Clievelandi Vindiciæ, or, Clieveland's genuine poems, orations, epistles, &c. purged from the many false and spurious ones which had usurped his name, and from innumerable errours and corruptions in the true copies : to which are added many never printed before, with an account of the author's life.

Square-Cap.

COme hither Apollo's Bouncing Girl, And in a whole Hippocrene of Sherry Let's drink a round till our Brains do whirl, Tuning our Pipes to make our selves merry; A Cambridge-Lass, Venus-like, born of the Froth Of an old half fill'd Jug of Barly-Broth, She, she is my Mistress, her Suitors are many, But she'll have a Square-Cap, if e'r she have any.

And first, for the Plush-sake, the Monmouth-Cap comes Shaking his Head, like an empty Bottle, With his new-fangled Oath by Iupiter's Thumbs, That to her Health he'll begin a pottle: He tells her, that after the Death of her Grannam She shall have God knows what per Annum. But still she replied, Good Sir La-bee, If ever I have a Man Square-Cap for me.

Then Calot Leather-Cap strongly pleads And fain would derive his Pedigree of fashion. The Antipodes were their Shoes on their Heads, And why may not we in their Imitation: Oh! how the Foot-ball noddle would please, If it were but well toss'd on Sir Thomas his Lees: But still she replied Good Sir La-bee If ever I have a Man, Square-Cap for me.

Next comes the Puritan in a Wrought-Cap, With a long-wasted Conscience towards a Sister, And making a Chappel of Ease of her Lap; First he said Grace, and then he kiss'd her: Beloved, quoth he, thou art my Text; Then falls he to use and Application next, But then she replied your Text Sir I'll be; For then I'm sure you'l ne'r handle me.

But see where Sattin-Cap scouts about, And fain would this Wench in his Fellowship marry, He told her how such a Man was not put out, Because his Wedding he closely did carry, He'll purchase Induction by Simony, And offers her Money her Incumbent to be, But still she replied, Good Sir La-bee, If ever, I have a Man Square-Cap for me.

The Lawyer's a Sophister by his Round Cap, Nor in their Fallacies are they divided, The one Milks the Pocket, the other the Tap, And yet this Wench he fain would have Brided: Come leave these thred-bare Scholars, quoth he, And give me Livery and Seisin of thee. But peace Iohn-a Nokes, and leave your Oration, For I never will be your Impropriation: I pray you therefore, Good Sir La-bee; For if ever I have a Man, Square-Cap for me.