Joanereidos: OR, FEMININE VALOUR; Eminently discovered in WESTERN WOMEN, At the Siege of LYME. AS WELL By defying the merciless Enemy at the face abroad, as by fight against them in Garrison Towns; sometimes carrying stones, anon tumbling of stones over the Works on the Enemy, when they have been scaling them, some carrying powder, other charging of Pieces to ease the Soldiers, constantly resolved for generality, not to think any one's life dear, to maintain that Christian quarrel for the long Parliament. Whereby, as they deserve commendations in themselves, so they are proposed as example unto others. With Marginal Notes on the Work, and several Copies of Verses by a Club of Gentlemen on this Author's year and half WORK.  
Languet virtus sine adversario.  Horace, Scribimus indocti, doctique etc. 
By JAMES STRONG Bachelor, etc.  
reprinted Anno Dom. 1674. (with Additions) for the satisfaction of his Friends.   

A BALLAD  
On the Famous Author of Joanereidos, or Feminine Valour (That Incomparable Piece, drawn some years since by his most Unimitatable Pencil.) To the Tune of 
* Or may indifferently suit with one of Tho. Sternhold 's Airs, and be sung as a Hymn at a Conventicle.  Chivy Chase.  


I Sing the Man whose Lofty Muse,  
With Zeal and Wit inspired,  
Did Western women's Valour choose  
To chant with Art acquired.   

Strang is his Name, though Strong he writes,  
Forgetting's Father's House,  
Whom he neglecteth and thus slights  
Because a Poor 
(a) his Father was a poor Tailor at Church-stoak in Dorsetshire▪ and wrought for a Groat a day, his Pottage, and Bread and Cheese.  Pricklouse.   

For aught he met him on the Road,  
And in the Market-Town,  
But would swell on him like a Toad,  
And not his Parent own;   

Though he had bred him up at School,  
Byth' help of 
(b) The Worthy Parson of Church-stoak and afterward Warden of Wadham-Colledge in Oxford.  Doctor Pitts,  
Yet hath he proved both Knave and Fool,  
At least one not in's Wits.   

At length to Oxford 
(c) James Strang our learned Author.  james was sent,  
And was there a Poor Scholar  
A year or two, and from thence went  
As he 
(d) A Poo● Scholar still.  came. But when Choler   

And heat of Zeal had prompted him  
To be a Holderforth,  
He then became as Spruce and Trim  
As Any in South or North.   

The Sacred 
(e) Having no Episcopal Ordination.  Function he invades  
Without a Lawful Call,  
(As now adays do Men of Trades,  
Though learned not at all.)   

And soon became a Teacher quaint,  
Zealous of Reformation,  
Presently falling on the Point  
Of dire Predestination.   

Bishops and Deans he much decried  
As Things intolerable,  
The Surplice and the Cross beside  
Were most abominable.   

The 
(f) That had so charitably contributed both toward his Education and Instruction.  Doctor he turned out of door,  
And took into possession  
His Lands, his Goods, and, which is more,  
His Books by Sequestration.   

These he removed to Bettescombe,  
Which was his Benefice,  
That did by Smock-Simony come  
And with a Belly-piece.   

His Wife he often did chastise,  
Who was a 
(g) Mr. Mintern's Daughter in Dorsetshire.  Gentlewoman,  
And would her Beat and Kick, though Niece  
To's Patron, 
(h) Old Brown of Brampton in Dorset was so called by N●l, for giving his Voice for bringing King Charles the First to his Trial.  the Old Roman.   

She happening on a Day to wipe  
Her Shoes with Wash-dish Clout,  
He therefore gave her many a stripe,  
And at Door turned her out:   

But takes the Clout and buries it  
In holy Turf hard by,  
Causing its Knell in Angry Fit  
To be rung solemnly.   

The Holy 
(i) He took the Font out of the Church, and made it his Pigs-trough.  Font that raised was  
For the Administration  
Of Infant-Baptisme, he (alas)  
Fed Pigs, and put his Wash in.   

When 
(k) His Father was a Committee-man in Dorsetshire.  Raw the Sequestrator had  
Himself hanged, through Despair,  
Our Author (as his Chaplain) made  
A Sermon to repair   

The Credit of this Fallen Saint,  
And did him much applaud,  
As one impatient of Restraint,  
From being with his God.   

This Corpse which should have buried been  
In some Cross-way and 
(l) It should have had a Stake driven through it.  staked,  
In Holy Ground interred was seen  
By our Author, and up raked.   

For being a Brother of the 
(m) The Good-Old Cause of the Long Parliament.  Cause,  
His Corpse the Temple was  
O'th' Holy Ghost, though judged by th' Laws  
The Carcase of an Ass.   

But james at length so Pettish grew,  
And eke so Choleric,  
That his Good-natured Consort knew  
Not how to find the Trick   

Of Pleasing him; and therefore left  
His Bed, Board, House and All,  
And to her Tender Parents cleft,  
To shun her Husband's Brawl.   

For jimmy is an Eager Man,  
Most Froward all his Life,  
No Body near him Quiet can  
Be, he's so full of Strife.   

And 'tis because he is so Eager  
And Spiteful too withal,  
That he is grown so Thin and Meager  
By Trouble and by Thrall.   

His tenderhearted Wife he did  
Heartbreak, as most Men think,  
Though Some there be have boldly said  
They know 'twas his Breathes stink.   

For james doth breath so Ill an Air,  
That he can Spiders slay  
At three yard's distance, and Few dare  
I'th' Room, where he is, stay.   

This is the Cause that near his House  
No Rose or Flower blows,  
Nor on his Body will a Louse  
Come, nor within his Clothes.   

His Feet have eke so strong a Scent  
That This our Fragrant Brother  
Is often sent for with intent  
To cure the women's 
(n) A Disease incident to Women, proceeding from an Obstruction in the Matrix, which our Author is well known to be experimentally skilled in removing.  Mother.   

For Feathers burnt are not so strong  
In stinking, as his Toes,  
Therefore they follow him in throng  
Where ever jimmy goes.    

The second part to the same Tune.  

But being at length Ambitious grown,  
He could not be Content  
With that 
(o) His Parsonage of Bettescombe.  Small Lot which was his Own,  
To Ilmister he went,   

A Market-Town in Somerset,  
And though a 
(p) Mr. Tarlton's Vicarage.  Sequestration,  
Yet Iimmy's Throat could swallow it  
Glibber than Ordination.   

Our Author here increased in Wealth,  
As well as in Renown,  
Though what he got was All by stealth,  
And was none of his Own.   

A Purchaser he then became  
Of House, and eke of Lands,  
And rose to be a Man of Fame;  
But he built on the Sands.   

For moving from the Vicaridge-house  
The Porch, unto his Own,  
The Fact, so Sacrilegious,  
Did throw his Own House down.   

And being now a Widower,  
He would a Wooing ride,  
To get a Rich Wife, far or near,  
His palfrey he'd bestride.   

In order whereunto, on goes  
The Rich Black Velvet Coat,  
(Which worn is, Every Body knows,  
Only by Men of Note.)   

In This he swaggered up and down  
Ilmister, Taunton, Chard,  
On Market-days; scarce any Town  
Near him, but saw, or heard   

How Brave a Gallant jimmy was  
Become. But though the Skin  
Without was Lion, yet the Ass  
Enclosed was within.   

Thus habited, our Author did  
Accost with Compliment  
His Widow, and as fairly bid  
With's Coat, and's Implement;   

As Any could at One Congress,  
Which proved so Fortunate,  
She thought it her Great Happiness  
To make him her Bed-mate.   

But not her Belly is't alone  
That he hath so well plied,  
She often since hath made great Moan,  
He beats her Back and Side.   

For james can Cuff, Kick, Scratch, and Scold  
Like any Butter-Quean,  
He'll not be Thwarted or Controlled  
By joan, Mall, Bess, or jane.   

And though he Female Valour raised  
In Rich Heroic Verse,  
Yet is our Author to be praised  
In that he'll not turn Arse   

To th' Weaker Sex. What ere the Song  
Says, jimmy, put up thy Dagger;  
He will unsheathe it, and among  
His Country Lasses swagger.   

For Iimmy's good at Poniard point  
(The Western Women know it)  
He'll pierce the Bone, and strike the Joint  
(Where's such another Poet?)   

His Children very Many are,  
But tattered so, and torn,  
That, should you see them, you would swear  
That they are quite forlorn.   

On Carrion commonly he feeds,  
(For his Appetite's Canine)  
And therewith satisfies his Needs  
Be't Bullock, Sheep, or Swine.   

His Servants frequently complain  
That he is so unjust,  
As their Due Wages to detain;  
Then summon him they must,   

By Justice Warrant to Appear;  
But james, This Man of Strife,  
To save his Coin will boldly swear  
He stands in fear of's Life:   

And so doth cause them to be bound  
Unto the Good Behaviour,  
But if his Debt shall be disowned  
He himself will be their Saviour.   

And yet will jimmy pule and whine,  
And make Devout-Bad Faces  
I'th' Pulpit, and look so Divine,  
You'd think he'd All the Graces.   

Did you but see him rhank his Nose  
And hear its Zealous Twang,  
This Instrument you'd swear, i'th' Close,  
At 
(q) Formerly the Famous Seminary of Schismatics.  New-inn Hall was strange.     

On the Masculine-Feminine Poem of Mr. james Strong, Poet Hermaphrodite.  
POET of Mars and Venus! sweetly met,  
And as before embracing in a Net.  
A Net so thin and wonderfully small,  
You cannot but conclude it Cobweb all.  
Only the Postures changed, for by thy knack  
Venus is uppermost, and Mars on's back.  
Cowed Hercules must at the Distaff spin.  
And Madam Omphale wears Lion's skin.  
The Female glory melted down thy head  
As Flints are broken on a Featherbed.  
Pity it is for so much service done  
Thy Pates not washed from secret Helicon.  
And with that Linen to dear flesh so nigh  
Thy sacred brows and lips were not wiped dry.  
Sure they would do't; and it would soon come from 'em  
Thou hast so meltingly quite overcome 'em.  
Orpheus was once with furious Froes assailed  
But unto thee They've all their Kerchiefs veiled,  
Thou canst not stir abroad a gossiping  
But they their Caudles, Kisses, Amours bring.  
They love thee for thy Name, and thy strong charms,  
And all are ready Captives for thine arms.  
Freely thou mayst (if thou wilt not be shy)  
With Hercules his thirteenth Labour vie.  
Go on brave Man, and do not think it much  
(As times shall serve) to give us t'other touch.  
Some plagiary Poets steal their Bays,  
And from what others writ their Trophies raise.  
From Homer, Virgil, much of glory drew,  
And much of matter from old Ennius too.  
But thou this honour haste (and be it known)  
That what thou writest, purely is thine own.  
Nor can we call thine Dogg'rel-Poetry  
Great Laureate of dear Pres-bitchery.  
Thy Name's immortal then, and shall still ring,  
Whilst Wives wear Breeches, and whilst Milkmaids sing.   

On STRONG, and his more Stronger Poem.  
STRONG is the Name, Strong is the Fame  
Of this our Poet james,  
Strong his Fancy's which out-prances  
Valorous Western Dames.  
Strong is his skull, like that of Bull,  
Strong is his rhyming brain,  
Strong is his Sconce as Parnass Mons  
And Forked too some fain.  
Strong are his Eyes, which by their shine  
Pure Sisters comfort, Oh!  
Strong his Eyebrow, like bristled Sow,  
Her Arched back I trow.  
Strong is his Snout, which high doth strut,  
Strong both his breath and weazon,  
Strong is the din, when from within  
Bagpipe lungs he plays-on.  
Strong is his Lip, whose Muscles skip  
More quick than nimble Hart.  
Which tear and beat like Puss in seat,  
Before his words do start.  
Strong is his Mouth, and firm of growth,  
And also heavenly wide,  
The many mops of's Monkey Chaps  
Shows Pug hast edified.  
Strong is his Tongue, which sounds among  
The Precious, Alarms,  
Even to prevail unto Battle  
Against Antichrist his Arms.  
Strongly he strives, by his Motives,  
The Saints to set a-Gog;  
Strongly to fight with all their might,  
Against God and Magog.  
Strong is his Chin, where Jaws do twin,  
Thence forking back to Ear,  
Strong is their Mass, like that of Ass  
Made Philistine to fear.  
Strong Teeth are set in Jaw's socket,  
Which meat doth grind, and wrack,  
Both great and small serve like jackall  
To Lion-like stomach.  
When prey is got, They slow it not  
Ne finee nor nibble,  
He Eateth so, you would cry, Oh  
Th'stroke of his Mandible!  
Strong are the Wrist's, strong are the Twists  
Of face so screwed with tricks,  
That 'tis hard bout, for to squeeze out  
His Costive Rhetoric's.  
Forehead's drawn back, when gins to speak,  
Back nose strong fibres draw,  
You'd swear like vile, Monster of Nile  
He'd open his upper Jaw.  
Strong is his Arm, which does much harm  
To Feathers and to Wood,  
When he did gin to beat down sin  
'Tis marvel the Pulpit stood.  
Strong heart of Oak, rends every stroke  
Laid on by furious skill  
When he doth pump, than fist doth thump  
Like Mall of Tucking-Mill.  
Strong though and fierce, yet neretheless  
Cunning grew hand, and meek,  
When to advance in wise semblance  
It stroked his Mistress Cheek.  
But when all wooed our jamsee stood  
Rectus in Curia,  
He did embrace, and Wife solace  
After the Russian way.  
Strong were her tears, he perseveres  
In Soul-Correcting sense,  
Bangs hip and thigh, leaves place hard by  
Undue Benevolence.  
Strong since he grows, but weak his Spouse,  
No otherwise we deem,  
But james at length by tried strength,  
Confutes his own Poem.  
Rog. Rhymer of Doggrill-Hall.   

The Bookseller to the Reader.  
THis matchless piece of Poetry falling into my hands, whether directed by Providence or by Accident, I shall not distinguish; but conceiving it to be of so much importance, in regard of the times, for comfort to those famous Western women, whose piety and valour deserve to be recorded amongst the worthiest of their Sex in this declining age, and may well serve as Precedents to others. And fearing lest some malignant spirits should have injured the Author, in exposing an imperfect copy, by reason the sundry transcriptions which this elaborate Poem hath much suffered in, the Author in this is rendered according to the Original. And whereas many obscure places would have admitted a double construction different from the Author's true meaning, you shall find the literal sense of those places explained by one that had a great insight into the Author's fancy. And for the better encouragement for a further progress, many Wits have presumed to lend their willing fancies, as servants to usher into the world these elaborate Poems; and though they appear to the eye but small lights to thy Sun, yet the reflection from thee may in time make them worthy to be accounted thy Scholars; what literal erratas thou meetest with in the printing, let thy candid disposition pass by, and let not any fault lessen the worth of the Author, and him that is most ambitious how he may be accounted yours in all service,  
Thomas Harrison.   


To my most esteemed friend Mr. James Strong, cause these to be delivered.  
Worthy Sir:  
HAving had the unexpected happiness of seeing you at this Booksellers shop, I was so surprised with your reverend aspect, grave habit, and Schollar-like comportment, that I wanted confidence to address myself to you, being conscious of mine own unworthiness to deserve your knowledge: but returning to the shop the next morning, the Bookseller was pleased to show me the incomparable Poem, which assured me that sage outside had a lining suitable; then was I inflamed with an affection too strong to be suppressed, which hath now broke out in this address, humbly begging the happiness of your acquaintance, and the honour to prefix a copy of commendatory verses, when you oblige the world by making it public: truly Sir, the little needle of my soul wrought so strongly after the great Load stone of yours, that I had designed the same gallant subject to my thoughts long since, and intended what you have beyond imitation performed, in so sweet a chime of words and sense, so rare a contexture of stories, and so exquisite embellishments throughout the whole piece, that I must for ever be  
The great admirer of your unparallelled abilities, THO. ALLEN.   

Honoured Sir:  
TO accept your courtesy might seem to argue vain glory, to deny it stupidity; whatever I am to others, I shall acquit myself of both, and deem myself unworthy to be so honoured, as to have either countenance or commendation from a man so dressed with ingenuity: herein indeed will be my grief, that it smells of no more than (believe me) a year and halfs labour, whereby I may seem to undervalue your respects for so easily acquiring it; deal with it as you please, and to morrow if you please to give me a meeting at the three Daggers at nine of the clock, I shall not fail of attending you.  
Your undeserving friend, I A. STRONG.    

To my most ingenuous friend, Mr. James Strong, on his excellently well-penned Poem.  
INimitable Sir, your lofty strain  
So far transcends the lazy low-strung vein  
Of those faint Rhimers which the world admired  
For buskined raptures, that thou seemest fired  
From the same flame, which whilom shone so bright,  
It seemed Meridian after the Starlight  
Of meaner Poets, when great Gascoyn lived,  
And Alexander Barklayes Muse contrived  
That rare Translation of Brants stately 
* Navis stultifera.  ship,  
Fraught with those fools deserved his Satyr's whip:  
I'd think their charming souls revived in thee,  
But that I find a vast disparity:  
Their lines are easy, and their phrases common,  
Thine are heroic, thy words used by no man;  
And here the Sun sets brighter in the West,  
Then erst it rose in the refulgent East;  
Thou hast the disadvantage, but in time  
Thy admirable Subject, and thy Rhyme  
Will render thee more famous to the age  
Ensuing, then the high Poetic rage  
Of heathen wits, whose brows deserved but bays,  
Whilst on thy reverend head these lines do raise  
King Midas ornament, a guerdon due  
Unto no mortal juster than to you:  
Withers a man of Arms and Arts hath wrote  
In gallant Rhyme, but thy immortal throat  
Hath far out-voiced him, and thy active Muse  
Outdoes his lance, and pen; all Pedlars use  
Next unto Almanacs with care to buy  
Their dear delight Tho. Pru's sweet Poetry,  
Which spread in wickar scive, hath oft invited  
The Chambermaids with itch of verse delighted,  
Unto their moving shops, where they do sell  
Nothing but tape and needles half so well,  
Thy stately Poem will usurp their place,  
And bring them to the fatal sad disgrace  
Of Chandler's shops, whilst thine alone are sung  
With tuneful noise unto the long-eared throng;  
Whose well-weighed praises will advance thy name  
'Bove Heywood, Viccars, or john Tailors fame  
As far as e'er the Bard past Aristarchus,  
Or foolish Bavius was excelled by Marcus.  
Tho. Allen.   

On this reverend Poem, and the more reverend Author.  
ARms, and the man I sing, whose lines rehearse  
The Western wenches doughty deeds, in verse;  
More high, then (erst) the acts of Guy of Warwick,  
Southamptons' Beavoys, or the Knight of Berwick.  
Assist Moll Cutpurse, and ye warlike bands,  
That march towards Billingsgate with eager hands,  
And tongues more loud than bellowing Drums, to scale  
Oyster or Herring ships, when they strike sail  
In that Creeks bosom; you the Muses are  
Most fit to be invoked to aid this war,  
And the courageous Poet, that dares write  
The Rare adventures of this doughty Knight,  
Who in a Village Belfry ruled of late  
The awing rod, and in that happy state  
Each hour surveyed Parnassus double Hill,  
When Lillys Rules, being parsed or construed ill,  
The weeping Lads mount wooden Pegasus;  
How could the Pedant choose being furnished thus  
But write this Poem in a motley stile,  
Which first in bombast prose he did compile?  
With toil and sweat out of a Dictionary,  
Mixing some stories of the Virgin Mary,  
And other Saints, whose names his babbling tongue  
(Fitter for Ballads) doth profanely wrong.  
Then buffeting his patient desk he bites  
His nails, inspired with new fancy, writes,  
Breaks off abruptly, knocks his empty scull,  
Falls to't again, and with a mouth brimful  
Of spumy froth spits praises on that sex,  
Tells inconsistent stories, which perplex  
The sense, and his dull noddle, now at length  
His hackney Muse is tired, and wanting strength  
To troth on farther, ends his stately song,  
With which his teeming brain travailed as long  
As breeding Elephants; but by the help  
Of Midwives this his self resembling whelp  
Is like the Mooncalf born, and as men carry  
Their Monster-childrens, Satyr-like all hairy,  
Distorted in their limbs, dwarfish in stature,  
Or unlike men in any brutish feature,  
From Villages to Cities where they show  
By painted clothes hung out, the throng that go  
Thorough those streets, that their admiring eyes  
For two pence may behold those prodigies.  
So learned Strong full sixty miles did travel,  
Maugre all danger of the dirt and gravel,  
From Village Belfry unto London City  
With many a weary step, to show this pretty  
Spawn of his ignorance, so like him in shape,  
Owl was ne'er liker Owl, nor Ape like Ape;  
Ith' crooked lines of's face and hands you may  
Each line within his Book fully survey,  
And more exactly view wonder in both,  
Then in the picture on the painted cloth:  
Were he and his brat mine, I would outvie  
Thredesken, Gill, and all the frippery  
In the Tower-wardrop, but in this I wrong  
The Bookseller, unto whose shop the throng  
Will hourly flock, amazed at the post,  
Where this rare Frontispiece shall proudly boast  
A sight so strange and pleasant, that his gain  
Will equal thy expense in purse and brain.  
Pedantic wretch, whilst thy much hoped reward  
(Ten shillings) is unpaid, without regard  
Of thy necessity; but thou art sure  
Of happiness above a Country cure  
In Gotham College; where the cap and babble,  
The reverend Hood, and Tippet, shall enable  
The learned Bible Clark to install thee  
Vicepresident of their Society.  
ALLEN. THOMAS.   

Verses made into Meeter, whereby they might more illustriously give praise unto this Author, who whilom was a Student of the seventeen Liberal Sciences of New-Inn-Hall in Oxenford.  
This may be either said, Or sung, To the Tune of When Sculls.  
O Oxenford! old Oxenford!  
how many Clerks I wis,  
Learned in deed, and eke in word,  
hast thou yspawned like this?  
O New-Inn-Hall! New-Inn-Hall high!  
how hast thou doctrinated  
His plumbeous cer●brosity,  
he is so subtle pated?  
Some segregated are, I ween,  
fro midst the ruder throng,  
By Providence, so hath he been,  
and placed Scholars among:  
Where comptly nurtured up in good,  
and savoury literature,  
Sage words of wise he understood,  
and put all eke in ure.  
To argumentate he was taught  
Syllogistically,  
First to divisionating brought,  
to define by and by:  
But why alas? nay why alas?  
should I by a gradation  
Think to declare how he did pass  
all men in disputation,  
Or in mysterious Sciences,  
As in Millstones pellucid,  
Saw quiddities, and entities,  
and all that Art produced.  
Much less how he, with sweat and pain,  
drudged in Poetry,  
And Midwived gravitated brain  
Swollen big with rhapsody;  
Taking Occasions foretop then,  
eft soons his mind he bend,  
To write with paper, ink, and pen,  
wars most sanguinolent.  
With pulchritude of sense, and rhyme,  
he straight charactered  
West women's valour stout, what time  
in Towns they were besieged.  
And eke also what time in field,  
at face of Foe they vaunted,  
Whilst monstrous stones they nimbly wield,  
and the fierce Soldiers daunted▪  
O man of worth, memento now,  
in height of glory, whence,  
By dotes transfunded your scull through,  
your learned skilful-loquence:  
And in requital of the same  
on Bodley's Library,  
Bestow this Book of greater fame,  
than ever Groat did buy.  This was composed by A.B. quondam Student of Oxenford.  

To the Author on this never-enough praised Poem.  
EVen as the Sun, and eke the Wind,  
With laughter fills the Elephant:  
So do I thus to please my mind,  
thy praise, O Author, loudly chant.  
And as the Moon, and eke the Sky,  
are nearer unto Heaven than Earth:  
So also do I versify,  
being far from grief, and full of mirth.  
Or as a man, and eke a woman,  
is neither Horse, nor Dog, nor Cat:  
So do I write, enforced by no man,  
I know not, nor I care not what.  
Or lastly, as a Harry Groat,  
(being grey) is worth four single pence:  
So is he worthy a fools Coat,  
that writes to thee in rhyme or sense.   

On the Lurned labour of this Worshipful good Power.  
ICh pray you Readers, have you no dizdain,  
'Cause I an ingrate, and unlettered zwayn,  
‛ Mungst lurned Glarks do zomething notivy:  
Good will unto the thang cleppt powetry;  
Cham zore abashed with this rudeness to haundle  
The point, or zhow forth with an hauf-penny caundle,  
His worth to the world varr off and at hand,  
Amongst those huge bon-vires which before this book staund,  
And make zike a cracklin blaze that ich ween,  
My greased Bulrush will scauntly be zeen;  
Yet ich do well ken that moany a mon,  
Will pook out my intendiments better thou  
Moony tales and names, in thuck lurned Powet,  
Who ich do believe himselve did not know it,  
But writ it, that we with wonderment might  
Think him in schollardzhip, marlous ztout;  
I'm not so well liked with his cunning wit,  
As I'm with the wonches he talks of in it,  
Zike bouncing Lasses would hold a mon tack,  
Though he had my tough grey vour horses back;  
My teeth do water to wrestle a fall,  
Though it were with the zdurdiest wench an 'em all:  
C have known the time when Maudlin and Joan,  
And two ztouter girls the west hath not known,  
Have vallen down ulat, and not stood upright,  
When I 'gan ta buckle my tools to the vight,  
And with my implement, and but twa stones,  
Have clawed 'em zoundly both twice and once:  
But warrant thy meed, Sir John, if thou com'st ere  
Toward my zimple cottage ich'le make thee good cheer,  
Of Uurmenty, Whitepot, vat Bacon, and Cale,  
And vill thy skin with March Beer, and Ale,  
Uor the zweet sport c have had and tickling laughter,  
That ich shall be merry vor ever hereafter,  
When I think in my mind, that moony a parson,  
Poor vicar, and Reader, and Bell-fray whoreson,  
Durst never in verson so doughty and bold,  
Zince the cunning Bards, and the Monks of old,  
Zet vorth the valorous deeds of women,  
That have gen the voyl to moony ztout yeomen,  
And dare in their zmocks without coat of mail  
Encounter the ztrongest hind with his ulayl.  
Go vorward, Sir John, and tell of the boys,  
That are got on these girls in this time of noise,  
Will not do exbloyts vit vor thy high verze,  
With bellowing zound zweetly to reherze,  
Uor which hereafter 'twill of thee be zeed,  
Sir John, the Powet, had a harey head.  
B. A.   

A Sang made to gang to the Balliballeer, to the tune of the Author's praise, by B. A. of Aberdeen.  
O Doughty Sankster, thy lugs sa long,  
Thy loins sa stark, thy wit sa strange,  
Makes me aghast with brussels upright,  
As if I kend some uncouth wight,  
How might I than with dread beheld  
Thy gude-wives drill in martial fleld?  
And heave sike miccle stanes as I ween  
In Albion Clyffs man never did ken,  
But what recks that these willy coats gay,  
Those fause lowns did well beat by my say,  
Mare sare then unwhile in Muscleborough-field,  
When the stern so pour Scots-men quelled;  
Ide lever have a gripp of anes crage,  
And with twa stanes her bonny wem invade,  
Then fra their weildy fists ha ane  
At the fair mark of my noddle thrane.  
Thus ta conclude my trim Scotch-hops now,  
Mare praises to thee I must allow,  
Then to Rhymer Lord Sterline, and Mis-Davee Linfy,  
And all they leave an 'em in Poyets frenzy.   

An Hymn, for to declare the Authors praise withal.  

WHen skulls of men are sorely bend  
to learned Poetry,  
Then deeds of arms are sung in tent  
full lofty-loftily.   

Lo, in tall Verse the Author's self,  
with Pen in ear so thick,  
Doth brandish rhyme from Western clime,  
of dead and eke of quick.   

Of Giant's thumbs and Saracens ears,  
he nill no care to take,  
Of Ladies fell and Damsels keen,  
his Poem is y make:   

Whose brawny arms, full delicate,  
distilling amber sweat,  
Through trusty nose of Poet good  
inspire no vulgar heat.   

Tough quill in hand is hent most sure,  
which goose so grey did bear,  
In wrathful wise, he to the skies  
stern chivalry doth— clare.   

With— fane and sacred history  
y granished all o'er,  
The Maiden Fame is stretched out  
from West, all eke to Nor'e.   

No more in dirty socks, no more  
shall Poet stride the plains:  
Nor under fustian cap shall work  
those bay-deserving brains.   

On Sconce of hill bold squire of art  
hath shaken the Laurel tree,  
His golls been washed in Pegase Fount  
by Ladies three times three.   

Moreo're, his face is Mousetrap true,  
o'er done with bacon rind,  
To snap your Critic black or blue  
where ere so them he find.   

O soul of man, to glory bend!  
may that day never come,  
When Custard fond, or Tart more gay,  
thy leaves to pavement doom.   
Performed by one of the Wisdoms.   

To the Renowned Author, Master JAMES STRONG.  
WHen first thy parts and person I did view,  
I mean thy outward lineaments and hue,  
Thy vaster bulk, thy grave and wise aspect,  
And all with equal guise and beauty decked,  
I much admired, and to myself concluded,  
(And well I weened, I could not be deluded)  
Within that cask (and right it was defined)  
Some nobler spirit sure must be enshrined:  
Thus wondering as I stood, strait to mine eye  
Were brought thy rarest Rhymes and Poesy.  
Poor mortal, how aghast! I read 'em with wit so fraught,  
That like to one who was of wits distraught.  
I stood amazed, astonished let it be,  
For much I feared the fate of Niobe;  
Only this difference 'twixt us there had been,  
(Which to forget, I fear had been a sin.)  
She, she, poor soul, through grief was petrified,  
But I through admiration stupefied,  
But well; these pangs, and pant being over,  
After myself, I'gan for to recover.  
Oh how I kissed, embraced, and hugged thy Verse?  
And now nought else but Strong I could rehearse.  
Nay, which is more, I'gan to love the times  
That had occasioned these thy happy Rhymes:  
And blamed those peevish wits, who oft had cried,  
Since Abraham Frauner, and haughty Churchyard died.  
All Poesy is left, (indeed I know it,  
Since they were gone till now, we scarce had Poet)  
For now like Sun with clouds of sable hue,  
Bedecked, and covered, all's returned in you.  
No more let's now the much renowned trade  
Of Ballading, too much of late decayed,  
As lost bewail, for from thy clearest spring,  
Poets inspired each market day shall sing;  
And stories now bedight in homely Prose,  
Each morn in Rhyme and Meeter we'll expose  
Unto the greedy view of mortals, who  
Shall own restored Poetry to you.  
I must confess, when first I did but glance  
Upon thy huger bulk, and that by chance,  
I deemed sure now a well proportioned birth  
From Teeming Mount: to mortals greatest mirth  
Shall issue forth, 'twas even as I did guests it,  
And now my Muse desires an acquiescit.  
This only needs she I must for to rehearse,  
Strong is thy name, but stronger is thy Verse.  
Peter Jeffrey.   

A gratulatory Poem to the Western Amazons, and to their Learned Bard.  
WHich I should most admire, I know not yet,  
The women's valour, or the Poets wit.  
He made the Verses, and they threw the stones  
(Verses you'd swear were all made for the nonce)  
O happy stones which those fair fingers gripped!  
But happier Muse, which their loud praises piped  
Through nostril's oaten-reed, and sung so shrill  
That the whole Earth's Horizon' broad they fill.  
Miracles are not ceased, we see; for here  
The weaker Sex, whom nature taught to fear  
The face of death and danger, now outdare  
Even valiant men in fight; nor do they spare  
Their willing flesh. Here comes an Amazon,  
And fearless treads th' assaulted Works upon:  
With coats tucked up, and tippet bolt upright,  
Lap full of stone●, she fits her for the fight.  
Two might have served you'll think, but more she brings  
Which amongst the Enemies heathen troops she flings;  
And after them words, harder than the Pebbles,  
She thunders against those Antichristian rebbels.  
So do the rest, for planted all a-row  
Fast as they can they jointly curse and throw.  
O had you seen them toil, and swink, and sweat  
With the same ardour they their husbands beat  
When they came home at night, you'd then confess  
These Western Saints had well deserved the press.  
They've wrought a wonder too, and you shall know it,  
They changed this Western Pug into a Poet.  
Else had his mouldy brains ne'er been inspired  
With rage Poetic, nor this all-admired  
And sacred work ere seen the gladsome light.  
For who'd expect a Poem from a wight  
Nursed up with Beans and Buttermilk, or on  
Festival days, stale Biscuit and Poor john?  
Strange diet to train up a Muse, you'll say;  
Yet see the luck on't; having viewed one day  
A skirmish 'twixt those brave Viragoes, and  
Their Foes, a grey Goose quill he takes in hand  
The omen pleased him well: (Quoth he) Of old  
Strange stories have of these poor birds been told.  
The Roman Capitol by Geese was kept,  
They waked, poor souls, when the dull Soldiers slept.  
Alas! who now keeps Lime? poor female cattle,  
Who wake all night, labour all day in Battle,  
Geese, as a man may call them, who do hiss  
Against the opposers of our Country's bliss.  
And by their seasonable noise discover  
Our Foes, when they the Works are climbing over.  
And shall such acts as these forgotten die  
Unrecommended to posterity?  
No, whilst I have a Muse that can afford  
One verse, their names shall stand upon record.  
Nor shall the cankered teeth of envious Time  
Devour the story of besieged Lime.  
Thus having spoke: He drenched his Virgin Quill  
Ith' sable Flood, and did his Paper fill  
With rich Invention, which if thou wouldst see,  
Reader, disburse thy groat and happy be.  
Toby Trundle.   

Certain fit similitudes, whereby for to set forth the worth of this Poem.  
AS little Bee in broiling heat  
doth search the fields about,  
So Authors best are drained quite,  
And sucked by this learned lout:  
As precious pearl in little room  
shrouds virtues more than many,  
So secret knowledge much is showed  
in this Book, as in any.  
As little sphere by tumbling round  
doth Heavens high unfold,  
So mayst thou in this rumbling Book  
things Heavenly behold.  
As loadstone doth the iron hard  
by secret force hold fast,  
So little volume in despite  
will envy make aghast.  
As glittering Sun with his bright hue,  
doth other Stars make slink,  
So where this Book doth once appear,  
of others ne'er you'll think.  
As Crabtree fair, both flower and fruit  
doth bring forth without stay;  
So fruitful is the Book to all  
in time, and place always:  
Then honey taste, buy precious pearl,  
view sphere that turneth fast,  
Fear loadstones force, walk by Sun's light,  
eat fruit that aye doth last.  By the same Author.  

Coriato Juniori.  
ENter the Ring, all fear discard,  
The woman's grand Olympic Bard,  
thoust foiled Apollo, and given all  
The weaker Muses a fair fall:  
This Trophy of thy female verse  
Shows how they did themselves disperse,  
Some ran away on Badgers feet,  
And some on Scotch-hops, not so fleet;  
(Their airy motion quite forgot)  
Need makes them in thy verses troth;  
Coriat had once each Eastern lip  
Upon his propatetique hip:  
But thy Pug poem has in hug  
Each western tongue's virago dug,  
Wit's compass hath but two points blest,  
Tom's lines ran East, and yours to West.  
D. W.   

All Author.  

LIsonjas introdu zidas  
(Por error de las edades)  
Vsurpan a las verdades,  
El traje de ser creidas.  
Yfrases encarecidas  
(Lo mas incierto y lo mas vano)  
Que yo en tu alaban ç a ufano,  
Sin adornos de tall tira,  
juzgo, milagro a tu Lyra,  
Ya ti, divino, en lo humano.  J. D.  

FLattery the greatest crime  
Was ever introduced by time;  
Usurps some truth, a whoreson thief  
The more to Coney-catch belief  
With heightened language of a strain,  
Ambiguous ever, yea and vain:  
And therefore my plaindealing Muse  
Abhors that vices Arts to use.   

Now this premised, thrice happy I,  
For Zoylous none can say I lie  
In saying thou'rt too be preferred  
Before the blind or wanton Bard,  
Or the best master of that trade  
That ever Ode or Eglogue made.  
(Phoebus his rays alas with thine  
Appearing once, would lose their shine.)  
Their Muse's Pies were and their songs  
Ballads compared with those of strong's:  
Their Music Reeds, their Harps of Wire;  
But to speak truth 'tis thine's the Lyre.    

To the deserved Commendations of that well meaning Poem of the Western, but most Christian Amazon's joanizareidos.  
NO ravished Brain was e'er since Homer spude  
Heroic models, with a vein endued  
Of such high consequence, to raise a stile  
Out of the medley of the Lyre and File.  
How strangely are thy thoughts and numbers met!  
While in each line the Fancies rise and set.  
This is (indeed) t' indite unto a Mint,  
And to coin current Rithms that run in Print.  
Thy Epique Whitepot is not like the prose  
Are scanned upon a snorting six foot nose:  
Thy valiant Muse, that is so highly born,  
Fears not the wrinkles of their nasal horn,  
Who under a bend Brow's profaner Bay  
Men in their nostrils rugged balance weigh;  
Like nosewise Critics striving to suspend  
By judgement, what their wits can never mend.  
Enjoy thy Issues attributes, well known  
By Pallas voted for the Muses Hone.  
Rich pen! to light upon a blessed nest  
Of Amazonian Worthies in the West:  
That where the Wiseman's Adage says a shrew  
Should be sought aught to drive away the foe:  
Thy she's, like silent men themselves behave  
Not (Capitolian Geese) by kackling save;  
And whereas female valour (apt to quail)  
Is seldom seen to rise above the nail:  
Here with the Phalanx of each Hand arrayed  
In nature's files, they men at Arms invade.  
Take heed henceforth you She-beat Royal Bands,  
Who wave their mouths loud weapon in their Hands,  
Will be (when all your feeble valours spent)  
Most oriental in their Occident.   

Aesculapius Menecraticus.  
Ignoto novarum cruditatum Authori Scribendi Cacoethe laboranti S.  

CArmina ronchissas balba de Nare Poeta,  
Ad Rhombum resonans Maevius alter eris.  
Sic glacit as mollem Calamo crepitante triumphum,  
Scilicet ut fuso Palladis hasta fuit:  
Exitus acta probat: Si nunc Cacophonia grata est  
Sphyncteris occidui sibilus, omen erit.   

Lectori.  
Long as oscitationes trahenti,  
Et vix sibi lecta paginâ  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 severè spectanti,  
haec mora  
Epigrammatis morigeri:  
In morosas, hujus Morologiae cruditates,  
Per Authorem, virum moratum  
Et summoperè morandum  
Nuper editas;  
Ac (O mores!) ex improviso  
Excussas,  
Etiam dum Remores auspicium vaticum  
Moretis incusabat.  
Attica Qui moriens obitér dicteria lusit,  
Ille Morus, vibrans, Vtopiensis Olor;  
Plebicolusque nigro Chiliadis Indice vultu,  
Sacrans moríae pegmata pulchra Moro:  
Arrident nostro, morum Diplomate Vati,  
Quem tu morari dixeris Encomio.  
Morion Colax minor  
Cognomento Remora.  
Custos Morii Poetici.  
Helleboratus.  
Cum Cicerone ad Atticum. Vultum tuum  
Videre cuperem quùm haec legeres.  
Authori Oscedinis & Orthopnoneae  
Poeticeae gravidine deplorato  
Alexipharmaca  
Hygiaeque Litatio.  
Mandibulis prodest succis Oleaster amaris  
Hinc Oscedo volans & satagentis opus.  
Res. Iradices persilidis, optime succo,  
Perdulcis Calami conde, superque sapis.  
Os. Pennae (Scripturo) acri stet semper aceto  
N●m musam ronchos ducere saepe, vet at.   

POets (that have one) with a waking Nose  
May make a scurvy shift to snort in Prose:  
But here's the secret cunning of thy Art!  
To snore so well in tune, and sing thy part.  
The Greek, whose vomits dregs Thou seems to lap,  
Was wont sometimes in verse to take a nap:  
But herein your Erratas are at odds,  
His were short slips, and yours are thorough nods.  
He Cepius-like, to his male friends did keep;  
And thou dost only unto women sleep,  
So loud; as if thou'dst hired Menippus' cave  
To be thy Muses long poetic grave.  
Were tart Lucilius but alive again  
To set a wiping nose upon his pen!  
He would his own smart accent let alone,  
Drive Hogs to Rumford in thy Muse's tone.  
The sneezings of thy Genius we would call  
(Were there Familiars now) Socratical;  
And though Thou hast such rites in small repute,  
weare bound those sacred omens to salute:  
And do (as sympathetically drawn)  
Grow nauseous, for to see thy Fancy yawn.   
Larus Lucianus. Cognomento Implumis. Alias jonathan. Rumford.   

Physiognomical Conjectures at the unseen Author.  
NAture hath seemed to make our Faces terse,  
In manner of a well-composed verse;  
But sure, there's something in the air of Thine  
Remarkable above the native line:  
Thou'dst be by him could copy out thy look  
By pencil, for a Crisp Abderite took.  
A Prophet of the true Pierian race,  
Bred on Parnassus' forked Top; his Face  
Should have the Jigs and Fancies of his mind  
Pricked down in Crotchets, and so interlined  
With Cliffs and Moods; it might be, for a Book  
Of Physiognomy, or Music took;  
Not look like those, whose thoughts do suck their Dam  
Through the close hurdle of an Anagram.  
The wits Idea in thy Visage seen,  
Works like Platonique capers on the spleen;  
And brings Sardonian laughter into scorn!  
Were man's dull fivers made of Stoic horn,  
The spruce aspect, could not introduce a gleek  
Of Cynique Spasms into his dimpled cheek.  
Such in his visages Dramatic map  
Was Rowley, when his look deserved a clap:  
Who from the Tuscan stem derive their stile,  
Oft by Arts magic, raise a humming smile:  
But thine (a virtue of a higher birth)  
Moves, so, an interjections shaking mirth,  
(Had he seen Thee) Democritus had died,  
And Heraclitus eyes had soon been dried;  
Sure mine (had I once entered at this door  
Into thy mind) would never pain me more.  
Since thy description made my midriff sprout,  
And through my liver thrust these wild figs out.  
Had thy rich countenance e'er blest the eye  
Of my judicial Astrology;  
I could have then, by virtue of a beam,  
Have drawn thy Horoscope into a Scheam.  
But fate has laid on me a harder task  
To Physiognomize, as through a mask.  
By the long strokes and scratches of thy pen,  
Thou shouldst be the seventh son of a white Hen.  
janus' de Indagine.   

Pam mai garw blaen blewyn baf garfr yn pori kelyn kaled dan die nhâd ei.  

LYthyr wyfis yn myned nid oes and un din am gwyr  
Na egored neb honof fam selieda chwyr.  
Nis gwyr and un din y chwaith ibleu traf  
Os dywed ynte i un din nid ydiw fo and knaf.   

Gwalcchmai fab Gwenllian ferch  
Gwenhwyfar ferch Edynyfed  
Fab Gronw ab Tudor fab  
Angharad ferch Rhydderchap  
Rhirid been blaid.   
Ai Kunt.   

To her much honoured, though unknown Friend, the Author on his Spinning Poem.  
FAncy cut out of a block,  
First, hung spindle at a rock;  
And so plodding wit brought in  
The Peripatetique sin.  
Wine set Poets to the wheel,  
Made their warmed verses reel;  
Sent them strong into the loom,  
Thence, they scorned the people's doom;  
Women, here set up thy Gigg,  
Make it spin into a Jig  
Of as high and great regard,  
As the Pyrrhique Gallyard:  
But ceasing to let it feel  
The scourge of thy Brains flayed Eel;  
Thinking it had power to keep  
(Town-top like) itself asleep;  
Whirling put thee in a swoon,  
So (alas) thy Gigg went down:  
And we doubt 'twill be in vain  
ere to set it up again.  
Eve Spinster.   

Rhodomontado Qackesalvo Bobadill de Montebanko the Hispanolized Emperique:  
On the Great Don Deigo of Parnassus, Master Operator to the Muses, thus danceth his attendance by way of preamble, in the measures of the Spanish Pavin  
OLd Erasistratus who thought!  
That Nature did commit a fault  
To give us Spleens were good for nought,  
As he imagined.  
He would have, sure, retrieved his wit,  
And found some pleasant use of it  
Had he felt in thy Muses fit  
Thy pulses.  
For there he might have found the strain  
Of sweet Herophilus his vein,  
Who unto Music's living gain  
The Shygmick moods did add.  
His Systol' and Diastole  
So with thy verses do agree,  
That I must dance for company  
Morisko.  
Each line doth run so smooth away  
They nor for sense nor reason stay,  
And yet the Rhymes are very gay  
And well breathed for a course.  
Sure Phoebus cut thy spleen from Thee  
Thou mights the Muse's Footman be,  
And (Insect like) in Poetry  
Be flying.  

Hermophroditus Proselyta foeminili Poetae.  
ANdrogynus nutans nec mas nec foemina, steti  
Ambos sic sexus singere, Neuter eram;  
Donec in Encomii requiescens auspice vatem  
Hoc muliere virum vincere posse, tuli.  
Demitto auriculas Epicoeni facta virago  
Tiresiae venerem Martis alumna probo.    

Some sprinklings of commendations on the fragrant and most aromatic Poem of Ja. Strong.  
STow talks of Albion's Amazons, I swear,  
Mandeviles Pigmies to thy Haeroines hear:  
How they mow down their mighty foes; protest  
Mere clippings, to thy hackster's in the West.  
Thy Mu●e (young Ovid) trumpets these Viragoes  
To the utmost bounds of Indies, or Barbadoes:  
That Sidneyes Zelman when she'll hear of you,  
Will w●sh her counterfeiting gender true:  
And Tomyris, (were she alive) not dead,  
Had rather hold their trains then Cyrus' head.  
What miracle is this in sight of men,  
When other folk did cry, nay howl and scream,  
Put finger in the eye, and made great moans,  
These should be pulling up, now throwing down stones.  
They willingly embrace the cornish hug,  
At which the boldest Hectors shoulders shrug,  
Like to light corks they beoy up 'gainst the tide,  
Like Watermens, ne'er work before they are plied:  
Or as indeed (young Ovid) thou hast it best,  
Like grapes ne'er fallen till they were pressed.  
Let them wear buskings ever to their knees,  
Or higher it, for (friend) thy verse all sees  
That is in them, of vertuousness I mean,  
Pray take my rhyme as I suppost, that's clean,  
Let them have statutes made (like men) of stone,  
Another wonder, which may be daily sh●wn,  
And let thy pen contrive it, which must stand  
Immovable, when stiffened by thy hand.  
Bu●ly joans.   

Ascunes' motts ou verses sur les marvellous Gests deal tresnoble puzeles en le West.  
Provant auxi que le entrie de ses dits puzeles sur les  
Cavalieres fuit bone per le Ley.  
VOus avez icy (Masters) verses scaches  
De tresgrand faits de nostre Western lasses  
Et ceo suppuose que il serra come Treason  
Ou all pluis meindre il serra misprision  
Si nostre Ley voile riens de ceo escry  
Ne voile reporter cielx femes Chivalry  
Est en nous pris un Count nosme Devon-shire  
Le scite & sink de plusars Cavalire  
Mes ceux bones Housewives vice le broom le weapon  
Admetus scour ceo clean & done all eux disseison  
Et s' bone ley que quant home per tort enter  
Le feme avera un briefe de inspiciend' venture.  John Perkins un sage Mastre de Ley. Reg. Ed. 6. ac Rotulo 1645.  

To his honoured friend Mr. JAMES STRONG, on his excellent Poem.  
HOw dost thou strain thy wits! thy thoughts perplex  
With Stronger lines to court the weaker Sex!  
He who in time to come shall read their story  
Beyond Haec homo, or The Female glory,  
Will (if no wiser than thyself) admire  
Both them and thee: and think you did conspire  
T' amaze the minds of men, more than to teach  
The zeal you here present: For who can reach  
The top of that gay garland, wherewith thou,  
Like Whitson-Ladies hast bedecked their brow.  
S. W.   

In ipsissimum Musarum melliculum, Phoebi germanum, & maxim Familiarem Dominum Presbyterum- JACOBUM cognomento STRONG, & pium ejus subuculare Carmen.  
SAxa, virumque cano, gressus removete Prophani;  
Haec ne, quisquis ades, tela lacesse volens.  
Si sapis his credas, rapiat ne fide carentem  
Turba loquax, captum at redime quam minim●.  
Certè Author caveat, novum ne augendo furorem,  
Castratus miser, hinc audiat ipse male.  
Io triumphe canunt petientes Penthea Bacchaes.  
Multae unum, minor est gloria Naso tuis.  
Molle genus nobis pugnando restituit rem,  
Saxa dabat testes nam retinere cupit.  
Quam benè scripsisses novam Batromuomachyam?  
Carmine avent repeti Nuxque Culexque tuo.  
Dignaque quae melius describi, à Pollice dicti  
Facta Equitis: faciunt quaeque stupenda grues.  
O tibi si dominae reserasset scrinia Fotis,  
Bubonem benè vix unctum abtisse puto.  
Dicitur, ut memini, faecundis ●latibus olim,  
Lascivus celeres gignere ventus equos.  
Quisve neget Zephyro nostrum praegnasse Poetam,  
Talibus hic videas quem properare modis.  
Ast animal quodcunque, asinus, fuit, anne caballus,  
Nil moror, at mulum parturit egregium,  
Cardo quod occiduus trahat hunc, sympathia quaedam ast;  
Nasum Heliconiadis forte lavavit aquis.  
Ridiculum caput est, vultuque, habituque perennis,  
Risus sacra ferens, quemque vidisse sat est.  
Nil prohibet sed si ridentem dicere verum,  
Musarum huic crepitus aura jocosa tulit.  D. G.  

Sonnet.  

WHen first thy doughty verse I read,  
O verse! no verse! but stranger thing;  
And saw what wondrous mirth it bred,  
I marvelled how the Queen and King  
Had missed this while thy high-strained note,  
And thou the privileged Coat.   

For as the Moon with crisped beams  
Produceth flowers which please the sight;  
And as the Sun amidst the streams  
Doth make the waves stand bolt upright;  
So thou, though by no Star allowed,  
Nor Planet loved, shinest in the Crowd.   

I'll not believe those tales, which say,  
Apollo fed Admetus' sheep,  
His Cow, or Ox, for by my say,  
Since thou the number up dost keep,  
The Herd was of, I dare protest,  
Arcadia's more peculiar beasts.   

And since the Lamiaes all are pleased,  
Their Gods should all be born by thee,  
Thou of thy load shalt not be eased  
By roses, though here plenty be;  
One Apuleius was, they say,  
But he I think did never bray.   

Wherefore be thou secure, and now  
To you whose blessed happed shall be  
This Syrian Goddess to to bow,  
And dream some Fane, or great City;  
I tell you plain, O Mortals, Mortals,  
This Myndus is, look you secure the portals,   

For there the jest lies, but to thee  
Again, my Meta- Virgil, terse  
Thought of my end now driveth me;  
For since thou wouldst live by thy verse,  
How dare I hope a death in mine,  
Aimed for so just, so jump, like thine.   
Richard jonson, Salamanca.   

A Character of the Author.  
ME think it, Sirs, accordant to reason,  
To tell you now all the condition  
Of thilk on, so as it seemed me,  
And what hem were, and of what degree,  
And eke in what array that he were in,  
And all for forward by Saint Runnyon.  
A Clerk of Oxenford he was tho,  
That unto Logic h●d long ygoe,  
Of his complexion nothing sangyne  
He is, but all swa sw●rt; and of Latin  
A few terms hath he, two, or three,  
That he han learned out of some degree:  
His face is bald, and shines as any glass,  
His mouth as great as is a furnas,  
With scaled brows, black and pylled berde,  
Of his visage children are sore afeared;  
His voice as small as is a Goats fare,  
I trow he be a Gelding or a Mare;  
His here is by his eeres round yshorne,  
His top is docked like a Priest before;  
He is short sholdered, a thick gnarre,  
There nis no door but he wol heed the bar,  
Or break it at a renning with his heed,  
Dares none one's wile him but he wol be deed,  
Ay by his belt he bears a long Pavade,  
And, of a sword full triumphant is the blade,  
To rage as 'twere a whelp he is said,  
Yet of his port, as meek as is a Maid:  
Full long he looks, and thereto soberly,  
Full threadbare is his over Court by;  
For he han yet gotten him no benefice,  
Ne is nought worthy to have none office,  
And yet Saint julyan is in's country,  
And the best beggar of his house truly:  
Full long are his legs and full l●ne,  
I like a staff, there is no calf yseen,  
Of yedding he bears utterly the price,  
Well loveth he garlic, onions, and eke likes,  
He holden a side wemme for the none,  
Full oft time he han the board begon,  
No christian man so oft in his degree,  
And in Lyme at the siege had he be.  
But soothe to say he is somewhat squaimus  
Of far●yng, and of speech dangerous.  
Now is it not of God a ful fair grace,  
That such a lewd man's wit shall place  
The wisdom of an heap of learned men?  
But I must say, as that I farther twin,  
I ween he fares as doth an open●●rs,  
That ilk fruit is ever longer the w●rs,  
Till it be rotten in molloke or in ●●re,  
And so God save us all that here be.  
J. Chaucer junior.   

PROLOGUE.  
GEntlemen, (in the Author's phrase) I come to chatter  
My mind unto you, and think not I should flatter  
At all our Penman; for, believe me, he  
Will hardly read or hear me, willingly:  
But some there be, I know, will ask why here  
In Satan's name a Prologue should appear?  
Since they Drammatike Ushers still were known,  
And this the world will for an Epic own.  
I answer, sure our Author meant to raise  
The first best instituted form of plays,  
To its prime height: were one Narration took  
The foretop, and the toe of the whole Book.  
One more Objection there will be, which is,  
Why to so scarified a piece as this,  
A merry Prologue, and a laughing name,  
Are tendered? Ye, fine Coxcombs, fie for shame,  
Know ye not yet t' what sage Mimnermus stood?  
That but what pleasant was nothing was good.  
Our Authors of his mind and no man grieves  
So far, but that he may laugh in his sleeves.  
Think than you hear him now, and think anon,  
How that you hear the swelling Lycophron  
Chaunt, how the Trojan women stirred their bones,  
To tumble down their walls huge massy stones;  
For ours did so, yet wiser far than those,  
These to repel, those to let in their foes,  
Oh would himself now but his face make shine,  
With daubing plaster, and the Lees of wine!  
Ascend a Cart (as was the mode of old)  
And through the streets himself this Poem troled.  
you'd think if not Apollo fresh and young,  
Because his hair is short, his ears are long.  
Because Don Phoebus' robes do loosely float,  
And he alas has but a petticoat:  
Yet since he had paper got, by teaching School,  
He had been sworn (you'd swear) Groom of his stool.  
And this same Poem here which now you view,  
Part of the excrements from thence which flew.  
A year and half boxed up, (this is sad mirth)  
From whence (like to an Elephantine birth)  
Is dropped this wonder; Sirs, pray hold your noses,  
Or hold some of my friends wits here for poses:  
I doubt you'll snuff else, and like him, to whom  
Admetus showed the Verse for his own tomb,  
Admire the strangeness of it, but yet say,  
You wish that you had seen it yesterday.  
Richard jonson. Si non dant Proceres, dabit Histrio.   

Feminine Valour: OR THE Western Women.  
COme Reader wilt thou see how Grace  
Through Sable veil shows comeliest face:  
women's virtues in the West  
Like Grapes ne'er drop till they were 
(a) The Author writes to chaste ears.  pressed:  
One rib of Adam there is grown  
Like 
(b) The History is thus. A tooth-drawer having drawn Cadmus his teeth. sowed them on his belt, where they got him so much credit, and consequently practice, that in a short space he had adorned it all over with the frequent achievements of his Art and Pincers. See Ovid's Metam. translated by Gawen Douglas Bishop of Dunkelly, and Uncle to the Earl of Angus.  Cadmus' teeth when they were sown;  
Almost an Army, they have spent  
Prayers and praise for Parliament.  
Couldst thou the parts of Devon trace  
No 
* Milkstreet.  via lactea, but thy race  
Of blood would be, there see the field  
Maintained by Women though men yield:  
Look round about and see, who can  
But wonder if he see a man,  
But stand and wonder more at this,  
To see a 
(c) The word in the original Welsh signifies the succession of women into men's breeches.  Metampsukesis.  
men's 
(d) He means women turned to men; Pliny in his Natural History, lib. 7. affirms the like of Ha●es and Coneys, our Author alludes to him.  spirits lost have reinformed  
women's bodies, both's reform:  
Who could see the sword not daunting  
A Woman's heart, but stand still vaunting?  
A Garrison in part defended  
By Women, till the Quarrels ended,  
And worn out men to be supplied  
By second strength of Women 
(e) Whose metal has endured the Test.  tried,  
And not acknowledge that 'tis true,  
I give West Women what is 
(f) Benevolence.  due.  
ja. St.   

WHat former Age did ever want a Quill  
Drenched with the dew of high Parnassus' hill?  
Those Bastard gifts of nature to record,  
But ah! cannot our ill taught times afford  
One to give virtue juster praise? 
(a) Not the nine worthies, but the nine women worthies. See Haywood.  Ye Nine,  
Have ye no quicker fancy now then mine  
To limn the praises of that weaker Sex  
Exactly as beseems an 
(b) Read the English ●●positer.  Artisex  
Where's now that nimble tongue, Apollo's vein,  
Or had we one could match blind Homer's strain,  
Or but that 
(c) Q Horatius.  wanton Poet who to flatter,  
One 
(d) An Handmaid of Rome.  Lalage sweet Poems once did 
(e) He sung them to the Guitar under her window in a cold frosty night.  chatter.  
Here's now a subject worth his pains, who sings  
Haddit need carouse of all the 
(f) Both before and behind the forked Hill.  Muse's springs:  
A saintlike sort of Females as before,  
Earth's broad Horizon till now ne'er bore.  

(g) He does not mean as Lucifer fell, not Vulcan when he broke his ships, but as woman should do.  From heaven are fallen, O let's not be dull  
To write their worth whereof the West is full.  
New natured are they and their grace divine,  
Come let's embalm their faces, and eke enshrine  
Their worth with honour, which doth claim the bays  
And round their heads, let's deck the Daphnean bays.  
If constancy that golden garland wreathed  
Which mortals none yet wore that ever breathed,  
In 
(h) See Sir John Mandevil, where he speaks of a People in Africa that use to roast Geese in the sun: and the Author, could not fancy a place of greater danger.  sunburnt times of danger, but he lost  
This sacred gem, wherewith this crown's embossed  
Sometime or other: O what cause had we  
To spread the praise of female constancy?  
Yet such a train of virtues do attend  
This 
(i) Alluding to Vicars in his translation of Virgil's Aeneids, where he makes Turnus call I●●urna, Sister Coachman, etc.  Lady leader, as I should not spend  
Some pain of speaking of her retinue,  
I should deny her what I know is due:  
Not one but hand in hand me thinks she goes  
Linked to all virtues following her in rows:  
An injury it were should I describe  
The mistress by herself which it doth ride,  
Born not by few but such a train of Graces  
As did the 
(k) Charites, or the Adamites that go naked.  three, but see they'd hide their faces:  
Cease now 
(l) A Sicilian much celebrated for his constancy to Pi●kins.  Agathocles to speak the praise  
Of thy 
(m) His wife Mrs. Agathocles.  Theogina, for our late days  
Have overmatcht thy mate for constancy;  
Yea constant 
(n) Who this Camnia should be I cannot justly say, I guess her to be the Lady mentioned in the first edition of some years' travels, sister to the Persian Emperor whose head was cut off, and sent to her brother upon a spears point with her hair about her shoulders.  Camnia or 
(o) A Gentlewoman of Thebes in the County of Bonia.  Antiope:  
I must search further for a parable,  
Or else our all past females will excel:  
Virtue in those was single, show me one  
Like ours hold virtue all and I have done.  
If here Corvina, Sappho, or that Queen,  
Zenobia for their learning would be seen  
So far as ere the Bard past 
(p) A Poet, Godfather to the Author.  Aristarchus,  
Or foolish Bavius was outstripped by Marcus:  
Our 
(q) For the right understanding of this. See the Mirror of Knight.  crystal wits be 
(r) See Mrs. Susan Brotus de Margar.  pearled with gifts divine  
Those ruder rugged spirits do outshine.  
If Great Gorgonia or Evanders' mother  
Endowments now would show beyond all other, Trasilla  
And prove their eminence in pious zeal,  
O let our Matrons only but appeal  
To heavens high Chancellor▪ where they may not boast  
If ere himself were conquered by an host  
Of praying females, where every hour  
Heaven be not forced his mercy down to shower:  
No strangers are they at the throne of Grace,  
But vow to pray until they see his face;  
Which being hidden hath eclipsed this Isle,  
As when the glorious Sun's withdrawn a while:  
Doth noble Portia or 
(s) A Popish Roman Dame that stabbed herself for one Raph. See the Knight of the burning Pest.  Lucretia strive  
For chastity this praise us to deprive.  
Modesty forbids you vaunt, hark how Diana  
Prefers our females far beyond 
(t) She whom the two wicked elders would grope while she sent out her maids to fetch her some soap.  Susanna:  
Who though the 
(u) It seems this whore is an Hermaphrodite else the feat could not be done.  crimson whore seek to deflower,  
And spoil this Virgin virtue every hour.  
Let each day testify how they refuse  
Her whorlsh proffers, and do rather choose  
To sacrifice their blood to Christ their Bride,  
Then with Rome's Idols to be 
(u) To stuprifie is not found in the English Expositors, but familiarly used by this Author.  stuprifide.  
This makes Rome's beasts to foam with rage  
'Cause we hold fast that knot of Marriage  
With Christ our Husband, and will not defile  
Our milk-white garments with his whoredoms vile.  
Dost thou 
(x) A Poetess that whipped and stripped Domitian the Emperor, because he sent the Philosophers from Constable to Constable.  Sulpitia fret for this their glory,  
And for thy verity relat'st a story  
Which needs must lay a claim unto that Rose  
That joys our females temples to enclose?  
Their persons yet their hearts do bend  
As circled lines do to one centre tend.  
Religion reform is all their scope  
Which not one few or most but all do hope:  
Ones griefs not another's joy, but all  
Do live and die together, rise and fall,  
So closely are they joined by unions tie,  
That all resolve to live, and all to die.  
Amongst them not one 
(y) Tarpeia was a Nun that dealt between the Sabines and the Geese, about delivering up the Capitol. She was the first woman that ever was pressed to death  Tarpeia ere betrayed  
Their strength through bribes or else with fear dismayed.  
Blush then to see our 
(z) Not the Popish Cathedral, nor the profane Dramatic. but that Western C●rus the Poet mentions in Corum solitus savive ●●agellis. Meaning the Beadle.  Corus so combined  
That all seem better one, then more defined.  
How strangely frugal still Dame Nature seemed  
Pinching her gifts till now, these may be deemed  
Her darling unto others being bereft  
Of those choice 
* Some Copies have it doweets.  dowries to our sex bequeathed,  
But flesh and blood ne'er gave a legacy  
To match the graces we in them descry:  
None but that sacred story must produce  
A Saint to challenge my undaunted Muse.  
Amongst Mary's three 'twas chiefly given in charge  
With ne'er forgotten praises to enlarge,  
The Sacred Bible with her praise that cast  
Perfuming Nard on Christ, 'twas called waist:  
Not one but many matrons there we see  
Who rather then to Baal they'll 
(a) Make a curtsy or a leg.  bend a knee,  
A set of martyred matrons chose to be,  
As earth's contemners jointly do contend  
Who most in ointment shall on Christ expend  
Whole manors, large possessions lost, are gain  
In their account, Christ's honour to maintain.  
Did Mary wash with tears? 'twas much with blood,  
These steep the parched earth as doth 
(b) He means the flood of Deucalion and Pyrrha who also threw stones in imitation of these Matrons.  a flood.  
O precious balm sweat from a soul perfumed  
With grace till body be again resumed.  
This like an 
(c) That is to say the smell of a perfumed soul is an excellent preservative against black patches.  Ordure shall the world fill  
And keep your glory pure and spotless still:  
But Jael thinks at last this palm to win  
By valour greater far than feminin:  
Ours truly warlike are, she took the odds  
When Sisera lay sleeping, ours with clods,  

(d) So Diomedes and Aeneas in Homer, Entellus and Dares in Virgil of whom Mr. Vicars sings. They banged each others hides And made redoubled thwak● sound on their sides.  Stones, swords or fists, can fight on equal terms,  
A handful scorns to fly from 
(e) See Coriats' Trophy in his Crudities, where he describes these bloodthirsty Myrmydons whom no mortal could ere subdue on equal terms, but by some shift or other.  Summer swarms.  
This Amazon-like train vows ne'er to stoop  
Being fled from Venus unto Mars his troop,  
Where they with tumours, tossed, Truth's 
(f) Lasciva est Pagina vita proba est  standard bear,  
And Zions downfallen breaches strive to rear:  
They stop the gap themselves, where judgement flies  
Praying in Moses turn with tear-swoln eyes,  
Nor fancy, frenzy, or blind passion,  
Or aught but pious resolution  
Moves them with constant courage thus to hold,  
Right tutor reason makes them bold.  
Why speak I more than this, to most 'tis known  

(g) The grey Mare is the better Horse.  The weaker vessels are the stronger grown.  
The vine which on the pole still leaned his arms,  
Must now bear up and save the pole from harms.  
How many manlike spirits have been steeled  
By these she helpers being like to yield.  
How have some to courage been exhorted,  
How often others by them been supported?  
I this deblason coat that makes the crest  
Is 
(h) Inconstancies a vice. She that loves more than once, loves twice.  constancy of virtues all the best:  
A virtue which till now was never known  
In women's breasts, till now was never shown:  
Their choice was Mary's (Christ) then 'tis not strange  
Their mottoes this (Our choice admits no change.)  
World's wanton wooers may rend joseph's coat  
From him, but him from Christ's, hell cannot do't:  
A sweating solace have they in their crosses,  
We keep our Christ, what matter is't for losses?  
Go on, heavens saints, like to those Roman Dames  

(i) A School-mistris in Rome that taught children the Hornbook.  Cornelia, 
(k) He does not mean that they should eat fi●e as Portia did, but rather fight.  Portia, and the rest whose names  
Shall wear out time, who first began  
To make a Pagan state a Christian one:  
Your praise is great who cannot abide  
That Babel's 
(l) So Juvenal says of her, Lassata viris nondum satiata, Sat. 6.  tired whore herself should hide  
Under Christ's garments, or be fostered longer  
Within the Kingdom to some now grown stronger  
By opposition filled with detestation  
Of 
(m) These locusts are a kind of Cantharideses which the whore of Babylon uses to take for proneness.  Romish Locusts near to death's damnation▪  
Rejoice then travelling women thy time near grows  
To be delivered from the painful throws  
Of twice two tiring Summers that do make  
Our bowels yearn to 
(n) Though the belly have no ears yet it should seem it hath eyes  see our hearts to ache:  
The Judge already set on bloody room  
And murdered Saints cry loudly for her doom,  
How long Lord, how long shall this whore wallow  
In guiltless blood, and threaten still to swallow  
Each day a deeper draught; O make her drunk  
With vials of thy plagues; let her be sunk  
As low as hell with vengeance from above  
Judged to the persecutors of thy Dove;  
Mean while continue pure, the lily scorns  
To be defiled tho behedged with thorns.  
The husbandman's at hand and he must needs  
Gather the rose or else destroy the weeds.  
Come Lord to thy garden and do pity  
The wild Boar routs thy plants in every City:  
Hedge us within the pales of thy defence  
So shall thy plants be safe from violence.  
Farewell rare paramours, I must confess  
Virtue's perfection claims a purer dress,  
Stand fast a while, the nuptial chambers sweeping  
To welcome those to joy that now stand weeping.   

The Epilogue.  
SIrs, if you are set on edge, you must excuse  
Our Author says, the sharpness of his Muse.  
Because he vows, and stands to't, that no wines  
Do grow in th' West, he thought for lack of Vines.  
Next to ground apples, be loves nought before  
The milkmaids courtesy behind the door,  
When for a tale of love, or last night's dream,  
She pays him with two kisses, and sour cream.  
Besides as he remembered, he did think,  
That he put verguice into once his Ink,  
But wondered should be stale, for by the sun,  
He swore 'twas scarce two years since he begun.  
Truth 'twas the Stati'ners' fault, that was too nice,  
To bate at first ten shillings in the price!  
If y'are displeased he vows to write no more,  
But Satyrs (I'd forgot) against the whore,  
And you his friends howe'er he does not fear  
But to prefer'em to a judges ear,  
And reason; for to me, he did protest  
They'd make as good neck verses as the best.  
Pray don't provoke him, for you know not what  
An enraged fancy may attempt; that's flat  
He'll write iambics, and then if that you  
Do hang yourselves, mechance he'll do so too.  
Faith, do not trust him; for who justly can  
Value the loss, that such a worthy man,  
Would bring upon the Commonweal of wit  
Should he but undergo a fate unfit?  
Were't not for him Apollo would be sad,  
And th' Muse's want of mirth, poor girls, run mad.  
But against the Proverb, while he lives I'll swear,  
The God will laugh more than bore once a year:  
Now much good do't ye, 'tis th● Authors will;  
Beshrew you if you did not laugh your fill.  
But lest this mirth should cease, pray write ye too,  
And then perchance we'll laugh as much at you.  
Lusimus Octavi 8 Sive G. D.  
FINIS.