INAMORATO and MISOGAMOS: OR, A Lovesong Mocked.  

Song.  
AS often as I hear the Tone  
Of Phillida and Choridon,  
Contemplating those choice Delights  
That attend Hymen's Proselytes;  
The jolly Mirth, and dainty Cheer,  
They make with Honey, Duck, and Dear:  
The pretty Prue's, and bonny Besse's,  
Their Courting, Kissing and Caresses:  
The pleasant noise, and cheerly sound,  
When Music strikes, and Cups go round:  
Methinks I'm blest with some rich Spouse,  
My Head is crowned with Myrtle Boughs.  
I roll myself in Wealth and Peace,  
My Sorrows fade, my Joys increase:  
My Love's as fruitful as the Spring,  
My House is fit to treat a King.  
Ah wretch, say I, thou hast done wrong  
To live a Bachelor so long:  
All my peace to this is strife,  
No comfort like a Married Life.   

The Mock.  
And when I hear the filthy Jars  
'Twixt John and Joan, those Curtain Wars;  
Considering well the destiny  
Of such as Priests or Hangmen tie;  
The Tattoo of the Bed and Cradle,  
The walking of the Tongue and Ladle;  
The dirty Doll's, and jumping Juggs,  
Their hunches, nips, and Cornish Hugs:  
The dreary noise and Ruthful cry,  
When Pots are broke, and Trenchers fly:  
Methinks I'm yoked to some foul Sib,  
My Costard shattered with my Rib.  
I feel the want of Land and Goods,  
My hairs are grey, my Antler buds.  
My cares increase, my Wife's with Child,  
My House is smoky, and until'd.  
Blessed man, I say, who curbs desire,  
And keeps his fingers out o'th' fire:  
All my Gaul to this is Honey,  
No Martyrdom like Matrimony.   

Song.  
Fool though I am, I knew the time,  
When I could gloss my Love in Rhythm,  
And portray by the Herald's Rules,  
In field of Argent Roses Gules.  
For whilom I have seen a Maid,  
In whom such Beauties were displayed;  
A Blush right Orient, and below,  
Fair as the Field where Lilies grow:  
She breathed like Zeph'rus when he creeps  
O'er beds of Violets, or sweeps  
Spices on heaps; one might divine  
My mind by th' language of mine eyen:  
My head was filled with amorous Fancies;  
I courted her with sighs and glances.  
But she more chaste than driven Snow,  
To all my Motions answered, No.  
If Females all were such, I'll swear,  
He who enjoys for one poor year,  
So sweet, so bright a Thing as She,  
May count his Life a Jubilee.   

The Mock.  
But I describe in black and blue,  
Which men of Blazon never knew;  
And in despite of Zeuxis Art,  
Can draw a Wrinkle, or a Wart.  
For lately I beheld a Girl,  
With Teeth of Amber, Eyes of Pearl;  
A Neck pure Chesnut, and hard by,  
Hung Breast of right Westphalia Die.  
She belched like Boreas, when he rushes  
Through a Scotch Ordinary, or brushes  
Old Puddle-Dock: You might suppose  
My mind, by stopping of my Nose.  
Strange Qualms did on my Stomach ride,  
That I was forced to turn aside:  
But she more common than th' highway,  
Ask who would, ne'er would say him nay.  
If Women all were such, God wot,  
The man that beds with such a Slut,  
Has got enough at home to make on,  
Let Dunmow people keep their Bacon.   

Song.  
I must confess, upon a day,  
When all my thoughts were Westward ha,  
Near Hampton-Court I saw a Face,  
The Throne of Modesty and Grace;  
In whose each motion might be seen  
Hadassa and the Southern Queen:  
Her Smiles were argument to prove  
The Phoenix, and the God of Love.  
From these the Pencil learned those Draughts  
Of Titan's Beams, and Cupid's Shafts.  
Bless me, said I, since I must die,  
My Heart a Sacrifice shall lie,  
Burnt with the Lustre of her Eye.   

The Mock.  
And I being lately Eastward bound,  
To take a merry Country Round,  
There I beheld a Thing called Woman,  
Save him that hath her, Match for no man!  
In whose Behaviour you may spell,  
What Job's Wife was, and Jezabel.  
Her Looks made good the doubtful story  
Of Acheron and Purgatory.  
From these the Painter had advice  
To limn the Toad and Cockatrice.  
This made me cry, since Friends must part,  
ere this vile wretch shall have my heart,  
I'll suffer, Drive away the Cart.    

LONDON: Printed for H. Brome, at the Gun at the West-end of St. Paul's, M.DC.LXXV.