THE Second Part OF MERRY DROLLERY, OR, A COLLECTION Of Jovial Poems, Merry Songs, Witty Drolleries. Intermixed with Pleasant CATCHES. Collected by W.N. C.B. R.S. J.G. Lovers of Wit. LONDON, Printed by J.W. for P.H. and are to be sold at the New Exchange, Westminster Hall, Fleetstreet, and Paul's Churchyard. To the Reader. Courteous Reader, WE do here present thee with the Second part of Merry Drollery, not doubting but it will find good Reception with the more Ingenious; the deficiency of this shall be supplied in a third, when time shall serve: In the mean time Farewell. The Second Part of Merry Drollery. The indifferent Lover. NO man Love's fiery Passions can approve, As either yielding pleasure or promotion: I like a mild and lukewarm zeal in love, Although I do not like it in devotion, For it hath no coherence with my Creed, To think that Lovers mean as they pretend: If all that said they died, had died indeed, Sure long e e this the World had had an end. Some one perhaps of long Consumption dried, And after falling into love might die, But I dare swear he never yet had died Had he been half so sound at heart as I Another, rather than incur the slander Of true Apostate, will false Martyr prove; I'll neither Orpheus be, nor yet Leander, I'll neither hang nor drown myself for love. Yet I have been a Lover by report, And I have died for Love as others do, Praised be Great Jove I died in such a sort, As I revived within an hour or two. Thus have I lived, thus have I loved till now, And ne'er had reason to repent me yet, And whosoever otherwise shall do, His courage is as little as his wit. Love's Torment. When blind God Cupid, all in an angry mood, And Cythera, the fairest Queen of Love, Did leave Sylvanus pleasant shadowed woods, And mounted up into the Heavens above, Even then when Sol, Even then when Sol In water set his bed, Did seek to hid, Did seek to hid His golden shining head. Like Philomela, all in a doleful wise, I pass the silent-coloured night in woe; No rest nor sleep can seize upon my eyes, Oh cruel beauty that did torment me so! No one can tell, No one can tell How I in sorrows dwelled, Save only she, Save only she That hath like Passions felt. The night is passed all, and Aurora red Gins to show her ruby-coloured face, Leaving old Titan and his aged head, The cloudy darkness from the skies to chase; Ah my poor heart, Ah my poor heart In flames of fire doth fry; I live in love, I love and live, I live, and yet I die. Each pretty little bird enjoys his Mate, And gently billing sits upon a Tree, And on the verdant shadowed woods do prate, Chirping their Notes with pleasant harmony; I wish my Love, I wish my Love My pretty bird may be To ease my grief, To ease my grief, And cure my malady. The Rebel Red-coat. COme Drawer, come fill us about more wine, Let us merrily tipple, the day is our own, We'll have our delights, let the country go pine, Let the King and the Kingdom groan: For the day is our own, and so shall continue, Whilst Monarchy we baffle quite, We'll spend all the Kingdoms Revenue, And sacrifice all to delight: 'Tis power that brings us all to be kings, And we'll be all crowned by our might. A fig for Divinity, Lecture, and Law, And all that to Royalty do pretend, We will by our Swords keep the Kingdoms in awe, And our power shall never have end: The Church and the State we'll turn into liquor, And spend a whole town in a day, We'll melt all their Bodkins the quicker Into Sack, and so drink them away, We'll spend the demeans o'th' Bishops and Deans, And over the Presbyter sway. The nimble St. Patrick is sunk in a bog, And his Countrymen sadly cry, Oh hone, Oh hone, St. Andrew and's Kirk-men are lost in a fog, And we are the Saints alone: Thus on our superiors and equals we trample, Whilst Jockey the stirrup shall hold, The city's our Mule for example, While we thus in plenty are rolled, Each delicate Dish shall but answer our wish, And our drink shall be cordial Gold. Love lies a bleeding: In Imitation of Law lies a bleeding. LAy by your pleading, Love lies a bleeding, Burn all your Poetry, and throw away your reading. Piety is painted, And Truth is tainted, Love is a reprobate, and Schism now is sainted, The Throne Love doth sit on, We daily do spit on, It was not thus, I wis, when Betty ruled in Britain. But friendship hath faltered, Loves Altars are altered, And he that is the cause, I would his neck were haltred. When Love did nourish England did flourish Till holy hate came in and made us all so currish. Now every Widgeon Talks of Religion, And doth as little good as Mahomet and his Pigeon. Each Coxcomb is suiting His words for confuting, But heaven is sooner gained by suffering than by disputing. True friendship we smother, And strike at our Brother, Apostles never went to God by killing one another. Let Love but warm ye Nothing can harm ye, When Love is General, there's Angels in the Army. Love keeps his quarters, And fears no tortures, The bravest fights are written in the Book of Martyrs. Can we be so civil As to do good for evil It were the only happy way to overcome the devil. The Flowers Love hath watered, Sedition hath scattered, We talk with tongues of holiness, but act with hearts of hatred. He that doth know me, And love will show me, Hath found the nearest noble way to overcome me, He that hath bound me, And then doth wound me, Wins not my heart, doth not conquer, but confound me. In such a condition Love is the physician, True Love and Reason makes the purest politician. But strife and confusion, Deceit and delusion, Though it seem to thrive at first will make a sad conclusion. Love is a fuel, A precious Jewel, 'Tis Love must staunch the blood when Fury fights the duel. Love is a loadstone, Hate is a bloodstone, Heaven is the North Point, and Love is the Loadstone. Though fury and scorn Loves Temples have torn, He'll keep his Covenant, and will not be forsworn. His Laws do not border On strife and disorder, He scorns to get his wealth by perjury and murder. What falsehood drew in, Grace never grew in, Love will not raise himself upon another's ruin. He can present ye With peace and plenty, Love never advanceth one by throwing down of twenty. Where Love is in season, There Truth is and Reason, The soul of Love is never underlayed with Treason. He never doth quarrel For princely apparel, Nor ever fixed a chair of state upon a barrel. Love from the dull pit Of Follies full pit Never took an Anvil out, and put it in a pulpit. Love is no sinker, Truth is no slinker, In mending breaches Love did never play the tinker. Where Vengeance and Lust is, No truth nor trust is, As will appear at last in God's High Court of Justice. Pity and remorse is The strength of Love's Forces, Paul never converted men by stables filled with horses. Mercy is fading, Truth is degrading, Love is the only cause of Plenty, Peace, and Trading. Love is a fire Made of desire, Whose chief ambition is to heaven to aspire. It stops the gradation Of fury and passion, It governs all good Families, and best can guide a Nation. The Low Land, the High Land, And my Land, and thy Land, Crew all in common strait when Love had left this Island. Where peace is panting, And rage is ranting, 'Tis an undoubted sign the King of Love is wanting. Father and Mother, Sister and Brother, If Love be lacking, quickly mischief one another. Where wrath is, the rod is That ruins our bodies; With hate the devil is, but where Love is God is. Then let us not doubt it, But straight go about it, To bring in Love again, we cannot live without it. Then let the Grace's Crown our embraces, And let us settle all things in their proper places. Lest persecution Cause dissolution Let all purloined wealth be made a restitution. For though now it tickles, 'Twill turn all to prickles, Then let's live in peace, and turn our Swords to sickles; When Noah's Dove was sent out, Then Gods Pardon went out, They that would have it so, I hope, will say Amen to it. A Catch. BRing forth your Coney skins, fair maids, to me, And hold them fair that I may see Grey, Black, and Blue; for your smaller skins I'll give you Glasses, Laces, Pins; And for your whole Coney I'll give you ready money. Come, gentle Joan, do thou begin With thy black, black, black Coney skin, And Mary then, and Kate will follow With their silver'd-haired skins, and their yellow; Your white Cunnyskin I will not lay by, Though it be fat, it is fair to the Eye. Your grey it is warm, but for my money Give me the bonny, bonny black Coney; Come away, fair maids, your skins will decay, Come and take money, Maids, put your ware away; I have fine Bracelets, Rings, And I have silver Pins; Coney skins, Coney skins, Maids, have you any Coney skins. A Catch of the Beggars. FRom hunger and cold who lives more free, Or who lives a merrier life than we; Our bellies are full, and our backs are warm, And against all Pride our Rags are a Charm; Enough is a feast, and for to morrow Let rich men care, we feel no sorrow. The City, and Town, and every Village Afford us an Alms, or a Pillage; And if the weather be cold and raw, Then in a barn we tumble in straw; If fair and warm, in yea-Cock and nay-Cock The Fields afford us a hedge or a heycock. The . ROom for a Gamester that plays at all he sees, Whose fickle fancy fits such times as these, One that says Amen to every factious prayer, From Hugh Peter's Pulpit to St. Peter's Chair, One that doth defy the Crosier and the Crown, But yet can bouse with Blades that carrouze Whilst Pottle-pots tumble down, dery down; One that can comply with Surplice and with Cloak, Yet for his end can Independ, Whilst Presbyterian broke Britain's yoke. This is the way to trample without trembling, 'Tis the Sycophant's only secure, Covenants and Oaths are badges of dissembling, 'Tis the politic pulls down the pure: To profess and betray, to plunder and pray, Is the only ready way to be great, Flattery doth the feat: Ne'er go, ne'er stir, will venture further Than the greatest Dons in the Town, From a Copper to a Crown. I am in a temp rate humour now to think well, Now I'm in another for to drink well, Then fill is up a Beer-boul boys, that we May drink it merrily, No knavish Spy shall understand, For if it should be known, 'Tis ten to one we shall be trappaned. I'll drink to thee a brace of quarts, Whose Anagram is called True Hearts, If all were well as I would have't, And Britain cured of its tumour, I should very well like my Fate, And drink my Sack at a cheaper rate, Without any noise or tumour, Oh then I should fix my humour. But since 'tis no such matter, change your hue, I may cog and flatter, so may you: Religion is a widgeon, and Reason is Treason, And he that hath a Loyal heart may bid the world adieu. We must be like the Scottish man, Who with intent to beat down Schism, Brought in the Presbyterian, With Cannon, and with Catechism: If Beuk won't do't, than Jockey shoot, For the Kirk of Scotland doth command, And what hath been, since they came in, I think cause to understand. A Song. GAther your Rosebuds while you may, Old time is still a flying. For that Flower that smells to day, To morrow will be dying. That Age is best, which if she force While youth and blood are warmer, But being she grows worse and worse, And still succeeds the former. The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, The higher he's a getting, The sooner will his race be Run, And nearer to his setting. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while you may, go marry, For if you lose but once your prime You may for every tarry. The Gelding of the Devil. A Story strange I will you tell Of the gelding of the Devil of hell, And of the Baker of Mansfield Town, That sold his bread both white and brown; To Nottingham Market he was bound, And riding under the Willows clear The Baker sung with a merry cheer. The Baker's horse was lusty and sound, And worth in judgement full five pound; His skin was smooth, and his flesh was fat, His Master was well pleased with that, Which made him sing so merry, merrily As he was passing on the way. But as he road over the hill There met him two devils of hell: O Baker, Baker, than cried he, How comes thy horse so fat to be? These be the words the Baker did say, Because his stones are cut away. Then, quoth the devil, if it be so, Thou shalt geld me before thou dost go: First tie thy horse to yonder tree, And with thy knife come and geld me; The Baker he had a knife for the nonce, Wherewith to cut out the devils stones. The Baker, as it came to pass, In haste alighted from his horse, And the devil on his back he lay, While the Baker cut his stones away, Which put the devil to great pain, And made him to cry out amain. O, quoth the devil, beshrew thy heart, Thou dost not feel how I do smart, And for the deed that thou hast done I will revenged be again, And underneath this green-wood tree Next Market day I will geld thee. The Baker then but a little said, But at his heart he was sore afraid; He durst no longer then to stay, But he road hence another way: And coming to his Wife, did tell How he had gelt the devil of hell. Moreover to his Wife he told A tale that made her heart full cold, How that the devil to him did say, That he would geld him next Market day: O, quoth the good wife, without doubt I had rather both thy eyes were out. For then all the people far and near, That know thee, will but mock and jeer, And goodwives they will scold and brawl, Then hold content, and b e thou wise, And I'll some pretty trick devise. I'll make the devil change his note, Give me thy Hat, thy Band, and Coat, Thy Hose and Doublet eke also, And I like to a man will go; I'll warrant thee next Marker day To fright the devil clean away. When the Baker's Wife she was so dressed, With all her bread upon her beast, To Nottingham Market, that brave Town, And riding merrily over the hill, O there she spied the two devils of hell. A little devil, and another, As they were playing both together; Oh ho, quoth the devil, right fain, Here comes the Baker riding amain: Now be thou well, or be thou woe, I will geld thee before thou dost go. The Baker's wife to the devil did say, Sir, I was gelded yesterday: O, quoth the devil, I mean to see; And pulling her coats above her knee, And so looking upward from the ground, O there he spied a terrible wound. O, quoth the devil, now I see That he was not cunning that gelded thee, For when that he had cut out the stones, He should have closed up the wounds, But if thou wilt stay but a little space I'll fetch some salve to cure the place. He had not run but a little way, But up her belly crept a Flea: The little devil seeing that, He up with his paw and gave her a pat, Which made the good wife for to start, And with that she let go a rousing fart. O, quoth the devil, thy life is not long Thy breath it smells so horrible strong, Therefore go thy way, and make thy will, Thy wounds are passed all humane skill; Be gone, be gone, make no delay, For here thou shalt no longer stay. The good wife with this news was glad, But she left the devil almost mad; And when she to her husband came, With a joyful heart she told the same, How she had cozened the devil of hell, Which pleased her Husband wondrous well. The Vagabond. I Am a Rogue, and a stout one, A most courageous drinker: I do excel, it's known full well, The Ratter, Tom, or Tinker: Then do I cry, Good your Worship Bestow some small Denier a, And bravely then at the bousing Ken I'll bouse it all in beer a. My dainty Dames and Doxes, When that they see lacking, Without delay, poor wretches, they Will end the Duds a packing: Then do I cry, etc. Ten miles unto a Market I go to meet a Miser, And in the throng I'll nip a bung, And the party ne'er the wiser: Then do I cry, etc. If the Gentry be coming, Then straight it is my fashion, My leg I'll tie close to my thigh To move them to compassion: Then do I cry, etc. When I hear a Coach come rumbling, To my Crutches straight I hie me, For being lame, it is a shame Such Gallants should deny me; Then do I cry, etc. My Peg in a string doth lead me When I go into the Town, Sir, For to the blind all men are kind, And will their alms bestow, Sir; Then do I cry, etc. I'th' winter time stark naked I go into some City, And every man, that spare them can, Will give me for pity; Then do I cry, etc. My doublet sleeves hang empty, And for to beg the bolder For meat and drink my arm I'll shrink Up close unto my shoulder, Then do I cry, etc. If any gives me lodging A courteous knave they find me, For in my bed, alive, or dead, I leave some Lice behind me; Then do I cry, etc. If from out the Low Countries I hear a Captain's name, Sir, Then strait I'll swear I have been there, And so in fight came lame, Sir; Then do I cry, etc. In Paul's Churchyard by a Pillar Sometimes you see me stand, Sir, With a writ that shows what cares, what woes I have passed by Sea and Land, Sir; Then do I cry, etc. Come buy, come buy a hornbook Who buys my Pins and Needles: Such things do I in the City cry Oft times to scape the Beadles; Then do I cry, etc. Then blame me not for begging, And boasting all alone, Sir, Myself I will be praising still, For Neighbours I have none, Sir; Then do I cry, etc. The Jovial loyalist. STay, shut the Gate, Tother quart, i'faith 'tis not so late As your thinking, The stars which you see in the Hemisphere be, Are but studs in our cheeks by good drinking; The Suns gone to tipple all night in the Sea, boys To morrow he'll blush that he's paler than we boys, Drink wine, give him water, 'tis Sack makes us the boys. Fill up the Glass, To the next merry Lad let it pass, Come away with't: Let's set foot to foot, and but give our minds to't, 'Tis heretical Six that doth slay wit: Then hang up good faces, let's drink till our noses Gives freedom to speak what our fancy disposes, Beneath whose protection, now under the rose is. Drink off your Bowl, 'Twill enrich both your head and your soul With Canary; For a carbuncled face saves a tedious race, And the Indies about us we carry: No Helicon like to the juice of good wine is, For Phoebus had never had wit that divine is, Had his face not been bow-dyed as thine is, and mine is. This must go round, Off with your hats till the pavement be crowned With your Bevers, A Red-coated face frights a Sergeant and his Mace, Whilst the Constable trembles to shivers, In state march our faces like some of the quorum, While the whores do fall down, and the vulgar adore 'em, And our noses like Link-boys run shining before 'um. The Answer. HOld, quaff no more, But restore, If you can, what 've lost by your drinking, Three Kingdoms and Crowns, With their Cities and Towns, While the King and his Progeny is sinking; The studs in your cheeks have obscured his Star, boys, Your drink and miscarriages in the late war, boys, Hath brought his Prerogative thus to the Bar, boys. Throw down the Glass, He's an Ass That extracts all his worth from Canary: That valour will shrink, Which is only good in drink, 'Twas the Cup made the Camp to miscarry. Ye thought in the world there was no power could tame ye, Ye tippled and whored till the Foe overcame ye, Cuds-nigs and ne'r-stir Sir, hath vanquished God-dam-me. Fly from the coast, Or y'are lost, And the water will run where the drink went, From hence you must slink, If you swear and have no chink, 'Tis the Curse of a Royal Delinquent. Ye love to see Beer-bowls turned over the thumb well, Yelove three fair Gamesters, four Dice, and a Drum well, But you'd as lief see the devil as Oliver Cromwell. Drink not the round, You'll be drowned In the source of your Sack and your Sonnets, Try once more your Fate For the Kirk against the State, And go barter your Bevers for Bonnets: I see how you're charmed by your female enchanters, And therefore pack hence to Virginia for planters, For an Act, and two Red-coats will rout all the Ranters. The force of Opportunity. YOU gods that rule upon the Plains, Where nothing but delight remains; You Nymphs that haunt the Fairy Bowers, Exceeding Flora with her flowers; The fairest woman that earth can have Sometimes forbidden fruit will crave, For any woman, whatsoever she be, Will yield to Opportunity. Your Courtly Ladies that attends, May sometimes dally with their friends; And she that marries with a Knight May let his Lodging for a night; And she that's only Worshipful Perhaps another friend may gull: For any woman, etc. The Chambermaid that's newly married Perhaps another man hath carried; Your City Wives will not be alone, Although their husbands be from home; The fairest maid in all the town For green will change a russet Gown; For any woman, etc. And she that loves a Zealous brother, May change her Pulpit for another; Physicians study for their skill, Whiles wives their Urinals do fill; The Lawyer's wife may take her pride Whilst he their Causes doth decide; For every woman, etc. The Country maid, that milks the Cow, And takes great pains to work and do, I'th' fields may meet her friend or brother, And save her foul to get another; And she that to the Markets gone May horn her man ere she come home; For any woman, etc. You Goddesses and Nymphs so bright, The greater Star, the lesser light; To Lords, as well as mean estates, Belongeth husbands horned baits, Then give your Ladies leave to prove Then things the which yourselves do love; For any woman, what ere she be, Will yield to Opportunity. Lusty Tobacco. YOU that in love do mean to sport, Tobacco, Tobacco, First take a Wench of a meaner sort, Tobacco, Tobacco, But let her have a comely grace, Like one that came from Venus' race, Then take occasion, time, and place To give her some Tobacco. You— gamester's must be bound, Tobacco, Tobacco, Their bullets must be plump and round, Tobacco, Tobacco, Your stopper must be stiff and strong, Your Pipe it must be large and long, Or else she'll say you do her wrong, She'll scorn your weak Tobacco. And if that you do please her well, Tobacco, Tobacco, All others than she will expel, Tobacco, Tobacco, She will be ready at your call To take Tobacco, Pipe and all, So willing she will be to fall To take your strong Tobacco. And when you have her favour won, Tobacco, Tobacco, You must hold out as you begun, Tobacco, Tobacco, Or else she'll quickly change her mind, And seek some other Friend to find, That better may content her mind In giving her Tobacco. And if you do not do her right, Tobacco, Tobacco, She'll take a course to burn your Pipe, Tobacco, Tobacco. And if you ask what she doth mean, She'll say she dothed to make it clean, Then take you heed of such a Quean For spoiling your Tobacco. As I myself dare boldly speak, Tobacco, Tobacco, Which makes my very heart to break, Tobacco, Tobacco, For she that I take for my friend, Hath my Tobacco quite consumed, She hath spoiled my Pipe, and there's an end Of all my good Tobacco. Good Advice against Treason. BUT since it was lately enacted high Treason For a man to speak truth against the head of a State, Let every wise man make use of his reason, To think what he will, but take heed what he prate, For the Proverb doth learn us, He that stays from the battle sleeps in a whole skin, And our words are our own, if we keep them within, What fools are we then that to prattle do begin, Of things that do not concern us. 'Tis no matter to me who e'er gets the battle, The Tubs or the Crosses, 'tis all one to me, It neither increaseth my goods nor my , A beggar's a beggar, and so he shall be, Unless he turn Traitor, Let Misers take courses to board up their treasure, Whose bounds have no limits, whose minds have no measure, Let me be but quiet, and take a little pleasure, A little contents my own nature. But what if the Kingdom returns to one of the Prime ones? My mind is a Kingdom, and so it shall be, I'll make it appear, if I had but the time once, He's as happy in one, as they are in three, If he might but enjoy it: He that's mounted aloft, is a mark for the Fate, And an envy to every pragmatical pate, Whilst he that is low is safe in his estate, And the great ones do scorn to annoy him. I count him no wit that is gifted in railing, And flirting at those that above him do sit, Whilst they do out-wit him with whipping and goaling, His purse and his person must pay for his wit: But it is better to be drinking, If Sack were reformed to twelve pence a quart, I'd study for money to Merchandise for't, With a friend that is willing in mirth we would sport, Not a word; but we'd pay it with thinking. My Petition shall be that Canary be cheaper, Without either Custom, or cursed Excize, That the Wits may have freedom to drink deeper and deeper, And not be undone whilst our Noses we baptise, But we'll liquour them, and drench them; If this were but granted, who would not desire To dub himself one of Apollo's acquire? And then we will drink whilst our Noses are on fire, And the quart-pots shall be Buckets to quench them. The feastingof the Devil by Ben Johnson: COok-Laurel, would needs have the devil his guest, And bade him once into the Peake to dinner; Where never the Fiend had such a Feast Provided him yet at the charge of a sinner. His stomach was queasy (for coming there coached) The jogging had caused some crudities rise, To help it he called for a Puritan poached, That used to turn up the Eggs of his Eyes. And so recovered unto his wish, He sat him down, and he fell to eat; Promoter in plum-broath was the first dish; His own privy Kitchen had no such meat. Yet though with this he much were taken, Upon a sudden he shifted his trencher; As soon as he spied the bawd, and bacon, By this you may note the devil's a wencher. Six pickled Tailors sliced and cut, Sempsters, Tire-women, fit for his pallet, With feathermen, and perfumers put, Some twelve in a Charger to make a grand salad. A rich fat Usurer stewed in his Marrow, And by him a Lawyer's head and Green-sawce; Both which his belly took in like a barrow, As if till than he had never seen sauce. Then carbinadoed, and cooked with pains, Was brought up a cloven Sergeants Face; The sauce was made of the Yeoman's brains, That had been beaten out with his own Mace. Two roasted Sheriffs came whole to the board, (The Feast had nothing been without 'em,) Both living and dead they were Foxed and Fur'd; Their chains like Sausages hung about 'um. The very next dish was the Mayor of a town, With a pudding of maintenance thrust in his belly; Like a Goose in the Feathers dressed in his Gown, And his couple of Henchboys boiled to a jelly. A London Cuckold hot from the spit, And when the Carver up had broke him, The devil chopped up his head at a bit, But the horns were very near like to have choked him. The chine of a Lecher too there was roasted, With a plump Harlot's haunch and Garlic; A Panders pettitoes that had boasted Himself for a Captain, yet never was warlike. A large fat Pastry of a Midwife hot, And for a cold baked meat into the story, A reverend painted Lady was brought, And coffined in crust, till now she was hoary. To these, an over-grown-Justice of peace With a Clerk like a gizzard thrust under each arm, And warrants for sippets, laid in his own grease, Set over a chafing-dish to be kept warm. The Jowl of a Jailor, served for Fish, A Constable soused with Vinegar by, Two Aldermen-Lobsters asleep in a dish, A Deputy tart, a Chuch-warden pie. All which devoured, he then for a close, Did for a full draught of Derby call, He heaved the huge Vessel up to his Nose, And left not till he had drunk up all. Then from the Table he gave a start, Where banquet and wine were nothing scace; All which he started away with a Fart, From whence it was called the devil's arse. And there he made such a breach with the wind, The hole too standing open the while, That the sent of the Vapour before and behind, Hath foully perfumed most part of the Isle. And this was Tobacco, the Learned suppose, Which since in Country, Court, and Town, In the devil's Glister-pipe smokes at the Nose Of Polecat and Madam, of Gallant, and Clown. From which wicked weed, with swines-flesh & Ling, Or any thing else that's Feast for the Fiend, Our Captains and we cry God save the King, And send him good meat, and Mirth without end. On the Goldsmiths-Committee. COme Drawer, some wine, Or we'll pull down the Sign, For we are all jovial Compounders: We'll make the house ring, With healths to our KING, And confusion light on his Confounders. Since Goldsmith's Committee Affords us no pity, Our sorrows in wine we will steep 'em, They force us to take Two Oaths, but we'll make A third, that we ne'er mean to keep 'um. And next, who e'er sees, We drink on our knees, To the King, may he thirst that repines. A fig for those traitors That look to our waters, They have nothing to do with our wines. And next here's a Cup To the Queen, fill it up, Were it poison, we would make an end on't: May Charles and She meet, And tread under feet Both Presbyter and Independent. To the Prince, and all others, His Sisters and Brothers, As low in condition as high born, We'll drink this, and pray, That shortly they may See all them that wrongs them at Tyburn. And next here's three bowls To all gallant souls, That for the King did, and will venture, May they flourish when those That are his, and their foes Are hanged and rammed down to the Centre. And next let a Glass To our undoers pass, Attended with two or three curses: May plagues sent from hell Stuff their bodies as well, As the Cavaliers Coin doth their purses. May the Cannibals of Pym Eat them up limb by limb, Or a hot Fever scorch 'em to embers, Pox keep 'em in bed Until they are dead, And repent for the loss of their Members. And may they be found In all to abound, Both with heaven and the country's anger, May they never want Fractions, Doubts, Fears, and Distractions, Till the Gallow-tree chokes them from danger. Insatiate Desire. O That I could by any Chemic Art To sperm, convert my spirit and my heart, That at one thrust I might my soul translate, And in her womb myself degenerate, There steeped in lust nine months I would remain, Then boldly— my passage back again. The Virtue of Wine. LEt Soldiers fight for praise, and pay, And Money bid the Misers wish; Poor Scholars study all the day, And glutton's glory in their dish; 'Tis Wine, 'tis Wine revives sad souls, Therefore give me the cheering bowls. Let Minion marshal every hair, And in a Lovers lock delight, And artificial colours wear, We have the native red and white; 'Tis wine, pure wine, etc. Take Pheasant, Peewit, and Culvered Salmon, And how to please your Palates think: Give us a salt Westphalia gammon, Not meat to eat, but meat to drink; 'Tis wine, pure wine, etc. Some hath the Ptysick, some the Rheum, Some hath the Palsy, some the Gout; Some swelleth fat, and some consume, But they are sound that drink all out; 'Tis wine, pure wine, etc. Some men want Wit, and some want Wealth; Some want a Wife, and some a Punk; Some men want Food, and some want Health, But he wants nothing that is drunk; 'tis wine, pure wine, etc. It makes the backward spirits brave, Them lively, that before were dull; Those grow good Fellows that are grave, And kindness springs from Cups brimful; 'Tis wine, 'tis wine revives sad souls, Therefore give me the charming bowls. The Horn exalted. LIsten Lordings to my Story, I will sing of Cuckold's glory, And there at let none be vexed, None doth know whose turn is next; And seeing it is in most men's scorn, 'Tis Charity to advance the Horn. Diana was a Virgin pure, Amongst the res5 chaste and demure; Yet you know well, I am sure, What Actaeon did endure, If men have Horns for as she, I pray thee rel me what are we? Let thy friend enjoy his rest, What though he wear Actaeon's crest? Malice nor Venom at him spit, He wears but what the gods think fit; Confess he is by times Recorder Knight of great Diana's Order. Luna was no venial sinner, Yet she hath a man within her, And to cut off Cuckolds scorns, She decks her head with Silver horns; And if the moon in heavens thus dressed, The men on earth like it are blest. A Droll of a Louse. DIscoveries of late have been made by adventures, And many a pate hath been set on the tenters To tell many a thing more than true is, How Whales have been served to Sailors in Brews: But here a poor Louse by this present defies The Catalogue of Old Mandevil's lies, And take my report for a certain. My father & mother, when first they joined paunches, Begat me between an Old Pedlar's haunches; When bred to a Creeper, I know now how poxie By chance got a suck of the blood of his Doxit, Where finding the sweetness of my new Pastor, I left the loins of my pockified Master, And thus I grew into a fortune. A Lord in this Land, that loved a bum well, By chance came to wap with his Mort in the stumell, I clung me close to him and left my Rampallion, And scorned to converse with a Tatterdemalion, But thought, by Sir Giles, to procure a portion For my heirs to inherit clean linen and Satin, But the Parliament crossed my intention. This Gallant, God bless him, delighted in Tennis, His sweat made me fat till he traveled to Venice, Wherewith a Madonna in single duella He left me behind him within the Bordella, Where lecherous passages I did discover Between Bonaroboe and Diego, her Lover, Beyond wonder to hear the report on't. The trick with the Dildo was used out of measure, Behind and before they had it at pleasure; All Arretines' tricks were practised by labour, Yet Cunicks they hate like Bethlehem Gabor, Esteeming the English man for a Stallion, And leaving the Goat unto the Italian, All this I report for a certain. One thing in the stews I commend, I pray hear it, If a clap you do get you need never fear it, For she, that is troubled come Galen Comorboe, Shall never touch upon your Lute nor Theorboe; Yet many a brave Lord, that never wrought Treason, Have there lost their heads, I know not the reason, All this I report for a certain. Thus living in wonder, escaping the Talent Of Citizen, Clown, Whore, Lawyer, and Gallant, At last came a Soldier, I bravely did firk him, Unto the skirts of his robustious Buff Jerkin, There lived I a while without any harm, I Was burnt before Bergen in Spinola's Army, All this I report of a certain. The Brewer's praise. THere's many a blinking verse was made In honour of the Blacksmiths trade, But more of the Brewers may be said, Which no body can deny. I need not else but this repeat, The Blacksmith cannot be complear, Unless the Brewer do give him a hear, Which no body, etc. When Smug unto his Forge doth come, Unless the Brewer do liquor him home, Can ne'er strike my pot and thy pot Tom, Which no body, etc. Of all the Professions in the Town, This Brewer's trade did gain enown, His liquor once reached up to the Crown, Which no body, etc. Much blood from him did spring, Of all the trades this was the King, The Brewer had got the world in a sing, Which no body, Though Honour be a Prince's daughter, The Brewer will woe her in blood and slaughter, And win her, or else it shall cost him hot water, Which no body, etc. He feared no powder, not martial stops, But whipped Armies as round as tops, And cut off his foes as thick as hops, Which no body, etc. He dived for Riches down to the bottom, And cried, my Masters, when he had got 'em, Let every tub stand upon his own bottom, Which no body, etc. In war like Arts he scorned to stoop, For when his party began to droop, He'd bring them all up as round as a hoop, Which no body, etc. The Jewish Scots who fear to eat The flesh of Swine, our Brewers beat, 'Twas the sight of their hogssheads made them to retreat Which no body, etc. Poor Jockey and his Basket-hilt Was beaten, and much blood was spilt, When their bodies, like barrels, did run a tilt, Which no body, etc. Though Jemmy did give the first assault, The Brewer he made them at length to halt, And gave them what the Cat left in the malt, Which no body etc. They did not only bang the Kirk, But in Ireland too they did as much work, 'Twas the Brewer made them surrender Cork, Which no body, etc. This was a stout Brewer, of whom we may brag, But since he was hurried away with a hag, We have brewed in a bottle, and baked in a bag, Which no body, etc. They said that Antichrist came to settle Religion within a Cooler and a Kettle, His Nofe and his Copper were both of a mettle, Which no body, etc. He had a strong, and a very stout heart, And looked to be made an Emperor for't, But the Devil did set a spoke in his Cart, Which no body, etc. The Christian Kings began to quake, And said, with that Brewer no quarrels we'll make, We'll let him alone, as he brews let him bake, Which no body, etc. But yet by the way you must needs understand. He kept all his Passions so under command, Pride never could get the upperhand, Which no body, etc. And now may all stout soldiers say, Farewell the glory of the Dray, For the Brewer himself is turned to Clay, Which no body, etc. Thus fell a brave Brewer the bold son of slaughter, Who need not to fear much what should foe low after, That dealt all his life-time in fire and water, Which no body, etc. And if his Successor had had but his might, We all had not been in that pitiful plight, But alas, he was found many grains too light, Which no body, etc. Though Wine be a Juice sweet, pleasant, and pure, This trade doth such pleasure and profit procure, That every Vintner in Town is turned Brewer, Which no body, etc. But now let's leave singing, and drink off our Bub, Let's call for a Reckoning, and every man club, For I think I have told you a Tale of a Tub, Which no body can deny. A Let any. FRom Essex Anabaptist Laws, And from Norfolk Plough-tail Laws, From Abigails pure tender Zeal, Whiter than a Brownists veal, From a Sergeants Temple pickle, And the brethren's Conventicle, From roguish meetings, or Cutpurse hall, And New-England, worst of all, Libera nos Domine. From the cry of Ludgate debtors, And the noise of Prisoners Fetters, From groans of them that have the Pox, And coil of Beggars in the Stocks, From roar o'th' Bridge, and Bedlam-prate, And with Wives met at Billingsgate, From screech-owls, and dogs night-howling, From Sailors cry at their main bowling, Libera nos domine. From Frank wilson's trick of mopping, And her ulcered hole with popping, From Knights o'th' post, and from decoys, From Whores, Bawds, and roaring Boys, From a Bulker in the dark, And Hannah with St. Tantlins Clark, From Biscuits Bawds have rubbed their gums, And from purging-Comfit plums, Libera nos Domine. From Sue Prats Son, the fait and witty, The Lord of Portsmouth, sweet and pretty, From her that creeps up Holbourn hill, And Moll that cries, God-dam-me still, From backwards-ringing of the Bells, From both the Counters and Bridewells, From blind Robin and his Bess, And from a Purse that's penniless, Libera nos Domine. From gold-finders, and night-weddings, From women's eyes false liquid sheddings, From Rocks, Sands, and Canonshot, And from a stinking Chamber-pot, From a hundred years old sinner, And Duke Humphreys hungry dinner, From stinking breath of an old Aunt From Parritors and Pursuivants Libera nos Domine. From a Dutchmans' snick and sneeing, From a nasty Irish being From a Welshman's lofty bragging, And a Monsieur loves not drabbing, From begging Scotchmen and their pride, From striving against both wind and tide, From too much strong Wine and Beer, Enforcing us to domineer, Libera nos Domine. The Blacksmith. OF all the Trades that ever I see. There's none to the Blacksmith compared may be With so many several tools works he, Which no body can deny. The first that ever Thunderbolts made was a Cyclops of the Blacksmiths Trade, As in a Learned Author is said, Which no body, etc. When thundringlike we strike about, The fire like Lightning flashes out, Which suddenly with water we d'out, Which no body, etc. The fairest Goddess in the Skies, To marry with Vulcan did advise, And he was a Blacksmith grave and wise, Which no body, etc. Vulcan he to do her right, Did build her a Town by day and by night, And gave it a name which was Hammer smiths height Which no body, etc. Vulcan further did acquaint her, That a pretty Estate he would appoint her, And leave her Seacoal-lane for a Jointure, Which no body, etc. And that no enemy might wrong her, He built her a Fort, you'd wish no stronger, Which was in the lane of Ironmonger, Which no body, etc. Smithfield he did cleanse from dirt, And sure there was great Reason for't, For there he meant she should keep her Court, Which no body, etc. But after in a good time and tide, It was by the Blacksmith rectified To the honour of Edmund Ironside, Which no body, etc. Vulcan after made a train, Wherein the God of war was ta'en, Which ever since hath been called Paul's chain, Which no body, etc. The common Proverb as it is read, That a man must hit the nail on the head, Without the Blacksmith cannot be said, Which no body, etc. Another must not be forgot, And falls unto the Blacksmiths lot, That a man strike while the Iron is hot, Which no body, etc. Another comes in most proper and fit, The Blacksmiths justice is seen in it, When you give a man roast & beat him with the spit Which no body, etc. Another comes in our Blacksmiths way, When things are safe, as old wives say, We have them under lock and key, Which no body, etc. Another that's in the Blacksmiths books, And only to him for remedy looks, Is when a man's quite off the hooks, Which no body, etc. Another Proverb to him doth belong, And therefore let's do the Blacksmith no wrong, When a man's held to it buckle and thong, Which no body, etc. Another Proverb doth make me laugh, Wherein the Blacksmith may challenge half, When a Reason's as plain as a Pike staff, Which no body, etc. Though your Lawyers travel both near and far, And by long pleading a good cause may mar, Yet your Blacksmith takes more pains at the Bar, Which no body, etc. Though your Scrivener seek to crush and to kill, By his counterfeit deed, and thereby doth ill, Yet your Blacksmith may forge what he will, Which no body, etc. Though your bankrupt Citizens lurk in their holes, And laugh at their Creditors, and their Catchpoles, Yet your Blacksmith can fetch them over the coals, Which no body, etc. Though Jockey in the stable be never so neat To look to his Nag, and prescribe him his meat, Yet your Blacksmith knows better how to give a heat Which no body, etc. If any Tailor have the Itch, The Blacksmiths water, as black as pitch, Will make his hands go through stitch, Which no body, etc. There's never a slut, i● filth o'er smutch her, But owes to the Blacksmith for her lecher, For without a pair of tongues there's no man will touch her, Which no body, etc. Your roaring boy, who every one Quails, Fights, domineers, swaggers, and rails, Can never yet make the Smith eat his Nails, Which no body, etc. If a Scholar be in doubt, And cannot well bring his matter about, The Blacksmith he can hammer it out, Which no body, etc. Now if to know him you would desire, You must not scorn, but rank him higher, For what he gets, is out of the fire, Which no body, etc. Now here's a good health to Blacksmiths all, And let it go round, as round as a ball; We'll drink it all off though it cost us a fall, Which no body can deny. The Gypsies, a Catch. COme my dainty Doxies, My Dove, my Darle, my Dear, We have neither meat nor drink, Yet never want good cheer; We take no care for Candle Rents, We lie, we swear, we snort in Tents, Come rouse betimes All you that love your dinners, Our store now taken With Pigs, Hens, and Bacon, And that's good meat for sinners. At Fairs and Wakes we cuzzen Poor Country Folk by the dozen; Some come to disburses, And some to pick purses; We for want of use We steal both hose and shoes, Gilded Spurs with jingling Rowels, Shirts or Smocks, Sheets or Towels; Come live with us all you that love your ease, He that's a Gipsy may be drunk when he please, We laugh, we quaff, we roar, we snufflle We drink, we Drab, we cheat, we shuffle. In imitation of Come my Daphne, a Dialogue betwixt Pluto and Oliver. Pluto COme Imp Royal, come away, Into black night we will turn bright day. Oliver. 'Tis Pluto calls, what would my Sire? Pluto. Come follow to the Stygian fire, Where Ireton doth wait to welcome thee in state. Oliver. Were I in bed with Lambert's wife, I'd quit those joys for such a life. Pluto. My Princely Nol make haste, For thee we keep a fast. Oliver. In these dismal shades will I Unto thee unfold my Villainy. Pluto. In my bosom I'll thee lay, For thy sake we'll all keep holiday. Chorus. We'll rage's and roar, and fry in flames, And Charles himself shall see How damn'dly we agree, Yet scorn to change our Chains For his Eternal deity. John and Joan. IF you will give ear, And hearken a while what I shall tell, I think I must come near, Or else you cannot hear me well: It was a maid, as I heard say, That in her Master's Chamber lay, For maidens must it not refuse, In Yeoman's houses they it use In a truckle-bed to lie, Or in a bed that stands thereby, Her Master and her Dame Would have the maid to do the same. This Maid she could not sleep When as she heard the bedstead crack, When Captain Standish stout Made his Dame cry out, you hurt my back, Fie, she said, you do me wrong, You lie so sore my breast upon, But you are such another man, You'd have me do more than I can; Fie Master, than quoth honest Joan, I pray you let my Dame alone; Fie, quoth she, what a coil you keep, I cannot take no rest nor sleep. This was enough to make A maiden sick and full of pain, For she did fling and kick, And swore she'd tear her smock in twain; But now to let you understand, They kept a man whose name was John, To whom this Maiden went anon, And unto him she made her moan: Tell me John, tell me the same, What doth my Master to my Dame? Tell me John, and do not lie, What ails my Dame to squeak and cry? Quoth John, your Master he Doth give your Dame a steel at night, And though she find such fault, It is her only heart's delight: And you Joan, for your part, You would have one with all your heart; Yes indeed, quoth honest Joan, Therefore to thee I make my moan; But John, if I may be so bold, Where is there any to be sold? At London, then quoth honest John, Next Market day I'll bring thee one. What is the price, quoth Joan, If I should chance to stand in need? Why twenty shillings, than quoth John, For twenty shillings you may speed; The Maid she went unto her Chest, And fetched him twenty shillings just: Here John, quoth she, here is the Coin, And prithee have me in thy mind, And, honest John, do me no wrong, But buy me one that's stiff and strong, And, honest John, out of my store I'll give thee two odd shillings more. To Market then went John When he had the money in his purse, He domineered and swore, And was as stout as any horse: Some he spent in Wine and Beer, And some in Cakes and other good cheer, And some he carried home again To serve his turn another time; O John, quoth she, thou'rt welcome home: God-a-mercy, quoth he, gentle Joan; But prithee John, now let me feel, Hast thou brought me home a steel? Yes that I have, quoth John, And then he took her by the hand, He led her strait into a room Where she could see nor Sun nor Moon; The door to him he strait did clap, He put the steel into her lap, And then the Maid began to feel, Cod's foot, quoth she, 'tis a goodly steel: But tell me, John, and do not lie, What make these two things hang here by? O Joan, to let thee understand, They're the two odd shillings thou putst in my hand. The Power of Wine. HOw poor is his Spirit, how lost is his Name, Deceiveth Opinion, and cuttels his Fame, When as his design turns near to their hate, 'Twixt shall I, and shall I suspects their own wait, Hath trafficked for honour, but lost the whole freight; He that's stout in the front, but not so in the rear, Doth forfeit his Fame, and is cowed down by fear. A small part of honour to him doth belong, Consults not his glory, but faints in the throng, That fears to embrace what his Country doth vote, And yields up her liberty to a Red-coat; Sure Midsummer is near, and some men do dote, I like the bold Romans, whose same ever rings, That kept in subjection such pitiful things. He that will be Bugbeared is turned again Child, A Reed than a Sceptre is fit to wield: Examine that story, no story you'll find Than saving that story that Cat will to kind; The world is deluded, the Commonwealth blind, Your false stamps of honour proves but copper mettle And Fame sounds as loud from a thinkers old kettle. He that past hath the Pike, and found Canon-free, Which shows that no curse from his Parents could be, Had a soul so devout made killing a trade, And now to retreat at the scent of a blade, Doth show of what mould our Knight-errant is made, He that flags in his flight when his ambition soars high Doth stab his own merit, & gives fame the lie. Then Cicero-like you gownsmen drench cares, Overwhelmed with your own & your Country's affairs, And Pulpit-men to be as airy as he; Do you but preach Sack up, we'll ne'er disagree That Commonwealth's best that is the most free, Then fret not, nor care not, when the Sack's in out crown, We can fancy a King up, or fancy him down. The mad Zealot. AM I mad, O noble Festus, When Zeal and godly knowledge Have put me in hope To deal with the Pope, As well as the best in the College? Boldly I preach, hate a Cross, hate a Surplice, Mirers, Copes, and Rochers: Come hear me pray mine times a day, And fill your heads with Crotchets. In the house of pure Emanuel I had my Education, Where my friends surmise I dazzled mine eyes With the light of Revelation, Boldly I preach, etc. They bond me like a Beldame, They lashed may four poor quarters; Whilst this I endure, Faith makes me sure To be one of Foxes Martyrs, Boldly I preach, etc. These injuries I suffer Through Antichrsts persuasions; Take off this Chain, Neither Rome nor Spain Can resist my strong invasions. Boldly I preach, etc. Of the beasts ten horns (God bless us) I have knocked off three already: If they let me alone, I'll leave him none: But they say I am too heady. Boldly I preach, etc. When I sacked the seven-hilled City, I met the great red Dragon. I kept him aloof, With the armour of proof, Though here I have never a rag on: Boldly I preach, etc. With a fiery Sword and Target There fought I with this Monster: But the sons of pride My zeal deride, And all my deeds misconstrue. Boldly I preach, etc. I unhorsed the Whore of Babel With a Lance of Inspirations: I made her stink, And spill her drink In the cup of Abominations, Boldly I preach, etc. I have seen two in a Vision, With a flying Book between them: I have been in despair Five times a year, And cured by reading Greenham, Boldly I preach, etc. I observed in Perkins Tables The black Lines of Damnation, Those crooked veins So stuck in my brains, That I feared my Reprobation, Boldly I preach, etc. In the holy tongue of Canaan I placed my chiefest pleasure, Till I pricked my foot, With an Hebrew root, That I bled beyond all measure. Boldly I preach, etc. I appeared before th' Archbishop, And all the High Commission: I gave him no Grace, But told him to his face That he favoured Superstititon, Boldly I preach, hare a Cross, hate a Surplice, Mitres, Copes, and Rechets: Come hear me pray nine times a day, And fill your heads with Crotchets. Drunk with Love. I , I , but am a Sot to show it, I was a very fool to let her know it, For now she doth so cunning grow, And proves a friend worse than a foe, She will not bold me fast, nor let me go: She tells me I cannot forsake her, Then strait I endeavour to leave her, But to make me stay throws a kiss in my way, O then I could tarry for every. Thus I retire, salute, and sit down by her, There do I fry in frost, and freeze in fire; Now nectar from her lips I sup, And though I cannot drink all up, Yet I am foxed with kissing of the Cup: For her lips are two brimmers of Claret, Where first I began to miscarry, Her breasts of delight are two bottles of White, And her eyes are two cups of Canary. Drunk, as I live, dead drunk beyond reprieve, For all my secrets dribble through a sieve; About my neck her arms she layeth, Now all is Gospel that she saith, Which I lay hold on with my fuddled faith; I find a fond Lover's a Drunkard, And dangerous is when he flies out, With hips, and with lips, with black eyes & white thighs Blind Cupid sure tippled his eyes out. She bids me rise, tells me I must be wise, Like her, for she's not in love she cries; This makes me fret, and fling, and throw, Shall I be fettered to my foe? I begin to run, but cannot go; I prithee, sweet, use me more kindly, You were better to hold me fast, If you once disengage your Bird from his cage, Believe it he'll leave you at last. Like Sot I sit, that filled the Town with wit, But now confess I have most need of it; I have bèen foxed with Duck and Deer Above a quarter of a year, Beyond the cure of sleeping, or small beer; I think I can number the Months too, July, August, September, October, Thus goes my account, a mischief light on't, But sure I shall go when I'm sober. My legs are lamed, my courage is quite tamed, My heart and all my body is inflamed, As by experience I can prove, And swear by all the Powers above, 'Tis better to be drunk with wine than love: For 'tis Sack makes us merry and witty, Our foreheads with jewels adorning, Although we do grope, yet there's some hope That a man may be sober next morning. Thus, with command, she throws me from her hand, And bids me go, yet knows I cannot stand; I measure all the ground by trips, Was ever Sot so drunk with sips, Or can a man be overseen with lips? I pray Madam fickle be faithful, And leave off your damnable douging, Then do not deceive me, either love me or leave me, Or let me go home to my lodging. I have too much, and yet my folly is such, I cannot hold, but must have t'other touch; Here's a health to the King: how now? I'm drunk, and speak treason I vow, Lovers and Fools say any thing you know; I fear I have tired your patience, But I'm sure 'tis I have the wrong on't, My wits are bereft, and all I have left Is scarce enough to make a Song on't; My Mistress and I shall never comply, And there's the short and the long on't. A Present to a Lady. LAdies I do here present you With a token Love hath sent you; 'Tis a thing to sport and play with, Such another pretty thing For to pass the time away with; Prettier sport was never seen; Name I will not, nor define it, Sure I am you may divine it: By those modest looks I guess it, And those eyes so full of fire, That I ned no more express it, But leave your fancies to admire. Yet as much of it be spoken In the praise of this love-token: 'Tis a wash that far surpasseth For the cleansing of your blood, All the Saints may bless your faces, Yet not do you so much good. Were you ne'er so melancholy, It will make you blithe and jolly; Go no more, no more admiring, When you feel your spleen's amiss, For all he drinks of Steel and Iron Never did such cures as this. It was born in th' Isle of Man, Venus' nurssed it with her hand, She puffed it up with milk and pap, And lulled it in her wanton lap, So ever since this Monster can In no place else with pleasure stand. Colossus like, between two Rocks, I have seen him stand and shake his locks, And when I have heard the names Of the sweet Saterian Dames, O he's a Champion for a Queen, 'Tis pity but he should be seen. Nature, that made him, was so wise As to give him neither tongue nor eyes, Supposing he was born to be The Instrument of Jealousy, Yet he can, as Poets seign, Cure a Ladies lovesick brain. He was the first that did betray To mortal eyes the milky way; He is that Proteus cunning Ape That will beget you any shape; Give him but leave to act his part, And he'll revive your saddest heart. Though he want legs, yet he can stand With the least touch of your soft hand; And though, like Cupid, he be blind, There's never a hole but he can find; If by all this you do not know it, Pray Ladies give me leave to show it. A Combat of Cocks. GO you tame Gallants, you that have the name, And would accounted be Cocks of the Game, That have brave spurs to show for't, and can crow, And count all dunghill breed that cannot show Such painted Plumes as yours; that think no vice, With Cock-like lust to tread your Cockatrice: Though Peacocks, Woodcocks, ye are not for me: I of two feathered Combatants will write, He that to th' life means to express the fight, Must make his ink o'th' blood which they did spill, And from their dying wings borrow his quill. No sooner were the doubtful people set, The matches made, and all that would had bet, But strait the skilful Judges of the Play, Bring forth their sharp-heeled Warriors, and they Were both in linen bags, as if 'twere meet, Before they died to have their winding-sheet. With that in th' pit they are put, and when they were Both on their feet, the Norfolk Chanticleer Looks stoutly at his ne'r-before seen foe, And like a Challenger gins to crow, And shakes his wings, as if he would display His warlike Colours, which were black and grey: Mean time the wary Wishich walks and breathes His active body, and in fury wreaths His comely crest, and of then looking down, He whets his angry beak upon the ground: With that they meet, not like that coward breed Of Aesop, that can better fight than feed. They scorn the dunghill, 'tis their only prize, To dig for Pearl within each others eyes: They fight so long, that it was hard to know To th' skilful, whether they did fight or no, Had not the blood which died the fatal floor Born witness of it; yet they fight the more, As if each wound were but a spur to prick Their fury forward: lightning's not more quick Nor red than were their eyes: 'twas hard to know Whether it was blood or anger made them so: And sure they had been out, had they not stood More safe by being fenced in by blood. Yet still they fight, but now (alas) at length, Although their courage be full tried, their strength And blood began to ebb; you that have seen A water-combat on the Sea, between Two roaring angry boiling billows, how They march, and meet, and dash their curled brows, Swelling like graves, as if they did intent T' entomb each other, ere the quarrel end: But when the wind is down, and blustering weather, They are made friends, and sweetly run together, May think these Champions such, their combs grow low And they that leapt even now, now scarce can go: Their wings which lately at each blow they clapped (As if they did applaud themselves) now flapt. And having lost the advantage of the heel, Drunk with each others blood they only reel. From either eyes such drops of blood did fall, As if they wept them for their Funeral. And yet they would fain fight, they come so near, As if they meant into each others ear To whisper death; and when they cannot rise, They lie and look blows in each others eyes. But now the Tragic part after the fight, When Norfolk Cock had got the best of it, And Wisbich lay a dying, so that none, Though sober, but might venture seven to one, contracting (like a dying Taper) all His force, as meaning with that blow to fall; He struggles up, and having taken wind, Ventures a blow; and strikes the other blind. And now poor Norsolk having lost his eyes, Fights only guided by th' Antipathies: With his (alas) the Proverb holds not true, The blows his eyes ne'er see, his heart most rue. At length by chance, he stumbling on his foe, Not having any power to strike a blow, He falls upon him with a wounded head, And makes his conquered wings his Featherbed: Where lying sick, his friends were very chary Of him, and fetched in haste an Apothecary; But all in vain, his body did so blister, That 'twas uncapable of any glister, Wherefore at length, opening his fainting bill, He called a Scrivener, and thus made his Will. INprimis, Let it never be forgot, My body freely I bequeath to th' pot, Decently to be boiled, and for its tomb, Let it be buried in some hungry womb. Item, Executors I will have none, But he that on my side laid seven to one: And like a Gentleman that he may live, To him and to his heirs my comb I give; Together with my brains, that all may know, That oftentimes his brains did use to crow. Item, It is my Will to the weaker ones, Whose wives complain of them, I give my stones; To him that's dull, I do my spurs impart, And to the Coward, I bequeath my heart: To Ladies that are light, it is my will, My feathers should be given; and for my bit, I'd give't a Tailor, but it is so short, That I'm afraid he'll rather curse me for't: And for the Apothecary's fee, who meant To give me a Glister, let my Rump be sent. Lastly, because I feel my life decay, I yield, and give to Wisbich Cock the day. Full forty times over. FULL forty times over I have strived to win, Full forty times over repulsed have been, But 'tis forty to one but I'll tempt her again; For he's dull Lover That so will give over, Since thus runs the sport, Since thus runs the sport, Assault her but often, and you carry the Fort, Since thus runs the sport, Assault her but often, and you carry the Fort. There's a breach ready made, which still open hath been, With thousands of thoughts to betray it within, If you once but approach you are sure to get in, Then stand not off coldly, But venture on boldly, With weapon in hand, With weapon in hand, If you once but approach, she's not able to stand, With weapon in hand: If you once but approach, she's not able to stand. Some Ladybirds when down before them you sit, Will think to repulse you with Fire-balls of wit, But alas they're but crackers, and seldom do hit; Then vanquish them after With alarms of laughter, Their Forces being broke, Their Forces being broke, And the fire quite out, you may vanquish in smoke, Their Forces being broke: And the fire quite out, you may vanquish in smoke. With pride & with state, some outworks they make, And with Volleys of frowns drive the enemy back: If you mind her discreetly she's easy to take, Then to it, ne'er fear her, But boldly come near her, By working about, By working about: If you once but approach, she can ne'er hold it out, By working about, If you once but approach, she can ne'er hold it out. Some Ladies with blushes and modesty fight, And with their own fears the rude for do affright, But they're easily surprised if you come in the night: Then this you must drive at, To parley in private, And then they're overthrown, And then they're overthrown, If you promise them fairly, they'll soon be your own, And then they're overthrown, If you promise them fairly, they'll soon be your own. The Answer. HE is a fond Lover that doateth on scorn, Who Fortune's neglects hath patiently born: He's proud of abuses, if e'er he return To prove a fond Lover; His wit he'll discover, By striving to win A Fort, where old forces neglected have been. For when a fort we defend from the foe, We traitors imprison; they ne'er come below; And her fort is defended by answering, No, If this will not do it, Disdain added to it, Your weapon will fall; Although you approach, you'll not enter at all. They are Ladybirds sure, these lovers intent, Which cannot with with such a fortress defend, Whilst Hector's their squibs & their crackers do spend; And vainly come after, To conquer with laughter: For she hath no wit, That spends all her fire in the smoke to be hit. Where a Fort hath no strength but such as is made By pride and by state, such, a foe may invade; For these are defences for those of the trade. You men are so witty, Works guard not our City, But forces within, With which we maintained, though the outworks you win. These warriors at last with our weapons will fight; And if we are— they'll come in the night: But alas they're denied, our virtues are bright: For she that loves honour, No parley ere wone her, To yield up her power, For a few flattering words, and the sport of an hour. Love's Tenement. IF any one do want a house, Prince, Duke, Earl, Lord, or Squire, Or Peasant, hardly worth a louse, I can fit his desire: I have a Tenement, the which I know can fit them all, 'Tis seated near a stinking ditch, Men call it Cony-hall. It stands below Bum-Alley, A foot of belly-hill; This Tenement is to be ta'en By whosoever will: For term of years, for months, or days I'll let this pleasant bower, Nay, rather than a Tenant want, I'll let it for an hour. About it grows a pleasant wood To shade you from the Sun; Well watered 'tis, for through the house A pleasant stream doth run; If hot, you there may cool you, If cold, you there find hear, For little it not greatest is, For lest 'tis not too great. My house, indeed, I must say is dark, Be it by night or day, But if that you be gotten in You cannot miss the way; None ever yet within my house Did ever weep or wail, You need not fear the tenure of it, For it is held in tail. But I must covenant with him That takes this House of mine, Either for years, or else for months, Or for some shorter time, That once a day he wash it, And sweep it round about, And if that he do fail of this, Ill seek a new Tenant out. Thus if you like my Tenement, Your houseroom shall be good, Of such a temper as you shall Need burn neither Coal or wood: For be it cold, or be it hot, To speak I dare be bold, As long as you keep your nose within doors You never shall be a cold. In praise of Sack. COme faith let's frolic, fill some Sack, For than we shall not lack Food for the belly, nor physic for the back, This Beer breeds the Colic, let us spread Our Cheeks with Royal Red, And then we'll sing, hay toss the devil's dead, To Faction we never more will bow the knee: Great Britain's fate in faith 'twas long of thee. You may see what Madam England hath been at When we behold her Nose is fallen so flat. To Wine we'll build a Shrine, And an Altar divine, High as the sign, where thy red nose and mine Like Tapers shall shine: Then let's drink for the Bets, 'tis loser that gets, In spite of their threats, and our Creditors nets, We'll drink off our debts, Where he that's dead drunk, shall be Laid out in state, as well as he Whose dignity the only objects be Of new Idolatry. We'll guard his corpse like a Bride To the grave-side, so copious and wide, With as much pride as he that lately died, The Railing set aside. Fifty red-faces free, shall his Torch-beares be; Six maudlin Mourners his Coffin shall carry, There we will tipple free unto the memory Of our fraternity drowned in Canary: In the Devil-Tavern we commonly will show him, We'll bury him from the devil, Others fair men to him. We'll be blithe and trimmer, We'll have Music to— Jews-harp, tongues, and skimmer, Thy Cup— my Cup— Bar-boy fill the other brimmer, Fly cup— strike up— there boy, Till our eyes do grow dimmer. Money shall be spent in Bays, Every pen shall vent a praise, And a monument we'll raise Over his bones. Where his Epitaph shall be, That he died in Loyalty, Never gained by Cruelty, Kingdoms, nor Crowns. That he never lived by injury, Nor confounded men for forgery, Neither put a prop of Perjury Under his thrones; That although he drank his Cares away, And sometimes his Loyal fears away, Yet he never drank the tears away Of Orphan's Groans. Thus he shall be both frolic and free, Who's kindly killed with Canary, With red and white, or other delight, If tippling makes him miscarry, Provided he a Bachanel be, And scorns to admit of a parley With Ale or Beer, or other such gear, Polluted with Hop or with Barley, Good Wine doth ring, like Priest and King, But 'tis Ale that looks like a Layman, Then for the Vineyard draw your Whynyard, The Devil go with the Dray-man. A Maidenbead. What is that you call a Maidenhead? A thing oft smothered in a bed, Which some have now, which all have had, Which freely given it makes one sad. 'Tis got for nought with little pain; 'Tis kept, but lost, not got again; 'Tis that you call a Maidenhead, By proving quick 'tis ever dead. A lump which Lasses bear about Till putting in doth put it out; A herb it is which proves a weed When first the husk doth bear a Seed. It's that a Maidenhead we call, A thing by standing made to fall; It is a Maidenhead, say we, That is kept by holoing close the knee. Which youths were often used to lurch, Which Brides do seldom bear to Church; At fifteen rate, at eighteen strange, Which either lose when two do change. That fit's when Maidens begin to reek, When ere it parts, it makes them squeak, And being gone, they strait repent: This by a Maidenhead is meant. The Night encounter. When Phoebus had dressed his course to the West To take up his rest below, And Cynthia agreed in her glittering weed Her light in his stead to bestow: I walking alone, attended by none, I suddenly heard one cry, O do not, do not kill me yet, For I am not prepared to die. At length I drew near to see and to hear, And strait did appear a show, The Moon was so bright I saw such a sight It's fit no Wight should it know: A man and a maid together were laid, And ever she said, nay fie, O do not, etc. The Youth was so rough he pulled up her stuff, And to blindman-buff he did go, Though still she did lie, yet still she did cry, And put him but by with a no; But he was so strong, and she was so young, That she rested a while for to cry, O do not. etc. Thus striving in vain, well pleased again, She vowed to remain his foe, She kept such a coil when he gave her the foil, The greater the broil did grow; For he was prepared, and did not regard Her words when he heard her cry, O do not, etc. He said to the Maid, Sweet be not afraid, The Physician I will be; If I light in the hole that pleaseth me best I'll give thee thy Physic free; He went to it again, and hit in the Vein Where all her whole grief did jye; O kill me, kill me once again, For I am prepared to die. At length he gave o'er, and suddenly swore, He'd kill her no more that night, He bid her adieu, for certain he knew She would tempt him to more delight: But when they did part it went to her heart, For at length he had taught her to cry, O kill me, kill me once again, For now I am prepared to die. The Protecting Brewer. A Brewer may be a Burgess grave, And carry the matter so fine and so brave, That he the better may play the knave, Which no body can deny. A Brewer may be a Parliament-man, For there the knavery first began, And brew most cunning Plots he can, Which no body, etc. A Brewer may put on a Nabal face, And march to the wars with such a grace, That he may get a Captain's place, Which no body, etc. A Brewer may speak so monstrous well, That he may raise strange things to tell, And so to be made a Colonel, Which no body, etc. A Brewer may make his foes to flee, And raise his fortunes, so that he Lieutenant-General may be, Which no body, etc. A Brewer he may be all in all, And raise his powers both great and small, That he may be a Lord General, Which no body, etc. A Brewer may be like a Fox in a Cub, And teach a Lecture out of a Tub, And give the wicked world a rub, Which no body, etc. A Brewer by's Excize and Rate, Will promise his Army he knows what, And set it upon the Colledge-gate, Which no body, etc. Methinks I hear one say to me, Pray why may nor a Brewer be, Lord-Chancellour o'th' University, Which no body, etc. A Brewer may be as bold as a Hector, When he has drunk off his cup of Nectar, And a Brewer may be a Lord Protector, Which no body, etc. Now here remains the strangest thing, How this Brewer about his liquor doth bring, To be an Emperor, or a King, Which no body, etc. A Brewer may do what he will Rob the Church and State, to sell His soul unto the devil of hell, Which no body can deny. Crommwel's Coronation. OLivir Oliver, take up thy Crown, For now thou hast made three Kingdoms thine own; Call thee a Conclave of thy own creation, To ride us to ruin, who dare thee oppose: Whilst we thy good people are at thy devotion, To fall down and worship thy terrible Nose. To thee and thy Mermydons, Oliver, we, Do tender our homage as fits thy degree, We'll pay thee Exsize and Taxes, God bless us, With fear and contrition, as penitents should, Whilst you, great sirs, vouchsafe to oppreass us, Not daring so much as in private to scold. We bow down, as cowed down, to thee & thy sword. For now thou hast made thyself England's sole Lord, By Mandate of Scripture, and heavenly warrant, The Oath of Allegiance, and Covenant too; To Charles and his kingdoms thou art Heir apparent, And born to rule over the Turk and the Jew. Then Oliver, Oliver, get up and ride, Whilst Lords, Knights, & Gentry do run by thy sid The Maulflers and Brewers account it their glory, Great god of the Grain-tub's compared to thee: All Rebels of old are lost in their story, Till thou ploo'st along to the Paddington-tree. The Drunkard. WHen I do travel in the night The Brewer's dog my brains do bite, My heart grows heavy, and my heels grow light, And I like my humour well, well, And I like my humour well. When with upsy frieze I line my head, My Hostis Cellar is my bed, The Worlds our own, and the devil is dead, And I like, etc. Then I'll be talking of matters of Court, About the taking of some Fort, And I'll swear a lie is true report, And I like, etc. Then I'll be talking of matters of State, Of News from the Pallatinate, What Princes are confederate, And I like, etc. If my hostess bids me pay my score, And stand if I can, and call her whore, I reell and tumble out of her door, And I like, etc. That I came from the War, I roar and swear I made a fellow die for fear, How many I killed that I never came neat, And I like, etc. If I chance to meet with a Tailor's Stall, And the stones with my nose with fight fall, We kiss and are friends, and so there's all, And I like, etc. With an Indian Chimney in my hand, Having a Boy at my command, Like a brave Commander up I stand, And I like, etc. Then I justle with every post I meet, I kick the dunghills about the street, I trample the kennels about my feet, And I like, etc. The Constable I curse and ban, That bids me stand if I be a man, I tell him he bids me do more than I can, And I like, etc. Then home I go, and my Wife doth scold, She bawls the more I bid her hold, It is my patience makes her bold, And I like, etc. Then I grope to bed, but miss the way, Forget me where my I lay, I call for drink by break of day, And I like my humour. Sng of Sir Eglamore. SIr Eglamore, that valiant Knight, fa, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, He put on his Sword, and he went to fight, fa, lafoy, And as he rid o'er hill and dale, All armed, and in his Coat of Mail, Fa, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, fa, lafoy, lafoy, lall a la. There starts a huge Dragon out of his Den, fa, lafoy, Which had killed I know not how many men, fa, lafoy, But when he see Sir Eglamore, If you had but heard how the Dragon did roar, Fa, lafoy, lafoy, etc. This Dragon he had a plaguy hard hide, fa, lafoy, lafoy, Which could the strongest steel abide, fa, lafoy, lafoy, He could not enter him with cuts, Which vexed the Knight to his heart blood and guts, Fa, lafoy, lafoy, etc. All the trees in the wood did shake, Fa, lafoy, lafoy, Horses did tremble, and man did quake, Fa, lafoy, lafoy, The birds betook them to their peeping, ‛ Told have made a man's heart to fall a weeping, Fa, lafoy, la. But now it was no time to fear, fa, lafoy, la. For it was time to fight Dog, fight Bear, fa, lafoy, lafoy, But as the Dragon yawning did fall, He thrust his Sword down hilts and all, Fa, lafoy, la. For as the Knight in Choler did burn, fa, lafoy, lafoy, He ought the Dragon a shrewd good turn, fa, lafoy, lafoy, In at his mouth his sword he sent, The hilt appeared at his fundament. Fa, lafoy, la. Then the Dragon, like a Coward, began to flee, fa Into his Den that was hard by, fa, lafoy, lafoy, There he laid him down and roared, The Knight was sorry for his sword, Fa, lafoy, la. The Sword it was a right good blade, fa, lafoy, lafoy, As ever Turk or Spaniard made, fa, lafoy, lafoy, I, for my part, do forsake it, He that will fetch it, let him take it, Fa, lafoy, la. When all was done, to the Alehouse he went, fa, lafoy, And presently his two pence he spent, fa, lafoy, lafoy, He was so hot with tugging with the Dragon, That nothing would squench him but a whole flagon, Fa, lafoy, la. Well, now let us pray for the King and Queen, fa, lafoy, And eke in London there may be seen, fa, lafoy, la. As many Knights, and as many more, And all as good as Sir Eglamore, Fa, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, fa, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, lala la. The Rump. IF none be offended with the Sent, Though I foul my mouth, I'll be content, To sing of the Rump of a Parliament, Which no body can deny. I have sometimes fed on a Rump in sauce, And a man may imagine the Rump of a Louse; But till now was ne'er heard of the Rump of a house, Which no body, etc. There's a rump of beef, and the rump of a goose, And a rump whose neck was hanged in a noose; But ours is a Rump can play fast and lose, Which no body, etc. A Rump had Jane Shore, and a Rump Messaleen, And a Rump had Antony's resolute Queen; But such a Rump as ours is, never was seen, Which no body, etc. Two short years together we English have scarce Been rid of thy rampant Nose (Old Mars,) But now thou hast got a prodigious Arse, Which no body, etc. When the parts of the body did all fall out, Some votes it is like did pass for the Snout; But that the Rump should be King was never a doubt Which no body, etc. A Cat has a Rump, and a Cat has nine lives. Yet when her heads off, her Rump never strives But our Rump from the grave hath made two Retrives, Which no body, etc. That the Rump may all their enemies quail, They'll borrow the Devil's Coat of mail, And all to defend their Estate in , Which no body, etc. But though their scale now seem to be th'upper, There's no need of the charge of a thanksgiving supper, For if they be the Rump, the Armies their Crupper, Which no body, etc. There is a saying belongs to the Rump, Which is good although it be worn to the stump That one the Buttock, I'll give thee a thump, Which no body etc. There's a Proverb in which the Rump claims a part, Which hath in it more of Sense than of Art, That for all you can do I care not a fart, Which no body, etc. There; s another Proverb gives the Rumpt for his Crest, But Aldermen Atkins made it a Jest, That of all kind of Luck's, shitten luck is the best, Which no body, etc. There's another Proverb that never will fail, That the good the Rump will do when they prevail, Is to give give us a flap with a Fox-tail, Which no body, etc. There is a saying, which is made by no fools, I never can hear on't but my heart it cools, That the Rump will spend all we have in close-stools, Which no body, etc. There's an observation wise and deep, Which, without an Onion, will make me to weep, That Flies will blow Maggots in the Rump of a sheep, Which no body, etc. And some, that can see the wood from the trees, Say, this sanctified Rump in time we may lose: For the Cooks do challenge the rumps for their Fees Which no body, etc. When the Rump do sit, we'll make it our moan, That a Reason be 'nacted, if their be not one, Why a Fart hath a tongue, and a fy hath none, Which no body, etc. And whilst within the walls they lurk, To satisfy us, will be a good work, Who hath most Religion, the Rump or the Turk, Which no body, etc. A Rump's a Fag-end, like the balk of a furrow, And is to the whole like the jail to the burrow, 'Tis the bran that is left when the meal is run through, Which no body, etc. Consider the world, the heaven is the head on't, The earth is the middle, and we men are fed on't, But hell is the rump, and no more can be said on't, Which no body can deny. The Red-coats Triumph. COme Drawer, and fill us about some wine, Let's merrily tipple, the day is our own; We'll have our delights, let the Country go pine, Let the King and the Kingdom groan: The Crown is our own, and so shall continue, We'll baffle Monarchy quite, Well drink of the Kingdom's Revenue, And sacrifice all to Delight; 'Tis power that brings us all to be Kings, And we'll all be crowned by our might. A fig for Divine lectures, and Law, And all that true Loyalty do pretend; We will by the Sword keep the Kingdoms in awe, And our Powers shall never end; The Church and the Scate we'll turn into liquor, And spend a whole town in a day: We'll melt all the Bodkins the quicker Into Sack, and drink them away; We'll keep the demeans of the Bishops and Deans, And over the Presbyter sway. Now nimble Saint Patrick is sunk in a bog, And his Countrymen sadly cry, O hone, O hone; Saint Andrew and his Kirkmen are lost in a fog, And now we are the Saints alone; Thus on our Equals and Superiors we trample, And Jockey our stirrup shall hold, The city's our Mule for example, Whilst we will in plenty be roul'd; Each delicate dish shall but echo our wish, And our drink shall be cordial Gold. A New years Gift. FAir Lady, for your New-year's Gift I send you here a dish of fruit: The first shall be a Poppering Pear, 'Tis all the fruit one tree doth bear; Roll it not, the juice, I doubt, 'Tis so ripe, will all run out; You must not pair it any whit, But take it all in at one bit; If in your mouth a while it lie, It will melt deliciously. The next in order doth befall, Two handful of great rouncefal; King Priapus, that Garden God, Made Venus eat it in the God; And since that seed all women sow, Because it will so quickly grow; If pretty Bun the stalk devour, 'Twil up again in half an hour; When once the Bun it doth espy, 'Twill mop most prettily. The next in order, you shall have A large Potato, and a brave: It must be roasted in the fire That Cupid kindled with desire, The roasting it will much cost, 'Twill baste itself when it is roast; It needs no sugar, nor no spice, 'Twill please a Stomach ne'er so nice; 'Twill make a miad at Midnight cry, It comes most pleasantly. The bravest thing in all this Land, You shall have Mars his holly wand: A thing that never grew on tree, 'Twill touch and sting worse than a Bee; bend him not, perhaps in time He may grow up unto his prime; Correct him not too much at first, For if you do, tears forth will burst; When Mars came down to fetch his wand, It cries, I cannot stand. The Bull's Feather. IT chanced not long ago, as I was walking, An echo did bring me where two were a talking: 'Twas a man said to his wife, die had I rather, Than to be cornuted, and wear the Bull's feather, Then presently she replied, Sweet, art thou jealous? Thou canst not play Vulcan before I play Venus: Thy fancies are foolish, such follies together: There's many an honest man has worn the Bull's Feather. Though it be invisible, let no man it scorn, Though it be a new feather made of an old horn, He that disdains it in heart or mind either May be the more subject to wear the Bull's Feather, He that lives discontent, or in despair, And feareth false measure, because his wife's fair: His thoughts are inconstant, much like winter-weather, Though one or two want it, he shall have a Feather. Bull's Feathers are common as Ergo in Schools, And only contemned by those that are fools: Why should a Bull's Feather cause any unrest, Since neighbours far always is counted the best? Those women wh''re fairest, are likely to give it; And husbands that have them, are apt to believe it. Some men though their wives should seem for to tedder, They would play the kind neighbour, and give the Bull's feather. Why should we repine that our wives are so kind, Since we that are husbands are off the same mind? Shall we give them feathers, and think to go free? Believe it, believe it, that hardly will be. For he that disdains my Bull's feather to day, May light of a Lass that will play him foul play, There's ne'er a proud gallant that treads on Cow's leather, But he may be cornuted, and wear the Bull's feather. Though Beer of that brewing I never did drink, Yet be not displeased if I speak what I think, Scarce ten in a hundred, believe it, believe it, But either they'll have it, or else they will give it. Then let me advise all those that do pine, For fear that false jealousy shorten their time: That disease will torment them worse than any fever: Then let all be contented to wear the bull's feather. Old England turned New. YOu talk of New-England, I truly believe Old England is grown new, and doth us deceive, I'll ask you a question or two, by your leave, And is not old England grown new? Where are your old Soldiers with slashes and scars, That never used drinking in no time of wars, Nor shedding of blood in mad drunken jars? And is not, etc. New Captains are come that never did fight, But with Pots in the day, and Punks in the Night, And all their chief care is to keep their swords bright, And is not, etc. Where are your old swords, your bills, and your bows, Your Bucklers rnd Targets that never feared blows? They are turned to Steelettoes, with other fair shows, And is not, etc. Where are your old Courtiers, that used to ride With forty blue-coats and footmen beside? They are turned to six horses a coach with a guide, And is not, etc. And what is become of your old fashion , Your long-sided breeches, and your trunk hose? They are turned to new fashions, but what, the Lord knows, And is not, etc. Your Gallant and his Tailor some half year together, To fit a new suit to a new hat and feather, Of Gold, or of Silver, silk, cloth, stuff, or leather, And is not, etc. We have new fashioned beards, and new fashioned locks, And new fashioned hats for your new pated blocks, And more new diseases besides the French pox, And is not, etc. New houses are built, and the old ones pulled down, Until the new houses sell all the old ground, And then the house stands like a horse in the pound, And is not, etc. New fashions in houses, new fashions at table, The old servants discharged, the new are more able, And every old custom is but an old fable, And is not, etc. New trickings new go, new measures, new paces, New heads for your men, for your women new faces, And twenty new tricks to mend their had cases, And is not, etc. New tricks in the Law, new tricks in the hold, New bodies they have, they look for new souls When the money is paid for building old Paul's, And is not, etc. Then talk you no more of New-England, New-England is where Old England did stand, New furnished, new fashioned, new womaned, new man'd, And is not Old England grown New. A merry Song. COme Drawer, turn about the bowl Till every soul has made a scroll As long as his arm: Again, my boy, be filling still Till every will has had his fill, 'Twill keep us from harm: For he that is copious, and doth fraught with Sack, Has the world at will, and doth nothing lack; He's richest than can drink off a Tun, The bravest men that are under the Sun; Now the world is so giddy, that it scarce knows To smell out the truth now it has lost its nose: That has left behind a pitiful case, It smells, you'll find, in every place. Then since he is happiest that drinks the most, Joy, call mine Host, that honest tossed, He shall have his share; For interest we'll give him drink, Now wine is chink, yet let him think Out dealing is saire; For I'll maintain his reckoning's good, Though we had drunk on tick since Noah's flood, We'll clear it all in Plato's year, You'll hear we shall be Cato's there: Then he's an ass will spare for Chalk To purchase Sack; what e'er you talk, He's not great, nor rich, nor wise. An errand Cheat does Wine despise. A Scottish Covenant we'll take To burn at stake, if not forsake The old heresy Of bowzing to a petticoat, If healths of note we could not vote Past any she, They are but blazes, and soon are gone, Fine trifles for us to play upon; When we have nought, or little to do, We'll have 'em brought, and tickle 'em too: Mean time let us drink a carouse to those Who are neither the French nor the Spaniards foes, For all our treasure is there in their Mines, There's no pleasure here but in their wines. The Contented. PRay, why should any man complain, Or why disturb his breast or brain At this new alteration? Since that which has been done's no more Than what has oft been done before, And that which will be done again, As long as there are ambitious men, That strive for domination. In this mad age there's nothing firm, All things have period, and their term, Their rise and declinations; Those gaudy nothings we admire, Which get above and shine like fire, Are empty vapours raised from ground, Their mock-shine past their quickly down, Must fall like exhalation. But still we Commons must be made A gaulled, a lame, thin hackney Jade, And all by turns will ride us; This side, or that, no matter which, For both do ride with spur and switch, Till we are tired, and then at last We stumble, and our riders cast, 'Cause they'd not feed nor guide us. The insulting Clergy quite mistake, Thinking that Kingdoms passed by book, Or Crowns were got by prating; 'Tis not the black coat, but the red, Has power to make, or be the head; Nor is it oaths, nor words, nor tears, But Muskets and full Bandeleers Have power of legislating. The Lawyers must lay by their books, And study Monk much more than Cooks; The Sword is the Learned Pleader, Reports and Judgements will not do it, But 'tis Dragoons and Horse and Foot; Words are but wind, but Swords come home, A stout tongued Lawyer is but a moan, Compared to a stout file-leader. Such wit and valour root all things, They pull down, and they set up Kings, All Law is in their bosoms; That side is always right that's strong, And that that's beaten must be wrong: And he that thinks it is not so, Unless he's sure to beat 'em too, He's but a fool to oppose 'um. Let them impose taxes and rates, 'Tis but on them that have estates, Not such as thou and I are: But it concerns those worldlings which At lest are made, or else grow rich, Such as have studied all their days The saving and the thriving ways, To be the Mules of power. If they'll reform the Church or State, We'll ne'er be troubled much thereat: Let each man take his opinion, If we don't like the Church, you know Taverns are free, and there we'll go; And if every one will be As clearly unconcerned as we, They'll ne'er fight for domination. The Indifferent. What an Ass is he Waits a woman's leisure For a minute's pleasure, And perhaps may be Gulled at last, and lose her, What an ass is he? Shall I sigh and die 'Cause a maid denies me, And that she may try me, Suffer patiently? O no! Fate shall tie me To such cruelty. Love is all my life, For it keeps me doing: Yet my love and wooing Is not for a Wife: It is good eschewing Warring, care, and strife. What need I to care For a woman's favour? If another have her, Why should I despair, When for gold and labour I can have my share. If I fancy one, And that one do love me, Yet deny to prove me, Farewell, I am gone. She can never move me, Farewell, I am gone. If I chance to see One that's brown, I love her, Till I see another That is browner than she, For I am a lover Of my liberty. Every day I change, And at once love many, Yet not tied to any, For I love to range, And if one should stay me, I should think it strange. What though she be old, So that she have riches, Youth and Form bewitches, But 'tis store of Gold Cures lascivious itches, So that Critics hold. A West-country Man's Voyage to New-England. MY Masters give audience, and listen to me, And straight i will tell you where i have be: I have been in New-England, but now I'm come o'er, Itch do think they shall catch me go thither no more. Before i went o'er, Lord how voke did tell How vishes did grow, and how birds did dwell All one 'mong, t'other in the wood and the water, I thought had been true, but i find no such matter. When first i did land i mazed me quite, And 'twas of all days on a Saturday night, I wondered to see the strong building were there, 'Twas all like the standing at Bartholomew Fair. Well, that night i slept till near Prayer time, Next morning i wondered to hear no bells chime, And when i had asked the reason, i found 'Twas because there was never a Bell in the Town. At last being warned to Church to repair, Where i did think certain i should hear some prayer, But the Parson there no such matter did teach, They scorned to pray, they were all able to preach. The virst thing they did, a Zalm they did sing, I plucked out my Zalm book, which with me did bring, I was troubled to seek him, cause they call him by name, But they had got a new Song to the tune of the same. When Sermon was done was a Child to baptise About sixteen years old, as folk did surmise, And no Godfather or Godmother, yet 'twas quiet and still, The Priest durst not cross him for fear of his ill will. A Sirrah, quoth I, and to dinner i went, And gave the Lord thanks for what he hd sent; Next day was a wedding, the brideman, my friend, He kindly invites me, so thither I wend. But this, above all, to me wonder did bring, To see a Magistrate marry, and had ne'er a ring; I thought they would call me the woman to give, But i thick he stole her, for he asked no man leave. Now this was new Dorchester as they told me, A Town very famous in all that Country; They said 'twas new building, I grant it is true, Yet me thinks old Dorchester as fine as the new. I stayed there among them till i was weary at heart; At length there came shipping, i got leave to departed: But when all was ended i was coming away, I had threescore shillings for swearing to pay. But when i saw that, an oath more i swore, I would stay no more longer to swear on the score, I bid farewell to those Fowlers and Fishers, So God bless old England and all his well wisher. A medicine for the Quartan Ague. THe Aphorisms of Galen I count but as straws, Profound Pispot-peepers be you all mute, The old quartan fever breaks all Physick-Laws, To help to cure it I think it is boot: Perusing of late a wormeaten book, Brought hither from Cynthia down in Charles' wain; A curious Medicine out thence I took, To cure the quartan Fever again. First choose a Physician that will not exceed Probatum est, speaking more than he knows, Who hath more skill in his tongue than his head; Who his Potions on Patients gratis bestows, Three Midsummer moons in one, let him pray To Apollo, and the Moon being full in the wane, And Scola Selerna twice backward to say, And it will cure the quartan Fever again. His Patient's water then let him cast In a pure Urinal of old August Ice, And die t'him strictly, no gross meats to eat, But feed him with fancies, and antic device, To walk every morning some eight miles or more, Before Phoebus rises, in the sunshine, And before he be up to be seen without door, And 'twill cure, etc. Then let him take from him nine drops and a half Of purified blood, but pierce not the skin, Only open a vain in the heel of the calf, Some half a year before the fit do begin; To sweat eleven minutes in an Oven let him lie, Heat with a North wind, and a shower of rain, And sleep every night with one half of an eye, And it will cure, etc. To keep his body always soluble and lose, That he shall never fear to be subject to be bound, Let him drink Woodcock's water in the quill of a Goose, And always untruss when he goes to ground; Thus being prepared, let the Doctor proceed With all other ingredients to conquer his pain, And profess more Art than ere he did read, To cure the quartan, etc. Then let him take the wind of the wing of a Crane, As he flies over Caucasus hill, With the precious stone was in Gyges his Ring, Mix these with three turns of an honest Windmill, Boyl these all together from a pint to a quart In a Traveller's mouth whose tongue cannot feign, And having new dined give him this next his heart, And 'twill cure, etc. Then three handful take of Pope's holy shadow, When Sol is new entered into the dog-days, Three skreeches of an Owl, four kaws of a Jackdaw, With the brains and the heads of three ninepenny nails, Fry these together within a meal-sive, With the sweat of the southside of a French bean, And this to his Patiented Morn and Even let him give, And 'twill cure, etc. Take three merry thoughts of a Bride the first night She's to lie with her Groom, to purge melancholy, Three jingles of the silver spur of a field Knight, Four Puritan faces, not counterfeit holy, Take three youthful capers of an old Ox, And through a joined stool them let him strain, And then drink the juice throrough the tail of a Fox, And it will cure, etc. Moreover, because I strive to be brief, Take three honest thrums of a weaver's shuttle, Three snips of a Tailor's shears that's no thief, A cutpurses thumb, with his horn and his whittle, The mind of a Miller that ne'er took a corn More than his due in grinding of grain, Burn these all together with Jeeny red stalks, And 'twill cure, etc. And lastly, this counsel my old Author gives, Take the blood of a Beetle in the air as she flies, Who, like a Physician, of excrement lives, And therewith let Empirics anoint his quick eyes; This being practised, he shall see soon All natural mysteries perfect and plain, And know as much Physic as the man in the Moon To cure the quartan fever again. A Catch. NOw I am married, Sir John I'll not curse, He joyn's us together for better, for worse; But if I were single I tell you plain, I would be advised ere I married again. Of Levelling. I Have reason to fly thee, & not to sit down by thee, For I hate to behold one so sawey and bold, That derides and contemns his Superiors; Your Madams and Lords, With such mannerly words, With gestures that be Fit for our degree Are things that we and you Do claim as our due From all those that are our inperiours, For from the beginning there were Princes we know, 'Tis your Levellers do hate cause they cannot be so. All titles of honour were at first in the Donors, But being granted away by that persons stay, Where he wore a small soul or a bigger, There's a necessity That there should be a degree, Though Dick, Tom, and Jack Will serve you and your pack, Where 'tis due we'll afford A Sir John, or my Lord, Honest Dick's name is enough for a digger; He that hath a strong purse may all things be, or do, Be valiant, and wise, and religious too. We have cause to adore that man that hath store Though a boor or a sot, there's something to be got Though he be neither honest nor witty, Make him high, let him rule, He'll be playing the fool, And transgress, then we'll squeeze Him for fines and for fees, And so we shall gain By the vanities of his brain, 'Tis the fool's Cap that maintains the City; If honour be but air, 'tis in common, and as fit For the Fool, or the clown, as the Champion or wit. Then why may not we be of a different degree, And each man aspire to be greater and higher Than his wiser or honester brother, Since Fortune and Nature Their favours do scatter, This hath Valour, that Wit To his wealth, nor is it fit That one should have all, For then what would befall He that is born not to one nor the other? Though honour were a prize from at first, now it's a chattel, And as mere huntable now as your ware, lands, or cattle. But in this we agree to live quiet and free, To drink Sack and submit, and not show your wit By your prating, but silence and thinking; Let the Presbyter Jews Read Diurnals and News, And lard their discourse With a Covenant that's worse; That which pleaseth me best Is a Song or a Jest, And my obedience I'll show it by my drinking; All the name I desire is an honest good Fellow, And that man hath no worth that won't sometimes be mellow. In praise of his Mistress' Beauty. I Have the fairest non-perel, The fairest that ever was seen, And had not Venus been in the way, She had been Beauty's Queen. Her lovely looks, her comely grace, I will describe at large; God Cupid put her in his books, And of this Gem took charge. The Grecian Helen was a Moor, Compared to my dear Saint, And fair faced Siren's beauty poor, And yet she doth not paint. Andromeda, whom Perseus loved, Was foul were she in sight, Her lineaments so well approved, In praise of her I'll write. Her hair not like the golden wire, But black as any Crow, Her brows so beetled all admire, Her forehead wondrous low. Her squinting, staring, gogling eyes Poor Children do affright, Her nose is of the Saracens size; O she's a matchless wight. Her Oven-mouth wide open stands, And teeth like rotten pease, Her Swanlike neck my heart commands, And breasts all bit with Fleas. Her tawny dugs, like two great hills, Hang sow-like to her waste, Her body huge, like two windmills, And yet she's wondrous chaste. Her shoulders of so large a breadth, She'd make an excellent Porter, And yet her belly carries most, If any man could sort her. No Shoulder of Mutton like her hand, For broadness, thick and fat, With a pocky Mange upon her wrist: Oh Jove! how love I that? Her belly Tun-like to behold, Her bush doth all excel, The thing that, by all men extolled, Is wider than a well. Her brawny buttocks, plump and round, Much like a Horse of War, With speckled thighs, scabbed and scarce sound; Her knees like Bakers are. Her legs are like the Elephants, The calf and small both one, Her ankles they together meet, And still knock bone to bone. Her pretty feet, not 'bove fifteen, So splayed as never was, An excellent Usher for a man That walks the dewy grass, Thus have you heard my Mistress praised, And yet no flattery used, Pray tell me, is she not of worth? Let her not be abused. If any to her have a mind, He doth me wondrous wrong, For as she's beauteous, so she's chaste, And thus concludes my Song. Sensual Delight. ARe you grown so melancholy, That you think of nought but folly? Are you sad, are you mad, are you worse, Do you think want of Chink is your curse? Do you love for to have longer life, or a grave? Then this will cure you. First, I would have a bag of Gold, That should ten thousand pieces hold, And all that in your lap would I pour For to spend on your friend or your whore, For to play away a dice, or to shift you from your louse And this will cure you. Next I would have a soft bed made, Wherein a Virgin should be laid That will play any way you devise, That will stick like an itch to your thighs, That will bill like a dove, lie beneath or above, And this will bill like a dove, lie beneath or above, And this will cure you. Next the bowl that Jove divine Drunk Nectar in, filled up with wine, And all that, like a Greek, you should quaff Till your cheeks they look red, and you laugh, Unto Ceres, and to Venus, unto Bacchus and Selenus, And this will cure you. Next seven Eunuches should appear Singing in Sphere-like manner here In the praise of the wages of delight, Venus can use with man in the night, When she seemeth to adorn Vulcan's head with a ho●● And this will cure you. But if no gold nor women can, Nor wine, nor Song make merry man, Let the Bat be your mate and the Owl, Let the pain in the brain make you howl: Let the Pox be your friend, and the Plague be your end. And this will cure you. New England described. AMong the purifidian Sect, I mean the counterfeit Elect: Zealous bankrupts, Punks devout, Preachers suspended, rabble rout, Let them sell all, and out of hand Prepare to go to New England, To build new Babel strong and sure, Now called a Church unspotted pure. There Milk from Springs, like Rivers, flows, And Honey upon hawthorn grows; Hemp, Wool, and Flax there grows on trees The mould is fat, it cuts like cheese; All fruits and herbs spring in the fields, Tobacco it good plenty yields; And there shall be a Church most pure, Where you may find salvation sure. There's Venison of all sorts great store, Both Stag, and buck, wild Goat, and Boar, And all so tame, that you with ease May take your fill, eat what you please; There's beaver's plenty, yea, so many, That you may buy two skins a penny, Above all this, a Church most pure, Where to be saved you may be sure. There's flight of Fowl do cloud the sky, Great Turkeys of threescore pound weight, As big as Estriges, there Geese, With thanks, are sold for pence a piece; Of Duck and Mallard, Widgeon, Tease, Twenty for twopences make a meal; Yea, and a Church unspotted pure, Within whose bosom all are sure. Lo, there in shoals all sorts of fish, Of the salt seas, and water fresh: Ling, God, Poor-John, and Gaberdine, Are taken with the Rod and Line; A painful fisher on the shore May take at least twenty an hour; Besides all this a Church most pure, Where you may live and die secure. There twice a year all sorts of Grain Doth down from heaven, like hailstones, rain; You ne'er shall need to sow nor plough, There's plenty of all things enough: Wine sweet and wholesome drops from trees, As clear as crystal, without lees; Yea, and a Church unspotted, pure, From dregs of Papistry secure. No Feasts nor festival set days Are here observed, the Lord be praised, Though not in Churches rich and strong, Yet where no Mass was ever Sung, The Bulls of Bashan ne'er met there Surplice and Cope durst not appear; Old Orders all they will abjure, This Church hath all things new and pure. No discipline shall there be used, The Law of Nature they have choosed All that the spirit seems to move Each man may choose and so approve, There's Government without command There's unity without a band; A Synagogue unspotted pure, Where lust and pleasure dwells secure. Lo in this Church all shall be free To Enjoy their Christian liberty; All things made common, void of strife, Each man may take another's wife And keep a hundred maids, if need, To multiply, increase, and breed, Then is not this Foundation sure, To build a Church unspotted, pure: The native People, though yet wild, Are altogether kind and mild, And apt already, by report, To live in this religious sort; Soon to conversion they'll be brought When Warrens Mariery have wrought, Who being sanctified and pure, May by the Spirit them allure. Let Amsterdam send forth her Brats, Her Fugitives and Runagates: Let Bedlam, Newgate, and the Clink Disgorge themselves into this sink; Let Bridewell and the stews be kept, And all sent thither to be swept; So may our Church be cleansed and pure, Keep both itself and state secure. The insatiate Lover. COme hither my own sweet duck, And sit upon my knee, That thou and I may truck For thy Commodity, If thou wilt be my honey, Then I will be thine own, Thou shalt not want for money If thou wilt make it known; With hay ho my honey, My heart shall never rue, For I have been spending money And amongst the jovial Crew. I prithee leave thy scorning, Which our true love beguiles, Thy eyes are bright as morning, The Sun shines in thy smiles, Thy gesture is so prudent, Thy language is so free, That he is the best Student Which can study thee; With hay ho, etc. The Merchant would refuse His Indies and his Gold If he thy love might choose, And have thy love in hold: Thy beauty yields more pleasure Than rich men keep in store, And he that hath such measure Never can be poor; With hay ho, etc. The Lawyer would forsake His wit and pleading strong: The Ruler and Judge would take Thy part were't right or wrong; Should men thy beauty see Amongst the learned throngs, Thy very eyes would be Too hard for all their tongues; With hay ho, etc. Thy kisses to thy friend The Surgeon's skill outstrips, For nothing can transcend The balsam of thy Lips, There is such vital power Contained in thy breath, That at the latter hour 'Twould raise a man from death; With hay, ho, etc. Astronomers would not Lie gazing in the skies Had they thy beauty got, No Stars shine like thine eyes; For he that may importune Thy love to an embrace, Can read no better fortune Then what is in thy face. With hay ho, etc. The Soldier would throw down His Pistols and Carbine, And freely would be bound To wear no arms but thine: If thou wert but engaged To meet him in the field, Though never so much enraged Thou couldst make him yield, With hay ho, etc. The seamen would reject To sail upon the Sea, And his good ship neglect To be aboard of thee: When thou liest on thy pillows He surely could not fail To make thy breast his billows, And to hoist up sail; With hay ho, etc. The greatest Kings alive Would wish thou wert their own, And every one would strive To make thy Lap their Throne, For thou hast all the merit That love and liking brings; Besides a noble spirit Which may conquer Kings; With hay ho, etc. Were Rosamond on earth I surely would abhor her, Though ne'er so great by birth I should not change thee for her; Though Kings and Queens are gallant, And bear a royal sway, The poor man hath his Talon, And loves as well as they, With hay ho, etc. Then prithee come and kiss me, and say thou art mine own, I vow I would not miss thee Not for a Prince's Throne; Let love and I persuade thee My gentle suit to hear: If thou wilt be my Lady, Then I will be thy dear; With hay ho, etc. I never will deceive thee, But ever will be true, Till death I shall not leave thee, Or change thee for a new; We'll live as mild as may be, If thou wilt but agree, And get a pretty baby With a face like thee, With hay ho, etc. Let these persuasions move thee Kindly to comply, There's no man that can love thee With so much zeal as I; Do thou but yield me pleasure, And take from me this pain, I'll give thee all the Treasure Horse and man can gain; With hay ho, etc. I'll fight in forty duels To obtain thy grace, I'll give thee precious jewels Shall adorn thy face; E'er thou for want of money Be to destruction hurled, For to support my honey I'll plunder all the world; With hay ho, etc. That smile doth show consenting, Then prithee let's be gone, There shall be no repenting When the deed is done; My blood and my affection, My spirits strongly move, Then let us for this action Fly to yonder grove, With hay ho, etc. Let us lie down by those bushes That are grown so high, Where I will hid thy blushes; Here's no standers by This seventh day of July, Upon this bank we'll lie, Would all were, that love truly, As close as thou and I; With hay ho my honey, My heart shall never rue, For I have been spending money Amongst the jovial Crew. A Catch. NOw that the Spring hath filled our Veins With kind and active fire, And made green Liveries for the Plains. And every Grove a Quire. Sing we this Song with mirth and merry glee, And Bacchus crown the Bowl, And her's to thee, and thou to me And every thirsty soul. Shear sheep that have them, cry we still, But see that none escape, To take off his sherry, that makes us so merry And plump as the lusty Grape. The Huntsman. OF all the sports the world doth yield, Give me a pack of hounds in field, Whose echo sounds shrill through the sky, Makes Jove admire our harmony, And wish that he a mortal were, To see such pleasures we have here. Some do delight in Masks and plays, And in Diana's Holy days. Let Venus act her chiefest skill, If I dislike I'll please my will; And choose such as will last, And not to surfeit when I taste. Then I will tell you a sent, Where many a horse was almost spent, In Chadwel Close a Hare we found, That led us all a smoking round; O'er hedge and ditch away she goes, Admiring her approaching foes. But when she felt her strength to waste, She parleys with the hounds in haste. The Hare. You gentle dogs forbear to kill A harmless beast that ne'er did ill: And if your Master's sport do crave, I'll lead a sent as they would have. The Hounds. Away, away, thou art alone, Make haste we say, and get thee gone; We'll give thee leave for half a mile, To see if thou canst us beguile: But then expect a thundering cry, Made by us and our company. The Hare. Then since you set my life so light, I'll make Black lovely turn to White; And Yorkshire Grace, that runs at all, I'll make him wish him in his stall; And Sorrel, he that seems to fly, I'll make him sickly I die. Let Burham Bay do what he can, And Barton Grace, which now and th●● Doth strive to winter up my way; I'll neither make him sit nor play. And constant Robin, though he lie At his advantage, what care I? But here Kit Bolton did me wrong, As I was running all along; For with one pat he made me so, That I went reeling too and fro: Then, if I die your masters tell, That fool did ring my passing-Bell. But if your Masters pardon me, I'll lead them all to Througabby; Where constant Robin keeps a room To welcome all the Guests that come, To laugh, and quaff in Wine, and Beer, A full Carouse to their Career. The Hounds. Away, away, since 'tis our nature To kill thee, and no other Creature, Our Masters they do want a bit, And thou wilt well become the spit: They eat the flesh, we pick the bone, Make haste, we say, and get thee gone. The Hare. Your Masters may abate their cheer, My meat is dry; and Butter dear; And if with me they'd make a friend, They had better give a pudding's end: Besides, once dead, than sport they'll lack, And I must hang on th' Huntsman's back. The Hounds. Alas poor Hare we pity thee, If with our nature 'twould agree, But all thy doubling shifts we fear Will not prevent thy death so near. Then make thy Will for it may be that My save thee; else, we know not what. The Hare's Will. Then I do give my body free, Unto your Master's courtesy; And if they'll spare till sport be scant, I'll be their game, when they do want: But when I'm dead each greedy hound Will trail my entrails on the ground. The Hounds. Were ever Dogs so basely crossed? Our Masters call us off so fast, That we the sent have almost lost; And they themselves must lose the roast, Wherefore, kind Hare we pardon you: The Hare. Thanks gentle Hounds, and so Adieu. A Catch. O The wily wily Fox, with his many wily mocks, We'll Earth him if you'll but follow, And now that we have doneed, to conclude our merry hunt, Let us roundly whoop and hollow: Prithee drink, prithee drink prithee, prithee drink, That the Hunters may all follow. A Song. SHe lay all naked in her bed, And I myself lay by; No Veil nor Curtain there was spread, No Covering but I: Her head upon one shoulder seeks To hang in careless wise, All full of blushes were her cheeks, And wishes were her eyes. Her blood lay flushing in her face, As on a message came, To say that in some other place It meant some other Game; Her nether Lip moist, plump, and fair, Millions of kisses crowned, Which ripe and uncropped dangled there, And weighed the branches down. Her breasts, that lay swelled full and high, Bred pleasant pangs in me, For all the world I did defy For that felicity; Her thighs and belly, soft and plump, To me were only shown: To have seen such meat, and not to have eat, Would have angered any one. Her knees lay up, but stoutly bend, And all was hollow under, As if on easy terms they meant To fall unforced asunder: Just so the Cyprian Queen did lie, Expecting in her bower; When too long stay, had kept the boy Beyond his promised hour. Dull Clown, quoth she, why dost delay Such proffered bliss to take? Canst thou find out no other way Similitudes to make? Mad with delight I thundered in, And threw mine arms about her, But a pox upon't 'twas but a dream, And so I lay without her. The Answer. SHe lay up to the Navel bare, As was a willing Lover, Expecting between hope and fear, When I would come and cover. Her hand beneath my waistband slips, To grope in busy wise; Which caused a trembling in her Lips, And a shivering in her Eyes. The blood out of her face did go, As it on service went, To send what was gone before, When all its strength was spent. Her Cheeks and lips as Coral red, Like Roses were full blown: Which fading straight, the leaves were spread, And so the— comes down. Her breasts that then both panting were, Such comfort wrought between us, That all world I dare to swear, Would envy to have seen us. Her belly and its provender, For me was kept in store; Such news to hear, and nor to have share, Would have made a man a Whore. Her legs were girt about my waste, My hand under her Crupper, As one would say, now break your fast, And come again to supper: Even as the God of War did knock, As any other man will, For haste of work, till twelve a Clock, Kept Vulcan at his Anvil. Mad Wag, quoth she, why dost thou make Such haste thyself to rear? Dost thou not know that for thy sake, The Fair lasts all the year? Quiet and calm as are loves streams, I threw myself about her, But a pox upon true jests and dreams, I had better have lain without her. A Catch. CAll George again boy, call George again, And for the love of Bacchus call George again. George is a good boy, and draws us good wine, Or fills us more Claret our wits to refine; George is a brave Lad, and an honest man, If you will him know, he dwells at the Swan. A Song. POx take you Mistress I'll be gone, I have friends to wait upon; Think you I'll myself confine, To your humours (Lady mine:) No, your louring seems to say: 'Tis a rainy drinking day, To the Tavern I'll away. There have I a Mistress got, Cloystered in a Pottle pot: Brisk and sprightly as thine Eye, When thy richest glances fly, Plump AND bounding, lively, fair, Buxom soft, and debonair: And she's called Sack, my DEAR. Sack's my better Mistress far, Sack's my only beauty-star; Whose rich beans, and glorious rays, Twinkle in each red rose and face: Should I all her virtues show, Thou thyself wouldst lovesick prove, AND she'd prove thy Mistress TOO. She with no dart-scorn will blast me; But upon thy bed can cast me; Yet ne'er blush herself too red, Nor fear of loss of Maidenhead: And she can (the truth to say) Spirits into me convey, MORE than thou canst take AWAY. Getting kisses here's no toil, Here's no Handkerchief to spoil; Yet I better Nectar sip, Then dwell upon thy lip: And though mute and still she be, Quicker wit she brings to me, THAN e'er I could find in THEE. If I go, ne'er think to see Any more a fool of me; I'll no liberty up give, Nor a Maudlin-like love live. No, there's nought shall win me to'r, 'Tis not all thy smiles can do't, Nor thy Maiden-heat to BOOT, Yet if thou'lt but take the pain TO be good but once again; If one smile then call me back, THOU shalt be that Lady Sack: Faith but try, and thou shalt see What a loving Soul I'll be, WHEN I am drunk with nought but thee. The Answer. I Pray thee, Drunkard, get thee gone, Thy Mistress Sack doth smell too strong: Think you I intent to wed, A sloven to bepiss my bed? No, your staining me's to say, You have been drinking all this day, Go, be gone, away, away, Where you have your Mistress Sack, Which hath already spoiled your back, And methinks should be too hot, To be cloistered in a pot. Though you say she is so fair, So lovely, and sodebonair, She is but of a yellow hair, Sack's a whore which burns like fire, Sack consumes and is a drier; And her ways do only tend To bring men unto their end: should I all her vices tell, Her rovings and her swear fell, Thou wouldst damn her into Hell. Sack with no dirt scorns will blast thee, But upon thy bed still cast thee: And by that impudence doth show, That no virtue she doth know: For she will, the truth to say, Thy body in an hour decay, More than I can in a day, Though for kisses there's no toil, Yet your body she doth spoil: Sipping Nectar whilst you sit, She doth quite besot your wit: Though she is mute, she'll make you loud: Brawl and fight in every crowd, When your reason she doth cloud. Nor do thou ever look to see Any more a smile from me, I'll no liberty, nor sign, Which I truly may call mine. No, no slight shall win me to't, 'Tis not all thy parts can do't, Thy Person, nor thy Land to boot. Yet if thou wilt take the pain, To be sober once again, And but make much of thy back, I will be instead of Sack. Faith but try, and thou shalt see, What a loving Soul I'll be, When thou art drunk with nought but me. A Catch. SHe that will eat her breakfast in her bed, And spend the morn in dressing of her head, And sit at dinner like a Maiden-Bride, And nothing do all day, but talk of pride; Jove of his mercy may do much to save her, But what a case is he in that shall have her. St. George for England. Why should we boast of arthur and his Knights, Knowing so many men have endured hot fights; Besides King Arthur, and Sir Lancelot du Lake, Sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for Lady's sake, Read old Histories, and then you shall see, That St. George, St. George did make the Dragon flee; St. George for England, St. Dennis for France, Sing Hony soit qui maly pense. Mark how Father Abraham, when first he rescued Lot, Only by his household what conquest there they got; David elected a Prophet and a King, He slew great Goliath with a stone and a sling; These were no Knights of the Table round, But St. George, St. George the Dragon did confound; St. George, etc. Joshua and Gideon did lead their men to fight, They conquered the Amorites, and put them to flight; Hercules labours upon the Plains of Bass, And Samson slew a thousand with the jaw bone of an ass, Besides a goodly Temple there he did spoil, But St. George, St. George the Dragon he did soil; St. George, etc. The wars of the Monarches they were too long to tell, And next of all the Romans, for thy did far excel, When Hannibal and Scipio so many fields did fight, Orlando Furioso was a worthy Knight; Remus and Romulus, that first Rome did build, But St. George, St. George did make the dragon yield, St. George, etc. Many have fought with proud Tamburlaine, And Cutlax the Dane, great wars did maintain, Rowland, and Bryan, and good Sr. Oliveer; In the forest of Arden there slew both Bull and Bear, Beside the noble Hollander, Sir Goward with his Bill, But St. George, St. George the Dragon's blood did spill; St. George, etc. Bevis conquered Askupart, and after slew the bore, And then he crossed beyond the seas To combat with a Moor, Sir I singbrass and Egelman they were Knights bold, And good Sir John Mandevil of travels much have told, These were all English Knights that Pagans did convert, But St. George, etc. plucked out the Dragon's heart. St. George, etc. The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish King, The order of the red scarves, and bedrowl he did bring, He had a troop of mighty Knights when first he did begin, That sought adventures far and nigh what conquest they might win, The ranks of the Pagans full oft he put to flight, But St. George, St. George did with the Dragon fight; St. George, etc. The noble Earl of Warwick, that called was Sir Guy, The Infidels and Pagans much he did defy, He slew the Giant Brandemoor, & after was the death Of the most ghastly dun Cow, the devil of Dunsmore heath, Besides other noble Deeds he did beyond the seas, But St. George, St George the Dragon did appease; St. George, etc. Valentine and Orson of King Pipins blood, Alfred and Henry they were Knights good; The four Sons of Amon that fought for Charlemagne, Sir Hugh de Bourdeaux, and Godfrey de Bullaign, These were all french Knights that lived in that age, But St. George, St. George the Dragon did assuage; St, George, etc. When at the first K. Richard was King of this Land, He gorged a Lion with his naked hand; The noble Duke of Austria nothing he did fear, He killed his Son with a box on the ear, Besides other noble deeds done in the holy-Land, But St. George, St. George the Dragon did withstand; St. George, etc. When as the third King Edward had conquered all France, He quartered their Arms his honour to advance, He ransacked their Cities, threw their Castles down, And garnished his head with a double double Crown, He thumped the French, & homeward then he came, But St. George, St. George the Dragon he did came; St. George, etc. St David of Wales did the Welshmen much advance, St. James for Spain, that never yet broke Lance, St. Patrick for Ireland, that was St. George's Boy, Seven years he kept his horse, & then stole him away, For which filthy act a slave he doth remain, But St. George, St. George the Dragon he hath slain; St. George for England, St. Denis for France, Sing Hony soit qui mal y pense. Arthur of Bradly. See you not Pierce the Piper, His Cheeks as big as a Mitre, Piping among the Swains, That's down in yonder Plains: Where Tib and Tom doth tread it, And Youths the hornpipe lead it, With every one his carriage To go to yonder Marriage, For the honour of Arthur of Bradly, O brave Arthur of Bradly, O fine Arthur of Bradly O brave Arthur of Bradly, Oh. Arthur hath gotten a Lass, A bonnier never was; The chiefest youths in the Parish Come dancing in a Morris, With Country Gambols flouncing, Country Wenches trouncing, Dancing with much pride, Every man his wench by his side, For the honour of Arthur, etc. And when that Arthur was married, And his Wife home had carried; But when that Arthur was married, And his Bride home had carried; The Youngsters they did wait To help to carry up meat: Francis carried the Furmety, Michael carried the Mince-pye, Bartholomew the Beef and the Mustard, And Christopher carried the Custard, Thus every one went in this Ray, For the honour of Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine, etc. But when that Dinner was ended, The Maidens they were befriend; For out stepped Dick the Draper, And he bid pipe up scraper; Better be dancing a little, Then into the Town to tipple; He bid him play him a Hornpipe, That goes fine of the Bagpipe: Then forward Piper, and play For the honour of Arthur of Bradly, Oh fine, etc. Then Richard he did lead it, And Margery she did tread it; Francis followed then, And after courteous Jane: And every one after another, As if they had been sister and brother, That 'twas a great sight to see How well they did agree, And then they all did say, Hay for Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine, etc. When all the Swains did see This mirth and merry glee, There was never a man did flinch, But every man kissed his Wench; But Giles was greedy of gain, And he would needs kiss twain; His Lover, seeing that, Did rap him on the pate, That he had not one word to say For the honour of Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine, etc. The Piper looked aside, And there he spied the Bride; He thought it was a hard chance That none would lead her a dance: For never a man durst touch her, But only Will. the Butcher; He took her by the hand And danced whilst he could stand; The Bride was fine and gay, For the honour of Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine, etc. Then out stepped Will. the Weaver, And he swore he'd not leave her; He hoped it all of a Leg, For the honour of his Peg, But Kester in Cambric Ruff, He took that in snuff: For he against that day Had made himself fine and gay; His Ruff was whipped over with blue, He cried a new dance, a new; Then forward Piper and play, For the honour of Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine, etc. Then 'gan the Sun decline, And every one thought it time To go unto his home, And leave the Bridegroom alone. To't, to't, quoth lusty Ned, We'll see them both in bed: For I will jeopard a joint But I will get his codpiece point: Then strike up Piper and play, For the honour of Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine, etc. And thus the day was spent, And no man homeward went, That there was such crowding and thrusting, That some were in danger of bursting, To see them go to bed: For all the skill they had, He was got to his Bride, And laid him close by her side, They got his Points and Garters, And cut them in pieces like quarters; And then they bid the Piper play, For the honour of Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine, etc. Then Will. and his sweet heart Did call for Loath to departed, And then they did foot it and toss it, Till the Cook had brought up the posset, The Bride-pye was brought forth, A thing of much worth, And so all at the bedside Took leave of Arthur and his Bride, And so they went all away From the wedding of Arthur of Bradley, Oh, etc. A Catch. THere was three Cooks in Colebrook, And they fell out with our Cook, And all was for a pudding he took, And from the Cook of Colebrook. There was swash Cook, and slash Cook, And thy Nose in my Arse Cook, And all was for a pudding he took, And from the Cook of Colebrook. Then they fell all upon our Cook, And mumbled him so, that he did look As black as the pudding which that he took, And from the Cook of Colebrook. The Blacksmith. OF all the Sciences beneath the Sun, Which hath been since the World begun, The Smith by his Art great praise hath won, Which no body can deny. The fairest Goddess in the skies To marry with him she did devise, That was a cunning Smith and wise, Which no body, etc. Then Mars c●me down for Venus' sakes, The Smith he did his armour make, In love together he did theat take, Which no body, etc. The first that ever Music made Was Tubal of the Blacksmiths Trade, By hammering strokes as it was said, Which no body, etc. He did invent continually The Iron work for the Country, A Smith for mirth and husbandry, Which no body, etc. What Occupation can you name, But first Smith must help the same, With working tools their work to frame? Which no body, etc. What horse can post to carry news, But first the Smith sets on his shoes, With Spur and Stirrup for men's use? Which no body, etc. What Ship upon the Sea can sail, If Iron work in her do fail, Though Anchor hold 'twill not prevail? Which no body, etc. What can you build with lime or stone If Ironwork therein be none? Smith's make for houses many a one, Which no body, etc. How can you go to Plough or Cart, Except the Smith do play his part, With Colder and Share made well by Art, Which no body, etc. The Axletree Pin, the ploughing Chain, The Bill, the Axe, the Wedges twain, The Pitchfork, and the Dung-fork plain, Which no body, etc. The Burchers Axe, the Shoemaker's Awl, The cutting knives on every stall, That lies to cut and carve withal, Which no body, etc. The Cooper's Adds, the Brewer's Slings, The Carpenter's Tools for many things, The plyers for the Goldsmith's Rings, Which no body, etc. Your Tongues, your Spits, Trevits, and Racks, And many other things that lacks, And for your houses pretty Knacks, Which no body, etc. Weights and Skales to buy and sell, A thousand things I need not tell, The Smith hath matched all things so well, Which no body, etc. I could rehearse a thousand things, Of iron Bars, Bolts, and Pins, Latches, Catches, Staples, Rings, Which no body, etc. He makes all several kinds of Locks, For horses, for doors, for Chest, for Box, For houses, and Churches Clocks, Which no body, etc. Your fire-Irons, small and great, Your pothooks, and forks so fine and near, Your Jack that turns your spits of meat, Which no body, etc. Your Paviours' Pickax, great and small, Your Pattens for women, low and tall; Your Shovel and Spade to work withal, Which no body, etc. Your branding Iron to brand your Kine, Your Clappers for Bells to ring and chime, Your Stamps for Gold and Silver fine, Which no body, etc. The horses Bits, that finely jingle, The Barber's Tools, that is so nimble, The Tailor's sheer, his bodkin and thimble, Which no body, etc. And for all weapons for the fight The Smith I am sure makes such a sight, So long, so strong, so fair, so bright, Which no body, etc. Bills, Pikes, Dags, and Guns, Halberds, Spears, and many things, Through the hammer of the Smith all come, Which no body, etc. To love the Smith all Trades are bound, Which make him thus to be renowned, For which his hammers they are crowned, Which no body, etc. Of Smiths now living at this hour, There was a Smith within the Tower Which might he counted for a flower, Which no body, etc. Thus of my Song I make an end, The Smith is every body's friend, He seeks his Country to defend, Which no body can deny. A North Country Song. When Ice came first to London Town, Ise wor a Novice, as other men are; Ise thought the King had lived at the Crown, And the way tol heaven had been through the star. Ise set up my horse, and Ice went to Paul's, Good Lord, quoth I what a Kirk been here? Then Ice did swear by all Kerson souls, It wor a mile long, or very near. It wor as high as any Hill, A Hill, quo I, nay as a Mountain, Then went Ice up with a very good will, But glad wor I to come down again. For as Ice went up my head roe round, Then be it known to all Kerson people, A man's is no little way from the ground, When he's o'th'top of all Paul's steeple. Ise lay down my hot, and Ice went to pray, But wor not this a piteous case, Afore I had done it wor stolen away, Who'd have thought thiefs had been in that place? Now for my Hot Ice made great moan, A slander by unto me said, Thou didst not observe the Scripture aright, For thou must a watched, as well as prayed. From thence Ice went, and I saw my Lord Mayor, Good lack what a sight was there to see, My Lord and his horse were both of a hair, I could not tell which the Mare should be. From thence to Westminster I went, Where many a brave Lawyer I did see, Some of them had a bad intent, For there my purse was stolen from me. To see the Tombs was my desire, I went with many brave fellows store I gave them a penny that was their hire, And he's but a fool that will give any more. Then through the rooms the fellow me led, Where all the sights were to be seen, And snuffling told me through the nose, What formerly the name of those had been. Here lies, quoth he, Henry the Third, Thou liest like a knave, he says never a word; And here lies Richard the Second interred, And here stands good King Edwards Sword. Under this Chair lies jacob's stone, The very same stone lies under the Chair, A very good jest, had Jacob but one, How go he so many Sons without a pair? Istaid not there, but down with the tide I made great haste, and I went my way; For I was to see the Lions beside, And the hParis-garden all in a day. When Ice came there, I was in a rage, I railed on him that kept the Bears, Instead of a Stake was suffered a Stage, And in Hunks his house a crew of Players. Then through the Brigg to the Tower Ice went, With much ado Ice entered in, And after a penny that I had spent, One with a loud voice did thus begin. This Lion's the Kings, and that is the Queens, And this is the Princes that stands hereby, With that I went near to look in the Den, Cod's body, quoth he, why come you so nigh? Ise made great haste unto my Inn, I supped, and I went to bed betimes, Ise slept, and I dreamed what I had seen, And waked again by Cheapside Chimes. The merry Goodfellow. Why should we not laugh and be jolly, Since all the World is mad? And lulled in a dull melancholy; He that wallows in store Is still gaping for more, And that makes him as poor, As the wretch that ne'er any thing had. How mad is that damned money-monger? That to purchase to him and his heirs, Grows shriviled with thirst and hunger; While we that are bonny, Buy Sack with ready-money, And ne'er trouble the Scriveners, nor Lawyers. Those guts that by scraping and toiling, Do swell their Revenues so fast, Get nothing by all their turmoiling, But are marks of each tax, While they load their own backs With the heavier packs, And lie down galled and weary at last. While we that do traffic in tipple, Can baffle the Gown and the Sword, Whose jaws are so hungry and gripple; We ne'er trouble our heads With Indentures or Deeds, And our wills are composed in a word. Our money shall never indite us, Nor drag us to Goldsmith's Hall, No Pirates nor wracks can affright us; We, that have no Estates, Fear not plunder nor rates, We can sleep with open gates, He that lies on the ground cannot fall. We laugh at those fools whose endeavours Do but fit them for Prisons and Fines, When we that spend all are the saviours; For if thiefs do break in, They go out empty again, Nay, the Plunderers lose their designs. Then let us not think on to morrow, But tipple and laugh while we may, To wash from our hearts all sorrow; Those Cormorants which Are troubled with an itch, To be mighty and rich, Do but toil for the wealth which they borrow. The Mayor of our Town with his Ruff on, What a pox is he better than we? He must veil to the man with the Buff on; Though he Custard may eat, And such lubbardly meat, Yet our Sack makes us merrier than he. The Rebels Reign. NOw we are met in a knot, let's take t'other pot, And chirp o'er a Cup of Nectar; Let's think on a charm to keep us from harm, From the Fiend, and the new Protector. Heretofore at a brunt a Cross would have done't, But now they have taken courses, With their Laws and their theft, there's not a cross left In the Church, nor the Farmer's Purses. They're with you to bring for stuffing at a King, For now you must make no dainty To have your nose ground on a stone turned round By Noll, and one and twenty. But our Rights are kept for us in Oliver's store-house, 'Twere as good they were set in the Stocks: They are just in the pickle in the thirtieth Article, Like Jack in a Juggler's box. We are loath for to look for the Saints in a book, But would not a man be vexed, To see them so rough with their blades and their buff, But not a word on't in the Text. We have been twelve years together by the ears To prepare for a spiritual reign: Men were never so spiced with the Sceptre of Christ In the hands of a Saint in grain. 'Twas brewed in their Hives by Citizen's wives, Who ventured their husbands far, With Robin the fool there was ne'er such a tool To lead in the women's war. He was ill at Command, but worse at a stand, So they sought out another more able: Then Fair, undertakes, but Nol keeps the stakes, And sends away Fox with a bauble. Will, Conqueror the second, without his host reckoned, And so did Brown billet his Mate: They made a great noise 'mongst women and boys, But now they are both out of date. Cowardly W— had but a foul Fortune, And wanted a knife to scrape it, When his Oriphice ran, there was no mortal man, But omnibus horis sapit. Bradshaw, the Knave, sent the King to his grave, And on the blood Royal did trample, For which the next Lent he was made Precedent, And ere long may be made an example. Dorislaus did steer to Hans mine here, And Askew to Don at Madril, Ere a man could have scratched they were both dispatched, Yet there they lie Leger still. Martin and St. Johyns, and more with a vengeance, Had each a singer i'th' pie: Some for the money, and some for the Coney, And some for they knew not why. The Parliament sat as snug as a Cat, And were playing for mine and yours: Sweep-stakes was their Game till Oliver came, And turned it to knave out of doors. Then a new one was cast, and made up in haste, But alas they could do no more Than empty our purse, and empty us worse Than e'er we were married before. But in a good hour they gave up their power To one that was wiser than they; By common consent 'twas the first Parliament That ever was felo de se. After all this Jeer we are never the near, There sits one at the helm commanding; One that doth us nick with a trick for our trick, And the stone in our foot notwithstanding. He'll not relax one groat of the Tax Though it come to more than he need, He may keep it in store till his need be more, 'Tis an Article of our new Creed. So well he hath wrought, that now he hath brought The Realm to the manner he meant it; The fishes, and the fowl, and the devil and all, And the monthly pay his high rent. All this we must bear, but 'twould make a man swear When they call us a reformed Nation: It can never sink into my head for to think That this is a Reformation. 'Tis the man in the Moon, or the devil as soon, Our Laws are asleep upon shelves: Our Charter & Freedom we may bid God speed'um, 'Tis well we can beg for ourselves. Since Nol hath bereft us, and nothing hath left us, Not a horse or an Ox to plough land, Let Oliver pass, come fill up my glass, And here's a good health to Rowland. A Catch. HAve you observed the wench in the street, She's scarce any hose or shoes to her feet; And when she cries, she sings, I have hot coddlings, hot coddlings. Or have you ever seen or heard The Mortal with his Lion tawny beard? He lives as merrily as heart can wish, And still he cries, Buy a brush, buy a brush. Since these are merry, why should we take care? Musicians, like Chameleons, must live by the Air; Then let's be blithe and bonny, and no good meeting balk, What though we have no money, we shall find Chalk. A new Medley. LEt the Trumpet sound, The English. And the Rocks rebound, Our English Native's coming; Let the Nations swarm, And the Prince's storm, We value not their drumming. 'Tis not France, that looks so smug, Old fashions still renewing, It is not the Spanish shrug, Scottish Cap, or Irish rug; Nor the Dutchman's double jug Can help what is ensuing; Pray, my Masters, look about, For something is a Brewing. He that is a Favourite consulting with Fortune, If he grow not wiser, then he's quite undone; In a rising creature we daily see certainly, He is a retreater that fails to go on: He that in a Bvilder's trade Stops e'er the roof be made, By the air may be betrayed And overthrown: He that hath a race begun, And lets the Goal be won; He had better never run, But let it alone. Then plot rightly, Match sightly, Show your glittering arms brightly: Charge hightly, Fight sprightly; Fortune gives renown. A right riser Will prise her, She makes all the world wiser; Still try her, We'll gain by her A Coffin or a Crown. If the Dutchman or the Spaniard Come but to oppose us, We will thrust them up at the main-yard, If they do but nose us: Hans, Hans, think upon thy sins, And then submit to Spain thy Master; For though now you look like friends, Yet he will never trust you after; Drink, drink, give the Dutchman drink, And let the tap and can run faster; For faith, at the last I think A Brewer will become your Master. Let not poor Teg and Shone Vender from der houses, Lest they be quite undone In der very Trouzes: And all der Orphans bestowed under hatches, And made in London free der to cry matches; St. Patrick wid his Harp do tuned wid true string Is not fit to untie St. Hewson's shoos-strings. Methinks I hear The welsh draw near, And from each lock a louse trops; Ap Shone, ap LLoyd, Will spend her ploot, For to defend her mousetraps: Mounted on her Kisslebagh With cott store of Koradagh, The Pritish war gins. With a hook her was overcome her, Pluck her to her, thrust her from her, By cot her was break her shins. Let Taffie fret, And welch-hook whet, And troop up pettigrees, We only tout Tey will stink us out, Wit Leeks and toasted Sheeze. But Jockey now and Jinny comes, Our Brethren must approve on't; For pret a Cot they bert der drum's Only to break the Couvenant. Deybore Saint Andrew's Cross, Till our army quite did rout dem, But when we put dem to de loss De deal a Cross about dem: The King and Couvenant they crave, Their cause must needs be furthered; Although so many Kings they have Most barbarously, basely murdered. The French. The Frenchman he will give consent, Though he trickle in our veins; That willingly We may agree, To a marriage with grapes and grains: He conquers us with kindness, And doth so far entrench, That fair, and wise, and young, and rich, Are finified by the French: He prettifies us with Feathers and Fans, With Petticoats, Doublets, and Hose; And faith they shall Be welcome all If they forbear the nose. For love or for fear, Let Nations forbear; If Fortune exhibit a Crown. A Coward he Must surely be, That will not put it on. A Catch. Show a Room, show a Room, show a Room, Here's a knot of Good Fellows are come That mean for to be merry With Claret and with Sherry; Each man to mirth himself disposes, And for the Reckoning tell Noses; Give the Red-Nose some White, And the Pale-Nose some Claret, But the Nose that looks Blue, Give him a Cup of Sack, 'twill mend his hue. The Contented. Why should a man care, or be in despair, Should Fortune prove never so unkind? Or why should I be sad for that I never had, Or foolishly trouble my mind? For I do much hate to pine at my Fate, There's none but a fool will do so: I'll laugh and be fat, for care kills a Cat, And I care not how ere the world go. Though I am poor, and others have store, Why should I repine at their bliss? For I am content with what God hath sent, And I think I do not amiss: Let others have wealth, for I have health, And money to pay what I own, I'll laugh, and be merry, and sing hay down, down derry, For I care not, etc. Some men do suppose, even by their gay , For to be in great request; Though mine be but bare, I am not o'th'show, And I think myself honestly dressed; Though every man cannot say so, I like that I wear, though it cost not so dear, For I care not, etc. Your Epicures eat of the best sort of meat, And wine of the best he doth drink, And lays him to rest, and thinks himself blest, On heaven he never doth think; Though my fare be but course, I am not the worse, My health is the better I know; Though plain be my food, my stomach is good, And I care not, etc. Your flattering Curs, that fawn upon Furs, And hang at Nobleman's ears, If once they do fall, away they run all, And this is their flattering fears: Dislembling I scorn, for I am freeborn, My happiness lies not below; Though my words want Art, I speak from my heart, I care not, etc. Some men do strive, and mightily thrive, And some for Offices wait, Much money they spend, and to little end, And repent then when it's too late; Low shrubs are secure, when Cedars endure Great storms and tempests below,: Let others look high, for so will not I, And I care not how the world go. How to live happy. HE that a happy life would lead In these times of distraction, Let him listen to me, and I will read A Lecture without faction; Let him want three things, whence misery springs, They all begin with a letter, Let him bound his desires to what nature require And with reason his humour fetter. Let not his wealth prodigious grow, For that breeds cares and dangers: Makes him envied above, and hated below, A constant slave to strangers; They are happiest of all whose estates are but small, Though but enough to maintain them, They may do, they may say, having nothing to pay, It will not quit cost to arraign them. Nor would I have him clogged with a wife, For household cares encumber, Nor to one place to confine his life, 'Cause he can't remove his Lumber; They are happiest far who unmarried are, And forage, and all in common, From all storms they can fly, or if they should die, They ruin no child nor woman. Let not his brains overflow with wit, That caper's o'er discretion, It's costly to keep, and hard to get, And dangerous in the possession; They are happiest men who can scarce tell ten, And beat not their brains about reason, They may speak what will serve themselves to preserve, And their words are not taken for treason. But of all fools, there is none to the wit, For he takes pains to show it, His pride and his drink bring him into a fit, Then straight he turns a Poet: His jests he flings at States, or at Kings, Or at Plays, or at Bays, or at shadows, Thinks a Verse serves as well as a circle or Cell, Till he rhymes himself to the Barbadows. He that within these Lines can live, May baffle all disasters, To Fortune and Fate commands he can give, Who Worldlings call their Masters; He may sing, he may quaff, he may drink, he may laugh May be mad, may be sad, may be jolly, He may sleep without care, and speak without fear, And laugh at the world and its folly. The Louse. IF that you will hear of a Ditty That's framed by a six-footed Creature, She lives both in Town and in City, She is very loving by nature; She'll ofter her service to any, She'll stick close but she'll prevail, She's entertained by too many Till death, she no man will fail. Fenner once in a Play did describe her, How she had her beginning first, How she sprung from the loins of great Pharaoh, And how by a King she was nursed: How she fell on the Carcase of Herod, A companion for any brave fighter, And there's no fault to be found with her, But that she's a devilish backbiter. With Soldiers she's often comraded, And often does them much good, She'll save them the charge of a Surgeon In sickness for letting them blood; Corruption she draws like a horseleech, Growing she'll prove a great breeder, At night she will creep in her cottage, By day she's a damnable feeder. She'll venture as much in a battle As any Commander may go, But then she'll play Jack on both sides, She cares not a fart for her Foe: She knows that always she's shot-free, To kill her no sword will prevail, But if she's taken prisoner, She's pressed to death by the nail. She doth not esteem of your rich men, But always sticks close to the poor; Nor she cares not for your clean shifters, Nor for such as brave wear; She loves all such as are nonsuited, Or any brave fellow that lacks; She's as true a friend to poor Soldiers, As the shirt that sticks close to their backs. She cannot abide your clean Laundress, Nor those that do set her on work, Her delight is all in foul linen, Where in narraw seams she may lurk: From her and her breed God defend me, For I have had their company store, Pray take her among you Gentry. Let her trouble poor soldiers no more. The Concealment. I Loved a maid, she loved not me, But that was a maid's infirmity; She wore her Garter above her knee, But that was a secret bravery; I played with her paps, she gave me some raps: But what did you else beside? Nay, that were a folly, the Fox is unholy, And yet he hath grace to hid. Her feet were little, her fingers small, Her hips did wear no Farthingale; Her body straight, her belly round, The whale-bone use there was not found; I hall'd her, I pulled her, I kissed her, I culled her: But what did you, etc. I wrung her hands, she wrung mine again, God bless such wring as breeds no pain; I looked on her face, and I gave her dance, She dimmed my sight with a coloured glance; I hung on her neck, she gave me a check: But what did you, etc. When each man had danced with his maid, Then down behind a tree we stayed: My knees against her knees I thrust, She cried, sweet heart, let be, and blushed; But yet at the last I grasped her fast: But what did you, etc. Behind my ear I wear her lock, And she my favour next her smock; She loves me more, if more you mark, Since last we tumbled in the dark; She was so kindhearted, she wept when we parted, But what did you, etc. But by this kissing and this feeling These gentle foes were soon brought to yielding; It cost me more in soap and candle Than all the Gold that e'er I did handle, Though I denied it, she could well hid it: But what did you else beside? Nay, that were a folly, the Fox is unholy, And yet he hath craft to hid. A Catch. What Fortune had I, poor Maid as I am, To be bound in eternal vow, For ever to lie by the side of a man, That would, but knows not how? Oh can there no pity Be in such a City, Where Lads enough are to be had. Unfortunate Girl, that art wed to such woe, Go seek thee a lively Lad, And let the poor that hath nothing to show Go seek for another as bad; Then call for no pity Thou dwelled in a City, Where Lads enough were to be had. Advice to Bachelors. HE that intends to take a Wife, I'll tell him what a kind of life He must be sure to lead; If she's a young and tender heart, Not documented in Love's Art, Much teaching she will need. For where there is no path, one may Be tired before he find the way, Nay, when he's at his treasure, The gap perhaps will prove so strait, That he for entrance long may wait, And make a toil of's pleasure. Or if one old, and past her doing, He will the Chambermaid be wooing, To buy her ware the cheaper, But if he choose one most formose, Ripe for't, she'll prove libidinous, Argus himself shan't keep her. For when those things are nearly dressed, They'll entertain each wanton guest, Nor for their honour care, If any give their pride a fall, learned a trick to bear withal, So you their charges bear. Or if you chance to play your game With a dull, fat, gross, heavy Dame, Your riches to increase, Alas! she will but jet you for't, Bid you to find out better sport, Lie with a pot of grease. If meager— be thy delight, She'll conquer in venerial fight, And waste thee to the bones. Such kind of girls, like to your Mill, The more you give, the more crave they will, Or else they'll grind the stones. If black, 'tis odds she's devilish proud, If short, Xanthippe like, too loud, If long, she'll lazy be, Foolish (the Proverb saith) if fair, If wise and comely, danger's there, Lest she do Cuckold thee. If she bring store of money, such Are like to domineer too much, Prove Mistress, no good wife, And when they cannot keep you under, They'll fill the house with scolding thunder, What worse than such a life? But if her Dowry only be Beauty, farewel felicity, Thy fortune's castaway. Thou must be sure to satisfy her In belly, and in back-desire, To labour night and day. And rather than her pride give o'er, She'll turn perhaps an honoured whore, And thou'lt Acteoned be, Whilst like Actaeon thou mayst weep, To think thou forced art to keep, Such as devour thee. If being noble thou dost wed A servile creature, basely bred, Thy Family it defaces; If being mean, one nobly born, She'll swear t'exalt a Courtlike horn, Thy low descent it graces. If one tongue be too much for any, Then he who takes a wife with many, Knows not what may betid him; She whom he did for learning honour, To scold by book will take upon her, Rhetorically chide him. If both her Parents living are, To please them you must take great care, Or spoil your future fortune, But if departed theyare this life, You must be patent to your wife, And father all, be certain. If bravely dressed, fair faced and witty, She'll oft be gadding to the City, Nor may you say her nay. She'll tell you (if you her deny) Since women have Terms, she knows not why, But they still keep them may. If you make choice of Country ware, Of being Cuckold, there's less fear, But stupid honesty May teach her how to sleep all night. And take a great deal more delight To milk the Cows than thee. Concoction makes their blood agree Too near, where's consanguinity; Then let no kin be chosen. He loseth one part of his treasure, Who thus confineth all his pleasure To th' arms of a first Cozen. He'll never have her at command, Who takes a wife at second hand. Then choose no widowed mother: The first cut, of that bit you love, If others had, why mayn't you prove But taster to another? Besides, if she bring children many, 'Tis like by thee she'll not have any, But prove a barren do; Or if by them, she ne'er had one, By thee 'tis likely she'll have none, Whilst thou for weak back go. For there where other gardeners have been sowing Their seed, but ne'er could find it growing, You must expect so too; And where the Terra incognita S'o'rplowed, you must it fallow lay, And still for weak back go. Then trust not to a maiden face, Nor confidence in widow's place, Those weaker vessels may Spring-leak, or split against a rock, And when your Fame's wrapped in a smock, 'Tis easily cast away. Yet be she fair, foul, short, or tall, You for a time may love them all, Call them your soul, your life, And one by one them undermine, As Courtesan, or Concubine, But never as married wife. He who considers this, may end the strife, Confess no trouble like unto a Wife. A Catch. IF any so wise is, that Sack he despises, Let him drink small beer, and be sober, Whilst we drink Sack and sing, as if it were spring, He shall droop like the Trees in October. But be sure if over night this dog do you by't, You take it henceforth for a warning, Soon as out of your bed, to settle your head, Take a hair of his tail in the morning, And be not so to follow old Lily, For there's nothing but Sack that can tune us, Let his Ne-assuescas be put in his cap case, And sing bibito vinum Jejnnus. A Mock Song. When I a Lady do intent to flatter, Oh, how I do begin to chatter. I swear and vow How much I'd do, That I might once get at her— I say to kiss her only is a Feast, A Cupid's Beaver at the least, Whilst silly she Believeth me, And thinks I love her best. With those fair fancies which most comely are, I oft her Ladyship compare, I say the Rose And Lily, when it blows, Are nothing near so fair. Yet gazing on her face I've spent some hours, Consulted with each cheek, and all its powers, But there none grow, Unless below, In pleasure's garden-spring her flowers. Oft have I called her Jewel, oft have I Called true, the false pearls of her eye, Yet precious stone She will have none, Until with me she lie. With what pure whiteness is her bosom blest, Oft cry I, yet I do but jest; For sure I'm still, She never will, Until If— her have a milk white breast. Then tell her by the rolling of her eyes, I guess her secret rarities, Swear he who enjoys Those pleasant toys, Ought much to esteem the prize. Thus Ladies have I learned in Cupid's schools, My Master Ovid's Grammar Rules: Thus can I prove I am in love, And thus I make ye fools. FINIS.