The Rhymers new Trimming.  
To the tune of, In Summer time.  
 

A Rhymer of late in a Barber's shop,  
sat by for a trimming, to take his lot:  
Being minded with mirth until his turn came,  
to drive away the time, he thus began.   

You barbarous Shavers' that nimbly trim  
with Sissors & Razor, and handling the Comb:  
Your rubbing, your brushing, your Ball, & Basin,  
displays your fining of each one in fashion.   

You are no Pillars, but poulers i'th' state,  
and still are shaving for what you can scrape:  
By excremental Fees you purchase Pelf,  
and wash from others; but keep to yourself.   

Your abusive Balls you clap in our eyes,  
making us wink whilst you make up your prize  
With bobbing our Lips, & pullings by the Nose,  
and after to slap us i'th' mouth with your .   

With your Liquor so hot, you often do scald,  
& oft to your hands comes Crowns that are bald:  
The more that you clip them, the thinner they are,  
and 'tis for your profit they lose their Hair.   

You frizzell, you currell your long Hair & Locks  
turns up their Moutchatoes, snifled with Pox:  
Rub them with Muskball, & sprinkle Rose-water  
the snap of your Finger then follows after.   

Your pulling out Teeth, or stopping the hollow,  
your skill to cease pain, being but shallow,  
Making show of a cure with a Mastic plaster,  
they from your chair rising, a leg they scrape after   

Having thus passed their time in prating,  
the Chair became empty, he his turn taking:  
To be trimmed, into what fashion or cut  
(quoth the Barber) will it please you to be put?   

Good friend (quoth he) I would be known,  
for knowledge is my living, now let be shown:  
Thy cunning in shaving so of my Face,  
that a blush may not stain it to my disgrace.   

For such company I come in that will try,  
it they can stain it with Vermilion die:  
Or dash me out of countenance by action:  
wherefore put me in the most shameless fashion.   

Fear it not then good sir, (quoth the Barber:)  
Boy give me hither a Ball that will larther,  
And pound those precious gums so dusty;  
pointing to small Coal in a Pan all rusty.   

The Boy strait about his business hies.  
Now sir, says the Barber, keep close your eyes  
For this Ball will prove somewhat tart,  
and 'twill disquiet you much to feel them smart.   

Quickly Boy, bring my varnishing Ball.  
Hear sir, and gives him the Coals beaten small  
Which over his Face he dusteth full thick,  
and rubs him with Soap, the better to stick.   

Being about his business: sir (quoth the Barber,)  
this Ball doth well scour, and ease my labour:  
And though here needs no drying with clothes,  
yet I must be familiar to pull you by the Nose.   

Having done his exploit, made a great smoke,  
and under the Chair set; being ready to choke:  
The Rhymer up rose, and forth of doors fling,  
they snatching off the Clothes on him that hung.   

And being gone out bedawbed and smeared,  
the people shouted, Boys on him stared:  
He wondering at their laughing, thought his favour  
was very pleasing, that moved such laughter.   

And seeing the Smoke ceased, went back again,  
with troops following at his heels amain:  
The door was shut, but at the Window a Glass  
was set of purpose to show him his Face.   

Which he perceiving, did swear and rave,  
quo'th Barber, you are trimmed like a rhyming knave  
Your quality is awdacious and base:  
now you having got a Vizard for your Face.   

Where next you are trimmeth, be not too bold,  
with scalding, and scraping; now your are pould:  
Lest they noch your noddle, & spoil your rhyming:  
and so much good do you with your trimming.   
FINIS.   

Imprinted at London for T. Langley.   

A pleasant Song, made by a Soldier, whose bringing up had been dainty, ●nd partly fed by those affections of his unbridled youth, is now beaten with his own rod, and therefore termeth this his repentance, the fall of his folly.  
To the tune of Calino.  
 

IN Summer time when Phoebus' rays,  
Did cheer each mortal man's delight,  
Increasing of the cheerful days,  
and cutting off the darksome night.  
When Nature brought forth every thing,  
By just return of April showers:  
To make the pleasant branches spring,  
of sundry sorts of herbs and flowers.   

It was my chance to walk abroad.  
To view Dame Nature's newcome breed:  
The pretty Birds did lay on load,  
with sugared tunes in every wood.  
The gallant Nightingale did set,  
Her speckled breast against a Briar,  
Whose woeful tunes bewails as yet,  
her brother Tereus foul desire.   

The Serpents having cast their coats,  
Lay listening how the Birds did sing:  
The pretty birds with sugared notes,  
did welcome in the pleasant Spring:  
I drew me to the Gréenewood side,  
To hear this country harmony,  
Whereas ere long I had espied,  
a woeful man in misery.   

He lay along upon the ground,  
And to the heavens he cast his eye:  
The bordering hills and dales resound,  
the Echoes of his piteous cry.  
He wailing sore, and sighing, said,  
O heaven, what endless grief have I?  
Why are my sorrows thus delayed?  
come therefore death and let me die.   

When Nature first had made my frame,  
And let me lose when she had done:  
Steps Fortune in that fickle Dame,  
to end what Nature had begun,  
She set me soft upon her knee,  
And blast my tender age with store;  
But in the end she did agree,  
to mar what she had done before.   

I could no sooner creep alone,  
But she forsook her fostered child,  
I had no land to live upon.  
but ●●●c'd abroad the world so wild.  
At length I fell in company,  
With gallant youths of Mars his train,  
I spent my life in jeopardy,  
and got my labour for my pain.   

I wat●●●d on the sieged walls,  
In thunder, lightning, rain, and snow,  
And oft in shot of powdered halls,  
whose costly marks are yet to show,  
When all my kindred took their rest,  
At home in many a slately bed:  
The ground and pavement was my nest,  
my Flask a pillow for my head.   

My meat was such as I could find,  
As Roots and Herbs of sundry sorts:  
Which did content my hungry mind,  
although my commons were but short,  
My powder served to salt my meat,  
My murrain for a gilded cup,  
Wherein such drink as I could get,  
in sprin●●r ditch, I drank it up.   

My Rapier always by my side.  
My piece lay charged with match alight,  
Thus many a month I did abide,  
to ward all day, and watch all night,  
I lived in this glorious vain,  
Until my limbs were stiff and lame:  
And then I got me home again,  
regarding not such costly fame.   

When I came home, I made a proof  
What friends would do if need should be,  
My nearest kins folks looked aloof,  
as though they had forgotten me.  
And as the Owls by chattering charms,  
Is wondered at of other Birds,  
So came they wondering at my harms,  
and yield me no relief but words.   

Thus do I want when they have store,  
That am their equal every way:  
But fortune lent them somewhat more,  
else had I been as good as they.  
Come gentle Death and end my grief,  
Ye pretty Birds ring forth my knell:  
Let Robin red breast be the chief,  
to bury me, andd so farewell.   

Let no good Soldier be dismayed,  
To fight in field with courage bold.  
Yet mark the words that I have said,  
trust not to friends when thou art old.   
FINIS.   

Printed at London for john Wright.