The Mad Man's Morris; or,  

A warning for youngmen to have a care,  
How they in Love entangled are:  
Wherein by experience you shall find,  
His trouble and grief with discontent of mind.   
To a pleasant new Tune.  
 

Herded you not lately of a Man,  
that went besides his Wits,  
And naked through the Streets he ran,  
wrapped in his frantic fits?  
My honest Neighbours, it is I,  
hark how the People flout me,  
See where the mad man comes they cry,  
with all the Boys about me,  
Into a Pond stack naked I ran,  
and cast away my  Sir,  
Without the help of any man,  
made shift to get away Sir,  
How I got out I have forgot,  
I do not well remember,  
Or whether it was cold or hot,  
in June or in December.   

Tom Bedlam's but a sage to me,  
I speak in sober sadness,  
For more strange visions do I see,  
than he in all his madness;  
When first to me this chance befell,  
about the Market walked I,  
With Capon's feathers in my Cap,  
and to myself thus talked I:  
Did you not see my Love of late,  
like Titan in her glory?  
Did you not know she was my mate,  
and I must write her story?  
With Pen of Gold on Silver Leaf,  
I will so much befriend her,  
For why I am of that belief,  
none can so well commend her.   

Saw you not Angels in her eyes,  
whilst that she was a speaking?  
Smelled you not smells like Paradise,  
between two rubies breaking,  
Is not her hair more pure than gold,  
of finest Spiders spinning:  
Methinks in her I do behold,  
my joys and woes beginning.   

Is not a dimple in her Cheek  
each eye a star that's starting  
Is not all graces installed in her,  
each step all joys imparting:  
Methinks I see her in a cloud,  
with graces round about her;  
To them I call and cry aloud,  
I cannot live without her.   

Then raging towards the sky I rove  
thinking to catch her hand,  
O then to jove I call and cry,  
to let her by me stand;  
I look behind and there I saw  
my shadow me beguile,  
I wish she were as near to me,  
which makes my Worship smile.   

There is no creature can compare,  
with my beloved Nancy,  
Thus I built Castles in the Air,  
this is the fruit of fancy:  
My thoughts mount high above the sky,  
of none I stand in awe,  
Although my body here doth lie,  
upon a Pad of Straw.   

I was as good a harmless youth,  
before base Cupid caught me;  
Or his own Mother with her charms  
into this case hath brought me:  
Stripped and whipped now must I be,  
in Bedlam bound in chains  
Good People now you all may see  
what love hath for his pains.   

When I was young as others are,  
with Gallants did I flourish,  
O then I was the properest Lad,  
that was in all the Parish:  
The Bracelet which I used to wear,  
about my arms so tender,  
Are turned into iron plates  
about my body slender.   

My silken suits do now decay  
my cups of gold are vanished:  
And all my friends do wear away,  
as I from them were banished:  
My silver cups are turned to earth  
i'm jeered of every Clown:  
I was a better man by birth,  
till fortune cast me down.   

I am out of frame and temper too,  
though I am somewhat cheerful,  
O this can love and fancy do,  
if that you be not careful:  
O set a Watch before your eyes,  
lest they betray your heart:  
And make you slaves to vanities,  
to act a mad man's part.   

Declare this to each Mother's Son  
unto each honest Lad:  
Let them not do as I have done,  
lest they like me grow mad:  
If Cupid strike, be sure of this,  
let reason rule affection,  
So shall thou never do amiss,  
by reasons good direction.   

I have no more to say to you,  
my keepers now doth chide me,  
Now must I bid you all adieu,  
God knows what will betid me;  
To picking straws now must I go,  
my time in Bedlam spending,  
Good folks you your beginning know,  
but do not know your ending.    

Printed by and for A. M. and sold by the Booksellers of London.