Wit and Drollery, JOVIAL POEMS: Corrected and much amended, with ADDITIONS, By Sir I. M. ja. S. Sir W. D. I. D. and the most refined Wits of the Age.  Ut Nectar Ingenium. 
LONDON, Printed for Nath. Brook, at the Angel in Cornhill, 1661.   

Courteous Reader,  
I Present thee with Wit and Drollery, truly calculated for the Meridian of mirth; the once exalted Scene is at this present levelled, other Poems have come forth in such throngs, that our English world is satiated with them, especially as they have been lately stuffed with reiterated Hyperboles, or else other more pitiful whining passions of Love, such as ingenuous persons, cannot have the patience continually to be afflicted with. Reader, to give thee a broadside of plain dealing, this Wit I present thee with, is such as can only be in fashion, invented purposely to keep off the violent assaults of Melancholy, assisted by the additional Engines, and Weapons of Sack and good company: as for those graver sort of people, who are contented to read old Bembo, with his Beard down to his Girdle, I wish them a good digestion of their studies; these Poems are not for their gust●, they are a Heaven higher; as jovial, as clear, and as lusty, as those that writ them; such verbal harmony, being as pleasing to the fancies, as the most delightful Airs of Music are to the ear. Not to be tedious, or to deceive the Reader with a belief of what is not, these Poems reprinted, with additions are collected from the best Wits, of what above 20. years since, were begun to be preserved, for mir●h and friends; the fear of having some of them imperfectly set forth, hath, though unwillingly, made them common. What hath not been extant of Sir I. M. of ja. S. of Sir W. D. of I. D. and other miraculous Muses of the Times, are here at thy Service, and as Webster at the end of his Play called the White Devil, subscribes, that the action of Perkins crowned the whole Play, so when thou viewest the Title, and readest the sign of Ben Johnson's head, on the backside of the Exchange, and the Angel in Cornhill, where they are sold, inquire who could better furnish the with such sparkling copies of Wit than those that have been so long courted for them; there are two or three copies crept in among the rest, as the ordinary sort of people crowd in at the audience of an Ambassador, which may at thy discretion be permitted to stay, or be put out; though they are good, yet not to be endured, as they are old. I have no more to acquaint thee with, but that good Drollery is not so loose, or of so late an invention, but that the most serious Wits have thought themselves honoured to own them. Bidding thee farewell.  
E. M.   
WIT AND DROLLERY OR JOVIAL POEMS  


The Preface to that most elaborate piece of Poetry Entitled Penelope Ulysses.  
NO I protest, not that I wish the gains  
To spoil the trade of mercenary brains.  
I am indifferently bend, so, so,  
Whether I ever tell my works or no.  
Nor was't my aim when I took pen in fingers,  
To take employment for the Ballad singers.  
Nor none of these but on a gloomy day,  
My genius step to me, and thus 'gan say.  
Listen to me, I give you information,  
This History deserves a grave translation;  
And if comparisons be free from flanders,  
I say as well as Hero and Leander's.  
This said, I took my chair in colours wrought,  
Which at an outcry with two stools I bought.  
The stools of Dornix, which that you may know well,  
Are certain stuffs, Upholsters use to sell.  
Stuffs, said I? no, some Linsey-Wolsey-monger mixed them,  
They were not stuff nor Cloth sure, but betwixt them.  
The ward I bought them in, it was without  
Hight Faringdon, and their a greasy lout  
Bid for them shilling six, but I bid seven,  
A sum that is accounted odd, not even:  
The Crier thereat seemed to be willing,  
Quoth he there's no man better than seven shiling.  
He though it was a reasonale price,  
So struck upon the Table, once twice, thrice.  
My pen in one hand my penknife in the other,  
My Ink was good, my paper was none other.  
So sat me down, being with sadness moved,  
To sing this new Song, sung of old by Ovid.  
But would you think, as I was thus preparing  
All in a readiness, here and there staring  
To find my implements, that the untoward Elf,  
My Muse shall steal away, and hide herself?  
Just so it was, faith, neither worse nor better,  
Away she run ere I had writ a Letter.  
I after her apace, and beat the bushes,  
Rank Grass, Sirs, Ferne, and the tall banks of rushes.  
At last I found my Muse, and wot you what,  
I put her up, for lo she was at squat.  
Thou slut quoth I, hadst thou not run away,  
I had made verses all this livelong day.  
But in good sooth, o'er much I durst not chide her,  
Lest she should run away again and hide her.  
But when my heat was o'er, I speak thus to her  
Why didst thou play the wag? I'm very sure  
I have commended thee above old Chaucer;  
And in a Tavern once I had a Saucer  
Of Whitwine Vinegar, dashed in my face,  
For saying thou deservest a better grace,  
Thou know'st that then I took a Sausage up,  
Upon the knaves face it gave such a clap,  
That he repented him that he had spoken  
Against thy fame, he struck by the same token.  
I often have sung thy Metres, and sometimes,  
I laugh to set on others at thy rhymes.  
When that my Muse considered had this gear,  
She sighed so sore, it grieved my heart to hear.  
She said she had done ill, and was not blameless '  
And Polyhymnie (one that shall be nameless,  
Was present when she spoke it) and before her,  
My Muse's lamentation was the soarer.  
And then to show she was not quite unkind,  
She sounded out these strong lines of her mind.   

The Inovation of Ulysses and Penelope.  
O All ye 
(1) The harder the word is, the easier it is to be understood.  Cliptick Spirits of the Spheres  
That have or 
(2) In varying the use of the senses, the Author shows himself to be in his wits.  sense to hear or 
(3) In varying the use of the senses, the Author shows himself to be in his wits.  use of ears,  
And you in number 
(4) There the Author shows himself to be well versed in the Almanac.  twelve Celestial Signs  
That Poets have made use of in their lines,  
And by which men do know what seasons good  
To geld their Bore-piggs,, and let Horses blood  
List to my doleful tone, O 
(5) Being twice repeated, it argues an elegant fancy in the Poet.  list I say,  
Unto the complaint of Penelope.  
She was a lover, I, and so was he  
As loving unto her, and he to 
(6) To make false English, argues as much knowledge as to make true latin.  she:  
But mark how things were altered in a moment  
Ulysses was a Grecian born, I so meant  
To have informed you first, but since 'tis or e,  
It is as 
(7) Better once done then never.  well, as had it been before:  
He being as I said as Greek there rose  
A Quarrel 'twixt the Trojans and their 
(8) For sometimes there may happen a quarrel amongst friends.  foes,  
I mean the Grecians, whereof he was 
(9) Till he was married, he could be but one.  one,  
But let that pass, he was Laertes Son.  
Yet lest some of the difference be ignorant,  
It was about a 
(1) There is no mischief, but a woman is at one end of it.  Wench, you may hear more 
(2) The more you hear on't, the worse you'll like it.  on't  
In Virgil's Aeneids, and in Homer too;  
How Paris loved her, and no more ado  
But goes and steals her from her Husband: wherefore  
The Grecians took their tools, and fighted therefore.  
And that you may perceive they were stout 
(3) There was a Spanish regiment amongst them.  Signiors,  
The Combat lasted for the space of ten 
(4) That may be done in an hour, which we may repent all our life after.  years.  
This Gallant bideing where full many a Mother  
Is oft bereaved of Child, Sister of Brother,  
His Lady greatly longing for his presence  

(5) Being up to the Elbows in trouble, she expessed it in this line.  Writ him a Letter, whereof this the Sense.  
" My pretty Duck, my pigsney my Ulysses,  
" Thy poor Penelope sends a 
(6) Even Reckoning makes long friends.  thousand Kisses  
" As to her only joy a hearty greeting,  
" Wishing thy company, but not thy meeting  
" With enemies, and fiery spirits in Armour,  
" And which perchance may do thy body harme-or  
" May take thee Prisoner, and clap on thee bolts  
" And locks upon thy legs, such as wear Colts.  
" But send me word, and ere that thou want Ransom  
" Being a man so comely, and so handsome,  
" I'll sell my Smock both from my back and 
(7) As a pudding has two ends, so smock has two sides.  belly  
" ere you want money, meat, or clothes, I tell ye.  
When that Ulysses, all in grief enveloped.  
Had marked how right this Letter was Peneloped.  
Laid one hand on his heart, and said 'twas guilty,  
Resting the other on his Dagger-hilty,  
Thus 'gan to speak: O thou that dost control  
All beauties else, thou hath so banged my soul  
With thy lamentation, that I swear,  
I love thee strangely, without wit or fear;  
I could have wished (quoth he,) myself the Paper  
Ink, Standish, Sandbox, or the burning Taper,  
That were the Instruments of this thy writing  
Or else the stool whereon thou satst inditing:  
And so might have been near that lovely breech  
That never yet was troubled with the 
(8.) As love doth commonly break out into an Itch, yet with her it did not so  Itch.  
And with the thought of that, his Sorrow doubled  
His heart with woe, was so Cuffed and Cornubled,  
That he approved one of his Lady's Verses,  
(The which my Author in his book rehearses)  
'Tis true quoth he, 
(9) There the Author translates out of Ovid, as Ben Jonson does in Sejanus out of Homer  Loves troubles make me tamer,  
Res est Soliciti plena timoris Amor.  
This said, he blamed himself, and chid his folly  
For being so overruled with melancholy,  
He called himself, Fool, Coxcomb, Ass, and Fop,  
And many a scurvy name he reckoned up.  
But to himself, this language was too rough,  
For certainly the man had wit enough:  
For he resolves to leave his Trojan foes,  
And go to see his love in his best clothes.  
But mark how he was crossed in his intent,  
His friends suspected him incontinent:  
And some of them supposed he was in love,  
Because his eyes all in his head did move,  
Or more or less than used, I know not which  
But I am sure they did not move so mich  
As they were wont to do: and than 'twas blasted,  
Ulysses was in love and whilst that lasted  
No other news within the Camp was spoke of,  
And many did suppose the match was broke off.  
But he concealed himself, nor was o'er hasty  
To shift his clothes, though now grown somewhat nasty.  
But having washed his hands in Pewter Bason,  
Determins for to get a Girl or a Son,  
On fair Penelope, for he looked trimmer  
Than young Leander when he learned his 
(1.) By this you may perceive, that primers were first Printed at Abydos.  Primer,  
To Graece he wends apace, for all his hope  
Was only now to to see fair Penelope:  
She combed her head, and washed her face in Cream  
And pinched her cheeks to make the 
(2.) For distinction sake, because many men's noses bleed white blood.  red blood stream  
She donned new clothes, and sent the old ones packing  
And had her shoes rubbed over with Lamp 
(3.) Black is the beauty of the shoe.  blacking,  
Her new rabato, and a falling band,  
And Rings with several posies on her hand.  
A stomacher upon her breast so bare,  
For Strips and Gorgets was not then the wear▪  
She thus adorned to meet her youthful Lover  
Herd by a Post-boy, he was new come over:  
She than prepares a banquet very neat  

(4) Because a Cow, was amongst the ancient Grecians called a Neat, Gesner in his Etymolog. lib. 103. Tom 16.  Yet there was not bit of Butcher's meat  
But Pies, and Capons, Rabbits, Larks and Fruit;  
Orion an a Dolphin, with his 
(5.) Better falsify the Rhyme then the Story, etc.  Harp  
And in the midst of all these dishes stood  
A platter of Peas-porridge, wondrous good,  
And next to that the God of Love was placed,  
His Image being made of Rye-past,  
To make that good which the old Proverb speaks  
[The one the Heart, t'other the belly breaks.]  
Ulysses seeing himself a welcome Guest  
Resolves to have some Fiddlers at the Feast:  
And amongst the various consort choosing them.  
That in their sleeves the arms of Agamemnon-  
Non, in the next verse, wore: Cried in a rage  
Sing me some Song made in the Iron Age.  
The Iron-Age, quoth he that used to sing?  
This to my mind the Black-Smith's Song doth bring  
The Black-Smiths, quoth Ulysses? and there holloweth,  
Whoop! is there such a Song? Let's have't. It followeth,    

The Blacksmith. As it was sung before Ulysses and Penelope at their Feast, when he returned from their Trojan Wars, collected out of Homer, Virgil and Ovid, by some of the Modern Family of the Fancies.  
OF all the trades that ever I see,  
there's none with the Blacksmith compared may be,  
With so many several tools works he  
Which Nobody can deny,  
The first that ever thunderbolt made,  
Was a Cyclops of the Black Smith's trade,  
As in a learned author is said,  
Which Nobody can deny  
When thundringly we lay about  
The fire like lightning flasheth out;  
Which suddenly with water we d'out.  
Which Nobody can deny  
The fairest Goddess in the Skies,  
To marry with Vulcan did devise  
Which was a Blacksmith grave and wise  
Which no body can deny.  
Mulciber to do her all right  
Did build her a town by day and by night,  
Which afterwards he Hammersmith height  
Which no body can deny.  
And that no Enemy might wrong her  
He gave her Fort, she need no stronger,  
Then is the Lane of Ironmonger,  
Which no body can deny.  
Vulcan farther did acquaint her  
That a pretty Estate he would appoint her,  
And leave her Seacoale-lane for a jointure.  
Which nobody can deny.  
Smithfeild he did free from dirt,  
And he had sure great reason for't  
It stood very near to 
* Turnemill Street.  Venus  
Which nobody can deny.  
But after in good time and ride,  
It was to the Black Smiths rectified,  
And given'm by Edmond Ironside,  
Which nobody can deny.  
At last 
* Vulcan.  he made a Net, or train,  
In which the God of war was taken,  
Which ever since was called Paul's-chain  
Which nobody can deny.  
The common Proverb, as it is read,  
That we should hit the nail o'the head:  
Without the Black Smith cannot be said,  
Which nobody can deny  
There is another must not be forgot  
Which falls unto the Black Smith's lot  
That we should strike while the I'rons hit,  
Which nobody can deny.  
A third lies in the Black Smith's way  
When things are safe as oldwives say,  
They hav'em under lock and key,  
Which nobody can deny▪  
Another Proverb makes me laugh  
Because the Smith can challenge but half;  
When things are as plain as a Pike staff,  
Which nobody can deny▪  
But'tother half to him does belong;  
And therefore do the Smith no wrong,  
When one is held to it hard, buckle and thong,  
Which nobody can deny.  
Then there is a whole one proper and fit  
And the Blacksmith's justice is seen in it,  
When you give a man Roast-meat and beat him with Spit,  
Which nobody can deny.  
Another Proverb does seldom fail,  
When you meet with naughty beer or ale,  
You cry it is as dead as a door nail,  
Which nobody can deny.  
If you stick to one when fortunes wheel  
Doth make him many losses feel  
We say such a friend is as true as steel.  
Which nobody can deny.  
there's one that's in the Blacksmith's books,  
And from him alone for remedy looks.  
And that is he that is off o'th' hooks.  
Which no body can deny.  
there's ner' a slut, if filth over-smutch her  
But owes to the Blacksmith for her lecher:  
For without a payr of tongues no man will touch her.  
Which no body can deny.  
There is a Law in merry England  
●n which the Smith has some command  
When any one is burnt in the hand;  
Which no body can deny.  
Banbury ale a half-yard-pott,  
The Devil a Tinker dares stand to't;  
If once the tossed be hizzing-hot.  
Which no body can deny.  
If any Tailor has the itch,  
Your Blacksmith's water, as black as pitch,  
Will make his fingers go thorow-stich.  
Which no body can deny.  
A Sullen-woman needs no leech,  
Your Blacksmiths bellows restores her speech  
And will fetch her again with wind in her breech.  
Which no body can deny.  
Your snuffling Puritans do surmise,  
That without the Blacksmiths mysteries,  
St. Peter had never gotten his Keys,  
Which no body can deny.  
And further more there are of those  
That without the Blacksmiths help do suppose  
St. Dunstan had never ta'en the Devil by the nose.  
Which nobody can deny.  
And though they are so rigid and nice  
And rail against Drabs, and drink and dice  
Yet they do allow the Black Smith's vice  
Which nobody can deny.  
Now when so many Heresies fly about,  
And every sect growns more in doubt  
The Black Smith he is a hamering it out,  
Which nobody can deny▪  
Though Sergeants at law grow richer far,  
And with long pleading a good cause can marr●  
Yet your Black Smiths take more pains at th● Barr,  
Which nobody can deny▪  
And though he has no commander's look  
Nor can brag of those he hath slain and took,  
Yet he is as good as ever struck,  
Which nobody dan deny▪  
For though he does lay on many a blow  
It ruins neither friend nor foe;  
Would our plundring-souldiers had done so,  
Which every one can deny▪  
Though Bankrupts lie lurking in their holes  
And laugh at their Creditors, and catchpoles,  
Yet your Smith can fetch'em over the coals.  
Which nobody can deny▪  
Our laws do punish severely still,  
Such as counterfeit, deed, bond, or bill,  
But your Smith may freely forge what he wil●  
Which nobody can deny.  
To be a Jockey is thought a fine feat,  
As to train up a horse, and prescribe him his meat  
Yet your Smith knows best to give a heat.  
Which nobody can deny.  
The Roring-Boy who every one quails  
And swaggers, & drinks, and swears and rails,  
Could yet never make the Smith eat his nails.  
Which nobody can deny.  
Then if to know him men did desire,  
They would not scorn him but rank him higher  
●or what he gets is out of the fire.  
Which nobody can deny.  
●hough Ulysses himself has gone many miles  
And in the war has all the craft & the wiles,  
●et your Smith can sooner double his files.  
Which nobody can deny.  
●●yst thou so, quoth Ulysses, and then he did call  
●or wine to drink to the Black-Smiths all,  
And he vowed it should go round as a Ball  
Which no body should deny.  
●nd cause he had such pleasure taken,  
●t this honest fiddlers merry strain,  
●e gave him the Horse-Shoe in Drury-lane  
Which nobody can deny.  
Where his posterity ever since  
●re ready with wine, both Spanish and French,  
●or those that can bring in another Clench  
Which nobody can deny.  
The Song being done they drank the health, they rose  
They would in verse, and went to bed in prose.   

Loyalty confined.  

BEat on proud Billows, Boreas Blow,  
Swell curled Waves, high as Jove's roof,  
Your incivility doth show,  
That innocence is tempest proof.  
Though surely Nereus' frown, my thoughts ar● calm▪  
Then strike affliction, for thy wounds are balm.   

That which the world miscalls a Goal,  
A private Closet is to me,  
Whilst a good Conscience is my Bail,  
And innocence my Liberty:  
Locks Bars and solitude together met,  
Make me no Prisoner but an Anchorit.   

I whilst I wished to be retired  
Into this private room, was turned,  
As if their wisdoms had conspired,  
The Salamander should be burned.  
Or like those sophies who would drown a Fish▪  
So I'm condemned to suffer what I wish.   

The Cynic hugs his poverty,  
The Pelican her wilderness,  
And 'tis the Indian's pride to be  
Naked on frozen Caucasus.  
Contentment cannot smart, Stoics we see  
Make torments easy to their Apathy.   

●hese Menacles upon my Arm,  
●as my Mistress' favours wear;  
●nd for to keep my Ankles warm,  
●have some Iron Shackles there.  
These walls are but my Garrison; this Cell  
Which men call Goal, doth prove my Citadel.   

So he that struck at jasons' life,  
●hinking he had his purpose sure:  
●y a malicious friendly knife,  
●id only wound him to a cure.  
Malice I see wants wit, for what is meant,  
Mischief ofttimes proves favour by th'event.   

●m in this Cabinet locked up,  
●ike some hig-prized Margaret,  
●r like some great Mogul or Pope,  
●re cloistered up from public sight.  
Retirement is a piece of Majesty,  
And thus proud Sultan, I'm as great as thee.   

●ere sin for want of food must starve,  
Where tempting objects are not seen;  
●nd these strong Walls do only serve,  
●o keep Vice out, and keep me in.  
Malice of lates grown charitable sure,  
I'm not Committed, but I'm kept secure.   

When once my Prince affliction hath,  
Prosperity doth Treason seem;  
And for to smooth so rough a Path,  
I can learn Patience from him.  
Now not to suffer, shows no Loyal heart,  
When Kings want ease, Subjects must learn 〈◊〉 sma●   

Have you not seen the Nightingale,  
A Pilgrim koopt into a Cage,  
How doth she chant her wont tale,  
In that her narrow hermitage.  
Even than her charming melody doth prove,  
That all her boughs are trees, her Cage a gro●   

My soul is free as the ambient air,  
Although my base part's immured,  
Whilst Loyal thoughts do still repair,  
'T accompany my Solitude.  
And though immured, yet I can chirp and sing  
Disgrace to Rebels is glory to my King.   

What though I cannot see my King,  
Neither in his Person or his Coin,  
Yet contemplation is a thing,  
That renders what I have not mine.  
My King from me, what Adamant can part,  
Whom I wear engraven on my heart.   

I am that Bird whom they combine,  
Thus to deprive of Liberty;  
But though they do my Corpse confine,  
Yet maugre hate, my soul is free.  
Although Rebellion do my body bind,  
My King can only captivate my mind.    

A SONG.  

THe Pangs of Love grows sore grows sore  
And so mine one Lady told me,  
I loved a bonny lass well,  
Well and she hath forsaken me.   

I loved her well and delicate well,  
I told her my mind as I might,  
She bid me love where I would  
Hay hay and went away out of my sight.   

I thought my Love had been as true to me,  
As the grass that grows on the ground,  
But now she proved the contrary,  
She is as good lost as found.   

I thought my Love had been a Virgin pure,  
When to her my Love I betook,  
She went with child by a Gentleman  
And married a greasy Cook.   

But I do beshrew her Cheeks and her chin  
And so do I beshrew her face  
Her cherry red Lips with a hay hay  
And her flattering Tongue within.   

And I do beshrew her goodly grey eyes  
So do I her apparel and pride  
For now my land's gone with a hay hay,  
My love she looks all a one side.   

And if I live another year  
As God may give me grace  
I'll buy her a glass of decitfull water  
To wash her dissembling face.    

A SONG in praise of noble Liquor.  

COme hither zealous brothers,  
And leave your disputation:  
I will recount where is a fount,  
That leads to mitigation:  
The virtue of which Liquor,  
Being taken with replation,  
Will clear your eyes and make you wise,  
And fill you with discretion  
And it is call old Sack old Sack▪  
●is Physic good and Diet,  
To cure the man called Puritan  
And make him sleep in quiet.   

No frantic strange opinion  
Doth from this Fountain bubble  
Nor Puritan that Scripture scan  
The Church and State to trouble  
●rom Rhenish White and Claret  
This runs of generation  
Which fills the Realm with filthy phlegm  
Of strife and alteration  
Then let them drink old Sack old Sack.   

He is wiser than the fathers  
No counsel can command him  
He burns with zeal the common weal  
No Cannon can withstand him  
His privy queses informs him.  
All other men do wonder  
Fill him with drink and then I think  
He will recant the slander  
And let it be old Sack old Sack etc.   

A Surples more affrights him  
That smells of superstition  
Then twenty Smocks or nether Stocks  
To tender his submission  
Besides his holy Sister  
He loves no female Creature  
But when he is drunk, he will kiss a punk  
And tender his good nature  
And then let him drink old Sack old Sack.   

His head no reason enters  
Nor he to be reclaimed  
His brains doth crack for want of Sack  
And thus his wits are maimed;  
The only way to cure him  
If Sack will not collect him  
Must be the grate of Bishop's gate  
Where mad Tom will expect him  
There let him drink old Sack old Sack.    

To the tune of Pip my Cock.  
ALas poor silly Barnaby how men do thee molest,  
In City Town and Country, they never let thee rest:  
For let a man be merry, at Even or at Morn,  
They will say that he is Barnaby, and laugh him for to scorn;  
And call him drunken Barnaby when Barnaby is gone  
But can they not tend their drinking and let Barnaby alone.  
You City Dames so dainty that are so neat and fine  
That every day drinks plenty of spice and Claret wine,  
But you must have it burnt with ●ugar passing sweet  
They will not suffer Barnaby to walk a long the street,  
But call him drunken Barnaby when Barnaby is gone,  
Cannot you tend your Gosseping and let Barnaby alone.  
You Clerks and Lawyers costly, that are so fine & nice  
When you do meet so costly, with a cup of Ale and spice,  
You will take your Chamber, before you do begin  
Although you steal him privately you count it is no sin,  
Though Barnaby stands open, in sight of every one  
What cannot you tend your drinking, and let Barnaby alone,  
But I have seen some Hostis, that have taken a pot,  
When her head runs giddy, she'll call for a double shot,  
Although she gets her living by such kind of gests  
Shall mock, scoff and deride me, as deeply as the rest,  
But call me drunken Barnaby when all my money is gone  
But cannot you look to their malt man and let Barnaby alone.   

A SONG.  

THe Blazing Star is soon burned out  
The Diamond light abide  
The one in glory shines about,  
The other yields light beside.  
That spark if any should be mine  
That else hath been unknown,  
But if to every he she shine  
I'll rather lie alone.   

The Glow-worm in the dark gives light  
And to the view of many,  
The Moon she shows herself by night  
And yields her light to any.  
But if my Love should seem to be  
To every one so known,  
She never more shall shine to me,  
I'll rather lie alone.   

I'll not consume nor pine nor grieve,  
As other Lovers do,  
But such as bear a constant mind  
And will to me prove true,  
I will set as little by any she,  
As she by me hath done,  
I will love where is constancy  
Or else I will love none.   

A Willow Garland on my head,  
I ever mean to wear  
I need no pillow to my bed,  
I am clear void of care.  
A single life is without strife,  
And free from sighs and groans  
Therefore I mean in longest night  
Ever to lie alone.   

Once I loved the fairest love  
That e'er my eyes did see  
But she to me unconstant proved  
And set no love by me.  
And ever since my mind so tossed  
I'll lend no love to none,  
Because I have been thus much crossed  
I'll ever lie alone.    

A SONG.  

Begun begon my Willy my Billy,  
Begun begon my dear,  
The weather is warm,  
'twill do thee no harm,  
Thou canst not be lodged here.  
My Willy my Billy, my Honey my coney,  
My love my dove my dear,  
Oh oh, the wether is warm  
'Twill do thee no harm,  
Oh oh thou canst not be lodged here.   

Farewell farewel my Juggie my puggy,  
Farewell farewel my dear,  
Then will I be gone,  
From whence that I came,  
If I cannot be lodged here.  
My Juggie my puggy, my honey my coney,  
My love my dove my dear,  
Oh oh than will I begone  
From whence that I came,  
Oh oh if I cannot be lodged here.   

Return return my Willy my Billy  
Return my dove and my dear  
The wether doth change,  
Then seem it not strange  
Thou canst not be lodged here.  
My Willy my Billy, my honey my coney  
My love my dove my dear,  
Oh oh the wether doth change,  
Then seem it not strange  
Oh and thou shalt be lodged here.    

A SONG.  

Sweet at night shall I come to your bed fie no,  
You need not hazard your maidenhead why so  
Is not your will a law to restrain, yes yes  
What should make you then to refrain pish pish,  
Give me an answer grant my desire peace peace  
See see what harm it is thus to aspire cease cease.   

Fire unkind why flide you away hay ho  
Cannot my love allure you to stay no no  
Soon my life will end if you part tush tush,  
And this straight i'll send to my heart push push,  
Farewell cruel thus I die hold hold,  
Hold me then with your reply, be bold be bold,   

Thus am I bold your arms to possess do do,  
And your lips I can do no less him hun  
But my desire can linger no more alas alas,  
Fear not 'twas nothing stirred the door 'twas 'twas,  
Thus by degrees I climb to aspire come come,  
An hour of bliss (oh) never to be spent ha' done ha' done    

A SONG of his Mistress.  
MY mistress is a Shuttle cock,  
Composed of cock and feather,  
Each battle doth play with her dock  
And bang her on the leather.  
One cannot suffice her fill  
But she rebounds to the other still,  
Fa lafoy lank down dilly.  
My mistress is a Tennis ball  
Her leather so smooth and fine,  
she's often banged against the wall,  
And banded under line;  
But he that means to win her will  
Must hit her in the hazard still,  
Fa lafoy lank down dilly.  
My mistress is a Nightingale  
So sweetly can she sing  
As fair as fine as Filomel  
A daughter for a King.  
For in the night and darkness thick  
She ●ongs to lean against a prick  
Fa lafoy lank down dilly.  
My mistress is a nettle sharp,  
And dangerous to finger  
A gallant wench and full of mettle  
I woose she is a stinger,  
For if you do but touch her hips  
there's no such liquor for your lips,  
Fa lafoy, etc.  
My mistress is an Owl by night  
All day she keeps her bed  
For fear she should her beauty burn,  
And no man would her wed;  
But be she fair or foul in sight  
She is as good as Helen in the night  
Fa lafoy lank down dilly.  
My mistress is a moon so bright,  
Would God that I could win her,  
She loves to be stirring in the night  
And keep a man within her;  
A man that were both prick and thorns  
Once a month she'll make him were horns,  
Fa lafoy lank down Dilly.  
My mistress is a Tobacco-pipe  
Soon burned and often broke,  
She carrieth fire in her brink  
That yieldeth forth no smoke  
If s●ee have not a clean skin  
She hath a rumy thing within,  
Fa lafoy lank down dilly.  
My mistress is a ship of war  
Much shot discharged at her,  
Her Puppe receiveth many a scar  
Oft driven by wind and water,  
Although she grapples at the last  
She sinks and striketh down the mast  
Fa lafoy lank down dilly.  
Why should I my mistress call  
An instrument a babble,  
A shuttle cock a Tennis ball  
A Ship of war unstabled  
Say but this and say no more  
She is a wanton and a hay ho.  
Fa lafoy lank down ●i●ly▪   

On Luce Morgan a Common-VV●ore. EPIGRAM.  
HEre lies black Luce that Pick-hatch drab,  
Who had a word for every stab,  
Was lecherous as any Sparrow  
Her Quiver open to every arrow.  
Were't long, or short, or black, or white,  
She would be sure to noch it right.  
Were't Lords or Knights, or Priests, or Squires,  
Of any sort except a Friars:  
A Friar's shaft she lacked alone,  
Because England here was none.  
At last some Vestal fire she stole,  
Which never went out in her hole.  
And with that zealous fire being burned,  
Unto the Romish faith she turned:  
And therein died and was't not fit,  
For a poor whore to die in it,   

An Epitaph on a Whore.  
IN this cold Monument lies one  
Which I knew who hath lain upon,  
The happier he whose sight might charm,  
And touch might keep King David warm.  
Lovely as is the dawning East,  
Was this Marbles frozen guest.  
As glorious and as bright as day.  
As odoriferous as May.  
As straight and slender as the Crest,  
Or Antler of the one beamed Beast,  
Whom I admired as soon as I knew.  
And now her memory pursue,  
With such a superstitious Lust,  
That I could fumble with her dust.  
She all perfections had, and more,  
Tempting, as if designed an whore:  
For so she was, and some there are  
Whores, I could wish them all as fair.  
Courteous she was, and young, and wise,  
And in her calling so precise;  
That industry had made her prove,  
The sucking School-Mistress of Love.  
But Death, ambitious to become  
Her Pupil, left his ghastly home:  
And seeing how we used her here,  
The rawbone Rascal ravished her.  
Who pretty soul resigned her breath,  
To practise Lechery with death.   

A mock-song.  

1.  
OH Love, whose power and might  
No Creature ere withstood,  
Thou forcest me to write,  
Come turn about Robin-hood.   

2.  
Sole Mistress of my heart,  
Let me thus far presume,  
To make this request;  
A black patch for the Rheum.   

3.  
Grant pity or I die,  
Love so my heart bewitches,  
With grief I howl and cry;  
Oh how my Elbow Itches.   

4.  
Tears overflow my eyes  
With floods of daily weeping,  
That in the silent night,  
I cannot rest for sleeping   

5.  
What is't I would not do  
To purchase one sweet smile?  
Bid me to China go,  
Faith I'll sit still the while.   

6.  
Oh women you will never,  
But think men still will flatter;  
I vow I love you ever,  
But yet it is no matter.   

7.  
Cupid is blind they say,  
But yet methinks he seeth;  
He struck my heart to day,  
A Turd in Cupid's teeth.   

8.  
Her Tresses that were wrought,  
Much like the golden snare,  
My loving heart hath caught,  
As Moss did catch his Mare.   

9  
But since that all relief,  
And comfort do forsake me,  
●'le kill myself with grief;  
Nay then the Devil take me.   

10  
And since her grateful merits,  
My loving look must lack,  
●'le stop my vital spirits  
With Claret and with Sack.   

11.  
Mark well my woeful hap,  
jove rector of the Thunder,  
Send down thy thunderclap,  
And rend her smock in sunder.    

The Answer.  

1.  
YOur Letter I received  
Bedecked with flourishing quarters,  
Because you are deceived,  
Go hang you in your Garters.   

2.  
My beauty which is none,  
Yet such as you protest,  
Doth make you sigh and groan:  
Fie, fie, you do but jest.   

3.  
I cannot choose but pity  
Your restless mournful tears,  
Because your plaints are witty,  
You may go shake your ears.   

4.  
To purchase your delight,  
No labour you shall lose,  
Your pains I will requite,;  
Maid, go fetch him Bread and Cheese.   

5.  
'Tis you I fain would see,  
'Tis you I daily think on;  
My looks as kind shall be,  
As the Devils over Lincoln.   

6.  
If ever I do tame  
Great jove of lightnings flashes;  
I'll send my fiery flame,  
And burn thee into ashes.   

7.  
I can by no means miss thee,  
But needs must have thee one day,  
I prithee come and kiss me,  
Whereon I sat on Sunday.    

In praise of his Mistress' beauty.  

1.  
I Have the fairest non-perel,  
The fairest that ever was seen,  
And had not Venus been in the way,  
She had been beauties Queen.   

2.  
Her lovely looks, her comely grace,  
I will describe at large;  
God Cupid put her in his books,  
And of this Gem took charge.   

3.  
The Grecian Helen was a Moor,  
Compared to my dear Saint,  
And fair faced Hyrens' beauty poor,  
And yet she doth not paint.   

4.  
Andromeda whom Perseus loved  
Was foul were she in sight,  
Her lineaments so well approved,  
In praise of her I'll write.   

5.  
Her hair not like the golden wire,  
But black as any Crow,  
Her brows so beetled all admire,  
Her forehead wondrous low.   

6.  
Her squinting staring gogling eye,  
Poor Children do affright,  
Her nose is of the saracens size;  
Oh she's a matchless wight.   

7.  
Her Oven-mouth wide open stands,  
And teeth like rotten pease,  
Her Swanlike neck my heart commands,  
And breasts all bit with Fleas.   

8.  
Her tawny dugs like too great hills,  
Hang Sow-like to her waist,  
Her body huge like two windmills,  
And yet she's wondrous chaste.   

9  
Her shoulders of so large a breadth,  
she'd make an excellent Porter  
And yet her belly caries most,  
If any man could sort her.   

10.  
No Shoulder of Mutton like her hand,  
For broadness, thick and fat,  
With a pocky Mange upon her wrist;  
Oh jove! how love I that?   

11.  
Her belly Tun-like to behold,  
Her bush doth all excel,  
The thing that by all men extolled,  
Is wider than a well.   

12.  
Her brawny buttocks plump and round,  
Much like a Horse of War,  
With speckled thighs, scabbed and Scarce sound;  
Her knees like bakers are.   

13.  
Her legs are like the Elephants,  
The Calf and small both one,  
Her ankles they together meet,  
And still knock bone to bone.   

14.  
Her pretty feet not 'bove fifteen,  
So splayed as never was,  
An excellent Usher for a man  
That walks the dewy grass.   

15.  
Thus have you heard my Mistress praised,  
And yet no flattery used,  
Pray tell me, is she not of worth?  
Let her not be abused.   

16.  
If any to her have a mind,  
He doth me wondrous wrong  
For as she's Beauteous so she's chaste,  
And thus conclude my Song.    

A SONG.  

1.  
WHen young folks first begin to love,  
And undergo that tedious task,  
It cuts and scours throughout the powers  
Much like a running glass.   

2.  
It is so full of sudden joys  
Proceeding from the Heart,  
So many tricks, and So many toys,  
And all not worth a Fart.   

3.  
For Venus loved Vulcan,  
Yet she would lie with Mars,  
If these be honest tricks my love,  
Sweet love come kiss mine—   

4▪  
If that which I have writ,  
Be unmannerly in speech,  
Yet when occasion serves to shit,  
Will serve to wipe your breech   

5.  
Thus kindly and in Courtesy,  
These few lines I have written,  
And now O love come kiss mine—  
For I am all beshitten.    

A Song of the Seamen and Land-souldiers.  

1.  
WE Seamen are the bony-boyes,  
That fear no storms nor Rocks,  
Whose Music is the Cannon's nose,  
Whose sporting is with knocks a.   

2.  
Mars has no Children of his own,  
But we that fight on Land a;  
Land-Souldiers Kingdoms up have blown  
Yet they unshaken stand a.   

3.  
'Tis brave to see a tall Ship sail,  
With all her trim gear on a.  
As though the Devil were in her tail,  
She fore the wind will run a.   

4.  
Our main battalia when it moves,  
there's no such glorious thing a,  
Where leaders like so many Ioves  
Abroad their thunder fling a.   

5.  
Come let us reckon what Ships are ours,  
The Gorgon and the Dragon,  
The Lion that in fight is bold,  
The Bull with bloody flag on.   

6.  
Come let us reckon what works are ours,  
Forts, Bulwarks, Barricadoes,  
Mounts, Gabions, Parrapits, Countermurs,  
Casemates and Pallisadoes.   

7.  
The Bear, the Dog, the Fox, the Kite,  
That stood fast on the Rover,  
They chased the Turk in a day and night,  
From Scandaroon to Dover.   

8.  
Field-pieces, Muskets, Groves of Pikes,  
Carbines and Cannoneers a,  
Squadrons, half Moons, with Ranks and Files▪  
And Fronts, and Vans, and Reers a.   

9  
A Health to brave Land-Souldiers all,  
Let Cans a piece go round a,  
Pellmell let's to the Battle fall,  
And lofty music sound a.    

A Song.  

MY dear and only love take heed,  
How thou thyself expose,  
And let no longing Lovers feed,  
On such like looks as those,  
I'll Marble wall thee round about,  
Being built without a door:  
But if my love do once break out,  
I'll never love thee more.   

Nor let their Oaths by volleys shot,  
Make any breach at all;  
Nor smoothness of their language plot  
Away to scale the wall,  
Nor balls of Wildfire Love consume,  
The shrine that I adore,  
For if such smoke about thee fume,  
I'll never love thee more.   

Thy wishes are as yet too strong,  
To suffer by surprise,  
and victed with my love so long,  
Of force the siege must rise;  
And leave thee in the strength of health,  
And state thou wert before:  
But if thou prove a commonwealth  
I'll never love thee more.   

Or if by fraud, or by consent,  
My heart to ruin come,  
I'll ne'er sound Trumpet as I meant,  
Nor march by beat of Drum:  
But fouled mine Arms like Ensigns up,  
Thy falsehood to deplore,  
And after such a bitter cup,  
I'll never love thee more,   

Then do by thee as Nero did,  
When Rome was set on fire,  
Not only all relief forbid,  
But to a hill retire;  
And scorn to shed a tear to save  
Such spirits grown so poor,  
But laugh and sing thee to thy grave,  
And never love thee more.    

A SONG.  

1.  
WHen Phoebus addressed his course to the West,  
And took up his rest below,  
And Cynthia agreed in a glittering weed,  
Her light in his stead to bestow.  
Travelled alone, attended by none,  
Till suddenly I heard one cry;  
Oh do not, do not kill me yet,  
For I am not prepared to die.   

2.  
With that I came ne'er, to see and to hear,  
And there did appear a show;  
The Moon was so bright, I saw such a sight,  
Not fit that each wight should know.  
A Man and a Maid together were laid,  
And ever she cried Oh fie!  
Oh do not, do not kill me yet,  
For I am not prepared to die.   

3.  
The young man was rough, and he took up he● stuff,  
And to blind man buff he would go;  
Yet still she did cry, but still she did lie,  
And put him but by with a no:  
But she was so young, and he was so strong,  
Which made her still to cry,  
Oh do not, do not kill me  
For I am not prepared to die.   

4.  
With that he gave o'er and swore, solemnly  
He would kill her no more that night,  
He bid her adieu, for little he knew,  
She would tempt him to more delight,  
But being to depart it grieved her heart,  
Which made her loud to cry,  
Oh kill me, kill me once again,  
For now I am prepared to die.    

A SONG.  
I Courted a Lass, my folly was the cause of her disdaining;  
I courted her thus, what shall I sweet Dolly, do for thy dear loves obtaining?  
But another had dallied with this my Dolly, that Dolly for all her feigning,  
Had got such a Mountain above her Valley, that Dolly went home complaining.   

Upon my Lord Major's day, being put off by reason of the Plague.  

IF you'll but hear me I shall tell,  
A sad mischance that late befell,  
for which the days of old,  
●n all new Almanacs must mourn,  
And Babes that never must be born,  
shall weep to hear it told.   

For lo the sport of that great day,  
●n which the Major hath leave to play,  
and with him all the town;  
His Flag, and drum, and Fife released,  
And he forbid to go a Feasting  
in his Scarlet Gown,   

No Fife must on the Thames be seen,  
To fright the Major, and please the Queen,  
nor any wild fire tossed.  
Though he suppose the Fleet that late,  
Invaded us in eighty eight,  
o'er matched by his Galley foist.   

The Pageants, and the painted cost  
Bestowed on them, are all quite lost,  
for now he must not ride:  
Nor shall they shear the Players tall,  
Being mounted on some mighty Whale,  
swims with him through Cheap-si●   

Guildhall now must not entertain  
The Major, who there would feast his brain,  
with white broth and with He●  
Nor shall the Fencers act their Pigs,  
Before the Hinch-boyes which are Giggs,  
whipped out with all the me●●   

Nor must he go in State to swear,  
As he was wont at Westminster.  
no Trumpets at the Hal●  
Their clamorous voices there would stretch,  
As if the Lawyers they would teach,  
in their own Courts to ba●●   

But what in sooth is pity most,  
Is for their Daughters they have lost,  
all joys for which they pray  
Which scatter palms on their cheeks,  
Which they had primed at least three weeks  
before against the day   

And amongst themselves they much complain,  
That this Lord Major in first of reign,  
should do them so much wrong  
As to suppress by message sad,  
The feast for which they all have had,  
Their Marchpane dream so long.   

Thus for their beauteous sakes have I,  
Described the days large History,  
'tis true although not witty  
Which is denied, for I'd be loath,  
To cut my coat, above my cloth,  
my Subject is the City.    

A Song by Sir John Suckling.  

OUt upon it, I have loved, three whole days together,  
And perchance might love three more, if that it hold fair weather;  
Time shall melt his wing away, ere he can discover  
In the whole wide world again, such a constant lover.   

But a pox upon't, no praise there is due at all to me,  
Love with me had had no stay, had it any been but she  
Had it any been but she, and that very very face,  
There had been long time ere this, a dozen dozen in her place.    

The answer by the same Author.  

SAy, but did you love so long? in sooth I need● must blame ye▪  
Passion did your judgement wrong, and want o● Reason shame ye▪  
Truth, Times fair and witty Daughter, quickly did discover,  
You were a subject fit for laughter, and more fool than Lover▪   

Yet you needs must merit praise for your constant folly▪  
Since that you loved three whole days, were yo● not melancholy?  
She for whom you loved so true, and that very very face▪  
Puts each minute such as you, a dozen dozen to disgrace    

Upon an old Scold.  
IOve lay thy Majesty aside, and wonder  
To hear a voice in consort with thy thunder,  
Whilst thine with a shrill treble neatly graces,  
The roaring clamour of her deep-mouth`d basis;  
Yet in each point, her nimble chaps run on,  
The lubric touches of division,  
And when her kindled thoughts, her tongue inspire,  
Instead of words, like Aetna she spits fire:  
So in a word, (to her eternal fame)  
she'll excercise thy thunder, and thy flame;  
Old Time had pulled her teeth out, but they're sprung  
Again, more sharp and active in her tongue.  
●n her Malignant Aspect doth appear,  
The season of the Dog-days all the year.  
With her sour look she might convert the Sea,  
And all the Elements to Curds and Whea.   

On a deformed old Woman (whorish) whom one was pleased to call the Phoenix.  
ARt thou the Phoenix? I could rather swear,  
Thou art calisto, changed into a Bear;  
Or else thou then transformed but in part,  
And so laid by, half Bear, half Woman art,  
Or art thou Io, whom adulterate jove,  
Long since, when thou wet beautiful did love:  
And jealous juno for thy crime hath now  
Changed thee into a foul misshapen Cow;  
But thou the badge of thy disgrace now scorns  
And makes thy harmless Husband wear th● horne●  
He that can call thee Phoenix from his heart,  
Must needs be such another as thou art.  
Or he to sacred beauty had a spite,  
(Like those that use to paint the Devil white)  
And calling thee the Phoenix hath outgone,  
All that revenge could e'er think upon;  
He had more truly spoke, and might with less  
Despite have called the Devil his Holiness.  
Should but thy picture be exposed to sight,  
And under it the name of Phoenix write; woo●  
They that never knew what meant the Phoenix  
Strait swear by it, the Devil was understood.   

A Gentleman on his being trimmed by a Cobbler.  
MY hair grown rude, and Gally's bridge broke dow●  
Which damned my passage to Carmarthen Town  
Trimmed was I, I am sure, but by what Monster,  
If I describe him, you will hardly Construe:  
'Tis one whose foot is in the stirrup still  
Yet never rides, waxes each hour more ill  
Yet never mends; can make a bad soul better,  
Yet no Divine, nor scarce doth know a letter.  
He's always sowing, yet ne'er useth needle,  
Put, folks i'th' stocks, yet is no beggars beadle fee.  
men's legs he stretcheth often on a tree,  
Yet free from th'Gallows, and the Hangman's  
Let a Consumption some to skeletons waste,  
He will be sure to ease'um at the last,  
And yet is no Physician, he's still knocking,  
Yet breaks no peace, nor need his doors unlocking  
He always sits, yet Table wants, and Carpet,  
●ut looks like a scabbed Sheep, ta'en from a Tarpit.  
●his lovely gallant, with his well pitched thumb,  
●nd Leather apron on, my hide did-thrumb;  
●nd pared my face, 'twere worth the sight to have been  
●o see his oilely joints about my chin.  
carmarthen Barbers be not quite dismayed,  
●hough Kit the Cobbler undertake your trade;  
●Twas only done that his best friends might feel,  
●ow perfect he is made from head to Heel.   

On Jack wiseman.  
●Ack Wiseman brags his very name  
Proclaims his wit, he's much to blame,  
●o do the Proverb so much wrong,  
●hich says he's wise that holds his tongue;  
●hich makes me contradict the Schools,  
●nd apt to think the wise men fools.  
Yet pardon jack, I hear that now  
thou'rt wed, and must thy wit allow,  
That by a strange aenigma can,  
Make a light Woman a Wiseman.   

Love blind, a Song.  

1.  
LOve blind? who says so? 'tis a lie,  
I'll not believe it, no not I;  
If Love be blind how can he then  
Discern to hit the hearts of men?  
Yet pause a while it may be true,  
Or else he'd wound the women's too.   

2.  
The Females only Escape? nay then,  
The lad has got his eyes again;  
And yet methinks 'tis strange that he  
should strike at random thus, and see;  
I'th' guiding still to fix his dart,  
And leave untouched the stubborn heart.   

3,  
Love blind? how can his darts surprise  
Our hearts then, piercing through our eyes?  
Unless by secret power guided,  
Lest he by us should be derided,  
It be the little Archers mind,  
To make us all as he is, blind.    

The Anglers Song.  
●'Th' nonage of the Morn we got up,  
If plots had ta'en all night, w'had sat up:  
How e'er before the Sun took Coach,  
We were with Bream, and Pike, and Roach:  
●ut if you'd know how we thus early  
addressed to th'field, I'll tell you squarely.  
Th'Alarum of a Watch engages,  
●nd doth provoke our stout courages:  
●or that at hour of three won't dally,  
●o up we rose, and forth we sally.  
●f Fish we mean a flat massacre,  
●nd so we march o'er many an Acre.  
●nd that you mayn't our deeds misconstrue,  
●ray wot you well, there is a monster;  
Who with tyrannic power doth seize on,  
As greedy morttals feed on Peason)  
Th' oppressed fry, he's height the Pike,  
Who often times doth lurk in Dyke.  
So on we go, and much we brag,  
●hough each behind his fellow lag.  
●s home we came, that in our dish  
What Proverb saith (as mute as Fish)  
You might have thrown: but this rare story,  
●'le not so rudely lay before ye.  
But at preceding points we'll touch,  
Though you perhaps will think to much;  
But those I am resolved to give ye,  
Though I'm voluminous as Livy.  
Of Dew there was a gallant draught,  
Which when the sun arose he quaffed:  
But'cause he did not rise so soon,  
I'th' interim we had wet our shoes.  
When we came near the place called Breach pond  
(I wish that it had been in Duch-lond)  
And that our fancies began to gallop,  
A thick blue mist did us envelop:  
Which caused us to commit an error,  
But yet we march on without fear or  
Wit, until that we arrive us,  
There where our fishing fate did drive us.  
But there we met with an ill Omen,  
For at the pond side there were some men;  
Which were so bold as to cry pish,  
As Proverb says, he'll catch no fish  
That swears; which they did stoutly,  
As they did about the pond lie.  
These men some bottles of Canary,  
To keep the Mists and Damps did carry;  
Although we did not ken a wight,  
Yet lovingly they us invite,  
That of there Sack we'd take a dish,  
Which was not brought to Fox the fish.  
We left them and betook ourselves,  
With bats to Court the watery Elves;  
There we did practise Arts most acquaint,  
But rogish Fish they were so do daintty,  
that they would not bite,  
But all our precious morsels slight;  
Though divers of them cost much money,  
(Amongst the rest was Loaf and Honey.)  
We count the cost to ten pence sterling,  
All which into the pond we hurl in.  
The Proverb here should be inserted,  
But I am loathed should be inverted:  
Do what I can it needs will out,  
Lose a Fly, and catch a Trout.  
How e'er this adage goes, we are far,  
From losing of a Hog for Tar.  
So that's on our side still I see,  
One Proverb that's our, Enemy.  
For as we did our business handle,  
Our sport it was not worth the Candle.  
But to return, the wind did bluster,  
So we came home all in cluster.  
Our heads hung down, our hands in pocket,  
And all our patience burnt to th'socket:  
Only by the way we tried our skill,  
But the same Planet governed still  
That ruled i'th' morn: so home we hide us,  
And blame those Planets which that day had spied us,  
With blinking aspects, grurching our good fortune  
Though we most zealously did them importune.  
And the next day new sorrow administered,  
For all our feet were with our travel blistered.   

A SONG.  

1.  
SHe lay all naked in her bed,  
And I myself lay by;  
No Veil but Curtains about her spread.  
No covering but I.  
Her head upon her shoulders seeks,  
To hang in careless wise,  
All full of blushes was her cheeks,  
And of wishes were her eyes.   

2.  
The blood still fresh into her face,  
As on a message came,  
To say that in another place,  
It meant a nother game.  
Her cherry lips, moist, plump and fair,  
Millions of Kisses crown,  
Which ripe and uncropped dangled there,  
And weigh the branches down.   

3.  
Her Breasts that swelled so plump and high.  
Bred pleasant pain in me,  
For all the world I do defy,  
The like felicity.  
Her thighs and belly soft and fair,  
To me were only shown,  
To have seen such meat, and not to have eat,  
Would have angered any stone.   

4.  
Her knees lay upward gently bend,  
And all lay hollow under,  
As if on easy terms they meant,  
To fall unforced asunder.  
Just so the Cyprian Queen did lie,  
Expecting in her bower;  
When too long stay, had kept the boy,  
Beyond his promised hour.   

5.  
Dull clown, quoth she, why dost delay  
Such proffered bless to take?  
Canst thou find out no other way  
Similitude to make?  
Mad with delight I thundering,  
Threw my Arms about her,  
But pox upon't 'twas but a dream,  
And so I lay without her.    

An answer, being a dreamt.  

1.  
SHe lay up to the Navel bare,  
As was a willing Lover,  
Expecting between hope and fear,  
When I would come and cover.  
Her hand beneath my waistband slips,  
To grope in busy wise,  
Which caused a trembling in her lips,  
And a shivering in her eyes.   

2.  
The blood out of her face did go,  
As it on service went,  
To second what was gone before,  
When all its strength was spent.  
Her Cheeks and lips as Coral red,  
Like Roses were full blown:  
Which fading straight, the leaves were spread,  
And so the— comes down.   

3.  
Her breasts that then both panting were,  
Such comfort wrought between us,  
That all the world I dare to swear,  
Would envy to have seen us.  
Her belly and its provender,  
For me was kept in store;  
Such news to hear, and not to have share,  
Would have made a man a Whore.   

4.  
Her legs were girt about my waste,  
My hand under her Crupper,  
As who should say now break your face,  
And come again to supper.  
Even as the God of War did knock,  
As any other man will,  
For hast of work, till twelve a Clock,  
Kept Vulcan at his Anvil.   

5.  
Mad wag, quoth she, why dost thou make  
Such haste thyself to rear?  
Canst thou not know that for thy sake,  
The Fair lasts all the year?  
Quiet and calm as are loves streams,  
I threw myself about her,  
But a pox upon true jests and dreams,  
I had better have lain without her.    

A SONG.  

1.  
FUll forty times over, I have strived to win,  
Full forty times over neglected have been,  
But it's forty to one, but I'll tempt her again:  
For he's a dull lover,  
That so will give over,  
Seeing thus runs the sport,  
Seeing thus runs the sport,  
And assault her but often you'll carry the fort,  
Seeing thus runs the sport,  
And assault her but often you'll carry the fort.   

2.  
there's a breach ready made, which still open hath been,  
And thousands of thoughts to betray it within,  
If you once come to storm her, you're sure to get in.  
Then stand not off coldly,  
But venture on boldly,  
With weapon in hand,  
With weapon in hand,  
If you do but approach her, she's not able to stand,  
With weapon in hand.  
If you charge her but home she's not able to stand.   

3.  
Some Ladies when down them before you do sit,  
Will strive to repulse you with fire-balls of wit,  
But alas they're but Crackers and seldom do hit;  
Then vanquish them after,  
With Alarms of laughter,  
Their forces being broke,  
Their forces being broke,  
And the fire quite past, you may vanquish the smoke,  
Their forces being broke,  
And the fire quite past, you may vanquish the smoke.   

4.  
With pride and with state some outworks we make,  
And with volleys of frowns drive the enemy back,  
If you mind them discreetly they are easy to take,  
Then to it, ne'er fear them,  
But boldly come near them,  
By working about,  
By working about,  
If you once but approach, they can ne'er hold it out,  
By working about,  
If you once but approach, they can ne'er hold it out,   

5.  
Some Ladies with blushes and modesty fight,  
And with their own fear, the rude foe doth affright  
But they're easy surprised, if you come in the night  
Then thus you must drive it,  
To parley in private,  
And they'yr overthrown,  
If you promise them so fairly, they'll soon be your your own▪  
And they'yr overthrown.  
If you promise them so fairly, they'll soon be your own▪    

A SONG.  

we'll go no more to Tunbridge wells,  
The journey is too far,  
Nor ride in Epsome Wagon where  
Where our bodies jumbled are.  
But we will all to the West-wood waters go,  
The best that ere you saw,  
And we will have them hence forth called  
The Kentish new found spa.  
Then go Lords and Ladies what e'er you ail,  
Go thither all that pleases,  
For it will cure you without all fail,  
Of old and new diseases.   

●f you would know how it as out found;  
The truth I cannot tell,  
●ome say it was by Doctor Trig, and so became a Well.  
Others affirm his patient,  
Which did much pain endure,  
Went thither and washed a festered sore,  
And had a perfect cure.  
Then go, etc.   

Thither all the Country people flock,  
By day and eke by night,  
And for to fill their bottles full,  
They scramble, scratch and fight.  
But when the Gentry thither come▪  
And others of good fashion,  
There is is presented unto them,  
A fine accommodation,  
Then go etc.   

joans hole was the first was digged,  
My Ladies was next after,  
When you are there you'll hardly taste▪  
which is the better water.  
For it is so that my Laidies hole,  
Is digged so near to joan,  
That and if the people be too rude,  
They will break both holes into one,  
Then go etc.   

Lady's there you may your bodies cleanse,  
By stool and Urine too,  
'Twill make you have a stomach too't,  
Whether you will or no.  
There you may skip behind a bush,  
A fitting place to find,  
'Twill make you open and shut your purse,  
Before and eke behind,  
Then go &c,   

If I should tell you it would cure,  
Each malady and grief,  
Perhaps you would be like other men,  
Or people past belief.  
Therefore I pray will you think it fit,  
Go thither all and try,  
And when you have approved of it,  
You'll say as much as I.  
Then go etc.    

Of banishing the Ladies out of Town.  

1.  
A Story strange I will unfold,  
Than which a sadder ne'er was told,  
How the Ladies were from London sent,  
With much woe and discontent.   

2.  
● heart of Marble would have bled,  
To see this rout of white and red,  
Both York and Lancaster must fly,  
With all their painted Monarchy.   

3.  
Those faces which men so much prize,  
In Mrs. Gibbs her Liveries,  
Must leave their false and borrowed hue,  
And put on grief that's only true.   

4.  
Those pretty patches long and round,  
Which covered all that was not sound;  
Must be forgotten at the Farms,  
As useless and suspicious charms.   

5.  
Now we must leave all our designs,  
That were contrived within the Lines;  
Communication is denied,  
If to our Husbands we be tried,   

6.  
And here's the misery alone,  
We must have nothing but our own;  
Oh give us Liberty and we  
Will never ask propriety.   

7.  
Alas how can a kiss be sent,  
From Rocky Cornwall into Kent?  
Or how can Sussex stretch an arm,  
To keep a Northern servant warm?   

8.  
Oh London! Centre of all Mirth,  
Th'Epitome of English Earth;  
All Provinces are in the streets,  
And Warwick-shire with Essex meets,   

9  
Then farewell Queen-street, and the Fields,  
And Garden that such pleasure yields,  
Oh who would such fair Lodgings change  
To nestle in a plundered grange.   

10.  
Farewell good places old and new,  
And Oxford Kates once more adieu;  
But it goes unto our very hearts,  
To leave the Cheesecakes and the Tarts.   

11.  
Farewell Bridge-foot and Bear thereby,  
And those baldpates that stand so high,  
We wish it from our very souls,  
That other heads were on those poles.   

12.  
But whether hands of Parliament,  
Or of Husbands we're content,  
Since all alike such Traitors be,  
both against us and Monarchy.    

A SONG.  

1.  
LAy that sully Garland by thee,  
Keep it for the Elyzian shades;  
Take my Wreaths of lusty Ivy,  
Not of that faint myrtle made.  
When I see thy soul descending,  
To that cool and sterile plain  
Of fond fools, the Lake attending,  
You shall wear this wreath again,  
Then drink wine, and know the odds,  
'Twixt that Lethe, 'twixt that Lethe,  
'twixt that Lethe, and the Gods   

2.  
●ouse thy dull and drowsy spirits,  
● Behold the soul reviving streams,  
●hat stupid Lovers brains inherits;  
●ought but dull and empty dreams.  
Think not those dismal trances,  
With our raptures can contend:  
The lad that laughs, and sings, and dances,  
May come sooner to his end.  
Sadness may some pity move,  
Mirth and Courage vanquish Love.   

3.  
Fie then on that cloudy forehead  
Open those vainly crossed arms,  
you may as well call back the buried,  
As raise Love by such dull charms.  
Sacrifice a Glass of Claret,  
To each letter of her name,  
Gods themselves descend for it,  
Mortals must do more the same.  
If she come not in that flood,  
Sleep will come, and that's as good.    

An Answer.  

1.  
CAst that Ivy Garland from thee,  
Leave it for some ruder blade,  
Venus' Wreaths will best become me,  
Not of blazing Bacchus made.  
When my high flown soul ascended,  
To Loves bright and warmer sphere;  
Whilst with Chaplets I'm attended,  
Then an Ivy bush shall wear.  
Sober Lovers some may prove,  
Mortals tipple, mortals tipple,  
Gods do love.   

2.  
Welcome merry melancholy,  
Fancying beauties quickening beams,  
Boon Companions will though jolly,  
Shrink in over wetting streams.  
Think not that these ranting humours,  
May with modesty contend;  
Lesser love toys often do more,  
When they come unto their end.  
Pureness may some pity move,  
Sober carriage charm a Love.   

3.  
Offer up a yoke of kisses,  
To the Lady you adore,  
jove for such a bliss as this is,  
Would come down as heretofore.  
If this way she can't be had,  
Drinking comes, and that's as bad.    

A SONG.  

1.  
NO man's love fiery passions can approve,  
As either yielding pleasure & promotion,  
I like of mild and lukewarm zeal in Love,  
Although I do not like it in devotion.   

2.  
For it hath no choherence in my Creed,  
To think that Lovers do as they pretend;  
If all that say they die, had died indeed,  
Sure long ere this, the world had had an end▪   

3.  
Besides we need not love unless we please,  
No destiny can force man's disposition;  
And how can any die of that disease,  
Whereof himself may be his own Physician▪   

4.  
Some one perhaps with long Consumption dried  
And after falling into love may die,  
But I dare pawn my life, he ne'er had died,  
Had he been half so sound at heart as I   

5.  
Another rather than incur the slander,  
O● true Apostate, will false Martyr prove;  
But I am neither Orpheus nor Leander,  
He neither hang nor drown myself for love.   

6.  
Yet I have been a Lover by report,  
And died for Love, as many others do,  
But thanks to jove, is was in such a sort,  
That I revived within an hour or two.   

7.  
Thus have I lived, thus have I loved till now.  
And know no reason to repent me yet,  
And whosoever otherwise shall do,  
His courage is as little as his wit.    

A SONG.  

1.  
Dear Castodoris let me rise,  
Aurora begins to jeer me,  
And say that I do wantonise,  
I prithee sweet lie near me.   

2.  
Let Red Aurora blush my dear,  
And Phoebus laughing follow,  
Thou only art Aurora here,  
Let me be thine Apollo.   

3.  
It is to envy at thy bliss,  
That they do rise before us,  
Is there such hurt in this, or this,  
Nay, ay, why Castadoris.   

4.  
What Arabella can one night  
Of wanton dalliance try you?  
I could be ever, if I might,  
One hour let me desire you.   

5.  
Nay fie, you hurt me, let me go,  
If you so roughly use me,  
What can I say, or think of you?  
I prithee sweet excuse me.   

6.  
Thy Beauty and thy Love defend,  
I should ungently move thee  
'Tis blisses sweet that I intent,  
It is not I that love thee?   

7.  
I do confess it is but then,  
Since you do so importune;  
That I should once lie down again,  
Vouchsafe to draw the Curtain▪   

8.  
Aurora and Apollo too,  
May visit silent fields;  
By our consent, they ne'er shall know,  
What bliss our pleasure yields.    

A North Country Song.  

1.  
WHen I'se came first to London Town,  
I wor a Novice as other men are;  
I thought the King had lived at the Crown,  
And the way to'l Heaven had been through the Star.   

2.  
Ise set up my Horse, and Ice went to Paul's,  
Good Lord quo I, what a Kirk been here.  
Then Ice did swear by all Kerson souls,  
It wor a mile long, or very near.   

3.  
It wor as high as any Hill,  
A Hill, quo I, nay as a Mountain,  
Then went Ice up with a very good will,  
But glad wor I to come down again.   

4.  
For as I went up my head roe round,  
Then be it known to all Kerson people,  
A man is no little way from the ground,  
When he's o' th' top of all Poles steeple   

5.  
Ise lay down my hot, and Ice went to pray,  
But wor not this a most piteous case,  
Afore I had done it wor stolen away,  
Who'd have thought thiefs had been in that place?   

6.  
Now for my Hot Ice made great moan,  
A slander by unto me said,  
Thou didst not observe the Scripture aright,  
For thou must a watched, as well as a prayed   

7.  
Forth thence Ice went and I saw my Lord Major,  
Good lack what a sight was there to see,  
My Lord and his Horse were both of a hair,  
I could not tell which the Mare should be.   

8.  
From thence to Westminster, I went,  
Where many a brave Lawyer I did see,  
Some of them had a bad intent,  
For there my purse was stolen from me.   

9  
To see the Tombs was my desire,  
I went with many brave fellow's store,  
I gave them a penny that was their hire,  
And he's but a fool that will give any more.   

10.  
Then through the rooms the fellow me led,  
Where all the sights were to be seen,  
And snuffling told me through the nose,  
What formerly the name of those had been,   

11.  
Here lies, quoth he, Henry the third▪  
Thou liest like a knave, he says never a word,  
And here lies Richard the second interred,  
And heres stands good King Edwards Sword.   

12.  
Under this Chair lies Jacob's stone,  
The very same stone lies under the Chair,  
A very good jest had jacob but one,  
How got he so many Sons without a pair?   

13.  
I stayed not there, but down with the tide  
I made great haste, and I went my way;  
For I was to see the Lions beside,  
And the Paris-garden all in a day.   

14.  
When Ice came there, I was in a rage,  
I railed on him that kept the Bears,  
Instead of a Stake was suffered a Stage,  
And in Hunks his house a crew of Players.   

15.  
Then through the Brigg to the Tower Ice went▪  
With much ado Ice entered in,  
And after a penny that I had spent,  
One with a loud voice did thus begin.   

16.  
This Lion's the Kings, and that is the Queens,  
And this is the Princes that stands hereby,  
With that I went near to look in the Den.  
Cod's body, quoth he, why come you so nigh.   

17.  
Ise made great haste unto my Inn,  
I supped and I went to bed betimes  
Ice slept, and Ice dreamt what I had seen,  
And waked again by Cheapside Chimes    

Several complexions.  

SHall I woo thee lovely Molly,  
She is fair, fat, fine and Jolly,  
●t she hath a trick of folly;  
●herefore I'll have none of Molly,  
●o no no, no no no, I'll have none of Molly,  
●o no no no no.   

●hat say you to pretty Betty,  
●ave you seen a Lass more pretty,  
●ut her brows are always sweaty;  
●herefore I'll have none of Betty, no no.   

When I wooed the lovely Dolly,  
●hen she straight grows melancholy,  
● that wench is pestilent holy  
●herefore I'll have none of Dolly, no no.   

When I kissed my lovely Franckey,  
●he makes curchie and says I thankey,  
But her breath is to to rankey,  
Therefore I'll none of Frankey, no no.   

● commend brave minded Barby,  
she'll stand me strike or stabby,  
But her wrists are always Scabby,  
Therefore I will have none of Barby, no no.   

What say you to pretty Benny,  
She thinks good silver is her penny,  
For want of use she is senny,  
Therefore I will have none of Benny, no no.   

I could fancy pretty Nanny,  
But she has the love of many,  
And herself will not love any,  
Therefore I will have none of Nanny, no no.   

In a flax house I saw Rachel,  
As she her flax and tow did hachel,  
But her cheeks hung like a Sachel,  
Therefore I'll have none of Rachel, no no.   

When I met with lovely Nally,  
I was bold with her to dally,  
She lay down ere I said shally,  
Therefore I'll have none of Nally, no no.   

O the Cherry lips of Nelly  
They are smooth soft sweet as jelly  
But she has too big a belly  
therefore I'll have none of Nelly, no no.   

Shall I court the lovely Siby  
For she can finely dance the fie by  
But her tongue is to to clyby  
Therefore I'll have none of Siby, no no,    

The careless Commander.  

SIng care away let us be glad,  
The King is willing we should dance  
●e is not disloyal that will be sad,  
Or vexed with fickel Chance, Boys.   

●et others sit at home and muse  
About some state and policy,  
Or haunt a broad for foreign news;  
It shall never trouble me, Boys.   

What news from Hollonds late arrived,  
What is the state of jermany;  
What of the conclaves are contrived,  
It shall never trouble me, Boys.   

●heard of the King of Swedlands death,  
But how he died I did not see;  
●nd how Portugal was bereft of breath  
That never troubled me, Boys.   

When life had given the Palsgrave over,  
I knew it was a thing should be,  
●nd that Lady Bessy should land at dover,  
That never troubled me, Boys,   

Now where are all the sums were lent  
Now the last Royal subsitty;  
When we shall have a Parliament,  
It shall never trouble me, Boys.   

And how our City wives do love  
To feed upon variety;  
When Maids of honour mothers prove,  
It shall never trouble me, Boys.   

What Country man was George of green  
Or when the Knight of the Sun shall be;  
Married to the Fairy Queen,  
It shall never trouble me, Boys.   

Who shall be fool when Archos dead,  
Or who Lord Mayor in 53  
I were a fool it should be said,  
That that should trouble me, Boys.   

My prayers shall be long live the King,  
He's willing we should merry be;  
As long as I can freely sing  
There's nothing troubles me, Boys.   

Sometimes 'tis money that I lack,  
To pay my little doccious fee;  
And to steep my Careless brains in Sack,  
That only troubles me, Boys.    

A SONG.  

YOu talk of old England but I do believe,  
Old England's grown new, & doth us deceive  
●'le ask you a question, or two by your leave.  
And is not Old England grown new.  
Where are the brave Soldiers with wounds and, with scars  
That never made swearing nor drinking, their wars  
Nor never shed blood in mad drunken jars  
And is not &c.  
Where are the old Swords the bills and the bows,  
The Targets & bucklers that never feared blows,  
they're turned to stilettoas and other vain shows.  
And is not &c.   

New Captains are come which never did fight,  
But with pot in the day and punk in the Night,  
And all their care is to keep their Swords bright.  
And is not &c.  
Where is the brave Courtier which now he derides,  
With forty men blewcoates and footmen besides  
●heir turned to six horses & six good Cow-hides.  
And is not &c.   

They have new fashioned beards and new fas●●●on'd loc●  
And new fashioned hats for new pated blocks,  
And more new diseases besides the French po●  
And is not &c.   

The Gallants and Tailors are half years together  
To fit a new suit to a new Cap and feather,  
And whether to make it of Cloth, Silk, or Le● the  
And is not &c.   

New tricking, new triming new measures, ne● pac●  
New heads for our men, for women new faces  
And twenty new tricks to mend their bad cases.  
And is not &c.   

New tricks in the Law, new Leases new holds,  
New bodies we have, we hope for new souls,  
When our money's laid out for the buildings Poule●  
And is not &c.   

Where are the brave Clergy the true Church profe●  
And one only doctrine did ever protest,  
And hated th'idolatry of the Papest.  
And is not &c.   

Indeed there are some that take a good course,  
Others there be that drink, whore and curse,  
And many Arminians are those that be worse.  
And is not, etc.   

Le's say no more now of old England,  
New England is where old England did stand,  
New furnished, new traded, new womened new man'd  
And is not, etc.    

A SONG.  

THeir was a Jovial Pedlar,  
And he cried Coney-skins  
And on his back he bore a pack  
Wherein was points and pinns,  
Laces and brases and many pretty things.  
Hay down hay down.  
Hay down down hay dery dery down.  
This Pedlar never lines,  
●ut still he cries so merry merrily,  
Maids have you any Coney-skins   

●here were two jovial Sisters,  
●hat in one house did dwell;  
●he one was called bony Kate,  
●he other bouncing Nell:  
●nd these two fair maids  
●ad Cony-skines to sell, hay down.   

Kate pulled forth her Cony-skines,  
From underneath the stairs,  
'twas as black as any get,  
And never a Silver hair;  
The Pedlar would have fingered it,  
Rather than his ears, hay down.   

Nell pulled forth her Cony-skine  
Clean of another hue,  
But 'twas as good as good may be  
And that the Pedlar knew,  
The saucy Jack threw down his pack  
And forth his ware he drew; Hay down.   

The Pedlar he took up his pack  
And 'gan to go his way,  
The maidens called him back again  
Desiring him to stay,  
For they would show him Cony-skines  
A white one and a grey, hay down.   

I pray you fair maids  
To take no further care,  
For when that I come back again  
I'll give you ware for ware,  
But you have all at this time  
That now I can well spare, hay down.   

●'re forty weeks were gone and passed,  
●he maids began to say  
What's come of this Pedlar  
That used here every day,  
afear he hath beguiled us  
●nd run another way, hay down.   

●ut now these fair maids  
●heir bellies began to swell,  
●nd where to find the Pedlar  
●lack they could not tell;  
Then they wished that all fair maids  
No more Coney-skines would sell, hay down.    

Cuckolds all a-row.  

NOt long ago as all along I lay upon my bed  
'twixt sleeping and waking a toy came in my head  
Which caused me in mind to be my meaning for to show  
My skill and wit and then I writ, Cuckolds all a-row.   

My thought I heard a man and's wife as they together lay  
Being quite void of fear or strife, she thus to hi● did say  
Quoth she sweet heart if thou wilt sport my lo●● to thee i'll sho●  
A pretty thing shall make thee sing, Cuckolds etc.   

Pease wife quoth he to her again I am sure tho● dost but jest  
Although I am cornuted plain, I am no comm●● bea●●  
Yet every woman's like to thee for aught that 〈◊〉 do know  
And every man is like to me, Cuckolds all a-row.  
there's never a Lord nor Gentleman, nor Citisen nor Clown▪  
That lives within the City walls or in the Country Tow●  
But they may carry abroad with them hornesan● near them blo●●  
For Gallants are like other men, Cuckolds all aerow●   

The Country prating Lawyer that gets the Dive● and al●  
And pleadeth every Term time within Westminster Hal●  
May have his wife in the Country for aught tha● I do know  
May let his Cliants have a fee, Cuckolds all a-row,  
The traidsmen of the City now that sells by wait and measure,  
Perhaps may wear a horned brow for profit or for pleasure,  
Whilst they do sell their wares begin that bears, so brave a show,  
Their wives may play at in & in, Cuckolds all a-row.   

The Parson of the parish I hope shall not go free  
Whilst he is in his study another man may be,  
A handling of his wife perhaps and do the thing you know  
And make him wear his corner cap, Cuckolds etc.   

If any one offended be and think I do them wrong  
In nameing of a Cuckold, in this my merry Song,  
Let him subscribe his name to me and eke his dwelling show,  
And he & I shall soon agree like Cuckolds all a-row    

The long Vacation.  
NOw Town-wit saith to witty friend,  
Transcribe dear Rogue what thou hast penned  
For I one journey hold it fit,  
To cry thee up, to Country wit,  
Our Mules are come, desolve the Club,  
The word till Term is, rub, oh rub!  
Now gamesters poor, in Cloak of stammel,  
Mounted on Steed as slow as Camel;  
Bottom of Crab in luckless hand,  
Which serves for Bilbo and for Wand,  
Early inh ' morn doth sneak from Town,  
Lest Kit for rent should cease on Crown.  
One single Crown which he doth keep,  
When day is done to pray for sleep:  
For he on Journey nought doth eat,  
Host spies him come, cries Sir what meat?  
He calls for Rome and down he lies,  
Quoth Host no supper: he cries,  
A pox on supper fling on Rug,  
I'm sick, d'ye hear, yet bring a Jugg,  
Now Damsel young that dwells in Cheap,  
For very joy begins to leap:  
Her Elbow small she often doth rub,  
Tickled with hope of sully bub.  
For Mother old that doth maintain,  
Gold on thumb, Key on Silver chain:  
In Snow white clout, wraps nook of Pie,  
Fat Capon's rump, and Rabbits thigh;  
And saith to Hackney Coachman go,  
There's shillings six, say I or no:  
Whether quoth he? quoth she thy team  
Must drive to place where groweth Cream.  
But Husband Grace: now comes to stall,  
And for notched Apprentice he doth, call:  
Where's Dame quoth he, quoth Son of Shop,  
She is gone her cake in milk to sop.  
Oh oh to Islington, enough:  
Call Tom my Son, and our dog Ruff,  
For there in pond through mire and muck,  
we'll cry hay Duck, hay Ruff, hay Duck.  
Now bawd by mortifing paunch,  
‛ Bates two stone weight on either haunch;  
On Bran and Liver she must dine,  
'Cause no man comes to solace Chine:  
For Biscuit stalled to fodder gut▪  
Makes lie on back the craving slut.  
The needy whore bids roaring swash,  
That pines (in whiskers long) fetch Cash,  
there's Gown, quoth she: and Martha's smock,  
And coat that covered Andrew's nock:  
Speak Broker fair, and tell him, that  
The next Term's tribute makes us fat.  
Now man of war that wanteth food,  
Grows Colerick, and sweareth, 'Sbloud  
He sendeth note to man of kin,  
But man leaves word, I am not within.  
He meets inh ' street with friend called Will,  
And cries, you Rogue, what living still?  
But ere that street they quite have past,  
He softly asks, what Money hast?  
Quoth friend a Crown: 'S'heart  
Thou beast no more? sweet lend me part.  
Now London Major in Saddle new,  
Rides into fair of Bartholomew:  
He twirls his Chain, and looketh big,  
As he would fright the head of Pig:  
Which gaping lies on greasy stall,  
Till female with huge belly call.  
Now Alderman in Field doth stand,  
With foot on trig, and quaite in hand.  
I'm seven quoth he, the game is up,  
Nothing I pay, and yet I sup.  
To Alderman, quoth neighbours then,  
I lost but Mutton, played for Hen;  
But wealthy blade cries out, at rate  
Of King thou'dst play, let's go, 'tis late.  
Now Levite that near Bridewell dock,  
In old blind nook feeds silly flock:  
With common course, though spiritual,  
Fit food for blade that works on stall:  
These all with solemn Oath agree,  
To meet in Fields of Finsbury,  
With loins in Canvas, Bow-case tied,  
Where Arrows stick with much pride;  
With hat pined up, and Bow in hand,  
All day so fiercely there they stand,  
Like Ghosts of Adam, Bell and Clim,  
Sol sets for fear they'll shoot at him.  
Now Vaulter good, and Dancing lass  
On Roap: and man that cries hay toss,  
And tumbler young that needs but stoop,  
Lay head to heel, and creep through hoop;  
And man that doth in Chest include,  
Old Sodom and Gomorrah lewd;  
And shows those drabs the sisters two,  
That Let debauched, then made him do;  
And Man that while the Puppets play,  
Through nose expoundeth what they say:  
And Ape led Captive still in chain,  
Till he renounce the Pope and Spain.  
And white Oat eater that doth dwell,  
In stable small, at sign of Bell.  
That lifts up hoof to show the pranks,  
Taught by Magician styled Banks.  
These all on hoof now trudge from town,  
To cheat poor turnup-eating Clown.  
Now spin Ralph and Gregory small,  
And short haired Stephen, and white faced Paul;  
Whose times are out, Indentures torn,  
That full seven years taught them not scorn  
To faith up Coals for maid to use,  
Wipe Mistress and children shoe's;  
Hire meager Steeds to ride and see  
Their Parents good: who dwell as near  
As place called Peake in Derbyshire;  
There they alight, old Crones are mild,  
Each weeps on Crag of pretty Child:  
They portions give, Trades up to set,  
That babes may live, serve God and cheat.  
Now Kit that trusts with weary thighs,  
Seeks Garret where small Poet lies:  
He comes to room, finds Garret shut,  
Than not with knuckle but with foot  
He roundly knocks: would enter door,  
The Poet sleeps not, but doth snore.  
Kit chafes like beast of Libya then,  
Swears he'll not come nor send again.  
With little lump trianguler,  
Strait Poet sighs are heard a far.  
Quoth he, can't noble numbers choose,  
But walk on foot that have no shoes?  
Then doth he wish with fervent breath,  
As 'twere his last request ere death.  
Each owed a Bond, each Madrigal,  
A Lease from Haberdasher's Hall:  
Or else that he derived had been,  
From Cod of King and nock of Queen,  
For wight enthroned cares, not an Ace  
For Wood-street friend, that Weeldech Mace.  
Kings pay no scores but when they list,  
And treasure still hath cramp in fist.  
Now wight that acts on stage of Bull,  
In Sculler's bark doth lie at Hull:  
Which he for pennies two doth rig,  
All day on Thames to bob for Grig;  
Whilst Fencer poor doth by him stand,  
In old dung Litter hook in hand.  
Between knees rod: with Canvas crib  
To girdle tied, fast under rib;  
Where worms abide, that little Fish,  
Betray at night to Earthen dish.  
●eer house of Lane by Temple Bar,  
Now man of Mace cares not how far.  
In stockings blue) he marcheth on,  
●ith Velvet Cape his Cloak upon,  
●n Girdle scroll, where name of sum,  
●s written down, which he with thumb,  
●n shoulder left, must safe Convey,  
● wing sad wight, with name of Roy.  
●oore Prisoners friend that sees the touch,  
Cries out, by God I thought as much.  
Now Poet small to Globe doth run  
●nd vows to Heaven four acts are done,  
Finis to bring he doth protest:  
●ells each aside his part is best:  
And all to get as Poets use,  
Mineral in pouch to comfort Muse:  
But stay, my frighted Muse is fled,  
Myself through fear crept under bed;  
For just as pen would scribble more,  
Fierce City Dun did rap at door.   

A SONG.  

1.  
POx take you Mistress I'll be gone,  
I have friends to wait upon;  
Think you I'll myself confine,  
To your humours (Lady mine.)  
No, your louring seems to say:  
'Tis a rainy drinking day,  
To the Tavern I'll away.   

2.  
There have I a Mistress got,  
Cloystered in a Pottle pot:  
Brisk and sprightly as thine Eye,  
When thy richest glances fly,  
Plump AND bounding lively fair,  
Buxom, soft and debonair:  
And she's called Sack my DEAR.   

3.  
Sack's my better Mistress far,  
Sack my only beauty star;  
Whose rich beams, and glorious ray;  
Twinkle in each red rose and face:  
●hould I all her virtues show,  
Thou thyself wouldst lovesick prove,  
AND she'd prove thy Mistress TOO,   

4.  
She with no dartscorne will blast me,  
But upon thy Bed can cast me;  
Yet ne'er blush herself too red,  
Nor fear of loss of Maidenhead:  
And she can (the truth to say)  
Spirits into me convey,  
MORE than thou canst take AWAY.   

5.  
Getting kisses here's no toil  
Here's no Handkerchif to spoil;  
Yet I better Nectar sip,  
Then dwell upon thy lip:  
And though mute and still she be,  
Quicker wit she brings to me,  
THAN e'er I could find in THEE.   

6.  
●f I go ne'er think to see,  
Any more a fool of me;  
●'le no liberty up give,  
Nor a Maudlin-like Love live.  
No, there's nought shall win me to't  
'tis not all thy smiles can do't,  
Nor my Maiden head- too BOOT.   

7.  
Yet if thou'lt but take the pain;  
TO be good but once again.  
If one smile then call me back,  
THOU shalt be that Lady Sack,  
Faith but try and thou shalt see,  
What a loving Soul I'll be,  
WHEN I am Drunk with nought but thee.    

The Answer.  

1.  
I Pray thee Drunkard get thee gone,  
Thy Mistress Sack doth smell too strong:  
Think you I intent to wed,  
A sloven to bepiss my bed?  
No, your staining me's to say,  
You have been drinking all this day,  
Go, begun, away away.   

2.  
Where you have your Mistress Sack,  
Which hath already spoiled your back,  
And methinks should be to hot,  
To be cloistered in a pot.  
Though you say she is so fair,  
So lovely and so debonair,  
She is but of a yellow hair.   

3.  
●ack's awhore which burns like fire,  
●ack consumes and is a drier;  
And her ways do only tend  
To bring men unto their end.  
●hould I all her vices tell,  
Her rovings and her swear fell,  
●hou wouldst damn her into Hell.   

4.  
●ack with no dirt scorns will blast thee,  
●ut upon thy Bed still cast thee:  
●nd by that impudence doth show,  
●hat no virtue she doth know:  
●or she will, the truth to say,  
●hy body in an hour decay,  
More than I can in a day.   

5.  
●hough for kisses there's no toil,  
●et your body She doth spoil:  
●●pping Nectar whilst you sit,  
●he doth quite besot your wit:  
●hough she is mute she'll make you loud:  
●rawl and fight in every crowd,  
●hen your reason she doth clould.   

6.  
Nor do thou ever look to see,  
Any more a smile from me,  
I'll no liberty, nor sign,  
Which I truly may call mine.  
No, no slight shall win me to't,  
'Tis not all thy parts can do't,  
Thy Person nor thy Land to boot.   

7.  
Yet if thou wilt take the pain,  
To be Sober once again,  
And but make much of my back,  
I will be in stead of Sack.  
Faith but try, and thou shalt see,  
What a loving Soul I'll be,  
When thou art drunk with nought but me.    

I Had a Love and she was chaste,  
Alack the more's the pity,  
But wot you how my Love was chaste,  
She was chaste quite through the City   

Upon a Priest that lies buried in Wells.  
A Priest there was of Wellis,  
Where was tinkled a great many Bellies,  
And in concordance,  
He played well on the Organce:  
And he was an excellent singer,  
And in the world not such a ringer.   

A SONG.  

WHen Virtue was a Country maid,  
And had no skill to ●et up trade,  
Was brought to Town by a Carrier's jade,  
That stood at rack and manger:  
She took her Whiff, she drank her Can,  
The Pipe was ne'er out of her span,  
She married a Tobacco man,  
A stranger.   

She set up a Shop in Honey lane,  
Whereto the flies did flock amain,  
Some flew from France and some from Spain,  
Brought by the English Pander.  
But when the Honey pot grew dry,  
And Winter came, the Flies must die:  
Her Husband he was forced to fly  
From Flanders.    

A Scholars answer to one that sent to borrow his Horse.  
RIght Worshipful Frank,  
I humbly thee thank,  
For the kindness received of late,  
Ingratitutde sure I cannot endure,  
'Tis a vice that I utterly hate.  
I hear you provide a journey to ride,  
If any would lend you a Jennet.  
I protest before God, mine's all gone abroad,  
And won't be at home this seven-night.  
But yet my kind Francis, if that it so chances,  
That a Horse you needs must hire.  
If your business be hasty, I'll lend you my Masty▪  
To carry you out of the mire.  
'Tis a dainty fine cur,  
You need not him spur,  
If you his conditions but knew,  
For he'll prance and he'll gape,  
When he carries my Ape,  
Much more when he carries you.   

A SONG.  

1.  
THere was an old Lad, rode on an old Pad,  
Unto an old punk a wooing;  
He laid the old punk, upon an old trunk,  
Oh there was good old doing.   

2.  
There was an old maid, scarce sweet as they said,  
In a place I dare not make mention,  
She in an old humour lay with a Perfumer▪  
Oh there was a sweet invention.   

3.  
The Punk and the Maid, they swear & they said,  
That Marriage was servillity;  
If Mary you must, for changing of Lust,  
Oh well fare a trick of nullity.   

4.  
There was a mad man did study to frame ●  
Device▪ to draw up a prespuce,  
She drew up so narrow, a Car might go through,  
Oh there was a slender sluice.   

5.  
Her Earl did appoint her, she said, such a Jointure  
As was of no vallidity  
Above twice in a Night, he did her no right,  
Oh there was a strange frigidity.   

6.  
But when as her Earl had another girl,  
His wimble did pierce her flank,  
His Nag proved able, by changing of stable,  
Oh there was a quod ad hanc.   

7.  
This dame was inspected, by fraud interjected▪ held the candle  
A maid of more perfection,  
Whom the Midwives did handle, while the K nt  
Oh there was a clear inspection.   

8.  
Now as foreign writers, cry out of their mitres  
That allow this for a virginity,  
And talk of Election, and waul of Election;  
Oh there was a sound Divinity.   

9  
There was a young Lord assumed on his word,  
That he would be a Parliament maker,  
But see how things alter, he assumed a halter,  
Oh there was an undertaker,   

10.  
He had a sweet friend, which he did commend,  
To the keeping of sweet Sir jarvis,  
They gave him a Clyster, made his belly to blistery  
Oh there was a sweet piece of service.   

11.  
●his friend he denied, and would not abide,  
A Marriage that so would shame us,  
between this sweet Matron, & this grave Patron;  
Oh Patron of Ignoramus.   

12.  
Now Weston and Horn, and Turner do turn,  
And say that this plot was fraud,  
These may say their pleasure, some think hard measure,  
Oh knaves, and Punks, and Bawds.    

A SONG.  

THou Shephard whose intentive eye,  
On every Lamb is such a spy;  
No willy foe can make them less  
Where may I find my Sheaperdess.   

A little pausing then said he,  
How can this Jewel stay from thee?  
●n Summers' heat in winter's cold,  
● thought thy breast had been her fold.   

It is indeed the constant place,  
Wherein my thoughts still see her face,  
And print her Image in my heart,  
But yet my fond eyes crave a part.   

With that he smiling said I might,  
Of Cloaris party have a sight,  
And some of her perfections meet,  
In every flower that's fresh and sweet.   

That growing Lily wears her skin,  
The Violet her blue veins within,  
The Damask Rose now blown and spread;  
Her sweeter cheeks her lips as red.   

The winds that wanton with the Spring,  
Such Odours as her breathe bring  
But the resemblance of her eyes  
Was never found beneath the skies.   

Her charming voice who strives to fit  
His object, must be higher yet,  
For Heaven's Earth and all we see  
Dispersed collected is but she.   

A maid at this discourse methoughts,  
Love, both ambition in me wrought  
And made me covet to engross  
A wealth, would prove a public loss   

With that I sighth, ashamed to see,  
Such worth in her, such want in me;  
Closing both mine eyes forbid  
The world my sight since she was hid.    

A Song.  
To the Tune of Packington's Pound.  

1.  
MY masters and friends, and good people draw near,  
And look to your Purses, for that I do say;  
And though little money in them you do wear,  
It cost more to get, than to lose in a day:  
You oft have been told,  
Both the young and the old,  
And bidden beware of the Cutpurse so bold.  
Then if you take heed not, free me from this curse,  
Who both give you warning for, and the Cutpurse;  
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy Nurse,  
Then live to be hanged for cutting a purse.   

2.  
It hath been upbraided to men of my Trade,  
That ofttimes we are the cause of this crime,  
Alack and for pity, why should it be said?  
As if they regarded or places or time:  
Examples have been  
Of some that were seen  
In Westminster Hall, yea the Pleaders between▪  
Then why should the Judges be free from this curse,  
More than my poor self for cutting the purse?  
Youth, youth, etc.   

3.  
At Worcester 'tis known well, and even i'th'Jayl,  
A Kt. of good worth did there show his face,  
Against the frail sinner in rage for to rail,  
And lost (ipso facto) his purse in the place;  
Nay even from the seat  
Of Judgement so great,  
A Judge there did lose a fair purse of Velvet;  
O Lord for thy mercy how wicked or worse,  
Are those that so venture their necks for a purse!  
Youth, youth, etc.   

4.  
At Plays and at Sermons, and at the Sessions,  
'Tis daily their practice such booty to make;  
Yea under the Gallows, at Executions,  
They stick not, they stare about purses to take;  
Nay one without Grace,  
At a better place,  
At Court and in Christmas before the King's face.  
Alack then for pity, must I bear the curse,  
That only belong to the cunning Cutpurse?  
Youth, youth, etc.   

5.  
But, O you vile nation of Cutpurses all,  
Relent and repent, and amend and be ●ound,  
And know that you ought not by honest men's fall,  
To advance your own fortunes, to die above ground;  
And though you go gay,  
In Silks as you may,  
It is not the highway to Heaven (as they say.)  
Repent then, repent you, for better, for worse,  
And kiss not the Gallows for cutting a purse.  
Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy nurse,  
Then live to be hanged for cutting a purse.    

To the Tune of I wail in woe, I plunge in pain: OR LABANDOLA shot.  

Verse 1.  
IN Cheapside famous for Gold and Plate,  
Quicksilver I did dwell of late:  
I had a master good and kind,  
That would have wrought me to his mind;  
He bade me still work upon that,  
But alas! I wrought I knew not what:  
He was a Touchstone black but true,  
And told me still what would ensue;  
Yet woe is me, I would not learn,  
I saw alas! but could not discern.   

Verse 2.  
I cast my Coat and Cap away,  
I went in Silks and Satins gay;  
False metal of good manners I  
Did daily coin unlawfully.  
I scorned my master being drunk,  
I kept my Gelding and my Punk,  
And with a Knight, Sir Flash by name,  
Who now is sorry for the same.   

Verse 3.  
Still Eastward-Hoe was all my word,  
But Westward I had no regard;  
Nor ever thought what would come after,  
As did, alas! his youngest Daughter.  
At last the black Ox trod on my foot,  
I saw then what belonged unto't:  
Now cry I, Touchstone, touch me still,  
And make me current by thy skill.   

Verse 4.  
O Manington thy stories show,  
Thou cut'st a Horse head off at a blow,  
But I confess I have not the force,  
For to cut off the head of a Horse.  
Yet I desire this grace to win,  
That I may cut off the Horse head of sin,  
And leave his body in the dust  
Of sins highway, and bogs of lust:  
Whereby I may take virtue's purse,  
And live with her for better for worse.   

Verse 5.  
Farewell Cheapside, farewel sweet Trade,  
Of Goldsmiths all that never shall fade.  
Farewell dear Fellow-prentices all,  
And be you warned by my fall.  
eat Usurers bonds, and Dice, and Drabs,  
Avoid them as you would French scabs.  
Seek not to go beyond your teacher,  
And cut your thongs unto your leather:  
So shall you thrive by little and little,  
Escape Tyburn, Counters, and the spital.    

A Song.  

1.  
LAdies here I do present you  
With a dainty dish of fruit,  
The first it was a Poplin Pear,  
'Twas all the fruit the tree did bear;  
You need not pair it any whit,  
But put it all in at a bit;  
And being let a while to lie,  
'Twill melt, 'twill melt, 'twill melt most pleasantly.   

2.  
The next in order you shall have  
A rich Potata and a brave,  
Which being laid unto the fire,  
God Cupid kindles to desire;  
For when 'tis baste, with little cost,  
'Twill baste itself when it is roast;  
It needs no sugar nor no spice,  
'Twill please a stomach ne'er so nice,  
'Twill make a maid at midnight cry,  
It comes, it comes, it comes, it comes most pleasantly.   

3.  
The next by lot as doth befall,  
Is two handfuls of Roundsefals;  
Which Priamus the Garden god  
Made Venus eat within the Cod:  
You must not prune too much at first,  
For if you do tears out will burst,  
And being let a while to lie,  
'Twill drop, 'twill drop, 'twill drop, 'twill drop most prettily.   

4.  
The best of things in all the land,  
You shall have Mars his only wand,  
Protecting of that pretty flower,  
Which comes and goes in half an hour,  
The flowers of virtue that do grow,  
Because they'll please all women so:  
But when Mars draws back his wand,  
It lies, it lies, it lies, and cries, and cannot stand.    

Upon the Burning of a Petty School.  
WHat heat of Learning kindled your desire  
You cursed sons to set your house on fire?  
What love of honour in your breasts did turn  
Those sparks of fury into flames to burn?  
Or was't some higher cause? were the hot gods  
Phoebus and Vulcan cold friends now at odds?  
What ere the Cause was, surely ill was th' intent  
When all the muses justly may lament;  
But above all for names sake Polyhymy  
Bewails the downfall of that learned Chimney,  
Where you might see without or wit or sense  
Lay the sad ashes of an accidence.  
What numbers here of Nouns to wrack did go,  
As Domus, Liber, and as many more,  
In woeful case, no sex the flames did spare  
Each gender in this loss had common share▪  
There might you see the Rueful declinations  
Of 15. Pronouns and 4. Conjugations.  
Some Gerunds Diego, but some Do overcome,  
And some with heat and smoke are quite struck dumb.  
Supines lay gasping upwards void of fences,  
The moods were mad to see imperfect tenses,  
Adverbs of place threw down their lofty stories  
As ubi, ibi, illic, intus, foris,  
Conjugations so disjoin as you would wonder,  
No coupling scarce but it was burnt asunder.  
The Praepositions knew not where to be,  
Each Interjection cried Heu! woe is me.  
For the due joining of the things again  
A Neighbour called qui mihi comes amain;  
Else sure the fire had into flames so turned  
Gods, Men, Months, Rivers, Winds, and all had burned.  
Now began the flames the Heteroclites to number,  
And poor supellex lost his plural number:  
Of verbs scarce had escaped one of twenty,  
Had there not been by chance As in presenti.  
T. R.   

Upon the fall of Wisbech Bridge.  

Help help you undertakers all,  
Whose purses are the stronger,  
Our bridge the falling sickness hath,  
For it can stand no longer.   

And come you cruel Watermen,  
And lend your help tothth' town,  
‛ It's you I doubt that shot the bridge;  
And so have thrown it down.   

What was the cause of this mischance  
There is a great confusion;  
I saw by the water that he was  
Of a Crazy constitution.   

Some say th' enlarging of the streams  
Struck up the bridges heels.  
It was too much strong water sure  
That made him drunk and reel.   

And some do say, he fell because  
His feet had no good landing:  
I rather think the blockhead fell  
For want of understanding.   

Although our Country suffer loss  
And at this downfall grudges,  
It was the upstart-fluce that put  
Our aged bridge to's Crutches.   

The Lords will have it built again  
Much longer than the other;  
Introth I think it will be long  
Ere we have such another.   

But who shall build this stately piece  
There's no man can suppose;  
The Dutch man doubts the Lords do mean  
To make a bridge of's nose.   

And some do say that Mr. Day  
Will give to it ten pound,  
But he replied (by) they lied,  
He had rather see them drowned.   

But let not Wisbech be dismayed,  
Nor at this loss complain;  
For though our bridge a Bankrupt be  
we'll set him up again.   
T. R.   

Upon the fall of the Mitre in Cambridge.  
LAment Lament you scholars all,  
Each wear his blackest gown;  
The mitre that upheld your wits,  
Is now itself fallen down.  
The dismal fire on London bridge  
Can move no heart of mine,  
For that but o'er the water stood  
But this stood o'er the wine.  
It needs must melt each Christians heart  
That this sad news but hears,  
To see how the poor hogsheads wept  
Good Sack and Claret tears.  
The zealous students of that place  
Change of Religion fear,  
That this mischance may soon bring in  
The Heresy of Beer.  
Unhappy mitre, I would know  
The cause of thy sad hap;  
Was it for making legs too low  
To Pembroke's Cardinals cap?  
Then know thyself, and cringe no more,  
Since Popery went down  
That cap should veil to thee, for now  
The miter's next the Crown.  
Or was't because our company  
Did not frequent the Cell  
As we were wont, to drown these cares,  
Thou foxed thyself and fell?  
No sure the Devil was adry  
And caused this fatal blow;  
'Twas he that made this cellar sink  
That he might drink below;  
And some do say the Devil did it  
'Cause he would drink up all,  
I rather think the Pope was drunk  
And let his mitre fall.  
Poor Commoners to your great disgrace  
You want of skill acknowledge  
To let a Tavern fall that stood  
O'th' walls of your own College.  
The Rose now withers, Falcon moults,  
White Sam enjoys his wishes  
The Dolphin now must cast his Crown,  
Wine was not made for fishes.  
This sign a Tavern best becomes,  
To show who loves it best,  
The mitre is the only sign,  
For 'tis the Scholar's crest.  
Thou Same drink Sack and cheer thyself  
Be not dismayed at all  
For we will drink it up again  
Though we do catch the fall,  
we'll be thy workmen day and night  
In spite of Bug bear Proctors  
We drank like Frenchmen all before,  
But now we'll drink like Doctors.  
T. R.   

A match at cockfighting.  

Go you tame Gallants, you that have the name,  
And would accounted be cocks of the game;  
That have brave spurs to show for't, and can crow,  
And count all dunghill breed that cannot show  
Such painted plumes as yours, that thinkt no vice  
With cock-like lust to tread your cockatrice;  
Though Peacocks, Woodcocks, Weathercocks you be,  
If y'are no fight cocks y'are not for me.  
I of two feathered combatants will write;  
He that toth' life means to express their fight,  
Must make his Ink their blood which they did spill,  
And from their dying wings borrow his quill:  
No sooner was the doubtful people set,  
The matches made, and all that would had bet;  
But strait the skilful Judges of the play  
Bring forth their sharp-heeled warriors, and they  
Were both in linen bags, as if 'twas meet,  
Before they die to have had their winding sheet.  
With that i'th' pit they're put, and when they were  
Both on their feet, the Norfolk Chantecleer  
Looks stoutly on his ne'er before seen foe,  
And like a challenger begins to crow,  
And shake his wings, as that he did display  
His warlike colours, which were black and grey;  
Mean while the wary Wisbech walks and breaths,  
His active body and in fury wreaths  
His comely crest, and often looking down  
He whets his angry beak upon the ground.  
With that they meet, not like that coward breed  
Of Esope; these can better fight then feed.  
They scorn the dunghill, 'tis their only prize  
To dig for Pearls in each others eyes;  
They fought so long that it was hard to know,  
To''th' skilful whether they did fight or no;  
Had not the blood which died the fatal floor,  
Born witness of it, yet they fight the more,  
As that each wound were but a spur to prick  
Their fury forward, lightning not more quick  
Nor red then were their eyes; 'tis hard to know,  
Whether it was blood or anger made them so.  
And sure they had been out, had they not stood  
More safe by being fenced in with blood:  
But still they fight; But now alas at length,  
Although their courage be full tired, their strength  
And blood began to Ebb, you that have seen  
A water combat on the Sea between  
Two angry boiling billows, how  
They march and meet, and dash their curled brow,  
Swelling like graves, as though they did intend  
To entomb each other ere the quarrel end:  
But when the wind is down, and blustering weather,  
They are made friends, and sweetly run together.  
Methinks these Champions such, their wind grown low,  
And they which leapt even now, now scarce can go.  
Their wings which lately at each blow they clapped,  
As if they did applaud themselves, they flap;  
And having lost the advantage of the heel,  
Drunk with each others blood they only reel;  
From both their eyes such drops of blood did fall,  
As if they wept them for their funeral:  
And yet they fain would fight, they come so near  
As if they meant into each others ear,  
To whisper death, and when they cannot rise,  
They lie and look blows into each others eyes:  
But now the tragic part after the fight,  
When Norfolk cock had got the best of it,  
And Wisbitch lay a dying, so that none  
Though sober but might venture seven to one,  
Contracting like a dying taper all  
His force, as meaning with that blow to fall,  
He struggles up, and having taken wind,  
Ventures a blow and strikes the other blind.  
And now poor Norfolk having lost his eyes,  
Fights only guided by antipathies;  
With him (alas) the Proverb holds too true,  
The blows his eyes ne'er saw his heart must rue:  
At length by chance, he stumbling on his foe,  
Not having any strength to deal a blow;  
He falls upon him with a wounded head,  
And made the conquerors wings his feather bed:  
Where lying sick, his friends were very chary  
Of him, and fetched in haste the apothecary:  
But still in vain, his body doth so blister,  
That it's not capable of any glister;  
Wherefore at last opening his fainting bill,  
He called a Scrivener, and thus made his Will.   

Inprimis. Let it never be forgot,  
My body freely I bequeath to th'pot,  
Decently to be boiled, and for its Tomb,  
Let it be buried in some hungry womb.  
Item. Executor I will have none,  
But he that on my side laid seven to one:  
And like a Gentleman that he may live,  
To him and to my heirs my Comb I give;  
Together with my brains, that all may know  
That oftentimes his brains do use to crow.  
Item. It's my will to those weaker ones,  
Whose wives complain of them, I give my stones.  
To him that's dull I do my spurs impart,  
And to the Coward I bequeath my heart:  
To Ladies that are light it is my will,  
My feathers should be given; and for my bill,  
I'd give to'a Taylor, but it's so short,  
That I'm afraid he'll rather curse me for't.  
And for the worthy Doctors, they who meant  
To give me a Glister, let my Rump be sent:  
Lastly, because I feel my life decay,  
I yield and give to Wisbech cock the day.   
T. R.   


CLear is the air, and the morning is fair  
Fellow Huntsman come wind your horn;  
Sweet is the breath, and fresh is the earth,  
That does melt the rind from the thorn:  
The flowers wax bright with Apollo's light,  
Newly sprung from the Ocaean Queen;  
Where on a forest plain, may be seen a brave game,  
Right fit of a Prince to be seen.   

Fourteen couple truly counted, of hounds both good and trusty,  
And a troop of horsemen bravely mounted of coursers swift and lusty:  
Of Huntsmen so right, that clear were of sight, to show the delight, the delight,  
So ho, ho; so ho, etc. there she sits.   

Then Coridon was frighted, his lambs they were so parted,  
To hear how they did shout, they hollowed, and they hooped,  
— Whilst Wat before them started.  
With halloe, halloe, halloe, halloe, halloe, halloe, with a halloe, cried the louder;  
The earth ne'er bore a braver Hare, that ran more strong and prouder.  
Swift as a Roe she fairly hunts o'er mountains, hills and dales,  
O'er meadows, pastures, and o'er fields, over lays and under rails;  
And then unto the hunt she gets, she winds the furs and Plain,  
And here and there she runs six miles before she turns again.  
There might you see proud Strawberry run foaming hard to hold,  
And Peggabrigge with all her tricks, 'tis pity she e'er was old:  
Robin-red-breast and Shotten-herring amidst the jovial crew,  
Did top the hounds upon the Downs whilst Wat was in their view.  
Hark how the hounds, & the horns & the horns. & the hounds, & the huntsmen loud do hollow,  
Whilst Wat with nimble feet doth trip o'er the Downs, o'er the Downs, in all her follow:  
But Wat at the length showed them such a trick,  
That she made them all to stand and to stick,  
And to cry, joler, joler, so ho, etc. joler there.   

So many men so many minds, so many dogs so many kinds:  
Some stood staring at the head, and some said she was forward fled:  
But one amongst them all, of judgement small,  
In faith he knew that she was dead;  
For a shepherd crossed the fields with his dog at his heels,  
That swore guds-nigs her blood was spilt.   

juno then came back again, and compass wide did go-a,  
To see if she could hit, and sit in the lands that lay below-a,  
There she tried, and out she cried with mouth full deep and sweet-a,  
Which made them all on her to call, whilst Wat away did creep-a,  
Hark there juno, juno, so ho, so ho, etc. juno there.  
See, see, see where she goes, how she turns over,  
juno and jupiter, Tinker and Troler,  
Sing-well and Merry-boy, Captain and Cryer,  
Gingwell and Gingle-bell, Fair-maid and Friar,  
Beauty and Bonny-lass, Tanner and Trouncer,  
Fomer and Forester, Bomer and Bouncer,  
Gander and Gondemore, joler and jumper,  
Tarquin and Tamburlaine, Thunder and Thumper.  
Over the mountains, and under the vales,  
Over the fountains, and under the rails,  
Through the woods that are the thickest,  
Which the Silvans obey,  
O'er the dikes that are the deepest,  
Puss will find out the way.  
But What grew faint and spent well nigh,  
A little ease for charity.  
Stop the dogs, stay the hounds, give her more breath,  
We will see all her tricks before her death.  
But What grew faint and could no longer run,  
Her strength was spent, her life was almost done;  
And sitting down she sighing seemed to say,  
Those whom I trusted did my trust betray.    

On the praise of Fat Men.  
LO, precious Rules are here made common,  
For health of either man or woman.  
If thou fat mortal feign wouldst be,  
With cheeks so plump for eyes to see:  
Know feeding hard, and drinking much,  
With sleeping long, will make you such.  
Cram thou until thou fartst at table,  
'Twill make thee fat as Jade i'th' stable.  
If thou thy Buttocks would have spread,  
Sat long after thou hast well fed;  
'Twill make the Haunches large to grow,  
Through gown or breeches making show.  
If thou thy flesh wilt hold together,  
Walk not though it be fair weather;  
All exercise forbear, for that  
But wastes and melts away the fat.  
You see when Boars for Brawn we feed,  
That they're penned up in stigh indeed.  
Which makes their fat more firm and hard,  
Than is the greatest Bacon lard:  
So you the Dining-room may keep,  
To eat and drink in, shire and sleep.  
Your wiser Germane sit at meals  
So long till it runs down their heels,  
Nor do they think it any scorn,  
For what overflows, their rooms adorn.  
In camp you may find out his tent  
From other Nations by the sent;  
For there the Paking up of Rhenish,  
Disturbs no stomach that is squeamish.  
To eat and drink, to shire and spew,  
Is custom old, no fashion new.  
Your pills and potions are poor things  
To those more natural scowerings;  
To see a mortal with large pode  
Disburden Colon of his load;  
Or see one which eat apple-pye,  
Till she hath need to let it fly,  
Doth show that all is right within,  
That sends forth pudding without skin,  
These are the natural coneys that show  
The feeding bodies ebb and flow.  
For in the microcosm we  
All changes of the great world see,  
Let hungry wight forbear a meal,  
It makes him look like slinked Veal;  
His belly thinks his throat is cut,  
And cramp begins to wring his gut;  
He looketh blue under the eyes,  
And guts do wolf-like trade that lies  
In watery dike in Spring's beginning;  
Then have a care of empty sinning;  
You never shall answer half so much  
To fill, as he shall that doth grudge  
To stuff his chitterlings so well,  
That they no tales of fasting tell.  
I heard rich mortal had a pig  
A present sent to him so big  
That he to eat it was unwilling,  
But strove to sell it for five shilling,  
The pig was sent him with the tail,  
But in the market that must fail,  
For there the mortal would not send it  
But in his family would spend it;  
But bade his man to have a care  
To sel't where he might have his share.  
The body of the pig was sold  
But powdering tub the tail did hold;  
The powdering tub which had not seen  
So much as rump of goose so green  
In twice ten year (tub true to say)  
Would well have served late priests to pray,  
Such as from Cobbler's stalls have crept,  
And in obedience Sisters kept.  
Their members all with due are spread  
To rub and chafe when they're in bed.  
For after exercise in tub  
Their sister's cause their Priests to rub  
That they their teachers might restore  
For doctrine given in before.  
But leaving brother to expound  
Dark place and mystery profound,  
I now intent to bend discourse  
To mortal fat as pampered horse.  
They commonly that are so fat  
No parents are of wicked plot.  
Alas they only do take care  
To keep their ribs from being bare,  
And that is done by exercise  
Of little bones beneath their eyes,  
Bones that will trundle a whole mile  
While all the body rests the while;  
Yet we have fools within our Nation  
Let strangers pull them out for fashion,  
Bones unto men of precious use,  
That squeeze all fat, all ripe to juice,  
That man that truly loves his belly,  
To part with them is loath I tell ye;  
He doth as highly prise those bones,  
As Ladies do those precious stones  
Which nature made not to adorn her  
So much as please her in a corner.  
These bones in English have name  
Which mounsieurs raised have to fame.  
A single one is called a tooth  
From whence tooth-drawer comes forsooth.  
But of tooth-drawers pray know this  
The French the most esteemed is;  
He doth as much by touch of finger  
As figures do for figure flinger.  
But all the learned know that they  
Do but pretend to what they say.  
Your French-Tooth-drawer if you observe  
Looks as if he himself did starve  
To fat his horse, which drew as much  
As mounsiers self doth by the touch;  
For mounsiers horse whose hooves are horns  
While he cures Teeth the Jade cures Corns.  
I see a Porter who stood by  
To see monsieur draw's mouth awry  
And pull from well-grown Butcher's gum  
A hollow Tooth bigger then's thumb;  
A Tooth I'll warrant in time hath ground  
Of flyblown beef, many a pound;  
A Tooth had some well-minded Glutton  
But such a phang he'd tue the mutton;  
Porter that stood this sight to see  
Had come on too most certainly,  
The mounsiers horse as if jade knew  
The malady which on toe grew,  
Removed his foot and set it down  
Upon the toe of gazing clown;  
Porter at tread of horse did squeak,  
But jade had gi'en his corn at tweak.  
Just as the Butcher's money paid,  
The Porter's cure of corn was made;  
He needs must be rid of his corn,  
For toe from his foot was torn.  
When Porter begins to complain,  
monsieur to spur his horse was fain,  
So rides away, sans all remorse,  
Bidding the Porter kiss his arse.  
Porter was lame, and could not follow,  
But aloud begins to hollow;  
But we leave Porter for to howl,  
Till we return to our fat soul;  
For this is quite against profession  
Of mine to make so large digression.  
But now, for rules before we eat,  
And how to choose right battning meat,  
For spoon-meat, barleybroth and jelly,  
Very good is for the belly.  
For morning's draught your north-down-ale  
Will make you oilily as a Whale;  
But he that will not out flesh wit  
Must at the good Canary sit;  
For 'tis a saying very fine  
Give me the fat man's wit in wine:  
For he's as merry as wean'ling Pig  
That to the Hoggs-trough dances Jig.  
Your beef, your pork, your veal, your mutton  
So it be good as knife ere cut on;  
Your pigs, your capons, turkeys, coneys,  
Your feeding wight thinks worth his moneys;  
But he whose longings to grow thicker,  
Must mingle with good meat good liquor.  
Your Brawn washed down with muskadine,  
Will make your cheeks look plump and fine;  
If you would have a double chin  
Drink no small beer, for that's too thin:  
For he that means to feed his chaps high,  
Apt is to fall into a Dropsy.  
Therefore your high rich wines are fit  
T'augment the flesh and help the wit:  
'Twill make the buttocks firm as brawn,  
And skin as pure white as Lawn.  
Turn haunches up with Lady fine,  
And thy fat arse shall hers outshine.  
Feeding and drinking, smooths the skin,  
And makes the plump one moist within.  
Who feeds at Vespers and at Matins  
Their skins as smooth and white as Satins  
Near died; but we and from the pure Silk  
Of the dead worm (whiter) then Milk.  
As I of feeding much do treat,  
So rules I render after meat.  
When thou from a full meal dost rise,  
Scummer and Urine if tho'rt wise:  
Then pipe of right Varinas take,  
For that doth swift digestion make.  
Then seat thyself in a great chair,  
And thing called tattling do forbear;  
So shall you fall into sweet nap,  
Shall ease the burden of your lap:  
That you no sooner shall awake,  
But you another meal may take;  
Or have at least when you do rise  
Passage for dung between your thighs.  
Another precious rule scarce thought on  
By no means here must be forgotten;  
All vermin which in bed doth creep,  
From thighs and privy members keep;  
For they are creatures break the rest,  
And make men sleep when they should feast;  
Leaving untouched a wholesome coney,  
Which sweeter is to man then money.  
Take woman fat, with a black hair,  
With colour red, and skin that's fair;  
And turn her up, and you shall see  
Such a strong contrariety,  
Of her white thigh and curled black,  
That bordereth about her knack  
Shall please the skilful eye to see  
Of hues, such rare variety;  
For there is black, and blue, and white,  
Ordained for young man's delight.  
I could speak more in praise of these  
Strong harbours for fat crabs and fleas;  
But I must turn and wind my story  
To those by feeding gain their glory.  
And now should I all wild fowl name,  
That add to lusty manchers frame;  
I dazzle should the reader's eye  
To view the name of fowl that fly;  
I will not write of Hern or Bittern  
Whose claw transcends goose-quill or sittern;  
Nor of the partridge, nor the pheasant,  
Meat scarcely known to chaps of peasant;  
Nor of the woodcock, nor the widgeon,  
Nor the often billing pigeon.  
Nor of the lark, nor the cock-sparrow  
Whose mettle melts away his marrow.  
I shall want room to write of fish,  
Which often is the fat man's dish;  
Of which the sturgeon and the oyster  
That moveth holy Nun in Cloister,  
And maketh ofttimes aged Friar  
A little of that same desire.  
Oysters are of strong operation,  
Known to both Sexes of our Nation;  
They're fishes of such rare perfection,  
That they in flesh make an erection;  
And give to mouths want teeth such strength  
That they'll devour a whole yards length;  
Such is keen appetite of nick,  
Although it be a handful thick.  
I must not dwell on watery theme,  
For fear I'm thought too full of phlegm:  
But now I something have to say,  
Of food that helps nature's decay;  
Of which the food springs from the earth  
Suits best to those of humane birth.  
In Indies Eastern occident,  
There's fruits that give the taste content.  
Some that have traveled speak of Planton,  
It makes men lusty, women wanton:  
But I believe our English skerrit  
To man or woman adds more spirit.  
But this is clearly my opinion,  
There breeds more sperm of leek and onion;  
Some windy roots we have that swell  
The belly much, helps ne'er a dell  
To procreation, but they  
We mean to cast out of our way:  
Of which the turnip and the carot  
Will make some speak like Jay or Parrot.  
It was the judgement of wi●e Cato,  
That Parsnip did transcend Potato;  
He swears that Parsnip more doth merit  
Then the aringo or the skerit:  
And yet the aringo we do see  
Our Ladies much perpetually,  
Which out of fellow-feeling they,  
Do to resist, and to obey.  
johannes de temporibus  
Who lived as long as three of us;  
His diet much was on the Parsnip,  
And he did love to give white arsnip:  
In commendations of that root,  
Said it made him ofttimes go tot.  
A modern writer, to the glory  
Of this brave root tells this true story;  
Which if our Ladies will not eat,  
Will serve to do another feat.  
The story was of a swart Spaniard  
Who seldom had a pendent whinyard;  
But every night did claper-claw  
His wife, that she was almost raw;  
She was so sore and full of pain,  
That she was forced to complain.  
The learned Judges of the Land  
Desired to take each thing in hand:  
But when the Judges understood,  
The matter was of flesh and blood;  
They for the learned Doctors call,  
Who strait appeared in place called Hall:  
Woman that brought her husband thither,  
And was sore in mouth called nether  
Did blush to see the man in gown,  
Fearing the tale would through the town;  
Which shortly afterwards it did,  
For which the woman oft was chid.  
The Doctors gravely, and in quiet,  
Asked him of his usual diet:  
He told them Parsnips was the meat  
Which he most usually did eat;  
By which conjectured 'tis by all,  
No root is more spermatical.  
But now to ease his sore wife's pain,  
A month these roots he must refrain;  
Which willingly my stout Don did,  
And changing food lay still in bed:  
But she before the month had end  
Presented Parsnips to her friend;  
And then he fell to wont work  
As fierce as a broad shouldered Turk.  
Since Parsnips such a battening thing  
That makes both man and woman cling,  
And stick as fast to one another  
As glued boards, why then plump brother  
Eschew not this so lusty food,  
Which both for flesh and pleasures good.  
Some slight the valour of the fat,  
And say they're good for nought but chat:  
But I a story will unfold,  
Shall speak them hardy, stout and bold.  
Fat mortal into market comes,  
And spied fat Eels would oil his gums;  
Then strait he hath a longing wish,  
To have those fat Eels in his dish.  
So to the greesie wife that sold 'em,  
And on her short fat knees did hold 'em:  
He asked the price with greedy sense,  
She gripple wench said Eighteen pence:  
He in derision offered three;  
So quarrel between them grew to be.  
The peremptory Jade did rail,  
Her words did bruise like blows of flail;  
But Apothecary having mettle,  
Removed her arse from off the settle:  
And made the whore that sold the Eel,  
The wait of hand on bare arse feel;  
For he in market called Cheapside,  
Smote her blind face, sans nose, mouthwide  
Belonged to those unwashed cheeks,  
Where gardener might have planted leeks:  
But one thing more vexs Apothecary,  
To see the Fishwives arse so hairy.  
But having thus his business done,  
Set down, the scold away did run:  
She to revenge this foul disgrace,  
Runs scolding after him apace.  
Poor man affrighted with the din,  
Beshit himself for fear of quean.  
The lane was narrow where he went,  
He stunk like alderman in tent;  
The jade which seldom used to smell,  
But what from her own bunghole fell;  
Left off the chase, it was so strong,  
And so returned with the wrong.  
And so I leave her to the scorn  
Of those at Bilingsgate, ducked each morn;  
This for Land-service, which doth show  
Fat men their teeth for valour owe.  
Now for their sea, of which I'll speak,  
What shall not show their valour weak;  
As horses in storm a ship doth poise,  
By his resisting waves that rise;  
Let no fond man the truth deride,  
For horse doth make to th' rising side:  
So fat man's bunghole being open,  
Keeps sailors all from being a slopen.  
He stench abundant forth doth send,  
Making each boy stand to rope's end;  
By which we find it requisite  
Fat men aboard in storm do shit.  
He that at fun le's out a peck  
Is a prime man to scour a deck:  
Now for your female valour I  
Some rare examples shall descry.  
Let us look o'er the water there,  
Where guts are carried to the bear:  
I mean that London spoiling burrow,  
Which you to Kent must ride clean through  
Those that so treacherously let in  
Such mortals as make wealth a sin;  
Which for their service late so rare,  
Shall have an ass for their new mayor;  
But for the masters of their state  
In this discourse, I'll not relate:  
The wenches with broad haunches I  
Intent in this place to descry;  
Such whose large podes do roar as loud  
As wind doth in a tall ships shroud;  
Their blasts are such as you with wonder,  
If not beheld, would swear were thunder.  
But when they rain and blow together,  
You never heard such stormy weather;  
Such as will fright the wondering sense,  
And to the Nasus give offence.  
For like the touchhole of a gun,  
The scents perfumed from the sun:  
This for the virtue; now the trade  
Of these sweet wives so roundly made;  
Your neat paunch clenser is a woman  
That spreadeth in the haunch most common.  
Your neat paunch clenser is t●ipe-boyler,  
Which trade is a great finger-foyler.  
But these large wives with hubergums,  
Their tongues with railing bruise their gums;  
And bones of arms in skin do rattle,  
When with their wenches they have battle:  
I could more instances recite  
Of women's valour when they fight,  
But now I mean to leave the theme,  
Of choler mixed with dirty fleam.  
Repeating something of fat Squire,  
Who always shites when he's in ire.  
The Officer of our wise Ward,  
Fat as a Bear or the Bearward,  
Which if you name but the word fight,  
Immediately it makes him shit.  
Let any man discharge a gun,  
And he as soon discharge's tun.  
It is his natural love to fight,  
Makes him so prone and apt to shiteing.  
Nor altogether of their spleen,  
For all their choler is so keen;  
Their loves do more abound than spite,  
And they do show it when they shit.  
Fat man and wife together went  
To cleanse each others fundament;  
For so well grown was either belly,  
They could not do't themselves I tell ye.  
This I dare boldly say sans sinning,  
Shitten come shit is love's beginning,  
This further know, fat folks do scummer  
As much as Cows do give in Summer.  
And that must be a fruitful tail,  
That at one dunging fills a Pail.  
Nor is't amiss that I recite  
The Parley they did use at shit:   

Dialogue.  
Kind words are worth a world of money:  
Qu. Dost thou piss love? Ans. No, I shit honey.  
Such questions would the good man ask,  
When wife was troubled with the lask,  
For she when laskish shit so thin,  
It might have served to shave a chin.  
Some think it needful to be said  
Of love they used to shit in bed.  
Large paunches did so shorten arm,  
Own privy members could not warm.  
Their Sausige-plumped fingers ends,  
But commonly like loving friends,  
In winter morning you may catch  
Her hand on— he fingering—  
Thus they do keep their fingers warm,  
Doing to neither any harm.  
Love in all ages was commended,  
And by Monarchy still defended.  
Fat people were the landed themes  
Of julius Caesar and King james.  
They keep their minds in such pure quiet,  
Which battens them as much as diet.  
And now I leave the fat folk's friends,  
Which music maketh at both ends.  
For pode and throat they both extend,  
To make a sweet harmonious end.   

joan Easie got her a Nag and a Sledge,  
To the Privy-house for to slide, a  
The hole was be shit,  
That she could not sit,  
But did cack as she lay on her side: a  
She was not wind,  
For she sent forth a sound,  
Did stretch her fundament wide. a   

On the print of a Lady's foot, cut on the Leads of King's College Chappel, where before she had fallen.  

HEre once my Princess, when we first did meet,  
Made proud the Leads, and let them kiss her feet.  
They not contented with a part so small,  
Gave her a slip, and with that slip a fall;  
So did they get the grace to kiss her hand,  
A better part than that whereon we stand.   

Bold saucy Leads, that (as proud Cobblers do)  
Durst pass their bounds & touch above the shoe;  
But why do I the Leads ambition blame?  
Had I been they, I should have done the same;  
Only I would have melted at the meeting,  
And not have hurt her with so hard a greeting.   

But O! what name so bad by which to call  
Her servants negligence that let her fall?  
Yet this excuse he hath, 'twas rainy weather,  
And this his comfort, they fell both together;  
Such falls before advancement I'd prefer,  
And wish to fall again, so 'twere with her.   

But see her triumph, where she fell before,  
Her foot stands now engraved, and slips no more,  
The conquered Leads in penance have received  
The print of that whose trust it once deceived:  
And wounded bears to all posterity  
The punishment of its disloyalty.   

A just requital, only 'twill be said,  
So rare a gem should not be set in Lead.    

To a Lady commanding him to write a defiance to Love.  

DO I want torture then, that I  
Loves awful power must thus defy?  
Or in old stories do you find,  
That Love is deaf as well as blind?  
Or else do you resolve from hence,  
To nonplus my obedience?  
Well then your own command doth move  
Me to blaspheme yourself, and love.   

The Defiance.  
Once so foolish too was I,  
To dote on Nature's vanity;  
That trifle, woman, which they say,  
She made to pass the time away,  
When she had nothing else to do:  
(And faith 'tis very likely too)  
O! I had a tedious fit  
Of love, methinks I feel it yet.  
I'll swear it held me half an hour,  
But Cupid now I scorn thy power.  
Show me in one Lady's eye  
Thy strength of thy artillery:  
Show me a cheek where may be seen  
Thy sprightly wanton magazine,  
Show me a lip that's died in grain,  
With the heart's blood of those 't'as slain:  
Yet I have vowed I'll never die  
For that lip, or cheek, or eye.  
Show me a neck, whose milky way  
Vie splendour with the King of day:  
Show me a breast darts flames, although  
Itself doth seem composed of snow:  
Show me a belly so divine,  
Thou, though a god, wouldst make it thine:  
Yet Cupid, I the same dare tell ye,  
For all this neck, or breast, or belly,  
Show me a thigh whose softness can,  
And whiteness baffle Leda's Swan:  
Show me a leg which would invite  
The strictest Hermit to delight;  
Show me a foot whose pretty shape  
Would make a Saint commit a rape;  
Yet I have vowed I'll never die,  
For that foot, or leg, or thigh.    

To a Lady on a fall, in which she had almost discovered more than all the World besides could show.  
MAdam, pardon me, whilst I  
Repeat my happy misery,  
How the self same thing did cloy  
With excessive grief and joy.  
How cruel kind fate did me bless  
With fortunate unhappiness.  
A wonder sure before unheard,  
The same thing should be wished and feared.  
Who would not fear to see that fall?  
Who would not wish there to see all?  
'Twas such a sight, thus who but sees  
Doth blaspheme thee with his eyes.  
'Twas such a sight that hell defined,  
May truly be said to be blind.  
Cruel hands that were employed,  
In a sin worse than a parricide.  
To keep that hid, which to have seen  
To total sum of bliss had been.  
This is my passion than I swore  
Those hands I'll never kiss no more.  
This anger was true madness, I  
Had thus revenged your injury  
Upon myself, so I had been  
Tortured for what I thought your sin.  
You'd use them better for to save  
Yourself, then for to wound you slave.  
Since to hurt yourself, to me  
Was the height of injury.  
But envy sure would never rest  
In so innocent a breast.  
'Twas curtsy made you so unkind,  
Lest those Letters should strike me blind  
Which your pure limbs unvaild display,  
(Beams which disgrace the Prince of day.)  
You thus in pity cheat my sight,  
And hide the dangerous delight.  
May he be blind that does not prise  
Such a sight above his eyes.  
You might have spared your pains to hear,  
'Twas a very needless care,  
(When the steed's stolen you shut the door,)  
Your eyes had struck me blind before.   

On a Knife that cut a Lady's finger.  
THe weapon Salve (as some they say have found)  
At distance heals, just so this knife doth wound;  
For all that gash, I felt the greatest smart,  
Cutting your hand, Madam, you cut my heart.  
Then let me search my gall that I may see,  
What curses I can muster up for thee.  
May'st thou be always more abhorred by us,  
Than the keen knife of sister Atropos;  
T'imploy thee may the basest beggar scorn,  
Unless to 〈◊〉 his nails or cut his corn:  
Mayest the 〈◊〉 lost till thou art rusty, then  
By some melochick Butcher found again;  
And by him 〈◊〉, only for this intent,  
To rip up guts, and let out excrement:  
But why to curse thee do I keep this stir?  
Briefly, mayest thou ne'er more be used by Her.   

A Description of the miseries of a moneyless Pocket.  
BBing me Raviliac who does defy  
All torments, with such gallant constancy;  
And only with one sudden oh! complains,  
When they pour scalding oil into his veins;  
Let his stout heart but feel my pangs alone,  
An empty purse I'll warrant makes him groan.  
Bring me a Stoic that says flat and plain,  
A wise man knows not so much thing as pain;  
Let him alone to make him change hi●●ote,  
And swear a cutpurse worse than a●● throat.  
The pangs my mother did with m 〈…〉 ure,  
Were not so bad, as to want more 〈…〉 ure;  
I'd wish, were I my enemy to n●sse,  
May his associate be an empty purse:  
Nor would I any greater crosses crave  
For him, than that he may not crosses have;  
Then to see him I might most justly hope,  
Knight of the noble order of the rope.  
For you will find amongst that famous crew  
That make their wills of Hide-Park-corner, few,  
If you examine, but the reason why  
'Twas cause they wanted money they'll reply:  
Nay I have tasted miseries far worse,  
The constant judgements of an empty purse.  
For if I come into a tavern, I  
Scarce from the Drawer get a by and by;  
To trust one quart I cannot work on Will,  
Though I'd pawn for it all Parnassus hill;  
I offered too my horse, but he swore thus,  
I will not trust one pint on Pegasus:  
From thence to Clavels where I stand at door,  
And softly asked Sue, hast thou e'er a whore?  
You speak says she, as if you had no money,  
Then with a pox I'll help you to a coney.  
If I by chance espy some old Comrade,  
He strait avoides, as if I had the plague;  
And cause I han't a token with such care,  
Shuns me as if I full of tokens were.  
Now say my rhymes are dull, and you'll say true;  
And are not you as dull to read them too?  
You might conclude before you read a bit,  
That he who money wants, must needs want wit.   

On a London Tailor who spoilt a Commencement Gown in the making.  
HOw is't nine tailors make a man up, when  
One tailor is enough to mar nine men?  
And more of women, for their large Vocation  
Acknowledgeth no bounds or limitation:  
Equal to Nature's privilege, which shows  
Variety in our bodies, they in clothes:  
Nay more, a Badgers gate, a flaw or crack  
In any member, or a Lute-case back;  
Takes not so much from man, nor can deface him,  
So as an ill-cut garment can disgrace him.  
In the deep censuring judgements of gay Mutes,  
Who set upon the life and death of fuits;  
If this be true, thou neither he nor she,  
In what manner hast thou injured me  
In spoiling of my Gown? the neck too wide,  
Too long before, and then too short o'th' side;  
My sleeves too small to laugh in; then so high  
The wings start up, as if they meant to fly:  
Thus to be handled, thus for to be thumed,  
It makes my Velvet fret, though never gummed.  
But was my Gown cut in this uncouth guise?  
And my Commencement-gown, when thousand eyes  
Were brought to gaze, and I to walk amongst those,  
Whose greatest part of brain lies in their clothes:  
Taylor, I will not damn or curse thee for't;  
Thou farest the better, but I wish a sort  
Of debtors fail, that thou full justly harmed,  
As thou sittest now crosslegged, mayst walk cross-armed.  
Many cross stitches mayest thou make, and meet  
Some Ruffians still to cross thee in the street:  
Mayest thou still see thyself when thou shalt look  
In each thing crossed, but in thy credit Book.  
And yet, if in sad silence of the night,  
Thou shalt be hunted by a merry spirit;  
I pray that drawing near thee he may find  
Crosses each part before but none behind.  
Let Courtiers point a day, and coming then,  
Point thee another day to come again;  
Let fashions never change, let garments wear  
As long as Coriats' shoes, or men go bear;  
As in their better state, and women too,  
As some suppose, they are about to do.  
I cannot wish thee mischief in the wars,  
For thou art skilled and proved in needle scars;  
Yet let thine own goose press thee till thou faint,  
And though I never mean thou shouldst be Saint:  
Let men invoke thy name, though then alone,  
When as their knife is struggling with a bone;  
Farewell, and when thou bring'st thy long bill down,  
I'll make't as short as thou hast made my Gown.   

On a Bile.  
LEt others sing of heads, and some of cups,  
Of Mars, and Venus, and her after-claps;  
I have a subject that gives me more matter,  
Than you, or I, or both, know how to utter.  
It is a Bile, what Epithet shall I  
Find for to call so dull a creature by?  
Shall I proclaim thee blockhead? and yet call  
Thee so, I can't, thou hast no head at all;  
Couldst thou but get a head, and ripen faster,  
I would not break thy head, but add a plaster:  
Or shall I call thee coward, 'cause I find  
Thee always in one place, and still behind?  
Well, since thou art a coward, prithee play  
The coward's part, and quickly run away:  
Or shall I call thee ungrate, vexing me  
That brought thee up, and breeding gave to thee?  
Yet prithee be not angry O my Bile!  
Thou look'st to have been praised all this while,  
Shall I commend thee then? and so I will,  
Commend thee to the Surgeon and his skill.  
Reader forbear to frown or carp at least,  
For nought but corrupt matter here doth rest:  
Thus do I ease my pains, and when my bile  
Begins to rage, than I oppose my style;  
Thus did that Roman Possidonius stout,  
And Scaliger did thus outbrave the gout.   

To a Gentlewoman from her formerly betrothed, but deserted servant, he being invited to the celebration of her Nuptials.  
WHy fair vow-breaker, hath thy sin thought fit,  
I be the cursed example of thy wit,  
As well as scorn? Bad woman, did not I  
Deserve as much as quiet misery?  
Be wise, and trouble not my suffering fit,  
For every sin I have repentance yet,  
Except for loving thee, do not thou press  
My easy madness to a wretchedness;  
So high as that, lest I be driven so,  
As far from heaven as thou art, which I know  
Is not thine aim, for thou hast sinned to be,  
In place as in affection, far from me.  
Was I thy friend or kinsman? had I ought?  
What was familiar with thee saving thought?  
A dream, some letters too that scattered lie,  
Neglected records of my misery;  
I know no itch my silent sorrow moves,  
To beg a Bridal-kisse or pair of Gloves:  
Those are the lighter duties which they seek,  
Whose sleeps are found, & constant as the week  
Is in her course, and never felt the chance  
Of love amiss, but in a dream, or trance,  
And waked with gladness; 'tis not so with me,  
My days and nights are twins in misery.  
Bid me first catch the plague, wish me to be  
A witness to my mother's infamy;  
Bespeak me to be shamed, cause me to bring  
Myself an Eunuch to a Gossipping.  
Upon record; how desperate were't thou bend  
T'invite me to a wedding Compliment?  
Should I come there when that the holy man,  
With his religious magic hath begun  
To tie thee from me, I might leap into  
A rage, and safely all your lives undo:  
When heaven would be so courteous to disguise,  
The bloodshed with the name of sacrifice;  
Silent as sorrows lodgings had I dwelled,  
Followed with my despair, and never felt  
Anger except in living, hadst thou been  
Content with my undoing, but that's sin.  
I never shall forgive thee to upbraid  
A wretchedness which thou thyself hast made:  
Heaven knows I suffered, and I suffered so,  
That by me 'twas infallible to know  
How passive man is, Fate knew not a curse,  
But in thy new content to make it worse;  
And that thou gav'st, when I so low was brought,  
That I knew nought but thee, and then I thought,  
And counted sighs and tears; as if to scan  
The air and water which composeth man;  
Diseased I was, diseased, past thine own cure,  
Yet wouldst thou kill what made me to endure:  
My patience, strange murderess, would you prove,  
Whether that were as mortal, as your love?  
Have women such a way as they can give  
To men denial, and with love to live?  
Why then abhorred in reason tell me why,  
Successelesse Lovers do so quickly die?  
And be it so with me; but if a curse  
May first be fastened on thee which is worse  
Than thy unwept-for vow-breach, may it come,  
As thy sins heap, and may the tedious sum,  
Of thy great sins stand centinel to keep  
Repentance from thy thoughts breach; may thy sleep  
Be broken as my hopes, 'bove all may he  
Thou chufest husband grow to jealousy;  
Then find it true, and kill thee may the themes,  
On which thy thoughts do paraphrase in dreams.  
Be my sad wrongs, and when some other shall,  
Whom Fate with me hath made apocryphal  
In loving stories search and instance forth,  
To damn his mistress for as little worth;  
Let thy name meet him, under which let be,  
A common place of women's perjury;  
May heavens make all this true, and if thou pray  
Let God esteem it as thou didst the pay  
Of thy last promise; I have said be free,  
This penance done, my day of destiny  
By thee is antedated, but three sighs.  
First I must pay admission to the skies,  
One for my madness to love women so,  
That I could think thee true; the next I'll throw  
For wronged Lovers, that I'll breathe anew;  
The last shall beg my curses be made true.   

The Royal Captive, or the World's Epitome.  

1.  
HOw happy's the prisoner that conquers his fates  
With silence, and ne'er on bad fortune complains;  
But carelessly plays with his keys on the grates,  
And makes a sweet consort with them & his chains.  
He drowns care with Sack when his heart is oppressed;  
And makes it to float like a Cork in his breast.  
Then since we're all slaves that Highlanders be,  
And the land's a large prison enclosed with the sea,  
We'll drink up the Ocean and set ourselves free,  
For man is the world's Epitome.   

2.  
Let Tyrants wear purple deep died in the blond  
Of those they have slain their Sceptres to sway,  
If our conscience be clear, and our title be good  
To the rags we have on us, we're better than they.  
We drink down at night what we beg or can borrow,  
And sleep without plotting for more the next morrow.  
Then since we're all, etc.   

3.  
Let the Usurer look to his bags and his house,  
And guard that from robbers he has raked from his dettors;  
Each midnight cries thiefs at the noise of a mouse:  
Then see if his bags are not bound in their feters.  
When once he is rich enough for a State-plot,  
Buff in one hour plunders what sixty years got.  
Then since we're all, etc.   

4.  
Come Drawer, and fills a peck of Canary,  
This brimmer shall bid all our senses good-night.  
When old Aristotle was frolic and merry  
With the juice of the grape, he turned stagerite.  
Copernicus once in a drunken fit found  
By the course of his brain that the world turned round.  
Then since we're all, etc.   

5.  
'Tis Sack makes our faces like Comets to shine,  
And gives beauty beyond the complexions mask.  
Diogenes was so in love with his wine,  
That when 'twas all out, he dwelled in the Cask.  
He lived by the sent of that wainscoated Room,  
And dying requested the Tub for his Tomb:  
Then since we're all slaves that High-landers be,  
And the land's a large prison enclosed with the sea;  
We'll drink up the Ocean and set ourselves free,  
For man is the world's Epitome.    

The States New Coyn.  

1.  
See you the States-mony new come from the Mint?  
Some people do say it is wondrous fine;  
And that you may read a great mystery in't,  
Of mighty King Nol, the Lord of the Coyn.   

2.  
They have quite omitted his politic head,  
His worshipful face, and his excellent Nose;  
But the better to tempt the sisters to bed,  
They have fixed upon it the print of his Hose.   

3.  
For, if they had set up his picture there,  
They needs must ha' crowned him in Charles his stead;  
But 'twas cunningly done, that they did forbear,  
And rather would set up his Are— than his head.   

4.  
'Tis monstrous strange, and yet it is true,  
In this Reformation we should ha' such luck,  
That Crosses were always disdained by you,  
Who before pulled them down, should now set them up.   

5.  
On this side they have circumscribed God with us,  
And in this stamp and coin they confide;  
Commonwealth on the other, by which we may guests  
That God and the States were not both of a side.   

6.  
On this side they have a Cross and a Harp,  
And only a Cross on the other set forth;  
By which we may learn it falls to our part  
Two Crosses to have for one fit of mirth.   

7.  
A Countryman hearing this, strait way did think,  
That he would procure such a piece of his own;  
And knowing it like his wife's Butterprint,  
She should have't for a token when as he came home.   

8.  
Then since that this is the Parliament coin,  
Now Lily by thy mysterious charms,  
Or Heralds, pray tell us if these ha' not been  
Carmen or Fiddlers before by their Arms.    

The Brewer.  

1.  
OF all the trades that ever I see,  
There's none to the Brewer compared may be;  
For so many several ways works he,  
Which no body can deny.   

2.  
A Brewer may put on a noble face,  
And come to the wars with such a grace,  
That he may obtain a Captain's place;  
Which no body, etc.   

3.  
A Brewer may speak so learnedly well  
And raise strange stories for to tell,  
That he may become a Colonel;  
Which no body, etc.   

4.  
A Brewer may be a Parliament-man  
For so his knavery first began,  
And work the most cunning plots he can;  
Which no body, etc.   

5.  
A Brewer may be so bold a Hector  
That when he has drunk a cup of Nectar,  
He may become a Lord Protector;  
Which no body, etc.   

6.  
A Brewer may do all these things you see  
Without control, nay he may be  
Lord-Chanceller of the University:  
Which no body, etc.   

7.  
A Brewer may sit like a Fox in his cub  
And preach a Lecture out of a tub,  
And give the world a wicked rub;  
Which no body, etc.   

8.  
But here remains the strangest thing  
How he about his plots did bring,  
That he should be Emperor above a King;  
Which no body can deny, deny;  
Which no body dares deny.    

The disloyal Timist.  

1.  
NOw our holy wars are done,  
Betwixt the Father and the Son;  
And since we have by righteous fate,  
Distressed a Monarch and his mate.  
And first their heirs fly into France  
To weep out their inheritance;  
Let's set open all our packs,  
Which contain ten thousand wracks;  
Cast on the shore of the rea Sea  
Of Naseby, and of Newberry.  
If then you will come provided with gold,  
We dwell  
Close by hell,  
Where we'll fallen  
What you will,  
That is ill;  
For charity waxeth cold.   

2.  
Hast thou done murder, or blood spilt,  
We can soon get another name,  
That will keep thee from all blame:  
But be it still provided thus,  
That thou hast once been one of us;  
Gold is the God that shall pardon the guilt,  
For we have  
What shall save  
Thee from th' grave;  
Since the Law  
We can awe;  
Although a famous Prince's blood were spilt.   

3.  
If a Church thou hast bereft  
Of its Plate, 'tis holy-theft;  
Or for zeal sake, if thou be'st  
Prompted on to take a thief;  
Gold is a sure prevailing advocate,  
Then come  
Bring a sum,  
Law is dumb:  
And submits,  
To our wits;  
For it's policy guides a State.    

The Resolute royalist.  

1.  
WHat though the ill times,  
Run cross to our wills;  
And fortune still frowns upon us:  
Our hearts are our own,  
And shall be so still;  
Then a fig for the plagues that light on us.   

2.  
Let's drink t'other cup  
To keep our hearts up,  
But let't be the purest Canary;  
For we'll never fear  
The crosses we bear,  
Let them plague us until they be weary.   

3.  
we'll flatter and fear  
Those that over us are,  
And make them believe that we love them;  
When their timing is past,  
We must carve them at last;  
As they carved them that have been before them.   

4.  
Let the Levite go preach  
For his Goose and his Pig,  
And drink wine at Christmas and Easter;  
Let the Doctors give o'er,  
Our lives to new Trig;  
we'll make nature fast, and we'll feast Her.   

5.  
Let the Lawyer go ball  
Out his Lungs and his gall,  
For the the Plaintiff, and for the Defendant;  
At school the scholar lies  
Till like Flaccus he dies,  
With an ugly hard word at the end on't.   

6.  
Here's a health to the man  
That delights in Sol-fa;  
For Sack is his only Rosin:  
A load of Hay ho  
Is not worth Ha, ha!  
He's a man for my money that draws in.   

7.  
Then a pin for all muck,  
And a fig for ill-luck;  
'Tis better to be blithe and frollique,  
Then to fight out our breath,  
Or to mould our own death;  
By the Stone, the Gout, or the Colic.    

Cupid's Holiday.  

LAdies, whose marble hearts despise  
Loves soft impressions, whose chaste eyes  
Near shot a glance but might be seen,  
Diana and her maiden teem  
Of Icy Virgins hence away,  
Disturb not our licentions play;  
For now its Cupid's Holiday.   

Go glory in that empty name  
Of Virgin, let your idle flame  
Consume itself, while we enjoy  
Those pleasures which fair Venus' boy  
Grant to those whose mingled thighs  
Are trophies of his victories,  
From whence new pleasures still arise.  
Those only are admitted here,  
Whose loser thoughts ne'er knew of care  
Of man's embraces, whose fair face  
Can give enjoyment such a grace,  
As wipes away that hated name  
Of lust, and calls their amorous flame  
A virtue free from fear or shame.  
With them we'll number kisses till  
We pose Arithmetic, and fill  
Our hearts with pleasures, till it swells  
Beyond those bounds where blushing dwells.  
Then will we ourselves entomb  
In those joys which fill the womb,  
Till sleep possesseth Cupid's room.  
At waking no repentance shall  
With our past sweetness mingle gall;  
We'll kiss again till we restore  
Our strength again to venture more:  
Then we'll renew again our play,  
Admitting of no long delay,  
Till that we end our Holiday.    

To his Whore, who asked money of him.  
WHat is't that fans my fancies thus?  
So cool of late I'm grown,  
Methinks I'm not so rigorous,  
How quickly I lie alone!  
Nor doth her absence with one sigh bemoan:  
Hence doth this chillness seize my back,  
This frost my blood benumb,  
When I to my Corina spoke  
To yield to love, she asked of me a sum,  
Would Cupid I had deaf been, or she dumb.  
Those glances I adored before,  
How do I now despise?  
'Tis money only makes a whore,  
She's chaste that with a thousand lies,  
For love, at such a one my members rise.  
Let jove his Danae's enjoy,  
Nor envied be for me.  
If e'er jane Shore my Mistress cloy  
It shall be when I'm old as he,  
Till then, I'll ne'er commit that Simony:  
If your affection's pelf must imp,  
Go get another friend,  
My pocket ne'er shall be my pimp;  
Nor will I for your love depend  
On dirt, yet no man shall more freely spend;  
No, no, I will not rend your bed,  
Nor your smock tenant be;  
I will not farm your white and red,  
You shall not let your— to me,  
I court a mistress, not a Landlady.  
Judgement forbids me too (my dear)  
To keep thy love in pay,  
As hence it plainly doth appear;  
Love's a little boy they say,  
And who but fools give children money pray?  
Love's nakedness you do mistake,  
And hence proceeds your sin;  
Which shows he will no money take,  
He hath no purse to put it in;  
Then do it freely, or for me go spin.   

The Captain's Vagary.  

1.  
Capit. Prithee Phil. art thou all steel,  
Let me feel,  
From the head unto the heel?  
Wife. O my Doctor Theodore Mayerne;  
Hath me filled,  
Hath me filled, with steel and iron.   

2.  
Capit. Sure 'twas not her pale colour  
Made this stir,  
Nor the steel that troubled her,  
But the spleen and melancholy;  
'Cause she would,  
'Cause she would not, Trolly lolly.   

3.  
Surely now she will begin  
In the spring,  
Now the Birds do chirp and sing,  
For to purge her melancholy;  
And play with,  
And play with, her Trolly lolly.   

4.  
She no Cannon need to fear,  
Though she were  
Threatened to be stormed each where:  
Let the Cannons roar and thunder,  
She'll ne'er start,  
She'll ne'er start, but she'll lie under.    

Freeman.  

1.  
SHe's not the fairest of her name,  
Yet she acquires more than all her race,  
For she hath other features to inflame,  
Besides a lovely face:  
There's wit and constancy,  
And charms that strike the soul more than the eye.  
'Tis no easy Lover  
Knows how to discover  
Such pure Divinity.   

2.  
And yet she is an easy book  
VVrit in plain language for the meanest wit,  
A glorious outside, and a stately look:  
Besides all justly fit,  
But age will undermine  
That glorious outside that doth look so fine;  
When the common Lover  
Shrinks and gives her over,  
Then she's only mine.   

3.  
To the Platonic that applies  
His sole addresses to the mind,  
The body but a temple signifies,  
Wherein the Saints enshrined,  
To him it is all one,  
Whether the wall be marble or rough stone:  
But in holy places,  
Which old Time defaces,  
Moore Devotion's shown.    

Freeman's Adieu to Love.  

1.  
SUre 'twas a dream, how long fond man have I  
Been fooled into captivity?  
My Newgate was my want of wit,  
I did myself commit,  
My bonds I knit:  
I mine own Gaoler was, the only foe  
That did my freedom disallow:  
I was a prisoner 'cause I would be so.   

2.  
But now I'll shake my ponderous chains, and prove  
Opinion built the Gaoles of love;  
Made all his bonds, gave him his bow,  
His bloody arrows too,  
That murder so;  
Nay, and those deaths which idle lovers dream  
Were all contrived to make a theme,  
For some carowzing Poet's drunken flame.   

3.  
'Twas a fine life I lived, when I did dress  
Myself to court your peevishness;  
When I did at your footstool lie  
Expecting from your eye,  
To live or die:  
Now smiles, or frowns, I care not which I have,  
Nay rather than I'll be your slave,  
I'll court the plague to send me to my grave.   

4.  
Farewell those charms that did so long bewitch,  
Farewell that wanton youthful itch;  
Farewell that treacherous blinking boy  
That proffers seeming joy,  
So to destroy;  
To all those night embraces, which as you  
Know very well were not a few;  
For ever, evermore, I bid Adieu.   

5.  
Now I can stand the sallies of your eyes,  
In vain are all those batteries,  
Nor can that love dissembling still  
Nor can that crafty smile,  
Longer beguile;  
Nor those hard traps, which each hour you renew  
To all those witchcrafts and to you,  
For ever, evermore, I bid Adieu.    

Freeman.  

1.  
FEar not my Genius to unfold  
Such silent thoughts as these,  
Let women born to be controlled,  
Receive them as they please;  
For long usurped monarchy  
Hath made me hate such tyranny.   

2.  
Let them and their magnetic charms,  
Like Harbingers before them;  
Possess the nselves with Cupid's arms,  
As baits for to adore them:  
I'll ne'er commit Idolatry,  
On subjects born as well as I.   

3.  
Their deities with them must fade,  
It cannot be denied;  
And since those pretty things were made,  
Out of old Adam's side:  
We love them still, but know as thus,  
Because they are a part of us;  
Then let it then suffice the Elves,  
To say we love them as ourselves.    

The Antiplatonick.  

1.  
FOnd love what dost thou mean,  
To court an idle folly?  
Platonic love is nothing else,  
But merely melancholy;  
'Tis active love that makes us jolly.   

2.  
To dote upon a face,  
Or court a sparkling eye;  
Or to esteem a dimpled cheek  
Complete felicity,  
Is to betray one's Liberty.   

3.  
Then pray be not so fond,  
Think you that women can  
Rest satisfied with compliment,  
The frothy part of man?  
No, no, they hate a Puritan.   

4.  
They care not for your sighs,  
Nor your erected eyes:  
They hate to hear a man complain  
Alas! he dies, he dies;  
Believe't they love a closer prize.   

5.  
Then venture to embrace,  
'Tis but a smack or two;  
I'm confident no woman lives  
But sometimes she will do,  
The fault is not in her, but you.    

On the Soldiers walking in the New-Exbhange to affront the Ladies.  

I'll go no more to the New-Exchange  
There is no room at all,  
It is so thronged and crowed by  
The gallants of White-Hall;  
But I'll go to the Old Exchange  
Where old things were in fashion,  
For now the news become the shop  
Of this blessed Reformation.  
Come my new Courtiers what d'ye lack,  
Good consciences if you do;  
Here's long and wide the only wear,  
The strait will trouble you.   

You powdersellers here will thrive,  
No customers can you lack;  
Only resolve to change the dye,  
Your powder must be black;  
And with you here, take my advice,  
Get Pistols stead of Puffs;  
Instead of sweetballs, bullets get,  
And gauntlet stead of muffs.  
Come my new Courtiers, etc.   

You that are Ribbon-sellers too,  
Your broken trades may patch,  
If you those guegawes can put off  
And barter them for match.  
You that fine Cabinets do sell,  
Your shops and ware may burn  
Her Ladyship hates all those toys,  
A Snapsack serves her turn.  
Come my new Courtiers, etc.   

You that sell Books I pity most,  
You are undone I see't,  
Unless you will rebellion sell  
At a penny by the sheet:  
If so, you have a thriving trade,  
For customers go no further,  
For these blood merchants at dear rates  
Engross all rape and murder.  
Come my new Courtiers, etc.   

Undone, undone Confectioners,  
Alas there is no hopes.  
Unless you will give o'er your trades  
And set up Sutler's shops.  
Your Apricockes, your Ringo roots,  
Your Marmalade will not sell;  
Get you conserveses of bread and cheese.  
You'll bear away the bell.  
Come my new Courtiers, what d'ye lack  
Good Consciences? if you do,  
Here's long and wide the only wear,  
The strait will trouble you.    

Another.  

WHy should we not laugh and be jolly,  
Since all the World is mad?  
And lulled in a dull melancholy;  
He that wallows in store  
Is still gaping for more,  
And that makes him as poor,  
As the wretch that ne'er any thing had.   

How mad is that damned money-monger?  
That to purchase to him and his heirs,  
Grows shriviled with thirst and hunger;  
While we that are bonny,  
Buy Sack with ready-money,  
And ne'er trouble the scriveners, nor Lawyers.   

Those guts that by scraping and toiling,  
Do swell their revenues so fast,  
Get nothing by all their turmoiling,  
But are marks of each tax  
While they load their own backs  
With the heavier packs,  
And lie down galled and weary at last.   

While we that do traffic in tipple,  
Can baffle the Gown and the Sword,  
Whose jaws are so hungry and gripple;  
We ne'er trouble our heads,  
With Indentures or Deeds,  
And our wills are composed in a word.   

Our money shall ne'er indite us,  
Nor drag us to Goldsmith's Hall,  
No Pirates not wracks can affright us;  
We that have no estates,  
Fear no plunder nor rates,  
We can sleep with open gates,  
He that lies on the ground cannot fall.   

We laugh at those fools whose endeavours  
Do but fit them for Prisons and Fines,  
When we that spend all are the saviours;  
For if thiefs do break in,  
They go out empty again,  
Nay the plunderers lose their designs.   

Then let us not think on to morrow,  
But tipple and laugh while we may  
To wash from our hearts all sorrow;  
Those Cormorants which,  
Are troubled with an itch,  
To be mighty and rich,  
Do but toil for the wealth which they borrow.   

The Mayor of our town with his ruff on,  
What a pox is he better than we?  
He must vale to the man with the buff on;  
Though he Custard may eat,  
And such lubbardly meat,  
Yet our Sack makes us merrier than he.    

The Horns. A Song.  

BRight Cynthia scorns alone to wear horns  
Unto her great grief and shame;  
And swears by the light and the world's despite,  
That men shall wear the same.   

The man in the Moon to hear this in a swoon,  
And quite out of his wits fell;  
And feeling his front, quoth he, a pox on't,  
My forehead begins to swell.   

Away strait he ròde in a Lunatic mood,  
And from his Mistress would run;  
And swore in his heat, though he stood in a sweat  
He had rather go live in the sun.   

But he was well appeased that it other men pleased,  
For no man did mutter or mourn;  
But without all affright and a great delight  
Did take to themselves the horn.   

The Lord he will go in his woods to and fro,  
Pursuing a do that is barren;  
But while he's in his Park, another in the dark  
May safely go hunt in his warren.   

The Citizen clown in his fur-faced Gown,  
And his doublet faced with ale;  
Talks short but drinks thicker, while his wife like his liquor,  
Leaves working and relishes stale.   

Lo thus she behorns him, and afterward scorns him,  
Though he comes to be Mayor of the rout;  
And holds it no sin to be occupied within,  
Whiles her husband is busied without.   

The Physician will ride to his Patient that died  
Of no sickness but that did come;  
But whilst abroad he doth kill with potion and pill,  
His wife takes a glister at home.   

The Lawyer to succour him with parchment and buckrum  
To London the next Term will ride,  
To open his case in his adversaries face,  
While his wife to his friend doth the like.   

Seven miles to and fro the professor will go  
To hear a sanctified brother;  
But while his zeal burns, his wife she up turns  
The whites of her eyes to another.   

The merchant he runs o'er seas with his guns  
His mariners and his mates;  
But whilst he doth please himself on the seas,  
Another may ride in his straits.   

The Soldier will go like a man to and fro,  
With a full resolution to fight;  
While his wife with her friend, in her wanton arms penned,  
Doth make a boon boy before night.   

And although that he be well armed cap a pe,  
He must yield to a naked boys scorn;  
Or instead of bright Steel or Iron on his heel,  
Be content with a Helmet of horn.   

Thus each their wives love still, though they do prove  
Them to be false in their own sight;  
But indeed you do well, the horn (you can tell)  
Was never a friend to the light.    

Pedigree.  

A Beggar got a Bailiff,  
A Bailiff got a Yeoman,  
A Yeoman got a Apprentice,  
A Apprentice got a Freeman,  
A Freeman got a Master,  
And he begot a Tease,  
And so become a Gentleman,  
Then a Justice of Peace.   

This Justice got a daughter,  
And she is come to light,  
She stepped unto the Court,  
And there she got a Knight,  
A Knight got a Lord,  
A Lord an Earl begot,  
An Earl got a Duke,  
This Duke he was a Scot   

This Duke a Prince begot,  
A Prince of royal hope,  
He begot the Emperor,  
The Emperor got the Pope,  
The Pope got a Bastard,  
He was a noble spark,  
He lay with a Nun,  
And so begot a Clark.   

A Clark got a Sexton,  
A Sexton got a Vicar,  
A Vicar got a Parson,  
A Parson got a Vicar,  
And they were all made prebend's,  
And so they got a Dean,  
A Dean got a Bishop,  
A Bishop got a Quean.   

A Quean got five shillings,  
Five shillings got a smock,  
That got a Scotch prick,  
And there he got a pock.  
A Merchant got the pock,  
And set it in a Ring,  
And gave it to a Lady,  
That laid it to her thing.   

That gave it to her Page,  
That gave it to his master,  
That sent for the Surgeon,  
And laid to it a plaster.  
The plaster was too hot,  
It bred to him much pain,  
A nach was in his—  
And so this man—    

A Medley.  

1.  
ROom for a gamester that plays at all he sees,  
Whose fickle faith is framed, Sir, to fit such times as these;  
One that cries Amen to every factious prayer,  
From Hugh Peter's Pulpit to St. Peter's Chair:  
One that can comply with Crosier and with Crown;  
And yet can bouse  
A full carouse,  
While bottles tumble down,  
Dery down.   

2.  
This is the way to trample without trembling,  
Since Sycophants only secure;  
Covenants and Oaths are badges of dissembling,  
'Tis the politic pulls down the pure:  
To plunder and pray,  
To protest, and betray  
Are the only ready ways to be great,  
Flattering will do the feat.  
ne'er go, ne'er stir  
Have ventured farther;  
Then the greatest of our Dammes in the Town  
From a Copper to a Crown.   

3.  
I am in an excellent humour now to think well,  
And I'm in another humour now to drink well;  
Fill us up a Beer-bowl boy,  
That we may drink it merrily:  
And let none other see  
Nor cause to understand,  
For if we do, 'tis ten to one we are Trepand.   

4.  
Come fill us up a brace of Quarts,  
Whose Anagram is called true hearts;  
If all were true as I would ha' them,  
And Britain were cured of its humour,  
Then I should very well like my fate,  
And drink off my wine at a freer rate  
Without any noise or rumour;  
And then I should fix my humour.   

5.  
But since 'tis no such matter change your hue,  
I may cog, and flatter, so may you;  
Religion  
Is a widgeon,  
And reason  
Is treason;  
And he that hath a noble heart may bid the world Adieu.   

6.  
We must be like the Scotish man,  
Who with intent to beat down schism  
Brought forth a Presbyterian;  
A Canon and a Catechism.  
If Beuk won't do't, than jockey shoot,  
The Kirk of Scotland doth command;  
And what hath been since he come in,  
I am sure we ha' cause to understand.    

Medley.  

1.  
The Scot I Am the bonny Scot Sir,  
My name is much john;  
'Tis I was in the plot Sir  
When first the wars began,  
I left the Court one thousand  
Six hundred forty one;  
But since the flight  
At Worster fight  
We all are undone.  
I served my Lord and Master  
When as he lived at home,  
Until by sad disaster  
He received his doom;  
But now we sink,  
ud's bred I think  
The Deels got in his room.  
He ne man spares  
But stamps and stairs  
At all Christendom.   

2.  
I have travelled much grounds,  
Since I came from Worster bounds;  
I have ganged the jolly rounds  
Of the neighbouring nations,  
And what their opinions are  
Of the Scotch and English war,  
In geed faith I shall declare,  
And their approbation.  
jockey swears  
He has his load,  
Bears the rod  
Comes from God,  
And complaints go very odd  
Since the siege at Worster:  
We were wounded  
Tag and rag,  
Foot and leg,  
Wemb and crag;  
Hark I hear the Dutchman bag,  
And begin to bluster.   

3.  
The Dutch. ud's Sacraments sal Hoghen Moghen States  
Strike down der top sails unto puny Powers;  
Ten thousand tun of Tivel Dammy Fates,  
If that der ships and goods prove not all ours:  
Since dat bloot and wounds do delight dem,  
Tararara Trumpets sounds,  
Let Van Tromp go fort and fight dem;  
All de States shall first be crowned,  
English Skellam fight not on goat side,  
Out at last de Flemins beat  
Dey ha' given us sush a broadside;  
Dat ick sal be forced to retreat,  
See de Frenchman he comes in complete.   

4.  
The French. By Got monsieur 'tis much in vain  
For Dushland, France, or Spain  
To cross the English main;  
De Nation now is grown so strong,  
De Diula ere't be long  
Must learna the same tongue.  
'Tis bettra den far to combine  
To sell dem wine,  
And teasha dem to make der Laty fine;  
we'll teash dem for to trip and minsh,  
To kick and winsh;  
For by de sword we never shall convince,  
Since every Brewer dear can beat a Prince.   

5.  
The Spaniard. What are the English to quarrel so prone,  
Dat day cannot now adays let deir neighbour alone  
And sal de grave and the Catolique King,  
Before ever does controlled wid a sword & a sling;  
Sal bided de India's be left unto desway,  
And purity a dose that do plunder and pray:  
ere that we will suffer such affronts for to be,  
we'll tumble dem down, as you sal sennon see.   

6.  
The Welsh. Taffy was once a Cottamighty of Wales  
Put her Cousin O. P. was a Creater,  
Was come in her Country Catsspluttery nails,  
Was take her welsh hook and was peat her;  
Was eat up her Sheese  
Her Tuck and her Geese,  
Her Pick, her Capon was tie for't;  
Ap Richard, ap Owen, ap Morgan, ap St●●en,  
Ap Sbinkin, ap Powel was fly for't.   

7.  
The Irish. O hone, O hone, poor Teg and shone  
O hone may howl and cry  
Saint Patrick help die Countrymen,  
Or fai● and trot we die;  
De English steal our hoatt of of Usquebagh,  
Dey put us to de sword all in Dewguedagh:  
Help us St. Patrick we ha' no Saint at all but dee,  
O let us cry no more, O hone, a cram, a cree!   

8.  
The English. A Crown, a Crown, make room  
The English man is come,  
Whose valour  
Is taller,  
Than all Christendom:  
The Spanish, French, and Dutch,  
S●oech, Welch, and Iris● grudge;  
We fear not  
We care not,  
For we can deal with such.  
You thought when we began in a civil war to waste  
Our tillage  
Your pillage  
Should come home at last:  
For when we  
Could not agree,  
You thought to share in our fall;  
But ne'er stir Sir  
For first Sir,  
We shall noose you all.    

Medley.  

1.  
The English. LEt the Trumpets sound  
And the rocks rebound,  
Our English Natives coming;  
Let the Nations swarm,  
And the Prince's storm;  
We value not their drumming.  
'Tis not France that looks so smug  
Old fashions still renewing,  
It is not the Spanish shrug,  
Scotish Cap, or Irish rug;  
Nor the Dutchman's double jug  
Can help what is ensuing;  
Pray my masters look about,  
For something is a Brewing.   

2.  
He that is a Favourite consulting with Fortune,  
If he grow not wiser, then he's quite undone;  
In a rifing creature we daily see certainly,  
He is a retreater that fails to go on:  
He that in a Bvilder's trade  
Stops e'er the roof be made,  
By the air he may be betrayed  
And overthrown:  
He that hath a race begun,  
And let's the Goal be won;  
He had better never run,  
But let t'alone.   

3.  
Then plot rightly,  
March sightly,  
Show your glittering arms brightly:  
Charge hightly,  
Fight sprightly;  
Fortune gives renown.  
A right riser  
Will prise her,  
She makes all the world wiser;  
Still try her,  
we'll gain by her  
A Coffin or a Crown.   

4.  
If the Dutchman or the Spaniard  
Come but to oppose us,  
We will thrust them up at the main-yard,  
If they do but but nose us:  
Hans, Hans, think upon thy sins,  
And then submit to Spain thy master;  
For though now you look like friends,  
Yet he will never trust you after;  
Drink, drink, give the Dutchman drink,  
And let the tap and can run faster;  
For faith, at the last I think  
A Brewer will become your master.   

5.  
Let not poor Teg and Shone  
Vender from der houses,  
Lest they be quite undone  
In der very Trowzes:  
And all der Orphans bestowed under hatches,  
And made in London free der to cry matches;  
St. Patrick wid his Harp do tuned wid true string  
Is not fit to untie St. Hewson's shoos-strings.   

6.  
Methinks I hear  
The welsh draw near,  
And from each lock a louse trops;  
Ap Shone, ap LLoyd,  
Will spened her ploot,  
For to defend her mousetraps:  
Mounted on her Kifflebagh  
With coat store of Koradagh,  
The Pritish war begins.  
With a hook her was over come her  
Pluck her to her, thrust her from her,  
By cot her was preak her shins.  
Let Ta●●y fret,  
And welch-hook whet,  
And troop up pettigrees;  
We only tout  
Tey will stink us out,  
Wit Leeks and toasted Sheeze.   

7.  
But jockey now and jinny comes,  
Our Brethren must approve on't;  
For pret a Cot they beat der drum's  
Only to break the Couvenant.  
Dey bore Saint Andrew's Cross,  
Till our army quite did rout dem,  
But when we put 'em to the loss  
De deal a Cross about dem:  
The King and Couvenant they crave,  
Their cause must needs be furthered;  
Although so many Kings they have  
Most barbarously, basely murdered.   

8.  
The French. The Frenchman he will give consent,  
Though he trickle in our veins;  
That willingly  
We may agree,  
To a marriage with grapes and grains:  
He conquers us with kindness,  
And doth so far entrench,  
That fair, and wise, and young, and rich,  
Are finified by the French:  
He prettifies us with Feathers and Fans,  
With Petticoats, Doublets, and Hose;  
And faith they shall  
Be welcome all  
If they forbear the nose.  
For love or for fear,  
Let Nations forbear;  
If fortune exhibit a Crown,  
A coward he  
Must surely be,  
That will not put it on.    

To his Mistress denying him to lie with her.  
HAte me dear soul, & say no more you love,  
If I must only know what is above;  
To kiss your lips and hands, these be but toys,  
And torments to a Lover, and not joys.  
I hate the wanton folly of a kiss,  
If not a passage to a further bliss;  
Men do seek mines in women, and if so,  
You must give leave to them to dig below:  
The barren face of earth, since nature's arts,  
Hath hid such treasures in the lower parts:  
Why you so coy? you'd fain be married  
Before that you would lose your maidenhead;  
Then may I claim it as my right and due,  
The Law doth give it me; it is not you.  
If you would have your kindness to be shown  
Bestow it freely while it is your own.   

Upon a Christmas Dinner in a Prison.  
HOld hoops and hinges, burst not I beseech  
Your ribs with laughing, at my hungry speech;  
Hold fast, be sure with both your hands for fear  
Your sides should burst and spoil your hungry cheer.  
Listen you Plumbroth Bolchins to the fate,  
Of a distressed prisoner, you that sat  
And lad your gorgeous maws with stately chines,  
And lusty gamones, while poor virtue pines;  
Feeding on nothing but thin contemplation  
And barren thoughts; pity the sad relation  
Of the cold feast I kept on Christmas last,  
More justly may I call't a solemn fast:  
When all your mouths in an united motion  
At meat, walked faster than at your devotion  
Of morning prayers; I unthought of lay  
In a dark sullen Chamber, where the day  
Seemed but a clear night; nor could I get,  
To satisfy poor nature one small bit.  
It would have turned the stomach of a cook,  
With grief, to see how piteous I did look.  
The little animals did skip and trice  
About my musty Cell, there yelped mice;  
Alas thought they, will no one us befriend,  
So much as with a Christmas Candles end?  
Well fare the Chandler's wife, and may she bear  
Each year a Chubb, we pray thee nature where  
The midwife leaps to see about the house,  
A Groaning-Cheese delivered of a mouse:  
These in my conscience if they could have spoke,  
Had sung the lamentations for my sake,  
Though I deserved no love; and for my part,  
I could have eaten them with all my heart.  
I wished myself a prisoner in the Tower,  
For its allowance sake for half an hour;  
A Judge's tongue, sopped in his greasy hand,  
Had been the choicest morsel in the Land.  
The picking of his teeth too had been rare;  
But that so often licked with lies they are.  
A tender Courtier, though scarce sound withal  
I could have swallowed up, clothes, legs, and all;  
But for a fear, grant pumped and storm and wind  
This roguish bit I'd eat, and had combined  
His carcase still; and swallowed whole the evil,  
Sending his soul the backway to the devil:  
I do believe (such was my hunger's force)  
I could have eaten my L. Mayors great horse.  
Thus well-nigh famished with conceit I lay,  
Striving to sleep, and so forget the day;  
But I no sooner half asleep could be,  
But strait my entrails crooked, and wakened me:  
Silence quoth I, you chimes of Christmas noon,  
And be content to fast with me till soon;  
It may be we shall sup, if not I'll fill  
My belly with a dream, good guts be still;  
But fortune unexpected to prevent  
Despair, afforded me a limb of Lent:  
Sure she had strange reason in preferring  
Before all meats a reverend red Hearing.  
I'm loath to tell thee plainly what it was,  
For fear your mouth should water as you pass  
And wrong this harmless paper by its side,  
Lay a neglected crust forth roughly dried;  
That it had been sometimes mi●●ook by one,  
That rubbed his boots with't for a pumy stone:  
Hard fare, be witness heaven, and my jaws  
That ached, and bled, most freely through the flaws  
The crust had made upon my tender gums,  
It scoured, I thought 'twas sand, not white bread crumbs:  
This if you will believe a virtuous sinner,  
Was my best fare, for my last Christmas dinner:  
I wish, not having known the like before,  
I may far better next, or ne'er know more;  
Sir, since my muse can make no better shift,  
My Christmas dinner be your next years gift.   

An Amorous Catch.  

1.  
I See how unregarded now  
That piece of beauty passes,  
There was a time, when I did vow  
To thee alone; but mark the fate of faces  
That red and white works now no more on me,  
Then if it could not charm, or I not see.   

2.  
And yet the face continues good,  
And I have still desires;  
And still the selfsame flesh and blood,  
As apt to melt, and suffer from those fires:  
O some kind power unriddle where it lies,  
Whether my heart be faulty, or her eyes.   

3.  
She every day her man doth kill,  
And I as often die;  
Neither her power, nor my will  
Where lies the mystery?  
Sure beauty's Empire like to other states,  
Hath certain Periods set, and hidden fates.    

Another.  

1.  
BOast not blind boy that I'm thy prize,  
'Twas not thy dart;  
But those that feathered with her eyes,  
First struck my heart,  
Thy ill-tutored shaft and childish Bow  
On faintly, loving hearts bestow.   

2.  
I vaunt my flames, and dare defy  
Those bugbear fires;  
That only serve to terrify  
Fools fond desires.  
Hold up to such thy painted flame  
As tremble, when they hear thy name.   

3.  
My breast no fire, nor dart could pierce;  
But holy flashes:  
Swifter than lightning, and more fierce  
Burnt mine to ashes.  
Come let them sleep in unknown rest,  
Since fate decreed their Urn, her breast.    

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: Or the Manhater.  

1.  
I Can love for an hour, when I'm at leisure,  
He that loves half a day sins without measure;  
Cupid come tell me, what art hath thy mother  
To make me love one face, more than another.   

2.  
Men to be thought more wise daily endeavour,  
To make the world believe they can love ever;  
Ladies believe them not, they will deceive you,  
For when they have their wills, than they will leave you.   

3.  
Men cannot feast themselves with your sweet features,  
They love variety of charming creatures;  
Too much of any thing sets them a cooling,  
Though they can do nothing they will be fooling.    

Another Catch.  
YOu say you love me, and you swear it too;  
But stay Sir 'twill not do:  
I know your oaths,  
Just as your wearing clothes;  
Whilst now, and fresh in fashion,  
But once grown old you lay them by  
Forgot like words were spoke in passion,  
I'll not believe you, I.   

The Frollique.  
THere's none but the gladman,  
Compared to the madman,  
Whose heart is still empty of care:  
His fits and his fancies  
Are above all mischances,  
And mirth is his ordinary fare:  
Then be thou mad,  
And he mad;  
Mad all let us be,  
There's no men lead lives more merry than we.   

The Tinkers.  

1.  
HA' you any work for a Tinker mistress?  
Old brass, old bowls, old kettles,  
I'll mend them all with a faradiddle-twang,  
And never harm your metals.   

2.  
But first let me taste a cup of your Ale,  
To steel me against cold weather,  
For Tinker's fees, are Vintner's Lees,  
Or Tobacco choose you whether.   

3.  
Then of your Ale, of your nappy Ale,  
I wish I had a firkin;  
For I am old, and very, very cold;  
Yet I never wore a Jerkin.    

The Toper.  

1.  
HOld, hold thy nose to the pot Tom, Tom,  
And hold thy nose to the pot Tom, Tom;  
'Tis thy pot,  
And my pot;  
And my pot,  
And thy pot:  
Sing hold thy nose to the pot Tom, Tom.   

2.  
'Tis malt that will cure thy maw Tom,  
And heal thy distempers in Autumn;  
Felix quem facient  
I prithee be patient,  
Aliena pericula cautum.   

3.  
Then hold thy nose to the pot Tom, Tom,  
Hold, hold thy nose to the pot Tom, Tom.  
There's neither Parson, nor Vicar,  
But will toss off his liquor,  
Sing hold thy nose to the pot Tom, Tom.    

Half mild, and half stale.  

1.  
UNderneath the Castlewall the Queen of love sat mourning,  
Tearing of her golden locks, her red-rose cheeks adorning;  
With her Lily white hands she smote her breast,  
And said she was forsaken;  
With that the mountains they did skip,  
And the hills fell all a quaking.   

2.  
Underneath the rotten hedge, the Tinker's wife fate shitting,  
Tearing of a Cabbage leaf, her shitten Are— a wiping;  
With her coal-black hands she scratched her Are—  
And swore she was beshitten,  
With that the Pedlars all did skip,  
And the Fiddlers fell a spitting.    

A Resolution not to marry.  
IF she be fair I fear the rest,  
If she be sweet I'll hope the best,  
If she be fair they'll say she'll do,  
If she be foul she'll do so too.  
If she be fair she'll breed suspect,  
If she be foul she'll breed neglect.  
If she be born o'th' bettet sort,  
Then she doth savour of the Court:  
If she be of the City born,  
She'll give the City arms, the Horn.  
If she be born of parents base,  
I scorn her virtues for her place.  
If she be fair and witty too,  
I fear the harm her wit may do:  
If she be fair and do want wit,  
I love no beauty without it.  
In brief, be what she will, I'm one  
That can love all, but will wed none.   

Another.  

1.  
I Am resolved in my belief,  
No woman has a soul  
But to delude, that is the chief  
To which their fancy's roll;  
Else, why should my Aemilia fail,  
When she her faith had given:  
Since oaths, that either ears assail,  
Recorded are in Heaven.   

2.  
But as the Chemist's glowing fire  
Swells up his hope of prize,  
Until the spirits quite expire,  
And so his fortune dies:  
So, though they seem to chirp and speak  
What we do most implore;  
They but inflame us till we break,  
And never mind us more.    

Song.  

I Prithee sweet heart grant me my desire,  
For I'm thrown as the old Proverb goes;  
Out of the frying-pan into the fire,  
And there is none that will pity my woes;  
Then hang or drowned thyself my muse,  
For there is not a T. to choose.   

Most maids prove coy of late, though they seem holier,  
Yet I believe they are all of a kind▪  
Like will to like, quoth the Devil to the Collier;  
They will prove true when the Devil is blind,  
Let no may yield to their desire;  
For the burnt child still dreads the fire.   

What though my love as white as a Dove is?  
Yet you would say if you knew all within,  
That shitten come shites the beginning of Love is;  
And for her favour I care not a pin;  
No love of mine she e'er shall be,  
Sir reverence of your company.  
Though her disdainfulness my heart hath cloven,  
Yet I am of so stately a mind,  
Near to creep into her arse to bake in her oven:  
'Tis an old Proverb, that cat will to kind;  
No, I will say until I die,  
Farewell and behanged, that's twice god buy.   

Alas no rejoicing or comfort I can take,  
In her that regards not the worth of a lover,  
A T. is as good for a sow as a pancake:  
Swallow this Gudging, I'll fish for another;  
She nought regards my aching heart,  
Tell a mare a tale, and she'll let a fart.   

I am as sure as my shoes are made of leather  
Without good advice, or fortunate helps  
We two shall never set our horses together,  
This is so like a Bear that is robbed of her whelps;  
Therefore of me it shall ne'er be said  
I have brought an old house upon my head.   

Fall back, fall edge, I never will bound be,  
To make a match with tag rag or longtale;  
Best is best cheap if I miss not the nail;  
Shall I toil gratis in their dirt?  
First they shall do as doth my shirt.    

Solicitation to a married Woman.  
THou dost deny me cause thou art a wife,  
Know she that's married lives a single life  
That loves but one; abhor the nuptial curse  
Tied thee to him, for better and for worse.  
Variety delights the active blood,  
And women the more common the more good:  
As all goods are, theirs no adultery;  
And marriage is the worst monopoly.  
The learned Roman Clergy admits none  
Of theirs to marry; they love all, not one;  
And every Nun can teach you 'tis as meet,  
To change your bedfellow, as smock or sheet:  
Say, would you be content only to eat  
Mutton or Beef, and taste no other meat?  
It would grow loathsome to you, and I know,  
You have two palates, and the best below.   

Tom of Bedlam.  

FRom forth the Elysian fields  
A place of restless souls,  
Mad Maudlin is come, to seek her naked Tom,  
Hell's fury she controls:  
The damned laugh to see her,  
Grim Pluto●colds ●colds and frets,  
Charon is glad to see poor Maudlin mad,  
And away his boat he gets:  
Through the Earth, through the Sea, through unknown isles  
Through the lofty skies  
Have I sought with sobs and cries  
For my hungry mad Tom, and my naked sad Tom,  
Yet I know not whether he lives or dies.   

My plaints makes Satyrs civil,  
The Nymphs forget their singing;  
The Fairies have left their gambal and their theft  
The plants and the trees their springing.  
Mighty Leviathan took a Consumption,  
Triton broke his Organ,  
Neptune despised the Ocean;  
Floods did leave their flowing,  
Churlish winds their blowing,  
And all to see poor Maudlin's action.  
The Torrid Zone left burning,  
The Deities stood a striving,  
Despised jove from juno took a glove,  
And struck down Ran from whistling.  
Mars for fear lay couching,  
Apollo's cap was fired;  
Poor Charles his wain was thrown into the main,  
The nimble Post lay tired.  
Saturn, Damas', Vulcan, Venus,  
All lay hushed and drunk,  
Hell's fire through heaven was rim,  
Fates and men remorseless  
Hated our grief and hoarseness,  
And yet not one could tell of Tom.  
Now whither shall I wander?  
Or whither shall I fly?  
The heavens do weep, the earth, the air, the deeps  
Are wearied with my cry.  
Let me up and steal the Trumpet  
That summons all to doom;  
At one poor blast the Elements shall cast  
All creatures from her womb.  
Dyon with his Heptune, Death with destruction,  
Stormy clouds and weather,  
Shall call all souls together.  
Against I find my Tomkin I'll provide a Pumkin,  
And we will both be blithe together.    

A Song.  

SIR Egley More that valiant Knight,  
With his fa-la, lanctre down dill;  
He fetched his sword and he went to fight  
With his fa-la, and his lanctre down dill;  
As he went over hill and dale,  
All clothed in his coat of male,  
With his fa-la, his fa-la, and his lanctre down dille●   

A huge great Dragon leaps out of his den,  
With his  
Which had killed the Lord knows how many men,  
With his  
But when he saw Sir Egley More,  
Good lack had you seen how this Dragon did 〈◊〉,  
With his   

This Dragon he had on a plaguy hide,  
With his  
Which could both sword and spear abide,  
With his  
He could not enter with hacks and cuts,  
Which vexed the Knight to the heart blood and guts;  
With his   

All the trees in the wood did shake,  
With his  
Stars did tremble and man did quake,  
With his  
But had you seen how the birds lay peeping,  
'Twould have made a man's heart to a fallen a weeping.  
With his, etc.   

But now it was too late to fear,  
With his  
For now it was come to ●ight dog, fight bear,  
With his  
And as a yawning he did fall,  
He thrust his sword in hilts and all.  
With his   

But now as the Knight in choler did burn,  
With his  
He owed the Dragon a shrewd good turn;  
With his  
In at his mouth his sword he bent,  
The hilt appeared at his fundament.  
With his   

Then the Dragon like a Coward began to fly  
With his  
Unto his Den that was hard by;  
With his  
And there he laid him down and roared;  
The Knight was vexed for his sword,  
With his   

The Sword it was a right good blade  
With his  
As ever Turk or Spaniard made;  
With his  
I for my part do forsake it,  
And he that will fetch it, let him take it.  
With his, etc.   

When all this was done to the Alehouse he went  
With his  
And by and by his two pence he spent;  
With his  
For he was so hot with tugging with the Dragon,  
That nothing could quench him but a whole Flagon.  
With his  
Now God preserve our King and Queen,  
With his  
And eke in London may be seen,  
With his  
As many Knights and as many more,  
And all so good as Sir Eglemore.  
With his, etc.    

Cupid and the Clown.  

AS Cupid took his bow and bolt  
Some birding for to find,  
He chanced on a Country Swain  
Which was some Yeoman's hind.   

Clown. Well met fair boy, what sport abroad?  
It is a goodly day;  
The birds will ●it this frosty morn,  
You cannot choose but s●ay.   

Go haste, why Sir? your eyes be out,  
You will not bird I trow;  
Alas go home, or else I think  
The birds will laugh at you.   

Cupid. Why man? thou dost deceive thyself,  
Or else my mother lies,  
Who said although that I were blind,  
My arrows might have eyes.   

Clown. Why then thy mother is a Fool,  
And thou art but an elf,  
To let thy arrows to have eyes,  
And go without thyself.   

Cup. Not ●o Sir Swain, but hold your peace,  
If I do take a shaft;  
I'll make thee know what I can do,  
With that the ploughman laughed.   

The angry Cupid drew his bow,  
Clo. For God sake kill me not;  
Cup. I'll make thy Leatherhead to crack.  
Clo. Nay child be loath of that.   

The stinging arrow hot the mark,  
And pierced the silly soul;  
You might know by his hollow eyes  
Whether love had made the hole.   

And ●o the Clown went bleeding home,  
To stay it was no boot;  
And knew that he could see to hi●,  
Which could not see to shoot.    

A Song.  

SIr Francis, Sir Francis, Sir Francis his son,  
Sir Robert and eke Sir William did come  
And eke the good Earl of Southampton  
Marched on his way most gallantly;  
And then the Queen began to speak:  
You are welcome home Sir Francis Drake;  
Then came my Lord Chamberlain, and with his white staff,  
And all people began for to laugh.   

The Queen's Speech.  
Gallants all of British blood,  
Why do not ye sail on th' Ocean flood?  
I protest ye are not all worth a Philberd,  
Compared with Sir Humphrey Gilberd.   

The Queen's Reason.  
For he walked forth in a rainy day,  
To the newfound Land he took his way,  
With many a gallant fresh and green;  
He never come home again, God bless the Queen.    

A Song.  

O Thou that sleepest like Pig in straw,  
Thou Lady dear, Arise, Arise, Arise,  
Hoping to keep thy son in awe,  
Thy little twinkling eyes.   

And having stretched both leg and arm,  
Put on thy whiter smock;  
And for to keep thy body warm,  
Thy Petticoat and Dock.   

The shops were opened long ago,  
And youngest Prentice go ho ho's,  
To lay at's Mistress chamber door  
His masters shining shoes.   

Arise, arise, why should you sleep,  
Since you have slept enough?  
Long since French boys cried Chimny-sweep,  
And Damsels Kitchenstuff.    

A Song.  

NOne but myself my heart do keep,  
A● I on Cowslip bed did sleep,  
Near to a pleasant boge;  
Where thou my pretty ●ogue,  
With Knuckles knocking at my breast,  
Did ask for my three-cornered guest,  
And whisphering said as soft as voice might be,  
Come forth thou little rogue to me.  
A thousand thousand fiends as black as foot,  
With all their dirty dams to boot,  
Take thee, O take thee every day,  
For stealing I and my poor heart away.  
This heart of mine for joy did leap,  
And followed thee even step by step;  
Till tired at the last, 'twas thick, and plump, and round before,  
Weighing a full pound weight and more:  
And now it's sunk unto the skin,  
And is no bigger than head of pin.  
A thousand thousand fiends as black as ●oot,  
With all their dirty dams to boot.    

A Song.  

ANdrew and Maudlin, Rebecca and Will,  
Margaret and Thomas, and jockey and Mary  
Kate of the Kitchen, and Kit of the mill,  
Dick the plowboy, and joan of the Dairy,  
To solace their lives and to sweeten their labour,  
They met on a time with a pipe and a tabor.   

Andrew was clothed in shepherds grey,  
And Will had put on his holiday-Jacket;  
Beck had a Petticoat of Popinjay,  
And Meg had a Ribbond hung down to her placket;  
Meg and Molly in freeze, Tom and jackie in leather,  
And so they began to foot it together.   

Their head and their arms about them they flung  
With all the might and the force that they had;  
Their legs were like flails, and as loosely hang,  
For they cudgeled their arses as if they'd been mad;  
Their faces did shine, and their fires did kindle,  
And here they did trip it and turn like a spindle.   

Andrew chuckt Maudlin under the chin,  
Simper she did like a Furmity-kettle;  
The sound of her blober-lips made such a din  
As if her chaps had been made of bellmettle:  
Kate laughing heartily at the same smack,  
She presently answers it with a bum-crack.   

At no Whitson-ale was ever yet seen  
Such friskers and frekers as those lads and lasses;  
The sweat it run down their face to be seen,  
And sure much more run down from their arses;  
Nay, had you been there you might well have sworn,  
You had ne'er beheld the like since you were born.   

Here they did fling and there they did hoyt,  
Here a hot breath, and there went a savour;  
Here they did glance and there they did lout,  
Here they did simper and there they did slabor;  
Here was a hand and there was a ●lacket,  
While their skirts and their breeches went a ●●●ket a flacket.  
The Dance being ended, they sweat and they stank,  
The maidens did smerk, and the young men did kiss 'em,  
Cakes and ale flew about, they clapped hands and they drunk,  
They laughed and they giggled until they bepissed 'em,  
Thus every young man gave each a green mantle,  
While their breasts and their bellies went a pintle-te pantle.    

The Ghost.  

1.  
'tIs late and cold, stir up the fire,  
Sat close, and draw the table nigher;  
Be merry and drink wine that is old,  
A hearty medicine against the cold.   

2.  
Your beds of wanton flesh the best,  
Come ye and tumble to your rest:  
I could well wish you wenches to,  
But I am dead and cannot do.   

3.  
Call for the best till the house doth ring,  
Sack, White, Claret, let them bring,  
And tope apace whilst breath you have,  
You I find but cold drink in the grave.   

4.  
Partridges, Plovers for your dinner,  
And a Capon for the sinner,  
You shall have ready when you are up,  
And your horse shall have his sup.  
Welcome, welcome, shall fly round,  
And I will laugh though under ground.    

The Priest's Anthem.  
DEus, deus meus,  
Alta luce vigilo,  
In veritatibus.  
There was a Friar of the sconce,  
And he could not say his Skence,  
He laid the maid down upon suspense,  
O it was for little good!  
His name was Little Sir Walter,  
And he could not say his Psalter,  
But stood quivering behind the altar,  
Yet Lord, how his man-Kellam stood!  
Onus, unus, verbum omnibus.  
Friar Thomas came to Ninus,  
Desiring her to do him a pleasure.  
O good Sir, quoth she,  
I'll tell you most certainly,  
When you shall find me at leisure.  
Then he took her up in his armibus.  
And he carried her into a cornibus,  
At the farther end of all the Cloister;  
He laid her down upon her bum,  
Ovis, in nobis, profectum,  
And there he opened head Oyster.   

The Huntsman.  

1.  
OF all the sports the world doth yield,  
Give me a pack of hounds in field,  
Whose echo sounds shrill through the sky,  
Makes jove admire our harmony,  
And wish that he a mortal were,  
To see such pleasures we have here.   

2.  
Some do delight in Masks and Plays,  
And in Diana's Holy days.  
Let Venus act her chiefest skill,  
If I dislike I'll please my will;  
And choose such as will last,  
And not to surfeit when I taste.   

3.  
Then I will tell you a sent,  
Where many a horse was almost spent,  
In Chadwel Close a hare we found,  
That led us all a smoking round;  
O'er hedge and ditch away she goes,  
Admiring her approaching foes.   

4.  
But when she felt her strength to waste,  
She parlyed with the hounds in haste.  
The Hare. You gentle dogs forbear to kill  
A harmless beast that ne'er did ill:  
And if your master's sport do crave▪  
I'll lead a sent as they would have.   

5.  
The Hounds. Away, away, thou art alone,  
Make haste we say, and get thee gone;  
We'll give thee leave for half a mile,  
To see if thou canst us beguile:  
But then expect a thundering cry,  
Made by us and our company.   

6.  
The Hare. Then since you set my life so light,  
I'll make Black lovely turn to white;  
And Yorkshire Grace, that runs at all  
I'll make him wish in his stall;  
And Sorrel, he that seems to fly,  
I'll make him sickly ere he die.   

7.  
Let Burham Bay do what he can,  
And Barton Grace, which now and than  
Doth strive to winter up my way;  
I'll neither make him sit nor play.  
And constant Robin, though he lie  
At his advantage, what care I?   

8.  
But here Kit Bolton did me wrong,  
As I was running all along;  
For with one pat he made me so,  
That I went reeling too and fro:  
Then, if I die your masters tell,  
That fool did ring my passing-Bell.   

9  
But if your masters pardon me,  
I'll lead them all to Througabby;  
Where constant Robin keeps a room  
To welcome all the Guests that come,  
To laugh, and quaff in Wine, and Beer  
A full Carouse to their Career.   

10.  
The Hounds. Away, away, since 'tis our nature  
To kill thee, and no other creature,  
Our masters they do want a bit;  
And thou wilt well become the spit:  
They eat the flesh, we pick the bone,  
Make haste we say, and get thee gone.   

11.  
The Hare. Your masters may abate their cheer,  
My meat is dry; and Butter dear;  
And if with me they'd make a friend,  
They had better give a pudding's end:  
Besides once dead, than sport they'll lack,  
And I must hang on the Huntsman's back.   

12.  
The Hounds. Alas poor Hare we pity thee,  
If with our nature 'twould agree,  
But all thy doubling shifts we fear  
Will not prevent thy death so near.  
Then make thy Will, for it may be that  
May save thee; else, we know not what.   

13.  

The Hare's Will.  Then I do give my body free,  
Unto your master's courtesy;  
And if they'll spare till sport be scant,  
I'll be their game, when they do want:  
But when I'm dead each greedy hound  
Will trail my entrails on the ground.   

14.  

The Hounds.  Were ever dogs so basely crossed?  
Our masters call us off so fast,  
That we the sent have almost lost;  
And they themselves must lose the roast,  
Wherhfore, kind Hare we pardon you:  

The Hare.  Thanks gentle Hounds, and so Adieu.    

The Reformed University.  

DAme Learning of late is fled the Land,  
Foul befall her suitors all,  
That could in her way no longer stand.  
Diogenes come, seek up and down  
At noon bright, with lantern and light  
To see if she be hid under a Gown.  
Thus the whole University pry,  
From the grand Doctor to the small fry  
Peep here, and peep there, the devil a scholar you'll spy.  
The freshman that before he has eaten,  
All to gabbles his Predicables,  
Breaks his fast upon buttered Seaton:  
Who when he comes home to his mother confut's her  
Talking bigger of casting a figure  
In conjuring Sophoms, made by his tutor.  
Thus the whole University pry, etc.   

The Soph when speech extempore makes,  
Thinks he flies in the skies,  
When a jest in false Latin he makes:  
Then led in triumph to the Sack tuns  
Thinks it fit to be drunk in wit  
Whilst a tilt the Philosopher runs.  
Thus through the whole University pry, etc.   

The Doctor that comes up with his man,  
Promising Nan to commence if he can,  
And to buy mistress Doctress a Fan;  
That his wife may sit above and go finer,  
His silver he spends, and his Latin ends  
Venturing far to deny the minor  
Thus through the whole University, etc.   

At his act he was sullen in the fight,  
And would not answer: yet anon, Sir  
He'll invite you kindly at night;  
Though the poor Knight be cast off his crupper,  
And shrewdly fears he has wronged your ears  
He'll make your palate's amends at supper.  
Thus the whole University, etc.   

The Emperik that to kill does his endeavour  
Whilst he framed diseased names  
Able to cast a man into a Fever:  
When he comes to dispute in form and matter,  
Looking as pale as his Urinal  
Shakes his head as he were casting of water.  
Thus the whole University, etc.   

The Lawyer that comes up with his grace,  
Forgetting in haste his Latin is cast,  
And abused into a pitiful case;  
Then vexted with Priscian will not fail  
(Though the action be of Battery)  
To break his head, and cut off his tail.  
Thus through the whole University, etc.   

The Schcoolman his time in Nonsense spends,  
Breaks his brain about Captain,  
Sweats to make Scotus and Thomas good friends  
Learnedly scolding with reason doth cuff;  
Without doubt of the truth is out  
And sans question is wise enough.  
Thus the whole University, etc.   

The School-Divine that troubles his sense,  
If created he were in Paradise:  
Whether Adam did eat it in innocence;  
If the apple was pared that was eat at the fall,  
What need they had of a tailor's trade,  
What thread the fig-leaves were sowed withal.  
Thus the whole University, etc.   

The Preacher that with fury doth rush on  
The Pulpit, threats and all to beats  
The threadbare conscience of the poo● cushion  
Who from a Cobbler's stall is driven,  
Souls to mend to th' everlasting end,  
And sets 'em upright in the way to heaven.  
Thus the whole University, etc.   

Against the Pope poor man he takes on,  
All Bellarmine thwacks; till his head aches  
Scourging the Whore of Babylon:  
The roast-meat suffers for the sinner;  
Till folk devout with the glass run out,  
Swearing 'tis heresy to lose their dinner.  
Thus the whole University, etc.   

The Orator that is bound to wear Satin  
With his tantums, and his quantums  
On Tully's head seizes a part of his Latin:  
With Rhetoric cringe, to Ambassadors prate,  
In metaphor fine with trope divine;  
With a high timbered stile, and a stately gate.  
Thus the whole University, etc.   

And to the Chancellor makes a great face  
Swelled in puff-paste of Eloquence vast:  
The phrases in Godwins Antiquities trace.  
With ale-conceit like a herring bloat,  
With a candied voice, and action choice,  
Like a Gentleman with a burr in his throat.  
Thus the whole University, etc.   

The Poet that with the nine muses lies,  
Till he betrays some bastard plays,  
And undoes the College with Comedies  
Though he anew translate the Psalms,  
Sings painted lays for holy days;  
Abuses devotion in Epigrams.  
Thus the whole University, etc.   

The Schoolmaster that makes many a martyr,  
Boys can teach, and to women preach,  
For his half Crown once in a quarter:  
He lays about like a Demi-God,  
Picking riches out of their breeches,  
With a construing face, and a piercing rod.  
Thus the whole University, etc.   

The Freshman is simple, the Soph too false,  
The Philosopher sad, the Poet mad;  
The Physician weak, the Lawyer false,  
The Orator cold, the Preacher too hot;  
The master of the school, and's man a fool,  
The Divine too curious, and Doctor a sot.  
Thus through the whole University pry,  
From the grand Doctor to the small fry,  
And peep here, and peep there, the devil a Scholar you'll spy.    

The shiftless Student.  

IN a melancholy study,  
None but myself,  
Methought my muse grew muddy,  
After seven years reading,  
And costly breeding  
I felt but could find no pelf.  
Into learned wrags I have rend my plush and satin,  
And now am fit to beg in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin;  
Instead of Aristotle would I had got a patent.  
Alas poor scholar! whether wilt thou go?   

Cambridge now I must leave thee  
And follow Fate,  
College hopes deceive me;  
I oft expected  
To have been elected,  
But desert is reprobate.  
Masters of Colleges have no common graces,  
And those that have fellowships have but common places,  
And those that scholars are, they must have handsome Faces.  
Alas, etc.   

I have bowed, I have bended,  
And all in hope  
One day to be befriended;  
I have preached, I have printed,  
What e'er I hinted  
To please our English Pope.  
I worshipped toward the East but the sun does now forsake me,  
I find that I am falling, the Northern winds do shake me;  
Would I had been upright, for bowing now will break me.  
Alas poor scholar, etc.   

At great preferment I aimed  
Witness my silk,  
But now my hopes are maimed;  
I looked lately  
To live most stately  
On a Dairy of Bell-ropes-milk.  
But now alas! myself I must not flatter;  
Bigamy of steeples is grown a hanging matter,  
Each man must have but one, and Curates will grow fatter.  
Alas, etc.   

Into some Country Village  
Thither will I go,  
Where neither tith, nor tillage  
The greedy Patron,  
And parched Matron  
Swear to the Church they owe.  
These if I can preach and pray too on a sudden  
And confute the Pope at adventures without studying.  
Then ten pound a year, besides a Sunday pudding.  
Alas, etc.   

All the arts I have skill in  
Divine and humane  
Are not worth a shilling:  
When the women hear me,  
They do but jeer me,  
And say I am profane.  
Once I remember I preached with a weaver,  
I quoted Austin, he quoted Dod and Cleaver;  
I nothing got, he got a cloak and beaver.  
Alas, etc.   

Ships, ships, ships, I discover  
Crossing the main;  
Shall I in, and over,  
Turn Jew or Atheist,  
Turk or Papist,  
To Geneva or Amsterdam?  
Bishoprics are voiding, Scotland shall I thither?  
Or follow Windebank, or Finch to see if either  
Do want a Priest to shrieve them? O no 'tis blustering weather!  
Alas, etc.   

Ho, Ho, Ho, I have hit it,  
Peace goodman fool  
Thou hast a trade will fit it;  
Draw thy Indenture,  
Be bound at adventure  
An aprentise to a free-school.  
There thou mayst command by William Lillys Charter;  
There thou mayst whip, strip, hang and draw, and quarter;  
And commit to the red rod, both Tom, and Will, and Arthur.  
ay, I, 'tis thither, thither will I go.    

The Townsman's Petition to the King that Cambridge might be made a City.  

NOw scholars look unto it,  
For you will all be undone,  
For the last week you know it  
The townsmen rid to London.  
The mayor if that he thrives,  
Has promised on his word,  
The King a pair of knives  
If he'll grant him a sword;  
That he may put the Beadles down,  
And walk in worship here;  
And kill all Scholars in the town,  
That thus do domineer.  
And then unto the Court  
They do themselves repair,  
To make the King some sport,  
And all his Nobles there.  
He down upon his knee,  
Both he and they together;  
A sword he cries (good King give me)  
That I may cut a feather.  
There's none at all I have at home  
Will fit my hand I swear;  
But one of yours will best be come  
A sword to domineer.   

These scholars keep such reaks,  
As makes us all afraid;  
For if to them a townsman speak  
They will pull off his beard.  
But if your Grace such licence gives,  
Then let us all be dead;  
If each of us had not as live  
He should pull off his head.  
They call us silly Dunkirks too,  
We know not why nor where;  
All this they do, and more than this,  
'Cause they will domineer.   

A speech, if I do make,  
That has much learning in't;  
A scholar comes and takesed  
And sets it out in print.  
We dare not touch them for our lives;  
(Good King have pity on us)  
For first they play opon our wives,  
And then make Songs upon us.  
Would we had power to put,  
And turn on them the jeer!  
Then we'd do the best we could  
But we would domineer.   

They stand much on their wit,  
We know not what it is:  
But surely had we liked it,  
We had got some ere this.  
But since it will no better be,  
We are constrained to frame  
Petitions to your Majesty  
These witty ones to tame.  
A sword would scare them all (I say)  
And put them in great fear;  
A sword therefore (good King) we pray,  
That we may domineer.   

Which if your Grace permits,  
we'll make them look about 'em;  
But yet they are such pleasant wits  
We cannot live without 'um.  
They have such pretty arguments  
To run upon our score;  
They say fair words, and good intents  
Are worth twice as much more:  
And that a Clown is highly graced  
To sit a scholar near;  
And thus we are like fools outfaced,  
And they do domineer.   

Now if you will renew,  
To us your Grace's Charter;  
we'll give a ribbond blew  
To some Knight of the Garter:  
A cap also we want,  
And maintenance much more;  
And yet these scholar's brag and vaunt  
As if they had good store.  
But not a penny we can see,  
Save once in twice seven year;  
They say it is no policy  
Dunkirks should domineer.   

Now reason, reason eryes alas!  
Good Lordlings mark it well;  
A scholar told me that it was  
A perfect parallel.  
Their case and ours so equal stands,  
As in a way-scale true;  
A pound of Candles in each hand  
Will neither higher show.  
Then prithee listen to my speech,  
As thou shalt after hear:  
And then I doubt it not (my Liege)  
But we shall domineer.   

Vice-chancellours they have,  
And we have mayor's wise; (grave  
With Proctors, and with taskers  
Our Bailiffs we may seize.  
Their silver staves keep much ado,  
Much more our silver Maces;  
And so methinks our Sergeants too  
Their Beadle-squires outfaces.  
And if we had a sword I think,  
Along the street to bear;  
'Twould make the proudest of'em shrink  
And we should domineer.   

They have Patrons of Nobility,  
And we have our partakers:  
They have Doctors of Divinity,  
And we our basket-makers:  
Their heads are our brethren dear,  
Their Fellows our householders;  
Shall match them, and we think to bear  
Them down by head and shoulders.  
A sword therefore good King, we pray  
That we may keep them there;  
Since every dog must have his day,  
Let us once domineer.   

When they had made the King to laugh  
And see one kiss his hand,  
Then little mirth they make, as if  
His mind they understand.  
Avoid the room an Usher cries,  
The King would private sup;  
And so they all came down like fools  
As they before went up.  
They cried God bless his Majesty,  
And then no doubt (they swear)  
They'll have the town made a City,  
And there to domineer.   

But wot you what the King did think,  
And what his meaning was;  
I vow unto you by this drink  
A rare device he has.  
His Majesty has penned it,  
That they'll be ne'er the better;  
And so he means to send it  
All in a Latin letter;  
Which when it comes for to be read,  
It plainly will appear;  
The townsmen they must hang the head,  
And the scholars must domineer.    

The draining of the Fens.  

THe upland people are full of thoughts,  
And do despair of after-rain;  
Now the sun is robbed of his morning's draughts  
They're afraid they shall never have shower again.   

Then apace, apace drink, drink deep, drink deep,  
Whilst 'tis to be had lets the liquor ply;  
The drainers are up, and a coil they keep,  
And threaten to drain the Kingdom dry.   

Our smaller rivers are now dry land,  
The Eels are turned to serpents there;  
And if old father Thames play not the man  
Then farewell to all good English Beer.  
Then apace, apace drink, etc.   

The Dutchman hath a thirsty soul,  
Our Cellars are subject to his call:  
Let every man than lay hold on his boul  
'Tis pity the German-Sea should have all.  
Then apace, apace drink, etc.   

Our new Philosophers rob us of fire,  
And by reason do strive do maintain that theft;  
And now that the water begins to retire  
We shall shortly have never an Element left.  
Then apace, apace drink, etc.   

Why should we stay here then and perish with thirst?  
To th' new world in the moon away let us go;  
For if the Dutch colony get thither first,  
'Tis a thousand to one but they'll drain that too.  
Then apace, apace drink, etc.    

Nonsense.  

OH that my lungs could bleat like buttered pease!  
But bleating of my lungs hath caught the itch,  
And are as mangy as the Irish seas,  
That doth engender windmills on a bitch.   

I grant that Rain-bows being lulled asleep,  
Snort like a woodknife in a Lady's eyes;  
Which makes her grieve to see a pudding creep,  
For creeping puddings only please the wise.   

Not that a hard-roeed Herring should presume  
To swing a tithe-pig in a Catskin purse;  
For fear the hailstones which did fall at Rome,  
By lessening of the fault should make it worse.   

For 'tis most certain winter woolsacks grow  
From geese to swans, if men could keep them so,  
Till that the sheep-shorn Planets gave the hint  
To pickle Pancakes in Geneva print.   

Some men there were that did suppose the sky  
Was made of carbonadoed antidotes:  
But my opinion is, a whales left eye  
Need not be coined all King- Harry-groats:   

The reason's plain, for Charon's western barge  
Running atilt at the Subjunctive mood,  
Beckoned to Bednal-green, and gave him charge  
To fatten Padlocks with Antarctic food.   

The end will be the mill-pools must be laded,  
To fish for whitepots in a country dance;  
So they that suffered wrong and were upbraded,  
Shall be made friends in a lefthanded trance.    

In praise of Ale.  
WHenas the Chilly Rock once blows,  
And winter tells a heavy tale,  
When Pies, and Daws, and Rooks, and Crows  
Sat cursing of the frosts and snows;  
Then give me ale.  
Ale in Saxon Rumken then,  
Such as will make grim Malkin prate,  
Rouseth up valour in all men,  
Quickens the poet's wit and pen,  
Despiseth fate.  
Ale that the absent battle fights,  
And frames the march of Swedish drums,  
Disputes the Prince's laws and rights,  
And what is past and what's to come,  
Tells mortal wights.  
Ale that the ploughman's heart up-keeps,  
And equals it with Tyrant's thrones;  
That wipes the eye that over-weeps,  
And lulls in soft and secure sleeps  
The wearied bones.  
Grandchild of Ceres, Barley's daughter,  
Wine's emulous neighbour, if but stale;  
Ennobling all the Nymphs of water,  
And filling each man's heart with laughter.  
Ha, ha, give me ale.   

A Riddle of a Goosberry.  
THere is a bush fit for the nonce,  
That beareth pricks and precious stones,  
The fruit of which most Ladies pull;  
'Tis round, and smooth, and plump, and full,  
It yields rare moisture, pure and thick,  
And seldom makes a Lady sick;  
They put it in, and then they move it,  
Which makes it melt, and then they love it:  
So what was round, and plump, and hard,  
Grows lank, and thin, and poor, and marred;  
The sweetness sucked, their holes wipe they  
And throw the empty skin away.   

A Bull Prologue.  
YOu that do sitting stand to see our Play  
Which must this night be acted, here to day,  
Be silent pray, though you aloud do talk  
Stir not a foot, though up and down you walk;  
For every silent noise the Players see  
Will make them mute, and speak full angrily;  
But go not yet, until you do depart  
And unto us your smiling frowns impart;  
And we most thankless thankful will appear,  
And wait upon you home; but yet stay here.   

Another Prologue.  
BE blithe Fobdodles! for my author knows  
How to delight your eyes, your ears, your nose;  
But first of all your eyes shall pleased be  
With cloth of Gold, tissue and Taffare:  
Blow but your nose, and purify that sense,  
For you shall smell perfumes and frankincense  
And eke soft music: therefore sit you still,  
Smile like the Lily flower, whilst trumpets sound,  
And our endeavours with your love be ctowned.   

An Epilogue upon the honest Lawyer.  
Gentlemen,  
HE that wrote this Play ne'er made Play before  
And if this like not, ne'er will write Play more  
And so he bid me tell you.   

Love's Progress.  
WHo ever loves, if he do not propose  
The right true end of love; he's one that goes  
To sea, for nothing but to make him sick,  
●nd love's a bear-whelp born, if over lick  
Our love; and cause it new strange forms to take  
We err; and of a lump a monster make.  
Were not a Calf a mons●et, that was grown  
●ac'd like a man, though better than his own.  
●●●fection is in Unity, so prefer  
●he woman first: and then one thing in her.  
● where I value Gold, may think upon  
●he purity, the application;  
The wholesomeness, the ingenuity;  
From rust, from soil, from fire for ever free;  
But if I love it, 'tis because its made  
By (our new nature) use, the soul of trade:  
All this in women we might think upon,  
If women had them, and yet love but one.  
Can men more injure women than to say,  
They love for that, by which they are not they  
Makes virtue woman? must I cool my blood  
Till I both find and see one wise and good?  
May barren angels love so: but if we  
Make love to woman, virtue is not she;  
As beauty is not, nor wealth; he that strays thu●  
From her to hers is more adulterous,  
Than he that took her maid. Search every sphere  
And firmament, our Cupid is not there:  
He's an infernal god, and under ground  
With Pluto dwells, where gold and fire abound  
Men to such gods their sacrificing coals,  
Laid not on altars, but in pits and holes.  
Although we see celestial bodies move  
Above the earth, the earth we till and love:  
So we her heirs contemplate, words and heart,  
And virtues, but we love the centrique part.  
Nor is the soul more worthy or more fit  
For love than that, as infinite as it.  
But in attaining this desired place,  
How much they err that set out at the face?  
The hair a forest is of ambushes,  
Of springs, snares, fetters and manacles:  
The brow becalms us, when 'tis smooth & plain,  
And when 'tis wrinkled, shipwrecks us again:  
Smooth, 'tis a Paradise, where we would have  
Immortal stay: and wrinkled, 'tis our grave.  
The nose like to the first meridian runs,  
Not 'twixt an East and West, but 'twixt two suns:  
It leaves a cheek a rosy hemisphere  
On either side, and then directs us where  
Upon the Islands fortunate we fall,  
Not faint Canaries, but ambrosial,  
Her swelling lips: to which when we are come,  
We anchor there, and think ourselves at home:  
For they sing all their Sirens songs, and there  
Wise Delphic Oracles do fill the ear:  
There in a creek, where chosen pearls do swell  
The remora, her cleaving tongue doth dwell.  
Those, and the promontory fair, her Chin  
O'er past; and the strait Hellespont between  
The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts,  
(Not of two lovers, but two loves she nests)  
Succeeds a boundless sea, but that thine eye  
Some Island moles may scattered there descry:  
And sailing towards her India in that way,  
Shall at her fair Atlantic Navel stay:  
Though thence the torrent be thy Pilot made,  
Yet ere thou come where thou wouldst be embayed,  
Thou shalt upon another forest set:  
Where many shipwreck, and no farther get.  
When thou art there, consider well this chase  
Misspent, by the beginning at the face.  
Rather set on't below; practise my art,  
Some symitry the foot hath with that part  
Which thou dost seek, and is as map for that;  
Lovely enough to stoop, but not stay at:  
Lest subject to disguise and change it is;  
Men say the Devil-never can change his:  
It is the emblem that hath figured  
Firmness, 'tis the first part that comes to bed.  
Civility we see refined; the kiss  
Which at the face begun, transplanted is  
Since to the hand, since to th'Imperial knee,  
Now at the Papal foot delights to be.  
If Kings think that the nearer way, and do  
Kiss from the foot, lovers may do so too.  
For as free Spheres move faster far than can  
Birds, whom the air resists; so may that man  
Which goes the empty and aetherial ways;  
Than if at beauty's elements he stays.  
Rich Nature hath in women wisely made  
Two purses, and their mouths aversly laid:  
Thus they which to the lower tribute owe,  
That way which that Exchequer looks, must go:  
He which doth not, his error is as great;  
As who by Glister gives the stomach meat.  
I. D.   


A Song.  
OF all Occupations that now aday is used,  
I would not be a butcher for he's to be refused:  
For whatsoever is gotten, or whatsoever is gained,  
He shall be called kill Cow, and so he shall be named;  
Low quoth the Cow, Blea quoth the calf, he calls to his wife for a rope,  
He makes her pull till her heart doth break,  
For fear he would cut her throat.   

The Tinker.  
For he sits all day quaffing and turning over the boul,  
And goes about from house, to house, to stop the good wife's hole;  
●ing quoth the metal, sound quoth the kettle,  
He calls to his wife for a hammer,  
He goes about from town to town  
Most like a Rogue in manner.   

A Tailor.  
For he sits all day pricking and wearing of his bones,  
He thrusts his needle through the seams  
And kills nine lice at once;  
Snap quoth the shears, bounce quoth the board,  
He calls to his wife for an iron,  
He burns himself all in the hand  
As if he had been a Felon.   

A Shoemaker.  
For he sits all day whisking and drawing forth of his thread,  
His foot is always in the stirrup, yet seldom doth he ride;  
Whiff quoth the whetstone, rap quoth the dresser  
He calls to his wife for thread:  
He plucks the brisles from off the hog's back,  
And all for very pure need.   

A Blacksmith.  
For he shoes many horses, that are both wild and tame,  
And often times doth catch a knock, and so the smith goes lame:  
Knor quoth the horse, gip quoth the smith, he calls to his wife to blow,  
He flings the fire about the house, 'twill scar the Devil I trow▪   

A Cooper.  
For he sits all day hooping and mending of a barrel,  
So let the knave have drink enough, he cares for no apparel;  
Squirt quoth the can, drunk was the man  
He calls to his wife for his addis  
To stop a hole in her bolting tub, for he looks like on that mad is.   

A Baker.  
For he sits all day a bunting and bending of his knee,  
And if his bread be too little weight, the Pillory is his fee.  
Away goes the Baker, up goeth the ladder  
In goes his head to the hole,  
And all because his bread wants weight,  
According to the toll.   

A Weaver.  
For he earns his money hardly & many of them complain,  
The Clothier takes away the thrumes, which was the weaver's gain;  
Whur quoth the trickle, quish quoth the shuttle, he calls to his wife for quills,  
They knit many a knot, in a threadbare coat full sore against their wills.   

A Laywer.  
For he'll tell you many prittle prattle, and many a pretty thing,  
And when he hath your money got, you may go pipe and sing;  
Squirt quoth the ink, blur quoth the pen, he calls to his wife for paper,  
There is no man in all the land, that will so cog and flatter.   

A Sempster.  
And of all occupations that ever came in my mind,  
I would not be a Sempster although she be so fine;  
For she sits all day sowing, and hanging down of her head,  
And oftentimes she steals a kiss, whilst better she would be sped:  
Snip quoth the Scissors, rend quoth the cloth, and still she hath an eye to the door,  
Her husband he may sing Cuckoo, for she will play the who there?   

A Sailor.  
And of all occupations that ever yet was named,  
Saylors they be Gentlemen, for so they must be termed;  
For they sail far and near their Country to advance,  
They sail against the foaming seas in danger of mischance:  
Hard blows the gales, down goes the sails, 'tis too late to call to his wife;  
They shut themselves upon the rocks in danger of their life.   

Beggar.  

And of all occupations Begging is the best,  
Whensoever he is weary he may lay him down to rest;  
For howsoe'er the world goes they never take any care;  
And whatsoever they beg or get they spend it in good fare.   

Up goes the staff, down goes the wallet,  
To the alehouse they go with speed;  
They spend many a pot, they care not for the shot,  
This is the best occupation indeed.   

This hath his doxy, another is almost foxy,  
They have still a penny to their need,  
They drink many a pot, they care not for the shot:  
This is the best trade indeed.   

With a hey down derry, they'll be full merry,  
Though the marshal stand at the door;  
When their money is done, they'll have more before noon,  
Or drink upon the score.   

Ver. Who liveth so merrily in all this land,  
As doth the poor widow that sells her sand?  
Cho. And ever she singeth as I can guests,  
Will you buy any sand, any sand, mistress?   

Ver. The Brooman maketh his living most sweet,  
With carrying of brooms from street to street.  
Cho. Who would desire a pleasanter thing,  
Than all the day long to do nothing but sing?   

Ver. The Chimney-sweeper all the long day,  
He singeth and sweepeth the soot away.  
Cho. Yet when he comes home although he be weary,  
With his pretty sweet wife he maketh full merry.   

Ver. The Cobbler he sits cobbling till noon,  
And cobleth his shoes till they be done:  
Cho. Yet doth he not fear, and so doth say,  
His work will not last many a day.   

Ver. The merchant man he doth sail on the seas,  
And lies on the shipboard with little ease:  
Cho. For always he doubts the rocks are near,  
how can he be merry and make good cheer?   

Ver. The husbandman all day goeth to plow,  
And when he comes home he servern his sow:  
Cho. He moileth and toileth all the long year,  
How can he be merry and make good cheer?   

Ver. The Servingman waiteth from street to street,  
With blowing to his nails and beating his feet:  
Cho. And serveth for forty shillings a year,  
'tis impossible, 'tis impossible to make good cheer.   

Ver. Who liveth so merry and maketh such sport  
As those that be of the poorer sort?  
Cho. The poorest sort wheresoever they be,  
They gather together by one, two and three.   

Bis. And every man will spend his penny,  
What makes such a shot amongst a great many?     

Another.  

WIth an old mothy coat & a mamsey nose  
With an old threadbare Jerkin rubbed out at elbows,  
With an old dagger to scar away the crows,  
With an old long sword all to be hacked with blows:  
Cho. It was an old soldier of the Queens,  
Oh the Queen's old soldier.   

With an old Gun and his Bandeliers,  
With an old head-piece to keep warm his ears;  
With an old pair of boots drawn on without hose  
Stuffed full of old linen rags, and broken out at toes.  
It was, etc.   

With an old passport that never was read,  
Which in his great old travels had stood him in good stead  
With an old Quean to lie by his side  
Which in her time had been oldly Frenchified.  
It was the Queens, etc.   

With an old shirt that is grown to wrack,  
That with long-wearing it serves stinking old Jack;  
With an old grown louse, with a black-list on his back,  
That was able to carry an old pedlar and his pack.  
It was the Queens, etc.  
With an old snap-sack made of a good calf's skin,  
With an old Leathern skrip, tied fast with an old cloak-bag string;  
With an old Cap with a hole i'th' Crown,  
One side pinned up, and the other hanging down.  
It was, etc.  
With an old greasy buffed Jerkin pointed down before,  
That his old great grandfather, at the siege at Bullin had wore;  
With an old pair of breeches with a patch upon each knee:  
With two overworn old pockets that will hold no money.  
It was the Queens, etc.  
With an old horse late come from St. Albon  
With I know not how many diseases most grievous ones,  
With an old pair of rusty Iron spurs  
With an old beat-begger in his hand to keep off the Curs.  
It was etc.  
This soldier would ride post to Bohemia to his foes,  
And swore by his valour ere he came again, would get better clothes;  
Or else he would lose both fingers, hands, and toes  
But when he takes this journey, there's no man living knows.  
It was, etc.    

Another.  

IN Lancashire where I was born  
And many a Cuckold bred:  
I had not been married a quarter of a year,  
But the horns grew out of my head.  
With hay the Io bent, with hay the toe bend,  
Sir Percy is under the Line;  
God save the good Earl of Shrewsbury,  
For he is a good friend of mine.   

Doncaster Mayor he sits in a chair,  
His mills they merrily go,  
His nose doth shine with drinking of wine,  
The Gout is in his great toe.   

He that will fish for a Lancashire lass  
At any time or tide,  
Must bait his hook with a good egg pie;  
And an apple with a red-side.   

He that gallops his horse on Bletstone edge,  
By chance may catch a fall,  
My Lord Mount Eagles Bears be dead,  
His Jack-an-Apes and all.   

At Scripton in Craven there's never a haven,  
Yet many a time foul weather;  
He that will not lie a fair woman by,  
I wish he were hanged in leather.   

My Lady hath lost her left leg hose  
So hath She done both her shoes;  
she'll earn her breakfast before she do rise,  
she'll lie in bed else till it be noon.   

joan Moultons' cross it makes no force,  
Though many a Cuckold go by;  
Let many a man do all that he can,  
Yet a Cuckold he shall die.   

The good wife of the Swan hath a leg like a man,  
Full well it becomes her hose;  
She jets it apace with a very good grace,  
But falleth back at the first close.   

The Prior of Courtree made a great pudding-pie,  
His Monks cried meat for a King;  
If the Abbot of Chester do die before Easter  
Then Banbury Bells must Ring.   

He that will a welshman catch,  
Must watch when the wind is in the South;  
And put in a net a good piece of roast-cheese,  
And hang it close to his mouth.   

And Lancashire if thou be true,  
As ever thou hast been;  
Go sell thy old whittel and by thee a new fiddle,  
And sing God save the Queen.    

Towl the Bell.  

TOwl, towl gentle Bell for a soul,  
Killing care doth control, and my mind so oppress;  
That I fear I shall die, for a glance of that eye  
That so lately did fly like a Comet from the sky  
Or some great Deity:  
But my wish is in vain, I shall ne'er see't again.   

When I in the Temple did spy  
This Divine Purity, on her knees to her Saint.  
Oh she looked so divine, all her beauties did shine  
Far more fairer than her shrine, faith I wish she had been mine  
Where my heart could resign:  
And would powerfully prove, no Religion like love.  
Fair, fair, and as chaste as the air  
Holy Nuns breathing prayer was this Votaress divine,  
From each eye dropped a tear, like the Pearls Violets were,  
When the spring doth appear for to usher in the year:  
But I dare safely swear,  
Those tears trickle down for no sins of her own.   

But now increaseth my woe,  
I by no means must know where this beauty doth dwell,  
All her rites being done to her Lady and her Son;  
I was left all alone, and my Saint was from me gone  
And to heaven she is flown:  
Which makes me to say, I shall scarce live a day.   

Now I will make haste and die,  
And ascend to the sky where I know she's enthroned.  
All ye Ladies adieu, be your loves false or true;  
I am going to view, one that far transcends all you,  
One that I never knew:  
But must sigh out my breath, for acquaintance in death.    

The Answer to Towl.  

RIng, Ring, merry Bells while we sing  
Drinking healths to our King;  
And our minds are advanced.  
Le's never fear to die, till we have drunk out each eye,  
But let cash and cares fly free as hailstones from the sky;  
Bacchus great Deity:  
Let us never wish in vain, fill the pots George again.   

When we in the Tavern do see,  
Such fare boon Company;  
On their knees drinking healths.  
O we look most divine, when our noses did shine:  
Well ballast with good wine, faith I wish the cup were mine  
Which to thee I'll resign,  
And will palpable prove by the drinking to thy Love.   

Free, free, as the air let us be,  
we'll respect no degree;  
But our births all a like.  
From no eye drop a tear, lest you Maudlin appear,  
And next morning do fear to be Physick't with small Beer  
Which I dare boldly swear,  
If tears trickle down, 'tis our loves to the Crown.   

Now we must make haste and see,  
How much money will free  
All our hands from the bar.  
For a time boys adien, I am going for to view,  
What belongs to all you, be the reckoning false or true,  
Though it be more than dew,  
Yet my breath will I spend, and my purse for my friend.    

The jolly Shepherd.  

THe life of a Shepherd is void of all carea,  
With his bag and his bottle he maketh good fare-a,  
He rus●les, he shusfles in all extreme wind-a,  
His flocks sometimes before him, and sometimes behind-a.  
He hath the green meadows to walk at his will-a,  
With a pair of fine bagpipes upon the green hill-a;  
Trangdille, trangdille, trang down a down dilla,  
With a pair of fine bagpipes upon a green hill-a.   

His sheep round about him do seed on the dale-a  
His bag full of cakebread, his bo●tle of ale-a,  
A cantle of cheese that is good and olda,  
Because that he walketh all day in the cold-a,  
With his cloak and his sheephook thus marcheth he stilla,  
With a pair of fine bagpipes upon a green hilla-a.  
Trangdille, etc.   

If cold doth oppress him to cabin goeth hea,  
If heat doth molest him then under green tree-a,  
If his sheep chance to range over the plain-a,  
His little dog Lightfoot doth fetch them againa,  
For there he attendeth his masters own will-a,  
With a pair of fine bagpipes upon the green hill-a,  
Trangdille, etc.   

He list not to idle all day like a moam-a,  
In spending his time though sitting alone-a,  
Lingle, needle & thimble he hath still in storea,  
To mend shoes and apparel he keeps them therefore-a,  
Thus whistling and piping he danceth his fill-a,  
With a pair of fine bagpipes upon the green hill-a,  
Trangdille, etc.   

If Phillida chance come tripping asidea,  
A most friendly welcome he doth her betide-a,  
He straightways presents her a poor shepherd's fees▪ a,  
His bottle of good ale, his cake and his cheese-a,  
He pipeth, she danceth all at their own will-a,  
With a pair of fine bagpipes upon the green hill-a.  
Trangdille, etc.   

But now wanton shepherd howsoever your meaning,  
My harvest's not ripe, therefore leave your gleaning,  
For if in my garden a Rose you would pulla,  
Perhaps it may cost you all your sheep's wool-a.  
Thus do they both frolic & sport at their will-a,  
With a pair of fine bagpipes upon the green hill-a;  
Trangdille, trangdille, trang down a down dilla,  
With a pair of fine bagpipes upon the green hill-a.    

In praise of Canary.  

LEt us purge our brains from these hops and grains,  
They do smell of Anarchy;  
Let us choose a King, from whose loins may spring  
A sparkling of Monarchy.  
It ill befits, true wine breeds wits,  
Whose blood runs high and clear,  
To bind their hands in Dray-mens' bands,  
When as they may go freer.  
Why should we droop or basely stoop,  
To popular ale or beer?   

Who shall be our King, that is now the thing  
For which we all are met?  
Claret is a Prince, that hath been long since  
In the Royal order set.  
His face is spread with warlike red,  
And so he loves to see men;  
Where he bears sway, his subjects they  
Shall be as good as freemen.  
But here's the plot almost forgot,  
He is too much burnt by women.   

By the River Rhine, is a valiant wine,  
That can all our veins replenish;  
Let us then consent to the Government,  
And the Royal rule of the Rhenish.  
This German-wine will warm the chine,  
And frisk in every vein;  
'Twill make the Bride forget to chide,  
And call him to't again.  
But that's not all, he is too small,  
To be a Sovereign.   

Let us never think of a nobler drink,  
But with voices voted high;  
Let all proclaim good Canaries name,  
Heavens bless his Majesty.  
He is a King in every thing,  
Whose nature doth renown all:  
He makes us skip and nimbly leap,  
From the sealing to the gronsell,  
Especially when Poets be  
Lords of the Privy-Councel.   

But a Vintner he shall his taster fee,  
And there is none shall him let;  
And a drawer that hath a good palate,  
Shall be made squire of the gimlet.  
The bar-boys shall be pages all,  
A Tavern well prepared:  
In Joval sort shall be his Court,  
Where nothing shall be spared  
Wine-porters shall with shoulders tall,  
Be yeomen of the Guard.   

If a Cooper we with a red nose see,  
But in any part of the Town;  
That Cooper shall with his adds Rial,  
Be keeper of the Crown.  
Young wits that wash away their cash,  
In Wine and Recreation:  
How hates dull beer, are welcome here,  
To give their approbation.  
So shall all you that will allow,  
Canaries Coronation.    

A health to King Charles when loyalty was a crime.  
SInce it must be so, then so let it go  
Let the giddy-brained times turn round;  
Since we have no King let the goblets be crowned:  
Our Monarchy thus we'll recover,  
While the pottles are weeping we'll drench our sad souls,  
In big-bellyed bowls;  
And our sorrows in Sack shall lie steeping.  
And we'll drink till our eyes do run over,  
And prove it by reason  
That it can be no treason,  
To laugh and to sing  
A mournifull of healths to our new crowned King.  
Let us all stand bare, in the presence we are,  
Let our noses like bonfires shine;  
Instead of the Conduit let the pottle run wine,  
To perfect this new Coronation.  
For we that are loyal  
In Sack will appear,  
And that face that doth wear  
Pure Claret, looks like the bloud-Royal;  
And out-stares all the bores of the Nation.  
In sign of obedience,  
Our Oath of allegiance,  
Beer glasses shall be:  
And he that tipples tends to the Nobility.  
But if in this reign, the halberdly train,  
And the Constable chance to rebel;  
And should with his twibel maliciously swell,  
And against the King's party raise Arms:  
Then the drawers like yeomen  
Of the guard, with quart pots,  
●hall fuddle the Scots:  
While we make them Cuckold's and freemen,  
And on their wives beat an alarm.  
And as the health passes,  
we'll tipple our glasses;  
And hold it no sin  
To be loyal, and to drink in defence of our King.   

Upon oliver's dissolving the Parliament in 1653.  

1.  
WIll you hear a strange thing scarce heard of before,  
A ballad of news without any lies,  
The Parl. men are all turned out of doors,  
And so are the Council of State likewise.   

2.  
Brave Oliver came to the house like a spirit,  
His fiery looks struck the Speaker dumb;  
You must be gone hence, quoth he, by this light,  
Do you mean to sit here till Doomsday come?   

3.  
With that the Speaker looked pale for fear,  
As though he had been with the nightmare rid;  
Insomuch as some did think that were there,  
That he had even done as the Alderman did.   

4.  
But Oliver though he be Doctor of Law,  
Yet he seemed to play the Physician there;  
His physic so wrought on the Speakers maw,  
That he gave him a stool instead of a Chair.   

5.  
Harry Martin wondered to see such a thing,  
Done by a Saint of such high degree;  
'Twas an act he did not expect from a King,  
Much less from such a dry bone as he.   

6.  
But Oliver laid his hand on his sword,  
And upbraided him with his Adultery;  
To which Harry answered never a word,  
Saving, humbly thanking his Majesty.   

7.  
Allen the Coppersmith was in great fear,  
He did us much harm since the wars began;  
A broken Citizen many a year,  
And now he is a broken Parliament-man.   

8.  
Bradshaw that Precedent proud as the Pope,  
That loves upon Kings and Princes to trample;  
Now the house is dissolved I cannot but hope,  
To see such a Precedent made an example.   

9  
And were I one of the Counsel of war,  
I'll tell you what my vote should be,  
Upon his own Turret at Westminster,  
To be hanged up for all comers to see.   

10.  
My masters I wonder you could not agree,  
You that have been so long brethren in evil;  
A dissolution you might think there would be;  
When the Devil's divided against the Devil.   

11.  
Then room for the Speaker without his Mace,  
And room for the rest of the Rabble-rout;  
My masters methinks 'tis a pitiful case,  
Like the snuff of a Candle thus to go out.   

12.  
Now some like this change, and some like it not,  
Some think it was not done in due season;  
Some think it was but a Jesuits plot,  
To blow up the house like a gun-powder-Treason.   

13.  
Some think that Oliver and Charles are agreed,  
And sure it were good policy if it were so;  
Lest the Hollander, French, the Dane, and the Swede.  
Should bring him in whether he would or no.   

14.  
And now I would gladly conclude my song,  
With a prayer as Ballads are used to do;  
But yet I'll forbear, for I think ere't be long,  
We shall have a King and a Parliament too.   
FINIS.   

These Books following are printed for Nathanael Brook, and are to be sold at his Shop at the Angel in Cornhill.  

Excellent Tracts in Divinity, Controversies, Sermons, Devotions.  
1. THe Catholic History collected and gathered out of Scripture, Councils and ancient Fathers, in answer to Doctor Vane's Lost sheep returned home: by Edward Chesensale Esq in octavo.  
2. Bishop Morton on the Sacrament, in fol.  
3. The grand Sacrilege of the Church of Rome, in taking away the sacred Cup from the Laity at the Lords-Table: by D. Dan. Featly in 4.  
4. Quakers cause at second hearing, being a full answer to their Tenets.  
5. Re-assertion of Grace, Vindiciae Evangelii, or the Vindication of the Gospel, a Reply to Mr. Anthony Burges's Vindiciae Legis, and to Mr. Rutherford: by Robert Towers.  

6. Anabaptist anatomised and silenced, or a Dispute with Mr. Tombs: by Mr. I. Cragg, where all may receive clear satisfaction.  
A Cabinet Jewel, Man's misery, God's mercy, in 8. Sermons, with an Appendix concerning Tithes, with the expediency of marriages in public assemblies: by the same Author Mr. I. Cragg.   
7. A Glimpse of Divine Light, being an explication of some passages exhibited to the Commissioners at Whitehall for approbation of public Preachers, against I. Harrison of Land-Chappel, Lancashire.  
8. The Zealous Magistrate, a Sermon, by T. Threscos', quarto.  
9 New Jerusalem, in a Sermon for the Society of Astrologers, quarto, in the year 1651.  
10. Divinity no enemy to Astrology, a Sermon for the Society of Astrologers in the year 1643. by Dr. Thomas Swaddling.  
11. Britannia Rediviva, a Sermon before the Judges, Aug. 1648. by I. Shaw Minister of Hull.  
12. the Princess Royal, in a Sermon before the Judges, March 24. by I. Shaw.  
13. Judgement set and Books opened, Religion tried whether it be of God or man, in several Sermons, by I. Webster, quarto.  
14. Israel's Redemption, or the prophetical History of our Saviour's Kingdom on Earth: by K. Matton.  
15. The cause and cure of Ignorance, Error and Profaneness; or a more hopeful way to grace and salvation: by K. Young, octavo.  
16. A Bridle for the Times, tending to still the murmuring, to settle the wavering, to stay the wand'ring, and to strengthen the fainting: by I. Brinsley of Yarmounth.  
17. Comforts against the fear of death, wherein are discovered several evidences of the work of grace: by I. Collins of Norwich.  
18. Jacob's seed, or the excellency of seeking God by prayer: by jer. Burroughs.  
19 The sum of Practical Divinity, or the grounds of Religion in a Catechistical way: by Mr. Christopher Love, late Minister of the Gospel; an useful piece.  
20. Heaven & Earth shaken, a Treatise showing how Kings and Princes, and all other Governments, are turned and changed: by I. Davis Minister in Dover; admirably useful, and seriously to be considered in these times.  
21. The Treasure of the soul, wherein we are taught by dying to sin to attain to the perfect love of God.  
22. A Treatise of Contentation, fit for these sad and troublesome times: by I. Hall Bishop of Norwich.  
23. Select Thoughts, or choice helps for a pious spirit beholding the excellency of her Lord Jesus: by I. Hall Bishop of Norwich.  
24. The holy Order or Fraternity of Mourner; in Zion; to which is added, Songs in the Night, or cheerfulness under afflictions: by I. Hall Bishop of Norwich.  
25. The Celestial Lamp, enlightening every distressed soul from the depth of everlasting darkness: by T. Fetiplace.  
26. The Moderate Baptist in two parts, showing the Scripture-way for the Administering of the Sacrament of Baptism, discovering the old error of Original sin in Babes: by W. Brittin.  
27. Dr. Martin Luther's Treatise of Liberty of Christians; an useful Treatise for the stating Controversies so much disputed in these times about this great point.  
28. The Key of Knowledge, a little Book by way of Questions and Answers, intended for the use of all degrees of Christians, especially for the Saints of Religious families, by old Mr. john jackson that famous Divine.  
29. The true Evangelical Temper, a Treatise modestly and soberly fitted to the present grand concernments of the State and Church: by old Mr. john jackson.  
30. The Book of Conscience opened and read, by the same Author.  
31. The so much desired and Learned Commentary on the whole 15. Psalms; by that Reverend and Eminent Divine Mr. Christopher Cartwright Minister of the Gospel in York to which is affixed a brief account of the Author's Life and Work by R. Bolton.  
32. The Judges Charge, delivered in a Sermon before Mr. Justice Hall & Serjeant Crook Judges of Assize at St. Mary Overis in Southwark, by R. Parr M. A. Pastor of Camerwell in the County of Surry. A Sermon worthy perusal of all such persons as endeavour to be honest and just practitioners in the Law.  
33. The Saint's Tombstone, being the Life of that Virtuous Gentlewoman Mrs. Dorothy Shaw, late Wife of Mr. john Shaw Minister of the Gospel at Kingston upon Hull.   

Admirable and Learned Treatises of Occult Sciences in Philosophy, Magic, Astrology, Geomancy, Chemistry, Physiognomy and Chiromancy.  
34. Magic and Astrology vindicated by H. Warren.  
35. Lux veritatis, Judicial Astrology vindicated, and Demonology cofuted: by W. Ramsey, Gent.  
36. An Introduction to the Teutonick Philosophy, being a determination of the Original of the soul, by C. Hotham Fellow of Peterhouse in Cambridge.  
37. Cornelius Agrippa his fourth Book of Occult Philosophy, or Geomancy; Magical Elements of Peter de Abona, the nature of spirits, made English by R. Turner.  
38. Paracelsus Occult Philosophy of the mysteries of Nature, and his secret Alchemy.  
39 An Astrological Discourse with Mathematical Demonstrations; proving the influence of the Planets and fixed Stars upon Elementary Bodies: by Sir Christ. Heyden Knight.  
40. Merlinus Anglicus, junior: the English Merlin revived, or a Prediction upon the Affairs of Christendom, for the year 1644. by . W. Lilly.  
41. England's Prophetical Merlin, foretelling to all Nations of Europe, till 1663. the actions depending upon the Influences of the Conjunction of Saturn and jupiter, 1642. by W. Lilly.  
42. The Starry messenger, or an interpretatiof that strange apparition of three Suns seen in London 19 of Nou. 1644. being the Birthday of K. Charles, by W. Lilly.  
43. The World's Catastrophe, or Europe's many mutations, until 1666. by W. Lilly.  
44. An Astrological prediction of the Occurrences in England, part in the years 1648. 1649. 1650. by W. Lilly.  
45. Monarchy or no Monarchy in England, the prophecy of the White King, Grebner his prophecies concerning Charles Son of Charles his Greatness, illustrated with several Hieroglyphics, by W. Lilly.  
46. Annus Tenebrosus, or the dark year; or Astrological Judgements upon two Lunary Eclipses, and one admirable Eclipse of the Sun in England, 1652. by W. Lilly.  
47. An easy and familiar way whereby to judge the effects depending on Eclipses, by W. Lilly.  
48. Supernatural sights and appatitions seen in London, june 30. 1644. by W. Lilly; as also all his Works in one Volume.  
49. Catastrophe Magnacum, an Ephemerideses for the year 1652. by N. Culpeper.  
50. Teratologia, or a discovery of God's Wonders, manifested by bloody Rain and Waters: by I. S.  
51. Chyromancy, or the art of divining by the Lines engraven in the hand of man, by dame Nature, in 198. Genitures; with a learned Discourse of the soul of the World: by G. Wharton, Esq  
52. the admired piece of Physiognomy, and Chyromancy, Metoposcopy, the symmetrical proportions and signal moles of the body, the Interpretation of Dreams, to which is added the art of memory, illustrated with Figures: by R. Sanders, folio.  
53. The no less exquisite than admirable work, Theatrum Chemycum Britannicum; containing several Poetical pieces of our famous English Philosophers, who have written the Hermetick mysteries in their own ancient Language; faithfully collected into one Volume, with Annotations thereon: by the Indefatigable Industry of Elias Ashmole, Esq illustrated with Figures.  
54. The way to Bliss, in three Books, a very Learned Treatise of the Philosopher's Stone, made public by Elias Ashmole, Esq   

Excellent Treatises in the Mathematics, Geometry, of Arithmetic, Surveying, and other Arts, or Mechanics.  
55. The incomparable Treatise of Tactometria, seu Tetagmenometria; or the Geometry of Regulars, practically proposed after a new and most expeditious manner, together with the Natural or Vulgar, by way of mensural comparison, and in the Solids, not only in respect of Magnitude or Dimension, but also of Gravity or Ponderosity, according to any metal assigned: together with useful experiments of measures and weights, observations on gauging, useful for those that are practised in the art Metrical: by T. Wybard.  
56. Tectonicon, showing the exact measuring of all manner of Land, Squares, Timber, Stones, Steeples, Pillars, Globes; as also the making and use of the Carpenter's Rule, etc. fit to be known by all Surveyors, Land-meters, Joiner's, Carpenters, and Masons: by D. Diggs.  
57 The unparallelled work for ease and expedition, entitled, The exact Surveyor, or the whole art of surveying of Land, showing how to plot all manner of grounds, whether small enclosures, champain, plain, wood-lands, or mountains, by the plain-Table; as also how to find the Area, or content of any Land, to protect, reduce, or Divide the same; as also to take the plot or chart, to make a map of any manor, whether according to Rathburne, or any other eminent surveyors method; a Book excellently useful for those that sell, purchase, or are otherwise employed about Buildings: by I. Eyre.  
58. The Golden Treatise of Arithmetic, Natural and Artificial, or Decimals, the Theory and practise united in a simpathetical proportion betwixt Line and Numbers, in their Quantities and Qualities, as in respect of form, figure, magnitude and affection, demonstrated by Geometry, illustrated by Calculations, and confirmed with variety of examples in every Species; made compendious and easy for Merchants, Citizens, Seamen, Accomptants, etc. by Thomas Wilsford, corrector of the last Edition of Record.  
59▪ Semigraphy, or the art of shortwriting, as it hath been proved by many hundreds in the City of London, and other places by them practised, and acknowledged to be the easiest, exactest and swiftest method; the meanest capacity by the help of this Book, with a few hours practice may attain to a perfection in this Art: by I. Rich Author and teacher thereof, dwelling in Swithins-Lane in London.  
60. Milk for Children, a plain and easy method teaching to read and write, useful for Scools and Families: by I. Thomas D. D.  
61. The Painting of the ancients, the History of the beginning, progress, and consummating of the practice of that noble art of painting: by F. junius.   

Excellent and approved Treatises in Physic, Chirurgery, and other more familiar Experiments in Cookery, Preserving, etc.  
62. Culpeper's Semiatica Vranica, his Astrological Judgement of Diseases from the decumbiture of the sick much enlarged: the way and manner of finding out the cause, change and end of the Disease; also whether the sick be likely to live or die, and the time when Recovery or Death is to be expected, according to the judgement of Hypocrates and Hermes Trismegistus; to which is added Mr. Culpepers' censure of Urines.  
63. Culpepers' last Legacy left to his Wife for the public good, being the choicest and most profitable of those secrets in Physic and Chirurgery, which whilst he lived, were locked up in his breast, and resolved never to be published till after his death.  
64. The York shire Spa, or the virtue and use of that water in curing of desperate Diseases, with directions and Rules necessary to be considered by all that repair thither.  
65. Most approved Medicines and Remedies for the diseases in the body of man: by A. Read Doctor in Physic.  
66. The art of simpling, an Introduction to the knowledge of gathering of Plants, wherein the definitions, divisions, places, descriptions, differences, names, virtues, times of gathering, temperatures of them, are compendiously discoursed of: also a discovery of the lesser World: by W. Coles.  
67. Adam in Eden, or Nature's Paradise: the History of Plants, Herbs, and Flowers, with their several original names, the places where they grow, their descriptions and kinds, their times of flourishing and decreasing; as also their several signatures, anatomical appropriations, and particular physical virtues▪ with necessary observations on the seasons of planting and gathering of our English plants. A work admirable useful for Apothecaries, Surgeons, and other ingenious persons, who may in this Herbal find comprised all the English physical simples, that Gerard or Parkinson in their two voluminous Herbals have discoursed of; even so as to be on emergent occasions their own Physicians, the Ingredients being to be had in their own Fields and Gardens: published for the general good, by W. Coles M.D.  
68 The complete midwives practise in the high and weighty concernments of the body of mankind: the second Edition corrected and enlarged, with a full supply of such most useful and admirable secrets which Mr. Nicholas Culpeper in his brief Treatise, and other English Writers in the art of midwifery have hitherto wilfully passed by, kept close to themselves, or wholly omitted: by T. Chamberlain, M. P. illustrated with Copper Figures.  
69. The Queen's Closet opened, incomparable secrets in physic, chirurgery, preserving, candying, and cookery; as they were presented to the Queen by the mo●t experienced persons of our times; many whereof were honoured with her own practice.  
70. William Clows his Chirurgical Observations for those that are burned with the flames of Gunpowder, as also for the curing of wounds and lues venerea.  
71. The expert Doctors Dispensatory, the whole art of physic restored to practice, with a survey of most Dispensatories extant; a work for the plainness and method not to be paralleled by any, with a Preface of Mr. Nich. Culpepers to the Reader in its commendation: by P. Morellus, Physician to the King of France.  
72. The perfect Cook, a right method in the art of Cookery, whether for Pastry or A la mode Kickshaws, with 55. ways of dressing Eggs: by M. M.   

Elegant Treatises in Humanity, History, Description of Countries, Romances and Poetry.  
73. Time's Treasury or Academy, for the accomplishment of the English Gentry in arguments of Discourse, Habit, Fashion, Behaviour, etc. all summed up in characters of Honour: by R. Braithwair.  
74. Oedipus, or the Resolver of the secrets of Love and other natural problems, by way of Question and Answer.  
75. The admirable and most impartial History of New England, of the first plantation there in the year 1628. brought down to these times: all the material passages performed there, exactly related.  
76. America painted to the Life, the History of the Conquest, and first Original undertaking of the advancement of plantations in those parts, with an exact Map: by F. Gorges, Esq  
77. The tears of the Indians, the History of the most bloody and most cruel proceedings of the Spaniards in the Islands of Hispaniola, Cuba, jamaica, Mexico, Peru, and other places of the West-Indies; in which to the life are discovered the Tyrannies of the Spaniards, as also he justness of our War so successfully managed against them.  
78. The Illustrious Shepherdess. The Imperious Brother, written originally in S●anish by that incomparable Wit, Don john Perez de montalban's; translated at the requests of the Marchioness of Dorchester, and the Countess of Strafford: by E. P.  
79. The History of the golden Ass, as also the Loves of Cupid and his Mistress Psi●he: by L. Apuleius translated into English.  
80. The Unfortunate Mothe●, a Tragedy, by T.N.  
81. The Rebellion: a Comedy, by T. Rawlins.  
82. The Tragedy of Messalina the insatiate Rom●n Empress: by N. Richard's.  
8●. The Floating Island: A ●rage-Comedy acted before the King, by the Student of Christ-Church in Oxon. by that Renowned Wit W. Strode; the songs were set by M. Henry Laws.  
84. Harvey's Divine Poems, the History of Balaam, of jonah▪ and of St. john the Evangelist.  
85. Fons Lachrymarum, or a Fountain of tears; the Lamentations of the Prophet jeremiah in Verse, with an Elegy on Sir Charles Lucas: by I. Quarles.  
86. Nocturnal Lu●ubrations, with other witty Epigrams and Epitaphs: by R. Chamberlain.  
87. The admirable ingenious satire against Hypocrite.  
88 Wit Restored, in several select Poems, not formerly published, by Sir john Men●s and Mr. Smith, with others.  
89. Sportive Wit, the Muse's merriment, a new Spring of Drollery▪ Jovil F●ancie● etc.   

Poetical, with several other accurately ingenuous Treatises lately printed.  
90. Wit's Interpreter, the English Parnassus: or a sure Guide to those admirable accomplishments that complete the English Gentry, in the most acceptable Qualifications of discourse or writing. An art of Logic, accurate Compliments, Fancies, Devises, and Experiments, Poems, Poetical Fictions, and A la mode Letters: by I.C.  
91. Wit and Drollery with other Jovial Poems with new additions: by Sir I. M. M. L. M. S. W. D.  
92. The conveyance of Light, or the complete Clerk and Scrivener's guide; being an exact draught of all precedents and assurances now in use; as they were penned and perfected by divers Learned Judges, Eminent Lawyers, and great conveyancers, both ancient and modern: whereunto is added a Concordance from King Richard the Third to this present.  
93. Themis Aurea, the Laws of the Fraternity of the Rosy Cross; in which the occult secrets of their Philosophical Notions are brought to light: written by Count Mayerus. and now Englished by T. H.  
94. The Iron Rod put into the Lord Protectors hand; a Prophetical Treatise.  
95. Medicina Magica tamen Physica, magical but natural physic, containing the general cures of Infirmities and diseases belonging to the bodies of men, as also to other animals and domestic Creatures, by way of transplantation, with a description of the most excellent Cordial out of Gold: by Sam. Boulton of Salop.  
96. I. Tradescant's Rarities published by himself.  
97. The proceedings of the High Court of Justice against the late King Charles, with his speech upon the Scaffold and other proceedings, jan. 30. 1649.   

Admirable Useful Treatises newly printed.  
98. Nature's Secrets, or the admirable and wonderful History of the generation of meteors, describing the temperatures of the elements, the heights, magnitudes and influences of Stars, the causes of Comets, Earthquakes, Deluges, Epidemical Diseases, and prodigies of precedent times: with presages of the weather, and descriptions of the weatherglass: by T. Wilsford.  
99 The mysteries of Love & Eloquence, or the arts of Wooing and Complementing, as they are managed in the Spring-Garden, Hyde-park, the New Exchange, & other eminent places: A work in which is drawn to the life the Deportments of the most accomplished persons: the mode of their Courtly entertainments, treatment of their Ladies at Balls, their accustomed Sports, Drolls and Fancies, the Witchcrafts of their persuasive Language in their approaches, or other more secret dispatches, etc. by E.P.  
100 Helmont disguised, or the vulgar errors of impartial and unskilful practisers of physic confuted, more especially as they concern the Cures of Fevers, the Stone, the Plague, and some other Diseases by way of Dialogue, in which the chief Rarities of physic are admirably discoursed of: by I.T.   

Books in the Press and now printing.  
1. Geometry demonstrated by lines and numbers; from ●hence Astronomy, Cosmography and Navigation proved and delineated by the Doctrine of plain and spherical Triangles: by T. Wilsford.  
2. The English Annals, from the Invasion made by julius Caesar to these times: by T. Wilsford.  
3. The Fool transformed, a Comedy.  
4. The History of Lewis the eleventh King of France, a Tragicomedy.  
5. The chaste Woman against her will, a Comedy.  
6. The Tooth-drawer, a Comedy.  
7. Honour in the end, a Comedy.  
8. Tell-tale, a Comedy.  
9 The History of Donquixot, or the Knight of the ill-favoured face, a Comedy.  
10. the fair Spanish Captive, a Trage●comedy.  
11. Sir Kenelm Digby, and other Persons of Honour, their rare and incomparable secrets of Physic, Chirurgery, Cookery, Preserving, Conserving, Candying, distilling of Waters, extraction of Oils, compounding of the comeliest Perfumes, with other admirable inventions and select experiments, as they offered themselves to their observations, whether here or in foreign Country's.   

Books lately printed.  
12. The so well entertained work, the New World of English words, or a general Dictionary, containing the Terms, Etymologies, Definitions, and perfect Interpretations of the proper significations of hard English words, throughout the Arts and Sciences, Liberal or Mechanic; as also other subjects that are useful or appertain to the Language of our Nation: to which is added the signification of proper Names, Mythology and Poetical Fictions, Historical Relations, Geographical Descriptions of the Countries and Cities of the world, especially of these three Nations, wherein their chiefest Antiquities, Battles, and other most remarkable passages are mentioned: a work very necessary for strangers as well as our own Countrymen, for all persons that would rightly understand what they discourse or read: collected and published by E.P. for the greater honour of those learned Gentlemen and Artists that have been assistant in the most practical Sciences, their names are presented before the Book.  
13. The modern Assurancer, the Clerk's Directory, containing the practic part of the Law, in the exact forms and draughts of all manner of Precedents for Bargains and Sales, Grants, Feoffments, Bonds, Bills, Conditions, Covenants, Jointures, Indentures, to lead the uses of Fines and Recoveries, with good Provisoes and Covenants to stand seized; Charter-parties for Ships, Leases, Releases, Surrenders, etc. and all other Instruments and Assurances now in use, intended for all young Students and Practisers of the Law: by john Hern.  
14. Moor's Arithmetic, the second Edition, much refined and diligently cleared from the former mistakes of the press; a work containing the whole art of Arithmetic as well in numbers as species, together with many additions by the Author, is come forth.  
15. Likewise Exercitatio Eleiptica Nova, or a new mathematical Contemplation on the Oval Figure called an Eleipsis; together with the two first Books of Mydorgius his conics Analized and made so plain, that the Doctrine of Conical sections may be easily understood; a Work much desired and never before published in the English Tongue: by jonas Moor, Surveyor General of the great Level of the Fens.  
16. Naps upon Parnassus, a sleepy muse nipped and pinched though not awaked: such Voluntary and Jovial Copies of Verses as were lately received from some of the Wits of the Universities in a Frolic; Dedicated to Gondiberts' Mistress, by Captain jones and others. Whereunto is added for Demonstration of the Author's Prosaic Excellencies, his Epistle to one of the Universities, with the Answer; together with two Satirical Characters of his own, of a Temporizer, and an Antiquary, with marginal notes by a Friend to the Reader.  
17. Culpepers' School of Physic, or the Experimental practice of the whole Art, so reduced either into Aphorisms, or choice and tried Receipts, that the freeborn Students of the three Kingdoms may in this method find perfect ways for the operation of such medicines, so Astrologically and Physically prescribed, as that they may themselves be competent Judges of the Cures of their patients: by N.C.  
18. Blagrave's admirable Ephemerideses for the year 1659. and 1660.  
19 I. Cleaveland Revived, Poems, Orations, Epistles, and other of his Genuine incomparable pieces: a second impression with many additions.  
20. The Equisite Letters of Mr. Robert Loveday, the late admired Translator of the Volumes of the famed Romance Cleopatra, for the perpetuating his memory; published by his dear Brother, Mr. A.L.  
21. England's Worthies, Select Lives of 47. most Eminent persons from Constan●ine the Great to the late times: by W. Winstanley, Gent.  
22. The Accomplished Cook, the mystery of the whole Art of Cookery, revealed in a more easy and perfect method then hath been published in any Language; expert and ready ways for the dressing of Flesh, Fowl, and Fish, the raising of Pastes, the best directions for all manner of Kickshaws, and the most poignant Sauces, with the terms of carving and sewing: the Bills of Fare, and exact account of all dishes for the season, with other A la mode Curiosities, together with the lively Illustrations of such necessary figure's as are referred to practise: approved by the many years experience, and careful industry of Robert May, in the time of his attendance on several persons of Honour.  
23. The Scales of Commerce and Trade, the mystery revealed as to traffic with a Debtor or Creditor, for merchant's Accounts after the Italian way, and easiest method; as also a Treatise of Archirecture, and a computation as to all the charges of building: by T. Wilsford, Gent.  
24. Art's Masterpiece, or the beautifying part of physic; whereby all defects of Nature of both sexes are amended, age renewed, youth continued, and all imperfections fairly remedied: by B.T. Doctor of physic, fitted for the Ladies.  
25. A Discourse concerning Liberty of Conscience, in which are contained proposals about what liberty in this kind is now politically expedient to be given, and several reasons to show how much the peace and welfare is concerned therein: by R.T.  
26. Christian Reformation, being an earnest suasion to the speedy practice of it: proposed to all, but especially designed for the serious consideration of my dear Kindred and Countrymen of the Country of Cork in Irel. and the people of Riegate and Camerwel in the County of Surrey: by Richard Parr, Doctor in Divinity there, a practical piece.  
27. The Character of Spain, or an Epitome of their Virtues and Vices.  
28. The Character of Italy, or the Italian anatomised by an English Chirurgeon.  
29. The Character of France, to which is added Gallus castratus, or an Answer to a pamphlet called The character of England, as also a fresh Whip for the monsieur in answer to his Letter: the second Edit.  
30. No Necessity of Reformation of the public Doctrine of the Church of Engl. by I. Pearson D.D.  
31. An Answer to Dr. Burges' Word by way of postscript, in vindication of No Necessity of Reformation of the public Doctrine of the Church of England: by john Pearson D.D.  
32. A Treatise of peace between the two visible divided parties; wherein is inquired, What peace is intended, who the parties that differ, wherein the difference consists, how they fell out, wherein they ought to agree, how they may be persuaded unto peace, by what means reconciliation may be made between them.  
33. Dr. Daniel Featly Revived, proving that the Protestant Church, and not the Catholic, is the only visible and true Church; in a manual preserved from the hands of the plunderers, with a succinct History of his life and death: published by john Featly, Chaplain to the Kings most excellent Majesty.  
34. Scotch Covenant condemned, being a full answer to Mr. Douglas his Sermon, preached at the King's Coronation in Scotland, wherein His Sacred Majesty is vindicated: by a loyal and orthodox hand.  
35. England's Triumph, a more exact History of His Majesty's Escape after the Battle of Worcester, with a Chronological discourse of his Straits and Dangerous Adventures into France, and His Removes from place to place till His happy return into England, with the most Remarkable memorial till after his Coronation.  
36. Euclides Elements in 15. Books in English completed by Mr. Barrow of Cambridge.  
37. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, or God made Man. A Tract proving the Nativity of our Saviour to be on the 25. of December: by the Learned I. Selden.  
38. An Elenchus of Opinions concerning the Cure of the Small Pox: by T. Whitaker Physician to His Majesty.   
These are to give notice, that Sir Kenelm Digbies Sympathetical Powder prepared by Promethean fire, curing all green wounds that come within the compass of a Remedy; and likewise the toothache infallibly in a very short time: Is to be had at Mr. Nathanael Brooks at the Angel in Cornhill.  
The true and right Lozenges and Pectorals so generally known and approved, for the cure of Consumptions, Coughs, Asthmas, Colds in general, and all other Diseases incident to the Head, are rightly made only by john Piercy, Gent, the first Inventor of them; and whosoever maketh them besides do but counterfeit them, they are likewise to be sold by Mr. Nathanael Brook at the Angel in Cornhill.  
FINIS.