SPORTIVE wit: THE MUSES MERRIMENT. A NEW SPRING OF Lusty Drollery, jovial Fancies, AND A la mode Lamponnes, On some heroic persons of these late Times, Never before exposed to the public view.  
Collected for the public good, by a Club of sparkling Wits, viz. C. I. B. I. L. M. W. T. Cum multis aliis—.  
Semel in anno ridet Apollo.  
LONDON, Printed for nath. Brook, to be sold at the Angel in Cornhill, and at the New Exchange and other places. 1656.   

TO THE truly NOBLE, RALPH BANKS, Esq.  
Honoured Sir,  
WHen I resolved to address these Curiosities to yourself, there was nothing which more emboldened me than your own Ingenuity and worth, which I speak not after the common strain of Epistles Dedicatory, but in confirmation of a Truth well known to many. As for the Book itself, I may give it this character, that is contains Fancies as happy as the Muses could infuse into the choicest of our English Wits, and so ordered, as not to distaste the most serious, yet to be as blithe and merry as youth itself could expect. And therefore if you are pleased to look favourably on it, and to bid it welcome, I doubt not but it will live securely under your name, not a little to the honour of him, who desires to profess himself,  
SIR, Your most obedient Servant. J. P.   

To the Reader.  
Jovial Readers,  
BY your leave room for such Wit as your Friends and sparkling Canary presents you with: you have it from persons who entertained no serious thoughts, or notions at that time. 'Tis sufficient, that this small volume hath been before a lawful judicature: and certainly it cannot but be the better thought of, in regard it hath been too severely dealt withal; for Gold, though it be the richest production of the Sun, is very often exposed to the touchstone. Such a trial have every one of these Copies endured. And believe it Reader, it hath passed the Verdict of a Grand jury: The truth is, there formerly came forth a Book entitled Wit and Drollery, which contained so many refined Fancies, that had not this appeared, it might (for things of that nature) have given a full satisfaction to the curious. But since we have made so noble and so large a discovery, I hope, Reader, thou wilt not be angry that we have not been Concealers, and Hoarders of our wealth. For to deal plainly with thee, Reader, the publishers had no designs beyond thy pleasure, their own reputation, and the continuation of their sprightly Club. Only be pleased, courteou● Reader, to understand, that some friends of Sir John Mennis, and D. J. S. have already taken notice, how these worthy persons are likely to suffer by Copies, to which their names are shortly to be affixed: Papers only to be protested against; and indeed those who knew those Gentlemen, can assure the Reader, that hitherto they never allowed of the publishing of their Copies, nor will ever descend so much from their own prerogative, as to own those which they never wrote. Neither have we such a dearth of other Wits, there are other ingenuous persons in our little World of Britain, more youthful, as familiar and jovial with the Muses as ever they were, and such as when they please to be right Drollers, can be as little in love as they, such as are resolved never to study Romances, or to be guilty of the false praises of women. You may meet with several Pamphlets, Reader, but consider whether they be not raked from the simple collections of Short hand apprentices. Of these surreptitious Editions there is no end; and if such trifles are allowed, we shall see Ballads inserted shortly, to as much dishonour of our English Wit, as if Don's Poems were turned into Dutch. The only misfortune, as when mere rhymers, and such like pitiful Gleaners of the scraps of Wit, shall, like Marsyas, pretend to play with Apollo. Ingenuous Reader, this volume is exposed to thy clear censure; only take notice, if you can find out a Christian, and surname by the letters in the Title, as they are placed, you will do little less than divine. These particulars I had order to acquaint you with from the Club of Wits,  
Remaining, Your unfeigned friend in NECTAR.   

The dunners' Dance.  

1.  
WIll you hear the mode of France,  
To stop the mouths of all that dun you?  
Only lead them in a dance,  
Though you be behind in money.   

2.  
If your Creditor do call  
To pay for diet, wine, or raiment;  
In your dance keep time withal,  
But forget it in your payment.   

3.  
If your tailor chance to strike you  
With his Bill that stays no leisure;  
Pay him with a dance, he'll like you,  
And in stead of coin, take measure.   

4.  
If your shoemaker come on,  
Turn your measure, quickly lead it;  
Let that everlasting Dun  
See his own Boots nimbly tread it.   

5.  
If your Lawyer seek you out  
For Fees for this advice or t' other;  
Make him dance, for all his Gout,  
And pay one Motion with another.   

6.  
But if your Landlady do want,  
You needs must satisfy her pleasure:  
She despiseth your Corant;  
She'll be paid in standing measure.   

7.  
Thus we do despise all care,  
And thus we skip through all disasters;  
That all the world cannot declare,  
But we are nimble quick day-masters.    

A CATCH.  

1.  
THe Black Jack, the merry Black Jack,  
As it is tossed on high-a;  
Grows,  
Flows,  
Till at last they fall to blows,  
And makes their noddles cry-a.   

2.  
The Brown Bowl, the merry Brown Bowl,  
As it goes round about-a,  
Fill  
Still,  
Let the world say what it will;  
And drink your drink all out-a.   

3.  
The Deep Can, the merry Deep Can,  
As thou dost freely quaff-a;  
Sing,  
Fling;  
Be as merry as a King,  
And sound a lusty Laugh-a.    

The bull's feather.  

IT chanced not long ago, as I was walking,  
An echo did bring me to where two were talking:  
'Twas a man said to his wife, Die had I rather,  
Then to be cornuted, and wear the bull's feather.   

Then presently she replied, Sweet, art thou jealous?  
Thou canst not play Vulcan before I play Venus:  
Thy f●ncies are foolish, such follies to gather:  
There's many an honest man has worn the bull's feather.   

Though it be invisible, let no man it scorn,  
Though it be a new feather made of an old horn:  
He that disdains it in heart or mind either,  
May be the more subject to wear the bull's feather.   

He that lives discontent, or in despair,  
And feareth false measure, because his wife 's fair:  
His thoughts are inconstant, much like winter-weather  
Though one or two want it▪ he shall have a feather.   

Bull's feathers are common as Ergo in Schools,  
And only contemned by those that are ●ools:  
Why should a bull's feather cause any unrest,  
Since neighbours fare always is counted the best?   

Those women whoare fairest, are likeliest to give it;  
And husbands that have them, are apt to believe it.  
Some men though their wives should seem for to tedder,  
They would play the kind neighbour, and give the bull's feather.   

Why should we repine that our wives are so kind,  
Since we that are husbands, are of the same mind?  
Shall we give them feathers, and think to go free?  
Believe it, believe it, that hardly will be.   

For he that disdains my bull's feather to day,  
May light of a Lass that will play him foul play.  
There's ne'er a proud Gallant that treads on cow's leather,  
But he may be cornuted, and wear the bull's feather.   

Though Beer of that brewing I never did drink,  
Yet be not displeased if I speak what I think:  
Scarce ten in a hundred, believe it, believe it,  
But either they'll have it, or else they will give it.   

Then let me advise all those that do pine,  
For fear that false jealousy shorten their time;  
That disease will torment them worse than any Fever:  
Then let all be contented, and wear the bull's feather.    

Close-Stool and Chamber-pot choose out a Doctor. A Lampoun.  

1.  
LAdies all, glad ye; here comes Doctor Paddy,  
So good at a woman's clyster:  
Whate'er be her grief, he'll give her relief,  
If once he have but kissed her.   

2.  
And kiss her he might; for he was a Knight,  
And a valiant man at Arms:  
He never drew blood, but for the parties good;  
And then he was paid for his harms.   

3.  
But Doctor Foster is but an impostor,  
For all his exceeding great pains:  
And Doctor Poe, the world doth know,  
Is best for the running o' th'Reins.   

4.  
And Doctor Turner full many a mourner  
By chemistry hath made:  
He first kills the man, and then treads the hen.  
Oh this is an excellent trade!   

5.  
Yet Doctor Davis the veriest knave is  
Of all that ever did practice:  
And the Bull of the town, in the Taffata-gown;  
Whose name I take to be Atkis.   

6.  
And Doctor Langford, although I hang for 't,  
I'll have a sling at your Jacket:  
Though you ride in a Cart, for your bridewell-desert,  
Yet your hand is in each woman's placket.   

7.  
For Doctor Mumfort, to your great comfort,  
For aught that ever I heard▪  
You are an honest man, as a Physician can,  
For one that hath a red beard.    

A SONG.  

1.  
Come, Sweet, and draw the Curtain round,  
That we may meet where pleasures do abound;  
Come, throw thine arms about me,  
And I will embrace thee,  
O thou mirror of delight.   

2.  
Oh it bubbles in my veins,  
Casteth forth such a froth  
Worth thy beauties and thy pains;  
Where none shall see but me,  
None shall feel but thee:  
Leave off whining,  
Let's be sw—  
Sweet, agree, agree.   

3.  
See how th' inviting Balm bedews  
Her belly white, that like to iu'ry shows,  
Oh, I cannot hold;  
I must and will be bold:  
Kiss then, and put out the light,   

4.  
Oh it comes, it comes amain  
Up this lane to my brain,  
And distilleth down again:  
Fix it there, and let it be  
Almost a Tympany.  
Leave thy whining;  
Night 's declining:  
Sweet, agree, agree.    

A SONG.  

LOve, I must tell thee, I'll no longer be  
A Victim to thy beardless deity:  
Nor shall this heart of mine▪ now 'tis returned,  
Be offered at thy shrine▪ nor at thine altar burn.  
Love, like R●ligion 's made an airy name,  
To awe those souls whom want of wit m●kes tame:   

There's no such thing as Quiver, Shaft, or Bow;  
Nor does Love wound, but we imagine so:  
Or if it does perplex and grieve the mind,  
'Tis the poor masculine sex; women no sorrow find:  
'Tis not our parts or persons that can move 'em  
Nor is't men's worth, but wealth, makes women love 'em.   

Reason, not Love, henceforth shall be my guide:  
Our fellow creatures shan't be deified.  
I'll now a rebel be, and so pull down  
The Distaff-Hierarchy, or females fancied Crown.  
In these unbridled times, who would not strive  
To free his neck from all prerogative?    

Cartwright's Song of Dalliance; Never printed before.  

Hark, my Flora; Love doth call us  
To that strife that must befall us:  
He has robbed his mother's Myrtles,  
And hath pulled her downy Turtles.  
See, our genial posts are crowned,  
And our beds like billows rise;  
Softer combat's nowhere found,  
And who loses, wins the prize.   

Let not dark nor shadows fright thee;  
Thy limbs of lus●re they will light thee:  
Fear not any can surprise us,  
Love himself doth now disguise us.  
From thy waste thy girdle throw:  
Night and darkness both dwell here:  
Words or actions who can know,  
Where there's neither eye nor ear?   

Show thy bosom, and then hide it▪  
Licence touching, and then chid● it:  
Give a grant, and then forbear it:  
Offer something, and forswear it:  
Ask where all our shame is gone;  
Call us wicked wanton men:  
Do as Turtles, kiss and groan;  
Say, We ne'er shall meet again.   

I can hear thee curse, yet chase thee;  
Drink thy tears, yet still embrace thee▪  
Easy riches is no treasure:  
She that's willing, spoils the pleasure.  
Love bids learn the restless fight,  
Pull and struggle whilst ye twine●  
Let me use my force to night,  
The next corquest shall be thine.    

Narcissus. A Song.  

1.  
AS I was walking I cannot tell how,  
Nor I cannot tell whither nor where;  
I met with a crew of I cannot tell who,  
Nor I cannot tell what they were:  
But Virgins I think; for they cried,  
Narcissus, come kiss us, and love us beside.   

2.  
They sung a fine Song, of I cannot tell what,  
Nor whether in Verse or Prose:  
Nor knew I the meaning, although they all sat  
Even as it were under my nose.  
But ever and anon they cried,  
Narcissus, come kiss us, and love us beside.   

3.  
There came in a Lad from I cannot tell whence,  
With I cannot tell what in his hand:  
It was a live thing that had little sense;  
But yet it could lustily stand.  
Then louder the Ladies they cried,  
Narcissus, come kiss us, and love us beside.   

4.  
Some shaked it, some stroak'd it, some kissed it, 'tis said,  
It looked so lovely indeed:  
All hugged it as honey, and none were afraid,  
Because of their bodily need.  
And louder these Ladies they cried,  
Narcissus, come kiss us, and love us beside.   

5.  
At length he did put in this pretty fine Toy  
In I cannot tell where below;  
Into one of the Ladies, but I cannot tell why  
Nor wherefore it should be so.  
But in the mean time they all cried,  
Narcissus, come kiss us, and love us beside.   

6.  
But when these Ladies had sported all night,  
And rifled Dame Nature's store;  
And tired themselves in Venus' delight,  
That they could hardly do more:  
Yet louder these Ladies they cried,  
Narcissus, come kiss us, and love us beside.   

7.  
This Lad being tired, began to retreat,  
And hung down his head like a flower●●  
The Ladies the more did desire the seat,  
But alas 'twas out of his power.  
Then louder and louder they cried,  
Narcissus, come kiss us, and love us beside.   

8.  
I then did return I cannot tell how,  
Nor what was in my mind:  
Nor what else I heard, I know not, I vow,  
Nor saw I: for Cupid is blind:  
But that these Ladies still cried,  
Narcissus, come kiss us, and love us beside.    

A SPEECH. You may suppose he hath made his leg, and then he speaks.  
TO you, grave Speakers, and the rest beside,  
Grace from above, and peace be multiplied.  
What do you lack? Petitions we have brought  
One worth the notice, plentifully fraughted  
With Characters of understanding hands,  
Whose Consciences are all at your commands.  
What though some could not write? yet I dare promise  
They've made a G. for John, an L. for Thomas.  
As for myself, their foreman, and their Speaker,  
I would not now be taken for a Sneaker.  
If I my place and dignity may rent, I  
Am one of th' honourable four and twenty.  
'T is known, I stroke my beard, and wear my gown  
So understandingly, that all the Town  
Admire my gravity: and here's my brother  
W— for all the world just such another:  
But he, I fear, did long since change his name,  
Because there is a Bishop wears the same.  
That Antichristian Calling 't is that grieves us,  
From whom we beg your goodness to relieve us:  
For since these are the great Abomination  
Of Frogs and Locusts in the Revelation,  
Sound each of these, you'll find a Pope in's belly,  
As plain as you may smell a T. from Jelly.  
This— Cause hath made us raise an Army  
Of Supplicants, whose troops I hope will charm ye  
To yield your helps; and 't is a pious work,  
To bring the English to the Scotish Kirk.  
Or now, or never, lend your aids, to twist  
Out of their throats these Imps of Antichrist.  
It glads my heart, to think our sage advice  
Hath stickled first, to break this holy Ice.  
Observe as well the Leaders, as Retinue;  
And if you have or wit or judgement in you,  
You can conceive no less, but that the prelates  
Must have a knock from us true Scotish Zealots.  
For my particular, the chief combiner,  
I am, if 't please your Worships, the Refiner;  
And hope you'll not condemn me for a Widgeon,  
Who took upon me to refine Religion.  
My brother Alderman he trades in Drugs,  
And can assure you that there's Romish B●gs  
Tricked up in Rockets: and such odd devices  
Smell very strongly of Italian spices.  
Guess at our troops, when we that go before 'em  
May for our understandings be o' th' Quorum.  
The first that march i' th' Vanguard of Complainers  
Are shoemakers, styled otherwise Cordwainers;  
Who albeit but of indifferent fashion,  
Yet sure they're men of upright conversation:  
May they have liberty, they'll tell you plain,  
They hold the Bishops Papishes in grain.  
There's ne'er a man in all this zealous bunch,  
But fain would have their Lordships feel his punch●  
However matters heretofore have past,  
They hope Religion will tread right at last.  
The next Subscribers to this learned Epistle,  
Though low, yet, they are yeomen of the Bristle,  
Cobblers inspired, a crew that daily mends,  
And hope▪ ere long, to bring about their ends:  
They'll have (nor will their zeal one ace be 'bated)  
The prelates underlayed, or else translated.  
Next the report proclaim them all deceivers,  
We have a band of honest-handed Weavers:  
Nor can you deem them Shuttle-headed fellows,  
Who for the Law are so exceeding zealous:  
They from the bottom of their hearts defy  
The massy Beams that blind the church's eye.  
And those whom you see standing three and three,  
Go straight at heart, though bending at the knee;  
They're jailers all, who swear 'tis not their pleasure  
The Church should be tormented with hard measures  
Their knuckles show you what a mighty Itch  
They have to gather up the clergy stitch.  
I need not tell you who these are that follow;  
The nose informs you that they smell of tallow:  
And Chandlers though they be, they're quick enough  
To take such foul indignities in snuff:  
They pray that ere the— be ended,  
The blinking Lights o' th' Church may be amended;  
And they may Cotton so, that they in peace  
Henceforth on holidays may melt their grease:  
And that you will nimble be, they do not doubt it,  
Nor cast away too many weeks about it.  
Please you to v●ew these following partakers,  
The sundry dozens of our two-eated Bake●s;  
‛ 'mongst whom are some that never sprung from Jolt-head,  
Who swear 'tis sit the— should be new bolted:  
Though some sift catalogues and mouldy rolls  
I' th' prelate's cause, they 're but unlevened souls,  
Whose weal●h & state (the crust must ne'er be spared)  
But by Authority be clipped and pared.  
These rolls you see stick here like sooty sinners,  
Next on the paper are sharp-pointed pinner's:  
They're pricked at heart, that some new bold & dreadless,  
Are not, like their cast wa●e, bowed & made headless.  
Those joined to t●ese, in this so pious labour,  
You may behold a candid Troop of Haber-  
Dashers, who just as wise as all the rest,  
Do humbly crave the— may be new dressed;  
And trust to see the Prelates, those proud limbs  
Of Antichrist, cut narrower in the brims.  
In brief, the very Porters and the Dray-men  
Affirm that all will ne'er be well, till laymen  
Be joined to th'—. Nay more, the Broom-men see some  
Necessity of a Reforming besom,  
To sweep— house. The Comb-men they determine  
The Teeth of Justice must scratch out this vermin.  
Here's fifteen hundred hands, a goodly number;  
Which we could double, but we're loath to cumber  
Ourselves with all these Tinkers, Tanne●s Cu●●iers,  
Upholsters saddlers, cutler's barbers Furriers,  
Fishmongers, Painters, fuller's▪ diets Soap men,  
Perfumers blacksmith's, Turners▪ butchers Roap-men  
And millions more of such good souls, all last week  
Attended on old Burton, Prynne and Bastwick.  
Our Suit's so reasonable and just, we kn●w  
You'll quickly yield, and never say us no.  
First, down with— an ungodly Fry▪  
You may at leisure yield the reason why.  
Then fall upon Cathedrals, and their Deans,  
That honest Courtiers may increase their means.  
The feat once done, you'll see the minor clergy  
Soon forced with ease to sing ● doleful D●rg●e.  
Great Livings are not fit for men o' th' Letter;  
To w●ild si●e pretty Pensions would be b●●ter.  
The way of Truth's all one; nor can we learn  
More ●●ofit in a— than in a Barn:  
And far more fruitfully do we receive it  
From some well-tutored twenty nobled Levit  
Shall mounted on a stool demurely utter  
Smooth pleasing do●●rine, smooth as oil or bu●●es,  
Then if some rough-hewn fellow not behold●ng  
To our benevolence, shall fall a scolding  
I' th' open streets, and saucily inveigh  
'Gainst crimes which are familiar in our way,  
And such as we may wink at for our profit,  
Nor is it fit that they should tell us of it:  
There 's proper liberty indeed: much fitter I  
Conceive Geneva's reverent Presbytery;  
When some of us, whom they may think— builders,  
Shall rule the roast, and be appointed Elders:  
And then if busy fellows be so idle  
To talk their wills, we will help them to a bridle.   

On Tobacco.  

1.  
WHen I do smoke my nose with a pipe of Tobacco after a feast,  
Then down let I my hose, and with paper do wipe mine— like a beast.  
It so doth please my mind,  
It doth so ●ase behind,  
For to wipe,  
For to wipe my ●ewel.  
Tobacco's my delight,  
So 't is mine to sh—  
Oh fine smack,  
Oh brave ●ack my jewel.   

2.  
Tobacco only can draw the vapours down from my troubled brain;  
And from the bashful Pan vapours rise twixt my thighs to my nose again.  
Five Pipes I have devoured,  
Five Pans I have deflowered full of fume,  
Full of fume down flirting;  
And yet I would have more,  
And yet I have great store.   

3.  
Tobacco is a dish for an Earl, for a Lord, for a Knight, for a Squire:  
Than shiting who can wish greater, if you please, or occasion require?  
Tobacco 's a fine thing,  
But shiting 's for a King; for the brains,  
For the pains of the belly.  
Tobacco who despise?  
Then shiting who denies?  
None, I think;  
Though I stink, I tell ye.   

4.  
When I puff it through my nose, I do make  
Fly such flakes, I do mock the clouds:  
When my arse to close-stool goes, mark how  
I rap thunderclaps aloud.  
My smoke doth dark the sun,  
My raps out-roar a gun:  
Oh that fart, how it rattles!  
This Pipe more I will pull,  
This Pan I will shit more full:  
So good-night,  
We will shit out the battle.   

5.  
My nose, mine arse, doth blue, doth throw  
Fiery puffs, counterbuff, from my jaw:  
My nose, mine arse or doth blow, or doth throw  
Fiery puffs, counter-buffs from my maw.  
My nose hath made an end,  
Mine arse and he are friends:  
He will not j●st;  
He will be kissed, but in spite not:  
My ●ose will no more puff▪  
Mine arse hath shit enough:  
Give', some drink, we shall P●nk, if we wipe not.    

A Lampoun.  
HEre 's a Health to good Queen Mary,  
we'll have it ere we part;  
And to King Charles her husband;  
I'll pledged with all my heart.  
Here 's a Health to my Lady Mary,  
for whom I will spend my heart;  
And to the Prince her brother,  
and to the Duke of York.  
Here 's a Health to my Lady Duchess,  
that loves red hair so well;  
And to my Lord her husband,  
that made her belly swell.  
Here 's a Health to my Lady Dorset,  
that rules the Royal twig;  
And to my Lord her husband,  
and his great Periwig.  
Here 's a Health to my Lady Caernarvan,  
that 's a pearl in each man's eye;  
And to my Lord her husband,  
that can both swear and lie.  
Here 's a Health to my Lady Rich,  
that looks so like a Witch;  
And to my Lord her husband,  
that can't endure the switch.  
Here 's a Health to my Lady Kent,  
that hath a bouncing C—▪  
And to my Lord her husband.  
that tickled my Lady Hunt.  
Here 's a Health to my Lady of Newport,  
that can both sing and dance;  
And to my Lord her husband,  
that 's run away to France.  
Here 's a Health to my Lady Denby,  
as sweet as Sugar-candy;  
And to my Lord her husband,  
that little Jack-a-dandy,  
Here 's a Health to my Lady Wimbleton,  
but fifteen years of age;  
And to my Lord her husband,  
that 's jealous of his Page.  
Here 's a Health to my Lady Holland,  
of all women the best;  
And to my Lord her husband,  
that goes so neatly dressed.  
Here 's a Health to my Lady Goring,  
whose— lies a-cooling;  
And to my Lord her husband,  
that got his means by fooling.  
Here 's a Health to my Lady Pembroke,  
And so I will end my Song;  
And to my Lord her husband,  
that never did man wrong.   

On a precise Woman.  
ONe came to Court a wench; she was precise,  
And by the spirit did the flesh despise:  
One moved a secret Match betwixt them two;  
But she in sooth and sadness would not do.  
He did reply, So sweet and fair as she,  
Made of the stuff all other women be,  
Ought by the law of woman to be kind,  
And show herself to bear a woman's mind.  
Well, Sir, quoth she, you men do so prevail,  
With cunning speeches, and a pleasant tale:  
'Tis but a folly to be overnice:  
You shall; but twenty shillings is my price:  
If you a brace of Angels will bestow,  
Come such a time, and I am for you. So  
He took leave then, and with her husband met;  
Told him, by Law he was to pay a debt,  
Entreating him to do so good a deed  
As lend him twenty shillings at his need.  
Which very readily he did extend;  
And th' other willing on his wife to spend,  
So taking leave of him, he went his ways,  
Meeting his Creditor within few days,  
And told him, Sir, I was at home to pay  
The twenty shillings which you lent last day;  
And with your wife, because you were not there,  
I left it: pray you with my boldness bear.  
'T is well, quoth he, I'm glad I did you pleasure.  
So coming home, questions his wife at leisure:  
I pray, sweetheart, was such a man with thee,  
To pay two Angels which he had of me?  
She blushed, and said he had been there indeed:  
But you did ill to lend: husband, take heed;  
It is not good to trust before you try.  
Pray lend no more: for it may breed some strife,  
To have such knaves come home to pay your wife.   

The Drunkard's Song.  

WHen I go to revel in the night.  
The brewer's dogs my brains do bite;  
My head is too heavy, and my heels are too light:  
And I like my humour well, well;  
And I like my humour well.   

With ipse he ay line my head;  
My Hostess 's Cellar is my bed.  
The world 's our own when the devil 's dead:  
And I like my humour well, well, &c.   

Then I fall to talking of the Court,  
Or about the taking of some Fort;  
And I swear a lie for a true report:  
And I like my humour well, well, etc,   

Now from the Wars I came I swear  
How I made a fellow die for fear;  
How many I killed, that I ne'er came near:  
And I like my humour well, well, &c.   

If my Hostess bids me pay the Score,  
I'll stand if I can, and call her Whore;  
Or stumble and reel out of the door:  
And I like my humour well, well▪ &c.   

The cape of my Cloak hangs all a one side;  
My hat band 's lost▪ and my hose are untied;  
My heels on the ground begin for to slide:  
And I like my humour well, well, &c.   

Then justle with every post I meet;  
I kick the dunghills about the street;  
I trample the kennels under my feet▪  
And I like my humour well, well &c.   

The Constable than I curse and ban:  
He bids me stand, if I be a man;  
And I tell him he bids me do more than I can:  
And I like my humour well, well, &c.   

If I fall to the ground, the watchmen see;  
They ask me if I foxed be:  
I tell them 'tis my humility:  
And I like my humour well, well, &c.   

If I chance to justle with a tailor's stall,  
My nose to the ground doth catch a fall:  
We kiss and be friends, and so we part all:  
And I like my humour well, well, &c.   

When I come home, my wife will scold;  
It is my patience makes her bold;  
She will rail the more, if I bid her hold:  
And I like my humour well, well, &c.   

When I go to bed, I lose my way,  
Forgetting where my clothes I lay:  
I call for drink, before it is day:  
And I like my humour well, well;  
And I like my humour well.    

A Shepherd fallen in love. A Pastoral SONG: With the Answer.  

CLoris, since thou art fled away,  
Amyntas sheep are gone astray,  
And all the joys he took to see  
His pretty Lambkins follow thee,  
They 're gone, they 're gone; and he always  
Sings nothing now, but welladay, well-a●day.   

Th' embroidered Scrip he used to wear,  
Neglected lies, so doth his hair:  
His Crook broke, his Dog howling lies,  
While he laments with woeful cries,  
Oh Cloris, Cloris, I decay,  
And forced am to cry, welladay, welladay.   

His Oaten Pipe whereon he plays  
So oft to his sweet Roundelays,  
Is flung away, and not a Swain  
Dares sing or pipe within his plain:  
'Tis death for any one to say  
One word to him, but welladay, welladay.   

The way wherein her dainty feet  
In even measure used to meet,  
Is broken down; and no content  
Came near Amyntas since she went:  
For all that ere I heard him say,  
Was Cloris, Cloris, welladay, welladay.   

On the ground whereon she used to tread,  
He ever since hath laid his head;  
Still breathing forth such pining woes,  
Tha● not one blade of grass there grows.  
Ah Cloris, Cloris, come away,  
And hear Amyntas welladay, welladay.    

The Answer.  

Cloris, since thou art gone astray,  
Amyntas' Shepherd's fled away;  
And all the joys he wont to spy  
I' th' pretty babies of thine eye,  
Are gone; and she hath nought to say,  
But who can help what will away, will away?   

The Green on which it was her chance  
To have her hand first in a dance,  
Among the merry maiden-crew,  
Now making her nought but sigh and ruo  
The time she e'er had cause to say  
Ah, who can help what will away, will away?   

The Lawn with which she wont to deck  
And circle in her whiter neck;  
Her Apron lies behind the door;  
The strings won't reach now as before:  
Which makes her oft cry welladay:  
But who can help what will away?   

He often swore that he would leave me,  
Ere of my heart he could bereave me:  
But when the sign was in the tail  
He knew poor Maiden flesh was frail;  
And laughs now I have nought to say,  
But who can help what will away?   

But let the blame upon me lie;  
I had no heart him to deny:  
Had I another Maidenhead,  
I'd lose it ere I went to bed:  
For what can all the world more say,  
Than who can help what will away?    

A Lampoun.  

Heavens bless King James our joy,  
And Charles his Baby;  
Great George, our brave viceroy,  
And his fair Lady;  
Old Bedlam Buckingham,  
And her Lady-keeper:  
She looks well to Huckingham,  
He's the— sweeper.  
These are they bear the sway  
In Court and City;  
And yet few do them love,  
The great's the pity.   

The young Lady Marchioness,  
And Lady Fielding:  
Kate for her worth heavens bless,  
Sue for her yielding.  
Ned Villers hath a wife,  
And she's a good one:  
Butler leads an ill life,  
Yet she's o' th' blood one▪  
These are they bear the sway  
In Court and city;  
And yet grace in each place,  
Else were it pity.   

Cranfield, I'll make a vow,  
He'll not be partial:  
Nan was used you know how,  
By the Earl Mar●ial.  
The Horn of Honour, fool,  
She hath exalted.  
Tell no tales out of School,  
Lest thou be palted.  
These are they bear the sway  
And keep the money;  
Which he may better do,  
Than his wife's—   

Old Abbot Anthony  
Thinks he hath well done,  
In leaving Sodomy,  
To marry Sheldon.  
She hath a buttock plump,  
Keep but thy T— whole:  
She will hold up the rump  
With her black A— hole.  
These are they bear the sway  
In Court and City;  
Yet next Spring he will sing  
The cuckold's ditty.   

Young Viscount Fielding too  
He's a goodfellow:  
Yet mad Tom Compton's blue  
Nose looketh yellow.  
Will: has a better way;  
He can endure all:  
What need Tom care a straw?  
Lincoln can cure all.  
These are they bear the sway,  
And are most busy:  
They will sup all the cup,  
Till their brain's dizzy.   

Young Compton might have had  
Wives by the dozen;  
Yet the fond fool was mad  
For George's cousin.  
Maxwel swore by his saul,  
He's not be hindered:  
They get the devil and all,  
That swive the kindred.  
These are they bear the sway  
All this Isle over:  
There is no greater fool  
Than the fond lover.   

Kit was almost forgot;  
Damport had hid him:  
They two were at the pot,  
Whilst Ray o'er-rid him:  
For all his elbow stood  
Butchin with Sherry,  
Crying thus: Bleed good blood:  
Hang wives; be merry.  
These are they spend the day  
In drink and swiving:  
Gentle Kit, learn more wit,  
then go a wiving.   

The Minstrel was an ass,  
And lived by scraping:  
His lusty kindred was  
Not worth the japing:  
And now in number sure  
They can't come near us,  
We are so chaste and pure,  
Hell need not fear us.  
These are they bear the sway  
Of Court and City;  
And yet few love them, though  
great's the pity.   

Hark how the wagons crack  
With their rich lading:  
Doll comes home with her pack;  
She's fit for trading.  
Phil will no longer stay  
With her bare baby:  
What will the people say,  
When she's a Lady?  
These are they must away;  
Who dares deny it?  
Will you an Office get,  
Thus you must come by it.    

A SONG.  

Cupid, Cupid, makes men stupid;  
I'll no more of such boys play:  
I delight to sport all night,  
and then to change my love next day.   

Read the story of Jove's glory,  
how the wanton gods above  
Caused more wonder than is thunder,  
with their often change of love.   

Custom covers constant Lovers  
with a false pretended praise:  
Dido died in height of pride:  
then farewell Dido and her Bays.   

Mortal eyes are not so wise;  
the gods have made men's hearts more faint:  
One denying causeth dying:  
is not Love a gallant Saint?   

Maids be so wise, and so precise,  
as not to stand still at a stay;  
But let it go, the thing you know,  
and do not stay what will away.   Ralph Sleigh.  

The Song of the Caps.  

THe Wit hath long beholding been  
Unto the Cap, to keep it in:  
Let now the Wit fly out amain,  
With praise to quit the Cap again.  
The Cap that owns the highest part,  
Obtained that place by due desert:  
For any Cap, whate'er it be,  
Is still the sign of some Degree.   

The Cap doth stand, each man can show,  
Above a Crown, but Kings below:  
The Cap is nearer heaven than we;  
A greater sign of majesty:  
When off the Cap we chance to take,  
Both head and feet obeisance make.  
For any Cap, &c.   

The Monmouth-cap, the sailor's Thrum,  
And th●t wherein the sailors come:  
The Physi●k Law, the Cap divine,  
The same that crowns the Muses nine:  
The cap that Fools do countenance;  
The goodly cap of Maintenance:  
And any Cap, &c.   

The Sickly cap, both plain and wrought;  
The fuddling cap, however brought:  
The quilted, furred; the Velvet satin.  
For which so many pates learn Latin;  
The Crewel-cap, the Fustian pate,  
The Periwig, a cap of late:  
And any Cap, &c.   

The soldiers that the Monmouth wear,  
On Castle-tops their ensigns rear:  
The sailors with their thrum do stand  
O● higher place than all the land:  
The Trades-man's cap aloft is born,  
By 'vantage of (some say) a horn.  
Thus any Cap, &c.   

The physic's cap to dust may bring,  
Without control, the greatest King:  
The lawyer's cap hath heavenly might,  
To make a crooked cause aright;  
Which being round and endless, knows  
To make as endless any cause.  
Thus any Cap, &c.   

Both East and West, and North and South,  
Where e'er the Gospel finds a mouth,  
The Cap divine doth th●ther look,  
The Square like Scholars and their book:  
The rest are round, but this is square,  
To show that they more stable are▪  
Thus any Cap, &c.   

The Motley man a cap doth wear,  
That makes him fellow for a Peer:  
And 't is no slender part of wit,  
To act a Fool where great men sit:  
But Oh the cap of London-town,  
I wis 'tis like the giant's crown.  
Thus any Cap, &c.   

The Sick-man's cap, not wrought with silk,  
Is like repentant, white as milk.  
When hats in Church drop off in haste,  
This cap ne'er leaves the head uncased.  
The sick-man's cap, if wrought, can tell,  
Though he be ill, his state is well.  
Thus any Cap, &c.   

The fuddling cap, God Bacchus might,  
Turns night to day, and day to night:  
Yet Spe●ders it prefers to more,  
By seeing double all their store.  
The furred and quilted cap of age▪  
Can make a mouldy Proverb sage.  
Thus any Cap, &c.   

Though Fustian caps be slender wear,  
The head is of no better gear:  
The Crewel cap is knit like hose,  
For them whose zeal takes cold i'th' nose;  
Whose purity doth judge it meet  
To clothe alike both head and feet.  
This Cap would fain, but cannot be  
The only Cap of no Degree.   

The satin and the Velvet hive,  
Unto a bishopric doth drive:  
Nay, when a File of caps you 're seen in,  
A square cap this, and then a linen:  
This treble cap may raise some hope  
If fortune smile, to be a Pope.  
Thus any Cap, &c.   

The Periwig, Oh that declares  
The rise of flesh, though loss of hairs:  
And none but graduates can proceed  
In sin so far, till this they need.  
Before the Prince none covered are,  
But those that to themselves go bare.  
This Cap, of all the Caps that be  
Is now the sign of high degree.    

A fancy.  
WHen mortal beauties sheathe their radiant light,  
Masking their glory in the clouds of night:  
When Phoebus tumbles into Thetis lap,  
After his travelling to take a nap;  
Then dares each little star open an eye,  
And peep into the world familiarly,  
Which in the lustre of the lightsome day,  
Doth stand eclipsed by a more splendid ray:  
For where the freshest fashion is in place,  
The rest look slovenly, and lose their grace:  
So where a richer Fortune hath a suit,  
Virtue and Merit may and must stand mute.   

A SONG.  

'tIs not my Lady's face that makes me love her,  
Though beauty there doth rest,  
Enough t' inflame the breast  
Of those that never did discover  
The glories of that face before:  
But I that have seen many more,  
See nought in her, but what in others are;  
Only because I think she's fair, she's fair.   

'Tis not her virtues, nor those vast perfections  
Which crowd together in her▪  
Engage my heart to win her:  
For those are only brief collections  
Of what 's in man in folio writ,  
Which by their imitating wit,  
Women like apes and children strive to do:  
But we that have the substance, flight the show.   

'Tis not her birth▪ her friends, nor yet her treasure,  
My freeborn soul can hold:  
For chains are chains, though gold;  
Nor do I court her for my pleasure,  
Nor for that old mortality,  
Do I love her 'cause she loves me:  
For that's but only gratitude; and all  
Loves that from Fortune rise, with Fortune fall.   

If either birth or friends created love withi● me,  
Then Prince's I'd adore,  
And only scorn the poor:  
If virtues or good parts could win me▪  
I'd turn Platonic, and ne'er vex  
My soul with difference of sex.  
And he that loves his Lady 'cause she's fair,  
Delights his eye: so loves himself, not her.   

Wit and Discretion are to Love High-treason:  
Nor doth he truly love,  
Whose flames are not above,  
And far beyond his wit and reason.  
Then ask no reason for my fires;  
They 're infinite, like my desires:  
Something there is makes me to love; and I  
Do know I love, but know not how or why.    

A Medly.  
I prithee sweet Rose pull up thy clothes,  
And let me see thy—  
Fortune my foe, why didst thou frown on—  
Green sleeves and Pudding-pies,  
And wot you not where—  
The Cripple of Cornwall surnamed was:  
He slept under an old hollow—  
Barnaby where hast thou been?  
Drunk o'ernight, and dry again, in the days of  
Old Simon the King,  
With a threadbare coat, and a Malmsey nose,  
Sing, Heigh—  
For a lusty lively lad,  
Heigh for a lad lacks kissing;  
Heigh for a lad that's seldom sad:  
But when he's dead, and laid in his grave,  
The passengers by will say, There was—  
A jovial Turk dwelled in the town of Turvey;  
And he could tune a kettle well, but his humour was scurvy:  
Still did he cry, Tara tink, tara tink boys;  
Room for Cuckolds here comes—  
As pretty a Nymph as I have seen;  
Her age was not above fifteen:  
For grief of heart complained she,  
I slept not since the Conquest.   

A SONG.  
When Phoebus first did Daphne love,  
And could no way her fancy move;  
He craved the cause. The cause, quoth she,  
Is, I have vowed Virginity.  
Then Phoebus raging, swore, and said,  
'Bove fifteen none should die a maid.  
If maidens then perchance are sped▪  
Ere they can scarcely dress their head;  
Yet pardon them, for they are loath  
To make Apollo break his oath:  
And better 'tis a child were born,  
Than that a god should be forsworn.  
Yet silly they, when all is done,  
Complain, our wits their hearts have won;  
When 'tis for fear that they should be  
With Daphne turned into a tree:  
And who would so herself abuse,  
To be a tree, if she could ch●se?   

A Lampoun.  

1.  
THimble 's wife is fair,  
Wherefore he vows to sting her;  
And ever when they toy, she cries,  
Oh Thimble, you wring my finger.   

2.  
Moor 's wife is chaste,  
Which makes all men to wonder:  
The reason is, that Moor himself  
Doth always keep her under.   

3.  
Bell 's wife is good metal,  
Besides, she's very dapper:  
And when the peal is rung, she cries,  
O Bell, how fares your clapper?   

4.  
Lichfield's wife is lustful,  
And given to excess,  
Because she is a Printers wife,  
And loves to be in Press.   

5.  
cross 's wi●e is ugly;  
Besides, she's very common:  
Which makes him to lament,  
No cross is like a woman.   

6.  
Hack's wife is unknown,  
Because he lives unwed;  
Yet hath work enough to saw the horns  
He gets on Herbert's head.    

A Charm.  

SLeep, old man; let silence charm thee:  
Dreaming slumbers overtake thee:  
Quiet thoughts and darkness arm thee:  
Let no creaking door awake thee.   

Phoebus hath put out his light,  
All his shadows closing:  
Phoebe lends her horns to night,  
To thy heads disposing.   

Let no fatal Bell nor Clock  
Pierce the hollow of thine ear:  
Tongueless be the early Cock,  
Or what else may make a fear.   

Let no Rat nor silly Mouse  
Along these benches rushing;  
No● a Cough disturb this house,  
Till Aurora 's blushing.   

Come, my sweet Corinna, come;  
Laugh, and leave thy late deploring:  
Sable midnight makes all dumb,  
But thy jealous husbands snoring.   

And with thy sweet perfumed kisses  
Entertain a stranger:  
Love, delight, and swee●●st bliss is  
Got with greatest danger.    

The Mercury.  

COme buy my new almanacs every one.  
And take the choice before they are gone,  
One thousand six hundred forty one:  
Come buy my new almanacs, new.   

The Puritan hath got his lock▪  
Babylon's Whore's stripped of her smock,  
And you may see what 't is a clock:  
Come buy, &c.   

The Spring will windy be, and blow;  
Autumn full of hail and snow:  
Such storms as these you ne'er did know.  
Come buy, &c.   

The Sun we find eclipsed will be,  
By S. by M. by P. and by G.  
Such distempers as these you ne'er did see:  
Come buy, &c.   

The Moon also will have another,  
By Mars, or by some such— brother:  
Heaven's bless the one, and blast the other▪  
Come buy, &c.   

Be 't he or she, be 't hic or haec;  
He that hath had a— check;  
Let him beware● the sign's i' th' neck.  
Come buy, &c.   

Time will give, that you shall see,  
All will be ferked that learned be,  
Or ne'er trust my astrology.  
Come buy, &c.   

The Planets do begin to jar  
Amongst themselves, that fixed are:  
Mercury proves the falling star.  
Come buy, &c.   

This Summer will be hot and dry;  
Men will faint, fall down, and die:  
You may know how, but never why.  
Come buy. &c.   

Pick out the best of all my store:  
He that writ this, ne'er writ before;  
And if this fell not, he'll never write more.  
Come buy, &c.    

The Tub-Preacher.  

WIth face and fashion to be known;  
With eyes all white, and many a groan;  
With neck awry, and drawing tone;  
With harp in 's nose, or he is none:  
'Tis a new teacher about the town,  
Oh the town, the towns new teacher.   

With cozening cough, and hollow cheek,  
To get new gatherings every week;  
With paltry text as man can speak;  
With some small Hebrew, and no Greek:  
To find out words, when stuff's to seek:  
'Tis a new, &c.   

With hair cut shorter than the brow;  
With little Ruff starched you know how;  
With cloak, like Paul; no coat▪ I trow:  
With Surplice none, till lately now:  
With hands to thump, no knees to bow:  
'Tis a new, &c.   

With Shopboard-breeding and intrusion;  
With some outlandish institution;  
With Systems Method for confusion,  
With Vrsin's Catechism to curse on,  
With strong-laid groans for mere illusion.  
'Tis a new, &c.   

With threats of absolute damnation,  
With certainty of some salvation  
To his own Tribe, not every Nation;  
And with some Use of Consolation.  
'Tis a new, &c.   

With troops expecting him at the door,  
To hear a Sermon, and no more;  
And with new sighs of them great store,  
And with great Bibles to turn o'er,  
Whilst he writes Notes upon the score:  
'Tis a new, &c.   

With flesh-provision for the Lent,  
With sheets of sweetmeats ofttimes spent,  
Which young maids brought, old Ladies sent,  
Yet of this legacy sure event.  
'Tis a new▪ &c.   

With new-wrought caps against the Canon,  
For catching cold, tho' sure he ha' none,  
And with new Pulpit-cloth to lean on,  
And with new hour, when glass is run on,  
New points, new notes, new nought to stand on.  
'Tis a new, &c.    

The Impartial Doom.  

Blind Fortune, if thou want'st a guide,  
I'll tell thee how thou mayst divide,  
And distribute to each their due:  
Justice is blind, as well as you.   

To th' Usurer this doom impart:  
Ma● 's Scrivener break, and then his heart:  
May's debtors into beggary fall,  
Or what 's as bad, turn Courtiers all.   

To tradesmen that do sell too dear,  
A long Vacation all the year:  
Revenge us thus on their deceits,  
And send 'em wives light as their weights.   

But Fortune, how wilt thou recompense  
The Frenchman's daily insolence?  
For them I know no greater pain,  
Then to be sent to France again.   

L●st the Players should grow poor,  
Send them Aglaura's more and more;  
And to the Puritan more ears  
Than Ceres in her Garland wears.   

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

To Court Lords grant Monopoly;  
But to their wives, Community:  
So Fortune thou shalt please them all,  
If Lords do rise, and Ladies fall.   

To the Lawyers I beseech  
As much for silence as for speech:  
To ladies' Ushers, strength of back▪  
And to myself, a cup of Sack.    

The Cuckold's Pedigree.  
WHat's a Cuckold, learn of me;  
I can tell his Pedigree,  
And his subtle nature construe:  
He lives a man, yet dies a monster.  
Yet old Antiquaries say,  
He 's sprung from old Methusalem.  
Who after Noah's flood was found  
To have his head with branches crowned.  
God in Eden's happy shade,  
Never such a creature made.  
Then to be sure, and without all mistaking.  
Cuckolds, Cuckolds, Cuckolds are of womens' making.   

The Curse.  
THou who the native stink t' expel  
Of thy— belyest the smell;  
Before the rank and luscious steam  
Who pre●er'st— the sweet extreme,  
With Essences Civet, Musk be●mear'd;  
Mayst thou be wholesome, and yet seared▪  
Hot as the Dog-days mayst thou burn,  
Yet none so mad to serve thy turn:  
Not a Frenchman in the city,  
Not a Stallion left to fit ye:  
Not a D●ldo in the town,  
Though thou'dst pawn thyself to th' Gown  
For the prodigy that can  
To thy lust supply a man.  
Perpetual frosts in thy hands dwell,  
In thy— perpetual hell:  
To frig thyself be all on fire,  
Yet want the power to that desire.  
That another may not do  
What thyself's disabled to;  
Be all thy acquaintance cold as North,  
When Pisee● frost dispenseth forth.  
Now to add unto thy Curse,  
Hear and have what is far worse:  
Free from the act, have a repute  
Of a most noted prostitute;  
Though thou art honest 'gainst thy will:  
All pleasures want, but not one ill.  
P— on those false— give me  
Lesbian 's commodity;  
Hers, your nose will half way meet,  
Putting down Fish quite, or Thames-street:  
Fulsom as a tanner's pit;  
No Red-Herring smell● like it.  
Scents that come from the Exchange,  
As unpleasant are, as strange.  
Whose— 's perfumed, 'tis none of hers,  
But her dapper milliner's.   

Encomium of Tobacco.  

TObacco 's a Musician,  
And in a Pipe delighteth:  
It descends in a close,  
Through the organ of the nose,  
With a relish that inviteth.  
This makes me sing, So-ho-ho, so-ho-ho boys,  
Ho boys sound I loudly:  
Earth ne'er did breed such a jovial weed,  
Whereof to boast so proudly.   

Tobacco is a Lawyer;  
His Pipes do love long Cases:  
When our brains it enters,  
Our feet do make Indentures,  
Which we seal with stamping paces.  
This makes▪ &c.   

Tobacco 's a physician,  
Good both for sound and sickly:  
'Tis a hot Perfume▪  
That expell● cold Rheum,  
And makes it flow down quickly.  
This makes, &c.   

Tobacco is a traveller,  
Come from the Indies hither;  
It passed sea and land  
Ere it came to my hand,  
And scaped the wind and weather.  
This makes, &c.   

Tobacco is a critic,  
That still old paper turneth;  
Whose labour and care  
Is as smoke in the air,  
That ascends from a rag when it burneth.  
This makes, &c.   

Tobacco 's an Ignis fatuus,  
A fat and fiery vapour,  
That leads men about,  
Till the fire be out,  
Consuming like a taper,  
This makes, &c.   

Tobacco is a Whiffler,  
And cries, Huff, snuff, with fury:  
His Pipes, his Club and Link,  
And Vizor too, when he doth drink:  
Thus armed, I fear not a Jury.  
This makes, &c.    

A SONG.  

STay, shut the gate;  
Tother quart since 'tis not so late  
As your thinking:  
The stars that you see  
In the Hemisphere be,  
Are the studs in your cheeks  
By your drinking.  
The Sun's gone to tipple all night in the Sea, boys;  
To morrow he'll blush that he's paler than we boys:  
Give us wine, give him water; 't is Sack makes us the boys.   

Fill up the Glass;  
To the next merry lad let it pass▪  
Come away with'it:  
Come set foot to foot,  
And give your minds to 't;  
Th' are heretical Sixes  
That slay wit.  
No Helicon like to the juice of the wine is:  
For Phoebus had never had wit nor divineness,  
Had his face not been budded as thine is and mine is.   

Drink off your Bowls,  
We'll enrich both our heads and our souls  
With Canary.  
A Carbuncle face  
Saves a tedious race:  
For the Indies about  
Us we carry.  
Then hang up good faces; let's drink till our noses  
Give freedom to speak what our fancy disposes,  
Beneath whose protection now under the Rose is.   

This must go round:  
D'off your caps, till the pavement be crowned  
With your Beavers.  
A Red-coated face  
Frights a sergeant and his Mace,  
And a Constable trembles  
To shivers.  
In state march our faces like those of the Quorum,  
When the whores do fall, and the vulgar adore 'em,  
And their noses like Link-boys run shining before 'em   

Call honest Will;  
Hang a long and tedious Bill:  
It disgraces  
Those Rubies that appear:  
You safely may swear  
The reckoning 's right  
By our faces.  
Let the Bar-boys go sleep & the Drawer leave roaring;  
Our looks can account without them, had we more in,  
When each pimple that rises will save a quart scoring.    

Against Demur in Marriage.  

Prithee friend leave off thy fooling,  
And at last resolve to do  
What Loves pleasures never cooling,  
Love and beauty prompt thee to.  
Venus cares not for goodwill,  
But would have thee doing still.   

Do but view that maid of Mettle▪  
How the rose smiles on her cheek;  
The flower 's derended by the n●ttle,  
And the rose deserves a pri●k.  
Crop it then before it wither:  
Youth and Love decay together.   

Call thy spirits up, and make her  
Great as ever she can hold:  
Leave her quite, or quickly take her;  
Be thou either hot or cold.  
Love and Religion both agree,  
lukewarm's as bad as he or she.   

Delays in drinking spoil good Claret;  
Demurs make sick the maidenhead:  
Sipping either doth but mar it;  
Neither pleaseth, if once dead.  
Take her then; no longer dally:  
Worse than death is Shally, shally.   

Courage, man, to 't; touch and take her:  
Maids by hopes are oft beguiled:  
Dallying, big will hardly make her;  
Kisses never got a child.  
Take her then and leave thy wooing:  
Meaning's not so good as doing.    

A SONG.  

THere was a Country-lass,  
An Amazon by stature;  
She sat upon the grass  
To do the deeds of Nature  
With her A—.   

Her back and knee she bowed,  
Making most hideous faces:  
Her guts do croak aloud,  
And for to ease their cases  
She hard did crowd.   

Now mark ye what fell out,  
A strange deformed creature,  
Twelve inches round about,  
And of a nut-brown feature,  
with a snout.   

About this T— there stuck  
Many a broken plum,  
All frittered with a fart  
Which came out of her bum,  
And made it smart.   

It seemed unto mine eye  
As if the composition  
Had been Rost-Beef and Pie;  
Which made the disposition  
Hot and dry.   

The water that she made,  
It caused such a swidge;  
That no man could invade  
The t— without a bridge,  
Or else must wade.    

An Answer to Full forty times over.  

HE is a fond lover that doateth on scorn,  
Who Fortune's neglects hath patiently born:  
He's proud of abuses, if ere he return  
To prove a fond Lover;  
His wit he'll discover,  
By striving to win  
A fort, where old forces neglected have been.   

For when a fort we defend from the foe,  
We traitors imprison; they ne'er come below▪  
And her fort is defended by answering, No.  
If that will not do it,  
Disdain added to it,  
Your weapon will fall;  
Although you approach, you'll not enter at all.   

They are ladybirds sure, these lovers intend,  
Which cannot with wit such a fortress defend,  
whilst Hector's their Squibs and their Crackers do spend;  
And vainly come after,  
To conquer with laughter:  
For she hath no wit,  
That spends all her fire in the smoke to be hit.   

Where a fort hath no strength but such as is made  
By pride and by state, such a foe may invade;  
For these are defences for those of the trade.  
You men are so witty,  
Works guard not our city,  
But forces within,  
With which we maintain 't, tho the outworks you win.   

These warriors at last with our weapons will fight;  
And if we are 〈◊〉 they'll come in the night:  
But alas they're denied, our virtues are bright:  
For she that loves honour,  
No parley ere won her  
To yield up her power,  
For a few flattering words, and the sport of an hour.    

A Catch.  
I Met with Joan of Kent;  
I laid her on the bed,  
And there I got her maidenhead,  
And she was well content.   

The Cloak's ANSWER to the Poet's farewell.  

MAster, if I may do you no wrong,  
Since we have been companions so long,  
Let's not now part: can friends love too long?   

I was your friend in Thirty, though;  
But now, how proud you Poets grow:  
Was 't so in Noah's days? Ah no!   

For they in times far pased from hence,  
With oaken leaves their backs did fence;  
Which made them love that tree ere since.   

As for the Muses, I won't flatter.  
They to their breeches ne'er had tatter;  
Which made them always live i' th' water.   

But you that have a cloak to hide  
What want makes them show, why d'ye chide?  
Troth 'tis a strange forgetful pride.   

Sir, you do tax me of a high fault;  
But if I'm threadbare, is that my fault?  
No, Sir; for I will prove 'twas thy fault.   

First, you me laid in bed full close, Sir;  
But Coverlid was so short, you know, Sir,  
You scratched my wool off with your toes, Sir.   

When you, poor son of polyhimny,  
Drank muddy ale in dirty chimney,  
Your Landlady she spoke full grim nigh:   

Come, Sir, your Cloak, or I'll arrest ye:  
Then quoth I, woman, are you so testy?  
Here, take me off: and so relased ye.   

But now, for lightness you would fain  
Divorce me, and a new one gain,  
High heaven knows how: but 'tis in vain.   

Poor men must wear poor cloaks, you know:  
The Devil told the Collier so,  
When he said, Like to like will go.   

My thinness makes you fear the Box,  
Where dirty maid with flintstone knocks:  
But Master, have not you the Pox?   

For Deianira, that Gilflurt,  
Gave Jove's son such a devilish hurt,  
As burned not only him, but 's shirt.   

She got it from the Centaur Nessus▪  
It was a cruel burn, God bless us:  
Alas poor Cloak, how that would dress us!   

What if I'm thin, you need not jeer, Sir:  
You know when sergeant cries, D' ye hear, Sir?  
A thin cloak you may quickly tear, Sir.   

Then was not he a john-an-oak  
Who opened his mouth when that he spoke,  
And made a Love-back of your cloak?   

Some called me Fiction, though but few did:  
I think the men were mad or stupid▪  
Or else they were as blind as Cupid.   

Yet we read of one had such a thin shroud  
In heaven (me● were not then so proud)  
That Poets said he was wrapped in a cloud.   

This hero he was height Ixion;  
Perhaps he had no money to buy one:  
Yet ventured he Jove's bed to lie on.   

For he in threadbare cloak loved Juno,  
And Juno him for aught that you know;  
Though I confess I care not to know.   

Though I am on, you do protest  
You walk in Cuerpo when y' are dressed:  
Master, that's but a threadbare jest.   

Then a brother in zeal came with his ditty:  
But if he were hanged, 'twere no great pity:  
For how a devil came he so witty?   

For Scholar that talked of Arachne,  
Alas his brains were lean as hackney:  
The poor man spoke when there was no Sack nigh.   

For him that took me for a Cobweb,  
(This verse wants rhyme, though not the next)  
I would the knave were in Mount Horeb.   

Thus as poor cloaks they jeering sit,  
The name of tailors would them fit,  
Because 'tis but a Pricklouse-wit.   

The Clerks in blackwell-hall, in brief,  
With sculls of Sar●cens eat Beef:  
Master, doth this provoke your grief?   

Will you, to have a pendent haunch,  
Or a greasy prominent paunch,  
Basely forsake the Olive-branch?   

Once more together let's agree:  
Master, these are best times for me:  
Thin cloaks are nought for knavery.   

Now O that some good mortal would  
Make me an Epitaph as well as he could;  
Verily, verily, I thank him would.   

On hedge now I hang▪ the more's the pity  
That one did make my Master so witty:  
His wits are gone into the city;   

As he doth say, more wool to borrow:  
Perhaps he'll have it to day or tomorrow;  
Perhaps he won't, the more 's his sorrow.   

Master, adieu, poorer than Condi;  
Your bare breech, Sir, may want me one day:  
Sic transit, transit, gloria mundi.    

The clown's Song.  

THe Courtier scorns us Country-Clowns,  
We Country-Clowns do scorn the Court:  
We can be as merry upon the Downs,  
As you at midnight with all your sport:  
With a fadding, with a fadding.   

You hawk, you hunt, you lie upon Pallets,  
You eat, you drink▪ the Lord knows how:  
We sit upon hillocks, and pick upon salads,  
And sup up our Sillibubs under a cow:  
With a fadding, with a fadding.   

Your Suits are made of Silks and satins,  
And ou●s are made of good Sheeps-gray:  
You mix your discourses with pieces of Latin,  
We speak our old English as well as we may:  
With a fadding, with a fadding.   

Your Masks are made of Knights and Lords,  
And Ladies that be fresh and gay:  
We dance with such music as bagpipe affords,  
And trick up our Lasses as well as we may:  
With a fadding, with a fadding.   

Your Rooms are behung with cloth of Arras,  
Our Meadows are decked as fresh as may be:  
And from our Pastime you never shall bar us,  
Since Joan in the dark's as good as my Lady:  
With a fadding, with a fadding.    

The Gelding of the Devil.  

A Merry Jest I will you tell,  
Of the gelding of the Devil of hell;  
And of the Baker of Mansfield-town,  
To Manchester-market as he was bound:  
And under a Grove of Willows clear,  
The Baker was singing with lusty cheer;  
Beyond the willows there was a well,  
And there he met with the Devil of hell.   

Oh, quoth the Devil, how chanceth that  
Thy Horse he is so fair and fat?  
Good Sir, quoth the Baker, by my fay,  
'Cause both his stones are cut away;  
For he that is a Gelding free,  
Both fair and lusty will he be.  
Oh, quoth the Devil and sayst thou me so?  
Thou shalt geld me before thou dost go.   

The Baker had a knife of iron and steel,  
Wherewith he gelded the devil of hell:  
'T was sharp, and pointed for the nonce,  
And for to carve all manner of stones.  
The Baker he lighted from off his horse,  
And cut the devil's stones clear from's arse:  
Oh, quoth the devil, beshrew thy heart;  
Thou dost not feel how I do smart.   

For gelding of me thou art not quit;  
I mean to geld thee the same day sennit.  
The Baker hearing the words he said,  
In his heart was sore afraid:  
He hied him unto the next Market-town,  
To sell his bread both white and brown,  
And when the Market was done that day,  
The Baker rode home another way;   

And told his wife how all befell,  
How he had gelded the devil of hell.  
Wondrous words, quoth he, I heard him say,  
He would geld me the next Market-day:  
Therefore, said the Baker, I stand in doubt.  
ud's bobs, I'd rather the ●naves eyes were out:  
I'd rather thou shouldst break thy neck-bone,  
Than for to lose any manner of stone.   

For why? it is a loathsome thing;  
And every woman will call thee Gelding.  
Thus they remained both in fear,  
Until the Market-day drew near.  
Then quoth the Goodwife, Well I wot,  
Go fetch me thy doublet for and thy coat,  
Thy hose, and thy shoes, and thy cap also,  
And I like a man to the Market will go.   

Then forth she hied her all in haste,  
With her bread upon her beast:  
And when she came unto the hill's side,  
There she saw two devils abide;  
A little devil and another,  
Were playing as if th' had been sister and brother:  
Oh, quoth the great devil, without fain,  
Yonder's the Baker; go call him again.   

But be thou weal, Baker, or be thou woe,  
I mean to geld thee before thou dost go.  
But these were the words the woman did say;  
Good Sir, I was gelt but yesterday.  
Oh, quoth the devil, and that I will see:  
And he pulled her hose beneath her knee;  
And looking upwards from the ground,  
There he spied a most grievous wound.   

Oh, quoth the devil, now I see  
He was nothing cunning that gelded thee:  
For when he had cut off thy stones clean,  
He should have sowed up the holes again.  
He called the little Devil to him anon,  
And bid him look to that same man,  
While he did go to some private place  
To get some salve in a little space.   

The Devil was no sooner gone his way,  
But upon her belly there crept a flea:  
The little Devil soon espied that,  
He up with his paw, and gave it a pat:  
The woman for fear began to start,  
And out she thrust a most horrible fart.  
Hoop, hoop quoth the little devil; come again, I say,  
Here's another hole broke hard by, by my fay.   

Baker, quoth the devil, thou canst not be sound,  
That smellest so sore above the ground:  
Thy life and days it cannot be long▪  
Thy breath it savours so horrible strong:  
The hole is broke so near the bone,  
There will no salve well stick upon:  
Therefore, Baker, hie thee away,  
And in this place no longer stay.    

Charing Cross.  

UNdone, undone, you Lawyers are,  
That wander about the Town,  
And can't find the way to Westminster,  
Now Charing-Cross is down:  
At the end of the Strand they make a stand,  
Swearing they 're at a loss;  
And chasing say, That's not the way;  
They must go by Charing-Cross.   

The Committees they said, Verily  
To Popery it was bent.  
For aught I know, it might be so:  
To Church it never went.  
What with— and other Laws,  
The Kingdom doth begin  
To think you will leave them ne'er a Cross  
Without doors nor within.   

For neither man, woman nor child,  
Can say, I'm confident,  
That ere they heard it speak a word  
Against the Parliament.  
'T had Letters about it found, some say,  
Or else it had been freed:  
'Fore George, I'll take my oath of it,  
'T could neither write nor read.    

The maid's Portion.  

1.  
NOw all my friends are dead and gone,  
Alas, what shall betide me?  
For I poor maid am left alone,  
Without a house to hide me:  
Yet still I'll be of merry cheer,  
And have kind welcome everywhere,  
Though I have but a Mark a year,  
And that my mother gave me.   

2.  
I scorn to think of Poverty,  
Or want of food or clothing,  
I'll be maintained gallantly,  
And all my life want nothing;  
A frolic mind● Il● always bear,  
My poverty shall not appear,  
Though I have but, &c.   

3.  
Though I am but a silly wench  
Of Country Education,  
Yet I am wooed by Dutch and French,  
And almost every nation.  
Both Spaniards and Italians swear,  
That with their hearts they love me dear●,  
Yet I have but a Mark a year  
And that my mother, &c.   

4.  
The Welsh, the Irish and the Scot,  
Since I came to the city,  
In love to me are wondrous hot,  
They tell me I am Pretty:  
Therefore to live I will not fear,  
For I am sought both far and near,  
Yet I have but, &c.   

5.  
This London is a gallant place  
To raise a Lasses fortune,  
For I that came of simple race,  
Brave roarers do importune  
I little thought in Dorchester,  
To find such high preferment here,  
For I have but a Mark a year  
Which my good mother, &c.   

6.  
One gives to me perfumed Gloves  
The best that he can buy me,  
Live where I will I have the Jove's  
Of all that do live ●●gh me  
If any new toys I will wear,  
I'll have them, cost they ne'er so dear.  
Though I have but, &c.   

7.  
My fashion with the moon I change  
As though I were a Lady,  
All quaint conceits both new and strange,  
I'll have as soon as may be:  
Your Courtly Ladies I can jeer,  
In cloth, but few to me come near,  
Yet I have but, &c.   

8.  
French Gowns with sleeves like pudding bags  
I have at my requesting,  
Now I forget my Country ragg●,  
And scorn such plain investing  
My old acquaintance I cashier,  
And of my kin I hate to hear,  
Though I have but, &c.   

9  
My petticoats of Scarlet brave,  
Of Velvet, Silk and satin,  
Some Students of my love do crave,  
That speak both Greek and Latin;  
The Soldiers for me domineer,  
And put the rest into great fear.  
All this is is for a mark a year,  
And that my mother, &c.   

10.  
The Precisian sincerely vows,  
And doth protest he loves me,  
He tires me out with yeas and no's,  
And to impatience moves me:  
Although an oath he will not swear,  
To lie at no time he doth far.  
All this is for a mark a year,  
And that my mother, &c.   

11.  
My Coach drawn with four Flanders Mares,  
Each day attend my pleasure,  
The watermen will leave their fares  
To wait upon my leisure.  
Two lackeys labour everywhere,  
And at my word run here and there.  
Though I have but, &c.   

12.  
Now if my friends were living still,  
I would them all abandon,  
Though I confess they loved me well,  
Yet I so like of London,  
That farewell Dad and Mammy dear,  
And all my friends in Dorcetshire.  
I live well with a mark a year,  
And that my mother, &c.   

13.  
I would my sister Sue at home  
Knew how I live in fashion,  
That she might up t●London come,  
And learn this Ocupation,  
For I live like a Lady here,  
I wear good clothes, and eat good cheer.  
Yet I have but, &c.   

14.  
Now blessed be that happy day,  
That I came to the city,  
And for the Carrier will I pray,  
Before I end my Ditty.  
You maidens that this Ditty hear,  
Though means be short, yet never fear:  
For I live with a mark a year,  
Which my old mother gave me.    

Wat's A la mort.  

1.  
IF mourn I may in time so glad,  
Or mingle joys with ditty sad.  
Lend your ears, lend Wa● your eyes,  
And look you where she ●o●abed lies;  
Two simple fee●, alas, contains  
The last which late oer Downs and plains,  
Made Horse, and Hound, and Horn to blow,  
Why Wat, where art? So ho, so ho.   

2.  
Where is this view and cunning sent,  
Which so much blood and breath ha●t spent?  
This subtle trains thy Courses strong,  
Thy Capers high, thy Dances long,  
Thy envious leannest, and thy Muse,  
As perfect as a maiden's excuse.  
Thy tract in snow, like widows we.  
Why Wat, etc▪   

3.  
Oh! where is now thy flight so fleet,  
Thy jealous brow, thy nimble feet,  
Thy magic frisks, thy Circles round,  
Thy juggling feats, to mock the hound?  
Who sees thee now in covert creep,  
To sit and hark, or stand and weep,  
Or cool thy foot to foil thy foe?  
Why Wat, &c.   

4.  
Why didst thou not then fly this fate,  
And from this form thrust forth thy Mate,  
As some good Wife when Death's at door  
she'll thrust her good Man forth before?  
Why didst thou not this doom to scape?  
Upon thee take some wizard's shape,  
Or shroud thyself in Cottage low.  
Why Wat, &c.   

5.  
But should we think what was more wise,  
Then jowlers' nose, or Joundells cries,  
Or Lady's lips, since Wat alone,  
Must needs by many be or' ethrown?  
Yet as I mourn, thy life so short,  
So will I sing thy royal sport,  
And guiltless game of all I know.  
Why Wat, &c.   

6.  
O sad, the fair young son of myrrh,  
Forsook the boar and followed her,  
Or had Action hunted Wat,  
When he saw Dyna's, you know what;  
Or had the young man loved this life,  
Who slew for Deer, his dearest wife.  
They all had known no other woe,  
Save Wat where art? so ho so ho.    

A Question.  

WHy are women said their husbands to deceive.  
Since the keys of their wickets with their husbands they leave?   

The Answer is made to this Question so put,  
That that door which will open by chance, will not shut.    

The Game at shuttlecock.  
MY Mistress is a shuttlecock,  
Composed of cork and feather,  
Each battledore plays with her dock,  
and beats upon her leather.  
When one will not suffice her will,  
She flies unto another still.   

On the Beard.  

THe beard thick or thin,  
On the lip or the chin,  
Doth dwell so near the tongue,  
That her silence  
In the beard's defence,  
Would do her neighbour wrong▪   

Now a beard is a thing  
That commands in a King,  
Be his sceptre ne'er so fair.  
When it bears sway  
The people obey,  
And are ruled to a hair.   

'Tis a Princely sight  
And a great delight,  
That adorns both young and old.  
A well thatched face  
Is a comely grace,  
And a shelter from the cold.   

When the piercing North  
Comes fiercely forth,  
Let the barren face beware.  
For a trick it will find  
With a razor of wind,  
To shave the cheek that is bare.   

But there's many nice  
And strange device,  
That doth the beard disgrace,  
But he that brings in  
Such a foolish thing,  
Is a traitor to his face.   

But of beards there be  
Such a company,  
Of fashions such a through.  
That it is very hard  
To handle the beard,  
Though it be ne'er so long.   

The Roman T  
In its bravery,  
Doth first its self disclose.  
But so high it turns  
Many times that it burns,  
With the flames of a torrid nose.   

The picked beard,  
Is makes me afeard,  
It is so sharp beneath;  
For he that doth place  
A dagger in his face,  
What doth he in his sheath?   

But methinks I do itch  
To go through stitch,  
And the needle beard to mend,  
Which without any wrong,  
I may call too long,  
For a man can see no end.   

The Soldier's beard  
Doth march in the heard,  
In figure like a spade,  
With which he doth make  
His enemies quake,  
To think that their Graves are made.   

The grim stubble eke  
On the Justice's cheek,  
Must not my verse despise,  
Which were more fit  
For a Nutmeg, but it  
Doth grate poor prisoners eyes.   

A Beard doth invest  
The Bishop's breast,  
With much white spreading hair,  
Which an emblem may be  
Of the integrity  
That doth inhabit there.   

But O let us tarry  
For the beard of King Harry,  
That grows upon the chin,  
In his bushy pride  
With a grave on each side,  
And a Champion ground between.   

Next the clown doth out rush  
With his beard of bush,  
Which may be well endured,  
For though his face  
Lies in a rude case,  
Yet his land is well manured.    


1: A song, on a Tenement.  
IF any man doth want a house,  
Be he Prince, Baronet●, or 'Squire,  
Or Peasant, (hardly worth a louse)  
I can fit his desire:  
I have a tenement, the which,  
I know will fit them all,  
'Tis seated near a stinking ditch,  
They call it Cunny-hall.   

2.  
It doth lie beyond bonny ground  
At the foot of Belly-hill,  
This house is easy to be found  
By whosoever will,  
For term of life, or years, or days,  
I'll let this pleasant bower,  
Nay' rather than a tenant want  
I'll let it for an hour.   

3.  
About it grows a lofty Wood  
To shade you from the Sun,  
Well watered 'tis, for thorough it,  
A pleasant stream doth run:  
If hot, you there may cool yourself;  
If cold, you'll there find hear;  
For greatest, 'tis not too little;  
For least, 'tis not too great.   

4.  
My house, I must confess, 'tis dark  
Be it by night or day,  
But if you once be got therein  
You cannot miss your way;  
But when y●'re in, make boldly of  
As fast as are you can,  
But if you come to th' end thereof  
You come where ne'er did man.   

5.  
Thus if you like my Cunny-hall  
Your house-rent shall be good,  
For such a temper as you please,  
Burn neither coal nor wood;  
But if it rain, or freeze, or snow,  
To speak I dare be bold,  
If you keep your nose within door  
You ne'er shall be a cold.   

I Am that lofty swain  
That never cared to love  
None of Diana's train  
Could ever my fancy move:  
Kad Cupit from above  
Could never conquer me,  
Since Peggy it is thee I love,  
And thy Captive I will be.   

7.  
Since Peggy it is sure  
That I do love thee best,  
Then put aside delays  
And grant me my request.  
Come good or evil hap,  
Come wealth or poverty,  
I'll set thee in my lap  
And I'll smuggle thee hand somly.   

8.  
Ulysses did commend  
Constant Penelope,  
Pygmalion loved his friend,  
Why may not I love thee?  
Though great Achilles was  
The God of Victory,  
He loved a Trojan lass  
And smuggled her handsomely.   

9  
Though Vulcan (grim and black)  
Fair Venus did embrace,  
Of him she thought no lack  
For all his dirty face:  
Though he were crook'● d●kin,  
And Iglerd o'er the eye,  
Yet Venus loved him well  
And he smuggled her handsomely.   

Matheglin, ale, and beer,  
Plump claret wine, and sherry  
Shall not be wanting here  
If'● may but make thee merry:  
When ended is the feast  
With mirth and merry glee,  
I take thee to the bed  
And Il● smuggle thee handsomely.    

Lydford Law. A Song.  

1.  
I Oft have heard of Lydford-Law  
How in the morn they hang end draw,  
And sit in judgement after:  
At first I wondered at it much,  
But since I find the reason such  
That it deserves no laughter.   

2.  
There stands a Castle on a hill,  
I took it for an old Windmill.  
The Van's blown off with weather;  
To lie therein one night 'tis guessed  
'Twere better to be hanged or pressed,  
Or drowned, now chus● you whether.   

3.  
The Prince an hundred pound hath sent  
To mend the leads and plankings rent  
Within this living tomb;  
Some forty five pounds more had paid  
The debts of all that sh●ll be laid  
There, till the Day of doom.   

4.  
One lies there for a peck of salt,  
Another for three pecks of malt,  
Two sureties for a noble:  
If this be true or else fals● news,  
You may go ask of Master Cruse,  
John Vaughan, or John Doble.   

5.  
Though debts and debtors are but poor,  
The Courts and Causes are the more,  
(So many Tynners made)  
That Lawyers and attorneys all,  
Which in these Courts do sco●de and brawl  
Do find it a gainful trade.   

6.  
Near to these men that lie in lurch,  
There is a bridge, there is a Church  
Five Ashes and one oak;  
Seven houses standing and ten down,  
Some say the Parson hath a gown,  
But I saw ne'er a cloak.   

7.  
Whereby you may consider well,  
That plain simplicity doth dwell  
At Lydford without bravery:  
For in that town, both young and grave  
The naked truth, and have  
No cloaks to hide their kn●very.   

8.  
The people all within this Clim●  
Are frozen all the winter time.  
(be sure I do not fain)  
And when the summer is begun,  
They lie like Slow-worms in the Sun,  
And come to life again.   

9  
I kissed the Mayor's hand o'th' town,  
Who, though he wear no Scarlet gown,  
Yet honours the Rose and Thistle.  
A piece of coral in the Mace,  
Which there I saw, to serve the place,  
'T would make a good child's whistle.   

10.  
At six o'th' clock I came away,  
And vowed I would no longer stay▪  
within a place so— arrant,  
Both wide and open to winds that roar,  
By God's grace I'll come there no more,  
Unless by some tin warrant.    

A SONG.  

1.  
O My Dearest I shall grieve thee,  
When I swear, yet Sweet believe me;  
By thine eyes the tempting book,  
On which even crabbed ol● men look;  
I swear to thee, though none abhor them,  
Yet do I not love thee for them.   

2.  
I do not love thee for that fair  
Rich Fan of thy most curious hair,  
Although the wires thereof be drawn  
Far finer than the threads of Lawn,  
And are softer than the leaves  
On which the subtle Spinner weaves.   

3.  
I do not love thee for those Flowers  
Growing on thy cheeks, Loves bowers;  
Though such cunning them hath spread,  
That none can part their white and red:  
Loves golden arrows thence are shot,  
And yet for them I love thee not.   

4.  
I do not love thee for those soft  
Red corralled lips I k●st so oft,  
Nor teeth of pearl, the double guard  
To speech, where music still is heard;  
Though from those lips a kiss being taken,  
Can tyrants melt, and death awaken▪   

4.  
I do not love thee, oh my fairest,  
For that richest, for that rarest  
Silver pillar, that stands under  
Thy round head, the Globe of wonder;  
Though that neck be whiter far  
Than towers of polished Ivory are.   

6.  
I do not love thee for those mountains,  
Hid with snow, where milky fountains,  
Sugared sweet as syrroped berries,  
Must one day run through pipes of cherries▪  
O how much those breasts do move me,  
Yet for them I do not love thee.   

7.  
I do not love thee for that belly,  
Sleek as satin, soft as jelly;  
Although within that Christ ●ll round  
Whole heaps of treasure might be found,  
So rich, that for the least of them,  
A King might give his D●adem.   

8.  
I do not love thee for those thighs,  
Whose A●●blaster rocks do rise  
So high, and even that they stand  
Like sea-ma●k● to some happy Land.  
Happy are those eyes have seen them,  
More happy he shall sail between them.   

9  
I do not love thee for that palm,  
Although the dew thereof be balm,  
Nor for that pretty leg and foot,  
Although it be the precious root,  
On which this goodly cedar grows;  
My Sweet, I love thee not for those.   

10.  
Nor for thy wit, though pure and quick,  
Whose substance no arithmetic  
Can number down; nor for those charms  
Thou mak'st with thine embracing arms:  
Although in them one night to lie,  
My dearest I would gladly die.   

11.  
I love thee not for eyes or hair,  
Nor teeth, nor cheeks, nor lips so rare,  
Nor for thy speech, nor neck, nor breast,  
Nor for thy belly, nor the rest,  
Nor for thy hand, nor foot so small,  
But wilt thou know, dear sweet, for all?    

A Song.  

1.  
COme, come, come, do you mask, do you mum  
By my holy doom? what a coil is here?  
Some must sway, and some obey,  
Or else I pray, who will stand in fear?  
Though my toe  
That I limp on so,  
Do work my woe, and well aday,  
This sweet spring,  
And another thing,  
Will make us sing Fa, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy,   

2.  
Fellow Gods, are you fallen at odds?  
What fury mads your immortal brains?  
For a little care of the world's affair,  
Will you fret & swear? will you take such pains?  
No Gods, no,  
Let fury go,  
And mortals woe as well as they.  
This sweet spring,  
And another thing,  
Will make us sing, Fa, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy▪   

3.  
Thou God of Moe●, with thy toting nose,  
And thy mouth that grows to thy ●olling ear,  
Stretch it forth from North to South,  
And quench thy drought in Vinegar.  
Though thy tongue  
Be too large and long  
To sing the song of Fa, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy,  
Join Momus grace  
To Vulcan's pace,  
And a filthy face, cry, Bow, wow, wow, wow, wow.    

A SONG.  

ALL hail to the days  
That merits more praise  
Than all the rest of the year,  
And welcome the nights  
That double delights,  
As well in the poor as the peer.  
Good fortune attend  
Each merry man's friend,  
That doth but the best that he may,  
Forgetting old wrong,  
With a cup and a song,  
To drive the cold Winter away.   

Let Misery pack  
With a whip at his back,  
To the deep Tantalian flood;  
And Envy profound  
In Lethe be drowned,  
That repines at another man's good;  
Let Sorrow's expenc●  
Be a thousand years hence  
With payments of grief and delay,  
And spend the whole night  
With honest delight,  
To drive the cold Winter away.    

The threading of the Needle.  

1.  
O That I durst but thread your Needle, Lady,  
There would I work till I had made a Baby,  
Or stop your Floodgates, on condition I  
Did at the jointure in the River lie.   

2.  
Oh that I durst but shoot a gulf I know,  
Or in the Lower countries my seed sow;  
Or plough the bottom of that Nether land,  
Until my Plough did fall, and I not stand.   

3.  
Oh that I durst but play at in and in,  
If I were out, I would again begin;  
Or fast or lose, I care not whether much,  
Yet should I lose at both, my play is such.   

4.  
Oh that I durst tread the grass that grows  
About your River, where perfect Nectar flows,  
Or that my smaller Current might distil  
His moisture into yours, till yours it fill.   

5.  
Oh that I durst monopolise a thing,  
I mean that curious black enameled Ring,  
Whose virtue's such in durance, that it has  
Worn out a world of Stones, that did surpass;  
Yet I care not; for all that I will venture,  
If you'll give leave, within your Ring to enter.    

The hunting of the Gods.  
To the Tune of Room for Cuckolds.  

1.  
SOngs of Sonnets, and rustical round say,  
Forms of fancies are whistled on reeds,  
Songs to solace young Nymphs upon holidays,  
Are too unworthy for wonderful deeds:  
Phoebus' ingenious,  
With witty Silenius:  
His haughty genius taught to declare,  
In words better coined,  
And verse better joined,  
How stars divined the hunting the Hare.   

2.  
Stars enamoured with pastimes olympical;  
Stars and Planets yet beautiful shone,  
Would no longer that mortal men only  
Should swim in pleasures, while they but look on.  
Round about horned  
Lucina they swarmed,  
And her informed how minded they were;  
Each God and goddess  
To take human bodies,  
As Lords and Ladies to follow the Hare.   

3.  
Chaste Diana applauded the motion,  
And pale Proserpina sat in her place,  
Which guides the Welkin & governs the Ocean,  
Till she conducts her Nephews in chase,  
Till by her example,  
Their Father to trample  
The old and ample earth, leave them the air,  
Neptune the water  
And wine, liber pater,  
And Mars the slaughter, to follow the Hare.   

4.  
Young god Cupid mounted on Pegasus,  
Beloved of Nymphs, with kisses and praise,  
Strong Alcides upon cloudy Caucasus,  
Mounts a Centaur, which proudly him bare,  
Postillian of the sky,  
Swift-footed Mercury  
Makes his Courser fly fleet as the air.  
Yellow Apollo  
The kennel doth follow  
With whip and hollow, after the Hare.   

5.  
Young Amyntas thought the God's came to breathe  
After their battle, themselves on the ground,  
Thirsts did think the Gods came to dwell here beneath,  
And that hereafter the world would go round,  
Coridon aged  
With Phillis engaged,  
Was much enraged with jealous despair.  
But fury was vaded,  
And he was persuaded,  
When he they applauded the hunting the Hare.   

6.  
Deep Melampus, and cunning Iramboti,  
Neap and Tiger, and Harpi the skies  
Rents with roaring, whilst hunter-like Hercules  
Winds his plentiful horn to their cries,  
Till with varieties,  
To solace their Deities,  
Their weary pieties refreshed were,  
We shepherds were seated,  
The whilst we repeated  
How we conceited the hunting the Hare.   

7.  
Stars but shadows were, joys are but sorrows,  
Were there no motion, nor had they delight,  
Joys are jovial, delights are the marrows  
Of li●e and motion, the axle of might,  
Pleasure depends  
Upon no other friends,  
But freely lends to each virtue a share,  
Only is pleasure  
The measure of treasure,  
Of pleasure the treasure is hunting the Hare.   

8.  
Drowned Narcissus from his Metamorphosis,  
Roused by echo, new manhood did take.  
Snoring Somnus up-started from Caemeris,  
The which this thousand years was not awake,  
To see club footed  
Old Mulciber booted,  
And Pan promoted on Coridon's mare.  
Proud Pallas pouted,  
And AEolus shouted,  
And Momus flouted, yet followed the Hare:   

9  
Hymen ushers the Lady Astraea,  
The jest takes hold of Minerva the old;  
Ceres the brown, with bright Caeth●ria,  
With Thetis the wanton, Bellona the bold;  
Shamefaced Aurora,  
With witty Pandora,  
And Maia with Flora did company bear,  
But Juno was stated  
Too high to be mated,  
Although she hated not hunting the Hare.   

10.  
Three broad boles to the olympical Rector,  
The Troy-born Eagle pres●nts on his knee,  
Jove to Phoebus carouses in Nectar,  
And Phoebus to Hermes, and Hermes to me:  
Wherewith infused,  
I piped and mused,  
In tongues unused their sports to declare,  
Till that the house of Jove,  
Round as the spheres do move  
Health to all those that love hunting the Hare.    

A SONG.  

NAy, prithee don't fly me,  
But sit thee down by me;  
I cannot endure  
The Lad that's demure,  
A pox on your Worships and Sirs;  
Your congees and Trips,  
With your Legs and your Lips,  
Your Madams and Lords,  
And such finical words,  
And the compliment you bring,  
That doth spell nothing,  
You may keep for the Change and the furs:  
For at the beg●nning was neither Peasant nor Prince,  
And who the devil made the distinction since?   

Those Titles and Honours  
Do remain in the donors,  
And not in the King,  
To which they do cling,  
If his soul be too narrow that wears 'em;  
No delight can I see  
In the thing called degree;  
Honest Dick sounds as well  
As a name with an L.  
That with Titles doth swell,  
And thunder l●ke a Spell,  
To affright mortal ears that do hear 'em.  
He that wears a brave soul, & dares honestly do,  
Is a herald to himself and a Godfather too.   

Why should we then dote on  
One with a fool's coat on,  
Whose Coffers are crammed?  
But yet he'll be damned  
Ere he'll do a good act or a wise one:  
What reason hath he  
To be ruler o'er me,  
Who is Lord o'er his Chest?  
But his Head and her Breast  
Are both empty and bare,  
And puff up with air,  
And can neither assist nor advise one:  
Honour but air, and proud flesh but dust is,  
'Tis we Commons make Lords, as the Clerks make the Justice.   

But since we must be  
Of a different degree,  
'Cause most do aspire,  
To be greater and higher  
Than the rest of their fellows, & brothers.  
He that hath such a spirit,  
Let him gain by his merit,  
Spend his wealth, brains and blood  
For his Country's good,  
And make himself fit  
By his valour and wit,  
For things above the reach of all others.  
Honor's a prize, and who wins it may wear it,  
If not, 'tis a badge and a burden to bear it.   

For my part let me be  
But quiet and free,  
I'll drink Sack and obey,  
Let the great ones sway,  
That spend their whole time in thinking;  
I'll ne'er busy my pate  
With secrets of State,  
The news books I'll burn all,  
And with the diurnal  
Light Tobacco, and admit  
They are so far fit,  
As they serve for good company and drinking.  
All the name I desire is an honest good fellow,  
And that man has no worth, that won't sometimes be mellow.    

Bow Goose.  

1.  
THe best of Poets write of Hogs,  
And of Ulysses barking Dogs,  
Others of Sparrows, Flies and Frogs,  
In former ages sang.  
Some of the silver Swan of Bow,  
Although mine was no Swan, what tho?  
It was a Goose was brought from Bow  
To Algate.   

2.  
A● harmless and as innocent  
She was, as those that with her went,  
Nor do not think the watchmen meant  
More sillier than she;  
Who rested only on a stall,  
And gave them not one word at all,  
And yet these cannibals did fall  
About her.   

3.  
In silence then my Goose sat still,  
Till she perceiving each man's bill,  
Praying they would not use her ill,  
That looked so like them all.  
Yet they disdaining did begin  
About us for to cast a gin,  
And then the Constable came in  
And took us.   

4.  
To whom they did relate our case,  
And swore each man would quit his place,  
If we were suffered to disgrace  
The King's Lieutenant so.  
And then my G●nders eminence,  
My Goose and I commanded thence,  
And were made graduates to commence  
I'th' Counter.   

5.  
We thither went, and then my Goose,  
That pinioned was before, got loose,  
For having us within their noose,  
They had no cause to fear:  
Then into every ward we went,  
And here and there our money spent,  
Until the Constable had sent  
Next morning.   

6.  
Who summoned us for to appear;  
Before an Alderman I'll swear,  
That might have been that present year,  
Made Lord Mayor for his wit:  
Who took my goose's cause in hand,  
And things with such judgement scanned,  
That having done I scarce could stand  
For laughing.   

7.  
He did not only reprehend  
Our follies, but did much commend  
The Constable, his honest friend,  
For this good service done.  
How happy is thy City blessed,  
With Officers among the rest,  
That I may add unto their Crest  
My Bow Goose?   

8.  
But to my grief, I'll tell you what,  
My Goose, which was before so fat,  
She might have been, accepted at  
A Mayor or sheriff's table,  
Grew wan and lean, and that so ill,  
That from her wing she dropped a quill,  
Desiring me to write her Will;  
Which I did.   

9  
And thus my Goose's will began,  
Unto the reverend Alderman  
I do bequeathe my brainsick pan,  
With all therein contained.  
And Mr. Constable, to you  
My empty head, which is your due,  
My bill unto the damned crew,  
The Watchmen.   

10.  
And furthermore, it is my will  
The City Clerks should have a quill,  
To write such learned speeches still,  
As his brave Lordship utters:  
And unto Mr. Alderman  
I give my tail to make a fan,  
My legs unto the Gentleman  
Her usher.   

11.  
I do bequeathe my body's trunk  
Unto good fellows, for the rump  
Desiring that there may be drunk  
Both Claret and Canary.  
I pray you discharge your company,  
All such as shall Recusants be,  
To drink a health in memory  
Of my Bow Goose.   

12.  
My body to the city Cook,  
That lives not far from Pasty-nook,  
That he into my corpse may look,  
And coffin them in past.  
My guts for th' marshal's red face save,  
To wear about his neck so brave,  
That honest Palfrey, the proud slave,  
May swagger.   

13.  
As for my fellow prisoners all,  
That live in debt, and ever shall,  
I do bequeathe perpetual,  
My sad and heavy heart.  
My claws and pinions I do give  
Unto the sergeants and the Sheriff,  
That they may punish those that live  
Indebted.   

14.  
One thing more I do perceive  
Almost forgot, I do bequeathe  
My tongue, which tattling cannot leave  
Unto the City Counsel,  
That they may meditate a truce  
Between the City, and me their Goose,  
For me to be their constant muse  
For ever.   

15.  
That in their Liveries they may call  
The boys from every hospital,  
To sing my solemn funeral,  
With Dirge● to my grave,  
And when my Goose had uttered this,  
Then did my Goose begin to piss,  
And sighing with a harmless hiss,  
Departed.    

The Libertine.  

1.  
Persuade me not, I vow I'll love no more;  
My heart has now ta'en quarter,  
My fetters I'll no more adore▪  
Nor madly run as heretofore.  
To break my freedom's Charter.  
He that once fails, may try again,  
But whoso often fooled has been,  
And still attempts, commits a triple sin,  
He's his own humour's Martyr.  
I'll use my liberty to ●u●  
Abroad, and still be choosing,  
Who would confine himself to one  
That has power of refusing?   

2.  
The unconfined B●e, we see his power  
To kiss and feel each Flower,  
Nor are his pleasures limited,  
To the ruins of one maidenhead,  
Nor ty●d to one's embraces  
But having's will of one, he'll fly  
T'another, and there load his thigh,  
Why shou●d he have more privilege than I,  
Since both are amorous cases?  
D●ffer in this alone, his thighs,  
When he abroad doth roam,  
Laden with spoils, return, but mine  
Come weak and empty home.   

3.  
The selfsame beauty that I've often sworn,  
Dwelled only in my Dearest,  
I see by other Ladies worn,  
Whom the same graces do adorn,  
I like that face that's nearest,  
This I salute, and walk with that,  
With this I sing, with th' other chat,  
I've none to catechise me, where, or what,  
Nor will be tied t' a Quaerist.  
Thus out of all, Pigmalion-like,  
My fancy limns a woman,  
To her I freely sacrifice,  
And rival am by no man.    

A maiden's denial.  
NAy pish! nay phew! nay faith and will you?  
A Gentleman, and use thus! I'll cry.  
Nay, God's body, what means this? nay fie for fie! shame;  
Nay faith away! nay fie! you are too blame;  
Hark! some body comes, hands off, I pray;  
I'll pinch, I'll scratch, I'll spurn, I'll run away.  
Nay faith, you strive in vain, you shall not speed,  
You ma● my Ruff, you hurt my Back, I bleed.  
Look how the door stands open, somebody ●ees;  
Your buttons scratch, in faith you hurt my knees;  
What will men say? Lord, what a coil is here?  
You make me sweat i'faith, here's goodly gear.  
Nay, faith, let me entreat you, if you lift,  
You mar my clothes, you tear my smock, but had I wift  
So much before, I would have shut you out.  
Is it a proper thing you go about?  
I did not think you would have used me this;  
But now I see I took my aim amiss.  
A little thing would make me not be friends:  
You've used me well, I hope you'll make amends;  
Hold still, I'll wip● your face, you sweat amain,  
You have got a goodly thing with all your pain▪  
Alas, how hot am I? what will you drink?  
If you go sweating down, what will men think?  
Remember, Sir, how you hav● used me now,  
Doubtless ere long, I will be meet with you.  
If any man, but you, had used me so▪  
Would I have put it up? in faith, Sir, no.  
Nay go not yet, stay here and sup with me,  
And then at cards we better shall agree.   

The Companion.  

1.  
WHat need we take care for Platoni●k rules,  
Or the Precepts of Aristotle?  
They that think to find learning in Books are but fools,  
True Philosophy lies in the Bottle;  
And a mind  
That's confined  
To the mode of the schools,  
Ne'er arrives at the height of a pottle:  
Let the Sages  
Of our ages  
Keep a talking  
O● our walking  
Demurely, while we that are wiser  
Do abhor all  
That's mortal  
In Plato  
And Cato,  
And Seneca talks like a S●zer.   

Chorus.  
Then let full bowls on bowls be hurled,  
That our jollity may be complete;  
For Man, though he be but a very little world,  
Must be drowned as well as a great.   

2.  
We'll drink till our cheek●s be as starred as the skies,  
Let the pale coloured Students flout us,  
And our noses like Comets set fire on our eyes,  
Till we bear the Horizon about us;  
And if all  
Make us fall,  
Then our heels shall devise  
What the Stars are a-doing without us:  
Let lily  
Go tell y●  
Of wonders  
And thunders.  
Let Astrologers all divine,  
And let Booker  
Be a looker  
Of our natures  
In our features,  
He'll find nothing but Claret in Wine.   

Chorus.  
Then let full bowls, &c.    

On CANARY.  

1.  
OF all the rare juices  
That Bacchus or Phoebus produces,  
There's none that I can, or dare I  
Compare with the princely Canary.  
For this is the thing  
That a fancy infuses,  
The first got a King,  
The next the Nine Muses.  
'Twas this made old Poets so sprightly to sing,  
And fill all the world, with the glory & fame on't,  
They Helicon called it, and the Thespian spring,  
But this was the drink, though they knew not  
the name on't.   

2.  
Our cider and Perry  
May make a man mad, but not merry;  
It makes people windmill pated,  
And with Crotchets suffisticated,  
And your hops, yeast and malt,  
When they're mingled together,  
Make our fancies to halt,  
Or reel any whither:  
It stuffs up our brains with froth and with yeast,  
That if one would write but a verse for a Belman,  
He must study till Christmas for an eight shillings jest;  
These liquours won't raise, but drown or o'erwhelm man.   

3.  
Our drowsy Matheglin▪  
Was only ordained to invegle in  
The Novice that knows not to drink yet,  
But is fuddled before he can think it:  
And your Claret and White  
Have a gunpowder fury,  
They're of the French sprite,  
But they won't long endure you.  
And your Holiday Muskadel▪ Allegant and Tent,  
Have only this property & virtue that's fit in'●,  
They'll make a man s●●ep till a preachment be spent,  
But we neither can warm our blood not our wit in't.   

4.  
The Braggot and Rhinish  
You must with ingredients replenish,  
'Tis Wine to please Ladies and toys with,  
But not for a man to rejoice with;  
But 'tis Sack makes the sport,  
And who gains but the flavour?  
Though an Abbess he court,  
In his high shoes h●'l have her.  
'Tis this that advances the Drinker and Drawer,  
Though the Father come to town in his hobnails and leather,  
He turns it to Velvet, and brings up an heir,  
In the town in his Chain, in the field with his Feather.    

A Song.  

YOu that in love do mean to spo●●,  
Tobacco, Tobacco,  
Take a wench of the meaner sort,  
Tobacco, Tobacco.   

But let her have a comely face  
Like one that comes of Venus' race,  
Then take occasion, time and place  
To give her some Tobacco.   

Your Can with moisture must abound,  
Tobacco, Tobacco,  
Your Bullets must be plump and round,  
Tobacco, Tobacco.   

But if that you do please her well,  
Tobacco, Tobaecco,  
All others than you will excel,  
Tobacco, Tobacco.   

She will be ready at your call,  
And take Tobacco, Pipe, and all,  
So ready will she be to fall  
To taste your good Tobacco.   

Your Stopper must be stiff and strong,  
It must be large and long,  
Or else she swears you do her wrong.  
She scorns your weak Tobacco.    

A Fancy.  
WHen pie-crust first began to reign,  
Cheeseparings went to war,  
Red Herrings looked both blue and wan,  
Green Leeks and Puddings jar.  
Blind Hugh went out to see  
Two Cripples run a race,  
The Ox fought with the Humble Bee,  
And clawed him by the face.   

A Lady's Prayer to Cupid.  
SInce I must needs into thy school return,  
Be pitiful O Love I and do not burn  
Me with desire of cold, and frozen age,  
Nor let me follow a fond Boy, or Page;  
But gentle Cupid give me, if thou can,  
One to my Love, whom I may call a man,  
Of Person comely, and of Face as sweet,  
Let him be sober, secret, and discreet,  
Well practised in Love's school; let him within  
Wear all his hair, and none upon his Chin:   

An ODE.  

1.  
COme noble Nymphs, and do not hide  
The joys for which you so provide,  
If not, to mingle with us men;  
What do you here? go home again:  
Your Dressings do confess,  
By what we see so curious arts  
Of palace and of Parts,  
That you could mean no less:   

2.  
Why do you wear the silk-worms toils,  
Or glory in the shellfish spoils?  
Or strive to show the grains of oar,  
That you have gathered long before,  
Whereof to make a Stoic,  
To graft the green Emrald on,  
Or any better watered stone,  
Or ruby of the Roick.   

3.  
Why do you smell of ambergris,  
Whereof was formed Neptune's niece,  
The queen of Love? unless you can,  
Like sea-born Venus, love a Man:  
Try, put yourself unto'r,  
Your looks, and smiles, and thoughts that meet  
Ambrosian hands, and silver feet,  
Do promise you will do'●.    

A Song.  
MAy not an old age yet sing an April song?  
jug, jug, true, true, sweet notes of Philomela,  
Come Juno! for to thee it doth belong,  
Up in Love's Syngraph, sacred Rites to seal.  
jug, jug, the plain song be of jugal love,  
Descant then true, true, as the Dance is led.  
Virtue will so in a sweet measure move,  
Xanthus his golden arm● shall open spread,  
Embracing fruitful beauty to his bed.  
And to this Song let us sing,  
Echoing, echoing.   

The bridal Night.  
WHy art thou coy (my L●da) art not mine?  
Hath not the holy hymeneal Twine  
Power to contract our Natures? must I be  
Still interposed with needless modesty?  
What though my former passions made me vow,  
You were an Angel; be a mortal now:  
The bridemaids all are vanished, and the crew  
O Virgin Ladies, that did wait on you,  
Have left us to ourselves, as coy to be  
Injurious to our love's wished privacy.  
Come then undress; why blush you? prithee smile;  
Faith I'll disrobe you, nay I will not spoil  
Your Necklace, or your Gorget, here's a pin  
Pricks you; fair Leda 'twere a cruel sin  
Not to remove it; oh how many gates  
Are to Elysium! yet the sweetest Straits  
That e'er made Voyage happy, here's a lace  
Me thinks should stifle you; it doth embrace  
Your body too severely, take a knife,  
'Tis tedious to undo it, by my life  
It shall be cut; let your Carnation Gown  
Be pulled off too, and next let me pull down  
This rosy petticoat; what is this cloud  
That keeps the daylight from us, and's allowed  
More privivilege than I? though it be white,  
'Tis not the white I aim at (by this light)  
It shall go off (too) No: then let' ● alone.  
Come let's to bed, why look you so? here's none  
Sees you but I; be quick, or by this hand  
I'll lay you down myself, you make me stand  
Too long●'th' cold: why do you lie so far?  
I'll fellow you, this distance shall not bar  
Your body from me; oh 'tis well! and now  
I'll let thy virgin's innocence know how  
Kings propagate young Princes, Marriage bed●  
Never destroy, but erect maidenheads.   

A Song.  

AS Colin went forth his sheep to unfold,  
In a morning of April as grey as 'twas cold,  
In a thick●t he heard a voice itself spread,  
Which was, Oh, oh, I am almost dead.   

He peeped in the bushes, and spied where there lay  
His Mistress, whose countenance made April May;  
But yet in her looks some sadness was read,  
Crying Oh, &c.   

He rushed in unto her, & cried what's the matter?  
Ah Colin, quoth she, why will you come at her,  
Who by the false Swain hath oft been mislead?  
To which, Oh, &c.   

He turned her milkpail, and down there he sat,  
H●s hand stroak'd his beard, on his knee hung his hat;  
But yet still Mopsa cried, before aught was said.  
Colin, Oh, oh, &c.   

Be God quoth stout Colin, I ever was true,  
Thou gav'st me a handkerchief all hemmed with blue,  
A pin-box I gave thee, & a girdle so red,  
And yet she cried, Oh, &c.   

Delaying, quoth she, hath made me thus ill,  
I ever feared Sarah that dwelled at the mill,  
Since in the Evenings late her hogs thou hast fed.  
For which, Oh, oh, &c.   

Colin then chuckt her under the chin,  
Clear up, for to love thee I never will lin;  
Qd. she I'll believe it when the Parson has read.  
Till then, Oh, oh, &c.   

ud's bores, quoth Colin, I'll new clout my shoes,  
And ere a week pass, by the mass 't shall be done.  
You might have done before then, she said:  
But now, Oh, oh, &c.   

He gave her a twitch that quite turned her round,  
And said, I am the truest that ere trod on ground,  
Come settle thy milkpail fast to thy head:  
No more Oh, oh, &c.   

Why then I perceive thou'●t not leave me in the lurch,  
I'll don my best clothes, and straight go to Church.  
Jog on merry Colin, jog on before,  
For i'faith, i'faith I'll die no more.    

On an Old Woman.  

YEsterday I heard an old woman s●y,  
She had a great pain in her belly;  
It was and a Cat, which caused that,  
And I am and ashamed to tell ye.   

The old woman she sat by the fire,  
And nobody there to espy her,  
nobody to see, but the cat and she,  
And she pulled her coats up higher.   

She threw her legs asunder,  
And the cat she caught hold under.  
She had a thing there was, so like and a mouse  
That it made the cat to wonder.   

This thing it was not naked;  
For a mouse the cat did take it;  
O still it was so like and a mouse,  
That the cat would not forsake it.   

The old woman she cried out murder,  
And the cat she bit harder and harder,  
Oh quoth she, I fear I shall die  
Before I go any further.   

At this cry the neighbours did enter,  
And their skill and their strength they lent her;  
At length they the cat, with much ado ga●  
From the bottom of th' old woman's venture.   

The old woman she quaked and she quivered,  
and all her body shivered;  
Quoth she I have often been brought to bed,  
But I never was thus delivered.    

A college of Doctors.  

I pray Doctor Argent, a note in ●your margin,  
You are too far to have skill.  
But a little, God knows, doth serve for a Dose,  
Or on Apothecary's bill.   

You Dr. Tenant, that are a great Lieutenant  
Of Doctors with the Scots,  
I could tell you the cause, but I fear good wives paws,  
Far more than your galley-pots.   

And Doctor Taylor, a great prevailer,  
The favour of Ladies to win.  
You tell-tales of pleasure, and to a hair take measure,  
Then put all honesty in.   

And Doctor Rawlins, for all your brawlings,  
You are but a scurvy leech,  
Poor, till 'twas your chance, yourself to advance  
By getting a widow by th' bre●ch.   

Were he not a liar, should say Doctor friar  
Did love flesh more than skin?  
Well now the old fool hath left the close-stool,  
Unto his pupil Gugueen.   

Oh Dr. Elvin, though the hole you delv● in  
Be barren, and yield no fruit;  
'Twas a happy receipt that made you to wait  
On the Black guard without a suit.   

Good Doctor Butler, like a Shefield Cutler,  
Your knife is in every sheath,  
Your brown bread chip fits a Lady's l●p,  
You play not above, but beneath.   

For you Doctor Poe, your physic's so, so,  
You placed your Clifter-pipe wrong,  
Though you cured Mrs. Rich of the lecherous itch.  
In the absence of spruce Mrs. Young.   

Whoop, whoop, Dr. Saul. what news at surgeon's Hall?  
The Simples that you use,  
You had them by rote from you Fathers old note,  
Or some Italian stews.   

I know Doctor Li●ter, were't his own sister,  
Must feel before he heal;  
His reason is this, the pulse, more than piss,  
Infirmity doth reveal.   

And a Doctor may feel, from head unto heel,  
To grope out healths decay;  
Tell him of no shame, AEsculapius did the same,  
Health's honest any way.   

What are you stirring, old Friend, Dr. H●rring?  
'Tis physic to see you squint;  
You creep like a snail, so hard bound ●'th' Tail,  
That you sh●t as hard as a flint.   

How chance Dr. Torris now grown so sour is,  
Waxing weary of his life,  
'Tis because of the horn, why man think no scorn,  
The gain and pain comes by your wife.   

And Dr. Maben gives physi●k to women,  
They nev●r are beguled;  
Pills work apace, and he likes the place,  
That all of them prove with child.   

Then Doctor Jordanus with porridge manus,  
What news at Clerk●nwell:  
Here's physic ●nd●ed, swea●, pu●ge▪ & then bleed  
Most fitly, Doctor farewell.   

What have you got there, friend, Dr. Foster,  
A pricket or a sore;  
Good faith 'tis your wife, now God save your life  
I thought it had been your whore.   

If there be a black Man Dr. Gifford's the man,  
My Muse abhors detractors;  
From such I stand blessed, for bad is the best,  
So farewell ba●dy Doctors.    

A SONG.  

FIne young folly, though you were  
That rare beauty, I did swear,  
Yet you ne'er came near my heart;  
For we Courtiers learn at school  
Only with your sex to fool,  
You are not worth a serious part.   

When I sigh and kiss your hand,  
Cross mine arms, and wondering stand,  
Holding parley with your eye,  
Next to dally with my desires,  
Swear the Sun ne'er shot such ●ires;  
All is but a handsome lie.   

When I eye your curled lace,  
Gentle soul, you think your face  
Straight some murder doth commit,  
When your conscience doth begin  
To grow scrupulous of sin,  
Than I court to show my wit.   

Therefore, Madam, wear no cloud,  
Nor to check my love, grow proud;  
For, in troth, I much do doubt  
'Tis the Powder in your hair,  
Not your breath, perfumes the air:  
'Tis your clothes that set you out.   

Yet for all this truth confessed,  
And I swear I loved in jest:  
When I next begin to court,  
And protest an amorous flame.  
You'll swear I in earnest●am.  
Beldame, this is pretty sport.    

On a Pinte-pot.  

1.  
OLd Poets Hippocrene admire,  
And pray to Water to inspire  
Their muse's birth with heavenly fire?  
Had they this seemly fountain seen,  
Sack both their Well and Muse had been,  
And this Pinte-pot their Hippocrene.   

2.  
Had truly they considered it,  
They had, like me, thought it unfit,  
To pray to Water for their wit,  
And had adored Sack as divine,  
And made a Poet god of wine,  
Then this Pinte-pot had been a shrine.   

3.  
Sack unto them had been instead  
Of Nect●r, and the heavenly Br●●d,  
And every boy a G●nnimed.  
And had they made a God of it,  
And styled it Patron of their wit,  
This Pot had been a Temple fit.   

4.  
Well then (Companions) is't not fit,  
Since to this Gem we owe our wit,  
That we should praise the Cabinet?  
And drink a health to this divine  
mnd bounteour Palace of our wine,  
Die he of thirst that doth repine?    

On his deformed Mistress.  
ANd is not the Queen of Drabs,  
Whose head is periwigged with scabs,  
Whose hair● hangs down in curious flakes,  
Curled and crisped, like gentle snakes,  
The breath of whose perfumed locks  
Would choke the Devil, with a pox,  
Whose dainty twinings did entice  
The whole monopoly of Lice,  
To her, who daily there are fed,  
The goodliest lice that ●re were bred▪  
Her forehead next is to be found,  
Much like a piece of new-ploughed ground,  
Furrowed with stairs, whose winding lead  
Unto the ch●mney of her head.  
The next thing that my muse descries,  
Are the two mill-pits of her eyes:  
Mill-pits, whose depth no height can sound,  
For there the God of Love was drowned,  
On either side there was a sauce,  
An Ear●, I mean kept open house,  
An care which always there did dwell,  
And so the head kept sentinel,  
Which there was set for to descry,  
If any danger there was nigh:  
But I think danger there was bred,  
Which makes them so keep off her head.  
Something I'm sure did cause their fears,  
Which makes them so to hang their cares:  
But hang her ears; Thalia seeks  
To suck the bottles of her cheeks:  
Her cheeks! who●e pride do make them rise,  
Contending to out face her eyes:  
Upon her cheeks I'd longer stay,  
But that her nose calls me away.  
Her nose, on which all beauty s●e,  
Her Indian Ruby nose, that's flat.  
Help Muses now I have begun,  
That like her nose my verse may run.  
Help, Fury's never given to flatter,  
I know her nose affordeth matter:  
For on her nose there hangs, I wot,  
A curious pearl of crystal snot,  
As purely white, as whitest rose,  
A dainty Gem for such a nose.  
But now, methinks, Thalia skip●,  
Intending to salute her lips:  
Although she fears her lips are such,  
'Tis almost p●in of death to touch:  
I'd wish the Devil so much bliss,  
Those, daily to be damned, to kiss.  
But where shall I find words enough  
To rake the kennel of her mouth?  
Whose wryness, with a certain g●●ce  
Sets out the beauty of her face;  
Whose dreaming gapings might affright  
The lust of Incubus at night,  
And Succubus might be afraid  
Hereafter to come near a maid,  
Where out in curiou● postures hung  
The spongy fly-flap of her tongue,  
As if that Nature did contrive  
To hang her, while she was alive.  
Her teeth were fixed like eagle's claws,  
Upon the ruins of her jaws,  
Which there were placed like pikemen tall,  
Something inclining to the fall,  
Whose ripned age did yield them mellow,  
The curious gold was not so yellow.  
I think she took them by descent  
From father Adam, whose intent  
was, that his teeth should be entailed  
Unto his heirs, that never failed.  
Her chin a little lower stands  
Much like the cape of Bon esperance.  
Which Nature kind extended so,  
To point her way when she doth go.  
Come Muses at Apollo's beck▪  
And wreathe a halter for her neck.  
Her neck was next, which might have been  
A fit supporter for her chin.  
But Nature, to supply her lack,  
Has drawn her neck unto her back.   

The hunter's Song.  

1.  
LOng ere the morn  
Expects the return  
Of Apollo, from the ocean Queen,  
Before the creak  
Of the Crow, and the break  
Of the Day, in the Welkin seen,  
Mounted he'd hollow,  
And cheerfully follow  
To the Cha●● with his Bugle cle●r,  
Echo he makes,  
And the mountains shakes  
With the thunder of his career.   

2.  
Now bonny Bay  
In his Son waxeth grey.  
Dapple grey waxeth bay in his blood:  
White L●lly stops,  
W●th the scent in her chops,  
And the black Lady makes it good.  
Poor silly Wat  
In this wretched state,  
Forgets these delights for to hear,  
Nimbly she bounds  
From the cry of the Hounds,  
And the music of their career.   

3.  
Hill●, with the heat  
Of the Gallopers sweat,  
Reviving their frozen ●ops,  
Dales purple flowers  
That springs with the showers,  
That down from the rowels drops,  
Swains their repast  
And Strangers their haste,  
Neglect when the horns they do hear,  
To see a fleet  
Pack of Hounds in a sheet,  
And the Hunter in his career.   

4.  
Thus he careeres,  
Over moors, over meres,  
Over deeps, over downs, over clay,  
Till he hath won  
The noon from the morn,  
And the evening from the day.  
Sports than he ends,  
And joyfully wends  
Home to his Cottage, where  
Frankly he feasts  
Himself and his guests,  
And carouses in his career.    

To his FRIEND; A Censure of the Poets.  
MY dearly loved friend, how oft have we  
In winter evenings, meaning to be free▪  
To some well-chosen place used to retire,  
And there, with moderate meat & wine, & fire,  
Have passed the hours contentedly with chat,  
Now talk of this, and then discourse of that?  
Spoke our own Verses twixt ourselves, if not,  
Other men's lines, which we by chance had got;  
Or some stage pieces, famous long before,  
Of which your happy memory had store:  
And I remember you much pleased were,  
Of those that lived long ago to hear,  
As well as of those of those of later times,  
Who have enriched our Language with their rhymes;  
And in succession how still up they grew,  
Which is the subject that I now pursue:  
For from my cradle, you must know, that I  
Was still inclined to noble poesy;  
And when that once Pueriles I had read,  
And newly had my Cato construed,  
In my sma●l self I greatly mervailed then,  
Amongst all other, what strange kind of men  
Those Po●ts were, and pleased with the name,  
To my mild Tutor merrily I came:  
For I was ●hen a proper goodly Page,  
Much like a P●gmy, scarce ten years of age,  
Clasping my slander arms about his thigh,  
O my dear Master I cannot you, quoth I,  
Make me a Poet? do it, if you can▪  
And you shall see I'll quickly be a man:  
Who me thus answered smiling, Boy, quoth he,  
If you'll not play the wag, but I may see  
You ply your learning, I will shortly read  
Some Poets to you, Ph●bus be my speed.  
To't hard w●nt I, when shortly he began,  
And first read to m● honest Mantuan,  
Then Virgil's Eclogues, being entered thus▪  
Methoughts I straight had mounted Pegasus,  
And in his full career could make him stop,  
And bound upon Parnassus high cleft top:  
Ay scorn●d your Ballad then, though it were done,  
And had for finis, William Elderton.  
But soft in sporting with this childish jest,  
I from my subject have too large digressed.  
Then to the matter that we took in hand,  
Jove and Apollo for the Muses stand,  
That noble Chaucer in those former times,  
That did enrich our English with his rhymes,  
And was the first of ours that ever brak●  
Into the muse's treasure, and first spoke  
In weighty number, d●●ving in the Mine  
Of perfect knowledge, which he could refine,  
And coin for currant, and as much as then  
The English Language could express to men;  
He made to do only his wondrous skill  
Gave us much light from his abundant quill:  
And honest Gower, who in respect of him,  
Had only sipped at Aganippe's brim;  
And though in years this last was him before,  
Yet fell he far short of the others store;  
When after those four ages, very near,  
They with the Muses which conversed were.  
That princely Surrey, early in the time  
Of the eighth Henry, who was in the prim●  
Of England's noble youth, with him there came  
Wyatt with reverence, whom we still do name  
Amongst our Poets. Brian had a share  
With the two former, which accounted are  
The times best makers, and the authors were  
Of those small Poets, which the title bear●  
Of Songs and Sonnets, wherein oft they hit  
On many dainty passages of wit.  
Gascoign and Churchyard after them again,  
In the beginning of Eliza's reign,  
Accounted w●re great metres many a day,  
But not inspired with brave fire, had they  
Lived but a little longer, they had seen  
Their works before them to have buried been.  
Grave Spencer shortly after th●se came on,  
Than whom I am persuaded there was none,  
Since the blind Bard his Iliads up did make,  
Fitter a task like that to undertake  
To set down boldly, bravely to inden●  
In all high knowledge finely excellent.  
The noble Sidney with this last arose,  
That H●ro for Numbers and for Prose,  
That through●y paced our Language▪ 〈◊〉 to show  
That plenteous English hand in hand might go  
With Greek and Latin, and did first reduce,  
Our tongues from Lilly's writing, then in use,  
Talking of Stones, Stars, Plants, of Fishes, Flies,  
Playing with Words and idle Similice,  
As th' English Apes, and very Zanie● be,  
Of every thing that they do hear and see;  
So imitating his ridiculous tricks,  
They speak and write all like mere lunatics.  
Then Warner, though his lines were not so trimmed,  
Nor yet his Poem so exactly limned,  
And neatly jointed; but the critic may  
Easily reprove him, yet thus let me say  
For my old friend, some passages there be,  
In which I do protest ●hat I do see,  
With almost wonder, so fine, clear and new,  
As yet they have been equalled by few.  
N●xt Marlowe bathed in the Thespian springs,  
Had in him those brave translunary things  
That your fi●st Poets had, his raptures were  
All air and fi●e, which made his verses clear;  
For that fine madness still he did retain,  
Which rightly should possess a poet's brain.  
And surely Nash though he a Proser were  
A branch of Laurel, yet deserves to bear  
Sharply satiric was he, and that way  
He went, since that, his being to this day,  
Few have attempted, and I surely think  
Those words shall hardly be 〈◊〉 down in ink.  
Shall scorch and blast, so as his cold, when he  
Would inflict vengeance, and be it said of thee,  
Shakespeare, thou hadst a smooth & comid● vain,  
Fitting the ●ock, and in thy natural brain  
As strange conception, and as clear a rage  
As any one that trafficked with the stage.  
Amongst these Samuel Daniel, whom I  
May speak of, but censure do d●ny▪  
Only have heard some wi●e men him rehearse,  
To be too much Historian in Verse;  
His rhymes were smooth, his Meetres well did close,  
But yet his Mateers better fitted Pr●se.  
Next these, learned Johnson in this List I bring,  
Who had drunk deep of the Pierian spring,  
Whose knowledge did him worthily prefer,  
And long was Lord here of the theatre,  
Who in opinion made our learned to stick,  
Whether in Poems rightly dramatic:  
Strong Seneca or Pla●tus, he or they,  
Should bear the Buskin, or the Sock away.  
Others again, there lived in my days,  
That have of us deserved no less praise  
For their Translations, than the daintiest wit,  
That on Parnassus thinks he high doth sit,  
And for a cha●re may amongst the Muses call,  
As the most curious maker of them all:  
But as reverent Chapman, who hath brought to us  
Musaeus, Homer, and Hesiodus,  
Out of the Greek, and by his skill hath reared  
Them to that height, and to our tongue endeared,  
That were those Poets at this day alive,  
To see their Books, that with us thus survive,  
They would think, having neglected them so long  
They had been written in the English tongue;  
And Silvester, who from the French more weak,  
Made Bartas on his six days' labour, speak  
In natural English, who, had he there been stayed.  
He had done well, and never had bewrayed  
His own invention, to have been too poor,  
Who still writ less, in striving to write more.  
Then dainty Sands, that hath to English done,  
Smooth sliding Ovid, and hath made him one,  
With so much sweetness, and unusual grace,  
As though the neatness of the English pace  
Should tell your setting Latin, that it came  
But slowly after, as though stiff or lame;  
So Scotland sent us hither for our own,  
That man whose name I even would have known  
To stand by mine, that most ingenious Knight,  
My Alexander, to whom in his right,  
I want extremely, yet in speaking thus,  
I do but show that love that was twixt us,  
And not his numbers, which were brave & high,  
So like his mind, was his clear Po●sie:  
And my dear Drummond, to whom much I owe  
For his much love, and proud I was to know  
His poesy, for which two worthy men,  
I Minstry still shall love, and Hauthornden:  
Then Beaumont, Fletcher, and my Brown, arose,  
My dear Companions, whom I freely chose,  
My bosom-friends, and in their several ways  
Rightly born Poets, and in these last days,  
Men of much note, and no less nobler parts,  
Such as to me, as freely could their hearts  
As I turn mine to them, but if you shall  
Say in your knowledge, that these are not all  
Have writ in numbers, be informed that I  
Only wy self to these few men do tie,  
Whose works oft printed, set on every post,  
To public censure, subject have been most;  
For such whose Poems, be they ne'er so rare,  
In private chambers that incloistered are,  
And by transcription daintily must go,  
As though the world unworthy were to know  
Their rich composures, let those men that keep  
These wondrous relics in their judgements deep,  
And cry them up, so let such pieces be  
Spoke of by those that shall come after me:  
I pass not for them, nor do mean to run  
In quest of those, that their applause have won  
Upon our Stages in these later days,  
That are so many; let them have the bays  
That have deserved it; let those wits that haunt  
Those public circuits, may they freely chant  
Their fine composures, and their praise pursue,  
And so (my dear friend) for this time adieu.   

Reasons to Hate.  

Prithee die and set me free,  
Or else be  
Brisk and blithe, and gay like me.  
I pretend not,  
I pretend not to the wise ones,  
To the grave, nor the precise ones.   

Prithee why the room so dark?  
Not a spark,  
For to light me to the mark?  
I'll have daylight, or a candle,  
For to see,  
For to see as well as handle.   

Prithee why these bolts and locks,  
Coats and smock●,  
And these drawers, with a pox?  
I would have, could Nature make it,  
Nakedness,  
Nakedness itself more naked.   

There is neither art nor itch  
In thy breech,  
Nor provoking hand nor speech;  
But when I expect a motion,  
Fast asleep,  
Fast asleep, or at devotion.   

If then a Mistress I must have,  
Wise and grave,  
Let her so herself behave,  
All the day long Susan Civil,  
Pap by night,  
Pap by night, or some such Devil.   

Oh the most unhappy life,  
Full of strife,  
twixt Sir Fredrick and his wife,  
For as true as I'm a sinner,  
They have no  
They have no meat for their dinner.   

Duns his face looks old and ill,  
And yet still  
She struts and paints, and hopes to kill;  
But if 'twere not for her table,  
She were not,  
She were not considerable.   

Take a Lady in the grass,  
Clap her—  
— her well and let her pass;  
Upon the bed then let her tumble,  
Put it in,  
Put it in she'll never grumble.    

King Arthur.  

WHen Arthur first in Court began,  
And was approved King a,  
He bought his wife a peck of m●●l●  
To make a bag pudding a.   

When Arthur first in Court began,  
His men wore hanging sleev●● a,  
If all be true that I have heard,  
They were three errant thieves a.   

The first he was a Miller good,  
The second he was a Weaver a,  
The third he was a tailor good,  
And they were three thieves together a.   

The Miller he stole Grist enough,  
The Weaver he stole Yarn a,  
The tailor he stole good broad cloth  
To keep these three thieves warm a.   

When Arthur first in Court began,  
And was approved King a,  
He kicked the fiddlers out of doors  
Because they could not sing a.    

Constant Affection.  

SEt forty thousand on a row,  
My Love will make the greatest show;  
But I for my part have chosen one,  
And I'll have my Love, or I'll have none.   

I bought my Love a pair of shoes  
As black as jet, with shooties blue;  
She put them on, and away she's flown,  
Yet I'll have, &c.   

Into some far country I'll go,  
And pine myself with care and woe,  
And sigh to think what I have done,  
Yet I'll have, &c.   

For who can love so true as I,  
Who am more than sick, yet cannot die?  
My heart is broke, my delight is gone,  
Yet I'll have, &c.   

And when my love she thus hath tried,  
I'm sure herself she'll ne'er abide,  
But find me out, and bring me home,  
Then I'll have, &c.    

Theodora.  

MY Theodora, Can those eyes,  
From which those glories shine,  
Give light to every soul that pries,  
And only be obscured to mine?  
Who willingly my heart resign,  
Inflamed by you to be your sacrifice.   

Let but one ray enrich my soul,  
And chase this gloomy shade  
That doth in clouds about me roll,  
And in my breast a hell hath made,  
Where fire still burns still flames invade,  
And yet light's power & comfort doth control.   

Then out of gratitude I'll send  
Some of my flames to thee.  
Thus lovingly our wits we'll blend,  
And both in joys shall wealthy be,  
Then Love, though blind, shall learn to see,  
Since you can eyes to me and Cupid land.    

A Song made when King Charles was at Plymouth.  

1.  
A Riddle a Riddle me neighbour John▪  
Whore ich c have late a been a?  
Me c have a been to Plymouth mon,  
The leck was ne'er a zeen a;  
Zuch streets, zuch men, zuch hugiou● zea●,  
And Guns, with things that tumbling,  
Thy sell uvea me, would bless to zee  
Zuch abomination jumbling.   

2.  
The streets o'erlaid with shindle stone,  
Do glysney leck the zea a,  
Brays shops stand open owl day long,  
Ich think a Vare, that be a.  
And many a gallant man there goeth  
In gold, that zaw the King a;  
The King, zom swear, himzell was that,  
A Mon, or zom zuch thing a.   

3.  
Amidst the zeas wear vleeing bird,  
And wooden houzes zwim a,  
As vull of goods, as ich have hard,  
Uvea men up to the brim a:  
the venter to another world,  
Desiring to conquer a,  
For that hugh Guns are devilish ones,  
Do dunder and spa● veer a.   

4.  
Fool, thou that haft no water past,  
But that below the Moor a,  
To zee the zea wouldst be aghast,  
It do so rage and roar a.  
It is so zolt, thy tongue would think  
The veer war in the water;  
It is so wide no lond's espied,  
Look nare so long tharater.   

5.  
Thick water uro the Element,  
None can discern che vor a,  
It zeemeth low, yet owl do ze  
'Tis higher than the Moor a:  
'Tis strange how looking up the cleve,  
Man should look downward rather,  
And if tha ch've not zeet my sell,  
Chud scarce believed my vather.   

6.  
Oh neighbour John, how var is that?  
Our mizzen ●ar Ihill leave a,  
Ihill mop no longer there, that's ulat,  
To wash a zheep, or zeer a,  
Tho it so var as London be,  
Which is ten miles cham magin,  
Ihill thither his, and thick place I,  
Ihill hold in great in dudgine.    

Against Fruition.  
STay here (fond youth) and ask no more, be wise,  
Knowing too much, long since lost Paradise:  
The virtuous joys thou hast, thou wouldst should still  
Last in their pride, and wouldst not take it ill,  
If rudely from sweet dreams, and for some Toy  
Th'wert waked? he makes himself that does enjoy.  
Fruition adds no new wealth, but destroys,  
And while it pleases much, the palate cloys.  
Who thinks he is the happier for that,  
As reasonably might hope he should grow fat.  
By eating unto surfeit this once past,  
What relishes? Even kisses lose their taste:  
Urge not as necessary; alas we know,  
The homeliest thing which mankind does, is so.  
The world is of a vast extent we see,  
And must be peopled; Children than must be,  
So must be bread to, but since there are enough  
Born to the drudgery; what need we plow?  
Women enjoyed, whatsoer's before t'have been  
Are like Romances read, or plays once seen;  
Fruition's dull, and spoils the Play much more,  
Than if we read, or knew the plot before.  
'Tis Expectation makes a Blessing dear,  
It were not heaven, if we knew what it w●re.  
And as in Prospects we are then pleased most,  
When something keeps the eye from being lost  
And leaves us room to guess, to hear restrain●,  
Hold up delight, that with excess would faint.  
They who know all the wealth they have, are poor,  
He's truly rich, that cannot tell his store.   

A SONG.  

ALl you that desire to merry be,  
Come listen unto me,  
And a story I shall tell,  
Which of a Wedding befell,  
Between Arthur of Bradley  
And Winifred of Madly.  
As Arthur upon a day  
Met Winifred on the way,  
He took her by the hand,  
Desiring her to stand,  
Saying I must to thee recite  
A matter of weight,  
Of Love, that conquers Kings,  
In grieved hearts so rings,  
And if thou dost love thy Mother,  
Love him that can love no other.  
Which is Oh brave Arthur, etc   

For in the month of May,  
Maidens they will say,  
A maypole we must have,  
Your helping hand we crave.  
And when it is set in the earth,  
The maids bring syllabubs forth;  
Not one will touch a sup,  
Till I begin a cup.  
For I am the end of all  
Of them, both great and small.  
Then tell me yea, or nay,  
For I can no longer stay.  
With oh brave Arthur, &c.   

Why truly Arthur quoth she,  
If you so minded be,  
My good will I grant to you,  
Or any thing I can do.  
One thing I will compel,  
So ask my mother's good will▪  
Then from thee I never will fly,  
Unto the day I do die.  
Then homeward they went with speed,  
Where the mother they met indeed.  
Well met fair Dame, quoth Arthur,  
To move you I am come hither,  
For I am come to crave,  
Your daughter for to have,  
For I mean to make her my wife,  
And to live with her all my life.  
With oh brave Arthur, &c.   

The old woman shrieked and cried,  
And took her daughter aside,  
How now daughter, quoth she,  
Are you so forward indeed,  
As for to marry he,  
Without consent of me?  
Thou never saw'st thirteen years,  
Nor art no● able, I fear,  
To take any oversight,  
To rule a man's house aright.  
Why truly mother, quoth she,  
You are mistaken in me;  
If time do not decrease,  
I am fifteen years at least.  
With oh brave Arthur, &c.   

Then Arthur to them did walk,  
And broke them of their talk,  
I tell you Dame, quoth he,  
I can have as good as thee;  
For when death my father did call,  
He then did leave me all  
His barrels and his brooms,  
And a dozen of wooden spoons,  
Dishes six or seven,  
Besides an old spade, even  
A brass pot and whimble,  
A pack-needle and thimble,  
A pudding prick and reel,  
And my mothers own sitting wheel;  
And also there fell to my lot  
A goodly mustard pot.  
With oh brave Arthur, &c.   

The old woman made a rep●y,  
With courteous modesty,  
If needs it must so be,  
To the match I will agree.  
For death doth m● call,  
I then will leave her all;  
For I have an earthen flagon,  
Besides a three-quart noggin,  
With spickets and fossets five,  
Besides an old be hive;  
A wooden ladle and mail,  
And a goodly old clouting pail;  
Of a chaff bed I am well sped,  
And there the Bride shall be wed,  
And every night shall wear  
A bolster stuffed with hair,  
A blanket for the bride,  
And a winding sheet beside,  
And hemp, if he will it break,  
New curtains for to make.  
To make all too, I have  
Stories gay and brave.  
Of all the world so fine,  
With oh brave eyes of mine.  
With oh brave Arthur, &c.   

When Arthur his wench obtained,  
And all his suits had gained,  
A joyful man was he,  
As any that you could see.  
Then homeward he went with speed,  
Till he met with her indeed.  
Two neighbours then did take  
To bid guests for his sake;  
For dishes and all such ware,  
You need not take any care.  
With oh brave, &c.   

To the Church they went apace,  
And wished they might have grace,  
After the Parson to say,  
And not stumble by the way;  
For that was all their doubt,  
That either of them should be out.  
And when that they were wed,  
And each of them well sped,  
The Bridegroom home he ran,  
And after him his man,  
And after him the Bride,  
Full joyful at the tide,  
As she was placed betwixt  
Two yeomen of the Guests,  
And he was neat and fine,  
For he thought him at that time  
Sufficient in every thing,  
To wait upon a King.  
But at the door he did not miss  
To give her a smacking kiss.  
With oh brave Arthur, &c.   

To dinner they quickly got,  
The Bride betwixt them sat,  
The Cook to the Dresser did call,  
The young men than run all,  
And thought great dignity  
To carry up Furmety.  
Then came leaping Lewis,  
And he called hard for brews,  
Stay, quoth Davy Rudding,  
Thou go'st too fast with th' pudding.  
Then came Samson Seal,  
And he carried Mutton and Veal;  
The old woman scolds full fast,  
To the Cook she makes great haste,  
And him she did control,  
And swore that the Porridge was cold.  
With oh brave, &c.   

My Masters a while be brief,  
Who taketh up the Beef?  
Then came William Dickins,  
And carries the Snipes & Chickens.  
Bartholomew brought up the Mustard,  
Caster he carried the Custard.  
In comes Roger boor,  
He carried up Rabbet● before:  
Quoth Roger I'll give thee a C●ke,  
If thou wilt carry the Drake.  
Speak not more nor less,  
Nor of the greatest mess,  
Nor how the Bride did carve,  
Nor how the Groom did serve.  
With oh brave Arthur, &c.  
But when that they had dined,  
Than every man had Wine;  
The maids they stood aloof,  
While the young men made a proof,  
Who had the nimblest heel,  
Or who could dance so well,  
Till Hob of the hill fell over,  
And over him three or four,  
Up he got at last,  
And forward about he passed;  
At Rowland he kicks and grins,  
And he William o'er the shi●s;  
He takes not any offence,  
But fleeres upon his wench.  
The Piper he played Fadding,  
And they ran all a g●dding.  
With oh brave Arthur, &c.    

A SONG.  

1.  
THe fourteenth of September  
I very well remember,  
When people had eaten and fed full,  
Many men, they say,  
Would needs go see a Play,  
But they saw a great rout at the red Bull.   

2.  
The Soldiers they came,  
(The blind and the lam●)  
To visit and undo the Players;  
And women without Gowns,  
They said they would have Crowns;  
But they were no good soothsayers.   

3.  
Then Io: Wright they met,  
Yet nothing could get,  
And Tom Iay●' th' same condition:  
The fire men they  
Would ha' made 'em a prey,  
But they scorned to make a petition.   

4.  
The minstrels they  
Had the h●p that day,  
(Well fare a very good token)  
To keep (from the chase)  
The fiddle and the case,  
For the instruments scaped unbroken.   

5.  
The poor and the rich,  
The whore and the bitch,  
Were every one at a loss,  
But the Players were all  
Turned (as weakest) to the wall,  
And 'tis thought had the grea●●st loss.    


You must supppose it to be Easter holidays; for now Sisly and Doll, Kate and Peg, Moll and Nan, are marching to Westminster with two Prentices before them, who go swinging their Muckenders in one hand, and now and then give a wipe to their greasy foreheads: at the door they meet a crowd of Wapping seamen, Kent-street Broom-men, together with the inhabitants of the bankside, with a Butcher or two pricked in among them; There a while they stand gaping for the Master of the Show; presently they hear the keys ring, which rejoices them more than the sound of the Pancake-bell; and he peeping over the sp●kes, and beholding such a learned Auditory, opens the gates of Paradise, and by that time they are half got into the first chapel (for you must consider they cannot go all in at once, and the man he's in haste) he lifts up his voice among the Tombs, and begins his lurry in manner and form following.   


HEre lies William de Valence,  
A right good Earl of Pambroke,  
And this is his Monument which you s●●,  
I'll swear upon a Book.   

He was High marshal of England,  
When Harry the third did reign  
Full out four hundred years from hence,  
But he'll ne'er be so again.   

Here the Lord Edward Talbot lies,  
The Earl of Shrewsbury,  
Together with his Countess fair,  
Whom he did ocupy.   

The next to him there lieth one  
Sir Richard Peckeshal hight,  
Of whom we always first do say,  
He was a Hampshire Knight.   

And now to tell you more of him  
There lies under this Stone  
His two wives, and his daughters four,  
Of whom I knew not one.   

Sir Bernard Brockhurst there doth lie,  
Lord Chamberlain to Queen Anne,  
She was Richard the second queen,  
And he was King of England.   

Sir Francis Hollis; the Lady Francis,  
The sam● was Suffolk's Duchess,  
Two children of Edward the third,  
Here lie in Death's cold clutches.   

This is King Edward the third's brother,  
Of whom our Records tell  
Nothing of note, nor say they whether  
He be in heaven or hell.   

This same is John of Eldeston,  
And he was Earl of Cornwall,  
This is the Lady Phillis Mohun,  
No doubt but she made horns well.   

At first she was Duchess of York,  
And then the Wife also  
Of Edward Duke of York: and this  
Two hundred and thirty years ago.   

The Lady Anne Rosse, but note ye well,  
That she in Childbed died;  
The Lady Marquess of Winchester  
Lies buried by her side.   

Now think your penny will spent good folks,  
And that you are not beguiled,  
Within this cup doth lie the heart  
Of a French Embassador's child.   

Nor can I tell how it came to pass,  
On purpose, or by chance,  
The bowels they lie underneath,  
The body is in France.   

The Countess of Oxford & her mother,  
The good old Lady Bourleigh,  
And that's her daughter, another Countess,  
Asunder these not far lie.   

These once were bonny Dames; and though  
There were no coaches then,  
Yet they their breeches jogged themselves,  
Or had them jogged by men.   

But woe is me, those high-born sinners  
That wont to work so stoutly,  
Are now laid low, and 'cause they can't,  
Their Statues pray devoutly.   

This is the Duchess of Somerset,  
The Lady Anne by name,  
Wife to the Duke of Somerset,  
Duke Edward of great fame.   

She lived in Edward the sixt's time,  
So long ago 'twas since,  
How long ago was that, I pray?  
Her Husband protected the Prince.   

And underneath this stone doth lie  
Sir Robert Cecils L●dy low.  
Mother to th' Earl of Salisbury;  
And then cried one, It may be so:   

In this fair Monum●nt which you see  
Adorned with so many pillars,  
Doth lie the Countess of Buckingham  
And her Husband, Sir George Villers.   

To the late Duke of Buckingham,  
(We ne'er spoke of his Brother)  
This old Sir George was Grandfather,  
And the Countess his Grandmother,   

Sir Robert Eatam a Scotch Knight,  
And he was Secretary  
To both of our late Queens so great,  
Queen Anne, and then Queen Mary.   

This was the Countess of Lenox,  
icleped the Lady Margot,  
She was King Iames's Grandmother,  
Which Death I doubt did forget.   

This was Queen Mary, Queen of Scots,  
By more than her husband bedded▪  
King Iames's Grandmother at the Castle  
Of Fothringham beheaded.   

The Mother of Henry the seventh  
This is, that lieth hard by;  
She was the Countess, know ye well,  
Of Richmond and Darby.   

Henry the seventh here doth lie,  
With his fair Queen beside him,  
He was the Founder of this chapel,  
Oh may no ill betide him!   

Therefore his modesty's in bras●,  
The cost was ne'er the less;  
The Duke of Richmond and Lenox,  
Lies there with his Duchess.   

And here they stand upright in a press,  
With bodies made of wax,  
With a globe and a wand in either hand  
And their robes upon their backs.   

General Ireton and his Lady  
Are here the spoils of Death;  
And also two of his children;  
This must be said in a breath.   

Here lies the Duke of Buckingham,  
And the Duchess his wife,  
Whom Felton stabbed at Portsmouth town,  
And so he lost his life.   

Two children of King James these are,  
Nor do our Records vary,  
Sophia in the cradle lies,  
And this is the Lady Mary.   

And this is Queen Elizabeth,  
How the Spaniards did infest her;  
Her Body's here buried with Queen Mary,  
And now she agrees with her Sister,   

Old Devereux, Earl of Essex,  
Stands there with his Buff coat,  
The Parliaments first general,  
And very stoutly he fought.   

To another chapel now come we;  
Tho people follow and chat.  
This is the Lady Cottington,  
And the people cry, WHO's THAT?   

This is the Lady Francis Sidney,  
The Countess of Sussex is she,  
And this the Lord Dudley Carleton is,  
And then they look up and see.   

Sir Thomas Bromley lieth here,  
And eight of his children,  
Four daughters, and four sons also,  
Both women grown and men.   

The next is Sir John Fullerton,  
And this is his Lady I trow,  
And this is Sir John Puckering,  
With his fine Bed-fellow.   

That in the middle is th' Earl of Bridgewater,  
Who makes no use of his bladder,  
Although his Countess lie so near him:  
And so we go up a ladder.   

King Edward the first a gallant blade,  
Lies underneath this Stone;  
And this is the chair which ●e did bring,  
A good while ago, from Scone,   

In this same Chair, till now of late,  
Our Kings and Queens were crowned;  
under this Chair another stone  
Doth lie upon the ground.   

On that same stone did Jacob sleep,  
Instead of a Down pillow;  
And after that 'twas hither brought  
By some good honest fellow.   

King Richard the second he lies here;  
And his first Queen, Queen Anne.  
Edward the third lies here hard by,  
Oh he was a gallant man.   

For this was his two-handed Sword,  
A blade both true and trusty,  
With which he conquered France; cries one,  
Good Sir 'tis very rusty.   

Feel but the weight on't in your hand;  
Who now with this can fight?  
And then the petticoats and waistcoats,  
Do wonder at his might.   

Here a lies again with's Queen, Queen Philip,  
A Dutch woman by Record,  
But that's all one, for now alas,  
His P-'s not so long as his Sword.   

King Edward the Confessor lies  
Within this Monument fine;  
This Monument was made before  
William the Conqueror's time.   

There lies Harry the fifth, and there  
Doth lie Queen Elinor;  
She was Edward the first's wife,  
Which is more than ye knew before.   

Henry the third here lies ●n●omb'd  
He was Herb John in Pottage,  
Little he did, but still reigned on,  
Although his sons were at ag●.   

Fifty six years he reigned King,  
Ere he the Crown would lay by,  
Only we praise him, 'cause he was  
Last builder of the Abbey.   

There's General Popham, and his Lady,  
A very fine device a,  
If more ye ask concerning him,  
The D. a jot can I say.   

Here Thomas Cecil lies, who's that?  
Why 'tis the Earl of Exeter,  
And this his Countess is; Good Lady,  
To die how it perplexed her.   

Here Henry Cary, Lord Hunsdon rests,  
Though a makes a noise with his name;  
This man was Chamberlain unto  
Queen Elizabeth, of great fame.   

And here one William Colchester  
lies, of a certainty,  
An Abbot he was of Westminster,  
And he that says no, doth lie.   

This is the Bishop of Durham,  
Much bigger than a fairy,  
Henry the seventh loved him well,  
And made him his Secretary.   

Sir Thomas Ruthal, what of him?  
Poor Gentleman, not a word,  
Only they buried him here; but now  
Behold that man with a sword.   

Humphrey de Bohun, who though he were  
Norborn with me in the same town,  
Yet I can tell he was Earl of Essex,  
Of Hereford, and Northampton.   

He was High Constable of England,  
As History well expresses,  
But now pretty maids be of good cheer,  
We're going up to the Presses.   

And now the Presses open stand,  
And ye see them all a row,  
But more is never said of these,  
Than what is said below.   

Henry the seventh and his fair Queen,  
Edward the first and his Queen,  
Henry the fifth here stands upright,  
And his good wife was this queen,   

The noble Prince, Prince Henry,  
King Iames's eldest Son,  
King James, Queen Anne, Qu. Elsabeth,  
And so this Chappel's done.   

Now down the stairs come we again,  
The man goes first with a staff,  
Perchance one tumbles down two steps,  
And then they all do laugh.   

This is the great Sir Francis Vere,  
That so the Spaniards curried;  
Four Colonels support his Arms,  
And here h●s bodies buried.   

That Statu against the wall with one eye,  
Is Major general Norrice;  
He beat the Spaniards cruelly,  
As is affirmed in Stories.   

His six sons there hard by him stand,  
Each one was a Commander,  
And played such pranks as ne'er was known,  
To rescue the Hollander.   

And there doth Sir George Hollis rest,  
Brother to th' Earl of Clare,  
For which when first they tell me,  
One louse I do not care.   

But he hath something else to fame him,  
For he was Major general  
To Sir John Norrice, that brave blade.  
And so they go to dinner all.   

For now the show is at an end,  
All things are done and said;  
The Citizen pays for his wife,  
And the Prentice for the maid.   

When th' are got out, they stare about,  
And they spy against the wall  
One with a pole-ax in his hand,  
The greatest fool of all.   

For he his Land did give away,  
But no man knows wherefore,  
And he made the commonwealth his heir,  
Like Flora the great Whore.     

A pastoral Song.  

1.  
A Silly poor shepherd  
was folding his sheep,  
He walked so long,  
he got cold in his feet,  
He laid on his coals  
by two and by three,  
The more he laid on  
The cuckolder was he.   

2.  
But alas, good wife  
what shall we do now?  
To buy some more fuel  
We'll sell the brown cow,  
To buy some more coals,  
to warm thee and me;  
But the more he laid on  
the cuckolder was he.   

3.  
Some shepherds, quoth she,  
themselves can warm keep,  
By fleecing their flock,  
and by folding their sheep,  
But when you come home  
with your tar-box & crook,  
It grieves me to see  
how cuc-cold you do look.   

4.  
Alas (wife) I walk  
through dew, dirt and mire,  
While you perhaps warm  
Yourself without fire,  
With a friend in a corner,  
in such a sort, as whereby,  
The warmer you are,  
the cuckolder am I.    

A Medly.  

1.  
I sowed my Seed  
In a pleasant Field,  
And it grew apace;  
A blessed Harvest  
There was found,  
To my disgrace;  
And for to reap it I durst not stay.  
My seed is sown,  
I'm overthrown,  
I must run away.   

2.  
To climb a tree  
Where no boughs be,  
But smooth withal.  
I fain would enter,  
But I dare not venture  
For fear of fall.  
But above her knees Sir you may not go,  
For being a stranger,  
You may not ranger,  
There will come danger in climbing so.   

3.  
Her milk white breast,  
So neatly dressed,  
And all things neat,  
Her leg and foot,  
And all things to't,  
Were made complete,  
With her yellow hair, sir, when she wa● young  
That when I kissed her,  
Her eyes did glister  
As 'twere the Sun.    

A Medly.  

COme all you Maids that list to marry,  
And you that husband's want,  
I wish you not long to tarry,  
For Husbands are grown scant.   

Some are grown provident,  
And others all for riches,  
That well is she that is content  
With the linings of one's—.   

Breed up your children to school,  
For that's the best way to teach you●●  
And let them not play the fool,  
But let them consider the truth.   

For girls they will caper and kick,  
Oh how they will range about,  
And a wench that is fifteen years old  
Good Lord how she longs for a—   

Prick her out her work,  
And let her bonelace weave.  
For when that you most think of them,  
They will you most deceive.   

And you shall never gain a penny,  
But still they will be plucking▪  
And think that they shall never have  
Their bellies full of—.   

Furmity is dainty cheer,  
And Fish it must be spent Sir,  
But H. doth swear he'd rather have  
The belly of a pretty—.   

Wenches ye do me great wrong.  
Which makes me the rougher to wrinkle,  
And had I not been very strong.  
She had caught fast hold of my—.   

Pinching doth not go by strength,  
Therefore you must leave off Sir,  
If you had seen her lie at length,  
Than you had seen brave sport Sir.   

Brave Jack of Winchester had a fine dog,  
The finest that ever was seen,  
He gave it to his Mistress  
To bear her company.   

This Dog was u●'d to run by her side,  
When she was going to hunt,  
And all the night long it lay in the bed  
A lick●ng about her—.   

Come hu●band, away with this filthy cur,  
It makes my flesh to rise,  
He left off all, and to her did fall,  
And slipped between her—   

Thine or mine, for a pint of wine,  
And we'll have it for supper:  
Had you but seen her stretched at length,  
How strongly he did— her.    

The jovial Tinker.  

THere was a Lady in this Land,  
She loved a Gentleman,  
She could not tell what excuse to make  
To have him now and then.   

But writ a Letter to him,  
And sealed it with her hand,  
Bid him become a Tinker,  
To clout both pot and pan.   

And when he had the Letter,  
Full well he could it read,  
His Brass and his Budget  
Then straight did he provide.   

His Hammer and his Pinsors,  
And well they did agree,  
With a long Club on his back,  
And orderly came he.   

And when he came to th' Lady's gates  
He knocked most hastily●  
Then who is there, the Porter says,  
That knocks thus ruggedly?   

I am a ●oviall Tinker,  
And I work for gold and fee,  
If you have any broken brass  
Bring it here unto me.   

I am the joviallest tinker  
Betwixt this town and London,  
At mending of a pot or pan,  
Or clouting of a cauldron.   

My Brass is in my Budget,  
And my Rivets under my Apron,  
I pray you tell her Ladysh●p  
I am come to clout her cauldron.   

Madam yond is the strongest tinker  
Betwixt this town and London,  
He prays me tell your Ladyship  
He is come to clout your cauldron.   

O go thy ways good Porter,  
And let the tinker in,  
For I have work for him to do,  
And money he may gain.   

And when he came into the hall,  
Upon him she did wink,  
Says take him into the buttery,  
And make the knave to drink.   

Such meat as we do eat, she says,  
And such drink as I use,  
For it is not any tinker's guise  
Good liquour to refuse.   

She took the Tinker by the hand,  
Her work for him to show,  
And down fast by the cauldron side  
Laid he the Lady low.   

And gave to her a hammer  
All in her hand to knock—  
That her own wedded Lord might think  
The Tinker was at work.   

She put her hand into her purse,  
And plucked out five good Mark,  
Said, take thee this good Tinker,  
And for thy good days work;   

She took the Tinker by the hand,  
Her wedded Lord to show,  
Says, here is the joviallest tinker  
That ever I did know.   

This is the joviallest tinker,  
And the dearest of his work,  
For he'll not drive a nail to th' head,  
But he must have a Mark.   

If you had been so wise Mad●m,  
As I had thought you had been,  
Before you had set him on work  
You would have agreed with him.   

Pray hold your peace, good wedded Lord,  
Think not of his work too dear,  
For if you could do it but half so well,  
'Twould save forty Mark a year.   

And be not thou too long tinker,  
And look not for any sending,  
For if thou stay too long away  
My cauldron will want mending.    

The admirable Song of Tom and Will.  

TOm and Will were shepherds swains,  
Who loved and lived together.  
When fair Pastora graced their Plain●,  
Alas, why came she thither?   

For though they fed two several Flocks,  
They had had but one Desire;  
Pastora's eyes and Amber locks  
Set both their hearts on fire.   

Tom came of a gentle race,  
By father and by mother;  
Will was noble, but (alas)  
He was a younger brother.   

Tom was toysom, Will was s●d,  
No Huntsman nor no Fowler;  
Tom was held the properer lad,  
But Will the better bowler.   

The scorching flames their hearts did bear,  
They could no longer smother,  
Although they knew they rivals were,  
They still loved one and other.   

The scorching flames their heat did bear,  
They could no longer smother,  
Although they knew they rivals were,  
They still loved one another.   

Tom would drink her health, and swear▪  
This Nation could not want her;  
Will would take her by the hair,  
And with his voice enchant h●r.   

Tom kept always in her sight,  
And ne'er forgot his duty,  
Tom was witty, and could write  
Sweet Sonnets on her beauty.   

Thus did she handle Tom and Will,  
Who both did dot● upon her,  
For graciously she used them still,  
And still preserved her honour.   

Yet she was so sweet a S●e,  
And of so sweet behaviour,  
That Tom thought he, and Will thought he  
Was chiefest in her favour.   

Pastora was a lovely Lass,  
And of a comely feature,  
Divinely good and fair she was,  
And kind to every creature.   

Of favour she was provident,  
And yet not over-sparing,  
She gave no less encouragement,  
Yet kept men from despairing.   

Which of these two she loved best,  
Or whether she loved either,  
'Tis thought they will find it to their cost,  
That she indeed loved neither.   

She dealt her favours equally,  
They both were well contented;  
She kept them both from jealousy,  
Nor easily prevented.   

Tale▪ telling fame hath made report  
Of fair Pastora's beauty,  
Pastora's sent for to the Court,  
There to perform her duty.   

Unto the Court Pastora's gone,  
It had been no Court without her,  
Our Queen 'mongst all her train hath none,  
Nor half so fair about her.   

Tom hung his dog, and threw away  
His sheephook and his wallet;  
Will burst his pipes, and cursed the day  
That ere he made a Sonnet.   

Their ninepins and their bowls they broke,  
Their joys were turned to tears,  
'Tis time for me an end to make,  
Let them go shake their ears.    

A Song.  

1.  
CLoris forbear a while, do not o'erjoy me;  
Urge not another smile, le●t thou destroy me.  
That beauty pleaseth most, and is soonest taken,  
Which is soon won, soon lost, kindly forsaken.  
I love a coming Lady, faith I do,  
And now & then would have her scornful too.   

2.  
O cloud those eyes of thine; bo-p●ep thy feature,  
Warmed with an April slime, scorch not the creature.  
Thus to display thy ware; thus to be fooling,  
Argues how rude you are in Cupid's schooling.  
Disdain begets a shent, scorn, draws me nigh,  
'Tis 'cause I would, and can't make me try.   

3.  
Cloris I would have thee wise, when Gallants woo thee,  
And courtship thou despise, fly those pursue thee.  
Fast moves an appetite, make hunger greater,  
What's stinted oft delights, falls to the better▪  
Be kindly coy betimes, be smoothly rough,  
And buckle now and then, and that's enough.    

A Song.  

1.  
UNderneath the Castle wall  
The Queen of Love sits mourning  
A tiring of her golden hair,  
Her red-rose cheek adorning;  
With a lily-white hand she smote her breast,  
And said she was quite forsaken,  
With that the Mountains fell a leaping,  
And the fiddlers fell a qu●king.   

2.  
Underneath a rotten hedge  
The pedlar's wife sits shiting,  
A tearing of a Cabadge leaf,  
Her shitten arse a wiping.  
With a coal black hand she wiped her arse,  
And said her fingers were beshit●en;  
With that the mountains stood still,  
And the fiddlers fell a spitting.   

3.  
The first beginning was, Sallingers' Round,  
Where the Cow leapt over the moon,  
And the good wife sh●● in the pisspot,  
And the cream ran into her shoes.  
With hay stitch your nose in her breech,  
And turn about knaves all three,  
And we'll have another as good as the tother,  
If you'll be rul●d by me.   

4.  
My sister went to market  
To buy her a taffety hat,  
Before she came there her arse lay bare,  
Lay you your lips to that.  
hay stitch, your nose, &c.   

5.  
The fiddler played his wife a dance,  
And there sprang up a rose,  
The Butcher bit his wife by the arse,  
And she beshit his nose.  
hay stitch, your nose, &c.   

6.  
Cicely shit in the woodyard,  
And it flew East and West,  
Cicely shit in the woodyard,  
And the plainest way was best.  
It was well known to all her friends  
She made good pudding-pies,  
Up she start and let a fart,  
The syrup ran down her thighs.   

7.  
Fortune my foe hath stolen away my Bacon,  
And powdered Beef and Mustard my mouth hath quite forsaken;  
Which makes me fall unto my Bread & Cheese;  
O help strong Beer & Ale, or else my life I lose.    

A Song in the praise of ALE.  

NOr drunken nor sober, but neighbour to both  
I lately walked down in a dale,  
A friend by the way desired me to stay,  
And speak in the praise of a pot of good Ale.   

But yet to commend it I dare not begin,  
Lest thereby my judgement may happen to fail,  
Because many men do account it a sin  
To speak in the praise of a pot of good Ale.   

But yet by your leave, when troubles arise,  
And sorrow and care the heart doth assail,  
The best help to be found is to toss the pot round,  
And to wash away care with a pot of good Ale.   

It m●kes a man merry, and full of conceits,  
And as good as a Piper, where music doth fail;  
He that soundly drinks, no harm ever thinks;  
But loves to commend a pot of good Ale.   

The old wife whose teeth wag as fast as her tail,  
Though old age by nature be feeble and frail,  
She'll frisk & she'll fling, and she'll make the house ring,  
If sh● be but inspired with a pot, &c.   

The Ploughman, the labourer, the Thresher likewise,  
That worketh all day for a groat with his flail●,  
Speaks of no less things, then of Queens and of Kings,  
If he once be inspired with a pot, &c.   

The man that hath a black blous to his wife,  
In her face as much favour as is in her tail  
When he comes home at night, will swear she shines bright,  
If he shine first with a pot, &c.   

With that my friend said to me, come let us go,  
Thy long staying here hath made thee look pale;  
we'll have six pots more though we die on the score.  
And so they went back to the pot of good Ale.    

How Daphne pays his Debts.  

DAphne was Poet to the Queen,  
And he caught her by the money;  
But afterwards he met with a Lass,  
And he caught her by the coney.   

She felt him please her then so well,  
For he was in his prime,  
She see a mark upon his face,  
To know him another time.   

He feeling England then so hot,  
In England would not tarry,  
But made him a bark, to Maryland  
All his estate to carry.   

This bark was taken by a frigate;  
Where was poor Daphne then?  
For Daphne, you know, could never fight,  
And I doubt none of his men.   

Then Daphne to the Tower must go,  
Where he did fall to writing  
The life and death of a certain King,  
That did delight in fighting.   

But city Dun distur'b him then,  
And cri●s, Discharge your debt sir,  
But he replied with cap in hand,  
I beg your patience you sir.   

My patience yet, quoth he again,  
Why how long shall y● stay?  
But unto this months and, quoth he.  
But he meant until doom's day.   

From Cou●try than another came,  
And payment him bese●ches,  
But Daphne only makes a leg,  
And gives him some fai● speeches.   

Quoth ●e, I now have made my book,  
A famed heroic Poem,  
For which I'm promised so ●●ny pounds,  
That I know not where to bestow 'em.   

But when this book it did come forth  
As some have given ●●i●●ing,  
The gains of his pitiful Poetry  
Scarce paid for paper & printing   

At the month's end they come again,  
Molesting him like Devils.  
Well now I'll pay ye all, quoth he,  
I must be master o'th' Revels.   

The State hath promised this to me,  
As the Clerk of the Parliament saith,  
And I hope that you will do as I do,  
Believe the Publiqve FAITH.   

Already I have hired a house,  
Wherein to sing and dance;  
And now the Ladies shall have Masques  
Made a la m●d●de France.   

This house was apothecary's Hall,  
I tell to him that asks;  
Because of a meeting that was there,  
Which he said was one of his Masques.   

If there you find him not come to S. Ione●'s,  
Where his next house is hiring,  
And if you come quickly, you shall see  
The Players themselves attiring.   

For surely he doth play, but must  
Be watched like Bacon's head,  
Time is, Time was, but still you come  
When the Time past is said.   

I can tell y' of more of's houses, one  
In fields of Lincoln's inn,  
Another in Drury Lane: and thus  
Daphne will never lin—.   

Thus little you think that Daphne hath  
A Play with you begun,  
Which is the cause you interrupt him,  
Ere the fifth Act be done.   

Now the fifth Act is never done,  
Till th' Exit all fulfil;  
Let him but make his Exit first,  
And then do what you will.   

Yet Daphne, if they still molest thee,  
Faith, in the mind I'm in,  
I'd do as Players use to do,  
Pay my great sums in tin.   

Or as that you do play with them.  
Think that they play with you,  
Conceit you owe them nought, you know  
How much Conceit will do.   

Now in these houses he hath men,  
And clothes to make them trim;  
For six good friends of his laid out  
Six thousand pounds for him.   

Then Daphne he will get at least  
A hundred pounds a day:  
Why I think the Devil's in you all,  
Can't you one minute stay?   

If this won't do, but ye resolve  
With bailiffs for to founder him,  
Yet let this blunt your cholers edge,  
Ye shall have places under him;   

His Landlord he shall have a copy  
Of some new Masque, or so,  
For which though he may largely crave,  
Let him use some conscience though.   

The tailor shall the wardrobe keep,  
And now and then steal a suit,  
Draper shall keep the half Crown boxes  
For Gentlemen of repute.   

His Landress, 'cause she washes well,  
And kisses with a good smack o,  
Shall have a Shedd wherein to sell  
Strong Ale and foul Tobacco.   

Nor ben't such Infid●lls to think  
This time will ne'er be found;  
For he that builds castles in the air  
Can build a house o'th' ground.   

Therefore pray set your hearts at rest,  
And do not wrack the poor,  
But if he pay not in two years' time,  
I'll ne'er speak for him more.    

Willy is gone to the Wood. A SONG.  

WIlly's gone to the wood, to the wood, to the wood.  
Willy's gone to the wood, thither go I;  
And if thou wilt lay me down, lay me down, lay me down,  
If thou wilt lay me down, loud will I cry,  
Oh, oh, of, oh, oh, of, oh, oh, of, oh, oh,  
Oh my Love, oh my Love;  
Who leads such a life like to Willy and I?   

Willy rides all the night, all the night, all the night,  
Willy rides all the night, he cannot lie,  
But he must see his Love, kiss his Love, woo his Love,  
But he must feel his Love as he pass by.  
With oh, oh, &c.  
None leads a life like to Willy and I.   

I met with my Love a-going to a fair,  
He kindly embraced me, asked what I did there;  
Then presently I told him, I would not him deny,  
For I will love Willy until I die.  
With oh, oh, &c.  
Who is so quaint as Willy and I?   

I met with Willy i'th' midst of the green,  
He told me he loved me, yet would not be seen,  
Then sweetly he laid me down, I cried oh fie, fie, fie,  
For I love Willy until I die.  
With oh, oh, &c.  
None leads a life like to Willy and I.    

A Song.  

YOu young men that want skill in wooing,  
And have a desire to be wed,  
Take council of me in your doing,  
For fear lest you should be m●sled.   

Do not my kind proffer refuse,  
'Twill never you deceive,  
'Twill teach you what woman to choose,  
And what creature you'd best for to leave.   

In the first place I do you advise,  
Take one nor too high nor too low,  
But according unto your own size,  
That you may her true qualities know.   

Take one nor too young, nor too old,  
Take one nor too fat nor too lean;  
'Tis a bad thing to meet with a scold,  
'Tis a worse thing to meet with a quean.   

Nor take not one that's too proud,  
Nor one that's a du●ty foul slut;  
The one the will babble too loud,  
And the other will poison the gut.   

Chiefly I would wish you beware  
A wench with a rolling eye;  
For she that will cozen and swear,  
Will also dissemble and lie.   

She that has her hair a bright yellow,  
And tresses like weavers of gold,  
If she meet with some pretty fellow,  
Her husband may chance be cuckold.   

But she that's by nature composed  
With round cherry cheeks and red hair,  
If she be pinks eyed and long nosed,  
Believe it she's dangerous ware.   

It is not all gold that doth glister,  
Nor 'tis not all lead that looks dull,  
For Venus, the fairest of Sisters,  
Made Vulcan her husband a gull.   

So often times beautiful Lasses  
Do jeer their poor husbands with scorn,  
And cunningly break all their glasses,  
And make them drink out of a horn.   

But the bonny wench with the brown brow,  
Oh she is a good one indeed,  
She will be true to her vow,  
I wish we had more of the breed.    

A Song.  

1.  
DId I once say that thou wert fair,  
And that thy breath perfumed the air?  
Did I commit Idolatry,  
And court thee as a Deity?  
Oh Caelia! then sure I was blind,  
Or else it was 'cause thou wer● kind.   

2.  
Did I once beg a wanton kiss,  
And thought there was no other bliss?  
Did I all other objects fly●  
To live i●th' Sunshine of thine eye?  
'Tis true, I did; but Caelia then  
Restored to me as much ag●n.   

3.  
Now Caelia's changed▪ and so am I,  
And love feeds upon vanity,  
My constant tho●ghts could never find  
The pleasures of a fickle mind▪  
Till thy example did invite  
My appetite with new delight    

A SONG.  

SUre 'twas a dream, how long fond man have I  
Been fooled into captivity?  
My Newgate was my want of wit,  
I did myself commit the bonds I knit;  
I my own g●oler was, the only foe  
That did my freedom disallow:  
I was a prisoner 'cause I would be so.   

But now I will shake my chains, and prove  
Opinion built the gaol of love,  
Made all his bonds, gave him his bow,  
His broken arrows too, which murder so.  
Nay all these darts idle Lovers dream,  
Were all composed to make a theme  
For some carousing Poet's drunken flame.   

'Twas a fine life I led, when I did dress  
Myself, to court your peevishness;  
When I did at your footstool lie,  
Expecting from your eye to live or die.  
Now smiles or frowns, I care not which I have,  
Nay rather than I'll be your slave,  
I'll woo the plague to send me to the grave.   

Now I can stand the salleys of your eyes,  
In vain are all your b●tteries.  
Nor can that low dissembling smile,  
Nor that bewitching stile longer beguile,  
Nor those heart-traps, which you each renu●  
To all those witchcrafts, and to you  
For evermore I'll bid adieu.    

An Epitaph on John Taylor, who as born in the City of Gloucester, died in phoenix Alley, in the 75. year of his age; you may find him, if the worms have not devoured him, in Covent Garden Church-yard.  
HEre lies John Taylor, without rhyme or reason,  
For death struck his Muse in so cold a season,  
That Jack lost the use of his Scullers to row,  
The chill pale R●seal would not let his boat go.  
Alas poor Jack Tailor, this 'tis to drink ale,  
With nutmegs and ginger, with a toast, though stale:  
It drench thee in rhymes: hadst thou been of the pack,  
With Draiton and Johnson to qu●ff off thy Sack,  
They'd infu●'d thee a Genius should ne'er expire,  
And have thawed thy Muse with Elemental fi●e.  
Yet still for the honour of thy sprightly wit,  
Since some of thy Fanc●es so handsomely hit;  
The Nymphs of the Rivers for thy relation  
Surnamed thee the Water-po●t of the nation▪  
Who can write more of thee, let him do'● for me,  
A pox take all Rim●ro, Jack Taylor, but thee.  
Weep not Reader, if thou canst choose,  
Over the Stone of so merry a Muse.   

Another from the university.  
HEre lies neither Constable, justice, nor jailor,  
No bailie, nor Catch-poll, but honest John Tailor;  
Whose name is not graven on Marble columns,  
But lives in his own four hundred volumes,  
Where women and men, and children may know it,  
That he was this Islands chief Water-Poet,  
Who being overwhelmed, by Death's power felt like one,  
Not drowned in Lethe, but in Helicon▪  
And since he's not living, but surely is dead,  
In Covent-gard●n Church-yard he lies buried.   

A SONG.  

1.  
OH ho boys, soh ho boys,  
Come away boys,  
And bring me my longing desire;  
A lass th●t is near,  
And can do the feat,  
When lusty young blood is on fire.   

2.  
Let her body be tall,  
And her wast●●e but small,  
And her age not above fifteen;  
Let her fear for no bed,  
But let us here spread  
Our mantle upon the Green.   

3.  
Let her have a cherry lip,  
Where I Nectar my sip,  
Le● her eyes ●e as black as a ●low;  
Tangling locks I do love,  
So those that hang above  
Be the same of what's growing below.   

4.  
Let her face be fair,  
And her br●sts be bare,  
And ● voice let her have that can wa●ble,  
Let her belly be ●oft,  
To mount me aloft,  
Let her bounding buttocks be of marble,  
Oh such a bonny lass  
May bring wonders to pass,  
And make me grow younger and younger,  
And when I dapart,  
She'll be mad at the heart,  
That I am able to stand to'● no longer.   
FINIS.   

 

 
Pray do not put him out Nan.  
He had reason to say so.  
Into the place where the great Sword and the Chair is.  
A sweet nap.  
Plain deal's a jewel.  
Here they stand upright.  
He does not run a tilt.  
He had two if he could have kept them.  
About the time that mortals whet their knives.