MERRY DROLLERY, OR A COLLECTION Of Jovial Poems, Merry Songs, Witty Drolleries. Intermixed with Pleasant CATCHES. The First Part. Collected by W.N. C.B. R.S. J.G. Lovers of Wit. LONDON, Printed by J. W. for P. H. and are to be sold at the New Exchange, Westminster Hall, Fleetstreet, and Paul's Churchyard. TO THE READER. Courteous Reader, WE do here present thee with a Choice Collection of Wit and Ingenuity, many of which were obtained with much difficulty, and at a Chargeable Rate; It is Composed so as to please all Complexions, Ages, and Constitutions of either Sexes: What is wanting now (if this pleaseth) shall be added in a Second Part; Farewell. Merry Drollery. A Rhapsody. NOW I confess I am in love, Though I did think I never could, But 'tis with one dropped from above, Whose nature's made of better mould: So fair, so good, so all divine, I'd quit the world to make her mine. Have you not seen the Stars retreat When Sol salutes our Hemisphere, So shrink the Beauties, called great, When sweet Rosela doth appear; Were she as other women are, I should not love, nor yet despair. But I could never wear a mind Willing to stoop to common Faces, Nor confidence enough can find To aim at one so full of Graces; Fortune and Nature did agree, No woman should be wed by me. Mirth in Sorrow. BE merry with Sorrow: Why are you so sad? Let some mirth be found to make your hearts glad: If troubles afflict thee, lament not therefore. For all men are subject to sorrows full sore; Though grief be to night, yet joy comes to morrow, And therefore, I pray you, be merry with Sorrow. With what grief soever a man be afflicted Unto overmuch sorrow be not thou addicted, For a sorrowful heart, the Wiseman doth say, Doth dry up the bones, and the body decay; And therefore, I say, both evening and morrow In all thy afflictions be merry with sorrow. Hast thou been a rich man, and now art thou poor? Be merry with sorrow, and pass not therefore, For Riches have wings to fly when they lust, Both to thee, and from thee, as God hath discussed; And therefore I say, etc. Art thou pinched with poverty, sickness, or need? Be merry with sorrow, the better to speed: For God is the God of the poor and oppressed, Commit thy cause to him and it shall be redressed; And therefore I say, etc. Art thou close in Prison, and locked up fast? Whatsoever thy faults be, a God still thou hast: Believe, serve, and fear him, thou shalt never lack If that thou wilt cast thy cares on his back; And therefore I say, etc. Art thou a Minister, the People to teach, And dost thou study good words for to preach, And for thy labour dost thou sustain blame? Be merry with sorrow, and shrink not for shame; Such persons, I say, both evening and morrow, Ought still to rejoice, and be merry with sorrow. Hast thou Enemies, abroad, that seek for thy life, Or hast thou, at home, a shrew to thy wife? Such sorrows, indeed, doth a number molest, Those that be cumbered can tell their tale best, For they do sustain many a sour Good-morrow, But yet I could wish them to be merry with sorrow. God make us all merry in Christ our Redeemer; God save merry England and our Good King for ever, God grant him long years, and many to Reign His Word and his Gospel now still to maintain: And those that do seek to procure his sorrow God send them short lives, not to live till to morrow. A Puritan. A Puritan of late, And eke a holy Sister, A Catechising sat, And fain he would have kissed her For his Mate. But she a Babe of grace, A Child of reformation, Thought kissing a disgrace, A Limb of profanation In that place. He swore by yea and nay He would have no denial, The Spirit would it so, She should endure a trial Ere she go. Why swear you so, quoth she? Indeed, my holy Brother, You might have forsworn be Had it been to another Not to me. He laid her on the ground, His Spirits fell a ferking, Her Zeal was in a sound, He edified her Merkin Upside down. And when their leave they took, And parted were asunder, My Muse did then awake, And I turned Ballad-monger For their sake. The Jovial Lover. 1. ONce was I sad, till I grew to be mad, But I'll never be sad again boys; I courted a riddle, she fancied a fiddle, The tune does run still in my brain boys. 2. The Gittarn and the Lute, the Pipe and the Flute Are the new Alamode for the nan-boyes; With Pistol and Dagger the women out-swagger The blades with the Muff and the Fan boys. 3. All the Town is run mad, and the Hectors do pad, Besides their false Dice and the slur boys: The new-formed Cheats with their acts and debates Have brought the old to a demur boys. 4. Men stand upon thorns to pull out their horns, And to cuckold themselves in grain boys: When to wear 'em before, does make their heads sore, But behind they do suffer no pain boys. 5. The Protestant, Presbyter, Papist, and Prester John, Are much discontented we see boys: For all their Religion no Mahomet's Pigeon Can make 'em be madder than we boys. 6. There is a mad fellow clad always in yellow, And somewhat his nose is blue boys; He cheated the devil, which was very evil To him, and to all of his Crew boys. 7. But now he intends to make even amends By wearing a crown of thorns boys For him that is gone, but before it be one We shall his humility scorn boys. 8. For all our new Peers are turned out with Jeers, The new Gentlemen Lords are trepanned boys Since the King, & no King, would pretend to a thing, Which the Commons won't understand boys. 9 And whilst we are thus mad, my Princess is glad To laugh at the World, and at me boys, 'Cause I can't apprehend what her colour command, But it is not myself you see boys. Mardike. When first Mardike was made a Prey, 'Twas Canrea carried the Fort away, And do not lose your valorous prize By staring in your Mistress eyes, But put off your Petticoat-Parley, Fame and Honour are coveted early; Potting, and sotting, And laughing, and quaffing of Canary Will make good soldiers miscarry, And ne'er travel for a true renown; And turn to your marshal Mistress, Fair Minerva the soldier's sister is; Calling, and falling, and cutting, And slashing of wounds Sir, With turning, and burning of Towns, are High steps unto a Statesman's throne. Let bold Bellona's Brewer frown, And his Tun shall overflow the Town; Or give a Cobbler sword and state, And a Tinker shall trapan the State; Such fortunate Foes as these be Turned the Crown to a Cross at Naseby; Father and Mother, and Sister And Brother confounded, With many good Families wounded By a terrible turn of State; Such plentiful power the Sword has, And so little of late the Word has; He that can kill a man, Thunder, and plunder precisely, It's he is the man that does wisely, And may climb to a Chair of State. It is the Sword that doth order all, Makes Peasants rise, and Princes fall; All Syllogisms in vain are spilt, No Logic like a basket hilt: It handles 'em joint by joint Sir, And doth nimbly come to the point Sir, Thrilling, and drilling, And killing, and spilling profoundly, Until the despiter on ground lie, And hath ne'er a word to say, Unless it be Quarter, Quarter; Truth confuted by a Carter, Whipping, and stripping, And ripping, and Stripping Evasions Doth conquer the power of persuasions, Aristotle has lost the day. The Gown and Chain cannot compare With Red-coat and his Bandeliers; The Muskets gave Saint Paul's the lurch, And beat the Canons from the Church, The pious Episcopal Gown too; Taro, tantaro, tantaro, Tantaro, the trumpet Hath blown away Babylon's strumpet, And cathedrals begin to truck, Your Counsellors are struck dumb too; Dub a dub, dub a dub, Dub a dub dub, an alarm, Each Corporal now can outdare 'em, Learned Littleton now goes to rack. Then since the Sword so bright doth shine Let's leave our Wenches and our Wine; We'll follow Fate where ere she runs, And turn our pots and pipes to guns: The bottles shall be Granades, We will march about like bravadoes, Huffing, and puffing, And snuffing, and calling the Spaniard, Whose brows have been died in a tannyard; Well-got fame is a warrior's wife, The Drawer shall be a Drummer, We'll be Generals all next summer, Pointing, and jointing, And hilting and tilting like brave boys; We shall have gold or a grave boys, There's an end of a Soldier's life. A merry Song. OF all the Crafts that I do know, That in the Earth may be, Threshing is one of the weariest trades That belongs to husbandry. Upon a time there was a poor man, I swear by sweet Saint Ann, And he had a wife and seven children, And other goods had he none. As he was a walking on the way, Hard by a Forest side, There met him the devil, that Grisly Ghost, This poor man to abide. All hail, all hail, than quoth the devil, I am glad to have met with thee; What is thy business in this Country Thou goest so hastily? I have wise and seven children, quoth the poor man, And other goods have I none, And I am to the Market going To fetch them something home. Wilt thou be my servant, quoth the devil, And serve me for seven year, And thou shalt have and corn enough, And all things at thy desire. What shall be my Office, quoth the poor man? I am loath to bear any blame; Thou shalt bring a beast unto this Forest, That I cannot tell his name. If thou dost not bring me such a beast, The name that I cannot tell, Then both thy body and thy soul Shall go with me to hell. Indentures and Covenants were made anon, And sealed by and by; The poor man he to the Market went So fast as he could high. And when that he came home again, Corn and he had anon: O this was some Lord, than quoth the poor man, For to believe upon. His Neighbours dwelling round about, They marvelled very much: They thought he had either robbed or stole, He was become so rich. But when the seven years was near expired, And almost at an end, He made his moan unto his wife, Which was his own dear friend. What ail you, what ail you husband, quoth she, What ails you so sad to be? You had wont to be one of the merriest men In all the whole Country. I have made a bargain, quoth the poor man, I am loath to bear the blame: I must carry the devil a beast to the Forest That he cannot tell his name. If I don't carry him such a beast, The name that he cannot tell, Then both my body and my soul Must go with him to hell. Lie still, lie still then, quoth the good wife, Lie still and sleep a while, And I will bethink me of a thing, We will the devil beguile. Buy Feathers and Lime, than quoth the good wife, Such as men catch birds in, And I will put off all my , And roll them over my skin. He wrapped his wife in Feathers and Lime, Till no place of her was bare, He tied a string about her hams, And led her for chapmen's ware. He led her backwards of all four, Till he came to the Forest side, There met he the devil, that grisly Ghost, This poor man to abide. I have brought thee the beast, than quoth the poor man, Thy bargain thou canst not forsake: The devil stood as still as any stone, And his heart began to quake. What beast hast thou brought me, quoth the devil His cheeks they are so round? I though there had not been any such beast Brought up in all this ground. I have looked East, I have looked West, I have looked over Lincoln and Lyn, But of all the beasts that ever I saw I never saw none so grim. Where is the mouth of this same beast? His breath is wondrous strong. A little below, quoth the poor man, His mouth stands all along. That is a mad mouth than quoth the devil, It has neither cheeks nor chin, Nay has but one eye in his head, And his sight is wondrous dim. If his mouth had stood but overthwart, As it stands all a-length, I would have thought it some Whale fish Was taken by some man's strength. How many more hast thou, quoth th' devil, How many more of this kind? I have seven more, than quoth the poor man, But I left them all behind. If thou hast seven more of these beasts, The truth to thee I tell, Thou hast beasts enough to scare both me, And all the devils in hell. Here take thy Indentures and Covenants too, I'll have nothing to do with thee; The poor man he went home with his wife, And they lived full merrily. Love's Dream. I Dreamt my Love lay in her bed, It was my chance to take her, Her arms and legs abroad were spread, She slept, I durst not wake her; O pity it were, that one so rare Should crown her head with willow: The Tresses of her golden hair Did crown her lovely Pillow. Me thoughts her belly was a hill Much like a mount of pleasure, At foot thereof there springs a well, The depth no man can measure; About the pleasant Mountain head There grows a lofty thicket, Wither two beagles traveled To rouse a lively Pricket. They hunted him with cheerful cry About that pleasant Mountain, Till he with heat was forced to fly And slip into that Fountain; The Dogs they followed to the brink, And there at him they baited: They plunged about and would not sink, His coming out they waited. Then forth he came as one half lame, All very faint and tired, Betwixt her legs he hung his head, As heavy heart desired; My dogs then being refreshed again, And she of sleep bereft, She dreamt she had me in her arms, And she was not deceived. The good Old Cause. NOw Lambert's sunk, and valiant M— Does ape his General Cromwell, And Arthur's Court, cause time is short, Does rage like devils from hell; Let's mark the fate and course of State, Who rises when t'other is sinking, And believe when this is past 'Twill be our turn at last To bring the Good Old Cause by drinking. First, red nosed Nol he swallowed all, His colour showed he loved it: But Dick his Son, as he were none, Gave't off, and hath reproved it; But that his foes made bridge of's nose, And cried him down for a Protector, Proving him to be a fool that would undertake to rule And not drink and fight like Hector. The Grecian Lad he drank like mad, Minding no work above it; And Sans question killed Ephestion Because he'd not approve it; He got command where God had land, And like a Maudlin Younker, When he tippled all and wept, he laid him down to sleep, Having no more Worlds to conquer. Rump-Parliament would needs invent An Oath of abjuration, But Obedience and Allegiance are now come into fashion: Then here's a boul with heart and soul To Charles, and let all say Amen to't; Though they brought the Father down From a triple Kingdom Crown, We'll drink the Son up again to't. The Fashions. THE Turk in Linen wraps his head, The Persian he's in Lawn too; The Rush with Sable furs his Cap, And change will not be drawn to; The Spaniard constant to his block, The French inconstant ever, But of all the Felts that may be felt Give me the English Beaver. The Germane loves the Cony-wooll, The Irish man his shag too; Some love the rough, and some the smooth; The Welsh his Monmouth use to wear, And of the same will brag too; Some loves the rough, and some the smooth, Some great, and others small things: But O the liquorish English man He loves to deal in all things. The Rush drinks quaff, Dutch Rubric beer, And that is strong and mighty; The Britain he Metheglin quaffs, The Irish Aqua vitae; The French affects the Orlian Grape, The Spaniard takes his Sherry, The English none of these can shape, But with them all make merry. The Italian in his High Chippin, Scotch Lass, and comely Fro too; The Spanish Don a French Madam He will not fear to go to; Nothing so full of hazard, dread, Nought lives above the Centre: No health, no fashion, wine, nor wench Your English dare not venture. A Song. RIding to London, on Dunstable way I met with a Maid on Midsummer day, Her Eyes they did sparkle like Stars in the sky, Her face it was fair, and her forehead was high: The more I came to her, the more I did view her, The better I liked her pretty sweet face, I could not forbear her, but still I drew near her, And thus I began to tell her my case: Whither walkest thou, my pretty sweet soul? She modestly answered to Hockley-i'th'-hole. I asked her her business; she had a red cheek, She told me, she went a poor service to seek; I said, it was pity she should leave the City, And settle herself in a Country Town; She said it was certain it was her hard fortune To go up a maiden, and so to come down. With that I alighted, and to her I stepped, I took her by th' hand, and this pretty maid wept; Sweet weep not, quoth I: I kissed her soft lip; I wrung her by th' hand, and my finger she nipped; So long there I wooed her, such reasons I showed her, That she my speeches could not control, But cursied finely, and got up behind me, And back she road with me to Hockley-i'th'-hole. When I came to Hockley at the sign of the Cock, By lighting I chanced to see her white smock, It lay so alluring upon her round knee, I called for a Chamber immediately; I hugged her, I tugged her, I kissed her, I smugged her, And gently I laid her down on a bed, With nodding and pinking, with sighing & winking, She told me a tale of her Maidenhead. While she to me this story did tell, I could not forbear, but on her I fell; I tasted the pleasure of sweetest delight, We took up our lodging, and lay there all night; With soft arms she roul'd me, and oft times told me, She loved me dear, even as her own soul: But on the next morrow we parted with sorrow, And so I lay with her at Hockley-i'th'-hole. On Tobacco. TObacco that is withered quite, Grown in the morning, cut down at night, Shows thy decay, All flesh is hay; Thus think, then drink Tobacco. And when the smoke ascends on high, Think all thou seest is vanity Of earthly stuff, Blown with a puff; Thus think, then drink Tobacco. And when the Pipes be fouled within, Behold the soul defiled with sin, To purge with fire He doth require; Thus think, then drink Tobacco. As for the ashes left behind, They fitly serve to put's in mind, That unto dust Return we must; Thus think, then drink Tobacco. The Tinker of Turvey. THere was a Jovial Tinker Dwelled in the Town of Turvey, And he could patch a Kettle well, Though his humours were but scurvy; Still would he sing, tarra ring, tarra ring Tinke, Room for a jovial Tinker, He'll stop one hole, and make two, Is not this a jovial Tinker? He was as good a fellow As Smug, which moved much laughter; You'd hardly think how in his drink He would beat his wife and daughter; Still would he sing, etc. He walks about the Country, With Pikestaff, and with Budger, Drunk as a Rat, you'd hardly wots That drinking so he could trudge it; Still would he sing, etc. There's none of his profession, That hath such skill in Mettle, For he could mend the Frying-pan, The Skillet, or the Kettle; Still would he sing, etc. To toss the jolly tankard, The black pot, and the pitcher, No Ale or beer to him was dear, To make his nose the richer, Still would he, etc. He'd think betime i'th' morning Before the break of day, For drinking dry he was willing, To the Alehouse he went his way; Still would he, etc. He knocked so roundly at the door, Which made them all to waken: Who's there, quoth the Maid? It's I, he said; It's the Tinker foul, I'll take him; Still would he sing, tarra ring, tarra ring Tinke, Room for a jovial Tinker, He'll stop one hole, and make two, Is not this a jovial Tinker? Nonsense. NOw Gentlemen, if you will hear Strange news as I shall tell you, Where ere you go, both far and near, You may boldly say 'tis true. When Charing-Cross was a little boy, He was sent to Rumford to buy swine; His mother made cheese, he drank the whey, He never loved strong Beer, Ale, nor Wine. When all the things in England died, That very year fell such a chance, That Salisbury plain would on horseback ride, And Paris Garden carry the news to France. When all the Lawyers they did plead All for love, and nought for gain; Then 'twas a joyful world indeed, The blue bore of Dover fetched apples out of Spain. When Landlords let their farms cheap, Because their tenant paid so dear; The man in the Moon made Christmas pies, And bid the seven stars to eat good cheer. Without a Broker or Coney-catcher Paul's Churchyard was never free; Then was my Lord Mayor a house that cher, Which was a wondrous sight to see. When Basingstoke did swim on the Thames, And swore all thiefs to be just and true; The Summoners and Bailiffs were honest men, And Pease and Bacon that year it snew. When every man had a quiet wife, That never could once scold or chide, Tom Tinker of Turvey, to end all strife, Roasted a Pig in a blue Cows hid. A Catch. THE Hunt is up, The Hunt is up, And now it is almost day, And he that's a-bed with another man's wife, It's time to get him away. An old Soldier of the Queens. OF an old Soldier of the Queens, With an old motley coat, and a maumsie nose, And an old Jerkin that's out at the elbows, And an old pair of boots, drawn on without hose, Stuffed with rags instead of toes; And an old Soldier of the Queens, And the Queen's old Soldier. With an old rusty sword that's hacked with blows, And an old dagger to scare away the crows, And an old horse that reels as he goes, And an old saddle that no man knows, And an old Soldier of the Queens, And the Queen's old Soldier. With his old wounds in Eighty Eight, Which he recovered at Tilbury fight; With an old Passport that never was read, That in his old travels stood him in great stead; And an old Soldier of the Queens, And the Queen's old Soldier. With his old Gun, and his Bandeliers, And an old head-piece to keep warm his ears, With an old shirt is grown to wrack, With a huge Louse with a great list on his back, Is able to carry a Pedlar and his pack; And an old Soldier of the Queens, And the Queen's old Soldier. With an old Quean to lie by his side, That in old time had been pockified; He's now rid to Bohemia to fight with his foes, And he swears by his Valour he'll have better , Or else he'll lose legs, arms, fingers, and toes, And he'll come again, when no man knows; And an old Soldier of the Queens, And the Queen's old Soldier. Advise to Bachelors. IF thou wilt know how to choose a shrew, Come listen unto me, I'll tell you the signs, and the very very lines Of Love's Physiognomy. If her hair be brown, with a flaxen Crown, And graced with a nutmeg hue, Both day and night she's best for delight, And her colour everlasting true. If her forehead be high, with a rolling eye, And lips that will sweetly melt: The thing below is better you know, Although it be oftener felt. If her hair be red, she'll sport in the bed, But take heed of the doing though: For if she carry fire in her upper attire, What a devil doth she carry below? If her hair be yellow, she'll tempt each fellow In the Immanuel College: For she that doth follow the colour of Apollo, May be like him in zeal and knowledge. If she be pale, and a Virgin stolen, Inclined to the sickness green: Some raw fruit give her, to open her Liver, Her stomach, and the thing between. If her Nose be long, and sharp as her Tongue, Take heed of a desperate maid: For she that will swagger with an incurable dagger With stab and a kissing betrayed. If her face and her neck have here and there a speck, Ne'er stick, but strait you go stride her: For it hath been tried, and never denied, Such flesh ne'er fails the Rider. If none of these thy Fancy will please, Go seek thy complexion store, And take for thy Saint a Lady that will paint, Such beauties thou mayest adore If beauty do write in her face red and white, And Cupid his flowers there breed, It pleaseth the eye, but the Rose will die As soon as it, runs to seed. Fond Love. COme my delicate bonny sweet Betty, Let's dally a while in the shade, Where the Sun by degrees shines through the trees, And the wind blows through the Glade; Where Telons her Lover is graced, And richly adorned with green, And the amorous boy with her mother did toy, And the Uncan never was seen; There we may enjoy modest pleasure, As kissing, and merry discourse, And never control a modest sweet soul, For love is a thing of great force. The green grass shall be thy pillow To comfort thy spherical head, And my arms shall enjoin my Love so divine, And the earth shall be thy bed; Thy mantle of fairest flowers, My coat shall thy coverlet be, And the whistling wind shall sing to our mind, O dainty sweet Lullaby. Old Aeolus shall be thy Rocker, With his gentle murmuring noise, And loves myrtle tree shall thy Canopy be; And the birds harmonious voice Shall bring us into a sweet slumber, While I in thy bosom do rest, And give thee such bliss by that, and by— As by Poetry can't be expressed. While thy cherry cheek pleaseth in touching, And in smelling her oderous breath; Her beauty in my sight, and her voice my delight, Oh my sweets are cast beneath; Thus ravished with the contentment In more than a lover expressed, And think when I am here, I am in a sphere, And more than immortally blest. And thus with my mutual coying My Love doth me sweetly embrace; With my hands in her hair, and her fingers so rare, And her playing with my face, We reaped the most happy contentment That ever two Lovers did find; What women did see but my Love and me, Would say, that we use to be kind. Grinning Honour. NAy prithee don't fly me, but sit thee down by me, For I cannot endure the man that's demure, A Pox on your Worships and Sirs; Your conjeys and trips, With your legs and your lips, Your Madams and Lords, With such finical words, With a compliment you bring, Which concerneth no thing You may keep for the Gown and the Furs. For at the beginning, etc.— These titles of Honours were at first in the Donours, And not to the thing unto which they do cling, If the soul be too narrow that wears them, No delight can I see In the thing called degree: Honest Dick sounds as well As the name with an L. And that with titles doth swell, And sounds like a spell To affright mortals ears when they hear them; He that wears a brave soul, and dares honestly do, He's a Herald to himself, and a Godfather too. Why then should we dote on one with a fools coat on, Whose Coffers are crammed, but yet he'll be damned E●er he do a good Act, or a wise one; What reason hath he To be ruler o'er me, Who's a Lord in his Chest, But his head and his breast Are as empty and bare, And but puffed up with air, And can neither assist nor advise one; Honour's but Air, and proud flesh but Dust is, It's we Commons make the Lords, as the Clarks makes the Justice. But since we must be of a different degree, 'Cause most do aspire to be greater and higher Than the rest of our fellows and brothers: He that hath such a spirit, Let him gained by his merit, Spend his brain, wealth, and's blood For his Country's good, And make himself fit By his Valour and his Wit For things above the reach of all others: Honour's a Prize, and who wins it may wear it, If not, it's a Bag, and a burden to bear it. For my part let me be but quiet and free, I'll drink sack and obey, and let great ones bear sway, Who spend their whole time but in thinking; I'll ne'er trouble my pate With the secrets of State; The news books I'll burn all, And with the Diurnal Light Tobacco, and admit That they are so far fit As to serve good company in drinking: All the name I desire, is an honest good Fellow, Let's drink good Canary until we grow mellow. Maiden's delight. A Young man of late, that lacked a mate, And courting came unto her, With Cap, and Kiss, and sweet Mistress, But little could he do her; Quoth she, my friend, let kissing end, Where with you do me smother, And run at Ring with t'other thing: A little o'th' t'on with tother. Too much of aught is good for nought, Then leave this idle kissing; Your barren suit will yield no fruit If the other thing be missing: As much as this a man may kiss His sister or his mother; He that will speed must give with need A little o'th' t'on with tother. Who bids a Guest unto a feast, To sit by divers dishes, They please their mind until they find Change, please each Creatures wishes; With beak and bill I have my fill, With measure running over; The Lover's dish now do I wish, A little o'tht'on with t'other. To gull me thus, like Tantalus, To make me pine with plenty, With shadows store, and nothing more, your substance is so dainty; A fruitless tree is like to thee, Being but a kissing lover, With leaves join fruit, or else be mute; A little o'th' t'on with tother. Sharp joined with flat, no mirth to that; A low note and a higher, Where Mean and Base keeps time and place, Such music maids desire: All of one string doth loathing bring, Change is true Music's Mother, Then leave my face, and sound the base, A little o'th' t'on with tother. The golden mine lies just between The high way and the lower; He that wants wit that way to hit Alas hath little power; You'll miss the clout if that you shoot Much higher, or much lower: Shoot just between, your arrows keen, A little o'th't'on with t'other. No smoke desire without a fire, No wax without a Writing: If right you deal give Deeds to Seal, And strait fall to inditing; Thus do I take these lines I make, As to a faithful Lover, In order he'll first write, then seal, A little o'th't'on with t'other. Thus while she stayed the young man played Not high, but low defending; Each stroke he struck so well she took, She swore it was passed mending; Let swaggering boys that think by toys Their Lovers to fetch over, Lip-labour save, for the maids must have A little o'th't'on with t'other. The Hunting. A Fox, a Fox, up Gallants to the field, List to the merry cry that sweetness yields; Joves highbred boy rides mounted on a Tun; Selenia makes his lazy Ass to run In pursuit of the chase, With which may none compare, Neither for four mile's race, Nor hunting of the Hare. Join Music to the Cry, that hollow rocks May echo forth the hunting of the Fox. The Fox hath lost the field, and left the Town, And up your barley hill showers up and down, With fear enforced, weak Reynold seems to daunt The carriage of the warlike Elephant; But hark, the Horns do blow, And all the huntsmen shout, There goes the Game, I know, But Tickler drives him out; Join Music, etc. Ride, ride St. George, he's stole into the bush, Old swag-pot makes him strait from thence to rush, Then creeps into the Vine, and there doth earth; O heavenly cry, exceeding earthly mirth! Hark Youland, and Pottle, Old Gusquin, and Rainsbolt, But hark how Pim doth Tattle Now he's got to the hole; Join Music, etc. The Fox quite spent, about the Town he reels, And now in view he's followed at the heels; Then climb the tree, that climbing was his fall, And to that fall came in the Huntsmen all: Then Sug, and Foot, Swilback, Cavil, and speckled Dyer, Toss, Swagger, and Spendall Tug him through dirt and mire; Now join our horn & voices all, that hollow rocks May echo forth the hunting of the Fox. A Song. AH, ah, come see what's here! Young Rufus drawing near, With his thoughts, and his eyes, And his elevated cries; Take heed how you come near, For in a rapture his weak stature Mounts above the Moon; And being there, doth stamp and stare, And swear there is no room To contain his old brain in the skies, But he'll go down below, And he'll know if it be so, Whether all the wild boys, Having spent their mad days, Goes when such men dies. But he finds no comfort there, Back again to the man in the air; He catches at the Moon, And pulls off the shepherd's shoes, And leaves his ten toes bare; Now the Youth grows mad: The Moon-man, that was sad, Starts up as wild as he, With frowning angry look, Stood kirding with his hook, And demands what he might be: He did reply, I will fly round the Globe; Then make way Earth and Sea, He'll not stay for to play; Consent with him importune, He fears an evil Fortune, All his delight's abroad. A Droll. LEt dogs and devils die; Let Wits and Money fly; Let the slaves of the earth Be abortive in their birth; Well or Ill come, what care I, For I will roar, I will drink, I will whore, I spend nought but my own: Let slaves of the World be suddenly hurled, Or with a whirlwind blown, In and out, round about, hay boys, hay: Let us sing, let us laugh, Let us drink, let us quaff; See the World is sliding, Here is no abiding, Our life's but a Holiday. A Song. A Young man walking all alone Abroad to take the air, It was his chance to meet a maid Of beauty passing fair: Desiring her of courtesy Down by him for to sit; She answered him most modestly, O nay, O nay not yet. Forty Crowns I will give thee, Sweet heart, in good red Gold, If that thy favour I may win With thee for to be bold: She answered him with modesty, And with a fervent wit, Thinkest thou I'll slain my honesty? O nay, O nay not yet. Gold and silver is but dross, And worldly vanity; There's nothing I esteem so much As my Virginity; What do you think I am so lose, And of so little wit, As for to lose my maidenhead? O nay, O nay not yet. Although our Sex be counted base, And easy to be won, You see that I can find a check Dame Nature's Games to shun; Except it be in modesty, That may become me fit, Thinkest I am weary of my honesty? O nay, O nay not yet. The young man stood in such a dump, Not giving no more words, He gave her that in quietness Which love to maids affords: The maid was ta'en as in a trance, And such a sudden fit, As she had almost quite forgot Her nay, O nay not yet. The way to win a woman's love Is only to be brief, And give her that in quietness Will ease her of her grief: For kindness they will not refuse When young men proffer it, Although their common speeches be O nay, O nay not yet. The Jealous Husband. A Young man that's in love with one that's wed, Which of his sweet heart hath a jealous head: Hath hatched a furious beast, For Jealousy takes no rest. It is a mad frenzy that broils in the brain, It fumes in the stomach, and filleth the Vein: The handmaids that upon it do wait, Is fear, suspicion, and hate. The smoke of Tobacco it troubleth the brain, It makes a man giddy, and quiet again: If once he cry, stand away, puff, He taketh all kindness in snuff. He holds it a scorn the trueness of love, But woe to the woman that's forced to prove, At home, and in every place, She lives in a pitiful case. If he do but miss her out of his sight, He rangeth about like a wand'ring spirit: And though she be within the house, He hunts her as Cat doth a Mouse. If any be with her, O how his heart aches! He fickles, he tickles, he trembles, he quakes; But if she be all alone, He sneaks away like a mome. If she be abroad, and not to befound, He hunts, and he scents, like a bloodhound; If he her consort doth distaste, O how the poor fool is aghast! At feasts, and at meetings, O how he will pry, He'll wink, and nod, and observe her eye; His mops and mows he will shape, Like an old Paris-Garden Ape. If any do kiss her, or kindly her Use, O how it doth vex him, and make him to muse! And plague him with such a smart As gripeth his very heart. Perhaps he will flatter, and make excuse, Dissembling his folly, which might her abuse; And seemingly shows himself kind, When Jealousy sticks in his mind. I'll tell you his Virtues, to hold on my Rhyme, No fool is kinder for a fit, or a time; He flatters, he kisses, he swears It is out of the love that he bears. If this be true love, I would have no such; I'll rather wish no love than thus over much; For thus a fond jealous Elf Disquiets his wife and himself. I wonder what pleasure he findeth thereby, To find his own torment that hidden may lie, And frets like a Canker in heart, And breeds his continual smart. He pouts, he lowrs, he looks like a Cur, He'll chide, he'll brawl, he'll keep a foul stir, And swear he will slit her face, Before he'll endure disgrace. He ruffles, he shuffles, he frets and fumes; He puffs, and snuffs, and sets up his plumes; And though the fool have no hurt He'll call for a Constable blurt. He fretteth, he swelleth, he spoileth his diet; He stormeth, he rageth, he is seldom quiet; He wastes away like dross, When none but himself is his Cross. He mumbles, and grumbles, poor silly man, He whineth, he pineth, his look pale and wan; And when he perceives he must die He cries, out upon Jealousy, fie. I'd rather be a Cuckold, than be so possessed With such a foul spirit that never gives rest, That when the Coxcomb should sleep, Like a boy, he will play at bopeep. Besides the great scandal Jealousy bears, All men will deride him even to his ears, And boys in the street as he goes Will point with finger at nose. He that's a Wittol doth live at more ease, He knows the worst, and doth himself please: But he that's a Cuckold known, May swear it's no fault of his own. A Wife that's abused, if she would not tell, May work out a Charm to fill his night spell, Much better to please his mind, And serve a fool in his kind. She is now his equal, his flesh, and his mate, And none but the devil would work their debate: For being of two made one, It is fit he should let her alone. And yet to conclude, though this be a curse, A woman that's jealous is twenty times worse: For she, like a cackling hen, Will giggle it out to all men. women's delight. THere dwelled a maid in the Cunny-gate, And she was wondrous fair, And she would have an old man Was overgrown with hair; And ever she cried, O turn, O turn thee unto me, Thou hast the thing I have not, A little above the knee. He bought her a Gown of green, Became her wondrous well: And she bought him a long sword To hang down by his heel; And ever she cried, etc. He bought her a pair of Sheers To hang by her side: And she bought him a winding-sheet Against the day he died; And ever she cried etc. He bought her a Gown, a Gown, Embroidered all with gold: And she gave him a nightcap To keep him from the cold, And ever she cried, etc. He bought her a Gown, a Gown, Embroidered all with red: And she gave him a pair of horns To wear upon his head; And ever she cried, etc. She gave him a Perruwig Because he had no hair: And he gave her a Merkin, Because her— was bare; And ever she cried, turn, O turn thee unto me, Thou hast the thing I have not A little above the knee. The charges of a married life TO friend, and to foe, to all that I know, That to marriage estate doth prepare Must think that their days have several ways, And troubled with sorrows and cares; For he that doth look into the married man's book, And read but his Items all over, Shall find them to come At length to a sum Which shall empty purse, pocket, and coffer. In the pastime of Love, When their labours do prove, And the fruit gins for to kick, For this, and for that, And I know not for what, Which women must have or be sick; There's Item set down For a loose-bodied Gown, In her long you must not deceive her: For a Bodkin, or a Ring, Or the other fine thing, For a Whisk, a Scarf, or a Beaver. Delivered and well, who is't cannot tell, Thus while the Child lies at the Nipple, There's Item for Wine, and Gossips so fine, And sugar to sweeten their tipple; There's Item I hope, there's Item for Soap, There's Item for fire and candle; For better, for worse, there's Item for Nurse, The babe to dress and to dandle. Then swaddled in lap, there's Item for pap, And Item for pot, pan, and ladle; A Coral with bells, which custom compels, And Item ten groats for a Cradle; With twenty odd Knacks Which the little one lacks, And thus doth thy pastime bewray thee; But this is the sport in Country and Court, Then let not these pastimes betray thee. The Drunkard. THE Spring is coming on, and our spirits begin To return to their places merrily home, And every man is bound to lay in a good Brewing of blood for the year to come. They are Cowards that make it of clarified whey, Or drink, with the swine, of the juice of grains; Let me have the rasie Canary to play, And the sparkling Rhenish to dance in my veins. Let dotards go preach, that our lives are but short, And tell us, much Wine doth quick death invite: But we'll be revenged before hand, and for't We'll crowd a lives mirth in the space of a night. Then stand we about with our glasses full crowned, Till every thing else to our postures do grow, Till our cups, and our heads, and the house go round, And the Cellar become where the Chamber is now. Come fill us some wine, we'll a sacrifice bring, This night full of Sack to the health of our K— Till we baffle the Stars, and the Sun fetch about, And tipple, and tipple, and tipple a rout. Whose first rising rays that is shown from his throne Shall dash upon faces as red as his own, And wonder that Mortals can fuddle away As much wine in a night as he water i'th' day. In praise of Chocolate. Doctor's lay by your irksome books And all the pettifogging Rooks Leave quacking, and enucleate The virtues of our Chocolate. Let th' universal medicine (Made up of dead-men's bones and skin) Be henceforth illegitimate, And yield to sovereign Chocolate. Let bawdy-baths be used no more, Nor smoaky-stoves, but by the whore Of Babylon, since happy fate Hath blessed us with Chocolate. Let old Puncteus grease his shoes With his Mock-Balsome, and abuse No more the world: but mediate. The excellence of Chocolate. Let Doctor Trig (who so excels) Lo longer trudge to westward Wells; For though that water expurgate, It's but the dregs of Chocolate. Let all the Paracelsian Crew, Who can extract Christian from Jew, Or out of Monarchy or State Break all their Stills for Chocolate. Tell us no more of Weapon-salve, But rather doom us to a grave, For sure our wounds will ulcerate Unless they're washed with Chocolate. The thriving Saint, that will not come Within a sack-shops bousing Room, (His spirits to exhilerate) Drinks bowls (at home) of Chocolate. His Spouse, when she (brimful of sense) Doth want her due benevolence, And babes of grace would propagate, Is always sipping Chocolate. The roaring Crew of gallant ones, Whose marrow rots within their bones, Their bodies quickly regulate, If once but soused in Chocolate. Young heirs, that have more Land than Wit, When once they do but taste of it, Will rather spend their whole Estate Than weaned be from Chocolate. The nut-brown Lasses of the Land, Whom Nature veiled in face and hand, Are quickly beauties of high rate, By one small draught of Chocolate. Besides, it saves the moneys lost Each day in patches, which did cost Them dear, until of late They found this heavenly Chocolate. Nor need the women longer grieve, Who spend their Oil, yet not conceive: But it's a help immediate If such but lick of Chocolate. Consumptions too (be well assured) Are no less soon than sound cured (Excepting such as do relate Unto the purse) by Chocolate. Nay more: Its Virtue is so much, That if a Lady get a touch, Her grief it will extenuate, If she but smell of Chocolate. The feeble man, whom nature ties To do his Mistriss' drudgeries: O how it will his mind elate, If she allow him Chocolate. 'Twill make old women young and fresh, Create new motions of the flesh, And cause them long for you know what, If they but taste of Chocolate. There's ne'er a Common-Council man, Whose life would reach unto a span, Should he not well affect the State, And first and last drink Chocolate. Nor ne'er a Citizen's chaste wife That ever shall prolong her life (Whilst open stands her postern gate) Unless she drink of Chocolate. Nor dost the Levite any harm, It keepeth his devotion warm, And eke the hair upon his pate, So long as he drinks Chocolate. Both high and low, both rich and poor, My Lord, my Lady, and his— With all the folks at Billingsgate, Bow, bow your hams to Chocolate. A Catch. THere was an old man had an Acre of land He sold it for five pound a, He went to the Tavern and drank it all out, Excepting half a Crown a: And as he came home he met with a wench, And asked her, whether she was willing To go to the Tavern and spend eighteen pence And— for the other odd shilling. The Cavaleers Complaint. COme Jack, let's drink a Pot of Ale, And I shall tell thee such a Tale Will make thine Ears to ring: My Coin is spent, my Time is lost, And I this only Fruit can boast, That once I saw my King. But this doth most afflict my mind, I went to Court, in hope to find Some of my Friends in Place; And walking there, I had a sight Of all the Crew: But, by this Light, I hardly knew one Face! 'Slife, of so many Noble Sparks, Who, on their Bodies, bear the Marks Of their Integrity, And suffered Ruin of Estate; It was my damned unhappy Fate, That I not one could see! Not one, upon my life, among My old Acquaintance, all along At Truro, and before; And, I suppose, the Place can show As few of those, whom thou didst know At York, or Marston-moore. But, truly, There are swarms of Those, Whose Chins are beardless, yet their Hose And Buttocks still wear Muffs, Whilst the old rusty Cavalier Retires, or dares not once appear For want of Coin, and Cuffs. When none of These I could descry, Who, better far deserved; Then I Calmly did reflect; Old Services, (by Rule of State) Like Almanacs, grow out of date, What then can I expect? Troth, in contempt of Fortune's frown, I'll get me fairly out of Town, And, in a Cloister pray, That, since the Stars are yet unkind To Royalists, the King may find More faithful Friends than They. An Echo to the Cavaliers complaint. I Marvel Dick, That having been So long abroad, and having seen The World, as Thou hast done, Thou shouldst acquaint Me with a Tale As old as Nestor, and as stolen As That of Priest and Nun! Are We to learn what is a Court? A Pageant made for Fortune's sport, Where Merits scarce appear: For bashful Merit only dwells In Camps, in Villages and Cells; Alas! it dwells not There. Desert is nice in its Address, And Merit oftimes doth oppress Beyond what Gild would do: But They are sure of Their Demands, That come to Court with Golden-hands And Brazen-faces too. The King, They say, doth still profess To give His Party some Redress, And cherish Honesty: But His good Wishes prove in vain, Whose Service with His Servants gain, Not always doth agree. All Princes, (be they ne'er so wife) Are fain to see with Others Eyes, But seldom hear at all; And Courtiers finded their interest, In Time to feather well their Nest, Providing for their Fall. Our Comfort doth on Time depend; Things, when they are at worst, will mend: And let Us but reflect On our Condition th' other Day, When none but Tyrants bore the sway, What did We then expect? Mean while a calm Retreat is best: But Discontent (if not suppressed) Will breed Disloyalty. This is the constant Note I sing, I have been faithful to the King, And so shall ever be. The Colchester Quaker. ALL in the Land of Essex Near Colchester the Zealous, On the side of a bank, Was played such a prank, As would make a Stone-horse jealous. Help Woodcock, Fox, and Nailor, For Brother Green's a Stallion, Now alas what hope, Of converting the Pope, When a Quaker turns Italian? Unto out whole profession, A scandal 'twill be counted, When 'tis talked with disdain, Amongst the Profane, How Brother Green was mounted. And in the good time of Christmas, Which though the Saints have damned all, Yet when did they hear That a damned Cavalier E'er played such a Christmas gamball, Had thy flesh, O Green, been pampered With any Cates unhallowed, Hadst thou sweetened thy Gumbs With Pottage of Plumbs, Or profane mine'd-Pie hadst swallowed. Rolled up in wanton swine's flesh, The fiend might have crept into thee, Then fullness of gut Might have made thee rut. And the devil so have rid through thee. But alas, he had been feasted With a spiritual Collation By our frugal Mayer, Who can dine with a Prayer, And sup with an Exhortation. 'Twas mere impulse of Spirit, Though he used the weapon carnal, Filly-Foal, quoth he, My Bride thou shalt be: Now how this is lawful, learn all. For if no respect of persons Be due 'mongst the sons of Adam, In a large extent, Then may it be meant That a Mare's as good as a Madam. Then without more Ceremony, Nor Bonnet veiled, nor kissed her, He took her by force For better for worse, And he used her like a Sister. Now when in such a Saddle A Saint will needs be riding, Though I dare not say, 'Tis a falling away, May there not be some back-sliding? No surely, quoth James Naylor, 'Twas but an insurrection Of the carnal part, For a Quaker in heart Can never lose perfection. For so our * Hist. of Jesuitism, Masters teach us, The intent being well directed; Though the devil trapan The Adamical man, The Saint stands uninfected. But yet a Pagan Jury Still Judges what's intended, Then say what we can, Brother Green's outward man I fear will be suspended. And our Adopted Sister Will find no better quarter, But when him we enrol For a Saint; Filly Foal Shall pass at least for a Martyr. Now Rome that Spiritual Sodom No longer is thy debtor, O Colchester now Who's Sodom, but thou, Even according to the Letter? Help Woodcock, Fox, and Nailor; For Brother Green's a Stallion. Now alas what hope Of converting the Pope, When a Quaker turns Italian. The Character of a Mistress. MY Mistress is a shuttlecock, Composed of Cork and Feather, Each Battledore sets her on the dock, And bumps her on the leather: But cast her off which way you will, She will requoile to another still, Fa, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, la. My Mistress is a Tennis-ball, Composed of Cotten fine; She is often struck against the wall, And banded under-line, But if you will her mind fulfil, You must pop her in the hazard still, Fa, lafoy, la. My Mistress is a Nightingale, So sweetly she can sing, She is as fair as Philomela, The daughter of a King; And in the darksome nights so thick She loves to lean against a prick, Fa, lafoy, la. My Mistress is a Ship of war, With shot discharged at her, The Poop hath inferred many a scar Even both by wind and water; But as she grapples, at the last She drowns the man, pulls down her mast, Fa, lafoy, la. My Mistress is a Virginal, And little cost will string her: She's often reared against the wall For every man to finger, But to say truth, if you will her please You must run division on her keys, Fa, lafoy, la. My Mistress is a Coney fine, She's of the softest skin, And if you please to open her, The best part lies within, And in her Conny-burrow may Two Tumblers and a Ferret play, Fa, lafoy, la. My Mistress is the Moon so bright, I wish that I could win her; She never walks but in the night, And bears a man within her, Which on his back bears pricks and thorns, And once a month she brings him horns, Fa, lafoy, la. My Mistress is a Tinderbox, Would I had such a one; Her Steel endureth many a knock Both by the flint and stone, And if you stir the Tinder much, The match will fire at every touch, Fa, lafoy, la. My Mistress is a Puritan, She will not swear an oath, But for to lie with any man She is not very loath; Put pure to pure, and there's no sin, There's nothing lost that enters in, Fa, lafoy, la. But why should I my Mistress call, A shuttlecock or bauble, A Ship of war, or Tennis-ball, Which things be variable? But to commend, I'll say no more, My Mistress is an arrant— Fa, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, la. Oliver routing the Rump. WILL you hear a strange thing, ne'er heard of before, A Ballad of news without any lies: The Parliament men are turned out of door, And so is the Council of State likewise. Brave Oliver came into th' House like a spirit, His fiery looks made the Speaker dumb: You must be gone home, quoth he, by this light, Do you mean to sit here till doomsday come? With that the Speaker looked pale for fear, As if he had been with the Nightmare rid, Which made most men believe, that were there, That he did even as the Alderman did. For Oliver, though he were Doctor at Law, It seems he played the Physician there: Whose Physic so wrought in the Speakers maw, That it gave him a Stool instead of a Chair. Sir Arthur thought Oliver wondrous bold, Hoping there to make some stir: But in the mean time, take this from me, Sir Arthur must yield to brave Oliver. Harry Martin wondered to see such a thing Done by a Saint of so high degree: An Act he did not expect from a King, Much less from such a dry-bone as he. But Oliver, laying hands on his Sword, Upbraids him with Adultery: Then Martin gave him never a word, But humbly thanked his Majesty. Much wit he had showed if that he had dared, But silent he was for fear of some knocks: Quoth he, if I get you within my Ward, I may chance to send you out with a Pox. Allen the Coppersmith was in great fear, He had done as much hurt since the war began: A broken Citizen many a year, And now he's a broken Parliament-man. But Oliver told him what he had been, And him a cheating Knave did call, Which put him into a fit of the spleen, For now he must give an account of all. It went to the heart of Sir Henry Vane To think what a terrible fall he should have: For he who did once in the Parliament reign Was called, as I hear, a dissembling knave. Who gave him that name you may easily know, 'Twas one that studied the art full well, You may swear it was true, if he called him so, And how to dissemble I'm sure he can tell. Bradshaw, the Precedent, proud as the Pope, Who loved upon Kings and Princes to trample, Now the House is dissolved, who cannot but hope To see such a Precedent made an example? If I were one of the Council of State, I'll tell you what my vote should be: Upon his new Turret at Westminster There to be hanged he should be. Then room for the Speaker without his Mace, And room for the rest of the rabble-rout: My Masters, is not this a pitiful case, Like the snuff of a candle thus to go out? I cannot but wonder you should agree, You that have been such brethren in evil: A dissolution there needs must be, When the Devil is divided against the Devil. Some like this Change, and some like it not; Some say, it was not done in due season; Some say it way the Jesuits plot, It so much resembles the Gunpowder Treason. Some think that Cromwell and Charles are agreed, And sure it were good policy if it were so, Lest the Hollander, French, the Dane, and the Swede Should bring him in whether he will or no. And now I would gladly conclude my Song With a prayer as Ballads use to do, But yet I'll forbear, for I hope ere't be long We shall have the King and a Parliament too. Admiral Deans Funeral. 1. NIck Culpepper, and William Lily, Though you were pleased to say they were silly, Yet something these prophesied true, I tell you, Which no body can deny. 2. In the month of May, I tell you truly, Which neither was in June nor July, The Dutch began to be unruly, Which no body can deny. 3. Betwixt our England and their Holland, Which neither was in France nor Poland, But on the Sea, where there was no Land, Which no body can deny. 4. There joined the Dutch and the English Fleet, Our At thors' opinion than they did meet, Some saw't that never more shall see't, Which no body can deny. 5. There were many men's hearts as heavy as lead, Yet would not believe Dick Dean to be dead, Till they saw his Body take leave of his head, Which no body can deny. 6. Then after the sad departure of him, There was many a man lost a Leg or a Limb, And many were drowned 'cause they could not swim, Which no body can deny. 7. One cries, lend me thy hand good friend, Although he knew it was to no end, I think, quoth he, I am going to the Fiend, Which no body can deny. 8. Some, 'twas reported, were killed with a Gun, And some stood that knew not whether to run, There was old taking leave of Father and Son, Which no body can deny. 9 There's a rumour also, if we may believe, We have many gay Widows now given to grieve, 'Cause unmannerly Husbands ne'er came to take leave, Which no body can deny. 10. The Ditty is sad of our Dean to sing; To say truth, it was a pitiful thing To take off his head and not leave him a ring. Which no body can deny. 11. From Greenwich toward the Bear at Bridge foot He was wafted with wind that had water to't, But I think they brought the devil to boot, Which no body can deny. 12. The heads on London Bridge upon Poles, That once had bodies, and honester souls Than hath the Master of the Rolls, Which no body can deny. 13. They grieved for this great man of command, Yet would not his head amongst theirs should stand; He died on the Water, and they on the Land, Which no body can deny. 14. I cannot say, they looked wisely upon him, Because people cursed that parcel was on him; He has fed fish and worms, if they do not wrong him Which no body can deny. 15. The Old Swan, as he passed by, Said, she would sing him a dirge, and lie down & die; Wilt thou sing to a bit of a body, quoth I? Which no body can deny. 16. The Globe on the bank, I mean, on the Ferry, Where Gentle and Simple might come & be merry, Admired at the change from a Ship to a Wherry, Which no body can deny. 17. Tom Godfrey's Bears began for to roar, Hearing such moans one side of the shore, They knew they should never see Dean any more, Which no body can deny. 18. Queenhithe, Paulswharf, and the Friars also, Where now the Players have little to do, Let him pass without any tokens of woe, Which no body can deny. 19 Quoth th' Students o'th' Temple, I know not their names, Looking out of their Chambers into the Thames, The Barge fits him better than did the great James, Which no body can deny. 20. Essex House, late called Cuckolds Hall, The Folk in the Garden staring over the wall, Said, they knew that once Pride would have a fall, Which no body can deny. 21. At Strand Gate, a little farther then, Were mighty Guns numbered to sixty and ten, Which neither hurt Children, Women, nor Men, Which no body can deny. 22. They were shot over times one, two, three, or four, 'Tis thought one might ' heard the bounce tooth ' Tower, Folk report, the din made the Buttermilk sour, Which no body can deny. 23. Had old Goodman Lenthal or Allen but heard 'em, The noise worse than Olivers voice would ' feared 'em, And out of their small wits would have scared 'um. Which no body can deny. 24. Summer set House, where once did the Queen lie, And afterwards Ireton in black, and not green, by, The Canon clattered the Windows really, Which no body can deny. 25. The Savoys mortified spittled Crew, If I lie, as Falstaff says, I am a Jew, Gave the Hearse such a look it would make a man spew, Which no body can deny. 26. The House of S— that Fool and Knave, Had so much wit left lamentation to save From accompanying a traytorly Rogue to his grave, Which no body can deny. 27. The Exchange, and the ruins of Durham House eke Wished such sights might be seen each day i'th' week, A General's Carcase without a Cheek, Which no body can deny. 28. The House that lately Great Buckingham's was, Which now Sir Thomas Fairfax has, Wished it might be Sir Thomas' fate so to pass, Which no body can deny. 29. Howards House, Suffolk's great Duke of Yore, Sent him one single sad wish, and no more, He might floor by Whitehall in purple gore, Which no body can deny. 30. Something I should of Whitehall say, But the Story is so sad, and so bad, by my faith, That it turns my wits another way, Which no body can deny. 31. To Westminster, to the Bridge of the Kings, The water the Barge, and the Bargemen brings The small remain of the worst of things, Which no body can deny. 32. They interred him in triumph, like Lewis the eleven, In the famous Chapel of Henry the seven, But his soul is scarce gone the right way to heaven, Which no body can deny. A Catch. Bacchus', I am come from the sunshine fell To you, mad Wags, the force of Wine to tell, And from those Sackbuts, pressed from grapes of Spain, There's none shall taste but I will taste again. Sack, Sack is the thing that makes the brain rumble, It fools the wise, and makes the Gallant stumble. Sack hath the power the sense of man depriving, O take heed then; Sack keeps the wealthy man from thriving, Fools than be wise. He that in drink doth keep no mean It makes him lean; And he that reels, See what he feels: Now in foul dirt he prostrate falls, And picks mad quarrels with the walls; Nor shall his drowsy sense, that lies asleep, Be well recovered in a night of sleep. A Catch. BE not thou so foolish nice As to be invited twice; Why should we men more incite Than their own sweet appetite? Shall savage things more freedom have Than Nature unto Women gave? The Swan, the Turtle, and the Sparrow, Bill a while, and then take marrow; They bill, they kiss, what else they do, Come bill and kiss, and I'll show you. Pim's Anarchy. Ask me no more, why there appears Daily such troops of Dragooneers, Since it was requisite, you know, They rob cum privilegio. Ask me no more, why the Gule confines Our Hierarchy of best Divines, Since some in Parliament agree 'Tis for the Subject's Liberty. Ask me no more, why from Blackwall Great tumults come into Whitehall, Since it was allowed, by free consent, The Privileges of Parliament. Ask me not, why to London comes So many Muskets, Pikes, and Drums, So that we fear they'll never cease, 'Tis to protect the Kingdom's peace. Ask me no more, why little Finch From Parliament began to winch, Since such as dare to hawk at Kings Can easy clip a Finches wings. Ask me no more, why Strafford's dead, And why they aimed so at his head, Faith, all the reason I can give, 'Tis thought he was too wise to live. Ask me no more, where's all the Plate, Brought in at such an easy rate, They it back to the Owners soon will bring In case it fall not to the King. Ask me not, why the House delights Not in our two wise Kentish Knights: Their Counsel never was thought good, Because it was not understood. Ask me no more, why Lasey goes To seize all rich men as his foes, Whilst Country Farmer's sigh and sob, Yeomen may beg when Kings do rob. Ask me no more, by what strange sight London's Lord Mayor was made a Knight, Since there's a strength, not very far, Hath as much power to make as mar. Ask me no more, why in this Age I sing so sharp without a Cage: My answer is, I need not fear Since England doth the burden bear. Ask me no more, for I grow dull, Why Hotham kept the Town of Hull: This answer I in brief do sing, All things were thus when Pim was K— A merry Journey to France. I Went from England into France, Not for to learn to sing nor dance, To ride, nor yet to fence, But for to see strange sights, as those That have returned without a nose They carried away from hence. As I to Paris road along, Like to John Dory in the Song, Upon a holy Tide, Where I an ambling Nag did get, I hope he is not paid for yet, I spurred him on each side. First, to Saint Dennis then I came, To see the sights at Notre dame, The man that shows them snaffles: That who so list, may there believe To see the Virgin Maries Sleeve, And eke her odd Pantafles. The breast-milk, and the very Gown That she did wear in Bethlehem Town, When in the Barn she lay: But men may think that is a Fable, For such good ne'er came in Stable Upon a lock of hay. No Carpenter can by his trade Have so much Coin as to have made A gown of such rich Stuff: But the poor fools must, for their credit, Believe, and swear old Joseph did it, 'Cause he received enough. There is the Lantern which the Jews, When Judas led them forth, did use, It weighs my weight downright; And than you must suppose and think The Jews therein did put a Link, And then 'twas wondrous bright. There is one Saint has lost his nose, Another his head, but not his toes, An elbow, and a thumb; When we had seen those holy rags, We went to the Inn and took our Nags, And so away we come. We came to Paris, on the Seine, 'Tis wondrous fair, but little clean, 'Tis Europe's greatest Town: How strong it is I need not tell it, For every one may easily smell it As they ride up and down. There's many rare sights for to see, The Palace, the great Gallery, Place-Royal doth excel; The Newbridge, and the Statute stairs, At Rotterdam, Saint Christopher's, The Steeple bears the Bell. For Arts, the University, And for old , the Frippery, The Queen the same did build; Saint Innocent, whose earth devours Dead Corpse in four and twenty hours, And there the King was killed. The Bastile, and Saint Dennis street, The Chastelet, like London Fleet; The Arsenal is no toy; But if you will see the pretty thing, Oh go to Court and see the King, Oh he is a hopeful boy. He is of all Dukes and Peers Reverenced for wit as well as years; Nor must you think it much That he with little switches play, And can make fine dirt-pies of Clay, O never King made such. Birds round about his Chamber stands, The which he feeds with his own hands, 'Tis his humility: And if they want any thing, They may but whistle to their King And he comes presently. A bird that can but catch a Fly, Or prate to please his Majesty, It's known to every one; The Duke De Guise gave him a Parrot, And he had twenty Cannons for it For his great Gallion. O that it e'er might be my hap To catch the bird that in the Map They call the Indian Chuck, I'd give it him, and hope to be As great and wise a man as he, Or else I had ill luck. Besides, he hath a pretty sirk, Taught him by Nature, for to work In Iron with much ease: And then unto the Forge he goes, There he knocks, and there he blows, And makes both locks and Keys. Which puts a doubt in every one Whether he be Mars or Vulcan's Son, For few believe his Mother: For his Incestuous House could not Have any Children, unless got By Uncle, or by Brother. Now for these Virtues needs he must Entitled be Lewis the Just, Heneries Great Heir; Where to his Style we add more words, Better to call him King of Birds Than of the Great Navar. His Queen, she is a little Wench, Was born in Spain, speaks little French, Ne'er like to be a Mother: But let them all say what they will, I do believe, and shall do still, As soon the one as tother. Then why should Lewis be so just, Contented be to take his lust With his lascivious Mate, Or suffer this his little Queen, From all her Sex that e'er had been, Thus to degenerate? 'Twere charity to have it known, Love other Children as his own To him it were no shame: For why should he near greater be Than was his Father Henery, Who, some say, did the same? A Sessions of Wit. A Session was held the other day, And Apollo himself was at it (they say:) The Laurel, that had been so long preserved, Was now to be given to him best deserved. Therefore the Wits of the Town came thither, 'Twas strange to see how they flocked together; Each, strongly confident of his own way, That day thought to carry the Laurel away. There was Selden, and he sat close to the Chair; Wainman not far off, which was very fair; Sands with Townsend, for they kept no Order; Digby and Shillingworth a little further. There was Lucan's Translator too, and he That made God speak so big in's Poetry; Selwin, and Waller, and Bartlet's both the Brothers, Jack Vaughan, and Porter, and divers others. The first that broke silence was good old Ben, Prepared before with Canary wine, And he told them plainly, he deserved the Bays, For his were called Works when others were called Plays, Bid them remember how he had purged the Stage Of errors that had lasted many an Age; And he hoped they did not think the Silent Woman, The Fox, and the Alchemist outdone by no man. Apollo stopped him there, and bid him not go on, 'Twas merit, he said, and not presumption, Must carry't; at which Ben turned about, And in great choler offered to go out. But those that were there thought it not fit To discontent so ancient a Wit, And therefore Apollo called him back again, And made him mine Host of his own new Inn. Tom Carew was next, but he had a fault That would not well stand with a Laureate; His Muse was hidebound, and the Issue of's brain Was seldom brought forth but with trouble and pain. And all that were present there did agree A Laureate Muse should be easy and free; Yet sure 'twas not that, but 'twas thought that his Grace Consider'd he was well he had a Cupbearers place. Will. Davenant ashamed of a foolish mischance, That he had got lately travelling into France, Modestly hoped the handsomeness of's Muse Might any deformity about him excuse. And surely the company would have been content If they could have found any precedent, But in all their Records, either in Verse or Prose, There was not one Laureate without a Nose. To Will Bartlet sure all the Wits meant well, But first they would see how his Snow would sell: Will smiled, and swore, in their Judgements they went less, That concluded of merit upon success. Suddenly taking his place again, He gave way to Selwin, who strait stepped in; But, alas, he had been so lately a wit That Apollo himself scarce knew him yet. Toby Mathews, (Pox on him) what made he there? Was whispering nothing in some body's ear When he had the honour to be named in Court, But, Sir, you may thank my Lady Carlisle for't. For had not her Character furnished you out With something of handsome, without all doubt, You, and the sorry Lady-Muse, had been In the number of those that were not let in. In from the Court two or three come in, And they brought Letters (forsooth) from the Queen: 'Twas discreetly done; for if th' had come Without them, th'had scarce been let into the room This made a dispute, for 'twas plain to be seen Each man had a mind to gratify the Queen: But Apollo himself could not think it fit: There was difference, he said, betwixt fooling & wit. Sucklin was next called, but durst not appear, But strait one whispered Apollo in the ear, That of all men living he cared not for't, He loved not the Muses so well as his sport. And prized black eyes, or a lucky hit At bowls, above all the Trophies of Wit; But Apollo was angry, and publicly said, 'Twere fit that a fine were set upon's head. Wat Montague now stood forth to his Trial, And did not so much as suspect a denial: But wise Apollo asked him first of all, If he understood his own Pastoral. For if he could do't, 'twould plainly appear He understood more than any man there, And did merit the Bays above all the rest, But the Monsieur was modest, and silence confessed. During these troubles, in the crowd was hid One that Apollo soon missed, little Cid: And having spied him, called him out of the throng, And advised him in his ear not to write so strong. Then Murr was summoned, but it was urged, that he Was chief already of another Company. Hales sat by himself, most gravely did smile, To see them about nothing keep such a coil; Apollo had spied him, but knowing his mind, Past by, and called Faulkland, that sat just behind. But he was of late so grown with Divinity, That he had almost forgot his Poetry, Though, to say the truth (and Apollo did know it) He might have been both his Priest and his Poet. At length, who but an Alderman did appear, At which Will Davenant began to swear; But wiser Apollo bade him draw nigher: And when he was mounted a little higher, He openly declared, that it was the best sign Of good store of wit, to have good store of Coin: And, without a Syllable more or less said, He put the Laurel on the Alderman's head. At this all the Wits were in such a maze, That for a good while they did nothing but gaze One upon another; not one in the place But had a discontent writ at large in his face. Only the small ones cheered up again, Out of hope, as 'twas thought, of borrowing; But sure they were out, for he forfeits his Crown When he lends to any Poet about the Town. The way to woo a zealous Lady. I Came unto a Puritan to woo, And roughly did salute her with a kiss; She shoved me from her when I came unto; Brother, by yea and nay I like not this: And as I her with amorous talk saluted, My Articles with Scripture she confuted. She told me, that I was too much ●●●phane, And not devout neither in speech 〈…〉 esture: And I could not one word answer again, Nor had not so much grace to call her Sister; For ever something did offend her there, Either my broad beard, hat, or my long hair. My Band was broad, my ' Apparel was not plain, My Points and Girdle made the greatest show; My Sword was odious, and my Belt was vain, My Spanish shoes was cut too broad at toe; My Stockings light, my Garters tied too long, My Gloves perfumed, and had a scent too strong. I left my pure Mistress for a space, And to a snip-snap Barber strait went I; I cut my hair, and did my Corpse uncase Of ' Barrels pride that did offend the eye; My high-crowned Hat, my little beard also, My pecked Band, my Shoes were sharp at toe. Gone was my Sword, my Belt was laid aside, And I transformed both in looks and speech; My Apparel plain, my Cloak was void of pride, My little Skirts, my met a morphosed Breech, My Stockings black, my Garters were tied shorter, My Gloves no scent; thus marched I to her Porter. The Porter spied me, and did lead me in, Where his sweet Mistress reading was a Chapter: Peace to this house, and all that are therein, Which holy words with admiration wrapped her; And ever, as I came her something nigh, She, being divine, turned up the white o'th' eye. Quoth I, 〈…〉, and that liked her well; I kissed her, and did pass to some delight, She, blushing, said, that long-tailed men would tell; Quoth I, I'll be as silent as the night; And lest the wicked now should have a sight Of what we do, faith, I'll put out the light. O do not swear, quoth she, but put it out, Because that I would have you save your Oath, In truth, you shall but kiss me, without doubt; In troth, quoth I, here will we rest us both; Swear you, quoth she, in troth? Had you not sworn I'd not have done't, but took it in foul scorn. The Apostate World. GOod Lord, what a pass is this world brought to? Most men have forgot to be honest and just; When shall one find a friend to be honest and true, That with his chief secret he only may trust? If thou hadst abundance of money to spend, Then every man will be accounted thy friend; Find one that will love you where wealth doth decay, You'd as good find a needle in a bottle of hay. True friendship is, now adays, cunning and waning, And every one learns to shift for himself; What man will not falsify friendship for gaining, And wrong his best friend for lucre of pelf? There was once a time when a friend for a friend Would ever be constant his life for to spend; But he that will find such a friend at this day, Had as good seek, etc. There's many will hang on you while you have coin, And swear they will venture their lives for your sake: But to any task, if you them enjoin, They'll swear and protest they'll it undertake, But if by mishap you be brought to a pinch, Though they promise an ell, 'twill scarce prove an inch But find out a friend that will do and not say, You'd as good find, etc. For in this Age one dare not trust one another, For love is not known, but extremity shows, For one Brother dares hardly trust another With any thing but what he cares not who knows; If thou hast not money nor means of thine own, In thine extremity true friendship is known; If thou livest in debt, find one that will good say, You'd as good find, etc. There's many a Lawyer will promise his Client To finish his business in the next Term; To finger your money he'll show himself plient, And vows that nothing but truth he'll explain; And thus he will feed you with hopes to do well, When he means as false as the devil of hell; Find one that will finish your Suit in a day, You'd as good find, etc. And thus you may see what an intricate matter It is to find truth in a World of deceit; It is counted but compliment to face and to flatter, And politic wisdom to cousin and cheat; Plain dealing is a Jewel, but he that doth use it, They say, dies a beggar, therefore men refuse it; Find one that will deal upright, nay, good Sir stay, And first find a needle in a bottle of hay. Lust described. WAlking abroad in a morning, Where Venus herself was adorning; I heard a bird sing to welcome the Spring, Their music so sweetly according. I listened unto them, Me thoughts a voice did summon; I spied an old whore, and a lusty young rogue Together as they sat a wooing. She tickled him under the sides To make their courage coming; She hoisted her thighs, and she twinkled her eyes; 'Twas a dainty fine curious old woman. If Venus and Mars so stout Had joined together in battle, There could not have been more claps & more bangs, For he made her old buttocks to rattle. She gave him a lift for his thrust, And catcht him as he was a coming; And ever she cried, you lusty young rogue Will you murder a poor old woman? She found that his spirits were spent, And that he was no more a coming, She gave him five shillings to make a recruit, And was not this a fine lusty old woman? Eighty Eight. In Eighty Eight, e'er I was born, As I can well remember, In August was a Fleet of Spain, A month before September. Lisbona, civil Portugal, Toledo, and Germado, They all did meet, and made a Fleet, And called it the Armado. They came with great provision, As Muttons, Beef, and Bacon; Some said, some Ships were full of Whips, But I think they were mistaken. There was a little man in Spain, He shot well in a Gun a, Don Pedro height, as black a Wight As the Knight of the Sun a. They had ten men to one of ours, And yet to do more harm a, They said they would not come alone, But with the Prince of Parma. King Philip made him General, And bid him not to stay a, But to destroy both man and boy, And so to come away a. When they had sailed along the seas, And anchored before Dover, Our English men did board them then, And cast the Rascals over. At Tilbury there lay the Queen, What would you more desire? For whose sweet sake Sir Francis Drake Did set them all on fire. They ran away about England, About Scotland also a, Till they came to the Irish Coasts, Where they had many a blow a. The Irish man did ding them then And one man slew threescore a, And had they not then run away, They surely had slain more a. Then let them never brag nor boast, For if they come again a, They had best take heed, lest that they speed As they did they know when a. Loves Follie. NAy, out upon this fooling for shame; Nay pish, nay fie, in faith you are to blame; Nay come, this fooling must not be; Nay pish, nay fie, you tickle me. Nay out upon't, in faith I dare not do't; I'll by't, I'll scratch, I'll squeak, I'll cry out; Nay come, this fooling must not be; Nay pish, nay fie, you tickle me. Your Buttons scratch me, you ruffle my band, You hurt my thigns, pray take away your hand; The door stands that all may see, Nay pish, nay fie, you tickle me. When you and I shall meet in a place Both together face to face, I'll not cry out, nay you shall see, Nay pish, nay fie, you tickle me. But now I see my words are but vain, For I have done, why should I complain? Nay to't again, the way is free, Since it's no more pray tickle me. A Song. IF every woman were served in her kind, And every man had his due desert, The rooms in Bridewell would be well lined, And a Coach could not pass the streets for a Cart; Yet I am a little vexed at the heart, And fain I would have my grief to be known, The Punk would have me to play a kind part, And to father a child that is none of mine own. Full seventeen months I crossed the Seas, Mean time I was crossed as much on the Land, For all this while she sat at her ease, And had her Companions at her command; There was never a Gallant but gave her his hand, And said, it was pity she should lie alone, And now they would have me subscribe to a bond, And to father a child, etc. Let every Father take care for his Child, And seek to provide for the Mother and that; Although I am a Buck, I am not so wild To nail up my horns for another man's hat; I'll never grieve, but let it pass, Since 'tis my fortune to be overthrown, Although I am an Ox, I'll ne'er be an Ass To father a child, etc. A man may be made a Cuckold by chance, And put out another man's child to nurse, And hoodwink his Barn with ignorance, But he that's a Wittol is ten times worse; And he that knows his cross and his curse, And still will be led by a Strumpet's moan, May sit and sell horns at Britain's Burse. And father a child, etc. And if you will be my Judge, Is not that man wondrous base, To be another man's slave and his drudge, And sell all his credit for disgrace? Nor was I ever sprung from that race, To call that my seed another hath sown; Nor I'll never look King Charles in the face If I father a child that's none of mine own. The Fire on London Bridge, etc. SOme Christian people all give ear, Unto the grief of us, Caused by the death of three children dear, The which it happened thus. And eke there befell an accident, By fault of a Carpenter's Son, Who to Saw chips his sharp Axe lent, Woe worth the time may Lon.— May London say, Woe worth the Carpenter, And all such Blockhead fools, Would he were hanged up like a Serpent here, For jesting with edg-tools. For into the chips there fell a spark, Which put out in such flames, That it was known into Southwark, Which lives beyond the Thames. For Lo the Bridge was wondrous high With water underneath, O'er which as many fishes fly, As birds therein doth breath. And yet the fire consumed the Bridge, Not far from place of landing, And though the building was full big, It fell down not with standing. And eke into the water fell, So many Pewter dishes, That a man might have taken up very well, Both boiled and roasted Fishes. And thus the Bridge of London Town, For building that was sumptuous, Was All by fire Half burnt down, For being too contumptuous. And thus you have all, but half my Song, Pray list to what comes after; For now I have cooled you with the Fire, I'll warm you with the Water. I'll tell you what the River's name is, Where these children did slide-a, It was fair London's swiftest Thameses, That keeps both time and Tide-a. All on the tenth of January, To the wonder of much people, 'Twas frozen o'er, that well 'twould bear Almost a Country Steeple. Three children sliding thereabouts Upon a place too thin, That so at last it did fall out, That they did all fall in. A great Lord there was that laid with the King, And with the King great wager makes: But when he saw he could not win, He sight, and would have drawn stakes. He said it would bear a man for to slide, And laid a hundred pound; The King said it would break, and so it did, For three children there beware drowned. Of which one's head was from his Should— Ers stricken, whose name was John, Who then cried out as loud as he could, O Lon-a, Lon-a, London. Oh! tut-tut turn from thy sinful race, Thus did his speech decay: I wonder that in such a case, He had no more to say. And thus being drowned, alack, alack, The water ran down their throats, And stopped their breaths three hours by the Clock Before they could get any Boats. Ye Parents all that children have, And ye that have none yet; Preserve your children from the grave, And teach them at home to sit. For had these at a Sermon been, Or else upon dry ground, Why then I would never have been seen, If that they had been drowned. Even as a Huntsman ties his dogs, For fear they should go from him, So tie your children with severities clogs, Untye-'um and you'll undo 'um. God bless our Noble Parliament, And rid them from all fears, God bless all th' Commons of this Land, And God bless some o'th' Peers. England's Woe. I Mean to speak of England's sad fate, To help in mean time the King, and his Mate, That's ruled by an Antipodian State, Which no body can deny. But had these seditious times been when We had the life of wise Poet Ben, Parsons had never been Parliament men, Which no body can deny. Had Statesmen read the Bible throughout, And not gone by the Bible so round about, They would have ruled themselves without doubt, Which no body can deny. But Puritan now bear all the sway, They'll have no Bishops as most men say, But God send them better another day, Which no body can deny. Zealous Pryn has threatened a great downfall, To cut off long locks that is bushy and small, But I hope he will not take ears and all, Which no body can deny. Prin, Burton, says women that's lewd and lose, Shall wear no stallion locks for a bush, They'll only have private boys for their use, Which no body can deny. They'll not allow what pride it brings, Nor favours in hats, nor no such things, They'll convert all ribbons to Bible strings, Which no body can deny. God bless our King and Parliament, And send he may make such K— repent That breed our Land such discontent, Which no body can deny. And bless our Queen and Prince also, And all true Subjects both high and low, The browning can pray for themselves you know, Which no body can deny. A Catch. COme my Daphne, come away, We do waste the Crystal day; 'Tis Strephon calls: What would my Love? Gome follow to the Myrtle Grove, Where Venus shall prepare New Chaplets for thy hair. Were I shut up within a tree, I'd rend the bark to follow thee; My shepherd make haste, The Minutes fly too fast. In those cooler shades will I, Blind as Cupid, kiss thine eye; On thy bosom there I'll stray, In that warm snow who would not lose their way? We'll laugh, and leave the World behind; The Gods themselves that see Shall envy thee and me, Ard never find such joys When they embrace a Deity. The Beggar, a Catch. CAst your Caps and cares away, This is the Beggar's holiday; At the crowning of out King Thus we dance, and thus we sing; Be it Peace, or be it War, Here at liberty we are, And enjoy our peace and rest, To the Field we are not pressed, Nor be raised in the Town To be troubled with a Gown. In this world behold and see, Where's so happy a King as he? Where's the Nation lives so free, Or so merry as do we? Hang up the Officers we cry, And your Masters we defy; When the Subsidy days increased We are not a penny seized; Nor will any go to law With the Beggar for a straw: All which happiness, he brags He doth owe unto his rags. Lady's Delight. Hung Chastity it is for the milking pail, Ladies ought to be more valiant: Not to be confined in body and mind Is the temper of a right she Gallant; Hither all you Amazons that are true To this famous Dildoe profession, She is no bonny Lass that fears to transgress The Act against Fornication. The Country Dame, that love the old sport, Or delights in a new invention, May be fitted here, if they please to repair To this high ranting Convention; If you are weary of your Coin, Or of your Chastity, Here is costly toys, or hot-metled boys, That will ease you presently. Both curious heads, and wanton tails May here have satisfaction; Here is all kind of ware that useful are For pride or provocation; Here's Drugs to paint, or Powder to perfume, Or Ribbon of the best fashion; Here's dainty meat will fit you for the feat Beyond all expectation. Here's curious patches to set out your faces, And make you resemble the sky; Or here's looking-glasses to show the poor Asses, Your Husbands, their destiny; Here's baubles too to play withal, And some to stand in stead; This place doth afford both for your brow, And stallions for your head. Old Ladies here may be relieved, If Ushers they do lack, Or if they'll not discharge their husbands at large, But grow foundered in the back; Green visaged Damsels, that are sick Of a troubled Maidenhead, May here, if they please, be cured of the disease And their green colours turned to red. The Scotch War. When first the Scottish War began The English man, we did trapan, with pellit & Pike, The bonny blithe and cunning Scot Had then a plot, which they did not, well smell, it's like; Although he could neither write, nor read, Yet our General Lashly crossed the Tweed With his gay gangh, of Blew-caps all; We took Newcastle in a trice, But we thought it had been Paradise, They did look, all so bonny and gay, Till we took all, their Pillage away. Then did we straight to plundering fall Of great & small, for we were all most valiant that day; And Jinny in a Satin Gown, the best in the Town, Frow heel to Crown was gallant and gay; Our silks and sweets made such a smother, Next day we knew not one another: For jockey did never so shine, And jinny was never so fine; A geud faith a got aged Beaver then, But it's beat into a Blew-cap again By a Red-coat, that did still cry, Rag, And a red snout a the Deel awe the Crag. The English raised an Army straight With much state, & we did wait to face them as well; Then every valiant Musquet-man put fire in pan, And we began to lace them as well; But before the sparks were made a Coal They did every man pay for his pole; Then their bought land we lent them again, Into Scotland we went with our men; We were paid by all, both Peasant and Prince, But I think we have sound paid for it since, For our Silver is wasted, Sir, all, And our Silks hang in Westminster Hall. The godly Presbyterian, that holy man, The War began with Bishop and King, Where we like Waiters at a Feast, But not the least of all the guest, must dish up the thing, We did take a Covenant to pull down The Cross, the Crosier, and the Crown, With the Rochet the Bishop did bear, And the Smock that his Chaplain did wear: But now the Covenant's gone to wrack, They say, it looks like old Almanac, For jockey is grown out of date, And jenny is thrown out of late. I must confess the holy firk did only work Upon our Kirk for silver and meat, Which made us come with awe our broods, Venture our bloods for awe your goods, to pilfer and cheat; But we see what covetousness doth bring, For we lost ourselves when we sold our King; And alack now and welly we cry, Our backs mow and bellies must die; We fought for food, and not vainglory, And so there's an end of a Scottish man's Story; I curse all your Silver and Gold, Aw the worst tale that ever was told. The zealous Puritan. MY Brethren all attend, And list to my relation: This is the day, mark what I say, Tends to your renovation; Stay not among the Wicked, Lest that with them you perish, But let us to New-England go, And the Pagan People cherish; Then for the truth's sake come along, come along, Leave this place of Supersition: Were it not for we, that the Brethren be, You would sink into Perdition. There you may teach our hymns Without the Laws controlment: We need not fear the Bishops there, Nor Spiritual-Courts inroulment; Nay, the Surplice shall not fright us, Nor superstitious blindness; Nor scandals rise when we disguise, And our Sisters kiss in kindness; Then for the truth's sake, etc. For Company I fear not, There goes my Cousin Hannah; And Reuben, so persuades to go My Cousin Joyce, Susanna, With Abigal and Faith, And Ruth, no doubt, comes after; And Sarah kind, will not stay behind, My Cousin Constance Daughter; Then for the truth, etc. Now Tom Tyler is prepared, And the Smith as black as a coal; Ralph Cobbler too with us will go, For he regards his soul; And the Weaver, honest Simon, With Prudence, jacobs' Daughter, And Sarah, she, and Barbary Professeth to come after; Then for the truth, etc. When we, that are elected, Arrive in that fair Country, Even by our faith, as the Brethren saith, We will not fear our entry; The Psalms shall be our Music, And our time spent in expounding, Which in our zeal we will reveal To the brethren's joy abounding; Then for the truth's sake, etc. A merry Song. COme let us drink, the time invites, Winter and cold weather, For to pass away long nights, And to keep good wits together; Better far than Cards or dice, Or Isaac's ball, that acquaint device, Made up of fan and feather. Of great actions on the Seas We will ne'er be jealous; Give us liquor that will please, And 'twill make us braver fellows Than the bold Venetian Fleet When the Turks and they do meet Within the Dardanellows. Mahomet was no Divine, But a senseless Widgeon, To forbid the use of wine Unto those of his Religion: Falling sickness was his shame, And his throne will have the same For all his whispering Pigeon. Sack is the Princes only guard, If he dare but try it: No designs were ever heard Where the Subjects use to ply it; And three Constables, at most, Are enough to quell an host That so disturbs our quiet. Vallenchyn, that famous Town, Stands the French man's wonder, Water it enclosed to drown, And to cut the Troops asunder; Turain cast a helpless look, Whilst the crafty Spaniard took La Ferte and his plunder. Therefore water we disdain, Mankind's adversary, Once it made the World's whole frame In the Deluge to miscarry: Nay, the enemy of joy, Seeks with envy to destroy, And murder good Canary. See the Squibs, and hear the Bells The fifth day of November, The Preacher a sad story tells, And with horror doth remember, How some dry-brained Traitor wrought Plots that might have ruin brought One King and every Member. We that drink have no such thoughts, Black and void of reason, We take care to fill our vaults With good Wine for every season: And with many a cheerful cup We blow one another up, And that's our only treason. The Tyrannical Wife. IT was a man, and a jolly old man, Come love me whereas I lay, And he would marry a fair young wife The clean contrary way. He woo'd her for to wed, to wed, Come love me whereas I lay, And even she kicked him out of the bed The clean contrary way. Then for her dinner she looked due, Come love me whereas I lay, Or else would make her husband rue The clean contrary way. She made him wash both dish and spoon, Come love me whereas I lay, He had better a gone on his head to Rome The clean contrary way. She proved a gallant huswife soon, Come love me whereas I lay, She was every morning up by noon The clean contrary way. She made him go to wash and wring, Come love me whereas I lay, And every day to dance and sing The clean contrary way. She made him do a worse thing than this, Come love me whereas I lay, To father a child was none of his, The clean contrary way. Hard by a bush, and under a brier, Come love me whereas I lay, I saw a holy Nun lie under a Friar The clean contrary way. To end my Song I think it long, Come love me whereas I lay, Come give me some drink and I'll be gone The clean contrary way. On the Preface to Gondibert. ROom for the best of Poets heroic, If you'll believe two Wits and a Stoic; Down go the Iliads, down go the Eneidos, All must give place to the Gondiberteiadoes. For to Homer and Virgil he has a just Pique, Because one writ in Latin, the other in Greek: Besides an old grudge (our Critics they say so) With Ovid, because his Surname was Naso. If Fiction the fame of a Poet thus raises, What Poets are you that have writ his praises? But we justly quarrel at this our defeat, You give us a stomach, he gives us no meat. A Preface to no Book, a Porch to no house: Here is the Mountain, but where is the Mouse? But, oh, America must breed up the Brat, From whence 'twill return a West-Indy Rat. For Will to Virginia is gone from among us, With thirty two Slaves, to plant Mundungus. The Wedding. I'LL tell thee Dick where I have been, Where I the rarest things have seen, O things beyond compare! Such sights as these cannot be found In any part of English ground, Be it at Wake or Fair. At Charing-Cross, hard by the way Where we, thou knowst, did sell out hay, There is a house with staires● Where I did see then coming down Such folk as are not in the Town, Forty at least in pairs. One of them was pestilent fine, His beard no bigger though than mine, Walked on before the rest: Our Landlord looked like nothing to him, The King, God bless him, 'twould undo him Should he go still so dressed. At Course-a-park, without all doubt, He should have there been taken out By all the Maids of the Town; Though lusty Roger there had been, Or little George upon the Green, Or Vincent of the Crown. But wots you what, the youth was going To make an end of all his wooing, The Parson for him stayed; But by your leave, for all your haste, He did not wish so much all past, Perchance, as did the Maid. The Maid, and thereby lies a tale, For such a Maid no Whitson-Ale Can ever yet produce; No Grape, that's kindly ripe, can be So round, so plump, so soft as she, Nor half so full of juice. Her fingers were so small, the ring Would not stay on which they did bring, It was too wide a peck; And to say truth, for out it must, It looked like a great Collar just About our young colts neck. Her feet beneath her Petticoat, Like little Mice, stole in and out, As if they feared the light; But O she dances such a way, No Sun upon an Easter day Is half so fine a sight. He would have kissed her once or twice, But she would not, she was so nice She would not do't in sight; And then she looked, as who would say, I will do what I list to day, And you shall do't at night. Her cheeks so fair a white was on, As none dar'st make comparison, Who sees them is undone; For streaks of red were mingled there, Such as are on a Catharine Pear That side that's next the Sun. Her mouth so small, when she doth speak, Thou'dst swear her teeth her words do break That they might passage get: But O she handles so the matter, They come as good as ours, or better, And are not spoiled one whit. Her lips so red, and one so thin, Compared to that was next her chin, Some Bee had stung it newly; But Dick, her eyes so graced her face I durst no more upon her gaze Than on the Sun in July. If wishing had been any sin The Parson's self had guilty been, She looked that day so purely; And did the Youth so oft the feat At night, as some did in conceit, It would have spoiled him surely. Passion, oh me how I run on, There's that that would be thought upon, I trow, beside the Bride: The business of the Kitchen great, For it is fit that men should eat, Nor was it there denied, Just in the nick the Cook knocked thrice, And all the Waiters in a trice His summons did obey; Each Servingman with dish in hand Marched boldly up like our Train-band, Presented, and away. Now Hats fly off, and Youths carouse, Health's first go round, and then the house, The Brides came thick and thick; And when 'twas named another health, Perhaps he made it hers by stealth, And who could help it Dick! O'th' sudden, up they rise and dance, Then sit again, and sigh and glance, Then dance again and kiss: Thus several ways the time did pass, While every woman wished her place, And every man wished his. By this time all were stolen aside To counsel and undress the Bride, But that he must not know; But it was thought he guessed her mind, And did not mean to stay behind Above an hour or so. When in he came, Dick, there she lay, Like new-fallen snow, melting away, 'Twas time, I trow, to part; Kisses were now the only stay, Which soon she gave, as who would say, God bye with all my heart. But just as heavens would have, to cross it, In came the Bridmaids with the posset, The Bridegroom eat in spite: For had he left the women to't, It would have cost two hours to do't, Which were too much that night. At length the Candle's out, and now All that they had not done they do, What that is, who can tell? But I believe it was no more Than thou and I have done before With Bridget and with Nel. A Song. HOw happy is the prisoner who conquers his fate With silence, & ne'er on bad fortune complains, But carelessly plays with his keys on the grate, And makes a sweet consort with them & his chains; He drowns care with Sack, when his heart is oppressed, And makes his heart float like a Cork in his breast. Chor. Then since we are all slaves who Islanders be. And our land is a large prison enclosed with the sea, We'll drink off the Ocean, and set ourselves free, For man is the world's Epitome. Let Tyrants wear Purple, deep died in the blood Of those they have slain, their Sceptre to sway; If our consciences be clear, and our titles be good To the rags that hang on us, we are richer than they; We drink up at night what we can beg or can borrow, And sleep without plotting for more the next morrow Come Drawer, fill each man a pint of Canary, This brimmer shall bid all our senses good night: When old Aristotle was frolic and merry, With the juice of the Grape he turned stagarite; Copernicus once in a drunken fit found By the course of his brains that the world went round 'Tis Sack makes our faces like Comets to shine, And gives us a beauty beyond complexions mask; Diogenes fell so in love with his wine, That when 'twas all out he dwelled in the Cask: He lived by the sent in that close wainscot room, And dying, requested the tub for his Tomb. Though the Usurer watch o'er his bags and his house, To keep that from robbers he racked from his debtors, Each midnight cries thiefs at the noise of a mouse; Then looks if his bags are fast bound in their fetters; When once he's grown rich enough for a State-plot, In one hour Buff plunders what threescore years got. Let him never so privately muster his gold, His angels will their intelligence be How close they are pressed in their Canvas hold, And long that State soldiers should set them all free; Let him pine and be hanged, we will merrily sing, Who hath nothing to lose, may cry, God bless the King. Chor. Then since we are all slaves who Islanders be, And our Land a large prison enclosed with the sea; We'll drink off the Ocean, and set ourselves free, For man is the world's Epitome. The Devil transformed. I Met with the devil in the shape of a Ram, I then over and over the sowgelders ran; I risen, and I haltred him fast by the horns, I stabbed him softly, as you would pick out corns: Nay, quoth the devil, with that out he slunk, And left us the Carcase of a Mutton that stunk. I chanced to ride forth some mile and a half, Where I heard he did live in disguise of a Calf; I bond him, and I gelt him ere he did any evil, For he was at his best but a young sucking devil; Meaw yet he cried, and forth he did steal, And this was sold after for excellent veal. Some half a year after, in the shape of a Pig, I met with the rogue, and he looked very big, I caught him by the the leg, laid him down on a log, Ere a man told forty twice I made him a hog; Urmh Oh, quoth the devil, and gave such a yerke, That a Jew was converted and did eat of the Pork. In woman's attire I met him most fine, At first sight I thought him some Angel divine: But viewing his crab-face I fell to my trade, I made him forswear ever acting a maid; Meaw, quoth the devil, and so ran away, And hide him in a Friars old weed, as they say. I walked along, and it was my good chance To meet with a Grey-coat that was in a trance, I gripped him then speedily, and I whipped off his Cod, 'Twixt his head and his breech I left little odds; O, quoth the devil, the hurt thou hast done Thou still wilt be cursed for by many a man. Miseries of humane Life. THE World's a bubble, and the life of man Less than a span; In his conception wretched from his womb, So to his tomb; Cursed from the Cradle, and brought up to years With cares and fears; Who then to frail mortality shall trust, Limns but in water, or but writes in dust. Now since with sorrow man lives here oppressed, What life is best? Courts are but only superficial Schools To dandle fools; The rural parts are turned into a den Of savage men; And where's a City from all vice so free, But may be termed the worst of all the three. Domestic cares afflicts the husband's bed, Or pains his head; Those that live single take it for a curse, Or do things worse; Some would have children, those that have them moan, Or wish them gone; What is it then to have, or have no wife, But single thraldom, or a double strife? Our own affection still at home to please Is a disease; To cross the seas to any foreign soil Is dangerous toil; Wars with their noise affright us, when they cease We are worse in peace; What then remains, but that we still should cry, Not to be born, or being born to die. A Cambridge Droll. THE Proctors are two and no more, Then hang them that makes them three: The Taverns they are but four, I wish they were more for me, Chor. For three merry boys, and three merry boys, And three merry boys are we. We'll make, if our numbers mix, The Muse's triple trine, For two and four make six, As all men do divine; For two three and four makes nine. The Mitre no more shall sink, Though Pym himself were there, For that were Popery to think That Puritans dare come there, For catholic Sack is there. The Dolphins were numbered never, As all men plainly see, For I am sure for ever The Dolphin shall swim free; And that's enough for me. The three tuns are forgot, Which few do go to see; But there's a tun behind For him, for thee, and for me, To make us frolic and free. But if the Doctors droop In whom our number dies, As the Arches put us in hope They are not like to rise, And wine shall make us wise. The wise men they were seven, I wish they were more for me, The Muses they were nine, The Worthies three times three, And three merry boys, and three merry boys, And three merry boys are we. Resolved not to part. Man. MY Mistress, whom in heart I loved long Her unkind words, alas, hath done me wrong; Lo where she comes, I mean her love to try: Oh stay a while and hear her kind reply. My faithful friend, whom I esteemed so dear, Rejected is, and gone I know not where; Forlorn I live, away all joys are fled, I lost my Love, alas, my heart is dead. I will go sail into some Foreign Land, To France or Flanders I'll go out of hand: When I come there, to strangers I'll complain, And say, my Love hath me unkindly slain. Wo. If into France or Flanders you do go, I'll not stay here, but follow thee also; If false report abroad there thou dost tell, I'll check thee for't, and say, thou didst not well. Ma. Else to the Wilderness full fast I'll high, Among wild beasts there I mean to die, Where Wolves, and Bears, and other Creatures, The Elephant and Unicorn with their odd features. Wo. O stay at home, sweet heart, and go not there, For those wild beasts will thee in pieces tear; If that I should behold them suck thy blood, Thou shouldst have mine, sweet heart, to do thee good Ma. I would I were all in the raging seas, Or in some Bark to go even where it please, Where comfort none, alas, is to be found, And every hour in danger to be drowned. Ma. I would I were all in the lofty skies, So far from ground as any Eagle flies, For to fall down to ease me of my pain, That I might die, but die to live again. Wo. If in the lofty sky thou shouldst remain, I'd soar so high thy love for to obtain: And like the Eagle keep thee from all harms, That thou shouldst fall in no place but mine arms. Ma. Thus many wishes have I wished in vain, But none of these can ease me of my pain; This marshal poniard that shall end all grief, Shall ease my heart that findeth no relief. Wo. O stay at home, good heart, let it not die, Thy life I love, thy death I do defy: Come live in love, and so thou'lt banish pain, Take a good heart, and I will love again. Ma. Go lusty Lads, go you the Music fetch, Your nimble legs and joints you shall outstretch: While others dance and caper in the streets, We'll dance at home the shaking of the sheets. The Power of Money. 'TIS not the silver nor gold for itself That makes men adore it, but 'tis for its power: For no man does dote upon pelf because pelf, But all Court the Lady in hope of her dower: The wonders that now in our days we behold, Done by the irresistible power of gold, Our Zeal, and our Love, and Allegiance do hold. This purchaseth Kingdoms, Kings, Sceptres, and Crowns; Wins battles, and conquers the Conqueror's bold; Takes Bulwarks, and Castles, and Cities, and Towns, And our prime Laws are writ, in letters of Gold; 'Tis this that our Parliament calls and creates, Turns Kings into Keepers, and Kingdoms to States, And peopledomes these into highdomes translates. This made our black Synod to sit still so long, To make themselves rich, by making us poor; This made our bold Army, so daring and strong, And made them turn them, like Geese out of door; 'Twas this made our Covenant-makers to make it, And this made our Priests for to make us to take it, And this made both Makers and Takers forsake it. 'Twas this spawned the dunghill Crew of Committees and ' Strators, Who live by picking the crockadile Parliaments gums This first made, & then prospered rebels and traitors, And made gentry of those that were the nations scums This herald gives arms not for merit, but store, And gives coats to those that did sell coats before, If their pockets be but lined well with argent and over This, plots can devise, and discover what they are; This, makes the great Felons the lesser condemn; This, sets those one the Bench, that should stand at the Bar, Who judge such, as by right aught to execute them; Gives the boisterous Clown his unsufferable pride, Makes Beggars, and Fools, and Usurpers to ride, Whiles ruin'd Propriators run by their side. Stamp either the Amrs of the State or the King, St. George or the Breeches, C. R. or O. P. The Cross or the Fiddle, 'tis all the same thing; This, still is the Queen whosoever the King be; This, lines our Religion, builds Doctrine and Truth, With zeal and the Spirit the factious endueth, To club with Saint Catharine, or sweet sister Ruth. 'Tis money makes Lawyers give judgement, or plead On this side, or that side, on both sides, or neither; This makes young men Clerks that can scarce write or read, And spawns arbitrary orders as various as the weather; This makes your blue Lecturers pray, preach, & prate Without reason or sense against Church, King, or state, To show the thin lining of his twice-covered pate. 'Tis money makes Earls, Lords, Knights, and Esquires Without breeding, descent, wit, learning, or merit; This makes ropers, and ale-drapers, Sheriffs of shires, Whose trade is not so low, nor so base as their spirit; This Justices makes, and wise ones we know, Furred Aldermen too, and Majors also; This makes the old Wife trot, and makes the mare to go. This makes your blue aprons right worshipful; And for this we stand bare, and before them do fall; They leave their young heirs well fleeced with wool, Whom we must call Squires, and then they pay all; Who with beggarly souls, though their bodies be gaudy, Court the pale Chambermaid, and nickname her a Lady, And for want of good wit they do swear and talk bawdy. This, marriages makes, 'tis the Centre of love, It draws on the man, and it pricks up the woman, Birth, virtue, and parts no affection can move, Whilst this makes a Lord stoop to the Brat of a Broom-man; This gives virtue and beauty to the Lasses that you woo, Makes women of all sorts and ages to do; 'Tis the soul of the world, and the worldling too. This procures us whores, hawks, hounds, and hares; 'Tis this keeps your groom, and your groom keeps your gelding; This built Citizens wives, as well as their wares: And this makes your coy Lady so coming & yield This buys us good Sack, which revives like the spring; 'Tis this your Poetical fancies do bring; And this makes you as merry as we that do sing. On Gondibert. 1. AFter so many sad mishaps, Of drinking, rhyming, and of claps, I pity most thy last relapse. 2. That having past the Soldier's pains, The statesmen's Arts, the Seaman's gains. With Gondibert to break thy brains. 3. And so incessantly to ply it, To sacrifice thy sleep, thy diet, Thy business; and what's more, our quiet. 4. And all this stir to make a story, Not much superior to John Dory, Which thus in brief I lay before ye. 5. All in the land of Lombardie, A Wight there was of Knight's degree, Sir Gondibert ycleap'd was he. 6. This Gondibert (as says our Author) Got the good will of the King's daughter, A shame, it seems, the devil ought her. 7. So thus succeeded his Disaster, Being sure of the Daughter of his Master, He changed his Princes for a Plaster. 8. Of person he was not ungracious, Grave in Debate, in Fight audacious; But in his Ale most pervicacious. 9 And this was cause of his sad Fate, For in a Drunken-street Debate One night he got a broken Pate. 10. Then being cured, he would not tarry, But needs this simpling girl would marry Of Astragon the Apothecary. 11. To make the thing yet more Romancie, Both wise and rich you may him fancy; Yet he in both came short of Plancy. 12. And for the Damsel, he did woo so, To say the truth, she was but so-so, Not much unlike her of Toboso. 13. Her beauty, though 'twas not exceeding, Yet what in Face and shape was needing, She made it up in Parts and Breeding. 14. Though all the Science she was rich in, Both of the Dairy and the Kitchen: Yet she had knowledge more bewitching. 15. For she had learned her Father's skill, Both of the Alimbick and the Still, The Purge, the Potion, and the Pill. 16. But her chief Talon was a Glister, And such a hand to administer, As on the Breech hath made no blister, 17. So well she handled Gondibert, That though she did not hurt that part, She made a blister on his heart. 18. Into the Garden of her Father: Garden, said I; or Backside rather, One night she went a Rose to gather. 19 The Knight he was not far behind, Full soon he had her in the wind; (For Love can smell, though he be blind.) 20. Her business she had finished scarcely, When on a gentle bed of Parsley Full fair and soft he made her Arse-ly. Desune caetera. Canary Crowned. COme let's purge our brains from hops and grains That do smell of Anarchy; Let's choose a King from whose veins may spring A sparkling Progeny; It ill befits true wine-bred wits, Whose flames are bright and clear, To bind their hands in dray-mens' bands, When they might be clear; Why should we droop, or basely stoop To popular Ale or Beer? Who shall be King is now the thing For which we all are met: Claret is a Prince that hath been long since In the royal number set: His face is spread with warlike red, And so he loves to see men; If he bears sway, his Subjects they Shall be as good as freemen; Yet here's the plot, almost forgot, He is too much burnt by women. By the river Rhine is a valiant wine That can all our veins replenish, Let us then consent to the government Of the royal rule of Rhennish; This Germane wine will warm the Chine, And frisk in every vein; 'Twill make the bride forget to chide, And call him to't again: Yet that's not all, he is much too small To be our Sovereign. Why then let's think of another drink, And with votes advance it high: Let's all proclaim good Canaries name, Heavens bless his Majesty; He's a King in every thing, Whose nature doth renounce all ill: He can make us skip, and nimbly trip From the sealing to the groundsel, Especially, when Poets be Lords of the Privy Council. But a Vintner he shall his Taster be, There's no man shall him let; And a Drawer, that hath a good Shall be made Squire of the Gimlet; The Bar-boyes shall be Pages all, A Tavern well prepared, In jovial sort shall be the Court, Where nothing shall be spared; Wine-Porters shall with shoulders tall Be Yeomen of the Guard. If a Cooper we with a red-nose see In any part of the Town, That Cooper shall, with Adds royal, Be Keeper of the Crown; Young Wits that wash away their Cash In Wine and Recreation, Who hate dull Beer are welcome here To give their approbation: So are all you that will allow Canaries Coronation. Contentment. What though the ill times do run cross to our will, And Fortune still frown upon us, Our hearts are our own, and shall be so still, A fig for the plagues they lay on us; Let us take t'other Cup to cheer our hearts up, And let it be purest Canary; We'll ne'er shrink nor care at the Crosses we bear, Let them plague us until they be weary. What though we are made both beggars and slaves, Let's endure it, and stoutly drink on't, 'Tis our comfort we suffer 'cause we won't be knaves, Redemption will come ere we think on't; We must flatter and fear those that over us are, And make them believe that we love them, When their tyranny is past, we can serve them at last As they have served those have been above them. Let the Levites go preach for the Goose or the Pig, To drink Wine at Christmas or Easter: The Doctor may labour our lives to new trig, And make Nature fast while we feast her; The Lawyer may bawl out his Lungs and his Gall For Plaintiff, and for the Defendant, At his Book the Scholar lie, while with Plato he die With an ugly hard word at the end on't. Then here's to the man that delights in sol fa, For Sack is his only Rozin, A load of hay ho is not worth a ha' ha', He's a man for my money that draws in; Then a pin for the muck, and a pin for ill luck, 'Tis better be blithe and frolic, Than sigh out our breath, and invite our own death By the Gout, or the Stone, or the Colic. The Power of the Sword. LAY by your pleading, Law lies a bleeding, Burn all your Studies down, and throw away your reading; Small power the Word has, & can afford us Not half so many Privileges as the Sword has: It fosters your Masters, it plasters Disasters, And makes your Servants, quickly greater than their Masters; It venter's, it enters, it circles, it centres, And makes a Apprentice free in spite of his Indentures This takes off tall things, and sets up small things, This master's Money, though Money masters all things; 'Tis not in season to talk of Reason, Or call it Legal, when the Sword will have it Treason; It conquers the Crown too, the Furs & the Gown too, This set up a Presbyter, and this pulled him down too; This subtle Deceiver turned Bonnet to Beaver, Down drops a Bishop, and up starts a Weaver. This fits a Layman to preach and to pray man, 'Tis this can make a Lord of him that was a dray-man; Forth from the dull pit of Follies full pit This brought an Hebrew Ironmonger to the Pulpit; Such pitiful things be more happier than Kings be, This got the Heraldry of Thimblebee & Slings●ee; No Gospel can guide it, no Law can decide it, In Church or State until the Sword hath sanctified it. Down goes the Law-tricks, for from that Matrix Sprung holy Hewsons' power, & tumbled down St Patrick's; The Sword prevails so highly in Wales too, Shinkin ap Powel cries, and swears Cuts-plutter-nails too; In Scotland this Waster did make such disaster, They sent their money back for which they sold their Master; It battered so their Dunkirk, and did so the Don firk That he is fled, and swears, the devil is in Dunkirk. He that can tower o'er him that is lower Would be but thought a fool to put away his power; Take Books and rend 'em, who would invent 'em, When as the Sword replies, Negatur argumentum? Your grand College Butlers must stoop to your Sutler's, There's not a Library living like the Cutler; The blood that is spilt, Sir, hath gained all the guilt, Sir, Thus have you seen me run the Sword up to the hilts Sir. A Medley of Nations. The Scots. I Am a bonny Scot, Sir, my name is Mickle John, 'Twas I was in the Plot, Sir, when first the War begun: I left the Court one thousand six hundred forty one, But since the flight at Woster-fight we are all undone; I served my Lord & Master, when as he liged at home, Our Cause did shrink, God's bread, I think The Deels got in his room: He no man fears, but stamps and stairs Through all Christendom. I have travelled much ground Since I came from Worcester Pound, I have ganged a gallant round Through all our neighbouring Nations, And what their opinions are Unto you I shall declare, Of the Scotch and English War, And their Approbations; We were beaten Tag and Rag, Foot and Leg, Wem and Crag; Hark, I hear the Dutchmen brag, And begin to bluster. The Dutch. GOds Sacrament, shall Hogen mogen States Strike down their Topsailes unto puny powers; Ten hundred tun of devils damn the fates If all their ships and goods do not prove ours; Since that bloody wounds delight them, Tantara rara let the Trumpet sound, Let Vantrump go out and fight them, States should first be crowned; English Schellums fight not on God's side, But alas, they have given our Flemish Boats such a broadside, That we shall be forced to retreat; See the Frenchman cometh in complete. The French. BEgar Monsieur 'Tis much in vain For Dutchland, France, or Spain To cross the English Nation; They are now grown so strong, The devil ere it be long Must loarn the English Tongue; 'Tis better that we should combine, And sell them Wine, And learn of them to make a Lady fine; We'll learn of them to trip and mince, To kick and wince. For by the Sword we never shall convince, Since every Brewer there can beat a Prince. The Spaniard. What are the English so quarrel some grown, That they cannot of late let their Neighbours alone; And shall a great and a Catholic King Let his Sceptre be controlled by a Sword or a Sling? Or, shall Austria endure Such affronts for to be? No, we'll tumble down their power, As you shall Senior see. The Welsh. TAffie was once a Cod-a-mighty of Wales, But her Cousin O.P. was a Greature, Come into her Country, Cods-splutter-anails, Her take her Welch-hook and her beat her; Her eat up her Sheese, her Turkey and Geese, Her Pig and her Capon did die for't, Ap Robert, ap Evan, ap Morgan, ap Stephen, But Shinkin and Powel did fly for't. The Irish. O Hone, O hone, poor Irish Shone Must howl and cry: Saint Patrick help thy Countryman, Or faith and troth we die; The English still do us pursue, And we are forced to flee: Saint Patrick help, we have no Saint but thee, Let's cry no longer, O hone, a Cram a Cree. The English. A Crown, a Crown, make room. The English man doth come, Whose Valour is taller than all Christendom; The Spanish, French, and Dutch, Scots, Welsh and Irish grudge, We fear not, we care not, for we can deal with such; When you did begin in a Civil War to waste, Ye thought that our Tillage your Pillage should be at last; And when that we could not agree, you did think to share our fall, But ye do find it worse, ne'er stir, for we shall noose ye all. A quarrel betwixt Tower-Hill and Tyburn. I'LL tell you a Story that never was told, A tale that hath both head and heel, And though by no Recorder enrolled, I know you will find it as true as steel. When General Monck was come to the Town, A little time after the Rump had the rout, When Royalty risen, and Rebellion fell down, They say, that Tower-hill and Tyburn fell out. Quoth terrible Tyburn to lofty Tower-hill, Thy longed-for days are come at last, And now thou wilt daily thy belly fulfil With King-killers blood whilst I must fast. The High Court of Justice will come to the Bar, There to be cooked and dressed for thee, Whilst I, that live out of Town so far, Must only be fed by Felony. If Treason be counted the foulest fact, And dying be a Traitor's due, Then why should you all the glory exact? You know, they are fit for me than you. To speak the plain truth, I have groaned for them long, For when they had routed the Royal Root, And done the Kingdom so much wrong, I knew at the last they would come to't. When Tychburne sat upon the Bench, Twirling his Chain in high degree, With a beardless Chin, like a withered Wench, Thought I, the Bar is fit for thee. But then, with stately composed face, Tower-hill to Tyburn made reply, Do not complain, in such a case Thou shalt have thy share as well as I. There are a sort of Mongrils, which My Lordly Scaffold will disgrace: I know Hugh Peter his finger's itch To make a Pulpit of the place. But take him Tyburn, he is thine own, Divide his quarters with thy knife, Who did pollute with flesh and bone The quarters of the Butcher's wife. The next among these Petticoat-Peers Is Harry Martin, take him thither, But he hath been addle so many years, That I fear he will hardly hang together. There's Hacker, zealous Tom Harrison too, That boldly defends the bloody deed, He practiseth what the Jesuits do, To murder his King, as a part of his Creed. There's single-eyed Hewson the Cobbler of Fate, Translated into Buff and Feather, But bootless are all his seams of State When the soul is unripped from the upper-leather. Is this profane mechanical Brood For me, that have been dignified With Loyal Laud and strafford's blood, And holy Hewet, who lately died? Do thou contrive with deadly To send them to the River of Styx, 'Tis pity, since those Saints are gone, That Martyrs and Murderers blood should mix. Then do not fear me that I will Deprive thee of that fatal Day: 'Tis fit those that their King did kill Should hang up in the King's highway. My Privilege, though I know it is large, Into thy hand I freely give it, For there is Cook, that read the King's Charge, Is only fit for the devil's tribute. Then taunting Tyburn, in great scorn, Did make Tower-hill this rude reply: So much rank blond my stomach will turn, And thou shalt be sick as well as I. These Traitors made those Martyrs bleed Upon the Block, that thou dost bear, And there it is fit they should die for the deed; But Tower-hill cried, they shall not come there. With that grim Tyburn began to fret, And Tower-hill did look very grim: And sure as a club they both would have met, But that the City did step between. The New Exchange. I'LL go no more to the Old Exchange, There's no good Ware at all, But I will go to the New Exchange, Called Haberdashers Hall: For there are choice of Knacks and Toys The fancy for to please, For men and maids, for girls and boys, And a Trap for Lice and Fleas; There you may buy a Holland Smock That's made without a gore, You need not stoop to take it up, For it is buttoned down before. The finest Fashions that are used, And Powders that excel, And all the best and sweet Perfumes To rarify the smell; The curious rich Vermilion Paint That maids of beauty hold, And Alabaster driven snow Is there to be bought and sold; And there etc. The broad-brimed Beaver which is made Most curious, soft, and fine, Will be a shadow in the face When as the Sun doth shine; Fine Feathers and Ribbons you may have For to wear about the Crown; Black Patches for the face also, O, the best in all the Town; And there, etc. There is curious powdered Periwigs, And newcut fashioned Gloves, With Bodkins, Thimbles, and gold Rings, As men do give unto their Loves; There's curious Books of Compliments, And other Fashions strange, That never a place in all the Land Is like the New Exchange, For there, etc. Great Flanders-Laces, large and white, Are common to be sold, And Silver Laces, very broad, And some that's made of Gold; Both Knives and Scissors, sharp and keen, And Kerchiefs very fair, Within the Change are daily fold, For pretty maids to wear; There you, etc. Fine Silken Masks, and new French hoods, To shroud the foulest face, And every thing that costly is, Is present in this place; There's Spanish Needles, Points, and Pins, And curious balls of Snow, That doth perfume the stinking breath, And makes them wholesome too; And there, etc. There's precious Oils to cleanse the teeth, And Purges for the Brain, And Antidotes to make the Nose Both safe and sound again; All precious Flowers may be had, And rich Perfumed Spice To make your houses all To smell like Paradise; And there, etc. For one that hath a fluent tongue You may have medicines good; And there is searching Physic too, To purge corrupted blood; You there may purify the skin, And cure the tickling itch, For he is the best esteemed of all That is both free and rich; And there, etc. Besides these fashions strange, and true, There's other things most rare, Which are the witty, pretty, maids All bound as Servants there: Whose heavenly look invites the eyes Of gallant Gentlemen, To buy some curious Knack or Toy, And then they'll come again; And there, etc. The bravest Lords and Ladies all Do thither much resort, And buy the fashions that are used, And daily worn at Court; For private profit, divers times, Some upstart Gentlemen walk, And take new fashions up on trust, And nothing pay but Chalk; And there, etc. Let me invite those that intent To follow fashions strange, With speed to go to London's pride, Now called the Exchange: Where choice and store of things most rare For money may be had, Besides a gallant bonny Lass To serve a lively Lad; There you may have a Holland Smock That's made without a gore, You need not stoop to take it up, For 'tis buttoned down before. A Medley. LEt's call, and drink the Cellar dry, Here's nothing sober underneath the sky, The greatest Kingdoms in confusion lie: Since all the World grows mad, why may not I? My Father's dead, and I am free, He left no Children in the World, but me, The devil drank him down with Usury, And I'll repine in Liberality. When first the English War began He was, Sir Reverence, a Parliament man, And gained his wealth by Sequestration, Till Oliver begun To come with Sword in hand, and put him to the r●n. Then Royalists, since you are undone So by the Father, come home to the Son, Whom Wine and Music now do wait upon: We'll tipple up a Tun, And drink our Woes away, Cavaliers come on, come on. Here's a health to him that may Do a trick that shall advance us all, And beget a merry Jovial day. Fill another bowl to he That hath drank by stealth His Landlord's health If his Spirit and his Tongue agree. The Land shall Celebrate his Fame, All the World embalm his name, No Royal Right, Good Fellow, But will Sackifie the same; The Bells all merrily shall ring, All the Town shall dance and sing, More delight than I can tell ye, When we see this Royal Spring We'll have Ladies by the belly, And a snatch at t'other thing. Wee's be bonny and jolly, Quaff, Carouse, and Reel: We'll play with Peggy and Molly, Dance, and Kiss, and Feel; Wee's put up the Bagpipe and Organ, And make the Welsh Harp to play, Till Mauris ap Shinkin ap Morgan frisk on St. Taffies day; Hold out Ginny, Piper come play us a spring, All you that have Music may tipple, dance, and sing Let the French Monsieur come and swear, Intreut Monsieur, Dis is de ting ve long to hear so many year; Dancing vill be looked upon Now deman of Iron is gone; Begar his dancing days be done When de Flower-de-luce grows With the English Crown and Rose; Dat's very good, as we suppose, De French can live without a Nose. A Cup of old Stingo. THere's a lusty liquor which Good fellows use to take, It is distilled with Nard most rich, And water of the Lake; Of Hop a little quantity, And Barm to it they bring too, Being barrelled up, they call it a cup Of dainty good old Stingo. 'Twill make a man indentures make, 'Twill make a fool seem wise, 'Twill make a Puritan sociate, And leave to be precise: 'Twill make him dance about a Cross, And eke run the Ring too, Or any thing that seemeth gross, Such virtue hath old Stingo. 'Twill make a Constable oversee Sometimes to serve a warrant, 'Twill make a Baylif lose his Fee, Though he be a Knave-Arrant; 'Twill make a Sumner, though that he Unto the bawd men brings too, Sometimes forget to take his Fee, If his head be lined with Stingo. 'Twill make a Parson not to flinch, Though he seem wondrous holy, But for to kiss a pretty Wench, And think it is no folly; 'Twill make him learn for to decline The Verb that's called Mingo, 'Twill make his Nose like Copper shine, If his head be lined with Stingo. 'Twill make a Weaver break his yarn, That works with right and left foot, But he hath a trick to save himself, He'll say, there wanteth woof to't; 'Twill make a Tailor break his thread, And eke his Thimble ring too, 'Twill make him not to care for bread If his head be lined with Stingo. 'Twill make a Baker quite forget That ever corn was cheap, 'Twill make a Butcher have a fit Sometimes to dance and leap; 'Twill make a Miller keep his Room, A health for to begin too, 'Twill make him show his golden thumb, If his head be lined with Stingo. 'Twill make an Hostis free of heart, And leave her measures pinching, 'Twill make an Host with liquor part, And bid him hang all flinching; It's so beloved, I dare protest, Men cannot live without it, And where they find there is the best, The most will flock about it. And finally, the beggar poor, That walks till he be weary, Craving along from door to door With pre commiserere: If he do chance to catch a touch, Although his be thin too, Though he be lame he'll prove his Crutch, If his head be lined with Stingo. Now to conclude, here is a health Unto the Lad that spendeth, Let every man drink off his Cann, And so my Ditty endeth; I willing am my friend to pledge, For he will meet me one day; Let's drink the Barrel to the dregs, For the Maltman comes a Monday. The Tinker. THere was a Lady in this Land That loved a Gentleman, And could not have him secretly, As she would now and then, Till she devised to dress him like A Tinker in Vocation: And thus, disguised, she bid him say, He came to clout her Cauldron. His face full fair she smothered black That he might not be known, A leather Jerkin on his back, His breeches rend and torn; With speed he passed to the place, To knock he did not spare: Who's that, quoth the Lady then, That raps so rashly there? I am a Tinker, than quoth he, That worketh for my Fee, If you have Vessels for to mend, Then bring them unto me: For I have brass within my bag, And target in my Apron, And with my skill I can well clout, And mend a broken Cauldron. Quoth she, our Cauldron hath most need, At it we will begin, For it will hold you half an hour To trim it out and in: But first give me a glass of drink, The best that we do use, For why it is a Tinker's guise No good drink to refuse. Then to the Brewhouse hied they fast, This broken piece to mend, He said he would no company, His Craft should not be kend, But only to yourself, he said, That must pay me my Fee: I am no common Tinker, But work most curiously. And I also have made a Vow, I'll keep it if I may, There shall no mankind see my work, That I may stop or stay: Then barred he the Brewhouse door, The place was very dark, He cast his Budget from his back, And frankly fell to work. And whilst he played and made her sport, Their craft the more to hid, She with his hammer struck full hard Against the Cauldron side: Which made them all to think, and say, The Tinker wrought apace, And so be sure he did indeed, But in another place. The Porter went into the house, Where Servants used to dine, Telling his Lady, at the Gate There stayed a Tinker fine: Quoth he, much Brass he wears about, And Target in his Apron, Saying, that he hath perfect skill To mend your broken Cauldron. Quoth she, of him we have great need, Go Porter, let him in, If he be cunning in his Craft He shall much money win: But wisely witted she who he was, Though nothing she did say, For in that sort she pointed him To come that very day. When he before the Lady came, Disguised stood he there, He blinked blithely, and did say, God save you Mistress fair; thou'rt welcome, Tinker, unto me, Thou seem'st a man of skill, All broken Vessels for to mend, Though they be ne'er so ill; I am the best man of my Trade, Quoth he, in all this Town, For any Kettle, Pot, or Pan, Or clouting of a Cauldron. Quoth he, fair Lady, unto her, My business I have ended, Go quickly now, and tell your Lord The Cauldron I have mended: As for the Price, that I refer Whatsoever he do say, Then come again with diligence, I would I were away. The Lady went unto her Lord, Where he walked up and down, Sir, I have with the Tinker been, The best in all the Town: His work he doth exceeding well, Though he be wondrous dear, He asks no less than half a Mark For that he hath done here. Quoth he, that Target is full dear, I swear by God's good Mother: Quoth she, my Lord, I dare protest, 'Tis worth five hundred other; He struck it in the special place, Where greatest need was found, Spending his brass and target both, To make it safe and sound. Before all Tinkers in the Land, That travels up and down, Ere they should earn a Groat of mine, This man should earn a Crown: Or were you of his Craft so good, And none but I it kend, Then would it save me many a Mark, Which I am fain to spend. The Lady to her Coffer went, And took a hundred Mark, And gave the Tinker for his pains, That did so well his work; Tinker, said she, take here thy fee, Sith here you'll not remain, But I must have my Cauldron now Once scoured over again. Then to the former work they went, No man could them deny; The Lady said, good Tinker call The next time thou comest by: For why thou dost thy work so well, And with so good invention, If still thou hold thy hand alike, Take here a yearly Pension. And every quarter of the year Our Cauldron thou shalt view; Nay, by my faith, her Lord 'gan say, I'd rather buy a new; Then did the Tinker take his leave Both of the Lord and Lady, And said, such work as I can do, To you I will be ready. From all such Tinkers of the trade God keep my Wife, I pray, That comes to clout her Cauldron so, I'll swinge him if I may. A Song. THere was three birds that built very low, The first and the second cried, have at her toe, The third went merrily in and in, in, And the third went merrily in; O never went Wimble in timber more nimble With so little screwing and knocking on't in, With so little knocking in. There was three birds built on a pin, The first and second cried, have at her shin, The third he went merrily in and in, in, The third he went merrily in; O never went Wimble in timber more nimble With so little screwing and knocking on't in, With so little knocking in. There was three birds that built on a tree, The first and the second cried, have at her knee, And the third he went merrily in and in, in, And the third he went merrily in; O never went Wimble in Timber more nimble With so little screwing and knocking on't in, With so little knocking in. There was three birds that built very high, The first and the second cried, have at her thigh, The third he went merrily in and in, in, The third he went merrily in; O never went Wimble in Timber more nimble With so little screwing and knocking on't in, With so little knocking in. There was three birds that built on a stump, The first and the second cried, have at her rump, And the third he went merrily in and in, in, And the third he went merrily in; O never went Wimble in Timber more nimble With so little screwing and knocking on't in, With so little knocking in. The production of the Female Kind. THere is a certain idle kind of Creature, By a foolish name, we call, a woman; A pox upon this little old whore Nature, That e'er she brought this Monster to undo man; Many have wondered how it came to pass, But mark, and I will tell you how it was: When first she brought forth man, her son and heir, The Gods came all one day to gossip with her, Her husband, Lenus, proud to see them there, Drank healths apace to bid them welcome thither, Till drunk to bed he went, and in the fit He got the second child, this female Chit. The Privy Council of the Heavens and Planets, Whose wisdom governs all Affairs on Earth, Held many consultations in their Senates What should become of this prodigious Birth, At length agreed to give these strange formalities As many strange and correspondent qualities. Saturn gave sullenness; Jove, sovereignty; Mars, sudden wrath, and unappeased hate; Sol, a garish look, and a wanton eye; Venus, desires and Lusts insatieties; Mercury, craft, and deep dissembling gave her; Luna, inconstant thoughts, still apt to waver. The Bow Goose. THe best of Poets writ of Frogs, Some of Ulysses charmed Hogs, And some of Flies, and some of Dogs In former Ages told: Some of the silver Swan in Prose, Though mine be not a Swan, what though? It was a Goose was brought from Bow To Algate. As harmless, and as innocent She was as those that with her went; Nor do I think the watchmen meant More sillier than she; She gave them never a word at all, But only rested on a stall, And yet these Cannibals did fall. About her. But she with silence there stood still, Till she perceived each man's bill, Desiring them not use them ill That looked so like them all: Then they disdaining, did begin To bring us all into a gin, And then the Constable came in, And took us. To him they strait revealed the case, And vowed each man to quit his place, If we were suffered to disgrace The King's Lieutenant so: And then the Gander's eminence The Goose and us commanded thence, And made us graduates commence The Counter. We thither went, but then my Goose, Which pinioned was before, got lose, For having her within a noose What fear had they of her? Then into every room we went, And here and there our money spent, Until the Constable had sent Next morning. We summoned were for to appear Before an Alderman, I swear, That might have been that very year Lord Mayor for his wit: He took our Goose's case in hand, And all things with such Judgement scanned, That having done, we scarce could stand For laughing. For he did not only reprehend Our follies, but did much commend The Constable, his honest friend, For his good service done; How is that noble City blest With Officers above the rest, That now may add unto their Crest My Bow Goose? But now, with grief, I'll tell you what, My Goose that was before so fat, That might have been accepted at A Mayor or Sheriffs own board, Grew lank and lean, and strait so ill, That from her wings she shed a Quill, Desiring me to write her Will, Which I did. Then thus my dying Goose began, Unto the Reverend Alderman I do bequeath my brainsick pan, And all that it contains: And Master Constable, to you My empty head, which is your due; My Bill I'll give the cursed crew Your Watchmen. I do bequeath my body's trunk Unto Good Fellows for the rump, Desiring that it may be drunk In Claret and Canary: I pray discharge your company All such as shall Recusants be To drink a health in memory O'th' Bow-Goose. My Giblets to the City-Cook That dwells not far from Pasty-nook, That he unto my Corpse may look, And coffined in a Crust; My guts for Marshal Red-face save, To hang about his neck so brave, That on his Palfrey the proud Knave May swagger. And to my fellow prisoners all, That now here are, or ever shall, That come to lie within this wall, I give my heavy heart; My claws and pinions I do give Unto the Sergeants and Sheriff, To catch and pinion them that live Indebted. And furthermore, it is my will The City Clerk shall have a quill Such learned speeches to write still As his grave Lordship utters; And likewise Mistress Alderman Shall have my tail to make a Fan; My legs I'll give the Gentleman Her Usher. Because my kindred of Bridewell Such asses to the Cart compel As occupy their trades so well, I do forbidden them all, That they presume not for to come Whereas my Dirges shall be sung, For I'll have wiser in their room Than they are. The Beadle and the Bellman I Executors do make, thereby Such Legacies to satisfy As I have here related; And that all things performed may be, This my last Will to oversee I do ordain the Deputy Of Ducklane. There's one thing more, I do conceive, Almost forgot, I do bequeath My Tongue, which tattling cannot leave, Unto the City Council, That they may mediate a truce Between the City and me their Goose, Who woos to be their constant Muse For ever, Writ on my Tomb this Epitaph, Whereat, I pray, let no man laugh: Here lies a Goose that could not quaff, And yet was a good Fellow; The coursest of our kindred must Return with me unto the dust, And after me who shall be first None knoweth. Now let them in their Liveries call The boys from every Hospital To sing my solemn funeral With Dirges to my grave; And when my Goose had uttered this, O then my Goose began to piss, And sighing, with a harmless hiss, Departed. An encounter between Mars, Venus, and Cupid. UPon a certain time when Mars And Venus met together, All in a shady Bower, where she Did oft admit him thither: But Cupid he did chance to see That Mars did hit the Mark so narrow, The boy still cried, and could not abide, Come off my Mother Sirrah. Then Venus thought her arable land Lay void, and was not tilled, Which caused her barn so empty stand So long as 'twas not filled; Quoth she, I'll have some husbandman Shall take my ground to sow and harrow, Still cried the Lad as he was mad, Come off my mother Sirrah. Though Mars the God of battle be, Yet he could not it endure, For Venus made his Spear to yield, Although the point was sure: But when she felt the Metal melt, She raised like a lively Sparrow, Still cried the Lad as he was mad, Come off my Mother Sirrah. Then Mars put up his weapon blunt, And Venus trimmed her tresses: Oh, cursed, quoth he, that oft may see That such a wife possesses; Then strait he sent to Jupiter, And Venus hied her to her marrow, Still cried the Lad as he were mad, Come off my Mother Sirrah. Peace Boy, quoth he, and be content, For Venus is a woman, And can subdue the greatest God That fights by art or cunning: But if that thou wilt give me leave To draw my golden headed Arrow, I'll give thee a Groat; all's one for that, Come off my Mother Sirrah. The Maid a bathing. UPon a Summer's day, 'Bout middle of the morn, I spied Lass that lay Stark naked as she was born; 'Twas by a running Pool, Within a meadow green, And there she lay to cool, Not thinking to be seen. Then did she by degrees Wash every part in rank, Her Arms, her breasts, her thighs, Her Belly, and her Flank; Her Legs she opened wide, My eyes I let down steal, Until that I espied Dame natures privy Seal. I stripped me to the skin, And boldly stepped unto her, Thinking her love to win, I thus began to woo her: Sweet heart be not so coy, Time's sweet in pleasure spent, She frowned, and cried, away, Yet, smiling, gave consent. Then blushing, down she slid, Seeming to be amazed, But heaving up her head, Again she on me gazed; I seeing that, lay down, And boldly began to kiss, And she did smile, and frown, And so fell to our bliss. Then lay she on the ground As though she had been sped, As women in a swoon, Yield up, and yet not dead: So did this lively maid, When hot blood filled her vein, And coming to herself she said, I thank you for your pain. News. White Bears are lately come to Town, That's no news; And Cuckolds Dogs shall pull them down, That's no news; Ten Dozen of Capons sold for a Crown, hay ho, that's news indeed. A Jackanapes at a Merchant's door, That's no news; An Irish man in an Alehouse score, That's no news; And Gravesend Barge without a Whore, hay ho, that's news indeed. A fizling Cur in a Lady's lap, That's no news; A Feather to shake in a Fool's cap, That's no news; A Lion caught in a Mouse Trap, hay ho, that's news indeed. A younger Brother slow to thrive, That's no news; A Drone to rob the poor Bees hive, That's no news; A Parson's wife not apt to swive, hay ho, that's news indeed. A Tailor brisk in swaggering hose, That's no news; A Frenchman straddling as he goes, That's no news; A Drunkard without a copper nose, hay ho, that's news indeed. A Dutchman to be daily drunk, That's no news; A Captain to maintain a Punk, That's no news; A Wardrobe in an empty Trunk, hay ho, that's news indeed. To see two Ships at sea to grapple, That's no news; To see a horse that's all dapple, That's no news; To see a red nose roast an apple, hay ho, that's news indeed. A Pettifogger bribed with fees, That's no news; A Welshman crammed with toasted Cheese, That's no news; A Lad and a Lass in bed to freeze, hay ho, that's news indeed. A Satin suit without a Page, That's no news; A railing Poet o'er a Stage, That's no news; A rich man honest in this Age, hay ho, that's news indeed. A Lawyer to turn hypocrite, That's no news; A Sergeant to arrest a Knight, That's no news; A Court without a Parasite, hay ho, that's news indeed. Before my news be overslipt, That's no news, I wish all Knaves from London Shipped, That's no news, And all the Whores in Bridewell whipped, hay ho, 'twere news indeed. A Discourse between a Seaman and a Land-Souldier. WE Seamen are the honest boys, We fear no storms, nor Rocks-a, Whose Music is their Cannon's noise, Whose sporting is with knocks-a. Mars hath no Children of his own, But we that fight by Land-a; Land-Souldiers Kingdoms up have thrown, Yet they unshaken stand-a. 'Tis brave to see a tall Ship sail With all her trim gear on her, As though the devil were in her tail Before the wind she'll runa. Our main Battalia when it moves There's no such glorious thing-a, Whose Leaders, like so many Joves, Abroad their thunders fling-a. Come let's reckon what Ships are ours, The Gorgon, and the Dragon, The Lion which in field is bold, The Bull with bloody Flagon. Come, let's reckon what Works are ours, Forts, Bulworks, Barricadoes, Mounts, Gabinets, Parrapits, Countermines, Casimates, and Pallizadoes, Field-pieces, Muskets, groves of Pikes, Carbines, and Cannoneers, Quadrants, Halfmoons, and Ranks of Files, And Fronts, and Vans, and Rearsa. A health to brave Land-Souldiers all, Let Cans a piece go round-a: And to all Seamen, great and small, Let lofty Music sound-a. A Song. MIne own sweet honny-bird-Chuck, Come sit thee down by me, And thou and I will truck For thy Commodity: The weather is cold and chilly, And heating will do thee no harm, I'll put a hot think in thy belly To keep thy body warm. Our Landlady hath brought us All that the house affords, 'Tis time to lay about us, Then prithee make no words: I know thou art young and tender, Although thy C— be rough, Thy Fort if thou'lt to me surrender I'll man it well enough. I find by thy whispering Palm-sweat, And thine eyes like noon, Thy panting breasts, as thy pulse, beat, Thou'lt do it to some tune: Then give thy mind to it, my honey, Thou shalt never have cause to rue, That ever thou hazard'st thy C— To one of the jovial Crew. A Song. MY Mistress is in Music passing skilful, And plays and sings her part at the first sight, But in her play she is exceeding wilful, And will not play but for her own delight, Nor touch one string, nor play one pleasing strain, Unless you take her in a pleasing vain. Also she hath a sweet delicious touch Upon the Instrument whereon she plays, And thinks that she doth never do too much, Her pleasures are dispersed so many ways; She hath such judgement both in time and mood, That for to play with her 'twill do you good. And then you win her heart: but here's the spite, You cannot get her for to play alone, But play with her, and she will play all night, And next day too, or else 'tis ten to one, And run division with you in such sort, Run ne'er so swift she'll make you come too short. Still so she sent for me one day to play, Which I did take for such exceeding grace, But she so tired me ere I went away, I wished I had been in another place: She knew the play much better than I did, And still she kept me time for heart and blood. I love my Mistress, and I love to play, So she will let me play with intermission: But when she ties me to it all the day, I hate and loathe her greedy disposition; Let her keep time, as nature doth require, And I will play as much as she'll desire. In Praise of Ale. When the i'll Charokoe blows, And Winter tells a heavy tale, And Pies and Daws, and Rooks and Crows Do sit and curse the frost and snows, Then give me Ale. Ale in a Saxon Rumkin then, Such as will make grim Malkin prate, Bids Valour bargain in tall men, Quickens the Poet's Wits and Pen, Despises Fate. Ale, that the absent Battle fights, And forms the March of Swedish Drums, Disputes the Prince's Laws and Rights, What's past and done tells mortal Wights, And what's to come. Ale, that the Ploughman's heart up keeps, And equals it to Tyrant's Thrones: That wipes the eye that ever weeps, And lulls in sweet and dainty sleeps Their very bones. Grandchild of Ceres, Bacchus' Daughter, Wines emulous Neighbour, if but stolen: Ennobling all the Nymphs of Water, And filling each man's heart with laughter, Oh give me Ale. The Rebellion. NOw, thanks to the Powers below, We have even done our do, The Mitre is down, and so is the Crown, And with them the Coronet too: All is now the People's, and then What is theirs is ours we know; There is no such thing as Bishop or K— Or Peer, but in name or show; Come Clowns, and come Boys, come Hoberdehoys, Come Females of each degree, Stretch out your throats, bring in your Votes, And make good the Anarchy; Then thus it shall be, says also, Nay, thus it shall be, says Amie, Nay, thus it shall go, says Taffie, I trow, Nay, thus it shall go, says Jemmy. Oh but the truth, good People all, the truth is such a thing, For it will undo both Church and State too, And pull out the throat of our King; No, nor the Spirit, nor the new Light Can make the Point so clear, But we must bring out the defiled coat, What thing the truth is, and where, Speak Abraham, speak Hester, Speak Judith, speak Kester, Speak tag and rag, short coat and long: Truth is the spell that made us rebel, And murder and plunder ding dung; Sure I have the truth, says Numphs, Nay, I have the truth, says Clem, Nay, I have the truth, says reverend Ruth, Nay, I have the truth, says Nem. Well, let the truth be whose it will, There is something else is ours, Yet this devotion in our Religions May chance to abate our Powers: Then let's agree on some new way, It skills not much how true, Take Pryn and his club, or Smec. and his tub, Or any Sect, old or new; The devil is in the pack if choice you can lack, We are fourscore Religions strong, Then take your choice, the Major voice Shall carry't right or wrong; Then let's have King Charles, says George, Nay, we'll have his Son, says Hugh; Nay, then let's have none, says gabbering Joan, Nay, we'll be all Kings, says Prue. Nay, but neighbours and friends, one word more, There's something else behind, And wise though you be, you do not well see In which door sits the wind; And for Religion, to speak truth, And in both House's sense, The matter is all one if any or none, If it were not for the pretence; Now here doth lurk the key of the work, And how to dispose of the Crown Dexteriously, and as it may be For your behalf and our own; Then we'll be of this, says Meg, Nay, we'll be of this, says Tib, Come, we'll be of all, says pitiful Paul, Nay, we'll be of none, says Gib. Oh we shall have, if we go one In Plunder, Excise, and Blood, But few folks, and poor, to domineer o'er, And that will not be so good; Then let's agree on some new way, Some new and happy course, The Country is grown sad, the City is Horn mad, And both the Houses are worse; The Synod hath writ, the General hath shit, And both to like purpose, for Religion, Laws, the Truth, and the Cause We talk on, but nothing we do; Come, then let's have peace, says Nell, No, no, but we won't, says Meg, But I say we will, says fiery-face Phil, We will, and we won't, says Hodge. Thus from the rout who can expect Aught but confusion, Since true Unity with good Monarchy Begin and end in one? If then when all is thought their own, And lies at their belief, These popular pates reap nought but debates From these many round-headed beasts; Come Royalists then, do you play the men, And Cavaliers give the word, And now let's see what you will be, And whether you can accord; A health to King Charles, says Tom, Up with it, says Ralph, like a man, God bless him, says Doll, and raise him, says Moll, And send him his own, says Nan. But now for these prudent Wights, That sit without end, and to none, And their Committees in Towns and Cities Fill with confusion; For the bold Troops of Sectaries, The Scots, and their Partakers, Our new British States, Col Burges and his mates, The Covenant and its makers: For all these we'll pray, and in such a way, That if it might granted be, Both Jack and Gill, and Moll and Will, And all the World will agree: Else Pox take them all, says Bess, And a Plague too, says Mary, The devil, says Dick, and his Dam too, says Nick, Amen and amen say we. How to get a Child without help of a Man. A Maiden of late, whose name was sweet Kate, Was dwelling in London, near to Aldersgate: Now list to my Ditty, declare it I can, She would have a Child without help of a man. To a Doctor she came, a man of great fame, Whose deep skill in Physic Report did proclaim, I pray, Master Doctor, show me, if you can, How I may conceive without help of a man. Then listen, quoth he, since so it must be, This wondrous strong medicine I'll show presently, Take nine pound of Thunder, six legs of a Swan, And you shall conceive without help of a man. The wool of a Frog, the juice of a Log, Well parboiled together in the skin of a hog, With the Egg of a Mooncalf, if get it you can, And you shall conceive without help of a man. The Love of false Harlots, the Faith of false Varlets, With the Truth of decoys, that walk in their Scarlet, And the Feathers of a Lobster well fried in a pan, And you shall conceive without help of a man. Nine Drops of rain, brought hither from Spain With the blast of a Bellows quite over the Main, With eight quarts of brimstone, brewed in a beer Can, And you shall conceive without help of a man. Six Pottles of Lard squeezed from a Rock hard, With nine Turkey Eggs, each as long as a Yard, With a Pudding of hailstones baked well in a Pan, And you shall conceive without help of a man. These Medicines are good, and approved hath stood, Well tempered together with a Pottle of blood, Squeezed from a Grasshopper, and the nail of a Swan, To make Maids conceive without help of a man. Contentment. 1. What though the Times produce effects Are worth our observation, He's mad that at it once dejects, Or does remove his station; Give me the Wench, that's like a Tench In holding up her belly, For to receive, and to conceive The most heroic Jelly. 2. Although she be a Saint that's free From any such intention, She may be bold, hang her that's cold, With a timorous apprehension: Let danger come, have at her Bum, Give me the Girl that stands to't, And when it's lank, does advance her Flank, And lay her helping hand to't. 3. To make it rise betwixt her thighs, And firk her is a pleasure; Though he be stout, he ne'er comes out, But he wants of his measure: If he have a Yard, it will be hard If he half a one produces; When he's so short you may thank her for't, O these are gross abuses. 4. My Mistress she is very free, And fancies well my temper: Sweet Rogue, she loves the merry shoves, And is clear from all distemper; When I stand to it, she needs must do it, For she is composed of pleasure, And does invite me to delight, I exhaust my chiefest treasure. 5. My Mistress she is very free, And sings and frolicks neatly: Besides all this, she does nobly kiss, And does her work completely, For which I love her, and none above her, And she loves me for th' same too; But that I fear you●d soon be there, I would disclose her name too. Fortune's Favours distributed BLind Fortune, if thou want'st a Guide, I'll tell thee how thou shalt divide: Distribute unto each his due, Justice is blind, and so are you. To Usurers this doom impart: May his Scriveners break, and then his heart, May his Debtors unto Beggars fall, Or what is as bad, turn Courtiers all. And unto Tradesmen, that sell dear, A long vacation all the year, Revenge us thus on their deceits, And send them Wives light as their Weights. But Fortune, how wilt ' recompense The Frenchman's daily insolence? For them, I wish no greater pain, Than to be sent to France again. And lest thine Altar should want fire, To Bridemen Votes grant their desire, To Lovers, that will not believe Their Sweet mistakes, thy blindness give, And lest the Players should grow poor, Send them Anglauris more and more, And to the Puritan more ears, Than Cealus in his Garland wears. And to Physicians, if thou please, Send them another new Disease; To Scholars give, if thou canst do't, A Benefice without a suit. Unto Court-Lords, Monopolies, And to their Wife's Communities; Thus, Fortune, thou canst please us all, If Lords can rise, and Ladies fall. And unto Lawyers, I beseech, As much for silence as for speech; To Lady's Ushers, strength of back, And unto me, a cup of Sack. If these Instructions make thee wise, Men shall restore again thy eyes: By a new name thou shalt commence, Not Fortune called, but Providence. A Litany. FRom Mahomet, and Paganism, From Heretics, and Sects and Schism, From Highway Rascals, and Cutpurses, From carted Bawds, Scolds, and dry-Nurses, From Clyster-pipes, and Doctors Whistles, From begging Scholars stolen Epistles, From Turnstile Boots, and Long-lane Beavers, From Agues, and from drunken Fevers, Libera nos Domine. From all several kind of Itches, From Pantaloons, and Cloak-bag Breeches, From Carbinadoed Suits on Serges, From a Bastard that is the Clergies, From threaden Points, and Cap of Cruel, From the danger of a Duel, From a Tally full of Notches, And from privy Seals of Botches, Libera nos Domine. From a Whore that's never pleasant, But in lusty Wine or Pheasant, From the Watch at twelve a clock, And from Bess broughton's buttoned Smock, From Hackney Coaches, and from Panders, That do boast themselves Commanders, From a Tailor's tedious Bill, And Pilgrimage up Holborn Hill, Libera nos Domine. From damages and restitutions, From accursed Executions, From all newfound ways of sinning, From the scurf, and sables Linen, From the Pox, and the Physician, And from the Spanish Inquisition, From a Wife that's wan and meager, And from Lice and Winter's Leaguer, Libera nos Domine. From a griping slavish Cullion, From the Gout, and the Strangullion, From a Mountibanks Potion, From his scarrings, and his Lotion, From the Buttocks of Prisilla, That diets so with Sarsapherilla, From a Lecture to the Zealous, And from the Tub of old Cornelius, Libera nos Domine. From bawdy Courts, and Civil Doctors, From drunken Summoners and their Proctors, From occasions for to revel With a Lawyer at the devil, From Sergeants, Yeomen, and their Maces, And from false friends with double faces, From an enemy More mighty Than Usquebaugh or Aqua vitae, Libera nos Domine. Penance. GOD bless my good Lord Bishop, And send him long to reign, In health, wealth, and prosperity, True justice to maintain, He beats down sin in every place, Poor Wenches dare not do Lest they do Penance in a sheet, And pay their money too. Down lately in a Garden It was was my chance to walk, Where I heard two Sisters That secretly did talk: Quoth the Younger to the Elder, In faith, I dare not do, Lest I do Penance in a sheet, And pay my money too. Then quoth the Eldest Sister, You are not of my mind, For if I meet a proper Lad, That will to me prove kind, In faith, quoth she, I will not care To take a turn or two, Though I do Penance in a sheet, And pay my money too. But here's the thing that vexes me, And troubles much my brain, If a poor man chance to get a child, And cannot it maintain, He must be censured by the Law As Justice doth afford, He must be stripped, and then be whipped, And brought before my Lord. And when he comes before my Lord, And hath no ready Tale, His Mittimus is strait ways made, And sent unto the Jail, And there he must remain The space of half a year, If every Wench were served so Then kissing would be dear. The Soldier. HEy ho, have at all, Fair Lady by your leave, He that chancech low to fall, The higher must he heave; Nay, faith, good Sir, you are too blame, 'Tis fashion for a Clown, For he that mounts too high at first, Is soon taken down. I am a Soldier, bonny Lass, And oft have fought in field, In Battles oft as fierce as Mars, Yet ne'er was forced to yield; A Standard-bearer still am I, And have broke many a Lance, I have travelled Countries far and nigh, Yet ne'er was bound for France. My Weapon it will stiffly stand, And make a cunning thrust. If I lie open to your hand, So that you hit me just; You are no cunning marksman sure, You lie so long at lure: O thrust, thrust, thrust, far, far, far, far, Be sure I will endure. Fie, fie, your Lance doth bend, Full little I account you, Courageously if you'll not spend, Sat fast, or I'll dismount you; Such Cowards fight I do disdain That can endure no longer, But see that when you come again Your Lance it may be stronger. So so, now I see you have your tricks by art: Low, low, not so high, You make my thighs to smart, Your mounting high 'twill not be, 'Twill bring you soon to wrack, I do not doubt the victory Though I lie on my back. Love's Lunatic. Herded you not lately of a man That ran beside his wits, And naked through the City ran, Wrapped in his frantic fits. My honest Neighbours it is I, See how the people flout me, See where the mad man comes, they cry, With all the Boys about me. Tom Bedlam was a Sage to me, I speak in sober-sadness, For more strange Visions did I see Than Tom in all his madness. When first into this rage I hoped, About the Market walked I, With Capon's Feathers in my Cap, Unto myself thus talked I: Saw you not Angels in her face, Each eye a Star out-darting? Herd you not Music from her voice, Her Lips all joy imparting? Is not her hair more pure than Gold, Or Web of Spiders spinning? Methinks in her I do behold My joys and woes beginning. Me thinks I see her in a Cloud, The Planets round about her, I called and cried to them aloud, I cannot live without her. The Bracelets which I wore of late, Enriched with Pearls and Gold, Are turned now to Iron Chains, Which keeps my Pulses cold. I mused thus unto myself, Each word with gesture acted: The people cried, O look poor elf, See how the man's distracted. I was a poor and harmless Wight Till roguish Cupid caught me, And till his Mother with her slight Into this pickle brought me. At which my friends they were not glad, Pray Jove your Wits to cherish, For once I was as proper a Lad As was in all the Parish. But whipped and stripped I now must be, Entangled now in Chains, And for my love, you all may see, I have this for my pains. To Stable-straw I now must go, My time in Bedlam spending: Good Folk, you your beginning see, But do not know your ending. The new Medley os the Country man, Citizen, and Soldier. From what-you-called town, in what-call-youed shire To London I'm come, what fine Volk are here! Sure thick is the place, itch smell the good cheer, Che'le knock at the Yate, then what ho God be here. What are you Sir? I'm a West Country man Zur. Good Bumkin forbear, Such hobnails as you are do seldom come here. God's sooks, here's a Vellow would make a man zwear. I'm come to tell, Sir, with Master Lord Maior. What to do Sir? To see his fine Doublet, his Chain, and his Ruff, His Beaver, his Gown, and such finical stuff; And what do you think of a kick or a cuff? If my whip will but last, i'faith, I'll give thee enough, And well laid on. Hold, hold, prithee Countryman be not so hot. I have a huge mind to lay a long lace on thy coat. Prithee tell me thy name, & my L. Mayor shall know it. My name is Tom Hoyden, what sayest thou to that? Tom Hoyden! Then Tom Hoyden pack hence to Croyden, The Country is fit for thee. Though you abhor us, and care not for us, Without us you cannot be. We can live without you, and your rustic coat, Did we not victual your House, My Lady Maries, with all her Baries, Would shit as small as a Louse. We have money. And we have honey. And we have the Silver and Gold. We have fuel. And we have Jewels. And we have Sheep in the Fold. We have silk enough. And we have milk enough. But we have the Treasure untold; We have means, and ease. But we have Beans and Pease, And Bacon, hold belly, hold. We have Purses, and we have Horses. And we have Powder and shot. We have Pullet's. And we have Bullets. And we have Spirits as hot. We have Honours, and we have Manors, But we are walled about, But when we begin To keep our Cattle in, In faith, you'll quickly come out. We have Galleys. And we have Valleys. And we have Canons of brass; We have Feathers. And we have Wethers On Mountains matted with grass. We have Wine, and Spice, Sugar, Fruit, and Rice. But we have good Barley and Wheat: And, were we put to it, can better live without Money, than you without Meat. Cho. Then since 'tis so that we cannot be Without one another Let us two agree, May the Country prove fruitful, And City be free, No Climate in Europe so happy as we. Sol. He that would be made by a Soldier's Trade, Let him be encouraged by me, For never did any men gain by the Blade As we have since forty three. What Fellow is that? why, it seems a Souldate; Good morrow, good morrow to thee: Why how now my friends, all for your own ends, Will you make up a peace without me? You know in a word the power of the Sword, A Canon may conquer a King: But a a sharp Sword will make a Sceptre to shake; Faith, you have the World in a sling. Compare the whole Land to the parts of a man, The Country's the Legs and the Toes, And without a riddle the City is the middle, But the Soldier is the head and the Nose. Though now we wear Blades, We once were of Trades, And shall be whilst trading endures: Our Officers are, although men of war, Some Goldsmiths, some Drapers, And Brewers. Do you get increase, we'll guard you with peace, The Sword shall not come where the Axe is, We'll take off your cares, we'll take off your fears. But when will you take of our Taxes? We keep Spaniards from you, That would overcome ye, Whilst you do plough, harrow, and thresh, The Frenchman is our own. What is bred in the bone Will hardly get out of the flesh. We quarter in Villages, Cities, and Towns, And sometimes we lie in the Fields. But if from your Colours you offer to run, Than you must be laid neck and heels. Through Countries we march, & for enemies search, And command all things in Bravadoes. But oh, my good friend, if you do offend, I'm sure you must have the Strappadoes. When, Sir, the City still shall fit you With what you do deserve, The Country Cowman and the Ploughman Will not let you starve: With Buff and Beaver we will ever Bless the back and head. We will give thee money enough, and A munition, And seal to this condition. And so do I introth. And I will spend my blood Sir. And I will spend my Treasure To do the Soldier pleasure. Why, now I thank you both. Cho. Let the City, the Country, the Camp, and the Court Be the places of pleasure and Royal resort, And let us observe in the midst of our sport, That Fidelity makes us as firm as a Fort: A Union well-grounded no malice can hurt. FINIS.