FOLLY IN PRINT, OR, A Book of RYMES.  

Whoever buys this Book will say,  
There's so much Money thrown away:  
The Author thinks you are to blame,  
To buy a Book without a Name;  
And to say truth, it is so bad,  
A worse is no where to be had.   
London, Printed in the year, 1667.   

To the Reader.  
Courteous Reader,  
THE whole world (imaginably) is but one great market; and all mankind in it, are distinguished into buyers and sellers, who either truck for, or buy Commodities; particularly in Books, where for money or exchange, we take our choice, and in our own Election please ourselves; men's judgements, as their appetites are very different, the Market's free to buy or cheapen: who buys upon the cellar's word, may be deceived, who chooseth ill deceives himself.  
I do not promise for my Book nor say 'tis good, but here's variety and each man (of his own palate) is the certain judge: it may please some, to them 'tis good, by whom disliked, to them as bad.  
When the Gazettes are cried, we buy in expectation of some thing new, yet though the news be ne'er so good, in three days time'tis laid aside, though we were pleased with our penny worth: I cannot expect a better fortune in this composition, 'tis now exposed to your censure; If it meet with generous Patrons, I am obliged to serve you again, and better, from your encouragement.  
Farewell.   

ERRATA.  
PAge 5 for Plunder, r. Plunders. p. 7. l. 21. f. when, r. where. p. 9 l. 10. r. if all black coats. p. 11. l. 6. f. and r. had. p. 17. l. 20. f. scraple, r. scruples. p. 19 l. 24. r. indebted. p. 30. l. in the Title, 1. Ma●cus Aurelius. l. 22. r. and as a stream. p. 34. l. 29. f. antiquity, r. antiquities. p: 40. l. 7. f. treasures, r. treasuries. p. 41. in the title, r. since fortune thou art grown so.— p. 43. l. 29. r. one pictured would 〈◊〉 cut in. p. 5. l. 6. read with a little thing for a certain. p. 50. l. 7. r. Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit, or. p. 58. l. 9 f. the floock, r. his flock. l. 10. f. kids, r. kiddeys. p. 66. l. 26. f. devil, r. devils. p. 74. l. 10. r. his pike shrinks in his hand. p. 79. l. 1. deal to. p. 92. l. 15. r. she nimbly whisks it about. p 95. l. 2. r. Hopkins jigs the soltheads. l. 4. f. homily, r. homely. p. 102. l. 9 f. horns, r. horn. p. 114. l. 18, f. those boors, r. rebels.   

Folly in Print: OR, A Book of Rhymes.  
The Cotsal Shepherds.  
To the Tune of Amarillis told her Swain.  

ALL ye that love, or who pretends,  
Come listen to my Sonnet,  
Black-baggs or vizards, who have friends,  
Or English Teags or Bonnets,  
See here our Sheapheardess, and Swain,  
How they make love on Cotsall Plain.   Bis. 
Amarillis why so coy,  
Think'st thou that the winged Boy,  
Can never overtake thee;  Bis. 
Colin (no) I fly not him  
But thou who wilt forsake me.  Bis. 

Dearest I forsake my Sheep,  
And forget to eat or sleep,  
To follow Amarillis,  
And dying lie down at thy feet,  
Since such thy cruel will is.   

Treason makes a goodly show,  
Black that's covered o'er with Snow;  
The eye doth not discover,  
I must have more assurance yet  
ere I become a Lover.   

In extremest winter cold,  
I hunt Foxes from thy fold,  
Nor will I marry Phillis;  
But in thine absence close mine eyes,  
and call on Amarillis.   

Yet thou didst the other day  
At our pastorals in May,  
Hear Coridon to jeer me;  
Who said I was not yet so fair,  
That Colin need to fear me.   

Envy cannot make thee foul,  
Nor fine words make fairer fool;  
Nor Clowns can change their natures.  
I'll die to tell the world that you  
Exceed them all in features.   

Colin live, for I am thine,  
Drive thy Flocks up unto mine,  
I'll yield to thy Embraces;  
And Chant thee pleasing Round delays,  
Do thou foot comely Paces.   

Happy Collen, fairest Maid,  
My grief and care, thou hast allayed,  
With words so sweetly charming,  
Now on this Bank, thou shalt confess  
I fear no others harming.   

Dearest Colin stay awhile,  
The time with talk we will beguile,  
Till Evening shall befriend us;  
we'll then take in, that happiness  
Which love anon will send us.   

Now Colin, Amarillis now  
He did, she did, swear and vow,  
They'd never part asunder;  
Forsworn they part, and meet again,  
But that's no lover's wonder.    

The English Seaman's Fortune, with a Dutch Ufro, at the burning of Scelling.  
To the Tune of Phillis though thy powerful Charms.  

Fair Maids who pass by, give ear to my song,  
So short and so sweet, you'll not think it long  
Come buy all my Ballads, I have no more,  
Rich hangings for walls, or your Chamber door.   

Toth' Sea brave English men apace,  
The Prizes stay, till you give chase,  
One broadside, down their Colours fall,  
Divide the purchase, amongst you all,  
Then each man to his mate shall say,  
God send us such another day,  
We need no more at Sea to Roam,  
With Nan and Bess, we'll fight at home.   

Your Merchant Voyages are long,  
The Seas are rough and Pirates strong,  
And when y'ave toiled for little pay,  
One Frolic spends it in a day:  
The Dutchmen are your Indies now,  
And victory will crown your Brow;  
Your Country shall your welcome sing,  
The Bells within your Pockets ring.   

Some few, as happily are dead,  
Who living lie, in honours-bedd:  
What City, Town, or Village can  
But boast, that they had such a man:  
Who killed ten Dutchmen ere he fell,  
And thousand Canons rung his knell:  
The swift rebounding Echoes fly  
To tell the world 'tis I, 'tis I.   

Those who before had names unknown,  
Are now proclaimed, by Trumpets blown,  
Great Generals, and men of fame,  
Are fellow Actors, in this game;  
How bravely have you chose to die,  
Remembered in such company,  
Whilst others are in surfeits drowned,  
And die forgotten, ye are crowned.   

But now the storm, and Scheling fire,  
A true relation doth, require:  
The landing fight, and bold advance,  
The Soldiers wish 'Thad been in France,  
But wine and Feathers, or Kich-chose,  
Can never make amends, for blows;  
Ye must have plunders rich, and prize,  
To dazzle the beholder's eyes.   

The Newes-books tells us of the fact,  
How Holmes and others there did act,  
Of Bibles, Knives, and silver Spoons,  
Of Carpets wrought, in Turkish moons,  
Of Pewter, Brass, and such like stuff  
To frait the Fleet there was enough,  
But I remember must my friend  
To whom this Ballad I commend.   

His Father amongst the Cavaliers,  
Had paid for jealousies and fears,  
This son the youngest was of three,  
His fortune small, must go to Sea,  
Where he hath had a lucky hit,  
Through courage added to his wit,  
And brought a fire, (to warm his bed)  
From Schelling, a Dutch-Maydenhead.   

A Maid amongst the fairest fair,  
Black-eye, and slender, Debonair  
And by Dewitt, her uncle sent,  
To see her Aunt, in Compliment;  
Who when the English landed there,  
Surprised with such a sudden fear,  
Gave all her Jewels to her niece,  
But th'were our Seaman's Golden Fleece.   

For as she trembling, stood to gaze,  
When first the fire, began to blaze  
O●● Mariner, who that way came  
Saw be●, he thought, the greater flame,  
Whom she endeavoured not to shun  
But Fate directing, to him run,  
Mine Liven-here, but save my life  
She said, and take me for thy wife.   

He'rs Rings, and Jewels, Gold and Pearl  
Enough, to make an English Earl;  
He took her in his arms, and swore,  
He wished her less, to love her more;  
Then changed her habit having found,  
A man's was dropped upon the ground;  
Aboard he goes, with his fine boy,  
And now, I hope you'll give them joy.   

The Captain viewing well his prize  
A ransom offered to those eyes,  
Believing something there of note  
Was Clouded in a Seaman's Coat;  
But she replied this Mariner  
Brought me aboared, his Prisoner  
From all, but him, I must be free,  
His Cabbin-mate, I mean to be.   

In little time, on shore they went,  
And to the west their journey bend;  
When at his Father's Private seat  
They both, their fortunes, did repeat,  
Then married were and brought to bed  
Till then, she kept her Maidenhead,  
And since, with Jewels, which they sold,  
A Manor bought, with English Gold.    

Three merry Boys of Kent.  
To the Tune of an old song, beginning thus  I road from England into France. Or to the Tune of Sir John Sucklings Ballad. 

IF you can find it out, here's wit,  
The Poet thought so when he writ,  
but looking over it again,  
He found not one Conceit in ten  
Who ever writes, in prose or verse,  
Gives black and white to his own hearse;  
When you have paid, and seen a play,  
You'll bear more (hence) for less, away.   

Of Mandeville, I do not tell,  
Nor Cromwell's Citadel in Hell;  
No Quaker Dog, nor wife,  
Nor of the King of France at Breast,  
With fourscore thousand horse, at least,  
Who dance to Drumm, and fife.   

Of three good fellows, I must sing,  
Who love good wine, obey the King;  
And in a pleasant fit  
Of late, at Temple stairs took horse,  
I wish all women, do no worse,  
For we crosslegged did sit.   

But strait we heard a Swineherds horn  
Who called his cattle forth the Corn,  
Where they broke in to root;  
Yet in such haste, came to the trough,  
As if they ne'er could have enough  
The Deal and all to boot.   

Such fat black hogs in Spain we saw  
Where they have all this common law  
So soon as fat are killed;  
If some black cloaks were served so  
They would not sweat and labour so,  
To get their bellies filled.   

Then close by Bridewell Dock we came,  
Where pretty sinners spinn for Fame  
And hemp for Newgate beat,  
But Kingdoms have their certain date  
And London's sad, and Dooms-days fate  
Hath made them change their seat.   

But we affrighted at the ghosts,  
Of chimneys, steeples, half burnt posts  
Tot'h bridge, we swiftly came,  
Where fire and water seemed to agree,  
I'll burn this part, leave that to thee,  
Yet both increased the flame.   

Then we approached the water fall  
And through a breach, in that old wall  
Like Soldiers entered in,  
Where we surrounded were with noise  
As if that there ten thousand boys,  
Were carting Bawds for sin.   

Digression.  
Old Porter Tame, at Denmark stayrs  
By Isis (water-nymph) had heirs  
Who in the west are bred;  
Yet twice a day, run to and fro,  
Saluting Parents as they go  
And see their Subjects said.   

In former times, they had a war  
With Neighbours who encroached so far,  
Their Subjects did complain  
Unless a peace they would agree  
And open trade into the sea,  
They should no longer reign.   

At length agreed, a league was made  
That both the land, and the sea trade  
Should equally divide;  
And made a bridge with Avenues 
* The two Statues at Somerset stairs of Tame and Isis. Two Rivers joining makes Thamesis the heirs, little brooks from the West running into Thames fish their Subjects. When the Bridge was built this water was turned against Somerset House over the fields, below Redriff,   
Which neither party shall abuse  
Or by a law be tried.   

At Billingsgate we then arrive  
And found no people there alive  
But Oysters gaping wide,  
And sure had they had tongues would tell  
What nasty Jades brought them to sell  
Which cannot be denied.   

Those Bacchanalians we found  
Strewed here and there upon the ground  
Where such discoveries;  
Columbus nor Sir Francis Drake  
In all their voyages did make  
Nor such gulfs enterprise.   

A thigh unclothed, not bare, nor skinn  
But scales of fish where flesh had been  
A leg with piss-dyed clout,  
A packthread gatter which had tied  
A horse leg, that o'th' farcy died,  
And such was all the rout.   

Had legions of Devils been  
But there they might have entered in  
Their breaches were so wide,  
Had not a Herricane of wine  
Broke forth from all parts, like sea-brine  
To cool the Devil's pride.   

These hags it seems a cellar found  
Where in Canary they were drowned  
And drank in Oyster pecks;  
Then rolled themselves in postures more  
Than Aretine ere taught before  
But saved their drunken necks.   

Again our wooden horse we spurr;  
After at least an hours demur,  
The bell at Tower did ring;  
Where we the Lions could not see  
There was so much Presbytery  
Who came to hear them sing.   

Going from thence on t'other side  
The wind and water-mills we spied  
'Tis not so strange as true,  
The millers grind for ev'ry Maid  
And take no Toll, but she is paid  
The Del'e must have his due.   

Then downwards we to Wapping glide  
Where brave bold Pirates have been tied  
In bonds to drink no more;  
Yet made to drink, though not adry  
Water, wherein they swimm and fly  
Who drank good wine before. 
3 Tides they are to hang till the water overflow them and ebbs as oft.    

At Ratcliff now we would not touch  
The Seaman lately did so much,  
They needed not our aid;  
But unto Cuckold's Haven came,  
Those Horns of fortune, and of fame,  
Makes all the world afraid.   

The Butchers in the Romans time,  
And so the Butchers in our clime  
Do offer Sacrifice.  
To fortune, Rome a Temple built,  
And they a Post with Horns have guilt,  
That Dazzled all our eyes.   

This place miscalled, weeping cross,  
Where he that gets, laments his loss;  
'Tis jealousy creates  
More Knights of Fame, with Coats and crests,  
Then Ireland sent us horned beasts,  
Before the last debates.   

But we would have the Irish go,  
Unless they bring their women too  
Blue bonnets and mafoyes;  
Let altogether homewards trudge,  
We have enough at home can drudge,  
And get our women boys.   

But now our homages were paid,  
Ourselves to Deptford we conveyed,  
You must not think it much  
That they build there, strong Towns of wood,  
Are garrisoned with men and food,  
To beat the saucy Dutch.   

At Greenwich than we went on shore,  
Our Countrymen were in a Roar,  
Who thought we had been lost,  
But our adventures being told,  
They swore that we were very cold,  
Which we believed before.   

God bless the Town, we called for fire  
And sack that warms a little higher,  
And for a Maid and meat;  
The Bells bid welcome to the Town,  
And all the lasses up and down,  
Are now prepared to treat.    

The Hampshire Maid, or the Wenches Progress.  

Fair Maids and young Men,  
Come circled me round,  
There's not one in ten,  
If buxom and sound,  
But here will commend our blithe Hampshire lass,  
And do as she did, what ere comes to pass,  
Or if she do not, will be counted an Ass,   

To the sweet tune of Samuel Rosye, or the King's Clown.  

JOan Towser, am I called,  
And I love lusty Robin:  
Though he be rough  
He's sure enough,  
And flouts as well as Scogin.   

But if he does not please me,  
And comes not at my calling,  
With Tom or Dick,  
I will not stick  
To wrestle for a falling.   

And if they fall upon me,  
Although that I lie under,  
I'll kick and fling  
Like any thing,  
Shall make them both to wonder.   

If Doll or Kate will tarry  
Be coy, and yet stay longer,  
I'll not be sick,  
But play the trick,  
I ne'er shall do it younger.   

For if that I should tarry,  
Until my Father wed me:  
I should lose ten  
Good Husbandmen,  
Who sooner would behead me.   

This six months have I longed,  
Now I'll be mine own carver:  
For one poor man  
Do what he can,  
Will only be my starver.   

But I have been so ruffled  
I find my belly swelling,  
In London Town  
I'll lay it down,  
Where I will take my dwelling.   

The Carrier came up with me  
A well trust, lusty Roger,  
〈◊〉 broad i'th' Back  
As any Pack,  
‛ In sure he was no dodger.   

He used me then so kindly,  
And called me his dear honey,  
But I know not,  
What ere he got,  
‛ In sure he got no money:   

Now I am at my Lodging,  
To entertain a Apprentice,  
And he shall pay  
For Robin's play;  
His Master's cash my rent is.   

But when their cash doth fail me,  
Than I am for your gallant;  
A Redcoat Knight  
Is my delight,  
For to improve my Talon.   

Next I my case will open,  
A man of Law shall plead it;  
Though he were blind,  
he'll surely find  
The way for him to read it.   

Then to the City Lectures  
With Bible tread demurely,  
My rolling eyes  
And holy lies,  
Will get a Brother surely.   

Next, some good Able-Teacher,  
My Scruple must resolve me,  
For he's the man  
Who will and can  
Abundantly absolve me.   

My Half-crown at a Playhouse,  
Young Heirs and Lords sit by me,  
With China-fruits,  
Commence their suits,  
Like Watermens they ply me.   

But when the play is ended,  
And each man hopes a favour;  
My Coach is gone,  
But here is one  
My Lord says, Now I have her.   

The Streets I walk at Twilight,  
And justle, if I like him,  
Then pardon ask,  
Pull of my Mask,  
'Tis ten to one I strike him.   

Sometimes I shrink as fearful,  
When any man comes nigh me,  
Let fall my Glove,  
And then my Love  
Will take it up and try me.   

How happy this Encounter,  
Replies my civil Cully,  
And this fair hand  
Shall now be man'd,  
Sothus I catch my Bully.   

But not unto my lodging,  
I dare not for my Mother,  
Or have an Aunt,  
Will give and grant,  
A sister or a brother.   

Yet I will give a meeting,  
But you shall promise further,  
No other force,  
But your discourse,  
Or I will cry out murder.   

And thus my Nets are spreading,  
To catch my Woodcocks flying:  
Yet seem as coy  
As any Boy,  
And am as often crying.   

Then I complain my fortune  
How I did first miscarry:  
A friend untrue,  
Did me pursue,  
Who promised me to marry.   

But he came up to London,  
I followed my false lover;  
To Sea he's gone,  
Or lives unknown,  
Where I cannot discover.   

For Chamber-rent inbted;  
And on the score for feeding,  
Till money come  
To me from home;  
Where I have had good breeding.   

But if some friend that's noble▪  
Would free me from this trouble,  
Then by this kiss,  
I will be his;  
And thus I blow my bubble.   

Some puny Toasts I wheadle,  
With such like brittle stories,  
But find much more,  
Who call me whore,  
And kick to Rutt like Tories.   

Though I get store of money,  
The Devils in my trading,  
When Pimp and Bawd,  
And Bravoes paid,  
I must take in fresh lading.   

And now in Covent Garden  
I lodge, a wife forsaken  
A Cavalier;  
My Husband dear,  
By Pirates lately taken.   

This place I cannot rest in,  
Young Rogues are grown so cunning,  
I shall be smoked,  
And soon uncloaked,  
Therefore I must be running.   

Now I'll pass for a widow,  
My waiter and my woman,  
In duty they,  
So rich must say,  
At least I'm for a Yeoman.   

And I have many Suitors,  
With treats and presents striving;  
But must be gone,  
They'll find anon,  
I am unfit for wiving.   

I water make for faces,  
And have learned to cut patches;  
But that's a trade,  
As much decayed,  
As that of selling Matches.   

I'll back into the Country,  
And show them my good breeding,  
No, 'tis too late  
‛ In out of date,  
I shall not get my feeding.   

Then have amongst the lasses,  
Who will if you be willing,  
In wheatstones Park,  
Give you a mark,  
Cost more than forty shillings.   

Now you know where to find me,  
At school with Mother Con●y;  
Then have at all,  
Both great and small,  
For love or else for money.     

The Perspective of Mortality.  

HOw vain are all our best delights;  
Like shortest days to Winters-nights  
Scarce well awake, till our lives-noon  
A sickly light, and day is done,  
Most wretched mankind, seeming free,  
Hath less (than Creatures) liberty;  
Help-less, and crying, brought to light  
Nursed up in hazards, Parents fright,  
Taught to be pleased with toys, and then  
Forbid delights, when we are men;  
Then war, or sickness, want, or trouble,  
Blown up with sin, doth break the bubble.    

To a Detraction from the Author.  

THough I be no Logician,  
Nor yet good Naturalist,  
Nor seen the strange American  
Whom the near Sun hath kissed:  
I may be honest, modest, free,  
And charitable too,  
Obedient to God may be,  
What have I more to do?  
Desire of knowledge led the way,  
Sin followed swiftly on,  
Both Learned and Ignorant astray  
Have led Religion:  
Best knowledge by Humility,  
Is taught in wisdom's School;  
All other new Philosophy  
Makes wisemen play the fool.    

Upon the Fatal years of 1665 and 1666.  

WHat Fate averse, doth Damon guide  
To breathe an age of Prodigies,  
Kings have no Subjects, who are tied  
By any Rule, but Vanities,  
Law, nor Religion, thought good,  
Not first Baptised, in humane blood.   

Incorrigible Race of Worms,  
Whom neither Plague, nor War can win,  
Nor fruitful peace, but in new forms,  
Call virtue vice, and vice no sin;  
'Twere better to believe in lies,  
Then to confess, and truth despise.   

In this last Age, of wonders sent  
The will of Heaven to declare;  
We will not see, but wilful bent,  
Say bold, and wisemen, do not fear  
Times-past, the like hath seen, or more  
Variety, is nature's store.   

Thus sensually we dispute,  
Against the light of blessed truth,  
Till deaths strong Arguments confute  
The Follies of our Age and Youth,  
And Nature than resolves the doubt  
That we were in, when we were out.    

To the Authors wife, in time of the Sickness, when he was beyond the Seat.  

HOw happy hadst thou Reymund been  
When washed from guilt Original,  
And clear from any mortal sin,  
If then had been thy Funeral,  
But now (alas) afraid to die,  
Because thy Clara, is not by.   

Almighty Power, whose Providence  
Supports my seeble house of Clay,  
Do not remove, my Clara hence  
But give us both a longer day,  
That both together, we may praise  
Our Lord of life, our length of days.   

I know thou knowest, Great God above,  
Her heart doth to thy worship bow,  
Yet She to me, thou gav'st to Love,  
By holy Sacramental vow;  
Do not Shut up, our day so soon,  
For yet (O Lord) it is but noon.   

Remember now, thy promised aid,  
Though thousands fall on every hand,  
I will not therefore be afraid,  
The Angels are at thy Command:  
Protect her Lord, and so bless me,  
We may together, ever be.    

POEM.  

Afflictions plough the Heart of man,  
Fits it for wisdoms seed,  
Then Grace brings forth her blessed increase  
Whereon the soul doth feed.   

We must be broken e'er made straight,  
And wounded to be cured;  
Who would not suffer little pain  
To have his health assured?   

Crosses and dangers which are past,  
With pleasure we repeat,  
The Psalmist never sung so sweet,  
As in a Shepherd's seat.   

Physic displeasing to the taste  
Nature assists, to health,  
How comes it then, we do not wish  
For loss producing wealth.   

Miser-mankind, who will not give  
One penny from his heap,  
Accursed thirst, to lose a life  
So dear, and saved so cheap.   

Wound me, O Lord, and make me whole,  
Bind men, and set me free,  
Nay, kill men, so I then may live,  
And die to All but thee.    

An Elegy on Mistress Anne Leonard, daughter to Sir Moulton Lambert.  

DEad is the mirror of her Sex, the Stem  
Of a fair spreading Cedar, nature's Gem,  
Whose Gnossian Crown, presents her aged Sire  
A brighter Star, than Ariadne's fire;  
Alas, dear Parents, would I could express;  
Her virtues more, to make your sufferings less:  
She's gone before, your places to prepare,  
The Child provides to ease the parent's care:  
Rare Hieroglyphic of a Saint, by death  
In her they learn to live, who gave her breath,  
Earth's seeming joys she leaves, and the world's glory  
Flies, and forgets, for a Memento Mori.  
Poor worldless-world, thy longest joys afford  
As short a span of pleasure, as the gourd  
Which Ionas had, 'tis time thou now return  
To Chaos, or as tribute to her Urn  
Pay thine own ashes, and Erect a toomb  
That may out live Mausolus, leave no room  
'Twixt Pyramid and Sky, whence Angels shall  
Descend to Celebrate her Festival;  
And her Harmonious voice instruct to Sing  
Loud Hallelujahs, to great Salems' King  
In holy Choir, whose joy is to behold  
A Lion's Lamb recovered to the Fold.    

Alluding to the names of Leonard and Lambert.  

ANd now her Angel Soul, in Heaven hath place  
With Judah's Lion, and the Lamb of Grace.   

Dead is my Dear, a dream is my desire,  
And yet my flesh, in hope, shall here respre.   
In super & Caro meu requiescit in Spe.   

ESSAYS.  

TO do well, is a Princely thing,  
Though some do speak it Ill,  
Rash Judges, will condemn a King  
To gratify their will.   

The advantage of a Noble mind  
In difficulties shows,  
Higher it raiseth them we find,  
Less active overthrows.   

Her that will raise a building high  
Magnificent to show,  
Must first look downward with his eye,  
and build as deep below.   

Sometimes a heart disposed well,  
Within the brain doth breed,  
Right understanding to do well,  
The fruit is like the seed.   

But all who names of men do bear,  
Are not so to be thought;  
Unless at helm, doth reason steer  
In Laws of virture taught.   

The strong, the fierce, bold, stout, and tall,  
The hardy, wise, and fair,  
Rich, highly born, renowned withal  
Are Epithets of Ayr.   

whom reason rules not, beasts must be  
Abusing so, their own degree.    

The Cause of Paganism at first in the world.  

NAture corrupt, and knowledge blind  
By Adam's fall, those sparks and seeds  
Of heavenly light, yet left behind  
Appearing then, broke forth in weeds.   

For wanting grace, and power, to grow  
To first perfection, did decline  
To superstition, and so  
Worship to creatures did assign.   

Man's fearful mind, strange gods did make,  
Which Custom, with the power of Hell,  
Such root in all mankind did take,  
That worst of Ills, they deemed well.   

Some Worshipped Devils, some men's Ghosts,  
And others bowed to Fowl and Fish,  
To Herbs, and bones, and Painted-poasts,  
They knew not what themselves would wish.   

The Planets, Fire, the Air, and Sea,  
And every running Brook beside,  
No Virtue, nor no Vice; but they  
Had with false Worship them belied.   

Some God or Goddess was assigned  
To all of these; Oh! wretched men  
Whose stubborn wills to sin inclined  
God suffered fall, but raised again.   

Such mercies may we ever find  
To worship that eternal light,  
Who raised the dead, and cured the blind,  
And saved from everlasting night.    

Upon a wise saying of Marcus Auralius Antoninus.  

A Heathen Emperor doth teach  
What Christians ought to do,  
Nature corrupt, to us doth preach,  
And gives example too.   

The time of man's life's as a point,  
The substance ever flows,  
The sense obscure, doth disappoint  
Him, when he thinks he knows.   

Our bodies whole composure tends  
To base corruption,  
Our souls are restless till our ends,  
Then none knows whither gone.   

Fortune's uncertain, doubtfulfame,  
And a s stream that's past;  
Things of our bodies and our name,  
Blank Lots have drawn at last.   

And as a dream, or Smoak are things  
belonging to the Soul,  
They pass away like sounds of strings,  
Or flights of swiftest fowl.   

Our life's a pilgrimage, or war,  
And fame when life is done,  
In little time's forgot so far,  
That 'tis Oblivion.   

One thing remains Philosophy,  
Consisting in this act;  
Thy Spirit keep from injury,  
Or Contumolious fact.   

Above all pains and pleasures too,  
Do nothing rash or feigned,  
Nor over-critically do,  
So keep thy mind unstained.   

From thine own actions depend,  
Embracing with content  
What ever comes, which he doth send,  
Whence thou art also sent.   

'Bove all things, death with cheerfulness  
Expect, since 'tis no more  
But Elements resolvedness,  
To what they were before.   

This dissolution to all,  
So common do not shun,  
Nature bespeaks thy Funeral,  
Which creep not to, but run.   

No ill in nature 'tis to die,  
To nature 'tis accordingly;    

ESSAY.  

The ignorant and wilful worldings say,  
As he who bid good morning to the day,  
Next to his Gold, and that's esteemed best,  
Which is most profitable 'bove the rest;  
If they mean profitable to a man  
As he is rational, than I can  
With them agree, but as a creature than  
I them reject, as bad and senseless men.  
Let nothing cause thee, violate thy faith,  
Immoved by flattery what any saith.  
Lose not thy modesty, nor hate nor curse,  
Dissemble not, an Hypocrite is worse.  
What ere requires, the secrecy of walls,  
Lust not thou after, nor the white of veils.  
Thy rational part, and Spirit keep,  
The Sacred mysteries of virtues deep  
Within thy heart; how happy then is he,  
Wants neither solitude nor company?  
Neither laments, exclaims, nor sighs in vain,  
But lives without desire, or fear, or pain:  
For life or death, he is indifferent,  
Who neither seeks nor shuns, but takes what's, sent.    

Upon the Proverb.  

HE that considers wind and rain,  
Shall neither sow nor reap;  
This proverb sure was made for Spain,  
Where gravity is cheap.   

Nothing shall discompose his gate,  
His beads and box perfumed:  
Though Hay lestones fall upon his pate,  
His hat of is presumed.   

Yet he this Proverb so doth cross,  
For all he doth is so,  
Though he doth suffer any loss,  
He always answers no.   

The Sun and Earth, were made you know  
For him, and fertile South,  
'Tis base, to reap or stoop so low,  
The fruit falls in his mouth.   

For every action there is yet  
A fitting season when,  
'tis time to speak, or silent sit,  
Where prudence governs men.   

A time may be, when as the words  
Of poor and simple wights,  
May profit more than all the Swords  
used in the strongest sights.   

That City truly found it so,  
Which the poor man did save,  
As in the Proverbs said to do,  
Byth' counsel which he gave.   

The Power of wise and Eloquent,  
‛ Th'out opportunity,  
Is nothing but our labour spent,  
As charms to Adders be.    

Upon the Rebel Moores in Africa, now Mahometans.  

HOw happy wert thou Africa,  
By holy Saints inhabited,  
When Augustine and Monicha,  
Did teach to thee Christ Crucifide.  
A Catalogue of Martyrs there,  
Displayed the Banner of the Cross,  
And led the way, that without fear,  
Ye might by death sustain no loss.  
One drop of blood, for Jesus spent  
Enricheth more your fertile soil,  
Then all those Rains, by Clouds are sent,  
With all your labour and your toil;  
Ye blind, where such antiquity  
Are extant, spread all o'er your Land,  
Yet will not see your vanities,  
Nor truth from falsehood understand.  
Had you not seen and then believed  
Your crime now infidelity,  
Had been the less, but since received  
Damnation for Apostasy.  
Against God and King your lust's rebel,  
Repent, and turn unto the cross,  
That Paradise you seek is Hell,  
Which found too soon, too late your loss.    

A Description of the Ages of man's life, and their Inclinations and defects.  

Infant's desiring hurtful things  
Have bodies innocent;  
But 'tis their mind from whence it springs,  
Makes ill their weak intent.   

They should to virtue so be bred  
In their most tender age,  
They need not know if nature did,  
Or precepts them engage.   

But let the rules of virtue be  
Insinuated so,  
‛ thou't trouble or severity,  
To take delight to know:   

What e'er they follow taught with fear,  
Their hate conceived then,  
Will after, in their age appear,  
And loath when they are men.   

Allow them harmless wantonness,  
And Learning so infuse;  
Rather as change, then playing less  
Or burdened by their Muse.   

Fear doth consume that moisture quite  
Which nature does intend  
To spread their limbs, and grow upright;  
Which failing, hasts their end.   

Some nature's soft moulded for love  
And for humanity,  
First apprehension doth move  
Of grief to make them cry.   

Others though beaten, shed no tear;,  
Of nature's harsh, and fierce,  
Th'out true affection, or just fears,  
But stubborn and perverse.   

Things of no judgement, little pain,  
They suddenly take in  
As language, easily they gain,  
Oft keeping what they win.   

Rewards of virtue next propose,  
And praise of doing well,  
The shame and infamy of those,  
Where vice is known to dwell.   

Not to fear virtue, as she were  
To harsh to ' be enjoyed  
Who tastes the sweetness she doth bear,  
Can never be ore-cloyed.   

Thus whilst untroubled, or allured  
With vice of Flattery,  
And from ambition secured:  
To judge and know not why.   

Still unexperienced by age,  
Incapable of pleasure,  
What friends do like, or do engage:  
by them take up their measure.   

Soon as their minds have sense of praise,  
then kindle their desire,  
To affect honourable ways,  
By glory set on fire.   

In exercise to labour more  
Their equals to excel,  
Then ever yet, they did before  
To please by doing well.   

A hit young man, with soul as high,  
Youth's freedom laid aside,  
May well take up so moderately,  
To sit by wisdom's side.   

He who in youth begins to show  
Mature and sober mind,  
Will languish with a dulness so;  
Not old, and yet declined.   

But he, who amongst his great delights,  
Loves one with eagerness,  
And follows it with appetites,  
Which death can but depress.   

Declares he's able to maintain  
Those studies he affects,  
With labour, industry and pain,  
And virtue he effects.   

No disposition but this,  
Can truly find the way  
To glory here, or future bliss,  
But he will go astray.   

Now middle age, and distant so,  
From giddiness of youth,  
Not burden of old age to know,  
Should tell us all the truth.   

But they great seekers are of wealth  
And honour, cunning to  
Dissembling friendships, and by stealth  
Do what they will not know.   

Their passions they govern so  
As if that they had none;  
Then valiant, if ever too,  
And then most truly shown.   

That heat of courage moderate  
But not extinguished  
Which rashly carries youth to fate  
To number with the dead.   

Fear the Companion of age  
Disturbs the minds desires  
And want of heat, doth much assuage,  
What fortitude inspires.   

Though otherwise it is a seat,  
For wisdom to remain,  
But then the mind doth want that heat,  
Which courage should sustain.   

Through many dangers of their own  
And those of others seen;  
Ruined, which they escaped alone  
They now would pass between.   

'Tis mockery of all mankind  
That age, to avarice  
Should most of all, be then inclined  
When death hath thrown the Dice.   

And nature weak (to help herself)  
Lest able, then to strive  
To hoard up treasures of pelf  
To keep the dead alive.   

This counsel, age may better take  
That young men they excuse,  
For errors all of us do make  
But age the least should choose.   

Suffer their innocent delights  
Hear them with gentleness.  
And sometimes, though not in the right  
accept with pleasingness.   

In thine old age, if thou expect  
Obsequiousness to thee,  
'T approve thy words without neglect  
Use this Equality.   

And seem at least, if not consent  
To please them when you may,  
In things which are indifferent  
Then speak and they'll obey.   

And suffer thee to tell thy tale  
And stories of thy youth  
Uninterrupted, though thou fail  
In telling of the truth.    

A SONG.  
To the Tune of, Since Fortune thou art so kind.  

SInce Cupid thou art grown so kind  
To give to me my choice of mind  
Of Beauties' store,  
First I require, that she be  
Both proud and coy to all but me,  
I ask no more.   

As wanton, jolly, blithe with me,  
As amorous wives new married be,  
And then a care,  
To look and kiss, with so much art  
As I may plainly taste her heart,  
And that's my fare.   

Let other Lovers all be pined  
First from her scorn, than their own mind.  
Oh then I'm seated  
In Lovers-heaven, where I am fixed  
In single glory that's unmixed  
When they're defeated.   

Where beauty's able to give laws  
Thus to herself, thus to her cause,  
I must employ,  
Myself to obey her noble power  
Every minute, every hour,  
In this I joy.   

Bus since thou art in sits of kindness  
I prithee Child resign thy blindness,  
And then I'm sure  
Thou wilt not hit by chance but choice,  
For which thou hast each Lover's voice,  
And that's their cure.   

But if thou wilt thy power employ,  
Thy cruel art, hearts to destroy,  
For hearts are thine,  
If she refuse mine, lay't not by her,  
Sooner throw't into thy fire  
For to calci●e,   

The Phoenix from her cinders grows  
And true love from love's ashes flows,  
Oh how I burn;  
So the condition of my fate  
'Twixt life and death to circulate,  
In Cupid's Urn.   

I'll have as many hearts for thee  
As in those ashes grains you'll see,  
And then I'm sure  
I'll have one heart to sacrifice,  
To every look of her fair eyes,  
And that's my cure.   

These to my Mistress I present,  
As this days tribute to her sent;  
'Tis my desire:  
To be her Martyr is my glory  
And be written in love's story  
Penned with fire.    

A jealous Lady reproaching her Servant that he courted new Faces, since her own, not the best, yet she was well proportioned, thus answers.  

WHither Art or nature's grace  
Does adorn my mistress face,  
Burns nor quenches my desire,  
They are those parts obscured from sight,  
Limbs proportioned for delight;  
Blows my warmth into a fire:  
If a face could please alone  
One pictured, or would cut in stone.    

From a Person in love with a young Lady who had married an old Man.  

BRuno entreats Albana tell,  
How Bruno she inclines to love,  
Whose heart is proof against a spell,  
Yet from her circle cannot move.   

'Tis not I find the power of arts,  
Not any charm can conquer me;  
It must be sympathy in hearts,  
Or if not so, what can it be?   

Discords in Music we do find  
Such harmony, and air doth bring  
Such charming sweetness to the mind,  
As if the close were all one string.   

Th' emitted Atoms through our eyes  
Secret intelligence conveigs,  
Into our hearts, which no disguise  
Can hide from such elucent rays.   

Love much abused, where interest  
Usurps that name and proper right,  
That's only due to such a breast  
Which loves the person at first sight.   

And that magnetic sympathy  
Which doth incline our eyes to gaze,  
Is the souls choice and amity,  
Loves circulation in a maze.   

If any other hidden cause  
Or more elate, pray let me know;  
For if you take a time to pause,  
You'll but invent to hide it so.   

Truly confess and freely say,  
It is the same what ere it be  
Which makes you love and go that way,  
You cannot choose but meet with me.   

How well agreed, how understood  
Our hearts to one another known,  
The secret tye is in our blood,  
The Seed is in our natures sown.   

The works of nature hidden are  
Which by effects we only know,  
Then against nature we make war  
When we not imitate her so.   

Let no delusive Phantom then  
Mislead us with fantastic fire,  
Women were only made for men,  
Which nature prompts us to desire.   

Old Age's a moving monument,  
Their marbles sweat but cold as Ice,  
But quickening nature's first intent  
Gets monuments of greater price.   

Nature with reason doth agree,  
No incoherence can we find,  
But that impelled by sympathy,  
By nature married, must be kind.   

Hath nature yet by any law  
Or rule, confined one creature yet;  
Then surely nature to obey  
Is only rational and fit.   

Rebels to nature may create  
New forms of government I know,  
And turn a Kingdom to a state,  
But my Albana does not so.   

For she loves Monarchy as I,  
And I love her, because she loves  
She cannot live and bid me die,  
For doing what herself approves.    

A Catch made before the KING'S coming to Worcester with the Scottish Army.  

THe Roundheads drink a health  
To their new Commonwealth,  
And swear the Kings must be forgot;  
But the pot shall be banged  
When the Rogues are all hanged  
Here's a Health to the King and the Scot   

Come Skinker be nimble,  
This quart's but a thimble,  
Away with't, swell this of a gallon;  
To our Master's brave Son  
Who will fire the first gun  
And boldly command us, fall on.   

Each man upon his back,  
Shall swallow his Sack,  
This health will endure no shrinking;  
The rest shall dance round,  
Him that lies on the ground  
'Fore me, this is excellent drinking.   

Faith Lads let's uncase us,  
Our rags but disgrace us,  
Some faggots, more, wine and a health  
To him and all those  
Who will fire their clothes  
As I would this new Commonwealth.    

A SONG.  
To the Tune of My Dear and only Love take heed.  

TEach me Bellisa what to do  
I am Environed round,  
Grief bringing thoughts, oppress me so  
They bend me to the ground;  
Alas, thy Strephon doth implore  
Thy help in time of need,  
He begs who never begged before,  
Come save my life w'th speed.   

Could I but hear thy sweetest voice,  
Or bless mive eyes with thine,  
My panting heart would so rejoice  
Souls so with bodies join  
As frosts before the sun doth melt,  
And rivers glide away  
My griefs would pass by me unfelt  
With thee if I might stay.   

And I more faithful than the rest  
Who for thy favour sue,  
Should be embosomed in thy breast  
The place to my love due;  
Then happy Strephon joyful sing,  
Hast hence away my sorrow;  
I'd not change states with any King.  
To be a King tomorrow.   

A Shepherd true, a faithful friend,  
I'll ever prove to thee;  
The skies to earth, shall first descend,  
ere thou complain of me:  
Then lay aside thy withered fear,  
And feed on hopes a while;  
Fair weather after storms appear,  
Love shall the time beguile.    

SONG.  

CUpid is an idle toy,  
Never was there such a boy;  
If there were, let any show,  
Or his quiver, or his bow,  
Or the wound by him he got  
By a broken arrow shot.  
Money, Money, Money makes men bow;  
That's the only Cupid now.   

Whilst the world continued good,  
And men loved for flesh and blood;  
Men about them wore a dart  
Which did win a woman's heart;  
And the women great and small,  
With a certain thing they call  
Kiss me, Kiss me, Kiss me, caught the men,  
That was the only Cupid then.    

A Song on a Scornful Mistress.  

Drowsy Lover rouse thy soul,  
Quaff Canary, and thou'lt find  
Spirits floating in the bowl,  
Cures distempers of the mind:  
Drinking makes thee sleep secure,  
That alone is half a cure.   

If Bellara be too cold,  
And have chilled thy love's desire,  
Drink, 'tis warming, and be bold,  
She hath no such active fire:  
Each glass a fresh Mistress brings  
Our Seraglios great as Kings.   

When thou art thus careless grown,  
And thy ague fit removed,  
Women will not lose their own;  
Where they ever were beloved.  
Then if she'll return to thee,  
Nothing cures so well as she.    

AN EPIGRAM On two at Enmity with one another.  

DIego is speechless, cannot live,  
How poor Reymundo then will grieve;  
But how if Diego should recover,  
Poor Reymund then will ne'er give over,  
Neither without, nor with at ease  
The Devil take him if he please.    

To the same accusing him for Flattery.  

HOw happy is that Government  
Where Flattery meets punishment,  
How fatal where it finds reward,  
And treason to have Honour's guard.  
Leave off ye Flatterers for shame,  
For honest duty fears no blame.    

A CATCH,  
To the Tune of, Old Poets Hippocrene Admire.  

COme Tom let's drink a rousing glass,  
Ud's niggs ne'er stir, is but an Ass,  
Good drinking brings all things to pass:  
Come Harry, George, and Jack take part,  
And much good do it each man's heart,  
Who will not drink's not worth a fart.   

Each man his glass and bottle by,  
Tobacco, Pipe, Artillery,  
A frolic, catch, and Drollery;  
we'll have no tell-tale boys to fill,  
Under the Rose no man speaks ill,  
But's safe as Thief is in a Mill.   

I love the King and Royal blood,  
Will fight their cause not understood,  
And for their sakes would drink a flood;  
Yet to their health's I not incline,  
But here's to those who will drink wine,  
Sack and a friend are both divine.   

Faith one glass more, and then let's go,  
Health to the lass, who ne'er said no,  
Or if she did, would take it too;  
Since only they do make us sport  
In City, Country, Camp, and Court,  
Let him be hanged, who cares not for't.    

Another to the same Tune.  

'tis much  
The Dutch  
Dares drink or fight  
Since they  
Must say  
To do us right  
The English Drunkards have more might,  
For when we fight or drink their Mumm,  
So sound we their jackets humm  
You cannot wake them with a drum.   

We still  
Cry fill  
More Wine advance  
Such men  
Again  
Will conquer France,  
And Tech dem de fin▪ running dance,  
Leaving their grapes for us to squeeze,  
Till they submit with Je-vou-prie's,  
But let the Dons take snuch and sneeze.   

'Tis late  
We prate  
And lose much time,  
The Sun  
Is run  
Unto a Clime  
Which dully drinks without a Rhyme;  
Then foot to foot, let's drink at those  
And Dutch-like drown those An-ti-toes,  
Then call the Sun to drink his dose.    

Another to the same Tune.  

FOr Wine  
That's fine  
We hither come,  
Draw neat  
No cheat  
Nor poisoned stumme,  
But Sack that speaks; when we are dumb;  
No other noise do we desire,  
But boy draw wine and make a fire,  
A Catch is then, your only Quire.   

Faith lad  
I'm glad  
To see thee here,  
'Tis sack  
We lack  
Our wits to cheer;  
'twill make us equal, with a Peer:  
'Tis music when the boy cries score  
And clinks the pots, when we call more,  
As drunken Greeks did heretofore.   

Come George  
My gorge  
Begins to warm,  
Repeat  
This heat  
'Twill do no harm;  
Your Treason-Brewers, drink in barm,  
Begin a health to our dear Miss,  
And unto him, who she dares kiss,  
For all the rest we care not this.   

Now Tom  
Is come  
And he shall pledge,  
This glass  
Shall pass,  
Now we are fledge,  
Though drunk as beggars under hedge:  
And he who will not sing and chat,  
Cry tope, and throw aside his hat,  
Not company is for a Cat.    

To a fair great-bellied Lady come to lie In in London.  

SHe comes like full-eared harvest now,  
Or fruit that loads the yielding bow,  
Which the glad Husbandman invites  
To taste, and labour new delights;  
Just so (a ship with some rich trade)  
Having a happy voyage made,  
In some safe harbour she unloads,  
Her owner's treasure, and her goods;  
His friends rejoice, he freed from fear,  
Puts forth again another year;  
Now welcome Miss, you are embayed,  
And must your Treasure here unlade;  
A ship well fraught, a ground well sown,  
No doubt will yield us still our own,  
You shall be manned and victualled too,  
For a deal more y'have yet to do;  
But when you have increased our store,  
To travail than you shall no more,  
But safely sit and see your wealth,  
Though honest got, yet got by stealth.    

To an absent Friend.  

AS streams do circulating creep,  
Through empty veins of th'immoved earth,  
Till to their Mother in the deep,  
They pay the tribute of their birth:  
So circularly we do move,  
Impelled by sympathy to meet,  
Our hearts are centrical in Love,  
At distance we incline and greet.  
A Tyrant shackles may put on,  
But cannot blind our inward light,  
No Cave so much obscured from sun,  
That on our souls can force a night.  
Love is our light, give me a friend  
Whose breast transparent is to me;  
Eternal beings have no end,  
My friendship would be that to thee.  
What fortune 'tis keeps us asunder,  
Is both my trouble and my wonder.    

To friends in the Country, who kept Leut, dwelling near a Forest of the Kings.  
To the Tune of, Chevy Chase.  

Ye wights which on the Forest fringe,  
The King's dear Deer disturb,  
Find out a tree, I'll find you springe,  
Which can wild horses curb:  
Say farewell Oysters, and old Ling,  
Pease-pottage, eke and gruel,  
Myself your Epitaphs will sing,  
That trees should bear such fuel.    

A Catch.  

THe poor abused Bagg-piper,  
Came home some two days after,  
With a full intent, for to beget  
On his Wife, a Son or a Daughter;  
But she being acquainted before  
With Soldiers and other Captains,  
Got the running of the reins,  
So he was well paid for his peins.    

Pastoral Song complaining of falsehood.  

DA●on the Shepherd with the flock,  
Of wanton Kids safely browsing  
Under the shelter of a Rock,  
Where won the herd to come A-bowsing  
Unto a bibling stream that ran,  
There Damon sat, and thus began,  
Cruel, Cruel, inconstant woman,  
False unto me, and true to no man.   

When as another Swain you saw,  
Yond liking loved, or loving feigned,  
Then began from me your love withdraw,  
Too soon alas he had obtained:  
Then came a third your love to win,  
And we were out and he was in:  
Farewell, Farewell, Inconstant woman,  
False unto me, and true to no man.    

To the Tune of, A Scotch Ditie  

FArewel false fair one,  
I can no more abide,  
To live and love alone,  
And still to be denied.  
Since I now have found thy changing,  
That thou lov'st to be beloved,  
Go hence alone'a ranging,  
From me that am immoved.    

Catches, To the Tune of A Boat, A Boat, Haste to the Ferry.  

WHat Will, why Wait, come Tom, leave playing,  
Our Turn-stileale brooks no delaying,  
For James and Ben with Mum are staying.    


Another.  
A pox upon all dice and carding,  
They will not leave a man a farthing,  
Drinking is better much and ●arding.    


Another.  
A health, a health, to our bright Duchess,  
I would I had her in my clutches,  
A pox take him my fortune grudges.    


Another.  
More wine, more wine, come drawer fill,  
Jack drink to me, and I to Will,  
Drink fair, take care, you do not spill.    


Another.  
George, here's to Miss, with Hans-in-kelder,  
And unto Tom who hath be-swelled her,  
Hans shall pledge too, when he grows elder.    

A Song in Dialogue.  Strephon. 
DEar I must do.  Phillis. 
Oh I dare not.  Str. 
'Twill not hurt you.  Ph. 
(No) I care not.  Str. 
Then I prithee sweet tell me the reason.  Ph. 
Will you marry?  Str. 
Yes, to morrow.  Ph. 
Till then tarry.  Ser. 
I would borrow.  Ph. 
Fruit is best, when 'tis gathered in season.   

On a Lady standing on a River-bank, seeing her shadow in the water.  

SAy fairest Nymph, what wouldst thou see,  
Another world enriched by thee,  
Is't not enough, the Gods have given thee more  
Of awful beauty, and of charming grace,  
Then ere was yet in any Face;  
But thou wilt set those Elements at odds,  
First reconciled by the Gods.   

The liquid Nymphs came gliding by  
To wonder, and to deify,  
Raising their seidgy heads to gaze, did bow,  
Since they had never seen amongst the train  
Of Huntresses, the like again,  
Then diving to their watery Caves below,  
Asked of their gods, what they did know.   

The angry Queen of love did weep,  
To see her Copy in the deep,  
Mounting her Dove-drawn-chariot, hasts on high,  
What Mortal, saith she, Father, hast thou made?  
That Heaven and Earth doth thus invade.  
Since all mankind about, where she doth dwell,  
Adotes not us, but her poor Cell.   

Then mildly Jove, do not despise  
The likeness of thine own bright eyes,  
She worships us and is thy subject sworn,  
For though thy Son could never find a dart,  
To wound her, 'tis a yielded heart;  
And on that bank, she came to shed some tears  
Of Love and kindness mixed with fears.    

Subscription to a Letter in verse.  

EVil to the Evil thinker,  
And good wine to the fair drinker,  
The merry witty, full of glee,  
Are only company for me:  
Where ere I find a narrow friend,  
I leave him to his foolish end.    

On a Scornful and Censorious Lady.  

FIctitious beauties, who presume,  
men's words, which vented are as Rheum,  
Are sires, and for your sakes consume,  
Know 'tis self-love, which you deceives,  
And the false Optics true believes  
Like Hocus-cheats, in their own sleeves.   

When your mock-majesties', we court,  
As boys a ssault a paper for't,  
'Tis not for glory, but for sport;  
So when we praise a coloured face,  
Such an uncomely▪ comely-grace,  
'Tis not for quarry but for chase.   

D'ye think that man, created Master,  
Ought not to be his own Taster,  
And call yee-comming, to come faster;  
If Sovereign man his vassal pledge,  
Commands to bed, to barn, or hedge,  
Ye are the blocks, but he the wedge.   

Then wretched women know your scorn  
Is treason against your Lord first born,  
Ye are but weeds that grow i'th' corn;  
And when together ye are bound,  
No other seed from you is found,  
But what we bring to our own ground.   

The Papist cannot take one oath,  
The Puritan will swallow both,  
'Tis drawing of a hollow tooth:  
Which no body can deny.   

The Papists swears he served the King,  
The Puritan says the same thing,  
Swears Capons better much then Ling:  
Which no body can deny.   

Some say the Papist had a Plot,  
To burn the Thames; Why was it not:  
It was discovered by a Scot:  
Which no body can deny.    

A Song set by Mr. Hill.  

I Am no subject unto Fate,  
That power assumed I give to you,  
Whither returning love or hate  
Which falls in storms or gentle dew.   

It is my will which chooseth you,  
Though Tyrant, yet if i'll obey,  
Obedience is truly due,  
To whom I give myself away.   

I may be born under a throne  
(A slave or Free) without my voice,  
But loving as Religion,  
Solely depends on my own choice:   

The world's dimensions are wide,  
My mind not Heaven can confine,  
That outside worship is belied  
Which inward bows to other shrine.   

Force may be called victory,  
Yet only those are overcome,  
Who yield unto an enemy  
That is their certain fate and doom.   

Thus fettered, I freely love,  
My choice doth make the conquest thine,  
And 'Twill thy power best improve  
That to thy subject thou incline.   

Who wisely rules, deserves command,  
Keep then the loyal next thy heart;  
Elective Monarches cannot stand,  
Nor love without an equal dart.    

A CATCH:  
To the Tune of, New Oysters.  

New Hangmen, new Hangmen, new Hangmen, new  
Thrice: what Puritan come ashore,  
Have you any Hemp at Court.    

Upon Prince Rupert his intended voyage to Guiny.  

GOds Sacrament he comes, no near  
Might Devil hawl this Cavalier,  
Give't here some Brandwine, make haste,  
Let's skinke apace, 'twill be our last,  
These sober English shalums fight,  
'Tis sport to them they take delight  
To see a head shot off and roll,  
Just as it were to throw a bowl,  
And when the Scuppers run with blood,  
They cry good cheer, for fish i'th' flood.  
Hark how the hound-feet shout and cry,  
See their Red crosses topmast high;  
And where that Devil Rupert stands,  
Who those fierce English dogs command:  
See mine Heers, Howard, Stanley, Jarmin,  
All to-mall about him swarming.  
Saint George for England, now they call,  
H'as killed of us the Devil and all.  
Now they steer close and show a side,  
The gates of Hell are not so wide;  
Then lustick mates, another dramm,  
And let the Devil fire his Dam:  
Our bells full, although we sink,  
We shall the less salt water drink:  
Now they spit fire at th' Admiral,  
They board and Ruyter he doth fall;  
And Rupert back to back makes twins,  
Ten thousand Devil, break his shins.  
Though Monck did thump us to our shores,  
He sinks us all like Sons of Whores:  
These English Carls will sink our state,  
To offer moneys now too late.  
we'll make the Prince Van Orange King,  
Coning Van France will no such thing  
Submit, unto our Coning Spain,  
Coning Van England rules the main.  
Then cut our banks and drown our land,  
Such foes, such Fates, who can withstand?  
For if great York comes out to sea,  
Our skins and country he will flay.    

To my Lord Bellasyse then in Tangier.  

I Am not poor, though wanting still,  
Our poverty is in our will:  
The earth, which of itself brings forth  
Is grateful though of little worth;  
Nature in me declineth Art,  
Show me the means, I'll show my heart:    

John Bellasyse Anagram. I Bless an Holy.  

I Bless an Holy, ever bless  
The Holy shepherd we confess,  
The trine of God in Unity  
One only Holy Deity,   

The Lord my Lord who raised your Fame,  
Conserves his worship in your name,  
To whom so much already's given,  
The next reserve, I hope is Heaven.   

The cross-way is the nearest hence,  
To your Eternal Residence.    

John Bellasyse Anagram. His Noble Sail.  

TRue Anagram, His Noble Sail  
Filled with the blasts of worthy Fame,  
o'er Fortune's worst doth now prevail,  
And swells it to a noble name.   

Through seas of blood, in civil wars  
When the ship-Soveraign was lost,  
This noble Sail with honoured scars,  
Bore up through all, though sound tossed.   

In all the storm, and darkest night  
Which sew outlived, who did not yield,  
This noble sail appeared in sight,  
As if itself would keep the field.   

Till the young Admiral was sound,  
With whom the noble sail did close  
To repossess, and keep that ground,  
Which the Ship-Soveraign did loose.   

Now Europe cannot fill this sail,  
Those Rebel-winds are weaker-grown,  
In Africa it finds a gale  
To move against Rebellion.   

This noble sail, let honour steer  
Till crowned with victories,  
From hence translated to a sphere  
Where Honour and reward ne'er dies.    

John Bellasyse Anagram. Bees is all Hony.  

BEES is all honey; Anagram  
Affirms it is your Lordship's name;  
And I believed, for Bellasyse  
By it, is only named twice;  
Rather explained, like mysteries,  
Where such signification lies:  
Such sweetness in the name and sense,  
That speaking it is eloquence,  
Bees (as your Lordship) have a King  
And each (in their defence) a sting,  
Industrious both, hating the Drone  
Helpful to all, unhurt, hurts none,  
The private and the common good  
Is both your own and others food.  
Alike it is to gather money,  
For you my Lord, as Bees do honey.    

On Sir Henry Bellasyse Son to my Lord John Bellasyse Anagram.  
By her Seen Sally.  

TO Sally is a Soldier's act,  
To Conquer is to crown the fact;  
And by a Mistress to be seen,  
Might make a conquest on a Queen:  
Who loves sure would be loved again,  
He never fails who conquers men.  
Great Alexander might at home  
(Perhaps) some silly maid o'ercome,  
But when he sallied forth in arms,  
The world was taken by those Charms;  
Riches and Honour, beauty, fame,  
Are Captives to an honoured name.  
Let Henry Sally after John,  
Then like the Father conquer Son.    

To the Tune of Phillis though thy powerful Charms.  

THy walls, O Tangier, soot and horse,  
Thy sorts and line have little force,  
'Tis Bellasyse who thee defends,  
Commuting all thy foes to friends,  
His easy rule, and prudent care,  
Shows peace much greater than the war,  
Yet when he leads his men to fight,  
His conducts safe, as Eagles slight.   

No more Alarms murmur now,  
No man who wears a surrowed brow,  
Were it not order for to keep,  
we'd open the gates and fall to sleep;  
For Gayland knows his watch and word,  
Secures this place more than the Sword;  
And now with's Army does intend,  
To shows he is a powerful friend.   

Now happy Tangier is thy Fate  
That Bellasyse is come, though late,  
Thy worthies now in honours-bed,  
Had not been numbered with the dead;  
But 'twas not fit so great a prize  
Tangier enjoyed and no man dies:  
Some Roman Souls had here their grave,  
Then why should we less hononr have.   

But now the Laurel crowns his head,  
Who solemnizes the brave dead,  
And those remaining worthy men  
Are subjects of his tongue and pen;  
That our great Charles may know their worth,  
And offer them he would set forth,  
He certain is of a fair Fame,  
Whom Bellasyse but once doth name.    

To the Tune of How happy and free is the Plunder.  

Ye happy and free men of Tangier,  
Who sear neither Moor, Dutch, nor danger,  
Now our General's come,  
Whose Trumpet and Drum  
Makes Gayland appear like a stranger.  
Then plough, sow and reap, make hay and drink wine,  
The curtains are drawn, go to sleep in your line.   

One Sentinel Africa saces,  
Our stocks, and our herds abroad grazes,  
The Dons bring us Salads  
To relish our palates,  
Which all but the fool much amazed.  
Then plough—   

New works, and old walls are new mended,  
The Soldier and sick are befriended,  
The golden-age laws  
Not ensnared by a clause,  
With justice and honour defended,  
Then plough   

Who doth not confess, we inherit  
More than this from our General's merit,  
Will never be at ease,  
Nor an Angel can please,  
Let him hang with his own private spirit.  
Then plough, sow and reap, make hay and drink wine,  
The curtains are drawn, go to sleep in your line.    

On two jealous Lovers.  

STand, who comes there, 'tis I she said,  
Of no man yet was e'er afraid.  
Then call your Corporal to me,  
I have no more to speak to thee;  
Corporal bring me to the place,  
Where I your Colonel may face,  
I have affairs of much import,  
To none but him I will report.  
Sir there's a woman waits at door,  
Earnest to speak with you; No more,  
Let her come in; your Servant Sir,  
Madam what business makes you stir  
So late abroad; The love of you  
Since I have heard you are not true,  
And my passion brings me here  
That you my doubts and fears may clear.  
I know not Madam what to say,  
Nor who it is doth me betray.  
I wear your favours next my heart,  
Nothing but death can make them part;  
Then pray resolve me quickly, who  
Hath made this breach betwixt us too;  
Were I as easy to believe,  
I should have greatest cause to grieve:  
You have of late declared I know,  
In favour of a Rival foe;  
Then I affirm'd under my hand,  
O'er me you never should command;  
And yet I thought it was a blind,  
And still to me were truly kind.  
'Tis true I am; yet have been told  
You boast my savours and grow cold,  
And other beautys-aid implore,  
Forsaking mine to whom you swore:  
If this be true, you cannot blame  
Though I appeared to do the same;  
But if that you put on this mask  
To blind the world, I pardon ask,  
I have done so, and would do still,  
But cannot do't, without your will:  
How quickly then are we agreed,  
The wounds are healed but now did bleeds  
No more false worships shall deceive  
But one another we'll believe.    

On a censorious barren Lady to a Friend.  

SOme there are George, who cluck and sit,  
Not on their own, but others wit;  
They spoil the good, the bad make worse;  
And kill the child which they should nurse:  
A windy egg, or one that's addle  
Is good enough for fiddle faddle,  
They may sit on, and keep a pother,  
But never hatch to be a Mother.    

On Mother Cony the Bawd.  

WHen Maud the Empress traivailed France,  
This Mother Cony learned to dance,  
She sooted it so finely then,  
So loving was, so loved by men,  
That falling backward by mishap,  
A spruce young man fell in her lap;  
So pleasing to her was this fall,  
That dance she called Up-tails all;  
And did this Jig so oft repeat,  
It brought her to a mighty heat;  
She was with sweats so gently cured,  
That oft the same she hath endured;  
With ease and oysters, now is grown,  
Harder to be, than not be known;  
A full days journey now about  
Let him go see who makes the doubt.    

To a Friend upon some Ladies who were curious to see the Author's Letters into the Country, to condemn them.  

I Am not sick, and yet take physic  
Yet have no clap, a cold, or ptysick,  
That little which I have to spend's  
For meat at home, as for the friends;  
I have in town they are so few,  
I stay at home to write to you,  
And something more, though lesser reason  
I balladize against women's treason;  
For if I suffer undermining,  
The Counter is defence, and lining,  
They shall not come with their approaches,  
And make a breach, to let in Coaches,  
I'll sally forth and fire their trenches,  
And drive them under cabin benches,  
Till they have lest their siege and quarrels  
I'll make them creep into old barrels;  
And then so roughly I will roll them,  
Till they cry quarter and befowl them;  
A Tyrant I, when once provoked,  
Finding Devils Angel-cloaked;  
Amongst those blackbirds now I leave them,  
They deceive fools, fiends deceive them:  
A friend, good wine, a little spending,  
A pretty w●nch who needs no tending.   

would have those who e'er looks further,  
On his own pleasures commits mu●ther,  
And for one face, that's patched and painted  
Thousands are damned, for one that's sainted.   

If Ale such Poetry affords,  
What shall we do when drunk like Lords.    

To a Spanish Lady in S. Lugar.  

REymund thou hast survived a war  
Where thousands perished in thy sight,  
And thou hast travailed now so far  
To yield thyself without a sight.  
No more thy warfare ever boast,  
Nor name thyself a Soldier now,  
Since in that very port th' art lost.  
Where thou thy courage shouldst a vow:  
Thou know'st how ambushes are laid  
How to avoid an Enemy,  
The Ambush of a Spanish maid,  
Hath forced from thee thy liberty.  
But Reymund with safe conduct came  
And cannot be a prisoner,  
'Tis great Injustice, as great blame,  
To circumvent a Traveller.  
And yet alas I must confess  
That I have broke your Countries law,  
And by a Clandestine address,  
Would carry hence▪ that maid away.  
My Dear Lusya, 'tis a truth  
Your Country hath of Saints such store,  
That I would glory in thy youth,  
And in my Country thee adore;  
But if Saint Lugar be the shrine  
Where my devotion I must pay,  
But promise me you will be mine  
I'll make another Holiday.    

Upon the King and our Naval Enemies.  

Arithmetic misplaced since Charles the second  
In place before the fifth, should first be reckoned:  
Old dotard time, and giddier-headed fame  
Forgot the figure, yet memorised the name,  
What if the Danish, Swedish, Belgic coasters,  
Germane, French, Spanish are pretending boasters,  
Down with your topsails, Charles his sovereignty  
Commands where Neptune hath his Vice-gerency  
Giantlike Dutch, of a rebellious stock,  
Forsaking your Protector split on a Rock:  
Leave of ye daring Hogons, your pretending   

Ye cannot fight; your boats and nets want mending.  
T' your fishing trade again, and we your masters,  
Will feed ye well, but still we must be tasters,  
In this obedience to our Monarchy,  
Eat Herrings, swallow your butter quietly.  
Ten hundred thousand Sacraments can't save ye,  
Nor all those Tuns of Devils, ye would have, ye;  
The crosiered bloody flag when we advance,  
To them, and all the world, we give desiance:  
For all who think by war our peace to trouble,  
Shall find by wars abroad our peace redouble.    

A Rhetorical speech of one Jobber an Atterneys' Clerk of Davids-Inn, to his Brother Squib fellow Clerk.  
BRother Squib, be it known to all men by these presents, that I do utterly quite, claim and demand, yielding and paying unto me the sum of nine pence halfpenny, of lawful money of England, which I disbursed at sundry times upon the purchase of several Manors of Gingerbread, what ever parcel or parcels, I did occupy and enjoy, I take as quit Rents due upon the loan of my Money: These are therefore to certify all whom it may concern, that I do lawfully demand, my principal debt, for if I should run you through, and you should die wilfully in your own defence, it is but se defendo by the Law, for my money's as due to me, as your life is to you, besides you; ought not by the law to provoke a man to his own destruction: yet out of my obligations to Law, in respect of my present occasions, if you can procure me the just sum of three pence half penny, and give me Bond for the rest, or procure Joan our kind Laundress to pass her word, out of the singular good will and affection I have thereunto, I will acquiese until the Term of Hillary.   

Upon the Dutch Mutton-Mongers on the Coast of Suffolk, and other parts pilfering of Turnips.  

IS Meat so scarce amongst the Boors,  
They set our sleets, and boats with oars,  
To pilfer Mutton from our Coast,  
And that the Victory they boast,  
But sure they stayed too long to drink,  
Which made so many of them sink,  
We sent them Cooks to roast their meat,  
And fyring too, fall to and eat;  
We entertain such strangers so  
Knowing how far they had to go,  
And having had so warm a meal  
They had no stomach, (more) to steal,  
Unless to bed with all sails made,  
Whom we so civilly conveyed,  
And yet they are not well content  
But say 'twas too much compliment,  
Had Beaufort had but such atreat  
He would have danced into a sweat,  
And swore that English are the best  
At entertaining foreign guest.  
Doll Dutch for shame, no more complain  
For they will laugh at you in Spain,  
Since here such welcome they have had  
That still they think the English mad,  
Would ye have yet a second course,  
In troth I fear you'll like it worse,  
Unless our powdered dumplings please,  
They'll fill your stomaches and give ease:  
I know your drink is Brandwine  
But ye have worms and must drink brine,  
Most of your stomaches are grown sick  
And powdered meats are gross and thick.  
we'll waft you back to English ground  
And make your fulsome bodies sound,  
For ye can never be at ease  
Until ye▪ quite forsake the seas,  
Pure air, spring-water and brown-bread  
Cures the distempers of your head;  
At Chelsey College ye shall find  
Physic as well to cure your mind,  
State-surfers now are grown so strong  
Ye must let blood under the Tongue;  
Ye talk too much, and in those fits  
Discover plots of your De-Witts,  
But when ye are in perfect health,  
we'll have a care too of your wealth;  
Then back again, and tell your Mates:  
What we have done to mend your states:  
The Sea-toyled trade, and world's affairs,  
Leave it to us your lawful Heirs,  
Than you good Fishermen may prove  
In much obedience and love:  
But if ye should relapse again  
Ye cannot scape 'bove one in ten,  
And the Grand Signior of France  
About your Calenture will dance,  
And in the height of your disease  
Protect your Land, as we your Seas.    

To Lottery of Love; To an old devout Tune.  

WHo draws most blanks the most gets in,  
Who ever looseth most doth win,  
Who gets the most the most doth loose,  
Who lest away a saver goes.  
O love whose twisted Rope  
No man could ere untie,  
It makes us all to grope  
Till we with groping dye.   

O love which makes a beast  
Of Man that's highly born,  
And then giv'st him a Crest  
Much like a Baker's horn.   

O Love whose Monkie-sport  
Makes tumblers of us all,  
Then giv'st us a Report  
For chief of Fumblers-Hall.   

At first we ride so fast,  
We strait fall to a Trot,  
Our bones so soar at last,  
Can never be forgot.   

O love whose mighty force  
All creatnres doth command,  
For neither man nor horse  
Could ever it withstand.   

It makes the Courtier frisks  
To powder, cringe, and bow,  
With Oleos and bisk  
He treats the Lord knows how.   

Although his body's weak  
The power of love makes strong,  
And when that he doth speak  
Eryngoes on his Tongue.   

The waiting-maid he courts  
And into her doth crawl,  
That by those kind resorts,  
He may her Lady mawl.   

But Marchpane will not last  
It melts so soon away,  
And they behind are cast,  
Like cheese-curds from the whey.   

The Soldier in the field,  
Who doth the longest stand,  
This love doth make him yield,  
His Pike falls out of's hand.   

Yet when white Colours fly,  
He doth again advance,  
And makes his foes to lie,  
As they were in a trance.   

Yet he is beaten so  
He cannot keep his ground,  
But sneakingly doth go  
To cure a pocky wound.   

The Scholar doth indite  
Strong lines in verse or prose,  
Till he doth underwrite  
The Poet wants a Nose.   

At first he flies so high,  
At last doth fall so low,  
Such weakness from the thigh  
Can neither stand nor go.   

The merchant and the clown  
Have all no better luck,  
For they are up and down,  
As Drakes are with a Duck.   

With trading they do break,  
With labour weakened, old,  
Their ships do spring a leak  
And then their tails are cold.   

Fanatique Love's desire  
That burns with sister zeal,  
First London set on fire,  
To make a Common-weal.   

A pox on Venus' whore,  
And Cupid too, her son,  
With all her daughters more  
And so my Song is done.    

England's rejoicing for London's Re-building.  
To the Tune of Fair fall the Muses who in well tuned verse, or a joyful sight to see.  

LEt none pass by, who come this way,  
Till they have heard me sing and say,  
Who loves the King and Common good  
Here's cheerful news to warm his blood:  
When London is re built again,  
Then welcome all, both maids and men.   

Come all good Citizens, rejoice with me,  
For care recals no things are past,  
A Phoenix from her ashes you shall see,  
Of greater splendour, than the last.  
Both rich and poor,  
Will prosper more,  
In one year than they did in three,  
And all your trade,  
So much decayed,  
Shall flourish in a happy peace,  
When all your jealousies shall cease,  
A joyful sight to see.   

Our Ancestors ne'er thought of such a Town  
That all the world should it admire,  
But low-built on the river-bank sat down,  
In hovel fit for nought but fire:  
But our new Troy,  
With fires of joy,  
The fairest of the world shall be,  
And all mankind,  
Who are not blind,  
Shall say that London is the Town  
Of all the world, should wear the Crown,  
A joyful sight to see.   

No more by ally-smels, like midnight carts,  
No holes where daylight ne'er appears,  
But ordered all in well proportion' dparts,  
No place for jealousies and fears.  
Nor foreign Clown,  
Who comes to town,  
Shall swear by all his ancestry,  
That all that day,  
He lost his way,  
And yet Paul's-steeple could not find,  
Misled by turnings, like the blind;  
A Joyful sight to see.   

No more shop-lights built for necessity  
Shall cause the Buyer to suspect,  
Good-fellows late may reel home quietly,  
Without a trap-door to detect,  
And not a bench,  
For any wench,  
To lay a child or get a Fee,  
Nor Maids above,  
With apprentice love,  
o'er tops of houses meet and kiss,  
And spend the cash you do not miss,  
A joyful sight to see.   

Those Padders whom that City forest hid  
And Plotters there their shelter found,  
Your wise designed building does forbid,  
No back-streets nor ways under ground,  
But like good men  
With heart and pen,  
To public interest agree;  
with arts and trade,  
Ye all are made,  
Then cheerfully to work amain,  
'Tis Englaads joy and all your gain,  
A joyful sight to see.   

New Churches with new bells, new tunes shall ring  
The old are out of fashion now,  
The Corporations in procession sing  
fanatics too, the Lord knows how,  
But one and all  
Both great and small,  
Come heartily and sing with me,  
The King God bless,  
The Queen no less,  
Send them an Heir and happy Reign,  
Our trade and liberties to maintain,  
A joyful sight to see.    

The Forest Lovers.  

FAir maids who are so coy  
In these Examples find,  
All creatures will enjoy,  
To one another kind.  
Turn to your Lover's time will fly,  
None love the old until they die.   

Surely the Gods did preordain  
That we should meet this instant,  
Here's none but thou and I alone  
Within this grove so pleasant;  
Then sit thee down upon the grass  
And I'll sit me down by thee,  
There's nothing here  
Thou needst to fear,  
Dearest do not deny me.   

See how the strong and warlike Horse  
The ground doth beat so proudly,  
And neighing to his Female love  
The woods resounding loudly:  
See how the wanton Kidd doth frisk  
Before her bearded Lover,  
As she would say,  
This time of day,  
Invites to come and cover.   

The lowing Kine, the lusty Bull  
Calls over hedge and ditches,  
Nature and reason doth incline  
Till age that doth betwitch us:  
A pair of years in love with thee,  
All other loves refusing;  
Then do not cry,  
Nay pish nay fie,  
For Love deferr'ds abusing.   

The Turtle-Doves who areso chaste  
See how they sit a billing,  
See how the Ewe turns to the Ramm  
Which shows all flesh is willing:  
See how the Ivy eclipse the Elm,  
And doth with sloth upbraid us;  
Then let us kiss,  
'Tis not amiss,  
The trees on purpose shade us.   

See how the pleasant Spring invites  
Us to embrace each other,  
See how the pretty birds delights  
To chirp at one another:  
Then be not coy let's get a boy  
And dearest desered no longer,  
And strive not now.  
Unless that thou,  
Dost think to prove the stronger.   

Who loves will not by force constrain  
But gently win my favour,  
So Satyrs do their lusts obtain  
And care not then who have her,  
But if I give myself to thee  
And thou change for another;  
Than not a Maid  
I am afraid,  
That I may prove a Mother.   

Fear not thou dearest of my life,  
My heart is thine for ever,  
Before the Gods thou art my Wife  
Now show thy love or never;  
Delays are dangerous to love,  
And age w●ll quickly seize us,  
Le's now embrace  
In this sweet place,  
The birds will sing to please us.   

I love too much she said, yet fear  
But love is so much stronger,  
Thou mayst do what thou wilt my Dear  
I can hold out no longer:  
But when thou hast overcome my heart,  
Dear leave me not to sorrow,  
But tell me where  
And truly swear,  
To meet again to morrow.    

The description of a rare beauty of a Lover's Fancy.  
To an old Tune.  

If any man do want a Wife,  
And would secure her Honesty,  
Take this, and then i'll pawn my life  
He shall be free from jealousy.   

COme near my lusty Lovers,  
Give ear unto my ditty,  
A pleasant song  
Is never long,  
Supposing it be witty.   

And list my noble Lasses,  
My Song is of a creature,  
Though not so fair  
As others are,  
Yet wonderful in feature.   

Her short black frizzled hair,  
With Nitts for pearl adorned,  
Two else-locks short  
And some report,  
Besides that she is horned.   

Her pious ears down lossing  
Do shade her mines of Amber,  
Whence treacle drops  
As fast as hopps,  
Fall down to dress her Chamber.   

A frozen dishclout forehead  
Which reacheth to her Crown-a,  
But if you'll spy,  
Her hole-bred eye  
Then come a great way downa.   

That eye, so amorously  
Doth blink upon her lover,  
Just like a sow,  
Whose hairy brow,  
Such sweet looks doth discover.   

Her nose much like a Parrots,  
Or Rome's greatest Commanders,  
But such a smell  
No tongue can tell,  
If you come near her glanders.   

Her cheeks are pleasant valleys  
Which meet within her mouth-so  
That you would think  
'Twould stop the stink,  
And turneed to her profecto.   

Her bearded thin-lips pouting,  
As Fame her trumpet blows,  
And her catarrh  
Proclaims a war,  
Against her glanders nose.   

Her mouths a buttery hatch  
Her swallow is so profound,  
That you would think  
When she doth drink,  
You were in the Danish sound,   

Her tongue like spotted Ermines  
And on each side a Canker,  
Where such a breath  
Is sudden death,  
But come not near and think her.   

Her teeth a Tinker hammered,  
Out of a brewing kettle;  
Her gums as red  
As our brown bread,  
Or as the man of mettle.   

Her chin so complimental  
Turns up to catch her drivel,  
Who would not lie  
In a Pigsty,  
With such a Female Devil.   

she's necked much like a gander  
Sweet voiced as any bittern,  
She sings in prose,  
Like any rose,  
Unto a barber's Cittern.   

Her duggs like dried cows udder,  
Her teats hang to her belly,  
And all her milk  
‛ As soft as silk,  
But like Toad-tadder jelly.   

Stand farther of I pray you,  
Now I have spied Avernus,  
Which we'll pass by  
Behind doth lie,  
A place will more concern us.   

I cannot choose but tell you  
A truth and 'tis a wonder,  
Her cow'd-boned bum  
Sounds like a drum,  
And can as loudly thunder.   

Her thighs so much salt-water  
Doth every day soak in,  
she's Fish below,  
Down to her toe,  
And looks like Gaberdine.   

If any lusty lover can  
But like my Mistress favour,  
Or Friend of mine,  
I will resign,  
And promise he shall have her.   

Her parts so far exceeding  
All other English beauties,  
In writing this,  
I have I wiss,  
Performed a lover's duty.    

The new mode of Love.  

The whining lover seldom gets a prize  
The bold and careless make the conquest sure,  
When you come to look babies in their eyes,  
They whistle you like Hawks unto a lure.    

To an old Tune.  

OF LOve whose power and might  
None ever yet withstood,  
Thou forcest me to write  
Come turn about Robin Hood.   

Sole mistress of my rest  
Let me thus far presume,  
To make this bold request,  
A black-patch for the Rheum.   

Your tresses finely wrought  
Much like a golden snare,  
My silly heart hath caught,  
As Moss did catch his Mare.   

Your eyes like stars divine  
Makes me renew this arrant,  
In simple speeches mine  
A buttock for a warrant.   

Oh women will you never,  
But think that I do flatter,  
I vow I loved her ever,  
And fain I would be at her.   

What is't I would not do  
To purchase one good smile,  
Bid me to China go  
And i'll sit still the while.   

I think that I shall die  
Love so my heart bewitches,  
It makes me howl and cry,  
Oh! how my elbow itches.   

Te●●● overflow my sight  
With waves of daily weeping,  
That in the careful night  
I take no rest for sleeping.   

Cupid is blind men say,  
But yet me thinks he seeth,  
He hit me ' o-ther day  
A T— in Cupid's teeth.   

My Mistress is so fair,  
But oh! her late disgraces,  
Hath made me to despair,  
A pox take all such faces.   

But since my simple merits  
Her loving looks must lack,  
Come stop my vital spirits,  
With claret wine and sack.   

Regard my great mishaps,  
Oh Jove thou God of wonder,  
Send down thy thunderclaps  
And rend her smock a sunder.   

But if that all relief,  
And comforts doth forsake me,  
I'll hang myself for grief,  
Nay then the Devil take me.    

Her Ingenious her Answer so modestly delivered.  
Answer.  

YOur verses I received,  
Like one of Cupid's Martyrs,  
Because you are so grieved  
Go hang in your own garters.   

I cannot choose but pity  
Your lubbers mourning tears,  
Because your plaints are witty,  
You may go shake your ears.   

To purchase your delight  
No labour I will lose,  
Your pains I will require  
With a nog of bread and cheese.   

'Tis you I fain would see,  
'Tis thee I only think on,  
My looks as kind shall be  
As the Devils over Lincoln.   

I long to see thee here  
I must enjoy thee one day,  
Mean time come kiss me there  
Where I did sit on Sunday.    

Doctor Donnes' Couplet.  

HE that hath business and makes love  
Doth do,  
Such wrong as when a married man  
Doth woe.    

The Version.  

HE that makes love his business:  
Then doth do  
No wrong at all, and married men  
May woe.    

A CATCH.  
To the Tune of, New Oysters.  

NEw Roisters, new Roisters, new Roisters new,  
What tame Knights have you to dress,  
Have you any Maids with child.    

The wise contented Cuckold,  
To an old Tune.  

Who ere would lead a happy life,  
All jealousy eschew  
With no strict hand nor foolish strife,  
Still let her have her due.   

I Am a contented man,  
And I have a dainty wife,  
Who labours as much as she can,  
To make me a happy life.   

I've neither money nor lands,  
Nor trade to get me some bread,  
Nor can I work with my hands,  
And yet I am bravely fed.   

I have clothes and money to spend,  
I go and come when I will,  
I drink a quart with a Friend,  
Such Toll I get by my Mill.   

I have good pewter and brass,  
Two chambers furnished well,  
I should be counted an ass,  
How I got them, for to tell.   

Brave Gallants come to my door,  
And ask m● for Madam Brown,  
But your illbred Country-boor  
Would Gammer-her like a Clown.   

She winks, and I step aside,  
Then entreats him to draw nigh;  
And looks as sweet as a Bride,  
As coy and as cunningly.   

Up stairs she so nimbly goes,  
You can hardly hear her tread,  
She knows her friends from her foes,  
'Tis a pretty Rogue in a bed.   

When the fool is sneaking gone,  
She sits her down on my knee,  
And cries my Dear Chuk, my John,  
I'm fain to do this for thee.   

'Tis a plagny witty wench,  
Steals money into my pocket,  
And Tickles me like a Tench,  
And for all gramercy blockhead.   

All night sometimes she is out  
At some great body's labour,  
She nimble whisks about,  
As 'twere at a Pipe and a Tabor.   

But when she comes home again,  
She strokes my forehead and face,  
And ever I cry Amen,  
Where ever my wife says grace.   

The Merchant sends in good wine,  
Fat Gammons and Botargo,  
We altogether do dine,  
But Betty unlades his Cargo.   

My Draper sends in fine cloth,  
Her Mercer the richest silk,  
The little Rogue gives them broth  
But robs the Calves of their milk.   

Fine linen, and silk stockings,  
And sweet perfumed gloves,  
She gets by Nurse-like Rockings,  
Let others get by their Loves.   

What fools will go bare and poor,  
And starve for want of good meat,  
And swear that his wife's a whore  
When she goes forth to repeat.   

If twenty light their candle  
At mine, what is it the worse?  
All things were made to handle,  
All sorts of coin in a purse.   

A wife that's a wagtail born,  
If curbed will spend thy estate;  
'Tis better to have my horn  
Of plenty, let other men prate.   

If all men be not like me,  
They are more troubled than I,  
I know the worst I can be,  
It is but the chance of a die.    

A Ballad to some Friends in the Country.  

IN place where claps are called Geese,  
And farting is Icleped sneeses,  
So Marmalade is roasted Cheese;  
Which no body can deny.   

Where (men) women do make Cuckold  
Holding land in Tenure Buckhold,  
Near the manor called Muck-hold (alias)  
Which no body can deny.   

Where Goats are by Hogs-Norton kept,  
Where bad is good, and Boar-hunt left,  
Where thou and I have often slept.   

Where A-mare-Ill-is and her Cully,  
Do parsonate or wench or Bully,  
‛ thou't help of Ovid or of Tully.   

Where men from tops of Towers do fly,  
And yet no more than birds do die,  
Such power's in sack-divinity.   

Where Pigeons more than people prays,  
For they at Church are still six days,  
Their Croo is their expressive lays.   

And on the seventh till bell doth ring,  
Where Hopkins rhymes the people sing,  
With a hay derry down high ding.   

But then the Homily being done,  
The Lord invites the Vicar home,  
Mistake not 'tis not he of Rome.   

Where he the meat prays for, and drink,  
With eyes of Faith, for he doth wink,  
The Cat's eyes out just so do pinks.   

But in this place I have been told,  
If on report I may be bold,  
The folks are neither hot nor cold.   

Two Vicars claim unto the Church,  
And both alike the Parish lurch,  
Yet lowly do the poor souls curch.   

The one is house prays for the people,  
Whose turrets do exceed the steeple,  
The Del'e a one, who cares a peeble.   

The other says that he doth pray,  
'Tis for himself the people say,  
And for his daughter by my faith.   

I'm sure the folks are yet no better,  
Then those who never read a letter,  
Non legit finds the law a Debtor.   

In such a place where corn doth grow,  
Where none do reap, nor none do sow,  
And such a place as none does know.   

'Tis Paradise a man would think  
But for the Rivers there of drink,  
Where he that swims is sure to sink.   

If these strange things be but as true  
I'll come and see, till then adieu,  
So here's a health to all the Crew,  
Which no body dare deny.    

The Da●byshire Maid.  

A jolly black Lass came up to the Town  
And wandered about, till she came to Whitehall,  
But when she had seen both Courtier and Clown  
She liked the Lifeguard men better than all.   

There was a Maid of Derbyshire,  
Would needs come to the City  
To see those sights which she had heard,  
For she was wondrous witty.   

She was so stout,  
She looked about,  
The doors and the shops were all open,  
But then she said,  
I am afraid  
That they are lately broken.   

She heard a Tinker's kettle ring,  
Quoth she, here's bees a swarming,  
And saw the folks go in and out  
With such a noise and charming.  
Yet was so stout,  
She looked about  
To see when the people would settle.  
Or else that they  
Would fly away,  
Hearing no more the kettle.   

But now she spied a Goldsmith's stall,  
Where Gold was laid a sunning,  
These Citizens are Fools she cried  
Who have so little cunning,  
We make a show  
Of what we owe,  
But no body knows our riches,  
If this they give  
They cannot live,  
But beg for bread and breeches,   

A little farther passing on,  
She wondered at their breeding,  
They cried fair Maid, what do you lack,  
Here's choice, take for your needing,  
She thanked them all,  
Both great and small,  
Although she were but a stranger,  
Yet she had friends,  
Would make amends,  
Of which there was no danger.   

She bid good-deine, and then she heard,  
A wench was crying marches,  
Bellows to mend and kitchenstuff,  
She thought them singing catches;  
By the mass quoth she  
Those Ballads we,  
Have from North●mpton Poet,  
Nor Smithfield wares  
With brains and stairs,  
Are half so good I know it.   

A guilt-coach with glass windows too't,  
Just then was passing by her,  
If all our houses were so built  
Quoth she, we'd fear no fire;  
The footmen too,  
Made such a show,  
For Lords, she them saluted,  
And ducked so low  
That in one throw,  
Her coats were all polluted.   

To Covent Garden than she came,  
With love so strong perfumed,  
Seeing the Lifeguard there on horse,  
She then was quite consumed.  
Good Lord quoth she  
These Princes be,  
With Red-coats, and with Feathers,  
The sword and belt,  
My heart hath felt,  
No horse can break such Tethers.   

I love not one alone, but all,  
Five hundred horse and more-a,  
And yet me thinks one Irishman  
I still prefer beforea:  
Oh happy sight  
I take delight,  
To see and smell their horses,  
And for their good  
Will keep my blood,  
And kiss their very arses.    

To my Lord Bellasyse in Tangier, upon a New-year's day.  

COuld I as well (as wish) present,  
It should not be a Compliment;  
But since the most that I possess,  
Is from your Lordship, I confess,  
Unless you'll call this fruit mine own,  
The seed was by your Lordship sown:  
A soil (though rich) sometimes brings forth  
But little grain, and little worth,  
Being oversown with too much seed,  
Shows it is fertile, though in weed;  
And I, so much obliged, may say  
Ingratitude's no sin this way:  
But now I pray a happy year  
I mean at Worlaby, not here,  
Leaving the Rains in Africa,  
Which throws down houses ev'ry day,  
Washing the cement of our walls,  
And one another by their falls  
Beats down, seeming as they would say,  
we'll make the mole, or choke the hay;  
Those dear-bought cork-woods, fruits and flowers  
The costly forts, and rotten towers,  
Those fruits upon your Lordship's wall  
At Worlaby your own may call,  
there's no Levant, to blast your trees,  
Nor house invaded by the seas,  
The grass which grows before your doors,  
Doth hide no ambush of the Moors,  
No Jacals to devour your sheep,  
Nor public cares to break your sleep,  
On Lincoln Heath, run for a cup,  
Filled with sound wine, and drink it up,  
Her's Malaga, mixed wine and stumme  
Which kills outright or makes men dumb,  
Leave meat unfound, and spanish fruits,  
And nothing good but our old suits  
To keep us warm, and from the sun,  
And so my Creed of Tangiers done.  
Nothing I know is wanting there,  
And nothing else I know is here,  
Then welcome to your Ithaca,  
And happy be I ever pray,  
In family, in friends, and fame,  
In honour, fortune and good name;  
In all things what you wish to be,  
And one thing more I wish to see.    

A Ballad,  
To the Tune of the Song in the play of Bartholomew Fair. Youth, Youth, thou hadst better been starved at thy Nurse.  

YE wicked Fishmongers, and Butchers repent  
And all ye Coal-sellers, as wicked or worse,  
Who make the poor people keep all the year lent  
Though you get their money, yet you have their curse,  
Ye oft have, been told,  
Both young yea and old,  
That wolves will devour our sheep in the fold.  
What Cannibals are ye to eat one another,  
And worse than wolves to sister and brother,  
'Twere better by much ye ne'er had been born,  
Then men should be like to beasts that wear horns.   

Ye Brewers and Bakers, who cousin the poor,  
With weights and with measures, 'tis shame for to tell,  
And make them to run so fast on the score,  
For which ye run faster (God bless us) to Hell,  
Ye oft have been taught,  
Good comes not of naught,  
And gold is not good, if too dearly be bought.  
Then pray be contented with moderate gains,  
Amend your bad lives, and wash out your slains,  
Lest that if a Famine should come, I tell true,  
Instead of good meat, the poor would eat you.   

Ye Ladies and Gallants who slaunt it so gay,  
Remember the poor whilst ye are above ground,  
And still give a little, ye well enough may,  
Repent and relent, amend and be sound,  
I tell ye in time,  
In this godly Rhyme,  
That the other world is a much hotter clime,  
Then do some good deeds, whilst ye are in the way,  
Defer it no longer to another day,  
What thanks will ye have to give (when ye die)  
To the rich now the poor do starvingly lie.   

Ye gamesters who sit up whole nights at your dice,  
And never consider the time that ye spend,  
And think that fair-play is a virtue not vice,  
Although ye undo yourselves or your friend:  
But take it from me,  
Who ever ye be,  
From cheating and swearing, ye are not all free,  
And men do but flatter themselves in a sin,  
To get from another a point or a pin;  
For covetousness is the root of all ill,  
The rich are made poor, the poor poorer still.   

Ye merchants and Citizen-trades of all sorts,  
Who eat of the best, and trick-up your wives,  
Who take your delights in plays and in sports,  
Your wares are no better, then are your bad lives.  
There are some good men,  
Yet not one in ten,  
But says to what e'er he can get his Amen,  
Alack and day for ill gotten goods  
Will moulder away like sands with the sloods,  
Repent and be humble, give well to the poor,  
what's honestly got increaseth your store.   

Remember those thousands who lately have died,  
Remember your fears and your promises made,  
Your sins of Rebellion, your lusts and your pride,  
Take heed you relapse not, unto the same trade:  
Amend all your lives,  
Both husbands and wives,  
For they must needs go, when the Devil 'tis drives,  
Fear God in the first place, the King next obey,  
Each one love their neighbour, let all of us pray,  
Our peace and our plenty will then so succeed,  
Though all be not rich, yet none will have need.    

The Day star of the North.  

A Maid so fair, so chaste, and good,  
And anciently of British blood,  
From maddock's Princes of North-wales,  
Doth now in Doncaster reside,  
So famed of all both far and wide.   

THis wonder of the Norther star,  
Which shines so bright at Donc●ster  
Doth threaten all mankind a war,  
Which no body can deny.   

The French, the Dutch, and Danish fleet,  
If ever they should come to meet,  
Must all lie captives at her feet,  
Which no body can deny.   

High blooded Princes and hot Peers,  
Must altogether shake their ears,  
Though ne'er so bold in their carriers,  
Which no body can deny.   

Your small Knights-errant; she defies,  
For if that any one she spies,  
To look on her, he surely dies,  
Which no body can deny.   

Had Randolph been a Rowland too,  
Alas 'twere more than they could do,  
To stand the brunt of such a foe,  
Which no body can deny.   

A hundred Knights at once she killed  
Or maimed so she made them yield,  
Not one of them could touch her shield,  
Which no body can deny.   

The bravest Knights, though ne'er so bold,  
But like sheep driving to a fold,  
She makes their hearts as tame and cold,  
Which no body can deny.   

The fairest Queens of Amazons,  
With her brought in comparisons,  
Are Pigmies to the greatest Dons,  
Which no body can deny.   

Had Hercules met this one maid,  
Though fifty in one night he paid,  
Yet here he would have proved a Jade,  
Which no body can deny.   

If all our guards of horse were there,  
The oaths of chastity must swear,  
Or all of them she would cashier,  
Which no body can deny.   

The peace we talk of with the Dutch  
Doth not concern us half so much,  
We better know to deal with such,  
Which no body can deny.   

We first should make a peace with her,  
As York did once with Lancaster,  
So London now with Doncaster,  
Which no body can deny.   

Defend us, should she come to town,  
And on the Court at Whitehall frown,  
Then all the folks would tumble down,  
Which no body can deny.   

Nay worse than that, our women too,  
she'd teach them all to answer no,  
Then we should have no more to do,  
Which no body can deny.   

What would become of all our youth,  
So Ticklish in tail and mouth,  
In this new mode of honest truth,  
Which no body can deny.   

No, no, she never must come here,  
We must not live in so much fear,  
The North's enouggh to govern there,  
Which no body can deny.    

The Northern Lass to the same Person,  
To a new Tune.  

Fairer maid cannot be found,  
In any place on English ground,  
Fame gives her out as good as fair,  
'Tis very true; though wondrous rare.   

There dwells a Maid in Doncaster,  
Is named Betty maddock's,  
No fallow Deer so plump and fair  
ere fed in Park or Paddocks.  
Her skin as sleek  
As Taffies Leek,  
And white as t'other end on't,  
Like snow doth melt,  
So soon as felt,  
Could you but once descend on't.   

The spider-weaver never spun  
Threads like her lovely tresses,  
Like purled gold, the curled ends  
Choice Nature made for dresses;  
Adown they flow,  
Her feet below,  
Allparts are now so hidden,  
You cannot spy,  
(Figg-leaves laid by)  
One twist of the forbidden.   

Her eyes have no comparison,  
But like to one another,  
Her lips are twins, fine Lobster-red,  
And those who would not smother,  
Her wasps-like, waist,  
So neatly Iaced,  
Without a sting i'th' tail on't,  
Yet though there were,  
I wonder where  
The man is, who would fail on't.   

I'm sure high-mounting Cavaliers,  
Have often there alighted,  
She was the business, they had there  
And still they were benighted:  
Both Lord and Duke,  
She made to puke,  
In love so much bespattered,  
But not a touch,  
For ne'er so much,  
Not one of them she mattered.   

A hundred horse beshrew my heart,  
At once to ride on wooing,  
And by a stout Commander led,  
With hopes of mighty doing,  
No Officer,  
Nor Brigadier,  
Nor Quarstermaster sent her,  
With all their horse,  
And mighty force,  
Could in her quarters enter.   

Yet she permitted them to eat,  
And drink whilst they would tarry,  
A thousand oaths were sworn to bed  
Her first, and then to marry;  
In troth quoth she,  
Your honesty,  
Appears in making matches,  
When I am wed,  
I'll go to bed,  
And not be sung in Catches.   

Of seven husbands I have read,  
But of a hundred never,  
And since I cannot marry all,  
For one I will endeavour;  
This I propose  
To him a choose,  
For I will have this Trial,  
But dance me down,  
I am his own,  
He shall have no denial.   

They danced a Jig, but fell so fast,  
There's none could bear up to her,  
Only the gallant that came last,  
Made oath he would undo her:  
She smiling said,  
Poor me a maid,  
Must live a little longer,  
And strait she found  
Him on the ground,  
Now hopes to find a stronger.    

The Parson of Rumford, or a merry maying,  
To the Tune of, Away to Twiford, away, away.  

I Sing of no Ladies who dance in the Court,  
Nor of the big Lords, so hugeously gay,  
But of Lads and of jasses, who make as good sport,  
Then away to Rumford, away, away.   

From Burnt-wood, and Epping, from Bow, and Mile-end,  
With ribbons and flowers, with garlands for May,  
Fine girls and their lovers did trip it an end,  
And away to Rumford, away, away.   

The streets with green rushes, and bowers of boughs,  
To welcome these guests, the music doth play,  
The houses as sweet as the breaths of our cows,  
Come away to Rumford away, away.   

What tricking, what trimming, what puddings, what souse,  
Nay mustard with beef prepared for the day,  
And Pigs that the Parson kept long in his house  
For this meeting at Rumford to day, to day.   

But O, the brave Gammons with pepper and cloves,  
And stinging good ale, was there by my faith.  
As sweet and as hot as the buss of our loves,  
Come away to Rumford, away, away.   

Then cheesecakes, with currants so finely were set,  
Your Lady's black-patches, are not so gay,  
Stew'd-pruins in a syrup, as black as the jet,  
Come away to Rumford, away, away.   

This woundy great feast the Parson did make,  
In his close-girt-coat, as pert as a Jay,  
Could no more stand still, than a beat at a stake,  
In the town of Rumford, to day, to day.   

For joy, he spurted us a question to marry,  
And told us the season was best in May,  
Go to it quoth he, for time will not tarry,  
And welcome to Rumford, I say, I say.   

We looked, and we looked on one another,  
He formerly taught us our flesh was but clay,  
Why should we not join, like sister and brother,  
'Tis time at Rumford, to day, to day.   

Then Rowland a Keeper in Epping Chase,  
As bold as a stag at his Rutilio, did say.  
Fair Winifrid— now I'll marry, not bating an Ace,  
This day at Rumford, to day to day.   

She blushed, and she wished it were quietly done▪  
But said good Rowland, what haste is I pray,  
Now you hold me so fast that I cannot run,  
This night then in Rumford, I'll stay, I'll stay.   

Now hay for Burnt-wood, Tom Tanner did cry,  
His face shining yellow, his hands brown bay,  
He swored he'd be coupled to Jenny or die,  
In the Town of Rumford, to day, to day.   

Dick Butcher of Bow came in a great huff,  
Swore Doll of the Dairy should lead the way,  
Since both he and she handled much better stuff,  
In the Town of Rumford, than they, than they.   

Little Robin a glover of Mile-end Town,  
With Maud who dwelled at the Bottle of Hay,  
Were clapped together with a hay derry down,  
And all in Rumford to day, to day.   

A dozen in couples, more the next morn,  
Went all to the Church to marry and pray,  
That ev'ry one might have a small pocket horn,  
When they went from Rumford, away, away.   

Strike up Tom Piper, and Kit with your Fiddle,  
Play Room for Cuckolds, 'tis now almost day,  
Go home with your wives, and play at down-diddle,  
And away from Rumford, away, away.    

Carolus, A Carolo, Carolo Magno Major. Upon his Highness the Duke of York, his Victory, at Sea over the Dutch.  

WHat saucy mongrel slaves are those,  
Greater than Charles the great t'oppose,  
Miscreant Mahound's, Rebel-state,  
Your daring hastens on your fate,  
Will Puny-Gyants make a war,  
Against Heavens predict, by a star,  
Calling to Battle mighty York  
A glorious man to do their work;  
Vain puffed up Bubbles, durst ye think,  
That ye could swim, and he should sink,  
Great men are called to sit above;  
Your grovelling souls, tothth' Centre move,  
Are Princes Prise for Butter-boxes,  
Or Lions to be ta'en by Foxes:  
Ye Mushrooms grown under our shade,  
Who your own safeties have betrayed,  
Forgiu's Heaven we did maintain  
Those Boars against the King of Spain,  
But nature planted against your shores  
English to kill such brawny Boars,  
'Tis a King's evil, which we cure,  
And stroking now you must endure,  
A second gift our Charles hath blest,  
To cure Rebellion in the breast,  
When we protected Fishermen,  
Innocent we thought ye then,  
Ye practised new Apostle-ship,  
And through the world yourselves did ship,  
As Missioners from Heaven sent  
To farm the world at such a Rent,  
Forgiveness for your former crimes  
Might have been had, if begged betimes,  
For justice now Amboyna calls:  
Who sins a new, by old sins falls.  
Your hoped Protector, of our France,  
Will but your Miseries advance,  
Protectors thrice not in this age  
Which he may find i'th' second page:  
Infatuated men ye are  
No hope for mercy in this war,  
Since some men's lives, this war hath cost  
Will not be paid when Holland's lost,  
Like Jews throughout the world you'll be  
Slaved and condemned to infamy,  
Into the Sea go headlong down  
Those very graves are not your own,  
Ye never had the fishing trade,  
So much your own and so well paid,  
The next season and fair weather,  
we'll catch the fish and you together,  
For British Monarches will command,  
All ye called yours by sea or land,  
O'er the whole world, Sea-soveraign  
First conquered by our Charlemagne.    

A Ballad on a Friend's wedding,  
to the Tune of Sir John Sucklings Ballad.  

As an Attendant on Sir John  
I wait without comparison,  
Great difference is in our pen  
And something in the Maids and Men,  
I do not write to get a name  
At best, this is but Ballad-fame,  
And Suckling hath shut up that door,  
To all hereafter as before.   

NOw Tom if Suckling were alive,  
And knew who Harry were to wive,  
He'd shift his scene I trow,  
From Charing-cross to Clarkenwel  
And sure as fine a Tale would tell,  
As he did long ago.   

But since his wit hath left no heir  
I'll sing my song of such a pair,  
The like hath not been seen,  
In all our markets round about  
Within our City-walls, or out,  
God bless the King and Queen.   

The youth I was about to name  
But 'twere too much to lessen fame,  
So known of such a grace,  
Who amongst the lads and lasses too,  
There's none who makes a greater do,  
At ev'ry game and chase.   

The maid so fair as by report,  
The brightest ladies in the court,  
Were surely much afraid,  
Lest she appearing should displace,  
The vogue of any better face,  
'Tis not unlikely said.   

But Cloris and her shepherd too  
Are not concerned, what others do,  
Under an humble Vne,  
Both sitting, in one instant say,  
(Too long) to morrow will the day,  
Be then I shall be thine.   

Poor innocents' they knew not why,  
Yet would with one another lie,  
Their thoughts were grown so great  
And Poetized their fancy,  
That they immortalised should grow,  
Would neither sleep nor eat.   

Alike to them was day or night,  
They were so raptured with delight.  
And measured time by thought,  
Their clothes by custom they put on,  
And hand in hand walked fast along  
So found the Priest they sought.   

The holyman forgot his book  
And now and then he stole a look,  
As oft about to pray,  
Believing something there enshrined,  
So much transcending humane kind,  
He knew not what to say.   

But fearing that he might offend  
The Saint so newly made his friend,  
Dispatched what he begun,  
The Bride and Bridegroom left the place,  
As they had been to run a race,  
Scarce knowing what was done.   

The people whom they passed by  
As if it were some hue and cry,  
Forsook their houses quite,  
And by pursuing came at last  
To find the doors and windows fast,  
Where they had made their flight.   

The guests invited to the day  
Came there, but knew not what to say,  
It was so strange a thing,  
No meat nor music, favours, gloves,  
Posset nor cakes to show their loves,  
The Bride had but a Ring.   

Thus full three days and nights are fled,  
Since that the sheapherds took their bed,  
'Twas time I trow to rise,  
For mortalized they are again,  
And call for meat like other men,  
Nature must have supplies.   

The Prae-invited guests came in  
Like those who had intranced been,  
None gave that days salute,  
Seeing the blushing sheapherds sit,  
Like our first Parents, for a bit  
Of the forbidden fruit.   

But then a matron aged threescore,  
Though truly told, full twenty more,  
Thus to the Bridegroom says,  
But not ashamed thou hast done well  
And doing often is a spell,  
All women love to praise.   

The married, and the maid's applause,  
Soon known by hems at ev'ry clause,  
The scene is altered quite,  
For now the house with noise doth ring,  
In ev'ry tongue and tail a sting,  
For such another night.   

The Soldier who at push of pike,  
Says one, stands longest I do like,  
And thrusts, and thrusts again;  
Another cries, I love the brunt  
And brave enduring in the front,  
Give me such sprightly men.   

But then a blushing maid replies,  
My father told my mother lies,  
And so may others do;  
He promised her, the Seaman's vow,  
But he performed the Lord knows how,  
And glad she had it too.   

Now supper called the Music plays  
Healths to those pleasant nights and days,  
The sheapherds lately passed;  
The tables drawn, a dance or two,  
The Bride and Groom had more to do,  
Such as they did the last.   

But stay the maids, now claim a right  
A custom, (yet) of much despite,  
To see the Bride in bed,  
Which willingly she would excuse  
Though seemingly did not refuse,  
'Twas now no Maidenhead.   

The men for Bridal garters strive  
The Maids for Codpiece points alive,  
But see a wondrous escape;  
For had his breeches now been on,  
Had suffered a dissection,  
Or they had made a Rape.   

But still the stockings are to throw,  
Some threw too high, and some too low,  
There's none could hit the mark:  
But left the bride and bridegroom too't,  
Assured enough that they could do't,  
Though it were ne'er so dark.    

Of Amity and Friendship.  

AMity is a sacred flame,  
Nature first kindled in our breasts,  
That heat extinct; only the name  
Equal remains to men and beasts.   

Soul of the world; true Amity,  
As needful is to all mankind,  
As fire and water, for we see  
Without no joy nor taste we find.   

Salt of our life, nursing mother  
To all society humane,  
A friend to me, is my brother,  
Against an Abel was a Cain.   

Tyrants in nature had they power  
The Soul of friendship would destroy,  
Malice and bad men would deflower  
What ere themselves could not enjoy.   

Friendship sufficeth to preserve  
The world; no need of laws to bind,  
Which now as second means does serve,  
To awe those wills to bad inclined.   

Howe'er the law takes place below,  
For friendship rules the heart and hand,  
Our wills and the effects; we know,  
The Law but outsides can command.   

All good lawmakers ever had  
A greater care of Amity  
Then Justice; though the laws not bad,  
Yet sometimes credit lose we see.   

Friendship distinguished into parts  
Nature, virtue, profit, pleasure,  
Virtue the noblest wedlocks hearts,  
'Tis the souls indies natures measure.   

The portrait and description  
Of perfect friendship is a free,  
And general confusion,  
Of souls exchanged in Amity.   

Not only a conjunction  
Of solid things however knit,  
There may be separation,  
This perfect love will not admit.   

The souls are plunged and drowned so  
In one another that you can,  
No more divide than you can do,  
Things liquid, or create a man.   

On choice and liberty of will,  
'Tis built without exception,  
Goods, honours, judgements, thoughts and will,  
Nay life; this is perfection.   

From this confusion proceeds  
You cannot lend nor give to each.  
No speech of good turns or good deeds,  
Nor thanks for that declares a breach.   

In common friendships these are found  
The nourishers; in union  
Those testimonies are not sound,  
But signs are of division.   

'Twere nonsense and strange compliment  
To thank myself for what I do,  
Unto myself who can invent,  
I should divide myself in two.   

Disputers in Religion  
Like talkers are of Amity,  
For in a thousend there's not one,  
Who practise that divinity.   

Oh sacred friendship much abused!  
Transmuted into policy,  
For want of wit he is accused,  
Hath friendship and true honesty.   

Were all to Avarice inclined,  
The world would quickly have an end,  
Meum not Tuum we should find,  
Would leave but one himself to friend.   

God was for money bought and sold,  
Yet still we dote on cursed pelf,  
May he that makes (his God) his gold,  
Like that Apostate hang himself.   

Perverted principles; for truth  
Is now asserted interest,  
The Religion of age and youth,  
Friendship's a name without a Test.   
FINIS.   

Postcript to the Reader.  

NOw you have paid, and Read, Farewell.  
Be wiser yet and keep counsel,  
For like to him who showed a Mare  
Horse and no Horse, to be seen there,  
The Tail was where the Head should be,  
Tot'h Manger tied; my Poetry;  
Is such a show; for wanting Coin,  
The Lion with the Fox I join.  
And thank ye all for this Relief  
'Tis better than a Begging-brief,  
In all this Town ye cannot find  
A fitter Man to cheat the Blind.