar's theme too well my fortunes fit,  
My Fancy's beggarly too, faith and so's my wit.     

TWo Lords, 4 Knights, 3 Squires, and I the least,  
My kind Friend Willy bids unto his feast,  
Where was both fish, and flesh, and all such cates  
Which men are wont to have, that feast great states,  
To pay for which next day he sold his Nag,  
Of whose swift pace, he used much to brag:  
Well, I'll ne'er care for red and fallow Deer,  
If that a Horse so Cooked, make so good cheer.   

A Song.  

1.  
'tIs true fair Phillis, heretofore  
I your Beauty did adore,  
And gave my Captive heart a prize  
To the conquest of your eyes.   

2.  
But since that you so cruel prove,  
To reject my chastest love,  
And do wound me by disdain,  
Give me back my heart again.   

3.  
Although I'm sure I cannot be  
Contented with my liberty;  
I am resolved to submit  
To good old Sack to cherish it.    

On his fair, but faithless Mistress.  
GO perjured Wretch, women I'll court no more  
Since Delia false doth prove, who always swore  
In true affection she would constant prove;  
Yet now forgets mine, for another's love:  
Now every feature which appeared to me  
So beautiful, is mere deformity;  
Her face which heretofore Angels outride,  
Is Leprous with her falsehood, and her pride:  
Then since no constancy in Women can  
Be found: I'll make my-Amours to a man.   

A Song.  

1.  
I Dye, and yet I dare not speak  
To her who doth my passion move,  
This thought alone my heart doth break,  
To know I dare not own my Love.   

When e'er I see her charming eyes,  
I strait become her Sacrifice:  
She's fair, which makes me doubt she'll prove  
So cruel to reject my love.   

2.  
Upon this Altar of my heart  
Love's pure, and chastest flames do burn,  
When Love and Death shall act their part,  
If she but look within my Urn.   

Engraven on my heart, she'll see  
The Idea of her my Deity,  
My Epitaph shall be my fate,  
My Love made me unfortunate.    

The Jealous Girl mistaken, in a Dialogue between Menalcas and Licoris.  

1.  
HEre, here, my fair Licoris,  
Sat thee down thy wearied Limbs to rest,  
Where drooping Violets so like thyself,  
Have made for thee a Nest.   

Grass for our Sheep here store is,  
And a shade the Sun can ne'er infest  
As dark and gloomy, as the grief  
Wherewith thou seem'st so sore oppressed.   

Now let me know  
The cause of thy dear Woe,  
Whose precious Food  
Is of thy Tears and Blood;  
And for whose nourishment,  
Thyself thou near hast spent.   

2.  
Menalcas dost thou ask it,  
Need the root inquire what Fruit it bears;  
Thou were't the Spring of all my Joys  
And Fountain Art of all my Tears.   

Therefore do no more Mask it,  
Pity Friend worse than true scorn appears,  
I shortly shall be gone, and with me yours,  
And your Faith Phillis fears.  
'Tis she False man,  
Makes me so pale and wan,  
So sorrow slain,  
With that she wept amain,  
And hung her gentle head  
Like to a Lily dead.   

3.  
With that the Shepherd moved  
Both his eyes and hands to Heaven, he heaved  
His spotless faith he vowed, and she  
Alas unhappily deceived.   

That he ne'er Phillis Loved  
More than ripe ears do love, the stormy wind,  
But in Licoris all his hopers  
Eternally should be confined.  
Quoth she, fie, fie,  
Add no more perjury,  
I saw the Band  
Of our true Loves on her hand.  
The Ring I thee first gave  
Saved thy life, and digged my grave.   

4.  
With that the Shepherd smiled  
In his heart, glad that he could untie  
With so much ease, the knot of poor  
Licoris headless Jealousy.  
My Life thou art beguiled  
Quoth the Swain, with that the Ring pulled out  
Yet seeming reason some there was  
For this, thy but too loving doubt  
For Corydon,  
By thy Ring made her one  
Like as the Lambs  
Mistaken by their Dams;  
But this is thine, and I  
More for it till I die.   

5.  
Long sat the Girl ashamed,  
Till at last, about his Neck she stole  
Her Arm, than Venus' belt a better  
Cord to hold a wavering Soul.   

Her Jealousy she blamed,  
In his breast she hide her bashful head,  
And whispered to his heart, that if  
He loved her not, she was but dead,  
That no man ere  
To her was half so dear,  
His Pardon prayed,  
Yet being sore afraid  
To lose so sweet a friend,  
Had almost wrought her end.   

6.  
Menalcas then embraced her,  
Protesting that he loved her well before,  
But now he vowed that nought but  
Death should ever part 'em more.  
Now he in's heart had placed her,  
'Cause she for love of him was brought so low,  
There's nought but too much love I find  
Has wrought Licoris overthrow.  
For Jealousy,  
There's no man can deny,  
Though grown a weed,  
But to come of noble seed.  
And no where to be found  
But in Love's richest ground.    

On his Beautiful Mistress, To my M. B. quintessence of Beauty, I John Thump does present my duty.  
MY dearest Maudlin, deign me at this time,  
Thy incomparable parts to blaze in modest rhyme,  
That all hereafter which shall hear thy Story,  
Will say that 'tis to thy Immortal glory:  
O thou that able art to take to task all,  
Pox, what will rhyme to that? I am a Rascal  
If I know, 'tis no matter, but for thy credit  
I've penned a Poem; Prithee take't and read it,  
Thou needest not be ashamed of't, for it raises  
Trophies as high as Maypoles to thy praises:  
And first in order, it thy head doth handle,  
That's more obicular than a Quadrangle,  
O'th' top of which doth grow a tuft of tresses,  
Winter herself arrayed in her hoary dresses;  
Nay a frost looks not more lovely, thy brows truly  
Have larger furrows than a field ploughed newly.  
Thine eyes, hay eyes! I'm now so full of clinches!  
Are not sunk into thy head, 'bove 16. Inches  
From whence distilling, gently there doth stream  
Two Rivers of whey mixed with curdled Cream.  
Thy ears are like two pouches which do hang byth' side  
Of a Brawny Alewife, when they are not tied.  
Straight as a Ramshorn is thy Nose, more Marrow  
Lies in thy Nostrils then will fill a Barrow;  
And at thy lip, to make it Ornamental,  
Hangs down a Jewel of Snot most Oriental,  
The bright gold and thy hair is of one colour,  
But it compared with thee, that's the duller;  
Thy lips are white as Tallow, never man did  
Buss sweeter things, sure they're Sugar-candid;  
And that i'th' Winter, she may be free from harm,  
They're thatched with hair sweet Soul to keep her are,  
Her Teeth more comely than two dirty rakes  
Her Breath is stronger than a dozen Jakes are.  
A fig for all Perfumes, a fart for Roses,  
Smelled men but thee, they'd wish themselves all Noses,  
Thy Voice is Musical, and sweet and fine is  
As any Heg, or Hag, that ninety nine is,  
And when thou talk'st, as if thou wert the wonder  
Of Women kind, thou art as still as Thunder;  
And then for thickness 'bout thy lovely waste,  
thou'rt larger than a Cow is when thou'rt laced,  
Thy Butt— and the fashion are so all one,  
That I'd a swore thou hadst a Fardingal on.  
Thy Thighs are like two Posts that bear a Windmill up,  
Whose Sails are turned by th'wind that comes from the top.  
Thy Legs are Badger-like, and go as even  
As do jambick Verse, or splay-legged Steven.  
And where she was born, that you may not be mistaken,  
You'll find by her Legs her Birth was Crooked Lane.  
And now I am come to thy Foot, where I do  
Prostrate myself with reverence to thy Shoe;  
Which for Antiquity never a jot behind is  
Tom Coriats, that travelled both the Indies.  
Thy Feet indeed, and I commend thee for't,  
Are lovely thick, and excellently short:  
She needs must dance well, I do long to see't,  
She keeps her Toes out so, and her Heels do meet.  
For thy sweet sake I will go down to Pluto,  
And in thy quarrel beat him black and blue too;  
And lest Sir Cerberus should be too lusty,  
I have a Loaf will hold him play: 'tis crusty.  
I'll have the devil back with me in a Snaffle,  
For in that kind I scorn to have a baffle.  
And so I take my leave, my dearest Pumkin,  
And when I meet thee next, I'll kiss thy— hand.   

A Catch: By Wine, Ale, and Beer.  

1.  
Wine. I Jovial Wine exhilerate the heart.  
Beer. March-Beer is Drink for a King.  
Ale. But Ale, bonny Ale, with Spice and a Toast, In the Morning's a dainty thing.  
Chorus. Then let us be merry, wash sorrow away,  
Wine, Beer and Ale shall be drunk to day.   

2.  
Wine. I Generous Wine am for the Court.  
Beer. The City calls for Beer:  
Ale. But Ale, bonny Ale, like a Lord of the Soil, In the Country shall domineer.  
Chorus. Then let us be merry, wash sorrow away,  
Wine, Beer and Ale shall be drunk to day.    

The Wretched Lover. A Song.  

1.  
SEE how I wretched Lover prostrate lie,  
Bound in your Chains, and yet at liberty:  
Striving the Ties which hold me to unfold;  
They being tangled, me the straighter hold.   

2.  
The Beams shot from your Eyes do me inflame,  
From thence I burn: O that you felt the same!  
And whilst I struggle to evade the fire,  
It still is blown up by my vain desire.   

3.  
I'm like a Ship which in a Storm is tossed,  
Fearing on Rocks each moment to be lost:  
It strives unto the Haven to attain,  
But is by adverse Winds blown back again.   

4.  
Thus in Love's Labrinth do I run about,  
And find no way by which I may get out.  
Lend me the Clue; but if you that deny,  
Then come yourself, and stay eternally.    

A Catch to Cupid.  
IN vain, O mighty God of Love,  
Thou shootest thy Arrows from above;  
And with thy too imperious Dart  
Dost hit my Phillis frozen Heart:  
For as a strong and well-built Wall  
Doth back return the Tennis-Ball;  
So doth her Adamantine-Heart  
Reverberate thy Fiery Dart.   

On a Rhodomontade.  
FOrtune, the Mother of Inconstancy,  
Doth pride herself that she may constant be  
To me, whose Breath can whirl her Wheel about,  
And with a look can put the Gods in doubt.  
I with a word the Sun in's full career  
Can stop, and th' Heavens on my Shoulders bear.  
I from fierce Thundering Jove cans Sceptre take,  
And with a frown can make Black Pluto quake.  
I hopping Vulcan from his Fiery Cave  
Can drag, and make him to become my Slave.  
I with one single word int' Atoms can  
Dispatiate, and turn the Stoutest Man  
Into a Chaos: I the Universe  
Can change, and the Decrees of Fate reverse.   

To a Handsome Lady, being accounted Light; Exhorting her to change her Life.  
MAdam, Whoever looks on your radiant Eyes,  
Struck with the Beams, he falls, and prostrate lies:  
And being deeply wounded with the Dart,  
Strait for a Victim offers up his Heart:  
But rising, he his Error soon doth see;  
Because your Form and Virtues disagree.  
Your Beauty makes him ready to adore;  
Your Vices to detest that which before  
He honoured so: So that you do create  
At once a Subject for his Love and Hate.  
Was but your Beauty decked with Chastity,  
Then I should think you were some Deity.  
But 'tis in vain to speak, I clearly see  
That two such Gifts can in no Woman be:  
Then now yourself more than a Woman prove,  
By being fair, to fly all dissolute Love.   

On a Fisher that lost his Prey, his Angle breaking.  
IN vain the Fisher strikes, and tries his Skill  
Upon the foolish Fish, that he may kill;  
But rather Arms with Craft the silly Fish,  
To fly his Bait, and so avoid his Dish.  
When being unexpert he doth compose  
His Angle slightly, and his Prey doth lose.   

A Song against a Single Mistress.  

1.  
Feign would I love my Delia two days more,  
She kisses sweetly, and so nimbly stirred;  
And he that loves his Mistress or a Whore  
Above two days, let him be hanged the third.  
Two days again is Physic; so long she  
That's after poison, may prove health to me.   

2.  
What did I say? Two days? I did repent  
As of my doting and intemperate stay;  
In shorter time my doting may be spent,  
For Venus' self it seems, tried but a day.  
But she who this day may be true to me,  
To morrow I may find in Bed with thee.   

3.  
'tis not the Number nor Plurality  
That swells the sin, or greater makes the shame.  
One as an hundred is Adultery,  
Though change the Person, yet the sin's the same.  
To kiss a hundred Whores is no more Crimes  
Than 'tis to kiss one Whore a hundred times.   

4.  
Born under some ill Planet, or accursed,  
Sure is that Man that loves one single Whore,  
And with one drink does always quench his thirst,  
And loves one single Mistress, and no more.  
There's no more Curse, nor other torments here,  
Nor greater Plague, than love one Whore too dear.    

On a Maid that died for Love, her Parents not giving Consent.  
HE that would write an Epitaph for thee,  
Must be a Lover, yet from Love be free.  
If not a Lover, how can he express  
In lively Lines the sum of thy distress.  
And if in Love, than every word and verse  
Doth unto him his Destiny rehearse:  
Then every stroke his nimble Pen doth give,  
Doth wound his heart, & teach him how to live.  
A Quill plucked from fierce Cupid's Wing must be  
His Pen, his Ink must come from Aganipe:  
How can his Eyes be dry, when he doth tell  
That from thine Eyes great Showers have often fell.   

A Song. In a Dialogue between Palemon and Corrinna.  

1.  
Pal. COrrinna, Prithee tell me why  
That all do love, but thee and I:  
Sure at our Birth 'tis very plain  
Some inauspicious Star did reign.   

2.  
Cor. No, no, Palemon, thou'rt the Cause;  
'Tis thou hast broken Cupid's Laws:  
His Laws did ne'er force Women so,  
To love Men whenever they would or no.   

3.  
Pal. Is that a force, to cringe and pray,  
And Treat you Nobly every day?  
Had you at first not thought it meet,  
Why did ye accept a second Treat?   

4.  
Cor. Fie, fie, Palemon; now ye are more  
Mistaken, than you were before:  
For 'tis not twenty Treats that can  
Oblige us Women t' love a Man.   

5.  
Pal. What is it then will make you love?  
I'll fetched from Hell, or Heaven above.  
Assist me now in this distress,  
I'll own you for my Patroness.   

6.  
Cor. If Women love, it must be these  
Particulars which follow, please:  
First, He must be of proper size.  
Which often does attract our Eyes.   

7.  
Then must he have a handsome face,  
Good Mien, good Wit, and comely Grace.  
Dance well, and have an excellent Voice:  
These, these confirm us in our choice.   

8.  
Besides all these, he likewise must  
Have that on which we both may trust,  
A great Estate, with City and  
Countryhouse, both at Command.   

9  
But faith of these you have but one,  
That's good Estate; 'twon't do alone.  
This my Advice doth far excel  
Those Treats of yours, and so farewell.    

A Just, True, and Honourable Description of MARRIAGE.  
OUt of stark love and kindness, and arrant devotion,  
Of Marriage I'll give this galloping Notion:  
'Tis the bane of all Business, the end of all Pleasure,  
The consumption of Youth, Wit, Virtue, and Treasure.  
'Tis the Rack of our Thoughts, the Nightmare of Sleep,  
That calls us to work before the day peep.  
That bids us make Brick without Stubble or Straw,  
A Wife has no sense of Conscience or Law.  
If you must be for flesh, take the way that is noble,  
In a generous Wench there's nothing of trouble:  
You kiss and you clip, stay, do what you please,  
And the worst you can fear is but a Disease;  
And Diseases, you know, may hope to be cured,  
But the Torment of Marriage can ne'er be endured.   

On a Young Lady in Love with a Married Man.  

ARise, fond Beauty, cast those thoughts away,  
To love in vain, 'tis never the near, they say.  
Your Gallant, who already married is,  
Can make of You no other but a Miss.  
Certainly, Madam, Cupid's very blind;  
If not, to You I'm sure he proves unkind,  
Which forceth You to be in love with one  
Who lets You sigh and languish all alone.  
Madam, it troubles me both Night and Day,  
That You should love so strangely out o'th' way:  
I do advise You, Lady, cease Your Suit,  
And don't desire it; You haply else may rueed.  
I've travelled many Kingdoms over and over,  
Yet never heard of such a thing before.  
The Face which heretofore did shine so bright,  
And did abound with ravishing delight,  
Is of a sudden both grown pale and wan,  
And all forsooth is for a Married Man.   

O Love! O Love! If e'er thou'lt ease a Heart,  
Free this poor Lady: let him feel the smart:  
If not, make her to scorn his cruel Soul,  
As much as he o'er her does now control:  
And so for ever thou wilt counted be  
A God of Justice and of Equity.    

On his Beautiful Mistress.  

1.  
NOw guide my hand, you Gods that are above,  
To blaze the Beauty of my harmless Dove,  
With whom I am o'er head and ears in love.   

2.  
She is so beauteous, excellent and rare,  
There's none with her dares ever to compare;  
She's beauty's Queen, and all her Subjects are.   

3.  
As for her Hair, it is a lightish brown,  
Which, when untied, does to her Heels hang down.  
Her Breasts as soft as any Thistle-down.   

4.  
Her Eyes as sparkling are as any fire,  
Which darts into my Breast a fresh desire  
To kiss her hand, and so a little higher.   

5.  
No Lily can with her white hand compare,  
Her other features all so curious are,  
That looking on her, I die with despair.   

6.  
Her Waste it is so pretty and so small,  
She is my Sweet, my Honey, Dove, my all:  
And for her height, She's moderately tall.   

7.  
And for her Humour, Gesture, and her Wit,  
All in one Body so profoundly knit,  
Her Equal no where has been found as yet.   

8.  
Her excellent Voice, when she is pleased to sing,  
Sounds better far than th' Nightingale i'th' Spring,  
And with an Echo makes the Woods to ring.   

9  
She's Vertueed self, as all that know her know it.  
Then you will ask me what need I turn Poet,  
And strive with simple Poetry to show it?   

10.  
If my bad Verses any one offend,  
Another Cup of Wine will make me mend  
All I have said, but here I'll make an end.    

A Song.  

1.  
IF thou wilt love me, I'll love thee again,  
If my Griefs move thee, I'll love thy pain.  
If thou disdain me, I'll die for woe;  
And if thou fly me, I'll fly thee too.  
For Love my Breast hath filled with such a fire,  
That whatsoe'er thou wilt, is my desire.   

2.  
If to be merry be pleasing to thee,  
I'll leave off sadness, and merry be,  
If Melancholy possess thy heart,  
Then of that sadness I'll bear a part.  
For Love my Breast hath filled with such a fire,  
That whatsoe'er thou wilt, is my desire.   

3.  
If thou lov'st Music, I'll love it too;  
If Courtship please thee, I'll learn to woe:  
If Dancing like thee, I'll learn the same,  
And unto that my mind I'll frame:  
For Love my Breast hath filled with such a fire,  
That whatsoe'er thou wilt, is my desire.   

4.  
If thou wouldst have me near thee still,  
I always shall obey thy will:  
Or if my presence sometimes be  
Offensive, I will fly from thee:  
For Love my Breast hath filled with such a fire,  
That whatsoe'er thou wilt, is my desire.   

5.  
If thou'st a mind a Miss to be,  
Then I will be most true to thee:  
Or if to Marriage thou'rt inclined,  
I quickly then will change my mind:  
For Love my Breast hath filled with such a Fire,  
That to be cooled by thee is my desire.    

On Captain Hicks his Curiosities of Nature: By a Young Lady.  
NO Art to Nature can be equalised;  
When 'tis at best, 'tis but as Truth disguised:  
As Shadows like it doth but represent,  
With all the Skill that Artists can invent.  
Wonders of Nature can ne'er be outdone,  
Since they are framed by Providence alone.  
Some things for Service, some to please the sight,  
Their great Contrivance doth create delight:  
Yet to dull Fancies, most such things as these  
Are not esteemed, and that's it cannot please.  
So still 'tis Ignorance that denies 'em Worth,  
Not able to discern or set them forth:  
Such Rarities I much admire myself,  
Since 'tis Earth, Air, and Waters greatest wealth.  
I should detract from them, should I but praise  
Heaven's greatest Wonders, 'mong which I number these.  
Most Elements do grace this rare Collection,  
Which Nature hath brought forth to great Perfection:  
And for your trouble, Sir, in gathering of 'em,  
Ingenious Men will praise you, and those that love 'em.  
Whose great Applause you justly do deserve,  
Your time being spent Heavens Wonders to preserve.  
More might be said, all with me will agree,  
Only the great'st defect is in  
E. C.   

His Answer to Madam E. C. Upon her Curious Art in Cutting Figures in Paper; and other her Artificial Curiosities.  
I'Ve often read that Art a Handmaid was  
Unto Dame-Nature, and not without Cause:  
But now I see the contrary: for in you  
I find the Proverb can no more be true:  
For you in Art excel Dame Nature so,  
That one would think your very Flowers do grow:  
So well they're cut, by your ingenious hand,  
When Curiosoes see 'em, they're at a stand;  
And plainly say, That so it cannot be,  
By any thing that's humane, but some Deity.  
Nay, Painters do confess 'tis done so well,  
They thought 'em natural, only for the smell.  
For Men, Birds, Beasts, Fishes, Trees, Plants, and Flowers,  
Are so well cut by that same hand of yours,  
That all do stand amazed, and plainly say,  
You in this Art do bear the Bell away.  
'Tis rare to see a Female Herald; yet you,  
When of your Curiosities I took a view,  
I saw some Coats of Arms so exactly done,  
The Painter's Pencils with Scissors  outgone.  
And painted Paper is the only Thing,  
With the Clipping Tool, You to life do bring  
To th' Eye those things which seem inanimate.  
I wish destroying Time may no period set  
Unto those Eyes and Hands of Yours, which do  
Employ themselves to your content, and ours too.  
I'll say no more but this, and do despise  
All flattery, That had I a thousand Eyes,  
On Your Mysterious Art I would them fix,  
So long as I am called  
W. Hicks.   

MOll bears in one hand fire, water in th'other;  
But in her Chaffindish bears both together.  
She's Ambidexter, with both her hands she plays;  
Yet her Game's smister, both by nights and days.  
She's won with an Apple, and lost with a Nut;  
Her Bum is no Bilbo, and yet it will cut  
As keen as a Razor, that shaves away all,  
Though she no sweet Water hath, nor Barbers Ball.   


A Lose Acquaintance once of me desired  
To pass my word for Satin for a Suit;  
But being loath to do what he required,  
I of a Consonant became a Mute:   

Which he took for Consent, and Satin got:  
But seeing him mistake the Mute so much,  
I Silence broke, and told him I would not,  
Unless I kept the Stuff that must keep touch.   

Had I been bound for one that was so lose,  
I had been gulled, and pulled, and made a Goose.    

On Fat Peg.  

MArg'ret doth muse how she so fat becomes,  
That eats but once a day, to wit all day;  
Her Breasts like Balloons, & like Globes her Bums,  
One sleep serves her all night; that is to say,   

All night she sleeps, she snores, she farts, past care,  
Thus fares it with our Margaret, or great Mare.    

Of Lying Robin.  

RObbin his Lies are not pernicious Lies,  
But pleasant Fictions, hurtful unto none  
But to himself; for no man counts him wise,  
To tell for truth that which for false is known.   

He swears that Gaunt is threescore miles about,  
And that the Bridge at Paris on the Sein,  
Is of such thickness, length, & breadth throughout,  
That sixscore Arches can it scarce sustain.   

He swears he saw so great a dead man's Skull  
At Canterbury digged out of the ground,  
That would contain of Wheat three Bushels full.  
And that in Kent are twenty Yeomen found,   

Of which the poorest every year dispends  
Five thousand pounds. These & a thousand more  
So oft he hath recited to his Friends,  
That now himself persuades himself 'tis so.   

But why doth Robin tell his Lies so rife,  
Of Bridges, Towns, and things that have no life?  
He is a Lawyer, and doth well espy  
That of such Lies an Action will not lie.    

Faults in Foreheads.  
IF each one's Faults were in his Forehead writ,  
Lives only would be read, the rest rejected.  
Nor Hats nor Bonnets than would easily fit,  
And lowest foreheads would be most respected.  
The holy Hermit would be apprehended  
Of Crimes unthought of, till we read 'em there:  
Reputed Virgins would, Thirteen once ended,  
In Colours full of Guiltiness appear.  
Nor I myself that should myself know best,  
Nor thou, dear Mistress, be at all exempted;  
We should be both on many tongues professed,  
Thou for thy yielding, I for having tempted.  
But why shouldst thou one fault for me avow?  
Thy fautls are written in thy Husbands Brow.   

A Scotch Song.  

1.  
I Needs must gang a Wooing,  
I can no longer stay:  
For Jinny is marred for doing,  
Some Loon will steal her away.   

2.  
I Woven not for a world  
Leuse her good company;  
For I have guds enough  
To maintain her and I.   

3.  
A long long livelong day  
Is aul too little for me  
To reckon up what I ha',  
To derive my Pertigree.   

4.  
Featherstone Jockey, thou art to bleam,  
I dare both say and swear;  
Ise ne'er come at thee again,  
Till I know thy guds and thy gear.   

5.  
I have an awd Mear of mine awn,  
She's twenty year awed and scene,  
She cost me twenty good placs,  
And now she's well worth elean.   

6.  
I have three dozen of Buttons,  
Good Brass, and all in a string;  
With a dainty Cale Whittle beside,  
And a brave Curtain-Ring.   

7.  
I ha' three shoes for a feut,  
And twa o' them want soles,  
With a dainty left-feut Beut,  
And thrutteen dozen of holes.   

8.  
The Grains of a Fire Poor in,  
The Rim of a Spinning-Wheel,  
An old Huke for an Elsing-Haft,  
A Spindle, a Rock, and a Reel.   

9  
I have a good Hank of Yarn,  
'Tis three year since it was spun,  
With a pair of Socks for a Barn,  
And an end of awd Pipe Bum.   

10.  
My Granny she gave me a Hickle,  
And Jinny, I give it to thee,  
With hawf of a good awd Sickle;  
And thus Riches run on with me.   

11.  
A Hook with a Lash in the end,  
In money three Scotch Marks  
On the wedding-day we'll spend,  
Or else we'll pawn our Sarks.   

12.  
We'll send for Sir John the Vicar,  
And Meg and Maudlin sune,  
And we'll have Crook Dick the Piper,  
He'll play us a merry tune.   

13.  
And now to the Kirk they are gean,  
And Jinny has hausted Jock:  
For the Devil a Sark had Jockey,  
Nor Jinny had never a Smock.   

14.  
And our Sir John the Vicar  
Unto the matter did say,  
Here Jinny tack thee Jockey,  
And gea together gea.   

15.  
And the Devil gea with ye beath,  
And send ye much shame,  
For I ne'er coupled sike together,  
Since I to th' Kirk first came.    

A Song.  
The Tune, Madams farewel.  

1.  
MY Youth it was free  
From horror  
And terror:  
I ne'er did agree  
With the Black nor the Fair:  
So stubborn I grew,  
I laughed at,  
And scoffed at  
Those men that I knew  
Were brought in Love's Snare.  
Nay, more than this, I laughed at the pains  
Men took to be wretched, and loaded with chains.  
But when I the Charms of my Phillis did see,  
I resigned up my heart, and refused to be free.   

2.  
My heart then began  
To be fired  
And mired  
With Love: Never Man  
Was in Fetters so fast:  
Yet forgot that she was  
A Woman,  
For no Man  
Can yet know the Cause  
Why their love does not last.  
I never considered the Tricks nor the Art  
She used to entangle, and captive each Heart.  
At length I discovered, and presently knew  
That my Phillis was fickle, and could not be true.   

3.  
I cursed my hard fate,  
That taught me  
And brought me  
Into this sad state,  
Thus to kindle my flame:  
When I did begin  
To pause on't,  
The cause on't  
I knew it was mine,  
Not my Phillis to blame.  
I bore such respect to her, that I thought  
Whatever she did, 'twas I was in fault.  
At length I resolved that I never would be  
So mad as to love, but would ever be free.    

The Politic Wedding.  
The Tune, Shackle de Hay.  

1.  
JAn and Nan were both in love,  
And often met together;  
And Wat and Kate did Rivals prove,  
To watch their coming thither:   

For Watty he did fancy Nan,  
And Katy she was fond of Jan;  
But 'twas unknown to either.   

2.  
At last it came to Watty's Ear  
That Kate did fancy Janny;  
And Katy she did likewise hear  
That Wat's in love with Nanny:   

And both together did agree  
To spoil their former Amity;  
But 'Twas unknown to any.   

3.  
So Watty did to Janny go,  
And vowed he'd be his Friend still,  
By which intrigue he still did know,  
Whate'er they did intent still.   

What news soever he did know,  
To Katy he would quickly go,  
Or unto her would send still.   

4.  
Poor Jan and Nan were sadly grieved,  
To see they were betrayed still;  
They knew not how they were deceived,  
What so his Plots had laid still.   

They knew it must be Wat alone  
That did betray and still make known  
What e'er they did or said still.   

5.  
So both together laid a Plot  
To frame a Quarrel neatly,  
Whereby they might discover Wat,  
And so come off completely:   

For when that he unto them came,  
A Quarrel they so well did frame,  
That it succeeded featly.   

6.  
Then Wat away to Kate did go,  
And quickly told her of it;  
This news, says she, which now I know,  
I ever more did covet.   

And now the plot so well is laid,  
And thee thy part so well hast played,  
Let's study to improve it.   

7.  
Then Katy went to Jan, and said,  
That Nan's in love with Watty;  
And Wat told Nan she was betrayed,  
For Jan did fancy Katy.   

By which they did discover that  
They were betrayed by Kate and Wat,  
In all their private Treaty.   

8.  
Then privately they thanked 'em both  
For what they did discover,  
And both seemed passionately wroth,  
Calling each a perjured Lover.  
Then Wat told Kate what he had done,  
And Kate the thread that she had spun,  
And for that time gave over.   

9  
O'th' morrow Jan for Kate did send,  
And railed against poor Nanny;  
And Nanny did on Watty spend  
A groat, and railed on Janny.  
And so't continued day by day,  
That Wat and Kate would smile & say,  
Poor Souls we shall trapan ye.   

10.  
When Jan & Nan had brought about  
Their ends, they soon did marry:  
For Wat and Kate did never doubt  
Their plot could e'er miscarry.   

And being a bed on th'wedding-night,  
Put Wat and Kate in such a fright,  
They scarce could make 'em tarry.   

11.  
When Wat and Kate had paused a while.  
And saw th' were circumvented,  
Both Jan and Nan put on a smile,  
And both their loves presented;   

And told them they knew how it was,  
For love, not hatred, was the cause,  
And prayed 'em rest contented.   

12.  
What then did go and kiss the Bride,  
And took her by the hand too;  
And Katy went a t'other side,  
And kissed her Lover Jan too.   

O'th' morrow Wat and Kate did wed,  
And Jan and Nan saw them in bed,  
And each kissed Maid and Man too.   

13.  
Next day for Music all did send,  
And all their Friends invited;  
And that their Loves might have no end,  
Their Faiths they all there plighted.   

Then Jan and Nan, and Wat and Kate  
Did dance, and feast, and kiss, and prate,  
Until they were benighted.   

14.  
Thus have you seen this double knot,  
How both have had their speeding;  
How both did plot and counterplot,  
And both on hopes were feeding,  
And therefore now I do intent  
At present for to make an end  
Of this my Politic Wedding.    

The Drunkard's Invitation. A Song.  

1.  
COme take up your Cups and spare not,  
And think no more hurt than I do;  
Call for Quart after Quart,  
To drive Sorrow from thy Heart;  
And then tumble in the dirt as I do:   

2.  
Come take up your Liquor and stay not,  
Still calling for more, as I do,  
And up with your Drink,  
Till  spent all your Chink,  
And then run on the Score as I do.   

3.  
Come take up your Drink, and flinch not,  
And every day feast as I do;  
Drink again and again,  
Till  filled every Vein,  
And then spew like a Beast, as I do.   

4.  
Come trole it about with swiftness,  
Be every day drunk as I,  
And get many knocks,  
Nay be put in the Stocks,  
For kissing your Punk, as I do.   

5.  
Pick Quarrels, and fight in thy fury,  
And meet with your match as I do,  
And be laid by the Heels,  
Though against your wills,  
For abusing the Watch as I do.   

6.  
Come wind up your bottoms and care not,  
Till  belched and stunk as I do,  
Call for Pint after Pint,  
Till the Brain's out of joint,  
Then cast up what  drunk as I do.   

7.  
I'll adopt you my Heirs at present,  
And install you the Sons of King Priam;  
So that you will be  
So frolic and free,  
To be every man drunk as I am.    

A Scotch Song.  

1.  
ANd I must ha' my Goon made,  
My Goon made, my Goon made,  
And I must ha' my Goon made  
Fit unto my Body;  
Side and wide and long enough,  
Side and wide and long enough,  
Side and wide and long enough,  
As fine as any Lady.   

2.  
And I must ha' my Goon trimmed up,  
My Goon trimmed up, my Goon trimmed up,  
And I must ha' my Goon trimmed up,  
'Tis true as I do tell ye;  
Ten Seams laid down the Back,  
Ten Seams laid down the Back,  
Ten Seams laid down the Back,  
And twenty down the Belly.   

3.  
An I must ha' a Waistcoat too,  
A Waistcoat too, a Waistcoat too,  
An I must ha' a Waistcoat too,  
'twill hang down to my Weam too:  
The Cloth must be of Scarlet fine,  
The Cloth must be of Scarlet fine,  
The Cloth must be of Scarlet fine,  
With many a pretty Seam too.   

4.  
An I must ha' a Petticoat,  
A Petticoat, a Petticoat,  
An I must ha' a Petticoat,  
Made of Crimson Tabby,  
Laced up before, and round about,  
Laced up before, and round about,  
Laced up before, and round about,  
As gay and fine as may be.   

5.  
Of Spanish Leather must be made,  
Must be made, must be made,  
Of Spanish Leather must be made  
All the Shoes I wear, Jo;  
With Silken Knot to tie 'em fast,  
With Silken Knot to tie 'em fast,  
With Silken Knot to tie 'em fast;  
I would I had 'em here, Jo.   

6.  
If thou'lt lend me thy Loom, Lad,  
Thy Loom, Lad, thy Loom Lad;  
If thou'lt t lend me thy Loom, Lad,  
I'll lend thee mine again, Jo.  
The Devil a bit my Loom I'll lend,  
I lent it unto nine or ten,  
And they have sent it hack again,  
But put it out of frame, Jo.    

A Song.  

1.  
LEt Back and Sides go bare,  
Let Hand and Foot go cold:  
But O let the Belly have Ale enough,  
Whether it be new or old,  
Whether it be new or old, Boys,  
Whether it be new or old.  
But O let the Belly have Ale enough,  
Whether it be new or old.   

2.  
A Beggars a thing as good as a King,  
I'll tell you the reason why:  
For a King cannot swagger,  
And drink like a Beggar,  
No King so merry as I,  
No King so merry as I, Boys,  
No King so merry as I.  
For a King cannot swagger,  
And drink like a Beggar:  
No King so merry as I.   

3.  
Some call me Knave and rascally Slave,  
But I know how to collogue:  
For than I adore 'em, and call 'em o'th' Quorum,  
And then I'm an honest Rogue,  
And then I'm an honest Rogue, Boys,  
And then I'm an honest Rogue:  
For than I adore 'em, and call 'em o'th' Quorum,  
And then I'm an honest Rogue.   

4.  
If a fart flies away, where makes he his stay?  
Can any man think or suppose?  
For a fart cannot tell, when 'tis out, where to dwell,  
Unless it be in your Nose,  
Unless it be in your Nose, Boys,  
Unless it be in your Nose:  
For a fart cannot tell, when 'tis out, where to dwell,  
Unless it be in your Nose.    

Queen ELIZABETH's Song.  
The Tune is, Sellenger's Round.  

1.  
I Tell you all, both great and small,  
And I tell you truly,  
That we have a very great cause all  
For to lament and cry,  
O fie, O fie, O fie, O fie,  
O fie on cruel Death;  
For he has ta'en away from us  
Our good Queen Elsabeth.   

2.  
He might have ta'en other good voke,  
That better might have been missed,  
And left our gracious Queen alive,  
That loved no Popish Priest.  
She ruled this famous Land alone,  
And was beholding to no man:  
She bore the weight of all affairs,  
And yet she was but a woman.   

3.  
A Woman, said I, Nay, that's more  
Than any one can tell:  
So fair she was, so wondrous chaste,  
That no man knew it well.  
The Monsieur came himself from France,  
On purpose for to woe her;  
And yet she lived and died a Maid,  
Do any man what he could to her.   

4.  
She never did any wicked thing,  
That might in Conscience prick her,  
Nor never submitted herself to him  
The Papists call Christ's Vicar.  
But rather chose courageously  
To fight under Christ's Banner,  
'Gainst Turk, & Pope, & King of Spain,  
Or all that durst withstand her.   

5.  
And if I had Argus' Eyes, alas,  
They were too few to weep  
For our good Queen Elizabeth,  
That now does lie asleep.  
Asleep, quoth I, she now doth lie,  
Until the day of Doom:  
And then she'll rise to the foul disgrace  
Of the great Pope of Rome.    

A Song. To Fortune.  

1.  
BLind Fortune, if thou want'st a Guide,  
I'll teach thee how thou mayst divide;  
Distribute unto each his due:  
Justice is blind, Justice is blind,  
Justice is blind, and so are you.   

2.  
To th' Usurer this doom impart,  
May the Scrivener break his heart;  
His Debtors unto Beggary fall;  
Or what's as bad, or what's as bad,  
Or what's as bad, Turn Courtiers all.   

3.  
And to the Tradesmen that sell dear,  
A long Vacation all the year:  
Revenge thee thus on their deceits;  
And send them Wives, and send them Wives,  
And send them Wives light as their Weights.   

4.  
But Fortune, who will recompense  
The Frenchman's daily Insolence?  
For them I know no greater pain,  
Then to be sent, then to be sent,  
Then to be sent to France again.   

Chorus in Two Parts.  

5.  
If these Instructions make thee wise,  
Men will restore again thine Eyes;  
By a New Style thou shalt commence,  
Not Fortune called, not Fortune called,  
Not Fortune call▪ d, but Providence.   

6.  
But lest thine Altars want all fires,  
To bribe men's votes, grant their desires.  
To Lovers who would not believe  
Their sweet mistakes, their sweet mistakes,  
Their sweet mistakes, thy Blindness give.   

7.  
Then lest the Players should grow poor,  
Send them Aglaura's more and more:  
And to the Roundhead grant more Ears  
Than Ceres in, than Ceres in,  
Than Ceres in her Garland wears.   

8.  
And if thou wilt Physicians please,  
Send them another new Disease.  
To Scholars give, if thou canst do't,  
A Benefice, a Benefice,  
A Benefice without a Suit.   

9  
To Courtiers grant them pleasures high,  
And to their Wife's Community.  
So Fortune, thou wilt please them all;  
If Lords do rise, if Lords do rise,  
If Lords do rise, and Ladies fall.   

10.  
And to the Lawyers I'll beseech  
As much for Silence as for Speech.  
To Lady's Ushers strength of Back;  
And to myself, and to myself,  
And to myself a Cup of Sack.     

On Mr. Owen's Death, Butler of a College.  

Why Death did honest Owen so soon catch,  
Into my mind it cannot easily sink,  
Unless that Death came to the Buttery Hatch,  
And honest Owen would not make him drink.   

If it be so, then Owen 'twas thy fault,  
That Death, instead of Drink, made thee his Draught.  
Not so, nor so; for Owen gave him Liquor;  
Death being foxed, took him away the quicker.  
Yet be content, let care ne'er trouble thy mind,  
Though the Butlers gone, the Keys are left behind.    

On the same Owen.  

FUll four and twenty Letters once there were,  
And O. and N. were two among the rest;  
But they their number henceforth cannot bear,  
For O. and N. are buried in a Chest.   

Haddit O. been gone, no man had it repent,  
And then it would full well have been for us.  
But O. N.'s gone, which is to be lamented;  
So Fortune's to us much preposterous.   

Owen, let Schoolboy's glory in thy fall:  
Because they have two Letters less to con;  
For two and twenty now is only all,  
By means of which, they oft will save their Bum.   

Whilst we'll condole thy Death, since by't we get  
A Lamed Christ's Cross, and a Crippled Alphabet.    

On Great Tom of Christ-Church, his being newly Cast.  
BE dumb, you Infant-Chimes, thump not your Mettle,  
That ne'er out-rings the Tinker and his Kettle.  
Cease all you petty Larums, for to day,  
'Tis Great Tom's Resurrection from the Clay:  
And know where Tom rings out his loudest knells,  
The best of you will be but Dinner-Bells.  
And for thy meritorious suffering,  
Thou shortly shalt to Heaven in a string.  
We much are grieved, because we see thee cast,  
As being not well: yet hope the worst is past.  
Some say it was, because thy Brain was cracked;  
If it be so, then well done was the fact:  
And though some cain's have made A Bell of thee,  
Thou't Clapperclaw 'em, when thou once art free.  
Thou't thunder out at nine a Clock such noise  
Will make the Scholars all to dread thy voice:  
And after Thunder, fierce Lightning then may come,  
From Proctor or Vice Chancellor; Hasten home.  
Well, dearest Tom, I'll take my leave of thee,  
And think e'er long thou'lt be too high for me:  
And for thy sins didst fall as low as Clay,  
And through a fiery Trial didst run, they say,  
To clear thy jarring temper, which was sore  
Against thy will, as being hoarse before.  
And coming down, dear Tom, to learn to sing  
A better Note, we hope thou'lt make it ring  
In all our Ears, thou mended hast thy voice;  
'Twill make the Scholars, unless at nine a Clock, rejoice.  
Nay, 'twill please the hearts of all good People,  
Whence once thou'rt lifted up into the Steeple;  
Unless fanatics, who regard it not a Louse,  
Whatever cometh from the Steeplehouse.  
And though we grieve to see thee thumped and banged,  
Yet all rejoice, great Tom, to see thee hanged.   

The Maid's Complaint.  

1.  
IT was i'th' merry month of May,  
When every thing looked fresh and gay,  
I heard a Maid complain and say,  
Her Mother she had done her much wrong,  
For suffering her to live a Maid so long.   

2.  
Then she began to sigh and groan,  
To ring her hands, and make great moan,  
'Cause she, poor heart, was left alone.  
And no kind Soul would ever pity her pain,  
For her Maidenheads loss would prove to her a gain.   

3.  
I nimbly then did step unto her,  
And presently became a Wooer;  
And that of me she should be sure,  
Would give her a dose should her malady quell;  
But still she vowed she'd ne'er lead Apes in Hell.   

4.  
Then to Courting I began,  
And told her I would be the Man:  
Though before she looked both pale and wan,  
Yet now in her cheeks a colour began to rise:  
But still she said, Pray Sir be merry and wise.   

5.  
What was done, I must not tell,  
But yet I found she liked it well,  
Because shed ne'er lead Apes in Hell.  
And then of Kisses she gave me such plenty,  
That one of mine produced the number twenty.   

6.  
I than began to haste away,  
But she in kindness prayed me stay;  
I bid her appoint another day,  
She told me then to morrow, pray come hither,  
That so we may our Notes compare together.    

On a Parsimonious Sheriff of Oxford.  
FIe, Scholars, fie; have you such thirsty Souls,  
To swig, quaff, & carouse ' i'th' Sheriffs Bowls?  
Tell me, mad Youngsters, what do you believe?  
D'ye think it cost him nothing to be Shrieve?  
To send so many Beefs, so many Wethers,  
Maintain so many Hats, so many Feathers?  
Again, is Malt so cheap this pinching year,  
That you should make such havoc of his Beer?  
I hear you are so many, that you make  
Most of his Men turn Tapsters for your sake:  
And yet, when he even at the Bench doth sit,  
You tear his Meat from off the borrowed Spit,  
And keep such hurly-burly as it passes,  
In gurgitating sometimes whole half Glasses.  
And some of you forsooth are grown so fine,  
Or else so saucy, as to call for Wine.  
As if the Sheriff had put men in trust,  
Which durst draw out more Wine than needs they must.  
In faith, in faith, it is not well, my Masters,  
Nor fit that you should be the Sheriff's Tasters.  
It were enough, you are such Gormandizers,  
To make the Sheriffs henceforth all turn Misers:  
Or to remove the Assize to th' Towns Disgrace,  
To Banbury, Henly, or else some such place,  
He never had complained, had it but been  
A pretty Firkin, or a Kilderkin:  
But when a Barrel daily is drunk out!  
My Masters then 'tis time to look about.  
Is this a lie d'ye think? I tell you no:  
My Lord High Chancellor was informed so:  
And O what would not all the Bread in Town  
Suffice to drive the Sheriff's Liquor down,  
But he in Hampers must from home it bring?  
O most prodigious, O most monstrous thing!  
Upon so many Loaves of Home-made Bread,  
How long might he and his ten men have fed?  
Which he, no doubt, intended to have fed  
With the sweet Morsels of his broken Bread.  
But when that they, poor Souls, for Bread did call,  
Answer was made, The Scholars eat up all:  
And when of broken Beer he craved a Cup,  
Answer was made, The Scholars drank it up.  
And this I know not how they changed the Name,  
Cut did the Deed, and Long-tail bears the blame.   

The Speech of a Mayor of a Town, when a King came there.  
GReat King, to bid Thee welcome, behold I  
Do speak to Thee, although my mouth stand by:  
I'll do my best, but he can do much better;  
He is Book-learned, I never knew a Letter.  
When yesterday the Post did Tidings bring,  
That I should see You here, our Royal King;  
For my own part into an Ague I did fall,  
And greatly gasped with my Brethren all.  
But lest your Majesty should think us slack,  
Each one of us did drink a Pint of Sack;  
Armour of Proof, the best thing we could find  
To cheer our heart, and ease our troubled mind.  
We went about to muster up our forces  
To meet You, but indeed we wanted Horses.  
Our Foot-Cloths also, with Rats and Mice offended,  
In so short space could not be patched and mended,  
Therefore this Stage, which holds us here at large,  
Was wisely founded at the Towns own charge.  
These men in Scarlet, that you plainly see,  
Have been in highest place of Majesty;  
The other Purple Gowns that do appear,  
Are like to wear my Staff another year.  
The Streets that you do pass on either hand,  
Are sweetly flowered with Gravel and with Sand.  
The Conduit at the Cross, if you mark well,  
Is newly painted, you may know by th' smell:  
The place against it, is the place where I  
Do sit in all my Pomp and Dignity:  
Whilst I do Justice, be it Right or Wrong,  
Unto the Rich or Poor, the Old or Young.  
St. Peter's Church, where I am often seen,  
Stands near unto it, but a House between;  
Where every Sunday unto my poor Power,  
Sleeping and waking, I do spend an hour.  
Your Grace may see our Houses have been spunging,  
And your Neat Wine shall be without much blunging.  
But in this one thing pray by me be ruled,  
Do not drink of it unless you find it mulled:  
But if you see't look blue on either side,  
Then to't; I wis you need no other Guide.  
Our Towns not rich, yet God be thanked,  
With no small Charge we have procured a Banquet,  
Four pounds it cost, besides I am afraid  
The Carriage of it down is yet unpaid:  
If you had come to Dinner, without boast,  
You should have eat with me no worse than Roast.  
For though I say't, I would have let you lose  
Unto the flank of a fat buttered Goose.  
A Cup of Gold unto Your Grace I'll bring,  
I hope You'll give to us some better thing.  
For I'll besworn that it goes near my heart,  
When from so many Goldings I did part:  
But much good d'it ye, we will ne'er repent;  
Since they are gone, they might on worse be spent.  
Some say of me you mean to make a Knight;  
Nay rather take a Halter and hang me quite;  
That it may ne'er be said, it came to pass,  
That it bestowed was on Balaam's Ass:  
Therefore I humbly crave I may go free,  
And give it to the Mayor of some City.  
Thus from my speech abruptly I will break,  
And if you'll know me, hear the Recorder speak.   

The Description of a Beautiful Woman.  
THese thirty Things that Helen's fame did raise,  
A Dame must have, that seeks for Virtues praise.  
Three bright, three black, three red, three short, three tall;  
Three thick, three thin, three close, three wide, three small.  
Her Skin, Teeth, Cheeks, must be clean, bright, and neat;  
Her Hair, her Brows and Eyes as black as Jet:  
Her Cheeks, Lips, Nails, must have Vermilion hue;  
Her Hands, Hair, Height, must show good length to view.  
Her Teeth, Feet, Ears, all short, no length allow;  
Large Breast, large Bum, a large and spacious Brow.  
Her Mouth must narrow be, small Waste and tender;  
Her Eyes, Lips, Nose, must be but thin and slender.  
Her Neck, Waste, Ankles, slender and small must be,  
That Teeth, Tongue, Lips, be close kept, not too free.  
Her Neck, Thighs, Navel, must be fat and round;  
Her Nose, Head, Teats, the least that may be found.  
Her Brows, her Looks, and Breasts must wideness have;  
Her Nostril, Mouth, Ear, smallness: Then all's brave.  
Since such Perfections few or none attain,  
Then few or none are fair, the place is plain.   

Of a Lady's Dog, and her Husband.  

LAugh, good my Masters, if you can intent it,  
For yonder comes a Fool that will defend it.  
Saw you a verier Ass in all your Life,  
That makes himself a Packhorse to his Wife?  
I would his Nose where I could wish were warm,  
For carrying Pearl so pretty under's Arm:  
Pearl his Wise's Dog, a pretty Sweet-faced Cur,  
That barks at night at the least fart doth stir,  
Is now not well, his Cold is scarcely broke;  
Therefore, good Husband, wrap him in thy Cloak:  
And Sweetheart, prithee help me to my Mask:  
Hold Pearl but tender, for he hath a Lask.  
Here, take my Muff; and do you hear, good man,  
Now give me Pearl, and carry you my Fan:  
Alas poor Pearl! The Wretch is full of pain:  
Husband, take Pearl; give me my Fan again.  
See how he quakes! Faith I am like to weep:  
Come to me, Pearl: my Scarff, good Husband, keep.  
To be with me, I know my Puppy loves:  
Why Pearl, I say! Husband, take up my Gloves.   
Thus goodman Idiot thinks himself an Earl,  
That he can please his Wife, and carry Pearl.  
But others judge his State to be no higher  
Than a Dog's Yeoman, or some Pippin-Squire.   

On a Punk.  
FAith, Gentlemen, you move me to offence,  
In coming to me with unchaste pretence:  
Have I the look of a lascivious Dame,  
That you should think me fit for wantoness Game?  
I am not she will take Lust's Sin upon her;  
I'll rather die, than dim chaste glorious honour.  
Tempt not mine Ears, for in good sooth I mean  
To keep my honest Reputation clean.  
My hearing lets no such lewd sound come in,  
My Senses loath to surfeit on sweet sin.  
Reverse your Mind that goes from Grace astray;  
And God forgive you, with my heart I pray.  
The Gallant notes her words, observes her frowns,  
Then draws his Purse, & lets her view his Crowns.  
Vowing that if her kindness grant him pleasure,  
She shall be Mistress to command his Treasure.  
The storms are calmed, the gust is overblown;  
And she replies with, Yours, else not her own.  
Desiring him to censure for the best,  
'Twas but her Trick, to try if men do jest.  
Her Love is locked where he may pick the Trunk.  
Let all men judge, if this be not a Punk.   

The Complying, but Cunning Lass.  
The Tune, My Nanny, quoth he; a Jig Tune.  

1.  
MY Gilly, says Will;  
My Willy, says Gill,  
Your pleasure?   

I'd speak wi' you, says Will;  
Come now then, says Gill,  
I'm at leisure.   

I love thee, says Will:  
D'ye love me, says Gill,  
Indeed Sir?   

Yes truly, says Will;  
Why well then, says Gill,  
Proceed, Sir.   

2.  
I'd woe thee, says Will:  
Would you woe me, says Gill,  
But how, Sir?   

In Marriage, says Will,  
I Marriage, says Gill,  
I allow Sir:   

First kiss me, says Will:  
Why there 'tis, says Gill;  
Now you have't, Sir,   

I'm glad on't, says Will;  
I'm not sorry, says Gill,  
That's flat, Sir.   

3.  
Give me another, says Will:  
There, take it says Gill;  
What then, Sir?   

Why a third, says Will:  
Why there 'tis, says Gill,  
Again, Sir.   

I'm ravished, says Will:  
How? Ravished, says Gill!  
Be plain, Sir.   

By your Kisses, says Will:  
Then I'll do't, says Gill,  
Again, Sir.   

4.  
I'll feoff thee, says Will,  
In a Jointure: Says Gill,  
D'ye mean so?   

Yes truly, says Will:  
Then I love thee, says Gill;  
'Tis even so.   

Here's my hand on't, says Will,  
There's mine too, says Gill,  
With love too.   

Be but constant says Will;  
Yes constant, says Gill,  
I'll prove too.   

5.  
When wed we, says Will?  
To morrow, says Gill,  
I'th' morning.   

That's too soon, says Will;  
I'll be at (says Gill)  
An hours warning   

That's well said, says Will;  
'Twas not ill said, says Gill,  
Believe me.   

Then next day, says Will;  
If't be longer says, Gill,  
'Twill grieve me.   

6.  
Get a Licence, says Will;  
That will I, says Gill,  
To morrow.   

Have you money, says Will?  
If I have not, says Gill,  
I'll borrow.   

That's a kind wench, says Will,  
I'll be kinder, says Gill,  
When wedded:   

And what then, says Will?  
I'll be kindest, says Gill,  
When bedded.   

7.  
Lie wi' me, says Will:  
What to night, says Gill?  
O fie Sir!   

Prithee do't, says Will:  
By my troth, says Gill,  
Not I Sir.   

Y'are unkind, says Will:  
Y'are too forward says Gill,  
Believe me.   

Won't you do't then, says Will,  
That's the way, says Gill,  
To deceive me.   

The Chorus to it.  

8.  
So before they did bed,  
They were both of 'em wed,  
At night he   

Did say unto Gill,  
Had you given me my will,  
I'd a slight ye.   

I had no reason, says she,  
To grant it unt'ee,  
I'm sure, Sir;   

Because I was cozened  
By't least half a dozen,  
Before, Sir,   

9  
I'll tell thee, says he,  
Some Girls were so free,  
They sent me   

Each of 'em a Cake,  
For some kindness sake,  
To content me.   

Had I knowned, says she,  
I'd a fitted ye  
For their sakes, Sir.   

On that very score,  
With Cheeses good store,  
To your Cakes, Sir.     

The Little children's Figure-Dance, at Mr. Young's Ball,  
and to that Tune.  

SOme pretty Ladies  
No bigger than Babies:  
Did dance at a Ball so well,  
Yet so little they were,  
And so young, you'd swear  
They were newly come out of the shell.   

But yet these little things  
Did keep both time and figure,  
And to give 'em their due,  
They footed it true:  
And the less as well as the bigger.   

2.  
And first pretty C—  
Did mount like a Lark,  
To seek out her lovely Mate:  
I mean T. H.  
That witty Bearn,  
Who readily came to her straight,  
Then th' other airy Cl—  
Did look for her rosy-cheek Dove,  
Sweet W— Y— the mild,  
That modest Child,  
Who handsomely to her did move.   

3.  
Witty S— f— too,  
Did wheel to and fro,  
And nimbly tripped it about,  
With her Partner S—  
That was airy and blithe,  
And neither of both were out.  
Then pretty S— b— she  
Did follow this little Crew,  
With her Partner eke,  
Pretty M— d— the Meek,  
Who still danced every thing true.   

4.  
At the end of the Tune,  
But not too soon,  
They all did make a stand;  
And when they had done,  
Then every one  
Their Partners took by th' hand.  
At last these pretty things  
Their Honours did so well,  
That all did say,  
For their Age, that they  
Did bear away the Bell.    

Advice to a Friend to forgo a Common Miss.  
To the Scotch Tune, Go, go, Unkind One.  

1.  
HE's an Ass that loves one,  
And will love no more:  
If by chance he proves one  
True, he'll find a score   

That are as arrant Starters  
As ever trod on Shoe;  
To lie and swore,  
And speak you fair,  
And vow they'll still be true;  
Yet promise to another  
What they have vowed to you.   

2.  
When the Ginneys do appear,  
Then their love is shown;  
They'll kiss and sing, and dance and swear,  
I'm yours, or not my own.   

But when the Purse gins to ebb,  
Then they will overflow  
In slights and pouts,  
And scorns and flouts,  
And off their faith will throw,  
And to another Cully  
Will make a second vow.   

3.  
Then leave off courting Misses  
If you will be free  
From Quarrels and Diseases,  
And certain Povertio.   

But if you must a Miss have,  
Let it be brisk Wine;  
'Twill cure the heart  
Of all the smart,  
And make the face to shine  
With bubbles and with Pearls too,  
Beyond the Indian Mine.    

A Song at the Duke's House.  

1.  
NAy, let me alone;  
I protest I'll be gone:  
'Tis a folly to think  
I'll be subject to one.  
Never hope to confine  
A young Gallant to dine,  
Like a Scholar of Oxford,  
On none but a Loin.  
For after Enjoyment, our Bellies are full;  
And the same Dish again, makes the Appetite dull.   

2.  
By your wantoning Art  
Of a sigh and a start,  
You endeavour in vain  
To inveigle my heart.  
For the pretty disguise  
Of your languishing Eyes  
Will never prevail  
With my Sinews to rise.  
'Tis never the mode in an Amorous Treat,  
When a Lover has dined, to persuade him to eat.   

3.  
Faith Betty, the Jest  
Is almost at the best,  
'Tis only variety  
Makes up the feast.  
For when 've enjoyed,  
And with pleasures are cloyed  
The Vows we have made  
To love ever, are void.  
And know, pretty Nymph, it was ever unfit  
That a Meal should be made of a Relishing Bit.    

The Careless Lover.  

1.  
AM I by thy taunts abused,  
When I most to love incline?  
Know no phrase by thee is used,  
Which I could not well make mine,  
For I can use or not use thine.   

2.  
Dost thou glory thou canst vex me,  
When thou seemingly dost chide?  
Or dost thou think thou canst perplex me  
With thy scoffs or careless pride?  
No: all thy fancies I deride.   

3.  
Art thou with my Courtship pleased,  
Which I tender unto thee?  
Or art thou with my words diseased?  
If thou art, 'tis nought to me:  
For I can love, or let thee be.   

4.  
Canst thou love with true Affection?  
I can love, being loved again:  
Or if to hate be thy Election,  
All that breeds me no pain:  
For I can love, or can disdain.   

5.  
Art thou pleased I should attend thee?  
I will still thy Servant be:  
Or if my presence do offend thee,  
I will never wait on thee:  
For I can serve, or keep me free.   

6.  
Dost thou love to have me near thee,  
With a Heart both firm and true?  
Or dost thou scorn my sight & jeer me,  
This to Lovers is not new:  
Faith I can stay, or bid adieu.   

7.  
Art thou joyful? I am jolly;  
In thy pleasure's my delight:  
Art thou inclined to Melancholy?  
I am of that humour right:  
For I can Joy, or Joys can slight.   

8.  
Art thou liberal of Embraces?  
I can also lavish be?  
Or dost thou scorn to yield such graces?  
I can scorn as well as thee;  
Of these I can be nice or free.   

9  
Dost thou please to yield me Kisses,  
My observance to requite?  
Or dost deny me those sweet blisses,  
In some humour or despite?  
I can dispense with that delight.   

10.  
If to singing thou'lt apply thee,  
I can warble Notes to thee;  
Or if to sighing, I'll sigh by thee;  
To thy Passions I'll agree:  
For I'm to all thy humours free.   

11.  
Couldst thou willingly abide me,  
In thy naked Bosom lie?  
Wouldst thou, if I ventured, chide me,  
Or with frowning force me fly?  
All's one to me: for what care I?    

A Catch.  

FOrtune is blind,  
And Beauty is kind:  
've neither faith nor troth;  
The one is a Witch,  
And the other's a Bitch:  
The Devil take them both.   

There's hazard by hap,  
To sit in a Lap;  
But there's no deceit in a Brimmer,  
Truth in the bottom does lie;  
But the way to redeem her,  
Is to drink the whole Ocean dry.    

A Catch.  

1.  
NO Creature can be  
More pleasant than we;  
No mischief we'll act or invent;  
Let Worldlings go plot  
Until their Brains rot,  
They shall not a bridge our content.   

3.  
Content is a thing  
That Comfort doth bring  
To beggar as well as to King.  
Then let our Content  
In Freedom be spent,  
And merrily, merrily sing,    

A Catch.  

1.  
AS soon a little little Ant  
Shall bib the Ocean dry,  
A Snail shall creep about the World,  
E'er our Affections die.   

2.  
Yet she's for me, and only she,  
That's neither forward, nor too free:  
That Wench I vow shall be my Joy,  
That's neither forward, nor too coy.    

A Catch.  
There is but only one,  
And I am only he,  
That loves but one alone,  
And thou art only she.  
Thou art that one  
In whom alone  
My heart doth only care,  
Then do but join  
Thy heart with mine,  
And we will make a pair.   

Her Answer.  

THe Girl did then reply,  
I am the only she  
That loves one faithfully,  
And faith, my Jack, 'tis thee.   

Thou art my Joy,  
And only Boy;  
I never think on other:  
And mean to join  
My heart with thine,  
And so be made a Mother.    

A Song.  

1.  
Employ thy time some other way,  
Than still to court this Female Clay;  
Let her be what a Woman can,  
Yet she's not worth the worst of Man.   

2.  
It is not I that tell you so.  
Reason has done that long ago:  
Hadst thou to reason but inclined,  
Thou long ere this hadst changed thy mind.   

3.  
She is a Woman; that's enough  
To quench the furious flames of Love:  
For they are only but for sight;  
Gloworm-like, they're best by night.   

4.  
I know she's young and fair; 'tis true,  
And well enough for outward view:  
But if unclothed thou didst her see,  
She is not what she seems to be.   

5.  
I therefore do advise thee yet,  
Before thou into thraldom get:  
A labrynth then thou'lt find 'twil prove,  
And feel the doleful pangs of Love.   

6.  
But if loving thou needs must be,  
Pray let it be no more a she:  
But love thyself, and love thy Friend,  
And love good Sack, and there's an end.    

The Martial Lad. A Mock to O Love if e'er thou'lt ease a heart,  
and to that Tune.  

1.  
O Mars, if e'er thou'lt ease a Blade  
That owns thy Martial Power,  
That bleeds with thy too cruel Trade,  
And now by wounds is quite decayed,  
Thy Blessings on me shower.   

Under the Surgeon's hand I lie,  
A thousand times I wish to die;  
But when I see cold Death so nigh,  
I grieve to leave those thoughts of War  
Which unto Soldier's welcome are.   

2.  
But thus as I sat all alone  
I'th' cold and lousy Room,  
Some Tattling Echo heard my moan,  
And did repeat each sigh and groan,  
Came by a simple Groom.   

O how I strove my face to hid,  
Lest by the Groom it should be spied!  
And did the Babbling Echo chide,  
Because her iterating noise  
Had brought the man to know my Voice.   

3.  
But O Great Mars! I wish to have  
But one poor Thundering Peal  
Of Guns and Muskets which I crave  
Before my Body's laid in Grave,  
My Honour to reveal.   

Thus are poor Soldiers oft abused,  
When they by Wounds and Scars are bruised,  
Yet are by Mortals worse abused:  
When they by War have got a Name,  
In times of Peace must lose the same.    

Upon his Dead Mistress.  
AS Unthrifts grieve in Straw for their pawned Beds,  
As Women weep for their lost Maidenheads,  
When both are without hope or Remedy;  
Such an untimely grief have I for thee.  
I never saw thy Face, nor did my heart  
Urge forth my Eyes to that, whilst that thou were't.  
But being lifted hence, that which to thee  
Was Death's sad Dart, was Cupid's Ghost to me.  
Whoever thinks me foolish, that the force  
Of a Report should make me love a Coarse;  
Know he, That when with this I do compare  
The love I to a living Woman bear,  
I find myself most happy: Now I know  
Where I shall find my Mistress; I can go  
Unto her timeless Bed, and lift away  
Her Grass-green Mantle, and her Sheet display,  
And touch her naked; and though envious Mould  
(In which she lies unsuccoured, moist and cold)  
Strive to corrupt her, she will not abide  
With any Art her Blemishes to hid,  
As many Living do: And, though they need,  
Yet cannot they in Sweetness her exceed;  
But make a stink with all their Art and Skill,  
Which the Physicians warrant by their Bill.  
Nor at her Door does heaps of Coaches stay,  
Footmen or Midwives, to bar up my way:  
Nor is her heart so hard, to make me pay  
For every Kiss, a Supper and a Play.  
Nor need she any Page or Maid to keep,  
To knock me early from my golden sleep,  
With Letters, That her Honour all is gone,  
If I don't Right her upon such a one.  
Nor with Black Oaths slain her pure Lips will she:  
She'll not contract the guilt of Perjury.  
No words, profane or wanton, will she use;  
Pure virtue's strictest Rules she'll not accuse,  
As too severe; nor whilst the World doth last,  
A Blemish on her Spotless Honour cast.  
Pardon me, that with thy blessed Memory,  
I mingle my own former Misery.  
Yet dare I not accuse the Fate that brought  
These Crosses on me, for then every thought  
That tended to my Love, was black and foul;  
Now all is pure as a new-baptized Soul.  
For I protest, for all that I can see,  
I would not lie in Bed one night with thee:  
Nor am I jealous, but could well abide  
My Foe to lie in quiet by thy side.  
You Worms, (my Rivals) whilst she was alive,  
How many thousands were there that did strive  
To have your freedom? for their sakes forbear  
Unseemly holes in her soft Skin to wear.  
But if you must, (as what Worm can abstain  
To taste her Tender Body?) yet refrain  
With your disordered Eatings to deface her,  
And feed yourselves so as you most may grace her.  
First, through her Ear-Tips see you make a pair  
Of Holes, which as the moist enclosed Air  
Turns into Water, may the clear Drops take,  
And in her Ears a pair of Jewels make.  
Have you not yet enough of that White Skin,  
(The touch of which, in times past would have been  
Enough to ransom many a thousand Soul  
Captived to Love) if not, then upward roll  
Your little Bodies, where I would you have  
This Epitaph upon her Forehead grave:  
Living, She was Young, Fair, and full of Wit;  
Dead, All her Faults are in her Forehead writ.   

On Two Gentlemen of Wales.  
I Herd, among some other pleasant Tales,  
How once there were two Gentlemen of Wales.  
These Two (thus goes the Tale) upon a day  
Happened to travel upon London-way;  
And (for 'twas cumbersome to wear a Boot)  
For their more ease they needs would go a foot;  
And (left they should their best Apparel lack)  
Each of them wears his Wardrobe at his Back.  
These Squires were Nighted e'er they came to Town,  
And sought their Lodging when the Sun was down:  
And (for the Innkeeper his Gates had locked)  
In haste, like men of some account, they knocked;  
The drowsy Chamberlain asked who was there?  
Who said that Gentlemen of Wales they were.  
How many, quoth the man, is there of you?  
Quoth he, Here's John Ap Rice, Ap Jones, Ap Hugh,  
Ap Nicholas, Ap Steven, Ap Rice, Ap Davy:  
Then Gentlemen, quoth he, adieu, God save ye:  
Your Worships might have had a Bod or twain,  
But we have not enough for such a Train.   

A Pastoral Dialogue between Cleon and Delia.  

1.  
AS Delia rested in the Shade,  
With Cleon by her side;  
The Swain thus courted the young Maid,  
And thus the Nymph replied.   

2.  
Cleon. Sweet, let thy Captive Fetters wear,  
Made of thine Arms and Hands;  
Till those that Thraldom scorn or fear,  
Envy my happy Bands.   

3.  
Delia. Then thus my willing Arms I wind  
About thee, and am so  
Thy Prisoner; for myself I bind,  
Until I let thee go.   

4.  
Cle. Happy that Slave whom the fair Foe  
Ties in so soft a Chain!  
Del. More happy I, but that I know  
Thou wilt break lose again.   

5.  
Cle. By thine Immortal Beauty never.  
Del. Frail as thy Love's thine Oath.  
Cle. Though Beauty fade, my Faith lasts ever.  
Del. Time will destroy them both.   

6.  
Cle. I  not on thy Snow-white Skin:  
Del. What then? Cle. Thy Purer Mind.  
Del. I loved too soon. Cle. Thou hadst not been  
So fair, if not so kind.   

7.  
Del. O strange vain fancy! Cle. But yet true.  
Del. Prove it. Cle. Then make a Brade  
Of those lose Flames that circled you;  
My Suns and yet your Shade.   

8.  
Del. 'Tis done. Cle. Now give it me. Del. Thus thou  
Shalt thine own Error find;  
If those were Beauties, I am now  
Less fair, because more kind.   

9  
Cle. You shall confess you err: That Hair  
Must it not change the hue,  
And leave that Golden Mountain bare?  
Del. Ah me! It is too true.   

10.  
Cle. Yet this small Wreath shall ever stay  
In its first native prime;  
And smiling when the rest decay,  
The Triumphs sing of Time.   

11.  
Del. Then let me cut from off that Grove  
One Branch, and let it be  
An Emblem of Eternal Love,  
For such is mine to thee.   

12.  
Cle. Thus are we both redeemed from Time:  
I by thy Grace. Del. And I  
Shall live in thine Immortal Rhyme,  
Until the Muses die.   

13.  
Cle. By Heaven— Del. Swear not: If I must weep,  
Jove shall not smile at me:  
This Kiss, my Heart, and thy Faith keep.  
Cle. This breathes my Soul to thee.   

14.  
Then forth the Thicket Thirfis rushed,  
Where he saw all their play:  
The Swain stood still, and smiled, and blushed;  
The Nymph fled fast away.   
FINIS   

Mounsieur Nihils New-Years-gift.  
THe costly calends put me to a shift,  
What I shall send you for my New-years-gift.  
'Tis not what Ophir yields, nor Gems, nor Gold,  
I want not things that in th' Exchange are sold,  
Chains, Bracelets, Earrings, Rarities and Lawn,  
The curious works by holy Sisters drawn  
Are far above my reach to compass: so  
All that I have is nothing to bestow.  
Accept I pray the Gift, it becomes you well,  
For you do nothing want as I can tell.  
Scorn not the present, look on't and you'll find  
'Tis of much worth: nothing contents the mind,  
Nothing is happy, nothing is truly good,  
For nothing we pick quarrels and draw Blood.  
And though for nothing Lawyers plead not now,  
Yet about nothing they make much ado.  
Physicians of nothing, say the Disease is great,  
Yet if they nothing have, they'll soon retreat.  
Merchant's think't nothing 'bout the world to sail,  
And nothing comes on't sometimes by an ill gale.  
The Rump-Parliament did nothing but mischief crave,  
Being Hanged, 'twas nothing but what they did deserve.  
Gaming is good for nothing but Fight and Curse,  
Yet when all's gone, they think nothing worse.  
Those that ill memories have, no patience want,  
When they forget all, they think nothing on't.  
Nothing is dearer than a Mistress sight,  
Yet good for nothing when she's known to be Right.  
Nothing is sweeter than the new cropped Rose,  
Nothing is whiter than the Alpin Snows:  
Nothing is better than a trusty Friend,  
Yet nothing worse if Quarrel be at the end.  
Nothings so good as meat to a hungry Soul,  
Yet nothing worse, if poison be i'th' bowl.  
Nothings like Wine, the heart to exhilerate,  
Yet nothing worse, if it be Sophisticate.  
Nothings in every Child's mouth that's unruly,  
Ask them what they did, I did nothing truly.  
So rare was nothing, that long since 'twas made  
Reward unto desert: so service was paid  
Richly with nothing: therefore do not grieve  
To wear this new-thing nothing on your Sleeve.  
Or if you think 'twill not become you there,  
Let then this nothing new dangle in your ear.  
So taking leave at Dover on the high-hill,  
I rest your Annihilated Friend Monsieur Nihil.   

Madam Aliqua's Retort.  
SIr I do find that you have made a shift  
To send me nothing for my New-Years-gift.  
Which you may find I can make something of.  
And that you may perhaps at something scoff  
Which I shall say: hark my nothing Shaver,  
Do you not know that something has a savour:  
Something for this Friend, and something for that  
I have; but you perhaps will ask me what  
That something is, that I so freely spare  
Unto my other Friends, and you not share  
Therein; for you shall nothing have to your part,  
You'll ask what nothings that, Faith 'tis a Fart;  
You may perchance smell something in it, if you do  
Take't for your pains, nay you may Nose it to:  
And if you find that nothing then doth please you,  
Yet you may smell that something does disease you.  
Something you knows for food, something for smell,  
Which you by late Experience know full well.  
If something I've said, touch you to the quick,  
You'll make nothing on't although it made you Sick.  
If nothing out of something can't be picked,  
Then nothing deserves by something to be kicked.  
But how can nothing then be kicked you'll say,  
Yes something has been kicked to nothing quite away.  
Have I not said something to th' purpose now,  
Yet I fear this something nothing pleases you.  
I something have to say, but this once more,  
You nothing do deserve, cause to the poor  
You nothing give, and as thou'lt nothing spend,  
I wish thy something, may be nothing in the end.  
And as your costly calends is the first day  
O'th' Month, I hope before the last you may  
Taste something o'th' Rope: then the Session's ends,  
For at Tyburn a multitude of Friends  
Take leave of one another: so will I  
Come there, to see my Benefactor fly  
To make a clapper for a wooden Bell:  
And there I do intent to bid farewell  
To Monsieur Nihil; and this on something say,  
I hope 've nothing lost by Madam Aliqua.   

The Soldiers Song.  

THough the Morning was wet,  
We are merrily met  
In a house more dry than our skin Boys.  
we'll drink down the day,  
ne'er question our pay,  
Let them hearty laugh out that win Boys.  
Chorus. Then drink a full brimmer to him that intends  
For the good of the Soldier to labour his ends.   

2.  
Let him flatter and lie,  
What is it to thee and I,  
And Ape Noll in every condition.  
If we thrive upon't,  
Let all the World want,  
And the City kneel down and Petition.  
Chorus. Then drink a full brimmer to him that intends  
For the good of the Soldier to labour his ends.    

Another Song.  

1.  
WE came from Scotland with a small force,  
With a hey down, down a down a,  
But with hearts far truer than steel.  
We got by my Fay,  
The glory o'th' Day,  
Yet no man a hurt did feel.   

2.  
When Lambert first our Army did face,  
With a hey down, down a down a,  
He looked as fierce as the Devil.  
We feared a Rout,  
But he faced about  
The Gentleman was so civil.   

3.  
General Monk with the Country's Love,  
With a hey down, down a down a.  
All persons to him did address,  
Small money we spent  
For we found as we went  
Good Friends, and here find no less.    

A New Song.  
THe day you wished Arrived at last,  
You wish as much that it were passed:  
One Minute more, and Night will hid,  
The Bridegroom and the blushing Bride.  
The Virgin now to Bed does go,  
Take heed, O Youth, she rise not so.  
She pants and trembles at her Doom,  
And fears, and wishes thou wouldst come:  
The Bridegroom comes, he comes apace,  
With Love and Fury in his Face;  
She shrinks away, he close pursues,  
Prays and threats at once does use;  
She softly sighing, begs delay,  
And with her hand puts him away;  
Then out aloud for help she cries,  
And then despairing shuts her eyes.   

Another New Song.  

1.  
WHy, O Cupid, so dost thou shun,  
Thy disdains alas have undone me:  
When you left me to choose at my pleasure,  
I robbed my poor heart of its treasure.  
And now all in vain I pine and moan,  
For the only man I love alas is gone.   

2.  
Since you wounded my heart, now in vain  
Let my Sighs recall him again.  
I'll lament my unfortunate hour,  
I'll blame, and at once bless thy power.  
If by sighs and tears, I may but once restore  
Him into my Arms, or else let me love no more.    

To the Minnuet Tune.  
SInce my free hopes are tossed on despair,  
And faithless Armeda is deaf to my Prayer:  
This to her frailty of power I'll shove,  
That which gives me despair can ne'er force me to love.  
Beauty in flames, where affection is poor,  
There the blind Sot, though he's kicked out a door,  
Will still her good Nature and Beauty Implore.  
Fondness of love is obliging in no man,  
Wheadles and Amorous dying is common.  
'Tis the true heart (removed by a scorn,)  
Can place a love that ne'er shall be worn.   

Another Song.  
OH stay my dear Phillis before you resign,  
That heart to an other which ought to be mine.  
My faith and obedience my Title doth prove,  
If you will allow Justice and Reason in Love:  
But if your old Kindness for me you'll abate,  
Being tempted to yield for a better Estate.  
I find me mistaken, for vainly I thought,  
That Virtue and Love were not to be bought.  
Accursed be the Inventor of Jointures and Dowers,  
The want whereof makes me sit many sad hours.  
Since Women I find hath not power to say no,  
To a Fool that is fine, and hath Writings to show.  
Though their Bodies and Minds alike are unsound  
Yet their wealth for their faults and their follies compound.  
What Virtues are those then that e'er can prevail,  
Since Marriage and Love are but Bargain and Sale.  
O fie on Desemblars, whose business I find  
Is only to vex and torment a man's mind.  
Had Nature been kind, and given me a heart  
To flatter like you, I had missed all the smart.  
But instead of Blind Cupid, kind death I request  
To cure me of all Cares, and to bring me to rest  
When if it's my Fortune amongst Angles to be,  
I'll teach them to rail against them like me.   
FINIS.