Occasions offspring. OR POEMS UPON several OCCASIONS:  
By Matthew Stevenson.  Mart. Dic mihi quid melius desidiosus agas? 
LONDON, Printed for John Place and are to be sold at his shop at Furnivals inn Gate in Holborn 1645.   

To my best Friend and courteous x Mr. Benjamin Cook all good wishes.  
SIR,  
YOur candid Interpretations of these conceits severally, hath animated me to a gleaning them up together; and betrayed you to a Dedication, they say, Quae prosunt singula, multa juvant. Nor is it unusual, for men of my condition, in this nature, to repend the good nature of their munificent friends However, did my stars promise me any other requite, This trifling bark (Balanced with scarce any thing but sand and stones) should to the fortune of the doubtful waves without a Palinure: in hope, either the shores would protect the shallow, or the deep drown it, out of sight, and time, out of mind. I confess I can look upon it, no otherwise then a degree of impudence, to obtrude that upon your patronage which I myself have scarce confidence to own: nevertheless, deign it your accept, since, though you find in it (probably) nothing good, you may yet assure yourself of the good will, and good intents of him, that resolves to leave nothing unattempted, might any ways render him  
Sir, Your most grateful servant, M. STEVENSON.   

READER.  
I H●ve h●re drawn up, a poetic party of Pegasean palfreys in the new artillery ground of this book, which as they now stand in close order, under the colours, and command of the Book-bind●r: seem no less unanimous, then uniform; but upon a little examination, you shall find them Pro and con, round and royal, and like the Cadmean Upstarts sheathing their weapons in each others entrails. Many of them I must tell you are Amazonian Archers fighting under the banner of their winged general; Others under the careless flags of fancy for the merry half crowns: Aequa Venus Teu●ris,' alas iniqua fuit. Others are at their guard, and wall in themselves with the stones of their obdurate hearts, of whom the Poet says. Et dicam si●i●es p●ctus habere. If you chance (as I can not hope but you will) either in mine or the Printers oversight, meet some lame soldiers, I hope they shall likewise meet your charity. For the times, being like themselves humoursome, they seem to promise me some approve; provided the Proverb hold true, Like to like. But what need I fear to mount that brain sick stage, where even lies and libels, under the new fangled notion of news, pass as currant as our coin, for my part, I am not so in love with my own feathers, as in think them worthy a terse care, or an ingenious eye: Nor do I yet so abdica●e my own ability, but that I judge my pa●es, as much above your contempt as beneath your envy.   

To the Author my very loving Cos. Mr. M. Stevenson.  
COs. I confess, and thou know'st I am one  
That never yet had taste of Helicon.  
Yet those loose ears that I did lately glean  
From the full Harvest of thy fruitful pen,  
I here return thee; knowing the so kind  
Thou wilt my love: and not my language mind.  
Trust me Cos. this course paper I design  
Not as a grace, but soil to set off thine.  
For I am certain there's no ear so terse  
But will be ravished with thy smother verse.  
But hold, I must thy just applause refrain  
For that, Part of my blood runn's in thy vein.  
Yet they will pardon this poor God a mercy,  
That note how many Poems point at  
R. C.   

To the inimitable Poet, My honoured friend, The author.  
But must I pen thy praise my noble friend  
●hat were a task would never have an end.  
I de have thy golden Poems writ in Gold  
Thy names great title in fames list enrolled.  
Virgil no more shall Prince of Poets be  
But thou; he's but a petty Prince to thee.  
I'll to the grove where freshest laureates grow  
And plate a wreath myself to crown thy brow.  
H. A.   

To my Ingenious friend, the author,  
ANd must I add my mite dear Stevenson,  
I know thou wilt accept it, well? 'tis done.  
Faith I can't tell while I thy lines read o'er  
Whether I love thee! Or admire the more.  
Thy books not fraught with tales of Robin hood,  
But lofty fancy, By the Lord 'tis good:  
Thy sweet-lippt Muse most ample test doth give,  
Of high events, and I say let her Live.  
N. B.   

To my most esteemed friend, The author.  
TEll me no more of Withers wild abuses  
Thy book a thousand times more wit produces.  
Withers shall wither, whilst thy bays are seen  
Like Daphne's chaplet of immortal green:  
F. B.   

To his very good friend The author.  
I Have perused thy book in which I find  
The perfect portrait of thy noble mind.  
I must confess I once was one of those  
Did both suspect thy poesy, and prose.  
But having read thee too, as well as it  
I am thy witness, 'twas thine own pure wit.  
And therefore shall even for thy sake alone  
Conclude, Minerva wears a coloured gown.  
R. D.   

In Honorem Authoris.  
NOt that I think that thy Aonian wine  
Has any need of this poor bush of mine.  
But that in some small measure yet I might  
Exrpess the love I owe thee, I must writ  
And praise thy fluent fancy that atteines  
To that with ease, which others can't with pains  
Many of these thy Poems did I see  
Drop from thy ready pen Ex tempore.  
And fitly called Occasions of spring wast  
For the {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} of time flew not more fast:  
Did the conceit come even twixt Cup and Lip.  
It was thine own occasion could not slip  
Whence I'm convinced that poetry's a spirit,  
Which except heaven infuse none can inherit.  
Thine yea thine T: H.   

Occasions offspring. OR, POEMS, Upon several Occasions.  

To Her that loves me.  

A Way with fond hyperboles,  
Subli●ing dust to Deities.  
I purpose but to say y'are fair,  
As envy must confess you are:  
If you were not; you should not h●re  
My praise, should knees couch your (desire.   

But you are so, which to deny  
Can be no less than heresy.  
Doubtless the Queen of beauty was,  
But like yourself some peerless Lass▪  
Till by her Cyprian zealots she  
Mounted the stile of deity.  
Had you lived then, I really do  
Presume y''ve been a Goddess toe.  
For in your features men may fire  
The God of love's artillery  
Your curling tress, is all the bow  
The wanton wars with, here below.  
His firelocks too, the world espy,  
Presented in your sparkling eye:  
Your fame's his Trum pet, and men seek  
His Banner in your bashful cheek.  
Your pearly rows at every smile,  
Like Cadmus' Troops stand rank and file.  
If then so fair a front appear,  
Doubt not, there's somewhat in the rear:  
But 'tis not fit we further look,  
Since Nature's pleased to shut the book:  
Howe'er I hope I shan't displease her,  
To guess what I see not hid treasure.   Nil non laudabile vidi.  

To my Coy Charola.  

1.  
YOu cannot love; for shame  
Come blush yourself into a penitent flame:  
Does the choice flower resist  
Because the fair st●n, enjoy't that lift:  
Or the eye-taking fruit,  
Plead not yet ripe? away, there needs no suit.  
Why women are as truly ours,  
To be enjoyed as fruit, or flowers.  
But 'tis our fault  
That we exhalt  
Them so, that they rebel against our powers   

2.  
COme, come, yet I affect ye,  
If you can't love again; Let me direct ye  
'Tmay be 'cause you are fair,  
And levigable as the downy air;  
You stand upon't, you will not yield,  
But phoenixlike yourself will build.  
Do so, and then  
Repent again;  
When autumn hath possessed your own fair field.   

3.  
BUt oh behold I woo  
Who should command, I beg and glad on't too,  
My Charola admires,  
Since she is Ice, I so complain of fires.  
Had she a flaming Dart,  
She would improved to warm her own cold heart.  
Ah me, does not Dame nature stint  
Her flame-begetting sparks to flint?  
Pray do but feel  
The stone-cold steel;  
And if you can say there's no fire within't,   

4.  
But ah my vain complaint!  
My Obsequies attend a scornful Saint.  
Water by dropping oft  
Is wont to make the hardest marble soft:  
But my moist eyes procure,  
No gentleness, but rather make obdure.  
But I have done my do, for I  
Find all things mere in misery.  
And to survive  
In vain I strive;  
Since I have seen an Angel, I must die,   

5.  
How die? why so, did not  
The Queen of Beauty on Adonis dote?  
And Paris confident eyes,  
Survey the features of three Deities?  
Ah but far more divine,  
Is my fair Saint than Paris trivial Trine:  
Whom while I court, my hopes but rear  
A fancied Castle in the air.  
Not unlike those  
That do suppose  
Their wish effected in a falling Star.   Credo equidem nec vana fides genus esse dearum.  

Love-sick Lucilla to her unkind shepherd.  
ANd must I die? and must I die for love?  
For love, that makes me like the Gods above▪  
If I must die, what need these flames? belike  
You'll execute me as an heretic  
But Momus teach me a new A. B. C.  
If firm, and faithful love be heresy:  
If death must be the doom of love; pray what  
Shall be the sentence of novercall hate?  
If zealous love merit a mortal curse,  
Sure hate, a cold devotion merits worse.  
Yet how unjust is this? stories relate  
Many that died for love, but none for hate.  
Is there no Herb that may my griefs remove,  
No Antidore 'gainst this hot poison Love?  
Pity ye Gods, pity my youth, and beauty,  
See how each Organ buckles to his duty.  
Cannot my prayers; cannot my tears prevail  
What, shall ●y sighs, my sobs, my groans all fail?  
Where is the sister's thrift that goes about  
To cut my Thread ere it be half drawn out?  
Let me but see the twilight of my age,  
And then pursue the utmost of your rage:  
Why was Lucina present at my birth,  
Whilst the propitious God's promised me mirth?  
Why came gl●d Hymen with his taper light  
To mock me with the hopes of nuptial night?  
And why was Venus then ascendent; why  
Did all the Graces grace me since I die?  
But while I thus in vain urge my complaint,  
I lose my breath, Ah me I fainr, I faint.  Deficiam parvi temporis adde moram.  

To Abstentia.  

1.  
I Never was in love,  
Nor will be for my part,  
I never felt the Archer move;  
Alas he has no dart  
Or else no eyes to hit my heart.   

2.  
ANd yet doth love I vow,  
In this my bosom reign;  
●ut I protest 'tis not with you;  
Pardon me, Sir, i tell you plain,  
'tis with Diana's Maiden train.   

3.  
ANd though i lend an ear  
When you present your Ditty,  
Presume not i affect your gear,  
Or you, that would seem witty;  
Good faith 'tis not in love, but pity.   

4.  
HEnce then poor flatterers,  
I am, and will be free:  
Like those celestial Choristers,  
I'll hug my liberty;  
'tis that, and only that please me.    

Phyllis funeral.  
COme now my Lambs yourselves address  
Unto your dying shepherdess.  
Your appetites a while adjourn,  
And pay your duty to ●y urn.  
In life my flock i followed thee,  
In death i prithee follow me.  
Come therefore twenty Lambs in black,  
In white twice twenty at their back.  
Twelve sable Ewes like Widows poor  
Shall as my mourners go before  
Six wethers shall my bearours be  
Arrayed in Negro's livery,  
As dark as night, and six again,  
As white as wool support my train:  
With silver tipps let every horn.  
Our sad and sol●mne state adorn,  
Crescent as Phaebes, let each front,  
Wear a fresh Cypress wreath upon't  
Let no rude ruslet here be seen,  
Nor bloody red; But flourishing green,  
Lamb black, and purest white, These three,  
Sum up my perfect elegy,  
The black (my Lambs) doth signify  
My loss of life: your loss of me.  
The white does unto you relate  
My innocence: and Virgin state,  
The green does to the world proclaim  
My life in my immortal fame.  
Now let me show ye my intent  
In my last Will and Testament.  
First I this better part of mine  
To the Elysian shades resign  
And whence I had it, I bequeathe  
To the next air my borrowed breath  
Fire shall again have what it lent,  
And water to her Element,  
Shall have recourse. All shall return,  
My ashes also to my urn:  
In the next place I here dispense  
Unto my Lambs my innocence.  
Moreover I assign to them  
The grass green Meadow last nights dream  
Presented me, My Ramms are they  
Shall have my Cornucopia.  
Item, I leave my Virgin Zone  
Unto the Bud as yet u● blown,  
My Purple veins resign to you  
Sweet Violets their azure hue.  
M● blushes to the Rose I give  
My white shall in the lily ●ve;  
My golden Trelles shall rep●ire  
The ruins of lost Maiden hair.  
My Globes of light after this li●e  
Shall wait on Phoebus and his wife.  
My lof●y my majestic front  
I leave to I● das sublime Mont.  
The Cherry, or the Ruby rather  
The eincture from my lips shall gather.  
This breast opposing th' other, puts  
Me so in mind of Cupid's butts.  
I cannot but to him demise  
The place so fit for exercise.  
Lastly (such as they wont receive)  
Mine arms I to ●mbraces leave:  
And now ye know what my last will is,  
Farewell my Flock, say farewell Phillis.  Pl●no singultibus ore.  

A young Gentleman to his Lady, who looked upon him as too immature.  
MADAM,  
I Love you, should I not do so,  
I were an Anchorit● and my Breast like Snow:  
Yes I do love, and humbly here commence  
Affection ushererd in with Reverence.  
Deign but your-lilly hand, No bold desire  
Shall wing up my ambition any higher.  
Nay if that be too much, let me descry  
My rudeness chastized in your scornful eye.  
I must confess these early years of mine  
May look on, but not love Women nor Wine:  
Not love said I? who can but love a face  
So winning unless of Deucalion's race?  
Yet while I love and in my breast enshrine ye  
It done't to pity, but contempt incline ye.  
Nature will lend my lip a cloak, And than  
I may profess, I want not zeal, though man:  
My statures small, And Cu●id cannot find  
Me yet; Shrubs lose th' advantage of the wind:  
Yet should I love thus young, I ●ight produce  
Such precedents would warrant my excuse;  
And yours too, Sappho summed up all her joy  
In the embrace of a Cicilian boy  
The Queen of Greec● loved Theseus but a Lad,  
And Cytharea her Adonis had.  
Nay, Love himself that God, is but a Child,  
Shall I then be for want of years exiled?  
Yea I have heard fair Damsels say, In truth  
Of all that love, give me the smooth-chinned Youth.  
True I am young, and thence I dare approve  
My non-acquaintance with the slights of love.  
You are that woundld me the first and all:  
Blame me not then that come at the fi●st ●all.   

To Amabunda.  
BUt dost believe in fai●h that I  
Loved thee? faith 〈…〉 liye.  
Extinguish therefore thy desire  
Ere it becomes unruly fire,  
For thy flames work but the same way  
With me as the hot Sun on clay.  
No thou must take thy heels, and flee,  
If thou wouldst have me follow thee.  — Fugis insequor.  

To Suavia.  
NOt love you, whom the world confess  
The miracle of prettiness?  
That were an humour to disguise  
My reason, and betray my Eyes:  
Noah, Noah, without dissimulation  
Your beauty is too strong temptation  
Had I not found you the rare she,  
Y''ve lived unloved, unmoved by me;  
I cannot court a common face,  
Enriched with only one poor grace,  
A forehead handsome, smooth, and high  
A lovely Lip, or Chin, or Eye:  
But pardon Suavia if I Love  
You, In whom all these graces move  
Deign then one gentle smile on me,  
Who will your constant Vmbra be,  
So long as either I have eyes,  
Or you have wherewith to surprise.  
Choose Madam then which you think best,  
Either hard favour: or soft breast.  Aut sacien mutes, aut ne sis dura nec●●e est.  

An Answer to the Song called fair Archybella to whose eyes. &c.  
My dearest,  

ARchybella's Eyes  
Though ne'er so fair shall not despise  
But own thy loyal sacrifice.   

2.  
Suppose her cruel, And a while  
Her frowns like midnight, day exile  
'tis noon again, if you but smile.   

3.  
We like our lodging and protest  
So you provide a faithful breast  
To vow ourselves your constant guest.   

4.  
Nor need you fear since you impart,  
Your wounds so fresh, but we have art  
And Balsam too, to ease your smart.   

5.  
Let not a thought that death may give  
Molest thee, doubt not thou to live,  
If smiles or tears may but reprieve.   

6.  
Dread not my dear so dire a doom  
Forbid it heaven the hour should come,  
That thou shouldst suffer martyrdom.    

The Answer to Well-well 'tis true, &c.  

1.  
WEll, well 'tis true, That I have loved a fool and it is you:  
But since I plainly see  
Whilst I in pity lend a smile,  
You make me conscious all the while  
Of your Idolatry.  
I'll henceforth squib your Wildsire flames and scorn  
The adoration of an Ass  
So foolishly forlorn.   

2.  
Come, come be wise and dally not with Ladies (charmfull eyes,  
The Magazine from whence  
Love arms himself, the Stars I say  
Are bright and powerful too, but they  
Have no such influence.  
We set us down in Titan's glittering shine,  
Reciprocating beam, for beam  
Where Stars their heads decline,   

3.  
Whilst ye like fools to de●fie us pump and drain your Schools  
For an Hyperbody:  
Presuming that ye highly please  
Our Sex to style us Godde●es,  
Alas we know ye lie  
We are but flesh and blood though our bright eyes  
Surprising your infaruate sense  
Ye deem us Deit●es▪  
BUt since that Fate has drawn me to the trouble of thy prate  
I'll not my ●abour loose  
For I'll make use of thine own plot  
To let thee know I love thee not.  
Well, or ill take it, choose,  
And therefore I'll go get me a new bar,  
To rid my Chamber of such Apes  
Such toys as suitors are,   

5.  
GO love your wine, and all your Muses, nine and nine times nine  
So you will not love me  
For me I love my Dog, my Cat  
Nay I would love I care not what  
So it may not be thee  
Love you your laughing and your quaffing Crew  
I love my Country and my King  
But hate such fools as you.    

The Virgin Canticle to Gerrard.  

1.  
Avaunt ye false Intruders that my Chamber haunt  
Good faith I can't  
No nor i will not listen to your love  
No more will i though you would give me all your store  
Unbolt my door  
You do but rocks and senseless marble move  
For well, yea too too well i can your perjured story tell  
There's no faith rests  
In men's false breasts:  
Therefore farewell, farewell.   

2.  
'tis true, I was so foolish once as to Love you,  
But now Irue  
I ever yielded unto such an ague.  
But yet, I de have you know my friend though I did get  
One burning fit  
I had another cold enough to plague you.  
For I who was all fire, am now congealed into all ice  
Whence you may find,  
Though I was kind.  
I can be merry and wise.   

3.  
The willow thou thinkst torments me but alas poor fellow  
Ask but my Pillow  
If it can witness ere a sigh I fetched.  
Or that on my bedside as in a dream I sat,  
Moaning my fate,  
Or out of melancholy myself stretched.  
●le warrant thee my boy thou'lt find all circumstances prove  
That maidens too  
As well as you  
Can with discretion love   

4.  
And now I do intend to run through Lovers row  
As well as you  
And taste the sweetness of variety.  
For I suppose there's some sweet sweet in it or ye  
Would never be  
So much addicted to inconstancy.  
Therefore I'll set and see the messes usher● in by scores  
And taste of this  
And that fine dish  
To the hundred and fiftith course.   

5.  
In vain thou temptst me Paris what, wouldst thou be fain  
Forsworn again  
Alas I value not thy threadbare oaths.  
Go find some other tame fool for I have no mind  
T' embrace the wind  
No, nor those vows thou pu●st of with thy clothes  
If yet thou'dst have me, love thee then I prithee (Ne'er come to me  
For I protest  
I love thee best  
When thou art furthest from me    

The Choice.  
'tIs not thy ruby Lips; nor rosy Cheeks,  
In which my heart a full contentment seeks  
'tis not the treasure of thy golden tresses,  
Tha● makes me rich, or challenge my Caresses  
Nor yet thy light-dispersing eyes though they,  
Be the true Phosphors of the breaking day,  
Should I serve beauties obvious to the eye  
Pigmaleons' statue then would see the vie.  
And I might well (if I should cease to range,)  
Advantage my aff●ction at the change.  
But I have suited at a nobler rate,  
Then to court paint; Beauties inanin●ate,  
In sum there's nothing outsides can impart,  
Hath power to make a conquest on my heart.  
But ● love you, whose beauty still I find  
But index to the beauty of your mind.  
You are the Pearl that highest value win,  
Being fair without, and cordial within.   

To my Coy and Captious Mistress.  
I'll court my shade no more, but flee  
From it, and make it follow me:  
Nor shall the lo●ty Cedar bough  
To the base Bramble, 'tis too low.  
I'll kneel no more t' ungrateful Thistles,  
Nor listen to each Bird that whistles:  
I have fo● got you, and to day  
I did make orts of better Hay.  
I loved thee once, but now my scorn  
Shall triumph over thee forlorn:  
I'll wrap my front up in disdain,  
Nor shalt thou it uncloud again,  
No, though one careless smile would save  
Thy cast-of carcase from the grave:  
Thy tears, and prayers and looking wan  
Were but to wash an Indian.  
N●y, w●rt thou fair as thou art not,  
Thou shouldst not move my breast one jot:  
Nor would I love thee one half hour,  
Though both the Indies were thy Dower:  
Though all the Saints should bless thy face,  
Thou getest not henceforth one embrace:  
I hate thine eyes, and rather would  
A Basilisk should me behold.   

To Pulcheria.  
BUt tell me will not Gold move thee?  
Art thou mo●e hard than Danae?  
Wha●? will these pecrless Pearls, these Gems,  
These Rubies reached from Diadenis,  
Advance me no step to thy love?  
I'll try if trivial toys m●y move.  
'T may be this lily or that Rose  
Win her acceptance more than those.  
Yes much at one, alas I should  
But tempt an Indian with my Gold:  
Her locks are the true golden Fl●ec,  
Medea showed her love in Greece;  
And what from Rubies hope I? tush  
Her lips will make the Ruby blush:  
Which if a smile should chance to sever,  
You straight shall see such Pearls as never  
Nature yet boasted, as if she  
Had only this one treasury.  
And as for Gems, what sparks can fly  
So bright as those shot from her eye?  
Lilies alas avail not much,  
Her body is all over such:  
And what's a Rose? since her Cheeks bea●  
A iwe of Roses all the year.   

LOVE Blind or not blind.  

1.  
WHat makes you think that Love is blind  
Since he dwells in the eye:  
I rather the contrary find  
In all my scrutiny.  
For I in love had never been  
Had not mine eyes the object seen.   

2.  
And all the world in this agree  
Love is a flaming fire  
If than a fire, nay flame it be  
What need we more desire,  
To prove that Love may have his sight,  
From that which renders all things light.   

3.  
Tell me not that Obfusca was  
Born blind, yet loved on trust,  
Admit the fable; yet alas  
It was not love, but lust.  
For she must have it understood,  
Though nothing else, her feeling's good.   

4.  
But you will say where stood his eyes  
That chose so course a wench.  
As Bab since men meet such a prize  
On every common bench:  
This will be his retort again,  
What's, one man's meat's an others bane.   

5.  
Here's one a horse face courts whose weight  
He knows will come in Gold.  
And so he have the money straight,  
Let her be crooked, old  
Splay-foot, blind, beetlebrowd, and lame,  
For he has that for which he came,   

6.  
Turn but your eye and you shall see  
Another's finger itch,  
To be embracing such a she  
Is neither fair nor rich.  
Ask but his reason and 'tis this  
My mind to me a Kingdom is,   

7.  
Thus one loves fat an other lean,  
This his meat salt, that fresh  
This a fat Capon, that a Hen  
This man loves fish, that flesh.  
Thus all their humours have, and now  
Here's the good woman kissed he● Cow.   

8.  
Who bears the fault now but the boy  
The wanton boy forsooth  
He wish old women use to toy,  
And teach them tricks of youth,  
Thus from ourselves we still remove  
Our dotage to the god of Love.   

9  
Whom falsely fools call progeny  
Of Vulcan god of fire,  
If it were so then he must be  
Prodromus to his Sire  
For out of doubt he LOVE did know,  
Ere he came into cuckolds row.   

10.  
THen let not hollowed Love bear blame  
For human fantasy:  
Love is a pure celestial flame  
Heaven and Earths Mercury,  
Diffused on Mortals, let us hence  
Accuse the Organ, not the influenc●,   

11.  
CAn any yet be so unwise  
To think Love blind that can  
Create an Argus hundred eyes,  
To guard a courtesan,  
Whom if you see you may espy.  
Enthroned in every sparkling eye.   

12.  
PRay which of you can shoot so right,  
As he whom ye call blind;  
He sticks his Arrows in the white  
Sure than he eyes must find,  
Should you a Dart at any throw,  
'twere but the blind man hit the Crow.   

13.  
Yea are surprised with each fair face  
With every dimpled Chin,  
This comely feature, that sweet grace  
Are snares to trap ye in:  
What think ye then, not love, I wiss  
But ye, are capti oculis.    

A longing Lady to her long-staying Lover.  
Twice twenty times hath Titan run his course  
From th' Oriental, to the Western source:  
Since last I saw you can one parting kiss  
Sustain me such an age of night as this:  
How I am racked in thy unkind delay?  
Come my sweet Phosphor, come and bring the day▪  
Sorrow and solitude in this small space  
Have figured age on my hermetic face.  
Go happy Paper be my Mercury,  
And having kissed his hand bring it to me.  
That I may be thy rival; tell him I  
Must see him soon, or in despair I die.  
And if he come not; I shall plainly see  
He's out of town, or out of love with me.   

A forsaken Lady to her Apostate.  
BUt are those flashes fled? those flames quite gone  
Into the ashes of oblivio●?  
Where are those Vows, these Heaven-attested oaths,  
Sealed on my lips the pledges of our troths?  
What all amort, all banished in a trice,  
All our embraces a fools paradise?  
Then farewell saith, and friend, next time I find  
Myself affective He embrace the wind.   

A mock song to O stay by me—  

STay not by me fiends! but fly me,  
For behold I come  
All in fury, to conjure ye,  
To avoid the room,  
O come not then near me: your haggy looks skear me  
But down to your cursed cell,  
for in hell;  
All such sooty sluts dwell.   

2.  
Out ye devils, worst of evils,  
What do you make here?  
Such damn witches, and base bitches:  
I ne'er saw as you're.  
O come not then near me your haggy looks scare me  
But down to your cursed cell  
for in hell  
All such sooty sluts dwell.   

3.  
Pluto's pusses are the susses  
That I here behold  
Dressed in tiffany like Tisiphone,  
Snaky locked and old.  
O come not then near me, your haggy looks scar me  
But down to your cursed cell  
For in hell,  
All such sooty sluts dwell.   

4.  
Fury's fellows what is hell loose  
And ye broke out thus  
In your night-gears like the night mares  
To meet Incubus.  
O come not then near me, your haggy looks skear me  
But down to your cursed cell  
for in hell  
All such sooty sluts dwell.   

5.  
Out upon ye, I'll none on ye  
Down ye damned beneath  
Your ill favours and worse savours  
Do infect my breath,  
O come not then near me, your haggy looks skeare me  
But down to your cursed cell for in hell,  
All such sooty sluts dwell.    

The fury's Answer.  
BE content Sir, we are sent Sir  
Not to trouble you,  
But to sport with and consort with  
Our own cuttaild crew.  
Let nothing then skear you, for we'll I not come near you  
But down to our own black cell, for in hell,  
We confess we do dwell.  Iam jam tacturas, tartara nigra putes.  

A Gentleman to his Mistress that told him he looked asqnint upon her.  
ASquint, why no●? am I of eagle's race,  
To try mine eyes upon Apollo's face:  
Admit I were, yet while I look on thee,  
Thy brighter beams force an obliquity.  
eagle's should do the same, durst they but try  
Their Birth right at the radiance of thine eye.  
What is this squinting but my feeble sight,  
Reverberated by thy powerful light?  
Nay should mine eye right on to thine aspire,  
'Twould burning-Glass-like set mine heart on fire.  
But say I could, since thou thus sl●ghtest me,  
What reason have I to look right on thee?  
Come be not you so cross grained to despise  
A breast that shows her crosses in her eyes;  
Which silently each other thus reprove,  
T' have let in cruel and ingrateful love:  
So passing fair, I swear upon a book  
You are, my eyes upon each other look  
As in a maze to see Dame Nature place  
All her perfection in your only face.  
As Clouds the Creatures of the Sun, so I  
The nubilous exhalation of your eye  
Approach your presence begging I may be  
The Vmb●a unto your serenity.  
And could I but myself in the office put,  
As Caltha with your beams I'd ope, and shut.  
The Flies are buzzing where light Candles are,  
And smoke you know always pursues the fair.  
Days d' interchange Embraces with the night,  
And darkness, kiss the lovely lips of light.  
Why then, thou fairest, art thou so unkind,  
To scoff the mole thy beauty made thus blind?  
But am I blind dost say; Even thence does flow,  
This solace, that the God of love is so.  
And squint-eyed, than I may glory int.  
The sun itself, lights centre looks asquint.   

To Frank.  

What all at once? what noun's self Frank?  
Thy bounty over bears its bank.  
▪ T've been a favour yet beyond,  
My wishes, hadst thou given thy bond,  
And sealed it with a faithful kiss,  
O here had been enough of bliss.  
Or hadst thou given thy hand in part  
As pledge of thy engaged heart;  
I had been more than well content  
T' have fed my hopes, on the event.  
But I am now as others are,  
Suspicious of thy prestered ware.  
Thou art too sweet, to tell thee right  
Thou overcomest my appetite.  
Hony's not for all palates meet,  
And sugar oft makes things too sweet.  
Trust me fond Frank, thou art too free  
(Free of thy flesh I mean) for me.  
Thou com'st too fast, I must step back.  
And to be short, I fear me no man,  
Dares venture to make thee a woman.  
In markets maids are common, I  
Can have a score for a bulls eye▪  
You praise yourself, and I could wish  
But to see her cries stinking fish;  
I know not what to think, thy face  
Hath such an ol●o of brass;  
And yet thou shouldest be right, for none  
That I e'er knew, less fear the stone,  
On whom be this inscription set;  
Here is both right, and Counterfeit.  
But thou sayst 'tis no usual Course,  
To look i'th' mouth of a gift horse.  
Yet not man's' bounty shall persuade  
Me too accept or keep a jade,  
Ill favoured &, ill qualitied;  
Who would on such Conditions ride?  
Thou hast given thyself to me, dost hear  
Thou hast a shrewd box on the ear  
Would thou hadst rather given me that  
Was left i'th' maltheap by the Car.  
Thou shouldst have said, will you accept,  
Or else they self to thyself kept.  
There's somewhat more than up and ride,  
The banes must go before the bride  
And after too, unless she be  
Better than I can hope of thee  
Thou fliest away to Church & nether  
Bringst guest with thee nor yet a father.  
But for the first (Saving your jest)  
You will yourself be the bold guest.  
And for a father, what need he,  
Since you will your own giver be.  
Way this is the new way we take,  
Each others word & bargain make.  
Sure here is like to be good doing  
When rampant roils run thus a wo●oi●g,  
Why now or never verify.  
Old mother Shipton's prophecy,  
Yet thou mayest get a husband still,  
Provided thou dost but fulfil.  
The last will of thy grand mother,  
No more but foe; Remember her:   

For my part, me thou couldst not please,  
Though thou couldst should— me ninepences.  
Nor couldst thou move in me delight,  
Shouldst thou afford me every night  
A fresh & sportful maidenhead  
Their signs should not pollute my bed,  
And yet I may chance loath my life  
Come then and thou shalr be my wife.  
However for your offer Frankey  
I were to blame should I not thank ye,  
But let me perish in thy Curse  
If ever offer liked me worse.  
Thou gav'st thyself to me; and  
Give thee back to thyself Godbye   Te mihi donasti, te tibi reddo, vale.  

An Epithal. On. Mr. B. C. his nuptials.  

1.  
WElcome most lovely pair,  
Through threats of drowning  
In parents frowning;  
Now no doubts nor despair  
Shall cloud the clearer air  
Of nuptial crowning  
No counterplots, no rivals now suspect,,  
Your wishes are arrived at their effect.   

4.  
No woeful Willow now,  
Cupid composes,  
Chaplets of Roses:  
In which the bridgroomes' brow  
And his fair Brides also,  
Hymen encloses,  
Let suitors in desires hot embers burn,  
Your joyful fires shall into bonfires turn.   

3.  
On thy cheeks beauteous Bride,  
More all the graces  
In pleasant paces  
Blessed he whom fares betide  
Th' Elysium of thy side.  
This, this, thy lass is  
Sweet bridegroom, but had Love had eyes to see her:  
No doubt but he had been thy rival here.   

4.  
Sing Io, sing amain  
Thy tempting treasure,  
Out bounds all measure,  
Give thy ripe joys full rain,  
And Io. sing again,  
Victorious Caesar  
Beware of surfeits though, thy lusty cheer.  
Ends not to night, the fair lasts all the year   

4.  
But you think long I doubt,  
And loves complexion,  
Prepares erection,  
What though ye taste of nought,  
All day, but naked thought:  
Night's the next section:  
Then you shall act, what we but dream, deligh●,  
we'd wish ye too (if there were need) good night.   

9  
Com Bacchus come let's troll  
The merry dishes  
Brimmed with best wishes.  
Me thinks I see the soul,  
Of mirth in every bowl  
Pres●ging blisses.  
Your crop's full eared, full ripe, your eye discerns  
Plenty; what can we wish you more but bearnes    

To my lily white Leda in Commendation of a pale face.  

When red enchased in the skies we find.  
We straight conclude 'tis either rain, or wind.  
When I a rubric on thy face espy,  
Faith I expect to see thee storm, or cry.  
Let them that dare condemn thy I very brow  
Tell me how they could fancy blood & snow.  
That monstrous, yea that menstivous product, who  
Could look upon't and not his tears our flow?  
Pray tell me where the white, & damask rose'  
From the same stalk both white, & red disclose?  
Spaniels and Calves are red and white 'tis true  
If you be red and white, pray what are you?  
Would you commend her for her comely snout  
That's particolourd like a radish root?  
You'd think I mock you should I say you are  
Pure red & white as babies in the fair.  
If red be such a grace; If red so please  
Have me commended to red latices.  
Yet the red rose is cordial. But the white  
Is ever most commended for the sight.  
From costard-mongers I have understood  
Thus much? The red cheecht apple's seldom good.  
Red wax is very common, But the white  
Is virgin's wax, And a good price must buy't,  
Pray tell me now, would you be wooed & prayed;  
To limb your felt out on a milk white n aid?  
Marry come up; so when you are to write,  
You may condemn your paper cause 'tis white:  
Here, here's an Elizabeth, will you say what ail  
The shillings cause you see the face is pale?  
That were a pretty jest, Alas, alas,  
If it were cherry checht it would not pass.  
Even Vitriall admits a various hue  
Some is pure white, some green, some perfect blue,  
And some is red too, But 'tis then confessed  
The dross & Ca●ut mortuum of the rest  
In Mercury as Ch●nick terms will ha''t,  
The white's sublime, The red precipitate.  
Some Tulips▪ I remember I have seen,  
Half red half white, but thy have common been.  
Or were they ra●e should they come near my nose  
The posy were less welcome, than the pose.  
White Robes at nuptials, show a virgin state,  
A●d why not white checks beauties candidate.  
What wouldst thou think▪ if thou sho●lds red espy  
Exchequored with the white that's in thine eye?  
Thou'dst say 'tis bloodshot, How then is't a grace  
That blemishes the best part of thy face?   

But why do I thus eagerly allude  
To that which all but blind men will conclude?  
The s●lver Moon, the glittering train of night,  
The 〈◊〉, Swan, and Venus' Doves are white,  
But yo● say Reds a modest tincture, tush,  
Her conscience can not bid her countenance blush  
W●en she hath done the thing she ought nor do:  
Come to her the● she'll blush as red as you.   — Rubicunda flat, Alba serenat.  

The Postscript, To the precedent Poem.  
BUt stay ●y whiting, though I took thy part,  
'Twas not to show thy beau●y, but my art.  
My conscience tell● me Red & white best pleases,  
White not set off with Red portends diseases:  
But Poets pro, and con, salute and slight:  
Tell ye the Dove is black, And the Crow white,  
I could have writ as much, and given a grace  
As ample, to the calf with the white face.  
Thus have I made thee fair and foul; so truly  
Sta●●h be it ne'er so white, comes of but bluely.  P. atque P.  

To Mr. R. D.  
SIR,  
YOur safe return unto mine ears being come  
I could no less than bid you welcome home.  
At present I have nothing worth your view,  
Only my white faced Leda, but she's new  
And fresh attired, If I have dressed her right:  
Say but the word, And I have hit the White:   

Militat omnis amans, & habet sua Castra Cupîdo.  
LOVE hath his tents & lovers soldiers are  
Pressed out to serve in an intestine war,  
Cupid become a Leader now I find,  
The proverb, verified, The blind leads the blind.  — Caeco carpitur Igne▪  

To my honoured friend. A Gentleman that in a frolic would needs barb me.  

1.  
But BEN  
Let me know when  
Thou wilt return age ●n:  
Oh thy departure drew a tear,  
Not from the watery surface of the sphere  
No, no it drew it, whist, stay there  
lest while such news I send,  
I much offend,  
My friend,   

2.  
Indeed  
Since 'twas decreed  
Thou shouldst depart with speed  
I could not choose, but heavily look  
To lose at once my barber, and my Cook:  
I will be sworn upon a book  
I oft thee wanted have  
My chin to shave,  
Poor knave.   

3.  
And clip  
My upper lip  
And make the hairs to skip  
For having mended my bad face  
Thou good Lawn Bands about ●y neck didst place.  
And cuffed my hands, but now alas  
I shall, I am i'th' mind  
No Barber find  
so kind.    

To William Kemp.  
SAturday last faith Will you sent me Sack  
By Bacchus scarce was worth the sending back  
Be now a trusty foul, and, send me White.  
Or Rhenish, which you will but let't be right  
Feel out some cell where Phoebus cannot come  
I know Will will send good if will b'at home   

A Gentleman surprised with the sight of a Lady unknown to him, betrothed to another.  
UNhappy happiness, piercing, pleasing sat  
By too good fortune made infortunate,  
My blessed, and blasted eyes made me at once  
Myself an Emp●rour, and a 〈◊〉 pronounce▪  
What strange affections on my spirit cease?  
Whereof the cure is worse than disease.  
What heavenly fire is this, torments & joys me  
Which if I blow consumes; if quench destroys me?  
Take here O take this love-slain heart of mine  
This victim fallen on your victorious shrine,  
Only let love since to your pile I come  
Honour my sacrifice with martyrdom.  
And 'tis enough, Since I cant overcome ye.  
He kill the strokes my fates allot me from ye  
Yet on my urn should you one glance contrive  
My ashes with the phoenix might revive,  
If not a smile, O yet let pity lend me  
A sigh, that may to the next world commend me  
Where my then happier eyes may have, the grace  
Freely to feast on your seraphic face.   

To my cousin Coy.  

1.  
This not for virtue's sake that you,  
Are wont to keep so much ado,  
For we know by experience,  
And you by your own conscience.  
That wenches will for all their stirs,  
Cling in a corner close as burrs.   

2.  
Those things most take mens' palares ●ver,  
They purchase fle with most hard endeavour.  
And that's the reason that ye maids,  
Hold up the rate of maidenheads.  
Which if you were not coy and nice  
A lack a day! would bear no price.   

3.  
Pray do not ye your faces screen,  
To be with double lusser seen.  
What is it but to tempt beholders,  
Ye show your naked neck, and, shoulders.  
Why do you else patch white with black?  
But that ye more o'th' same stuff lack?   

4.  
Cold-rounded sires, themselves contract,  
And are most violent in act.  
And I conceive fair maids desires,  
Are but such snow-environed sires.  
And when I see snow on their skin  
I judge them then all fire within.   

5.  
Tell me who will do so mickle  
‛ As she that haunts a conventicle.  
She is one of Adam's race.  
That observes no time nor place.  
Though in the midst of lent it chance,  
she'll take it, if the flesh advance.   

6.  
And you yourself Abstemia  
Will sport and play as well as they,  
I know you loiter but to be  
Embraced by opportunity  
And in things forbid delight  
To show yourself Eve's Daughter right.   

7.  
Tell me no more of Apes in hell  
Though th' excuse become ye well;  
Come pretty soul 'tis to no boot  
You cannot live unless you do't:  
For the thing that we talk of pleased  
Nay more than that prevents diseases.   

8.  
Were't not more wisdom to be dumb,  
Then word it to be overcome?  
Don't we in common queans espy  
These your weapons, nay pish, nay fie,  
That ere half the fight be done  
Wish that they may be over run.   

9  
Come come girl if thou dost burn  
●ee thou baukest not a good turn,  
Those bonny lasses wiser are  
That know when they are offered fair  
Yet if shame bid thee forsake it  
Prithee play the maid, say nay and take it,    

To my pale Pippin Pallor in ore sedet—  
HEr checks are like her blind checks pale  
And wan, Her lips are lick her tail,  
Her piteous looks may happily move  
Compassion in me; never love.  
Shall I bow down; or kneel to that  
That seems to me in animate?  
So while I to my suit addict her,  
I pray with Papists to a Picture,  
Do ye not see how meager death,  
Seems through her Organs to steal bteath  
And Succubus has from the dust  
Reared her to satiate his lust  
Tell m●e pale Phebe doubt you climb  
Old walls to banquet on the lime?  
I know you love such festivals  
Your white-washed checks resemble walls.  
Say mother piteous, do you not  
For Oatmeal? rob the porridge-pot  
Run you not into privet holes  
To break your fast with salt and coals  
I might a thousand knacks repeat,  
What could I name but you would cat  
In sh●me whereof you blou● re●●ines  
Your checks, And lurks within your veins,  
until it be subpaenaed thence,  
By your flagitious conscience.  
Nor are you lily like, but sallow▪  
And sapie-coutenanced like tallow:  
For when your dropping nose you handle,  
You seem to me to snuff a candle.  
And they that keep you reap disgrace,  
Whilst men read 'samine on your face.  
Natures, besieged, And all your pores  
Obstructed block up her recourse  
Whilst in despair of life you burn,  
For a good husband, or good turn..  
There must be vent, 'tis to no boot  
To talk, you must or die, or do't.  
And should, we but a while delay you,  
You'd cry hark hark for life we pray you.  
You can no such improvement feel  
In allume possets or crude steel.  
You know yourself there's nothing can,  
Be so aperitive as man.  
Who in the sweetest sense is said,  
To cure you of your maiden head.  
Which should you but a while retain,  
A pessary would come in vain.  
What need men care then for such wives,  
As Marry but to save their lives?  
He must as much (that weddeth thee)  
Thy doctor; As thy husband be.  
Noah, I'll to Bacchus where being come,  
The first attendant shows a room.  
The next prersents a glancing lass,  
Like Venus in a venice glass.  
With that I knock, & as some spirit  
I conjur up pur red and white.  
My circles a round table. And  
In midst thereof does Hymen stand  
With a light taper. when I call,  
To celebrate my nuptial.  
Here do I a french madam place  
And there a sweet-●ipt spanish lass  
Here all in white a lady dances.  
And there in red an other glances.  
And lest mine eyes want fresh delight,  
Here sets Claretta red & whit.  
Nor do I compliment I ●row,  
But tell them plain 'tis so and so,  
Thy struggle not nor are they coy  
But I may what I will enjoy.  
No there's no coil made for a kiss,  
Though melting melting, melting bliss.  
No shifting from the friendly cup  
But I may freely all take up.  
And in each face if I so please,  
I le court mine own ●ffigies.  
Who would not then on this stage act Narci●●us,  
Where lively lips so sweetly say come kiss us?   

Mrs. E. G. To her false and faithless servant.  

But whence false wretch are these delays,  
Didst thou not swear,  
By all that's dear.  
Should lion's block up thy assays,  
Thy Pinnace scorned such remoras.   

2.  
Most faithless of thy sex farewell:  
Art not thou he  
That vowed to me  
No fates decree not Circian spell,  
Should keep thee from my citadel?   

3.  
Yet flatterer thou art fleged, and flown  
From the warm nest  
Of my soft breast,  
And like that night thou left's me gone  
Ah! who would such a traitor own?   

4.  
They that dare most, I see dare least  
Peter pretends  
More than his friends,  
But being brought unto the test,  
He turns more cravant than the rest.   

5.  
A feeble hermit razed the fort  
Of secrecy  
Twixt thee and me,  
O shame, Cowards I see resort  
To love's, though not to Mars his Court.   

6.  
Thinkst thou the gods that testify  
From Heaven above  
Thy vows of love,  
Will quit thee of thy perjury?  
That were, to make themselves like thee.   

7.  
Well I conclude then nothing else  
But love is dead  
And faith is fled,  
Unto the breasts of in fidells  
And there, if anywhere it dwells.   

8.  
False and faint heart adieu, ne'er sue  
Nor woo no more,  
As here to fore,  
For here is all I'll answer you,  
False and faint heart adieu adieu.   — Piget infido consuluisse viro.  

His Answer▪  
ANd why so sharp? in truth (my dear) I must,  
Accuse your fury of unkind distrust.  
You should observe the end, and only glance,  
Not dwell on the emergent circumstance.  
Shall I plounge through th' abyss of danger, when  
I may avoid it; And go right again.  
What you misconstrue as some light abuse,  
Reason will read a requisite excuse.  
What should we but invite the public scorn,  
To boast our harvest ere we reap our corn.  
The wealthyest wights petend the weakest store,  
And what they hug, conceal, I do no more.  
For knowledge will but make us tabletalk,  
whilst love delights in shadiest paths to-walk.  
Forbear a while my love and then expect  
Your patience crowned with blessed, with wished effect.  
Those that do otherwise, the world but calls,  
Them Posthumous to there own nuptials,  
Noah, Noah, my heart's but one, though for a space,  
I seem to put on Janus' double face,  
In which strange dress I yet, would hope I show  
I love thee more than all the world shall know.   

To the fair Mrs E. R.  
MADAM.  
Y'are lovely fair, and but I know,  
You are not proud, I would not tell you so.  
For my part I commend your sweet complexion.  
Nither for hope of favour, nor affection.  
Only since I have little else to do,  
I praise the most praise worthy, And 'tis you:  
Here's no hard words but in plain english thus,  
youare handsme, young, rich, virtuous.  
What can be wished for more? where nature places  
A heaven of beauty in a he●ven of graces.  
But if you be as free as you are fair  
All's nothing, and you are not what you are.   

Da dextram miserae & tecum me tolle per undas.  Phillis, Charon. Ph. 
A Boat, a Boat Charom, come set me over,  Ch. 
Who calls hell's fatal ferryman?  Ph. 
A Lover.  Ch. 
And thou shalt stay the longer for't I vow,  Ph. 
You'll not be so unmerciful I ●row.  Ch. 
Left handed luck light on ye every hour  
I me troubled to transport such brands as you are.  Ph. 
Ney good sweet Charon, com●  Ch. 
Yes sweeton still,  
When I have nothing else to do, I will.  Ph. 
What?  Ch. 
Grease my Boat, and patch my shattered sails  
And set me down and rest me;  Ph. 
Jove what ail'  
This froward patch? come prithee to the stath  
I am a stranger, come put off thy wrath.  Ch. 
Hence Cupid's brands,  Ph. 
Not so.  Ch. 
I'll come no nigher:  Ph. 
Why?  Ch. 
For you'll set my pitchy Boat on fire,  
I fry already with transporting flames  
Such as have almost drank up all my streams  Ph. 
Canst thou fear that and see these fresh supplies.  
So streaming from the Conduits of mine  
Eyes?  Ch. 
Well well,  Ph. 
Nay more if Charon shall think good  
These arms as oars shall wave the Stygian flood,  
This wast thy Mast: And this dishevelled hair,  
I'll into Cables twist;  Ch. 
Well you speak fair.  Ph. 
Come then;  Ch. 
I am at hand, but ere thy foot board me,  
How cam●st thou here timely or not?  Ph. 
What makes that to my speed? Come waft me over,  
And talk of that anon.  Ch. 
Nay soft, discover  
Or thou art at thy furthest; Trust no tri  
Nor falsities, But swear by sacred Styx,  
Which even the gods call not to lies,  
Without the forfeit of their deities,  
And loss of Nectar for a hundred years.  
Speak, Phs what is Phillis faulty here appears.  Ch. 
Thou canst not pass.  Ph. 
The gods forbid O smother  
That breath, This death is worse than th'other;  
I passed last night, That I implunged in  
For love, and must I die again for sin?  
Is it decreed?  Ch. 
It is, and signed by fate.  Ph. 
I'll supplicate the Gods then.  Ch. 
'tis too late.  Ph. 
Hard hap, but sawst thou not my Demophon  Ch. 
I did.  Ph. 
Where;  Ch. 
He is to Elysium gone.  Ph. 
And I left here O Charon prithee either  
Waste me to him, or fetch him hither.  Ch. 
Neither?  Ph. 
Shall he live happy?  Ch. 
Yes.  Ph. 
Then let me come  
For he knows I am his Elysium.  Ch. 
Thou canst not wretch:  Ph. 
Noah? whether shall I then  
Betake myself?  Ch. 
To yond foul foggy fen,  Ph. 
And what when there?  Ch. 
Still tied it to and fro,  
In deep despair as those self murderers do,  
Seest thou these Troops like Autu●n●s leafy spoil,  
What self bemoaning, what u●pittied coil  
They keep? But I stern Charo●t have no ears  
To hear their plaints; no eyes to see their tears.  Ph. 
Have I contemned life, neglected Thrace  
And my imperial sceptre for this place?  Ch. 
Blame thine own Rathnes to anticipate,  
The supreme act of Adamantine fate,  Ph. 
Has thou no pity lest for Queens.  Ch. 
No, now  
The basest beggar is as great as thou.  Ph. 
O give me yet a draft of Lethe, that  
I may forget the tyranny of fate.  Ca. 
It cannot be allowed alas thy woes  
Begin but now  Ph. 
When end they then?  Ch. 
God knows.  Ph. 
Pity sweet Charon, pity for his sake,  
Whose innocence must of my griefs partake  
For he and I long since agreed upon  
This, he should Phillis be, I Demop●on  
Our faithful lips were pledges of this twine  
He giving his heart, I returning mine.  
'tis I have sinned, And must he bear the blow.  
'tis not my heart, but his that suffers now,  
O either yield then to my just desire,  
Or let me suffer in myself entire,  
But if't may be, celestial pity move,  
To spare us both, and lay the fault on Love.  Ch. 
we'll love shall blind the Gods & pity shall  
For once the fair Queen be presidential.  
Or if the Gods will not commiserate,  
I'll steal thee over Styx in spite of fate  Flectere sinequeo Acheronta movelo.  

Miserum me fuisse faelicem! To Mr. H. C.  
Had Palynurus, never stear'd so far,  
As India, where the earth's choice treasures are.  
His wooden Castle. might have split in sunder,  
And ne'er arrived at a nine days' wonder:  
Had Bellisarrus, and I, never seen,  
The faithless face of change's changefull Queen'  
And to so lof●ie hopes had no admission,  
How blessed had we been in our low condition?  
Had Athenais not Eudoxia bene,  
T''ve been no wound to be thrown down ag●n;  
Had I ne'er seen you (fairest) than my breast,  
Had still been calmy in its haven of rest.  
What th'eye ne'er sees, the heart ne'er grieves? had I  
Ne'er drank at all, then had I ne'er been dry.  
I saw you but, and the wing' archers bow,  
Drawn by the attractives of your eyes pei●c'd through.  
My heart, so did he from those eyes p●ocure,  
His bolt, his bowstringe, and his cynosure.  
Unlucky luck, with joy and woe it fills me,  
Tarantula like, it makes me laugh, and kills me.  
'tis thou hast wounded me, and I must meet  
My cure in thee, O my sweet, bitter-sweet.  Sic mihi res eadem vulnus opem que tulit.  

A. B. To an Irish Gentlewoman that slighted him.  
WHat time my blood shall boil so in my veins  
As I shall need a cooler for my reins,  
I'll call on Io. fairer far than you are  
Shall ease me of my codpiece Calenture;  
But if a priapism put me hard upon't  
I'll keep a Cow: And not an Irish Ront.   

To my noble x Mr. R. C. coming in mourning to be merry with his friends.  
ANd why in black? what means this night's arra●  
Since ● am frolic as the day?  
Why comest thou thus in mourning to thy friend  
As if to mind him of his end?  
In such sad weeds the unwelcome Raven come:  
To croak out our determinated dooms:  
Shake of these misty fogs, that we may know,  
How much we to thy visit owe,  
Come not as thou hid'st treason in thy shroud,  
But lend the sweltering Sun thy cloud.  
So shall he set him down and slumber, while  
Thou cherest us with thy smile;  
How ill contrived is that company  
Where one does laugh, another cry?  
This man is clothed in whit, that blue, thou black  
Even just like Jeffery. James and Jack.  
What will the world conclude when they see thee  
In this sleabitten live●ie?  
We laugh, you lower, we sing, your serious state.  
Seems to affect the marbles fate,  
This discord is unmusical come, come,  
Uncase unmask', and let each room.  
Thou glidest through, so radiant appear,  
As if the orb of light moved there:  
Break out bright soul, & give our wonder birth  
At the Meridian of thy mirth.  
Trust meet'were good and rare, but I see plain,  
Thou bringest old fashions up again;  
Thy presence was a banquet and thou didst,  
Present a death's head in the midst.  
So all thy courtesy ru'ns upon cruches,  
Like him, makes a good feast, and grutches:  
But, prithee, shall I this a visit call?  
Sure thou cam'st to my funeral;  
Or is't because thy clothes 'gainst surfeits be, mementoes of mortality?  
Dost come to laugh, And set good cheer to wrack,  
And yet bring Lent upon thy back?  
Ne'er fear good Cos-Heres nothing needs,  
Such overmonito●y weeds;  
we have not to presnt you, what is rare  
Only y'are welcome to our country; fare;  
Good powdered beef, good mutton and good sherry,  
And so, and so, I pray be merry,  
With which accept our hearts; we could extend  
no more, should a'll the Gods descend.  
And if this paper find acceptance too,  
Tha●'s more sir than I promised you.  
But I had rather be abrupt then tedious,  
And therefore thus, and only thus,  
You come in mourning, but when you return,  
You may leave of, but we must mourn.   

A gratus ades To my highly honoured cousin Mr B. C. coming to Norwich.  
And art thou come boon Ben? then Norwich say,  
Thanks (noble Phosphor) for this wished for day  
Then welcome, welcome, be they ever dumb:  
That say not now welcome B. C. welcome:  
Had I been mute from birth, I now had broke,  
All tongue ties, and with dumb borne Atis spoke;  
As Jove came down the trifle to discuss,  
Twixt frogs and mice; so cam'st thou down to us;  
Both from above: though, here some difference lies;  
He came from heavens, thou from earth's paradise.  
Ye both descend, being both divinely bright,  
To d●zle our inferior Orb wib with light:  
The country swains 'cause they alas could spell  
No higher title, call thee Collenell;  
Some wiser though than others, reaping co●●,  
Think thou art Ceres, and resound their horn.  
Devoutly beg thy largesse, and out vie,  
The thunder with the ecch'o of their cry.  
But when thou camest in at Stephen's gate,  
Thou gav'st our city cause enough of prate;  
O how the people hurry, hurry run,  
To gaze upon thee as If more than man!  
What herds of Aproners at every look?  
Read on thy robes Norfolk's illustrious Duke?  
Weavers, like shutles, here, and there pe●p out,  
And make no workoned for the revel rout.  
Who finding how in vain they strive for room,  
Each in a fustian surrey to his loom.  
Re●u●nes, And armed with his well tried beam,  
Levels his passage through th' oposing stream;  
You'd laugh to see, how tailors skipped about,  
As mad as dogs to see themselves cut out.  
Wishing their needles had no eyes so they,  
(Poor thieves) might see their bellyful to day.  
The that her from the top o'th' house, seeing all,  
Capers as if he cared not for a fall;  
But 'tis too tedious to recite the rest,  
They that were part o'th' Crowd can tell you best.  
O how they shrunk into each others arm!  
'Twas a great mercy, that there was no harm●:  
Their bodies twined, and tongues lay never s●ill,  
As if the rout had been a twistring mill.  
In deed the Mayor, and all the scarlet Dons,  
The bells too, and the thunder thumping guns.  
Had been your entertainment; but of late,  
'tis superstition and grown out of date,  
Nor had I thought t'have written, but your advance.  
Constraindmee, Orpheus. plays, & trees must dance  
I am created post by my theme,  
Like Memnon's statute by Apollo's,. beam.   

To the worshipful A. D. his majesty's physician Crossing the Seas.  
ACcept his sad farewell, Sir, who here sings,  
As ●ying Swans do at ●canders springs;  
Farewell, Step there; O how the surges rise,  
●nto a brynit springtide from mine eyes?  
As if yet hope were left that these salt flows  
Might lend you Sea room, or else drown my woes:  
And lest you want wherewith to fill your sail,  
My sighs swell up themselves into a gale;  
If still becalmed, may you at least yet find,  
The proverb true in this, my Words, are wind.  
Mean time I shall to A●olus repair,  
That he would breathe you wind enough and fair;  
And then, to him commands the wavye Court,  
To chide the Dolphins from their ominous sport;  
Next i'll entreat the azure-mantled skies,  
To let their smiles, be your fair auguries;  
And may your thankful patients, beg of heaven  
Health for you, Sir, who health to them have given  
If among us to rearrive you please,  
We'll say, Phoebus comes from th' Antipodes.  
If your return though, be denied by fate;  
Live Nestor's years in Avicenna's state.  
And Aesculapius-like confirm the Earth  
With faith, that you are of immortal birth;  
This boon I beg, Sir, and this only one,  
Now, and then, think on your poor Stevenson.   

To the City of CRACOVIA.  
NOt out of Love, but fear of following evils,  
The moors of India sacrifice to devils;  
So we to Norwich did invite Sir Thomas,  
Only for this, to get him further from us.   

To Mr. R. C. upon The Mourning Ring he sent me.  
WHat, shall I laugh, or weep? this present, doth  
Present me a necessity of both:  
How can I choose but smile, when I behold  
My lucky stars laden with orient Gold?  
But when I see it through black Curtains peeping,  
Ah me! I think, &c. fall a-weeping,  
My passions fight and flow, and it appearrs,  
Excess of joy, as well as grief, finds tears;  
whilst I thus rapt Narcissus-like espy  
Sun shine, and showers, play April in mine eye;  
See how the Gold be peeps in sable shrouds,  
Like Phoebus' posting through the rain-swollen clouds;  
And well the simile holds, the black present  
●is setting, and the Gold his orience.  
Here night and day Luna and Sol appear,  
A● if true Aequinox were only here.  
Nor should I much mistake the Aequ●page,  
To callit the golden, in the iron age:  
I may go boast, I on my finger wear  
The pythiest Hyeroglyphick of the year:  
For I can summer in thy posy read,  
And winter to the life in thy death's head:  
Pretty, and precious gift, it shows to me  
Both purity, and perpetuity;  
For whilst the Gold thy pure love does commend,  
The Ring instructs my thanks to know no end.   

To— upon his giving me a Library.  
HOw say you now? think you, I do not please  
My friend well, to obtain such gifts as these?  
Wha● a whole Library at once? who looks  
Upon it, must conclude me in his books.   

To a Gentlewoman, that refused. A very rich Suitor, because he was not very handsome.  
Fair x, let me in this case advise,  
To quit your fancy: and give reason eyes:  
They that choose apples by their looks, are oft  
Foiled in their hopes, and for their folly scoffed.  
'tis not the outside makes the man, Alas  
A man's a man, had he no Nose on's face.  
Your Lapidaries not unoften note,  
The ●arest jewel in a ragged Coat:  
This Gentleman whose double duty serves you,  
For aught I know, is one that well deserves you.  
Forsake your eyes here, and trust to your ear,  
he's sober, steady, staid, and fit to steer  
In this tempestuous age: hard hap betides  
Such vessels as have green heads for their guides:  
But you shall ride amidst proud waves sccute,  
He being Pilot, And you Cynosure.  
I could both name the parties, and the places,  
Had bargains foul enough of the fair faces,  
Nor yet is liking always beauty's child,  
Some have more wit than so to be beguiled:  
Beauties a blossom, and so quickly fled,  
'tis scarce possessed, ere it be vanished:  
Strike while the Irons hot Cos. lest you find  
The Proverb true, occasions bald behind.  
To me the man seems passing lovely, Tush,  
His beauty's inward, Good w●ne needs no bush  
he's rich enough to make the world his debtor  
Love, and lay hold then seldom comes a better.  
I had not writ thus much, but that I know  
Your parents own it, and advise you so.  
Whose directory pleasure but ●ullfill,  
And you do well, though you do ne'er so ill:  
Read, and revise these lines, sweet Cos. lest you●  
whilst you yourself make fast, yourself undo.   

To a fair Lady.  
MADAM;  
Heard is the task to write to such as you,  
For if I give you but what's half your due,  
Such as are unacquainted with your worth;  
Are apt to say, I highly set you forth;  
Whilst these that know you, must conclude, with me,  
Your praise above the strain of flattery.  
They that ne'er saw the glory of the Sun,  
Would think the Moon lights only paragon;  
So fuch, to whom scarce a good face is known,  
Measure your beamfull beauty by their own;  
Whilst, saw they but your face, As in amaze  
They'd worship, what they wonder I so praise:  
Could you (Fair soul) but parcel out your graces,  
There were enough t'●nrich a thousand faces  
And leave yourself such store, as (though your light,  
Have made them stars) you'd still be Queen of night,  
But hold my Muse, my paper is half done  
And I have scarce her story yet begun.  
But that would ask (to tell you what I think)  
A world of paper, and a Sea of ink.  
Of ink said I? Ink alas! would make that,  
A spotted fame, that is immaculate,  
No, I will rather never write at all,  
Then mention her, who is all-sweet, in gall:  
he that the Bow-bell of her praise would ring,  
Must pluck a pinion from a Seraphins wing.  
And write in Nectar till her fame appears  
An anthem to the music of the spheres  
But to leave what only my wish effects,  
My fancy to what's feasible directs;  
I'll rob the Swan of her white quill and then  
With the same penknife that I make my pen,  
I'll lance my purple veins, and therewith write  
Her story, like herself in red, and white.  
And when my blood has all forsook my veins,  
Let me but be her Martyr for my pains.   

To my Mistress.  
SO love me ever all ye powers divine;  
As I love her, whom hope persuades is mine:  
Rich then and happy were I, thus to win  
A beauty, Heaven without, and Heaven within,  
Had I the world (as Alexander's heir)  
Left me, a patrimony high, and fair  
Enough ye'd think, yet I for all this store,  
Except she whom I love, love me; am poor.   

The middle Sister.  
FAIREST,  
D●me nature seems to make your Sisters stand  
As handmaids, that attend on either hand;  
To right, or left I turn not, Poets say  
The middle is the best, and safest way.  
I view the Temples, and I find them three,  
But still the middle Temple goes for me:  
Your Sisters are like banks on either side,  
Whilst you, the crystal stream, betwixt them glide;  
'tis light at morn, and when the day declines,  
But yet, the brightest Sun at midday shines:  
Methinks your Sisters stand on either side,  
L●ke bridemaids, you in middle like a bride,  
Doubtless in you the middle grace I see  
O● this side Faith, on that side Charity;  
My fancy seems to dictate to my sense  
A Cawsway, twixt two Ditches or its fence.  
The smooth and silent floods, in middle flow,  
B●●●he shores murmur; cause thwaters low.  
And now I tell you, but what the world knows  
Full well, betwixt two nettles sits a Ros●.   

The jovial Journey.  
UP Phoebus up, and guild the horizon,  
For love, and beauty, are a progress gone.  
Stand not to gaze, lest thy too curious eye,  
A fairer Daph●e, in this Coach espic;  
And thou great Prince of winds vouchsafe to us  
The gentle gusts of sweet breathed Zephyrus:  
Come ye auspicious Choristers of the air,  
Let these fair Ladies see ye p●omise fair.  
Cherp up (sweet Siren of the woods) ne'er fear  
Here is no Tereus, come be merry here.  
And if the dust, itself too proudly rears,  
Some gentle Cloud rebuke it with its ●eares:  
Let the earth's green Plush, and floscular stars out vie  
The brighter Orbs, of the fi●st warning sky;  
Let every b●ook present so●e pretry toy,  
And every hedge be lined with travellers joy,  
Grant fates, no inauspicious hare may chance  
To cross, ye, through unlucky ignorance;  
But as the morning, so the evening may  
Answer the beauty 〈◊〉 a glorious day.  
Then Sun, Wind, Birds, rain, Earth and flowers conspite  
A harmony, next the ●elestiall choir.  
And whe● 〈◊〉 meet, be your embraces such  
As lovers, that each ●inu●s absence grudge.  
Whilst ●ll that see, admire your greeting kiss,  
As if the body met the soul in bliss.   

To my rival. Presenting my Mrs. Gold upon Her journey.  
How now (my heart of gold) what mean these fleeces?  
Hast broke thy heart and & given it her in pieces?  
Or didst thou throw thy gold into her lap,  
A ransom for thy ignorant escape?  
Wouldst else be in the list of same enrolld,  
To court thy love like Jove in shours of gold.  
State-policy in faith, they wine the Towers,  
That shoot gold bullets at the governors.  
Thou hast good reason too, to use this sort,  
Of golden battery, to so strong a fort,  
Beielve me, this was a well covered bait,  
You hope, she will in love's exchange repay't.  
I hope so to, faith it was savey sport,  
Should you not get her portion mortgaged fort.  
'Tmay be you were in fear to lose it, and  
Made an assurance office of her hand.  
Or did the charmefull sparkles of her eye,  
Dant your faint heart int' a delivery?  
Go charge the country then, for it was done  
I am your witness beetween sun, & sun:  
You that your gold thus to a virgin yield,  
Doubtless a bush had robbed you in the field;  
How if some thief should steal away her heart,  
And of her portion take thy gold in part?  
This were a double misery, for than you  
lose both your gold, and your adventure too.  
'tTmay be you think you have good anchor-hold,  
And in her pocket's bottom thrust your gold.  
Maidens are mutable, be wise, beware,  
The wind, & waves, not more unconstant are.  
But you have balanced her with gold, lest she  
Should suffer shipwreck in her levity:  
Faith you abuse your self and her much more  
To give her money; Give it to a whore;  
For I must answer for her, she don't carry,  
The needy garb, of one that's mercenary:  
I wonder she would take, But 'tis an old  
Proverb; that none but madfolke refuse gold.  
But all the world (should you be now deseited)  
Would say, A fool and's money is soon paited   

Upon a Porter Catchi●g a Gentlewoman as she passed by him.  
Last night a Porter, standing by the pie,  
At Algate, saw a handsome lass come by,  
To whom he s●●w with all his speed to court her,  
I wonder, for she did not call a porter.  
Still he did hug and in his arms enfold her,  
As if he meant to heave her on his shoulder:  
He wound her so, a slander by strait swore,  
Some gentleman had sent him for a whore.  
She called him rogue, and sure she called him right  
Yet he, she should not go, swore by his light  
Porter said I take he●de, though she be not,  
Too heavy, firrah, she may be too hot.  
Besides she's of your trade, And free, she bears  
As many burdens as you for your ears:  
Though with this difference, she bears her pack,  
Upon her belly● you upon your back.  
Ye both wear bags, distinguist the same way,  
With friars she of black, and you of grey;  
You have a pad, and she, for aught I saw,  
Was like enough to have a pad i'th' straw:  
You have a Cord you do about you cast  
She had a cordie robe about her wast:  
Both have your aprons. Say you have a frock,  
So she li●es that will rhyme to it a smock.  
she's called upon, and calls upon her too  
Sometimes a Porter such a knave as you.  
But I perceive you well whereto she ply' de  
And had the fit come on you now to ●ide:  
If not, you are a lasi● looby right,  
To struggle with a burden was so light.   

At a tapster's wedding.  
FAith i will tell you now a pr●ttie trick,  
This ●apster, got the wench ●ust in the nick,  
She was; stay there! But why should I be loath  
To tell the truth? she was, as light as froth:  
Hence I perceive, the Proverbs som●●mes crossed,  
For she that's light, does not lie uppermost.  
She had been broached a hundred times before,  
No matter, he had tapped as many more:  
she's modest though, as I'm an honest man  
She blushes, just l●ke any C●dar ●an.  
And cause she'll be a smi●king 〈◊〉, she swear  
she'll snatch the smiles from all the laughing bear,  
But here's enough of her, let's kiss the Cup  
And if her Husband won●: we●● step her up.  
As for his part, he was so crank, his gear  
Out of his codpiece, flew like bottle bear.  
But she hoping the worst did clap her thigh  
Close to the— that ne'er a d●op went by.  
She was a thrifty wench he got from Wopping,  
That thought it sin to lose the least tap-droping.  
I heard her say myself though he should fill her  
Up to the brim, he should not want a Killer:  
She told him of his wenching too, and swore  
Unless he left it, she would quit his score;  
Nor should he ramble up and down the Town  
Nor draw through an● Fasset but her own  
Faith if you do, (and out an Oath she lashes)  
I'll find you out among your balderdashes)  
And if you● tralops must not be forborn,  
I'll break your pots: And make you drink in horn.  
But th'end the jest adding one more t'out pass it  
See here the Spiggit's marrig●d to the Fasset.   

Summer.  
SNakes cast their skins, and they are young ag●●  
Summer the substance, winter the cast skin:  
Summer is Youth in sprightly Aequipag●,  
Winter's decrepit crazy, useless Age.  
Sol's aureat be●mes so guild the world's vast stage,  
'twere small mistake, to callit the golden age;  
Summer all praise, what need it then a Poet  
to speak it fair? since who know nought else, know it  
I might embellish summers sweet complexion,  
Call Winter death; Summer the resurrection.  
And when ●y tale with all ●y art is told,  
What will the world conclude my news, but old?  
Nor is it more than children use to say,  
A summers' evening, is a winter's day.  
But I'll abruptly off, and what I have,  
Begun absurdly, as absurdly leave;  
lest I go scale the spheres, and blind with light  
Set in a cloud & simply say, Good night:   

In praise of winter.  
HOnour and Age inhabit the same sphere,  
Winter is the antiquity of the year:  
Grave signior Hiems, so his hoary pate,  
And snowy beard, denounce his aged state.  
See but how like a statlye traveller,  
Northward he comes; Autumne's his harbinger,  
That bids the trees unmask, unueyle their crests.  
That he may read submission on their breasts.  
Whilst their green offspring lowly fall, to greet  
The potent presence of his stable feet.  
The gaudy banks pack up alas! here comes  
No midwise April, to unteeme their wombs.  
Nay here the showered down waters, stand amazed,  
Rivers are chrystallined, Neptun●s hall is glazed,  
Spouts have their pendents, paltry thatch receives  
Translucent crystal, And adorns his Eaves.  
Jaeda's a fable, but I here presume  
To justify, that Jove descends in plume.  
And that the stupid Earth may know he comes,  
The Heavens send down whole showers of Sugar plums.  
Whilst streets are paved with Pearl: Let summer boast  
Such pomp, such cates, and all my praise is lost.  
But here's not all of winter: you shall 〈◊〉.  
 
How 〈…〉 Ae●lian tug,  
But 〈…〉 white ●ugge?  
We may 〈…〉 he can  
Enjoin the 〈…〉 a man.  
The saucy Dus● 〈…〉, and mire,  
Merits no mention, 〈…〉 are higher:  
S●●mer breeds surf●●●, and infects the bl●ud,  
Winter is h●ile again, and makes all good:  
Is beauty of est 'em? then winter can  
Boast, he abstergeth Su●mers freckled ●an:  
Ladies so spruce to captivate men's sight,  
Borrow March winds to make that spruceness white.  
Winter makes men courageous, who dare  
Dance upon Th●tis lap at midsummer.  
In summer's days even length, and laziness meet  
Winters are short, The Proverbs, short and sweet.  
There's none so bad to be called dog-days here,  
No no we move not in so base a sphere:  
No scorching Sun offends, any man may  
With a good faggot make a summer's day.  
What entertainment to a winter's toast?  
What Christmas, pray, can June or July beast?  
Summer alas hath no Aeolian breath,  
To rescue his perishing souls from death,  
Flame-coloured hearth, even ●eady to expire,  
Looks pale as ashes, Sol puts out the fire,  
Trees straight are lopped then and their verdant locks  
Borrowed, to border o●t the chimney stocks;  
Set out with trunks of trees, stumps, arms and all,  
As if the chimney were some hospital:  
In winter time the hea●th stands alter wise,  
And men with hands erected sacrifice.  
Whilst in a round the Priests of Bacchus sing  
Ingenious Anthems, to their grape-crowned King:  
In winter men at cold meat make a pish,  
In Su●mer they are glad of such a dish;  
Winter hath boiled, and baked, and roast, Ala●!  
Su●mer turns men, as men do beasts, to grass.  
Winter makes wars of tease, who would not that  
If peace and plenty have no praise, than whnt?  
I might enlarge myself, but thus far may,  
Suffice to travel on a winter's day.  
Who likes not this, a god's name let him run  
Out of God's blessings, into the warm sun.   

Upon Yorkshire Ale.  

1.  
POx take your Yorkshire Ale,  
It did so firk my ta●le  
That that I had like beshit me;  
Besides, so damned a tumour  
Postest its devilish humour,  
As it had almost split me.   

2.  
Now hang thee tike of York,  
Thou giv'st us neither Cork,  
Nor yet convenient wedges;  
And know'st thy wily wort,  
Is wont to make us squort  
Over a thousand hedges.   

3.  
That men should sit and fuddle  
In such a sink of puddle  
And to, and fro so put her;  
Just such Ambrosia sucks  
A Company of Ducks  
Out of a filthy gutter.   

4.  
For my part I'll get bayed  
And in my belly lay't  
Having drunk this dirty flood:  
What ere my palate feels,  
There cannot but be Eels  
Where there is so much mud.   

5.  
No marl' such nappy stuff  
As falling Band, and ruff  
Throughout the city, haunts it.  
When I drink any more,  
Then call me such a whore,  
As i'll call her that launts it.   

6.  
Doubt less the men are mad  
Where water may be had  
That soop such nasty gore.  
Some call't a remedy  
Against the stone, but I  
Have laid a stone at door.  
To humour palates, But for mine alone  
Give me your dealing and your drink right down.  
Have at thee then (my boy) for a blithe pull,  
We'll wrap our noses up in thy lamb's wool:  
And when our Cups advance a lofty h●mme,  
we'll hum thee up Io●n of Jerusalem.    

The Postscript. To the precedent Poem.  
BUt what? your angry, 'twas not my intent  
To slay the Lamb: or hurt the innocent.  
Whist! whist for shame! least people as they pass  
Say, Look ye there dwells Baalam and his Ass.  
Come Jack be wise and thyself sober keep  
And thou shalt be mine Host, when they are Sheep  
Tell them the reckoning twice twelve pence a peece's  
J'll warrant thee that thou shalt get their fleeces;  
And let them then come, and laugh thee to scorn  
When thou hast turned them out, like sheep new shorn.   

In Commendation of Yorkshire Ale.  

WOman be nimble, and let's see thy craft,  
My early stomach craves a morning's draft;  
Bring me that Indian pot whence I may sipp  
The Nectar of black Cleopatra's lip:    

To my right well recko●d host at the Lamb.  

MJne host, or shepherd which is fitter title  
Since you keep theep, though in the barley pytle;  
They say, there's many a well provided ram  
Comes to turn of his horn with your sweet Lamb  
The fallow Ewes when the Tups are fled,  
Set too't, and swear they'll drink all weathers dead.  
This though, is much complained of, that you keep  
An old brown cur to worry all your sheep.  
Nay more, as some report that have been there,  
There is a kind of magic in your beer:  
And Hocus pocus draws it too, or else  
It turns your sheep to foxes first, And then  
A game at Noddy, There's your sheep again:  
Sure Circe taught thy Cup this cunning charm  
To metamorphose with so little harm.   

But stay! you keep a scriu'ners' shop me think  
Where pipes for pens, and best bear, serves for Jnk;  
Y-have clarks too, and industrious lads, for some  
Run, making of Indentures all th' way home.  
Else bedding with the Lamb, they rub their eyes  
And shake their ears, and with the lark they rise.  
J'll come and see thee faith mine host, perhaps  
Bring thee as many guests, as thou hast taps.  
Then wormwood Succory, scurvygrass, & Sage  
With Lemon, shall advance in Aequ●page  
The marrow of Malt: where the nut brown toast  
Smiles in the flowery Ale, whose mirthful host  
Makes me turn mariner, and hither sail  
To court the confines of this famous Ale.  
This noble Ale, this most substantial liquour,  
That cheers the Stade, and makes the genius quicker,  
Idiots a s●●p board sick, accuse the Seas,  
Whilst their own foul stomachs are the disease  
So fools pick quarrel with pure cleansing Ale  
Because it doth Sir reverence wring their ta●k:  
Me thinks this Ale, and the old wise agree,  
So well, as Hero and her Nurse I see.  
Would but good fellows meet, our daily club  
Should act the Sisters at the Danaan tub:  
But stay, I fear, while I thus idolize  
The shrine of Ale, I but enhance the price,  
Be therefore this sufficient to be said,  
Alive 'tis Ale, And Aqua vitae, dead.    

Upon a hungry gutted Porter.  
NO marvel Chapman falls so to the scrap, she first, and best part of his name is chap:  
Which if a man but spell, he easily can  
Perceive, more letters go to Chap, than man.  
Yet this is all but mirth, although perhaps  
He may conceit I take him on the Chaps.  
Well if I do, my frolic is to swap  
My nimble brain, against his nimble chap.  
Yet this by way of leave i'll add, a more  
In sitting poster never kept a door.  
How should he ope it? for he never hears  
If it be true, The belly hath no ears.   

E. B. To his noble friend, that gave him a new pair of Boots, and Gloves.  
— Odds foot.  
I Never drew on a completer Boot;  
The blushing top makes me top gallant, and  
Me thinks I do on beds of Roses stand:  
Nay even the very legs do seem to owe  
Their orient tincture to the sons of Bow:  
Nor can I think but Jove-loved-io's hide  
Was purchased, to complete this Ocrean pride:  
Who having been the thunderers courtesan,  
Blushes to crib it with the Calves of man:  
The wax was borrowed from the lilies bed,  
And the three sister's span, and cut the thread.  
The Boot in the exactest mode doth set,  
All (in a word) from top to toe is neat.  
As for the Shoemaker I can only tell,  
For one he never saw, he fits me well.  
Your Gloves too make me spruce, as John a Gant  
Protest (sweet Sir) you are right Cordevant,  
For you have given me Boots, and Gloves to boot  
What shall I say? y'have bound me, hand and foot.   

A. B. to his shoemaker.  
Sirrah look to 't I shall reduce your pride;  
Rip up your roguery and tew your hide.  
My weather long shall apt a time for th'n●nce  
To strcatch the latchets of your logger sconce.  
You were too high ith'instep, I'm afraid,  
Your loftiness will soon be under laid;  
Crispin couched in a shoemakers disguise,  
'cause none so base to cheat inquiring eyes.  
Yet to sit me should Crispin come to do't,  
Crispin, by Jove he came but to my foot.  
And dost thou wretch to reach this head of mine,  
Muster thy brussels as the Porcupin●  
Her quills' Presumptuous trash, I could afford,  
To send the challenge to the cutting board;  
New vamp your manners; & more modish bee,  
lest Peter stretch you on a cross graind tree:  
Where being once set up, tis'ten to one,  
You'll find it harder to come off, than one:  
Villian avant, henceforth ne'er lock to have  
The length of my foot, since y'have played the knave.  
Noah Noah, I view your bill and there I see,  
The very place where my shoe pinches me;  
But make your market pray of what is past,  
Fellow beleveed of me I've had y'our last:  
And that the world may see in every line,  
I first thy foot, as thou hast fitted mine.  
Thus I in fine translate thee, go, extend  
Thy base spun thread, to make a cobbler's end.   

Upon his giving a pair of shoes to get the former paper answered.  
Silly, and sense less, knocked there heads together,  
To sorge a foolish answer, knowing neither.  
To whom, nor how, only they would b'lurt forth.  
Some thing, that men might see their want of worth.  
I'll bray you in my mortar fools, and then,  
Make ye a pastime for the worst of men.  
Incorporate ye vessels, base absurd,  
With Album Graecum, and the devil's turd.  
Compound ye up into a pocky pill,  
With C. & G. & D. & Sarseperill,  
And Sassafras, whilst all that see ye, shall  
Say ye are rogues alexipharmacal.  
I hope it shall suffice, when I have brought,  
Your bodies into atoms, worse than nought;  
Some fishwives kissed your fancies, taught ye prat●  
The rabulous dialect of Billings gate.  
And yet I liked your tail timber for it,  
Came Just in time as I had list to sh—  
Sans Ceremonic then end these jars,  
You and your Poet after kiss mine A—  
But didst thou think up to revenge to climb?  
By a poor mercenary, hacking rhyme, Or that thou couldst thy leathern purse-strings stretch,  
Unto the latitude my brains would reach?  
Away, poor fool! when my keen satyrs come,  
Off with your hat, and scrape your answer, mum.  
Shouldst thou buy lines, to answer me thou fop  
I'd write, till't cost thee all the shoes i'th' shop.   

Alice Goffe. A poor woman taken stealing soap.  
Why how now woman? what's the news? belike  
You serveed the grocer but a slippery trick.  
'Twas very cheap, nay marry you must thrive,  
If we pay ten, & you get under five.  
But stay they say the grocer turned his eyes,  
And you stole, both the custom, and excise:  
And well enough you did, but a rope  
The mischief lies, you should have left the soap.  
You made wash way with't, being but a reach,  
But have a care, i'th' end 'tmay cost a stretch.  
You know the broverb, ti's as true as old,  
If the one chance to slip, t'other, will hold.  
Alas you never could have stoll'ne a badder,  
Commodity, soap brings you to the ladder.  
You think to have't with a wet finger, but  
A cleanly thief had better be a slut.  
Come, Come, stay the hogs leisure pray, I hope  
As good as you doth wash with Lincoln shrie soap,  
If you steal soap to make your clothes so fine,  
You le bring yourself, as well as them, to th'line.  
Yet I confess, 'twas pity goody Goffe,  
Stealing good soap, you came no cleanlyer of.   

To my Noble Friend.  
THis afternoon your riding Boots and bands,  
Your good grey cloak, and Gloves came to my hands;  
The Gloves were trim, the Cloak most purely feels,  
The bands, and Boots have tied me neck & heel.   

To the same Gentleman desiring my verses upon any price and on his sending me a new Suit.  
PRice? out upon't! what price? pray do you think?  
A piece of paper, and a little ink?  
If you like our poetic merchandise,  
Traffic, and your acceptance is the price.  
For me I think it even in justice meet,  
So long as you find Boots, that we find feet:  
Sir in a word, your love returns with ours,  
Our suit accepted was, and so is yours.   

To a school master. In excuse of his scholar G. Green.  
THis dusky morn the youth was overseen.  
Pardon good Sir, in truth the boy is Green.   

To my valued friend: A new-year's gift.  
HAd I but Midas chemic touch,  
My new years gift should now be such  
Europe should it admire: But I  
Talk of Larks in a falling sky;  
In stead therefore of hopeless pelf,  
Deyne but acceptance, and myself.  
Am your oblation, but alas!  
How shall this gift for current pass?  
Since what I here present unto you,  
Being given you long a go●I owe you;  
Since than our gifts prove empty dishes,  
we'll furnish them with wholesome wishes:  
Our first be this, where e'er you come;  
May you but view, and overcome;  
Weed wish you younger brothers wit,  
But that we see y'abound with it.  
May she that moves your amorous thirst  
Be wounded, and your pris●er first;  
And let her unconcealed fires  
Foment your temperate desires,  
May favouring heaven, lend her no rest  
On any Pillow but your breast;  
And when glad Hymen's holy twine,  
Hath clapped her lily hand in thine,  
Then let thine arms at once enfold  
Fair Helen's face, and Danae's Gold:  
May all her care, and study be,  
To love, and be beloved of thee;  
And to eternize mutual favour,  
H●avens make her such as thou wouldst have her  
I envy, any foes shall make ye,  
Be this their curse, A Good year take ye.   

ALE.  

IS this that Ale to which the Dyers flew  
So fast, to wad their Copper noses blue,  
Bidding old stingo cutthroat bear, adieu?  
Then give us Ale.   

Is this that jolly juice, those bowling bats  
Soaked in, And on their shoulders set their fatts  
With Rains-heads, spite of rainbows in their hats?  
Then give us Ale.   

Is thi● that Yorkshire stuff did so confound;  
And send a way the Weavers shuttle crowned,  
That they could neither find nor feel the ground?  
Then give us Ale.   

Is this that temple, where the weavers lay  
To meet the merry Merchants, day by day,  
And double Ale their single stuffs away?  
Then give us Ale.   

Is this that so much talked of Northern hum,  
For which both simpletons and s●ges come  
Is this that Lantatan— tanta? so— but mum.  
Then give us Ale.   

Is this that Ale that makes you dyers be  
So oft from home? pray tell me where were ye?  
Should all be hanged that from their Colours flee  
Then give us Ale.   

Is this that same that did so much besot  
The toasted Comber, as he quite for got  
His own, And now calls for the other pot?  
Then give us Ale.   

Yea give us Ale, for now I find it true,  
That Merchants, Weavers, Comber's, dyer's too,  
And all the world, this liquour turns true blue:  
Then give us Ale.   

As for your Poet his unfeigned wishes  
Are, that the Ocean were such Ale as this is,  
That ye, and all true trouts might drink like fishes.  
Then give us Ale:   

And for oled Margery that Northern minks,  
For my part, such Ale as, she brews, she drinks.    

A Visit.  
LAst Fry day, to my neighbour's house i slept,  
To s●e what hospitality he kept;  
Soon I espid his chimney like a Maiden  
In the green sickness, with her colour fading,  
Blushless, and bleath, only herein they sever:  
This a numb palsy hath, and that a fever:  
Neighbour said I, your chimneys to be let  
Why (Sir) quoth he, you see no bill on't yet;  
Well then, said I, to put you out of doubt,  
I guess so, cause your fire is going out.   

To the World.  
SOme say Deucalion made the World  
Rep●pulous, with stones he hurled  
Over his shoulder; On my life  
'tis false, he hurled them o'er his wife;  
And ever since 'thas been the fashion,  
So to hurl stones in generation.   

O. P. to A. C. that oversold him a Horse to pay him at the day of his marriage, he being contracted and to marry with in ten days: O. P. not dreaming of any such matter.  
WHy how now jockey? what upon the Catch?  
Had I suspected yours, 't've been no match.  
Look how the Proverbs crossed, you're hastily bent  
To marry, yet not you, but I repent.  
How have my stars my credulous hopes still crossed?  
You ride a cockhorse: I must pay the Post.  
Hence I the er●ame of the conceit espy,  
You were though close, as hot upon't as I;  
But I had smelled you out, and stopped your course,  
Had I had as much forecast as my horse.  
What will men say to whom this stories told?  
But I and not my horse, am bought and sold.  
You have my money, and I hope with it  
That I have paid for both your horse, and wit  
Whilst it must be of all the world confessed,  
On your side a good bargain, mine, good jest.  
But don and past, I shall revive no strife,  
But take my beast, Sir, as you take your wife.  
Whom herein I presume I make my debtor,  
You, double paid, must do your work the better:  
In brief 'tis thus, neither better nor worse  
You up, and ride, and I must hold your horse.  
Whilst I conclude as sad experience teaches,  
Not only you, but your horse over-reaches;  
But 'twas so close, so slighly brought about,  
Neither my horse, nor I could stumbleed out.  
Yet thus much might be spoken on my side,  
Selling your horse, who'd think you meant to ride?  
But 'twas my error to conceive you lacked  
A Nag, your wife I hope found one well backed.  
I might have looked him in the mouth I see,  
Neither your horse, nor you ●re over free:  
My bargain, Sir, was bad, and you have done me  
Some injury with mine own horse t'out run me,  
But yet if your civility extends  
To this requirall, we are absolute friends;  
Since you are he, whom I did so confide in,  
You'll only lend me your old boots to ride in.   

Upon the name of the same horse being called Butler.  
BUtler! why that sounds draft horse, but I see  
That thou canst scarce draw thy legs after thee.  
But yet thy crafty Master laid a ginn  
And thou, and he, made shift to draw me in.  
But Troy will tell thee these are things of course,  
Sinon could do it with a wooden horse.   

Pseudo Poeta in a paper of false verses inveighing against Tantalia for her lying tales.  
SHall I condemn Tantalia, and not you?  
Her tales were false, your verses are not true.  
Be gentle pray, you seem to have forgot  
The proverb, whilst the kill upbraids the pot.  
Come, ye are guilty both, of oversight,  
Neither your verses, nor her tales are right.  
Yea I could show you too as many slips  
In your false feet, as in her faltering lip●;  
But I excuse ye both, for you perchance  
As well as she, did it in ignorance.  Veniam petimus dabimus que.  

Upon— his Picture prefixed to his almanac.  
WHat base aspect is this? didst thou devise  
This haggy look, to be thought weather wise?  
Gypsies do just the same, they get an ill  
And counterfeit complexion, that's their skill.  
But thou, as thine own patron didst advance  
This front; A lie had need of countenance.  
Whence, by the by, no wiseman undertakes,  
The patronage of any almanacs.  
Yet I durst swear, there is, if truth were known  
Nothing in thine, but the fool's face thine own.  
That preface false and foul nor is that yet  
Thine own, but like the rest they counterfeit.  
But mumm, since I have lately understood.  
That you with the four hundred prophecy good.  
Yet thus by way of caution, take heed how,  
You tell a lie, And set a face on't too.   

To Mr.— upon his silly Epitaph in print.  
But didst thou pump this lamentable stuff?  
P●trest the lines are pitiful enough;  
Th' are somewhat shallow, but if thou wouldst keep her  
I mmortall, let th' ingraver sink them deeper.  
Thou, for the funeral, didst thy verses sort,  
A● men do sugar plums, some long, some short:  
●Twas good luck though, they to thearse were pined  
Else being lame thaed sure been left behined:  
But have a care, lest with affront you greet.  
The collenell, to send his wife a sheet;  
Sure she was rich enough, to leave behind her  
Other gate stuff, than thy foul sheet, to wind her.  
Didst thou intend this sing song to liar honour?  
Thou'dst played the Sexton, & thrown dirt upon her.  
Thou shouldst have lighted too thy dismal dashes  
At the next torch, and cried ashes to ashes:  
Then, as her priest, or poet choose you whether,  
Thou'dst buried same, and body both together.  
Hadst thou sopped sack, it would have brought thy chymes,  
In better tune and taught thee loftier ryines.  
But ah! thy, muddy fancy shows me clear.  
Thou stoodst among the beggars, served with bear.  
Thou'dst better brook an elegiak jest,  
And made an affidavit mortua est,  
Ye● 'twas well done t'avouch it with thy name,  
lest honest men should suffer for thy shame.  
Thou sayst thy belly shakd when thou didst writ,  
I think so too, the devil a verse was right.  
When my ●ll fortune's dead, and I would laugh,  
He send for thee to jerk an Epitaph.  
Thou wouldst be both a Poet, and Attorney,  
Alas thy brains won't serve thee half the journey  
Wouldst be a poet and attorney? Hark  
What I advise, learn first to be a clerk.  
But here's enough; he that writ this, he knows,  
The muses never dwell in Silly house.   

On the gunpowder treason.  
Now, fools! how think ye is there not a God?  
Ask but your backs, that smart with your own rod.  
When ye prepared this cup, did ye then think,  
The d●egs should be the draught yourselves must drink?  
Doubtless, ye'd not have digged so deep a pit,  
Had ye but dreamt yourselves should handsel it:  
Bow black was this eclipse? what meantt ye by't?  
A flame, and yet no light; 'twas hell fire right.  
Was ever vulcan matched with such a horn?  
But he that sat in heaven laughed ye to scorn.  
What at one blow both court and commons? pish  
'Twas but a falsify, a Call wish'  
Yea but false fire, by heaven the touch hole was,  
So stopped the flame could not to th' barrel pass.  
Blessed be the churches great protector for't!  
'Twas ye gave fire, but we gave the report.  
Infernal angel's sight with Gabriel,  
And heaven itself seems undermined by hell.  
But O how vainly the black brood of night.  
Martial their mates against the sons of light?  
Fear not Bethulin. Holoferenes shall,  
Be dead drunk, and by his own fawehin fall.  
Goliah's boasts are breathless, merciless Mydian●  
Must buckle to the brandished blade of Gideon.  
We need not fear, nor care we though hell knock  
Our temple's built on an impregnable rack;  
Preserved by providence. Babel's bats may kick  
But never move our heaven sixt candle stick,  
'tis Rome must ruin Rome, 'tis not your begins,  
Are able to ensnare us, but our sins:  
Puff till ye pant again, alas! fond foe,  
You do but ashes off our altars blow.  
And whilst your hell● hatched plots, your hate reveal  
You don't extinguish, but inflame our zeal.  
The wind, that shakes the boughs, fastens the root;  
And you confirm us, whilst ye go about.  
Thus to supplant us; ●ush! ye do but hence,  
Endear us to our God, for new defence.  
But would you be revenged? then thus let't be,  
Plot so, as he that made the eye, Mayn't see.   

To the right honourable the C. of D●RSET, Promising a Gentleman her 〈◊〉 in marriage.  
MADAM,  
THe charmefull language from your lips distilled  
My ravished ears with heavenly music filled.  
Had I led Love unto your niece's heart;  
And prayed him there transsix his keenest dart  
His being blind would have left him exempt  
From penalty, And charged the whole attempt  
On my account, whose boldness durst aspire  
(Prometheus like) unto celestial fire.  
'twere secriledged, and just such, to bereave  
Dia●● of a Numph, without her leave.  
Or steal a star from off his region  
Whilst Phebe slept with her Endymion.  
I had been felon to your honour's blood  
And stolen a cignet from that royal flood.  
Had not your grace first given me my book  
The golden sceptre of your gracious look.  
But now with humble confidence I resort  
To this fair stream, having your warrant for't  
Only let me beseech your honour that  
You'd ratify it with a second date.  
Then being armed with this encouragement  
My next address is to the Lady bent:  
My fortune's balance, on whose only breath'  
Depends the sentence of my life, or death.  
If such a match felicitate my life,  
I'll treat her as ●y Mistress though my wis.  
I'll study what may please her, and contend,  
With fate, to make her happy to the end.  
As for you gracious madam) deign me still,  
The clear beams of your ladyships good will:  
So shall I be assured what I commence.  
Shall ripne in such sun light influence:  
Mean while no thought shall from my breast arise  
But what I dare present as sacrifice.  
Thus i return myself to both, whilst she.  
Possess my heart; your grace commands my knee.   

The weaver's Memento mori.  
AN honest weaver willing to make sure  
His soul and body with arts ligatur.  
Betook him to his trade, and having got  
The knack on't, knit them on a weaver's knot.  
But death a crafty merchant found a brack,  
And let him plainly see 'twould hold no tack,  
Here's stuf●e quoth he, alas 'twill scarce be worth  
The looking on, when i have laid it forth.  
Where is the fresh gloss, is this the lively red?  
You spoke of? tush 'tis ●aded, fled, and dead.  
Alack and well ● day the weaver said,  
How dearly have for this colour paid?  
And yet it gives you no content, but J.  
Poor ● must let, must leave my work and die.  
Ah! me impartial death where thou dost come,  
Thou either cutte'st of, or concludst the thrum.  
My beam is strong, but strength will not prevail  
Golyah's spear stout as my beam did fail:  
My nimble shuttle flitting here, and there,  
Presents my life's in stable character:  
Mark but how swift it to its exit tends,  
So fleetly fly we all unto our our ends:  
It puts but forth, and at its port arrives,  
So doth our death begin even with our lives.  
My globe like wheel about its pole is hurled,  
Just as the heavens are rapt about the world.  
And turning to my filling boy behind me'  
His winding pipes, does of my wind pipe mind me.  
If he stand still i must not work, if the air,  
Fill not my pipes my work will soon impair,  
A constant motion to my trade belongs,  
So nature hath her loom, my breast, my lungs▪  
My bloods' her posting shutle swiftly flies,  
Through the strait conduits of my arteries.  
My purple veins her warping is, my hair  
My tendons find, my nerves her tackling are.  
My solid parts, my able bones are some,  
Appointed beams, some holdfasts of her loom.  
And thus in there own lomes do all men weav●,  
And women too from cradle to their grave.  
Nor cease we all above a minute's breath,  
Till we be turned out of work by death.  
Thus from those instruments by which Jearnt  
My livelihood, to die I likewise learned.  
I look but on my eyes, And I can read,  
In them the separation of my thread.  
In laying of my colours, still I found,  
The lowest, a memento of the ground.  
The fashions teach me since they keep no stay,  
The fashion of this world passesaway,  
Come then and welcome death I have enough  
Of this vain world, It's frail, and druggie stuff.  
Can tempt mine eyes no more, come fetch me home  
I'll give my life, for death; my loom for loam   

To Constantia  
Let others ply the oars twixt doubts and fears,  
For I am past those rocks, those tides of tears.  
My sullen star is fallen, war's past, and I  
Laiden with trophies of my victory.  
How do I bless my fate that I did meet?  
With one so 〈◊〉, so faithful, and so sweet.  
My humble knee bows henceforth to no shrine,  
(Though Venus were thy rival) but to thine.  
Happy my dearest, happy he may lie,  
Under the tropic of thy gracious eye.  
Nothing but death shall my firm faith remove,  
Nothing but the cold flore shall cool my love.  
The G●rdeon knot that could not be untied  
By art, did Alexander's sword divide.  
Our love knot's faster, nor shall arms, nor arts  
Vnlink the chain of our united hearts.  
The noon-eyed sun may chance run retrograde,  
And as a Daphne follow his own shade.  
Heaven may descend to earth, And earth aspire  
To Heaven. And water be at peace with fire,  
Fishes and fowls may change their elements,  
And take a glory in their new contents.  
But when I fail, but when I cease to love,  
The centre shall from its fixed base remove,  
when I divid the thread our loves have spun,  
The streams shall back upon there fountains run.  
This I conclude a possibiltie,  
I may forget my name; but never thee.  
Ceres' sickle; whether art thou gone.  
Seeest not our hopes into full harvest grown?  
Come boonest ●acchus, come let's have a health,  
To our best wishes; love hath store of wealth.  
View here our vintage, see our blessed increase,  
Of swelling grapes that only want the press.  
Hast Hymen hast, for we must find in you,  
The end of our desires and verses too.   

To Bovino.  
You bull it Sir, as if you meant a prize,  
With milo at the bovine exercise.  
Push for ward● your good motion Sir, you may,  
Increase my landlord's cornucopia.  
But to speak naked truth they say that you,  
Do not run to the bull, but to the cow.  
Where you yourself in manner of a bull,  
Do give Europa her white belly full.  
And as 'tis fit you should having gone halves  
In getting, now you help to keep the Calves.  
But have a care St. Stephen's wide gates are near,  
You'll run yourself ou● ere you be aware.   

The FLEETS.  
MY wishes greet  
The English fleet  
May no storms toss  
The Harp and cross  
Smile gentle fate  
Upon our State  
Attend all health  
This Common wealth.  
The navy of the Dutch  
I all good fortunes grudge  
Vantrump and his Sea forces  
Shall have my daily curses  
Upon the Dutch and Dane  
Wait their eternal bane:  
The Cavalering part  
I value not a fart.   

To adrunken Porter reeling into the Ring to wrestle with a tailor.  
hay hay pot-valiant Porter, friend, I fear,  
That you have somewhat more than you can bear.  
You make me laugh to see you face and crack,  
You puppy, I could bear you on my back.  
Out of the Ring unless you were more stout:  
The tailor swears heel fling, or cut you out.  
You stand so waving and so tottering,  
As if there were an earthquake in the Ring.  
And eye the tailor, as you would adore him,  
Y'are so devout you scarce can stand before him▪  
Do you not hear him say it shall go hard  
But at the first touch he'll turn up your yard▪  
Nor will he use a quarter of his strength  
To measure all your quarters out at length.  
See but his active stout, and able limb,  
Porter I see you'll never carry him.  
Go wrestle with yond tree you dizzy crown,  
More need to hold you up, then hurl you down.  
Had you as many legs as any louse  
The eyes of A●gus, Hands of Bryarcus,  
All would not do it, for like Polypheme,  
You would be run down in this drunken dream.  
And in the turning of a hand be found  
As sure as louse in bosom, on the ground.  
Cord first his hands and feet, Then if you can,  
Stand too't, and throw the ninth part of a man:  
But your athletic art's not worth the trying  
Go go a man may see where you've been plying  
Brave sport, a Porter, and his fox turned lose  
T'encounter with a tailor and his goose  
Thus I perceive 'tis fatal to us all  
After a justice cup to take a fall.   

To a Brewer that promised me a Staggs Tongue, and dissapointed me.  
NOw your A. sopick markets Sir, what ● you'll  
Yourself be Brewer, and make me the fool,  
Faith Sir you should not need your word to break  
I'm sure your beer wont make a Cat to speak▪  
Come come let's hat, without a tongue, I vow  
That I will never speak good word of you.  
Are you so politic to think by failing  
Me of my tongue, you do prevent my railing?  
Believe it not, Sir, I can cant my wrong  
Like injured Phylomel without a tongue.  
Tongues are unruly members but I see  
That you can rule yours, where it should befree.  
Thus to be fooled, and baffled all a long,  
'twould make one speak that had but half a tongue  
But I perceive the reason now my friend  
Your tongue is fast by the roots i'th' chimneys end.  
I must for peace sake, pocket up this wrong  
And keep my hands of, because you keep your tongue  
The tongues a two edged sword, and by the cup  
Of my contempt, i scarce can put it up  
May the Staggs horns be grafted on your head  
Till ● have the stag's tongue you promised.  
My fury flames ● fear i shall ere long  
Like Dives need your coo●er for my tongue  
For it begins i see to tear, and rend  
Just like a woman's tongue that knows no end  
Brewer be sure than that you stand aloof  
Unless you bring your tongue under my roof  
May be you'll say, that you have none, but I  
Am sure yed one have told me a divillish lie.  
Thus am i fain to vindicate my wrong  
In writing, because I have lost my tongue.  Iam pateris telis vnl●era facta tuis.  

To this Brewer sending me half a dozen tongues.  
We judge it just that we distend our lungs  
In gratitude to you that sent us tongues.  
We were a little too long tongued but you  
Have made the tongues fit for our mouths Sir, now.  
You seem to make us double tongud, for we  
Expected but the half of what we see.  
Our skill in physic says the stags did die  
Of fevers for the tongues were hot and dry,  
But we to wash down such conceits, did make  
Them swim in best Beer for the brewer's sake.  
The beasts that lost them should not be more brute  
Than we, if we should offer to be mute.  
And where as wanting to●gues we could allow  
But paper praise, we cry a largesse now.  
Thanks then thrice bounteous Sir, 'twere sin if we  
should be tongue-tied, where your tongues are so free.   

To my strange rival, servant to the Sister of my Mistress engrossing both his own and mine.  
The scene JackaNewbery.  
Y'are but a Jack by Jack a Newberry  
To overcharge yourself, to injure me  
Be not so greedy, you two, and I none?  
The time may come you'll find enough of one  
Neither had been of our desires bereft  
Had you but had your right: and I the left,  
Take heed you play not Aesop's dog whilst you  
Cover the substance, and the shadow too.  
Trust me I must resent this injury  
To overdo yourself to undo me  
'tis baseness in the abstract greedy sinner,  
Having thy belly full to crave my dinner.  
But I perceive my talk is to no end,  
For thou wilt burst thyself to starve thy friend.  
This folly I have oft in children known,  
Either two pieces, or they will have none.  
And here to the I may it well apply  
'tis better fill thy belly, than thy eye.  
Traitor and thief thou, strobed me of my jewel  
But for the act I'd end it in a duel.  
And faith I must too, come the worst event  
That can 'tis but six months' imprisonment.  
And what is that to me since I must be  
Her Prisoner even in height of liberty,  
Say death ensue my challenge? shall I doubt  
To die for her, I can not live without:  
Fail not this after noon then to meet me  
Precise at four, at Jack a Newberry  
Your weapons what you please; unless my fate  
Oppose, i'll send you home by Cripplegate.   

To a Gentleman that promised, but failed, to meet meeat an Ale-drapers.  
NOw half an hour past six, and more, & fail:  
Your friend, a second time? Come give us ale:  
Are you all dissappointment, is your frame,  
And fabric only such? Go fetch the same.  
What! was I borne to wait? upon my soul  
You wrong my patience; woman, fetch a roll.  
Your actions are unhandsome, without bail  
Or mainprize, y'are condemned, go fetch more Ale:  
Shall we lose such a morning such fair weather?  
Go (faith) even fetch a brace of pots together.  
Look, if he come yet; we are sure of these?  
Not yet in ●ight? go fetch the Holland Cheese,  
What? you don't see him yet; well, we must call  
For tother dish of Ale, to wash down all.  
March in my black-browed pots; until ye stand  
Before me, like an Aethiopian band.  
Faith, I am now in, go to, try, if ye  
Eclipsed beauties, be good lechery.  
Come then, and give me lip room, shall I not  
Kiss your black lips? why? Lady's kiss the pot.  
Yes I must kiss, and friends: for it appears  
My wrath hath made me pull ye by the ears.  
Excuse me, pray, if I myself forgot,  
For all the world can tell, I love the pot.  
And therefore this doth my content beget,  
Though I had no luck, I had pot-luck yet.   

To another Gentleman, that served me such a trick.  
NOt yet, nor yet, and yet the Chymes done going?  
Some Beer, and Sugar boy! come, let's be doing;  
My expectations big, come fill away,  
Hope is an Anchor, Anchors make us stay.  
Hamborough like, until the Clock strike few  
I mean to drink, videlicet till two;  
Nay I'm resolved, if I be alive,  
Since I am in, I will not out till five:  
Then never grudge at what so e'er you hear  
I am no waiter, but where there's good cheer.  
Sir, I am none of those, that can digest  
Hopes false conception; Boy, fetch the best.  
Hope is my issue, wherein I'm beguiled,  
You got it, pray, then answer for the child;  
If not, you must, nay (faith) you shall, be witting  
To pay the Nurse; And that is just two shilling.   

To a Philomuse from whom I received a Paper upon the same Subject and by the same Post.  

WEll my good Cos. what the same fish  
That i was frying? faith i'd wish  
To meet the oftener in my dish:  
The proverbs, good wits jump, we both designed  
The plot, yet neither knew each others mind.   

But didst not think it strange to see,  
My part borne in thy symphony?  
Trust me I marvelld much at thee,  
Nay under Morpheus you complain your Muse,  
Mine under Saturn, Not a pin to choose.   

Well fare thy pen! recalled to light  
This plot, that else had slept in night;  
(As dark as Faux his Lanthron) might  
(Should we neglect such mercy) us include  
In as high treason, deep ingratitude.   

Ben godamercy for thy sonnet,  
Let all Papists descant on it;  
Whilst all Protestants veil the Bonnet:  
But for this time i'll let thy praise alone,  
lest having writ too: I bespeak mine own.    

At the Florists Feast in Norwich Flora wearing a Crown.  

GEntlemen welcome Flora says so too,  
For she had had no feast now, but for you;  
Once in a year Apollo deigns a smile,  
And gravity itself admits a guile;  
Mechanics have their meetings, and as oft,  
As the snake tooth to tail turns, sing aloft.  
Bibbers carouse it to the god of Wine,  
And every bird will have his valentine.  
But I had saved my labour of the rest,  
Had I first said, each Angel hath his Feast.  
How I have been neglected of late years,  
To you, whom I my judges make, appears;  
I shall not stand to tell you, since the seeds  
Of discord, I am overgrown with weeds;  
And justly verify the jokes of those  
Who say, between two nettles sits a rose.  
Am not I Queen of Zephyr's family?  
And my rich train, the earth's embroidery  
Are not my daughters the Olympian eyes?  
Whose more then terrene luster, stellifies  
The muddy face of Ops, courting your view  
With colours, such as Ixis never knew.  
Witness the fields, luxurious in my smile,  
Presents the country every day a guile.  
But tush! I come not here, to feast your eyes  
With simples, such as rustic fopperies:  
For what alas! are bottles blue, or white,  
Or travellers joy, to citizen's delight?   

Hence, rustics, hence ye petty plumes of May,  
Though we●lth and beauty of the spring, away;  
This feast fares not with you, no these are they  
Shall crown the triumph of fair Flora's day:  
The lily and the rose, shall not be seen  
Amongst us, though of flowers the King, & Queen.  
North. humble violet, These, most lively, we  
Can in the garden of your virtues see.  
Hence goldy-locks, though hand maid of the sun,  
Here's no room for a pot companion;  
Save such whose pots puffed up with richest earth,  
Are the lucinas of a nobler birth,  
The immortal Amaranth, shall not here be shown  
Nor he, who fancied no face but his own:  
These are our toys, our trifles, But now, we  
Come to uncabinet our treasury.   

The lusty and the country gallant too,  
As pledges of our loves present we you.  
The Spanish, French, and Welsh infants we  
Commend for their unmatched variety.  
The painted Lady, (think it though no taint  
Unto her beauty, for 'tis nature's paint)  
The rare Diana, not she whom we find  
In the wild woods, Noah, this is garden kind;  
On whom a man may look, and, smiles importune,  
Without the danger of a horned fortune.  
Next this sweet dame, There's the Begrovenere,  
The lovely Comans, The peerless Grampeere,  
Speckemakers white, Taunies cumbers carnation  
Are flowers which nothing want but admiration.  
The murry, mullion, and the Baljudike  
'Twere plenteous want of wisdom not to like;  
The fair Amelia, the Nymph royal, and  
The Turks cap, the adonis, the Le●grand,  
The Hugonant, Appelles, and French m●rble,  
Are such whose praise, a phylomel should wa●ble.  
The Oxford had attended on the crown,  
But that to tell you truth he's out of town.  
Here's the grey Hulo though, and white carnation,  
Would challenge more than common commendation.  
The Vannocker, the black imperial  
And crystal too, the mirror of them all.  
Both Wiggons, low, and lofty, Angelot  
The Stranger, the Catewser, and what not?  
The Duke of venice presence here you see,  
And York the flower of the nobility.  
Thus gentlemen hath, Flora told her store,  
If you can find a wish yet ask for more.  
And yet (propitious soul) before you leave her,  
She vows to bring you in the Prince's favour.  
Had ye but met, when tulops were in town  
She then had given you every one a crown.  
But did I call the lily king of flowers?  
Out of all doubt then these are Emperors.  
If those be stars then these are planets sure,  
If these but shine; those simples are obscu●e.  
Here's colour upon colour, you may seek  
A field to ma●ch the graces of one check:  
But I shall add no more, save only thus,  
That here Comparison is odious.  
Ceres, and Bacchus,, promised to be here,  
And the best brewer sent us in our bear:  
Since thenere neither wants Beer, Wine, nor guest,  
Flagons and flowers shall flow at Flora's feast.  
Let cheerly Cups crown a carousing day;  
A●brose shall broach, ye the Ambrosia.  
Your eyes see Flora's heaven and that your ears.  
May feast too, hark Apollo moves the spheres.    

The Song.  

STay! O stay! ye winged hours,  
The winds that ransack East, and West,  
Have breathed perfumes upon our flowers,  
More fragrant than the phoenix nest:  
Then stay! O stay sweet hours! that ye,  
May witness that, which time ne'er see.   

Stay a while, thou feathered scythe-man,  
And attend the Queen of flowers,  
Show thyself for once a blithe man,  
Come dispense with a few hours:  
Else we ourselves will stay a while,  
And make our pastime, Time beguile.   

This day is deigned to Flora's use,  
If ye will revel too, to night  
we'll press the Grape, to lend ye juice,  
Shall make a deluge of delight:  
And when ye cant hold up your heads,  
Our Garden shall afford ye beds.    

An EPITAPH. Upon Oliver O dead drunk.  
HEre lies a lion, and a Lamb,  
Sweet, and savage, wild and tame:  
Courteous, careless, poor, and proud,  
Man, and no man: little, and loud:  
Children's May game; fine, for lost,  
Courtie●s consort: Commons scorn:  
Kind, and currish, would ye know  
Who I mean? 'tis Oliver O,  
That companion base and boon,  
Sets and Rises with the Sun:  
Thus in brief his exerci●o  
He pipes, dances, and he dies,  
And when passing we can tell;  
For he rings out his own knell.   

Upon his second time being dead drunk.  
Lo here,  
Dead as the bear,  
Was drawn last year:  
And coffined up,  
In a lost Cup,  
Lies, little heart O,  
Who like a fart O,  
Did now depart O,  
'twas ruff,  
And with a puff  
Out went the snuff.  
Alas! how soon  
'tis after noon?  
This morning he O,  
Was company O,  
For thee, or me O.  
●nd took  
Ahe Spanish smoke,  
Into his poke,  
As if he meant  
Sir, by consent  
To tune his pipe O,  
But being ripe, O,  
Began to type O,  
But P— O,  
No more but so;  
'tis Oliver O  
Let's oversee  
This 'scape for he  
The truth to tell O  
Till he was mellow,  
Was a good fellow;  
And shall to morrow morning make's approach  
As quick, and lively, as the fresh abroach.   

An Epitaph upon a Weaver.  
HEre lies a Weaver, whom that Turk  
And tyrant, death turned out of work.  
Poor fellow he is gone, what though?  
he's out of bonds would I were so.  
Alas he sold chameleon ware,  
By which he saved scarce aught but air.  
Gone, quoth hee●! pray how should he stay?  
Such gain will drive us all away.  
Well, 'twas a sad a●d sudden change,  
And yet to me 'tis nothing strange▪  
For trade's dead, and wares will give  
No price at all, how should he live?   

An Epitaph. Dedicate to the memory of Dr. Ed. Cook.  
UNsluce your Captive floods; what, can ye keep  
Your eyes from tears, and see the Marble weep?  
Burst out for shame, or if ye find no vent  
For grief, yet stay and see the stones relent;  
If still you can forb●are; weep then to see:  
Your stupid hearts more stone, than Niobe.   

On goodwife plain.  
Here with out either welt, or guard,  
Lies goody plain in the Church yard:  
Fresh in our memories, till the next rain,  
Settle the earth again, down plain.   

On W. G. A great swearer but little liar,  
Will, the swearer's dead and gone,  
Whether? you may guess anon.  
Say he is inheaven i dare not  
In that sacred place they swear not.  
Where then? not in hell, no doubt,  
For heed swear the devil ou●,  
What must then become of him,  
Does he neither sink nor swim;  
Heavens forbid, wel'l judge the best,  
And conclude his souls' at rest.  
Of his oaths, he did repent him,  
And his conscience do'unt torment him.  
And he shall (heavens mercy craved)  
By God's blood, and wounds be saved   

In memoriam Roberti Dey Pharmacap. Norv.  
Art's paramour is dead, that men may see,  
Nature hath no● hold of eternity.  
O that my tears were legible that i,  
And my sad muse, might weep his elegy:  
Norwich, in sorrows weeds attend his urn,  
I● not for his; yet for your own sakes mourn.  
Remember citizens, ye used to fly  
To sue out your reprives from death, to die:  
Whose salutifierous magazine of arts,  
Was your chief Sanctuary against death's darts.  
There, feeble nature in a trice might be,  
Armed against all diseases cap-à-pie.  
But he Is gone, and in a good old age,  
Took his calm Exit of a turbulent stage:  
His death as harmless as his birth, from whence  
His years were crowned with double innocence;) good  
whilst we, (for so perhaps heavens have thought  
Are left, to write our stories in our blood.  
Time's sith hath wounded him, but he hath g●t  
Such semper-vivum, as he feels it not.  
with faith, hope, charity, & contrition  
He made up his celestial composition.  
And with an unctuous name he mixed a Roll,  
Of Gratia de● for his wounded soul:  
Now his thread yielded to the sister's knife,  
For aquavitae he drinks water of life.  
Much might unto his praises spoken be,  
And only this one truth; namely that he,  
Even Dey, the true Apothecary was,  
All that are left, are but synoymas.   

To the perpetual memory of my ever honoured cousin Mr. E. H.  
Under this sad marble lies,  
Nature's pride; and beauty's prize:  
Such, so sweet her accents were,  
As would charm a Sirens ear;  
Such her modest mode as she.  
Taught the turtle charity.  
In sum a more veruous wife,  
Never sweetend husband's life.  
To conclude then, all was she,  
Man could wish, or woman be,  
Who lies here, like treasure found.  
Not above but under ground.   

A legacy to VRBANIA an unworthy city.  
City ingrate, nay worse, but I'll include,  
All your good nature, in ingratitude.  
Welfare your costly swords which now ye wou●d  
As fain encrimson in my innocent blood.  
As ere ye wished my Crucifige accept you; ah! you  
Hosanna cry, and hosenecha too:  
Is it in this; in this, i pray, I wrong ye  
To spend myself, and my estate among ye?  
If weary steps to make your city flourish,  
If head, if heart, if Purse employed to nourish  
Widows distressed, and orphans be a crime,  
Grant heaven no worse offence take up my time,  
Bark on black mouthed envy, ye as soon,  
Affright me, as the Syrian wolves, the moon:  
Nor do i envy those, have sought with cost,  
The honourable trouble, i have lost:  
Lord fill my heart with thanks, my mouth with praise  
My hairs may yet see halcyon days:  
God guards me still, though I've no swords to t'davance,  
Though no fine cap, God is my maintenance.   

In Hono rem Poetarum.  

WHose poor conceit is that  
That Poets should be poor?  
They talk they know not what,  
Alas! they wish no more,  
They have Enough in that they see  
Content is worth a monarchy.   

Do not the sacred Nine,  
Come daily to their houses,  
And break their fast, and dine,  
And sup, and soop carouses?  
Who calls them poor then, that are able,  
To feast the Muses at their table?   

Ye go to Poets, when  
Your dearest friends be dead,  
They give them life again  
Though they be buried:  
'tis strange then, Poets should not live  
That thus can life to dead men give.   

Yea all the world must know,  
Save those to truth averse,  
The swain was taught to plow,  
By Virgil's fertile verse.  
'tis strange then, he should needy be,  
Found out the art of Husbandry.   

Riply was rich I trow,  
Whose Poems did enfold  
That which men hunt for so,  
The art of making Gold:  
He had the Phylosophick stone,  
Sure he, must then be ric●, or none.   

Yea, do not all men say?  
Poets dare any thing:  
Pray was not noble May  
Called brother by a King?  
Nor is it more than true report,  
satiric lines have hanged a sort.   

Eurydice could tell  
That being ravished hence,  
Bold Orpheus ransacked hell,  
And rescued her from thence.  
Yea verses so magnetic are,  
They fetch the Moon down from the sphere.   

Nor have they only power,  
But gifts of prophecy,  
The most celestial dower,  
Heavens give mortality.  
Sure than they can't want costly Cates;  
Being Oracles and Potentates.   

They that have most, still itch  
For more, more bags to stuff,  
whilst they are only rich,  
Can see they have enough;  
How poorly fools of Poets prate?  
Come, they are poor, whom God doth hate.   Princeps; & Vates non quovis nascitur anno.  

Man.  

WHat time Jehovah heaven, & earth's Cre●tor  
Had fully finished the world vast theatre  
He brings up Man, and gives the world to see,  
His curious art, in their Epitome:  
which but in man, he in no creature would.  
They but of Simple, he of Compound mould:  
They but of bodies only do consist,  
In man a body, and a soul contrist;  
His body his base part, earth represents,  
His heaven-breathd soul, earth's soul, the elements  
The ingredients of the world are water air,  
Earth, fire, such man's ingredients are,  
Your leave, And thus the semblance I rehearse,  
Between the great and little Universe.  
His head's orbicular, like the circular skies,  
Whose lamps meet rivals, in his orient eyes;  
And as 'tis heaven most like, 'tis heaven most near,  
Reason sways her majestiest seepter there;  
That divine guest that makes a man, thence all  
The senses borrow their original;  
And as their sole and supreme court, repair,  
To manifest their virtues in that chair.  
Nor may I here forget that comely front,  
That so surprises all that look upon, ●t;  
Those lovely lineaments, those goodly graces,  
Attend the sweets of well proportioned faces;  
What wonders nature in his tongue commences,  
The instruments of delicious senses?  
Which we beyond express oft-times, refresh,  
With rhapsodies from that small film of flesh.  
How right here's Pan and phoebus? whilst our cares  
Are partial twixt our voices, and the spheres:  
Some time 'tis full, and makes his voice as loud,  
As thundering roating from the shattered cloud.  
But let's go downward with his heirs and see  
How it does with the piles of grass agree;  
The number well concurres, in each we see  
The numerous foot steps of a deity;  
Both the effect of moisture; who so seeks  
The Rose, or lily, they so blow in his cheeks;  
Nay what can you present, but he commands,  
The lively transshape, from his Protean hands?  
His blood is like the streams that to, and fro  
Turning, and winding are, the centre through:  
should I here swell my story, to present  
The office of each chord, each ligament,  
The Nerves, the tendons, and the Arteries,  
My life would be toe short to finish these.  
Nay there's no member, but in it I see  
A theme of wonder to eternity.   

And yet this body we can't praise enough,  
Compare it with the soul ti's sordid stuff:  
there's not such difference, twixt the sorry case,  
And jewel; twixt the mask, and the fair face:  
God made man's body after all the rest  
Add after that inspired the soul the best:  
The body from the earth the dust, ascends,  
The incompounded soul from God descends:  
'tis not the flessi, but in the soul, that we  
Assume the image of the deity.  
The body's suject to morality,  
The soul part of the living God can't die.  
Nature's appointed time of change revolves,  
And it into his elements desolves;  
His native heat does to the fire repair,  
Water to water breath unto the air.  
The bones, and parts that are more solid must  
Lie prisoners till they render dust to dust;  
Mean time the soul, her native station keeps  
In heaven, whilst nature in her causes sleeps.    

A guests at HELL. Par nullae figura Gehennae.  

ACcursed Topheth! how shall I define,  
This dismal dungeon, this sad Cell of thine:  
So dark, so dusky, so devoid of light,  
How shall I see to draw thy picture right?  
What Colours shall I grind? Colours (said I)  
Thou art all black, black as Proserpina's Eye.  
Deep, & declive, beneath the dead Sea is  
In a blind hole, this thy all black abyss.  
Thy pitchy palace, where the cheerly Sun  
Ne'er comes, as out of his commission:  
Nor lends the Moon so much as one odd night,  
To qualify thy darkness, with her light,  
Which we but sleep by? No, nor all the year  
Does one small star on thy dark front appear.  
Thou blackest Moor; ask but thy Danaan train?  
Their tub tash tells thee thou art labour in vain  
Go ask Ixion else, or him whose stone  
Gathers no moss, they all conclude in one.  
Thou the true Negro art, and Patentee  
Of utter shades, there is no night but thee:  
The darkness the Egyptians felt, was but  
A type of thine, and but too fairly cut:  
Tr●tareous Tullian, how thy tract is trod?  
To Baalzeub, knight of the black rod;  
Whose haggie hair, curls into snaky torts,  
More terrible than poets poor report●:  
His ghastly, yea his grisly look, is such  
My sense fosakee me, if I think on't much:  
His horns, the pitch fork is, where with he turns  
Those broiling skeletons, he ever burns  
In flames that never shall be quenched, but hark,  
I talk of flames, and yet I call Hell dark!  
Flames I confess there are, but black, not bright,  
Yea there is fire, and yet no firelight:   

Foul fiend! thy nose is like a Comet, or  
The tail, of some prodigious Meteoï,  
Well may it serve thee for thy red hot purr,  
Wherewith thou dost thy stifling sulphur stir:  
Thy sooty Eybrowes, are as black as coals,  
Smoked with thine eyes, that flame like Oven holes  
Mean while the Corners where fresh Brimstone lies,   

Pretend a yellow Jandyse in thine eyes.  
But 'tis the black, the black (fiend) is thy grief,  
But thy disease admits of no relief.  
Thy mouth like raging Aetna vomits fire,  
The furious flakes of thy unslak't desire,  
As much attractive, and as merciless, as  
The 7 times hotter headed furnace was.  
Thine arms are fiery fetters, that embrace  
Those monuments of misery whose sad case  
Thou dost not p●ttie, though though seem'st a while,   

To weep upon them, like the Crocodile.  
Have you not heard of smoking Sodom? such  
His breath's, But Sodom smokes not half so much.  
His veins are streams of sulphur: His loud lungs  
His bellows; And his hideous hands his tongues;  
His black, and melancholy blood contains  
Worse venom, than ●re lurked in Centaurs veins.  
And by his cloven foot, 'tis plainly shown,  
His Kingdom runs upon Division.  
These are his titles. The vnfathomed gulf,  
The Roaring Lion. And the Raging wolf.  
The Wild Beast of the forest, The Annoyer  
Of Christian liberty, The Destroyer.  
The mortal Enemy of all man kind,  
By these and such like terms is he defined;  
Father of falsehood, Feeces of the Cup  
Of Condemnation who can sum thee up?  
Or set thee forth, No hand can ere effect it,  
Unless that hand, that captived thee, direct it.  
Envye her Ensign on thy front displays,  
And like the Basilisk at distance slays;  
Thy Nose steep as the alps parts two deep Cells;  
On this side, Hatred: That side Malice dwells.  
And cause such beauty some preservatives asks,  
Shame and Confusion are thy constant masks.  
But lest my Charkole fail to finish thee,  
Thou art the form, of all deformity.  
As for thy vassals, thus begin their evils:  
Their entrance straight transforms them into Devils  
Their entertainment will be such, as they  
Shall flee to death, But death will fly away:  
Hard are their haps, so vainly shall implore  
A deadly req●iem, at death's deafened door.  
The torturous worm, that gnaws their consciences  
Does like Prometheus' vulture never cease  
Curses are all their hymns: Their parched throats,  
Cant Lachrymae in lamentable notes.  
Their Ditties, blasphemies, screichin their straine●  
Howling their tune, whose burden grief sustains  
With sighs, and sobs, ●gnashing their teeth, they run  
Their doleful descant, and division:  
Well knew, our Saviour, Judas sad estate●  
When he pronounced his birth infortunate:  
Alas! these sufferings are insufferable,  
Yet must be borne, although they be not able.  
Sad is the strength, that is but lent us, to  
Sustain the Atlas of a greater woe.  
Of fables fond, and foolish, Poets tell,  
That Hercules went, and returned from Hell.  
Well might he go, but if he e'er returned  
To tell his rearrivall: I'll be burned.  
He that comes to this place, he must discuss  
His Exit, with a stouter ●●rberus.  
Alcides' might, and Orpheus mirth, must fail,  
They can not 'gainst the gates of Hell prevail.  
No hope of breaking out the Dungeons deep,  
And the vast wall envyrons it, is steep.  
Yet grant it scalable, there's a dreadful Mote,  
Nine times surrounds it that will bear no boat:  
Son, such a gulf twixt thee, and me, doth flow  
Thou canst not hither, nor we thither go.  
Despair, and die, hope no revocative day,  
Since thou art banished into Scythiae.  
Ye that drink the world's Lethe, forget God,  
See here his Scorpions, and his flaming rod.  
Ye jested with edged tools since mercies heel  
Was lead: But justice hath a hand of Feel.  
Depart says Christ, depart wretch from my sight,  
Into the bosom of confused Night.  
Hurry him hence: Head long him down beneath,  
To the black valley of eternal death.  
Think not wretch I co●mand thy curtains close,  
To apt thine eyes to a more sweet repose:  
No! Hells hard serviced sentinels, must keep  
Continual watch, and never, never sleep.  
Nor be releived: No Circean lullabies,  
Shall be of power to charm their damned eyes:  
Think now, profanest liver, Do but think,  
How thou of this so bitter Cup, wilt drink:  
Call in thy thought and but consider well  
And tell me now, but what thou thinkst of Hell!  
Didst thou lie waking on a bed more soft  
Than down, plucked from the raven's plume, how oft  
Wouldst thou wish morning? lingering for the light  
Though bedrid, but a poor Cymmerian night:  
Think then how thou wilt toss thy restless head,  
Where everlasting burning is thy bed.  
Think than I say of their accurst condition,  
Whose misery shall have no intermission:  
This is that bitter draft, whose dire dregs be  
The limits of these woes, Eternity.  
Here I break off, should I prooeed to tell  
What thou hast lost that were another Hell.   — En ultima tanti Meta furoris adest.  

A glimiring glimpse of Heaven.  
HEaven! Lord what's that? Is it that heap of treasure  
The worldling hugs so? Or that sweet of pleasure  
So Idolizd? Is it that glorious puff  
Of Honour, where with men ne'er swell enough:  
Or is it beauty, whose celestial fire,  
Blows up that Ae●na of the world's desire?  
Lies it else in Revenge that sweet, sweet case,  
Of injuries; Noah, Noah, 'tis none of these.  
For wealth, alas! hath wings, and all the rest  
Are vanity of vanity at best.  
What is it then? earth's wide-stretched canopy  
The glittering surface of the ambient sky?  
Is it the Sun? that glorious globe of light  
Or his bright consort, Empress of the night.  
Noah, none of these, we must ascend a sphear●  
Two stories higher, than our eyes, and there  
O there this Heaven of heaven is, But first I  
Ere I can tell you, what it is, must die.  
In vain for Heaven I darkling groap about,  
I can not see't, until these eyes be out.  
Eyes have not seen, nor hath man's mortal ear  
Heard of the joys, the joys of joys are there.  
Nor hath it entered into th' heart of man,  
'tis too angust, ah! 'tis too small a span  
To entertain't, we must perforce decline it,  
Heaven were not Heaven, Could flesh, and blood define it.  
Grant, O my God, that I not being able  
To wade thus deep, make not Heaven seem afable.  
But lo! the sacred spirit here, descends  
Unto our understanding, and commends  
This inexpressive paradise, and even  
As it were by reflection shows us Heaven,  
Which he a sumptuous City calls, Built on  
And by Christ Jesus the true corner stone,  
Not made with hands, the city is four square,  
East, West, North, South Gates Aequidistant are.  
Length, height, breadth, depth, do all conspire to be  
The uniform of perfect symmetry.  
Twelve gates there are of most magnificent state,  
Made of twelve pearls, Of every pearl a Gate,  
And as twelve gates of twelve rich pearls; so here  
Twelve rich foundations, of twelve gems appear:  
The Sardus, Saphir, and the Sardonix,  
The Topas, Jasper, and jacynth are six.  
The Berill, Emerald, and Chalcedonite,  
Chrysoprasus, Amethis, and Chrysolite;  
Make up the four times three, whose sparkling light  
Banish all possibility of might.  
The stately streets, all along as ye pass,  
Are paved with Gold, transparent as pure glass,  
Through which, the silver streams of life convey  
Their crystal Currents, whilst in rich array,  
On either side this glittering Tagus stand  
The trees of life, whose boughs bow to the hand,  
There's neither Sun, nor Moon in that bright sphere,  
He that lent them their light himself shines there.  
There's none that watch, nor none that guard relieves,  
What need there? since there's neither night, nor thieves.  
There's nothing grieves, no being all amort,  
Darkness and Death, are strangers in that Court.  
Envy, Backbiting, Malice, and Disgrace,  
Sorrow and Sickness, dwell not in that place,  
Without are dogs, nothing that is unclean  
Hath any part, in that celestial Scene.  
But Meekness, Faith, and joy, and cordial love,  
Such are the stars, in that bright orb● that move.  
There they for ever feast their Eyes on thee,  
On whom one glance, eternal life would be.  
How shall I hope sufficiently t'admire  
Those living powers, in thy celestial choir?  
Those thousand thousands that attend upon  
The radiant throne, of thy all glorious son?  
Angels, Archangels, Cherubins, and Thrones,  
Amazing Seraphins, and Dominions?  
Which in thy highest presence always sit,  
Enjoying happiness next to infinite.  
Any of which descending from his story;  
Would exstacy, and kill us with his glory.  
Here close your lids my daring eyes, lest ye,  
Where angels hide their faces, be too free:  
Lord how I reach, and roam touncurtain heaven;  
Whilst I am even of mine own self bereaven?  
O take these fetters! take these clogs from me;  
Take these scales from mine eyes, that I may see  
Thy tabernacle, Thy Jerusalem;  
Well thou heaven's Monarch, hast prepared for them  
That love, and fear thee: Ah me! when shall I  
Come and appear before thy Majesty?  
Where ere thou be'st, let me but see thy face;  
I'll ask no other heaven, no other place:  
If thou discend into th' abyss below,  
My soul shall wish no other heaven to know:  
Where thou art, heaven is: 'tis not the resort  
Of Courtiers: But the King, that makes the Court,  
Thus have I taken pains, to show ye that,  
Which is, I must confess, I know not what.   

M ●●●●●ie  
THis afternoon I met the tribe of Gad,  
Running through Bedlam as they had been mad  
Shuffling and shouldering at so strange a rate,  
As if they strove to enter the strait gate.  
With that seeing the conflux of the train  
I could not choose but make't turn again Lane,  
And down the stream making my arms, my oars  
I rowed to Moor fields, where I found more whores  
Gentle, and simple, than a man could meet,  
Either in Turn ball, or in Turn up Street.  
Satting and Silk, and petticoats brocado  
Marched like an Amazonian armado,  
Furious as your French troops, scarce ere a wench  
But by her out side, show her inside French.  
Some zealous Gitt'zens show their wives, that even  
By being Cuckolds, they might go heaven.  
It made me laugh to see their sweeping trails  
In spite of barbers puffes, powder their trails.  
O how the lecherous dust did vaught! and rise  
Twixt the cross Chevernes of their foaming thighs.  
So light were they, so given to the Tup  
What men would not, the very winds took up.  
With that said I, now too too well perceive I,  
Y'are not the tribe of Gad alone, But Levi.  
Mean while the trees in such even order grow,  
They seemed a second Pater noster row.  
They railed in-grass-plot as a spacious shop  
Of Summer weeds for Virgins was set open.  
And many gallants came from out the town  
Thither, to give their Ladies a green-gown.  
Here is great wrestling, boys, and men, and all  
And here and there a woman takes a fall;  
Venture on which you please, if men you like,  
Know than they sail close by the Wind mil strike.  
If you from men, to women be departers,  
You shall not fail to meet them in the quarters.  
And therefore if your purpose that way stand  
Go see for them, when you can●t see your hand  
And to your work (my friend) 'tis Country play  
Not by the belt but felt, catch that catch may.  
Be not discouraged for the dusky night  
Be't ne'er so dark, I'll warrant you a light.  
More of moorfield's if you desire to know,  
Faith I have ta'en my turn: And so must you.   

Upon the Sickness, and recovery of a fair and fairly promised LADY.  
BUt hadst thou Death such hopes alive,  
Thy suit could ever thrive,  
In flattering her  
T'her Sepulher,  
From her approaching bridal bed,  
Ala●lthy hopes are dead.  
Dead as thyself  
Unwelcome elf,  
But would you fain forestall, forsooth  
The sweets of bloomy youth?  
Your suit is cold  
And you too bold.  
Suffice it long time hen●e that thou  
Bath in her aged snow,  
Couldst thou her send  
To thy dark bed?  
Her orient Eye would shoot a ray  
Should make thy midnight day;  
As though the snn  
Did thither run,  
And all his rutilous jewels set  
In that close Cabinet.  
Then should mourni●n  
See joys morning.  
Then palest ashes should revive  
And Death be made alive.  
whilst we, blind we,  
If we would see.  
Must all our light Cymmerian like.  
From flinty bosoms strike.  
But thanks to Heaven,  
Death is bereaven:  
Th' Eclipse is past, and beauty's light  
Has banished dead of night.  
See, see the love.  
Of heaven above.  
For we have here God's blessings got  
And the warm Sun to boot.  
O let us now  
Low as earth bow;  
And grateful sacrifices give,  
To him that here said, let her live.   

To a Gentleman desiring me to write a Paper of Verses upon his sitting whilst the Painter was drawing his Picture.  
ANd Poet too? must you your figure see  
In silent, and in speaking poesy?  
I could admit this double task, in case  
You had like Janus too a double face.  
Say, is it your desire? whilst he does take  
Your superficial lineaments, I should make  
Your virtue's image? Is it this you mean?  
I must like Momus have a Casement then.  
Or fear you men will say you are a creature.  
Narcisus like in love with your own feature?  
And therefore have the Painter to produce.  
A colour: And the Poet an excuse:  
Come be adv●is'd by me, go to your wife,  
He warrant you your Picture to the life.  
Here you compose your countenance, And set.  
Whilst't may be she's drawing your counterfeit.  
Come the true way of lively li●e commanding  
Is never done by sitting, But by standing.  Pers.— Pictoribus atque Poet is Quidlibet audiendi semper fuit aequa potestas.  

To an impudent Scold that perpetually haunts her Husband, and not only abuseth him but what soever Company is with him.  
WOman (but may I call the so, and not  
Forfeit that little judgement I have got?  
Is't not enough y●●re ugly, but beside  
Your ill shape you must be ill qualitied?  
I had supposed that such a one as you  
Whose face a winning feature never knew  
A woman (if that appellation may  
Be yet allowed) made of the cour●●st clay:  
And of a fabric so imperfect as't  
Is well concluded nature was in haste.  
I had supposed I say, that such a brute,  
Had cause more then enough to have been mute  
At least she should if she had silence broke.  
With Balam's A●●e but once, and wisely spoke,  
But you unlock the thunder of your voice,  
And twenty Iron Mills make not more noise.  
When you beg in the clamou● of your prate  
You make the rabulous r●●t at Billingsgate.  
Mute as their Fish: were you my wife forsooth,  
I should lock up the Barn-doores of your mouth.  
Or ferret-like, sow't up, My wife said I?  
Some Planet first dispatch me from the s●ie.  
I●de ransack beds of clay, and light upon  
The devil in a new fall lne skeleton.  
Or what in man, or hell's invention w●●s is  
Them think of the, Of thee thou curse of Curses.  
O wretch thy Husband, O infortunate.  
I drown mine Eyes in sorrow for his ●ate.  
I find in story an enchanted Las●e  
All day a hag: All night an angel was  
His luck poor man is worse, for meeting you  
he's haunted with a hag day and night too.  
For when abroad in this sad plight he goes  
Seeking some corner to unbreast his woes;  
You follow him hot foot, and rang●e about  
Beating all bushes till you find him out.  
And when he once but in your sight appears,  
You spend, And with full cry confound his ears,  
And ours too, who admire what you intend him  
Whether to bait him, or to apprehend him.  
Thus like Act●on with affrights hedged round  
He flies the fury of his own fierce hound.  
We know your language you Tartarian whore  
That use to play bopeep at Tavern door.  
Peaking for pimping rascals, and when e'er  
Y●● fear discovery, what's my Husband her●:  
Thus you obstreperous strumpet, Thus you must  
Make your poor Husband cloak for your base lust.  
Come, come, the provetb yet did never fail.  
They that are quick of tongue, are quick of tail.  
And I too plainly see, (though I am loath  
To be too public) you are quick of both.  
He blast you with cont●mpt if ere you come  
To ask for Husband henceforth in my room.  
And tear your tongue from roof and roots if ere  
I hear again, What is my Husband here.  
And to the Company speak a word unmeet  
we'll kick you through the gauntlet of our feet.    

THE TABLE, Of all the several POEMS contained in this Book.  

TO her that loves me pag. 1  
To my Coy Charula 2  
Love sick Lucilla to her unkind shepherd 4  
To Abstemid 5  
Philiis s●nerall 6  
A young Gentleman to his Lady who locked upon him as too immature 8  
To Amabunda 9  
To Sua●ia 10  
An answer to the Song called fair Archybe lla to whose eyes &c. 11  
The ●●●wer to well well 'tis true, &c. 12  
The Virgin Centi●le to Gerard 13  
The Ch●ice 15  
To my c●y and capti●●s Mistress 16  
To Pulcheria 17  
Love blind or not blind ibid.  
A longing Lady to her long staying lover 21  
A forsaken Lady to her Apostate ibid.  
A mock song to O stay by me 22  
A Gentleman to his Mistress that told him he looked as quint upon her 24  
To Frank 25  
An Epithall upon Mr. B. C. this nuptials 28  
To my lily white Leda in commendation of a pale face 30  
The Postscript to the precedent Poem 32  
To Mr. R. D. 33  
Militat omnis amans, &c. ibid.  
To my honoured friend a gentleman, that in a frolick would needs barber me 34  
To Will▪ Kemp. 35  
A Gentleman surprised with the sight of a Lady unknown to him betrothed to an other ibid.  
To my x Coy 36  
To my pale Pippin 39  
Mrs. E. G. to her false and faithless servant 41  
His answer 44  
To the fair Mrs. E. R. 45  
Ph● is, Charon ibid.  
Miserum me fuisse faelicem 49  
A. B. to an Irish Gentlewoman that slighted him 50  
To my noble x Mr. R. C. coming in Mourning to be● merry with his friends ibid.  
A● gratus ades to my highly honoured Cos. Mr. B. C coming to Narwich 52  
To the worshipful A. D. his majesty's physician crossing the Seas 54  
To the city of Cracovia 55  
To Mr. R. C. upon the mourning Ring he sent me ibid.  
To a friend that gave me a Library 56  
To a Gentlewoman that refused a very rich suitor, because he was not very handsome ibid.  
To a fair Lady 58  
To my Mrs. 59  
The middle Sister 60  
The jovial journey 61  
To my Riv●ill presenting my Mrs. Gold upon her journey 62  
Upon a Porter catching a Gentlewoman as she passeth by him 63  
A tapster's wedding 64  
Summer 65  
In praise of winter 66  
Upon Yorkshire Ale 68  
To my right well reckoned host at the Lamb 70  
The Postscript to the preceding Poem 71  
In commendation of Yorkshire Ale ibid.  
Upon a hungry gutted door keeper E. B. to his noble friend that gave him a new pair of Boots and Gloves 73  
A. B. To his shoemaker 74  
Upon his getting the former paper answered 75  
Upon a woman taken stealing Soap 76  
To my noble friend 77  
To the same Gentleman desiring my verses upon any price and on his sending me a new suit ibid.  
To Mr. ●. Lin in excuse of his tarde scholar ibid.  
To my valued friend, a new-year's gift 78  
Ale 79  
A visit 80  
To the world 81  
O. P. to A. C. that oversold him a horse, ibid.  
Upon the name of the same horse, being called Buttler 82  
Pseudo poeta inveighing against Tantalia &c. 83  
Upon his Pictnre prefixed to his almanac ibid.  
To Mr.— upon his Silly Epitaph in print 84  
Upon gunpowder treason 85  
To the Countess of Dorset 87  
The Weavers Memento mori 88  
To Constantia 90  
To Bovino 91  
The Fleets 92  
To a drunken Porter reeling into the Ring to wrestle with a tailor 93  
To a Brewer that promised me a stag's tongue and dissapointed me 94  
To this Brewer sending me half a dozen Staggs Tongues 95  
To my strauge rival 96  
To a Gentleman that promised, but failed, to meet me at an Ale-drapers. 97  
To an other Gentleman, that served me such a trick 98  
To a Philomuse from whom I received a Paper upon the same Subject and by the same Post. ibid.  
At the Florists Feast in Norwich Flora wearing a Crown 99  
The Song 102  
An Epitaph upon Oliver O dead drunk 103  
Upon his second time being dead drunk ib▪  
An Epitaph upon a Weaver 104  
An Epitaph dedicate to the Memory of Dr. Ed. Cook. ibid.  
On goodwife plain 105  
On W. G. A great swearer but little jyar ibid.  
In memoriam Roberti Dey Pharmacap Norv: ibid:  
To the perpetual memory of my ever honoured cousin Mrs. E. H. 106  
A legacy to Urbania, an unworthy City 107  
In honorem Poetarum 108  
Man 109  
A guess at Hell: Par nulla figura Gehennae 112  
A glimmering glimpse of Heaven 116  
Moor fields 119  
Upon the sickness, and recovery of a fair and fairly promised Lady 121  
To a Gentleman desiring me to write a paper of verses upon his sitting whilst the Painter was drawing his Picture: 122  
To an impudent Scold that perpetually haunts her Husband, and not only abuseth him, but what soever Company is with him.   
FINIS.