THE PAYNIMS SONGS. I. CANTON. Pan Paynims Fairies faire Lyre- Lute- Love-learned Laire Salutes the morn doth rise In Londons Virgin-Skies Triumph to triumph sing Now comes th' eternal Spring Hallu both Globes in harmony Now sings the Fixed Mercury. MAD Tom of England's come roars raves the world By JOVE shall be from its Syntaxis hurled Why what's the matter Tom Ile tear it too And reavingly the fatal web undo. But prithee why Tom Here's a staff Divine Some say 'tis Jacobs but they lie 'tis mine I ran to Top of Muse-Parnassus-Mount And vowed I would the Twinklers number count Ide measure Distances and Magnitudes too great All Three for Hercules I 'gan to beat And stamp my brain how I might climb it up At length I did by healths-Canary-Cup The Gentle-Crafts boon Boy me drank and There eccentrical I found each star each sphere They talked of music Nought but Discord I Had heard if there Ide stayed eternally Vow I let fly my Staff amongst the Stars Would teach 'em better manners move in Jars And down again I threw But by the way amid the Clouds I made a little stay Dread Heaven no wonder if the Springs be low All Clouds are empty wandring too and fro But ere I thither came little above Were Cometts called JOVE like t' have lost his Love I was so Fury scorched with blazing tails Scarce ought to cure me to this day avails My sign of Health and Happiness I took I mean my winding Amalt●aea's Crook I breathed a Blast and blew them all asunder Brave Tom the Clouds and Skies thou treadest under Live hear mad Tom B'e still I hear thee roar Live Tom I'll Queen thy madness evermore hark hark be still mad Tom Ay here's a Task Is hard indeed beyond the rest my Flask Where is't trow Come I'll prime my Pan again And fire it flamingly against thy Train cursed proserpina who thus dost whimse my brain Or else who is't I marle Kiss me dear Thome 'tis I most vengeance-throwing Majesty Lost Villains d'ye Pandoras Box call Mome Live sealed Treasure of conjured Sky Mistake me not rare soul I mean no harm do pande thy Box rear silence with a charm O now mine eyes are opened I can see It is my Love Minerva Queened me O rarest Rare strength of my staff and wind Of my minde-Horne repose the Myriad-minde Of friendless Tom No now I do remember My horn wants wind as mind a liquour member Thou Richest art the Wine my horn doth fill And chemists it into an Fagles Quill Third memorative Token now must Act His part Tom's of brave Trophies a Compact My Feather 'mong the Birds beneath the Clouds— Make Baby clouts always most gallant strouds They do admire and fear me both therefore Ile nothing else set on their Misery-score But up to some strange Stars again Ile fly And Peacock it with feathered Gallantry Game nere did I meet with my match till now Another War must try the Top sail bow I have almost forgot my feet so long I've stretched in th' air above my tawing Thong Come wee'l be sober This only to glad And make them honest who say Tom is mad How faire the Earth like one great Bower doth show Since April-shoure and May-beflowring due Her youthful Face hath washed Ile fetch a Range And rove it with a search But here O strange In mighty Lines the World's begird with change The Earth's-stand-stillers clearly now are lost Who doth not role it topsie-turvy-tost It turns so fast and that so strangely too. Tis hard fit one to tread upon't a shoe Much less its self to walk your mind unto If Limner can in colours darkness shade Or Merchant in the Doctors new world trade If Needle man can svit the Moon with Breeches Or Padua make Physitians of Leeches Then I will certainly tell how things be In Porpus-earth while you may go and see Dear how I love it How the Fates be kind To make the versall world of just Toms mind I know no better way then sailors Vize Out at the Ocean roused with basting Skies Winde-veez my Boat be sure I look to water And when the Scold hath done Ile tell the matter Thanks to Thee Englands Neptune calm'st the Seas Thanks to Thee Englands Mars makest Fields to cease From streaming Milk so crimson read to white From lugging Thunder to the whistle-delight Now I must presently go to't For all foul weather's shift and friend to friend doth call As times come right so I become a Man Of a right mind And list ye who Tis Pan Take horn and Feather who will But if none please To give themselves a little panic ease Ile keep them somewhere till I find whose wit They may seem best comport and Cucco-fit And now repentance comes with mind Oh me That I at very first in Print should be Such an Huge what ye will And that I should fright people with a frantic Chat Of pulling down the Poles breaking their Axes Undoing Fate itself with worlds Syntaxis Thwacking the stars thumping the Clouds away They might no longer in Horizon stay In truth I think do what I can for life I am already too much Ball'd for strife The worst I fear is 'tother extreme So run Folk of my length while they Charibdis shun Rather then so tis sure I would return And in Toms old heroic fires new burn Methink th' affecting to be silly sheep Doth oddly Metamorphize men to creep Int holes as 'twere And aiming to be wise Before the time of wit naturalise Themselves to fools and ill-bestowing time Make House fired Peals before they know to chime I am a Philo-musick man and yet How vexed have been mine ears with Clapper-fret Well this most deeply now at last revolved I do engage to be Center-resolved Not yet to part with Horn nor Plume for why They may perchance me second-boontify Mean while I make a Vow to note my Muse Live Jovially retired Pastime't with News All news is but a Sport to me I feed On life-full love when Milky lilies bleed I will redeem my silent hours with HER Who is my heavenly MISTRIS Thunderer The Stage is but a poor disguise nought there Is really, Things only do appear May they be public who premeditate To press into a Mill-stone-patience-Gate Crowns at my feet I'll toss they are but play Such mighty Trifles none of mine Array But that which doth as much out-shine their glory As Plato's height Divine Tom Coriats Story What Misty animals be men so low to poor On things Ten thousand miles this side the door That leads into the restfull life unknown Unsought a Virgin lost to all her own. Most silver Dian nere art old MISTRIS of mine Adventures bold Tis at thy most resplendent Shrine I prostrate both myself and mine Next under thee the rural Pan To Virgins-Metro-politan Sends kissing these his Maiden-Rowles His Virgin-Muse of Virgins Trowles ye living Graves of love Divine Have me Intoomh'd before your Eyne Ere kenn'd me yours nor shall you know Where these inspired Streams do flow Tall I have often shot my Bow. The end of the first Canton.