Recreation for ingenious head-peeces, or, A pleasant grove for their wits to walk in of epigrams 700, epitaphs 200, fancies a number, fantasticks abundance : with their addition, multiplication, and division.

FANCIES AND Fantasticks.

[illustration] maze

Time that all things doth inheritt Renders each desert his meritt, Youth with youth is best combined, Each one with his like is twined, Bewty should have bewteous meaning, Ever that hope easeth playning, Doe so and to love be turning El's each ♡ it will be burning Learne to love & leave denying, Endles knotts let fates be tying, Such a face so fine a feature, Kindest, fairest, sweetest creature, Never yet was found but loving, O then let my plaints be moving, I love not with vowes contesting, Faith is faith without protesting,

Aenigma.

AS often as I please it changeth forme, It is no Coward, though it doe no harme; 'Tis never hurt, nor ever doth it seed; 'Tis nothing worth, yet nothing doth it need. Swiftly it runs, yet never maketh sound, And once being lost, again 'tis never found. 'Tis a fit Servant for a Gentleman, And a true pattern for a Serving-man. 'Tis born a Gyant, lives a Dwarfe, and nigh Unto its death, a Gyant doth it dye.

Another on the six Cases.

No. Nanta was nominated for a W. Gen. For she that had been Genitive before: Da. Notice hereof was to the Iustice given, Acc. Who her accu'sd, that she had loosly liven. Voc. But she cry'd mercy, and her fault up ript, Abl. And so was ta'n away and soundly whipt. Her Case was ill; yet will the question be, Being thus declin'd, in what a Case was she

If V 2 I, as I 2 V am true, V^I must lye, and

[illustration] I in V

Thoughts — c Searching c Valued may B Love — may B

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Truth never ties Too A foole yy

If

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have part

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And

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V bb

Y'ave 1.2. many then I. C. And R not worth Write QQ I'le — not yours VV

A Riddle.

A begger once exceeding poore, A penny pray'd me give him, And deeply vow'd ne'r to ask more And I ne'r more to give him, Next day he begg'd again, I gave, Yet both of us our Oaths did save.

Another.

There was a man bespake a thing, Which when the owner home did bring, He that made it, did refuse it, He that bought it, would not use it; He that hath it doth not know Whether he hath it, yea or no.

Another.

One evening, as cold, as cold might be, With Frost and Snow, and pinching weather, Companions about three times three, Lay close all in a bed together; Yet one after other they took heat, And dy'd that night all in a sweat.

[illustration] maze

THIS is love and worth commending,Still beginning never ending,Like a wilie net insnaringIn a round shuts up all squaring.In and out, whose everie angleMore and more doth still intangle.Keeps a measure still in moving,And is never light but lovingeTwyning armes exchanging kisses,Each partaking others blisses.Laughing weepinge still togeatherBlisse in one is myrth in either.Never breaking ever bending,This is love & worth commending.

A doubtfull meaning.

The Faeminine kind is counted ill: And is I swear: The contrary; No man can find: That hurt they will; But every where: Doe show pity; To no kind heart: They will be curst; To all true friends: They will be trusty; In no part: They work the worst; With tongue and mind: But honesty; They doe detest: Inconstancy; They doe embrace: Honest intent; They like least: Lewd fantasie; In every case: Are penitent; At no season: Doing amisse; To it truly: Contrary; To all reason: Subject and meek; To no body: Malicious; To friend or foe: Or gentle sort; They be never: Doing amisse; In weale and woe: Of like report; They be ever: Be sure of this; The Faeminine kind: Shall have my heart; Nothing at all: False they will be; In word and mind: To suffer smart; And ever shall: Believe you me.

2 A

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goe That

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doth That's rul'd by 1. whose

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sayes no: I'le try ere trust ward left my

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Find slight regard.

The

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a

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whilst I

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2 Lovers

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That gazed me. There was nor

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nor loathsome

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That might disturb or break delight, Nor

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nor

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in that same road, And yet to me they seem'd affright. Then favour them I told, True love cannot be bold.

These may be read two or three wayes.

Your face	Your tongue	your wit
so faire	so smooth	so sharp
first drew	then mov'd	then knit
mine eye	mine eare	my heart
Mine eye	Mine eare	My heart
thus drawn	thus mov'd	thus knit
••ffects	hangs on	yeelds to
Your face	Your tongue	your wit

These may be read backward or forward.

Joy, Mirth, Triumphs, I doe defie, Destroy me Death; fain would I dye: Forlorn am I, love is exil'd, Scorn smiles thereat; hope is beguild: Men banish'd blisse, in woe must dwell, Then Joy, Mirth, Triumphs all farewell.

[illustration] maze

TRUE love is a pretious pleasure,Rich delight unvalu'd treasure,Two firme Heartes in one ♡ meeting,Grasping hand in hand ne'r fleeting,Wreathlike like a maze entwineingTwo faire mindes in one combineing;Foe to faithless vowes perfidiousTrue love is a knott religious,Dead to the sinnes y^t flameing riseThrough beauties soule seduceing eyes,Deafe to gold enchaunting witches,Love for vertue not for riches;Such is true loves boundles measure.True love is a pretious pleasure.

Est aliis servire tenetur Iure qui sum servire necesse est Iure tibi me Te nulli cunctos aut are videris Qui cunctos hos laude aut fero cunctis.

Thus Englished.

-ling is bound to serve his Mris. hands An- you & bound to do your high cōmands I'm None's you you all are then I'll praise you other men.

A New years Gift.

That our loves may never alter, Tye it fast with this strong Halter.

The Answer.

The Rope is old, the Jest is new, I'll take the Jest, the Rope take you.

A Gentleman to his Love.

Tell her I love; and if she ask how well; Tell her my tongue told thee no tongue can tell.

Her Answer.

Say not you love, unlesse you do, For lying will not honour you.

His Reply.

Madam, I love, and love to doe, And will not lye, unless with you.

To his Mistresse.

A constant heart within a womans breast, Is Ophir gold within an Ivory Chest.

Her answer.

Of such a Treasure then thou art possest, For thou hast such a heart in such a Ghest.

On Chloris walking in the Snow.

I saw fair Chloris walk alone, When feather'd rain came softly down, Then Iove descended from his Tower, To court her in a silver shower: The wanton Snow flew to her brest, Like little birds into their nest; But overcome with whitenes there For grief it thaw'd into a teare; Then falling down her garment hem, To deck her, froze into a gem.

Vpon Clarinda, begging a lock of her Lovers hair.

Fairest Clarinda, she whom truth calls faire, Begg'd my heart of me, and a lock of haire; Should I give both, said I, how should I live? The lock I would, the heart I would not give: For that, left theeving love should steal away, Discretion had lock'd up, and kept the key; As for the lock of hair which lovers use, My head laid on her knee, I pray'd her chuse, Taking her Sizars by a cunning art, First pick'd the lock, and then she stole my heart.

[illustration] maze

A ✚ begins love's criss cross row.Love's not w^thout a cross or two.A duble ✚ begins this knotLove w^thout crosses meritts not,This knot & love are both alike.Seeing first & last are both to seekReaching, spreading, round about,All wayes turning in & outStill increasing still renewingCrossing meeting still continuingWinding this way that way bendingW^thout beginning without endingTrue love's stirring still in actionAllways tending to perfectionNo cross can stop true loves intentBut it goes on to what it mentAnd though it meet w^th many a one,True love makes a ✚ seeme nonTo those y^t never love but oneLove of manys true loves baneAnd such shall be cross'd & cross'd againewho lives to love must learne to knowA ✚ begins loves criss cross-row.

A Loving Bargain.

Give me a kisse, I'll make that odde one even, Then treble that which you have given; Be sure I'l answer you, and if I misse, Then take a thousand forfeits for a kisse, And a thousand be too few, than take more: Kisse me with your kisses, make me poore: When I am begger'd some hope will remain, You will for pity give me some again.

A Question.

Between two Suiters sat a Lady faire, Upon her head a Garland she did wear: And of the enamoured two, the first alone, A Garland wore like hers, the second none; From her own head she took the wreath she wore, And on him plac'd it that had none before. And then mark this, their brows were both about Beset with Garlands, and she sate without: Beholding now these Rivalls on each side Of her thus plac'd and deck'd with equall pride: She from the first mans head the wreath he had Took off, and therewith her own brow she clad. And then (not this) she and the second were With Garlands deck'd; and the first man sate bare.

Now which did she love best? of him to whom She gave the wreath? or him she took it from?

The Answer.

In my conceit, she would him soonest have, From whom she took, not him to whom she gave. For to bestow, many respects may move: But to receive, none can perswade but love. Shee grac'd him much on whom the wreath shee plac'd; But him whose wreath she wore, she much more grac'd. For where she gives, she there a servant makes, But makes her selfe a servant where she takes. Then where she takes, she honours most: & where She doth most honour, she most love doth bear.

An incomparable kisse.

Give me a Kisse from those sweet lips of thine, And make it double by enjoyning mine, Another yet, nay yet another, And let the first Kisse be the seconds brother. Give me a thousand kisses, and yet more; And then repeat those that have gone before; Let us begin while day-light springs in heav'n And kisse till night descends into the Ev'n,

And when that modest Secretary, Night, Discolours all but thy heav'n-beaming bright, We will begin Revels of hidden love, In that sweet Orbe where silent pleasures move. In high, new strains, unspeakable delight, We'll vent the dull houres of the silent night. Were the brigh•• day no more to visit us, O then for ever would I hold thee thus; Naked, inchain'd, empty of idle feare, As the first Lovers in the Garden were. I'll dye betwixt thy breasts that are so whi••••, For, to dye there, would doe a man delight. Embrace me still, for time runs on before, And being dead we shall embrace no more. Let us kisse faster then the hours doe flye, Long live each kisse, and never know to dye. Yet if that fade, and fly away too fast, Impresse another, and renew the last; Let us vie kisses, till our eye-lids cover, And if I sleep, count me an idle Lover, Admit I sleep, I'll still pursue the Theam, And eagerly I'l kisse thee in a dream. O give me way; grant love to me thy friend, Did hundred thousand sui••ers all contend For thy Virginity, there's none shall woe With heart so firm as mine; none better do Then I with your sweet sweetnesse; if you doubt, Pier•••• with your eyes my heart, or pluck it out.

To his Mistresse.

Dearest, thy twin'd haires are not threds of gold, Nor thine eyes Diamonds; nor doe I hold Thy lips for Rubies, nor thy cheeks to be Fresh Roses; nor thy Dugs of Ivory; The skin that doth thy dainty body sheath, Not ••lablaster is; nor dost thou breath Arabian odours; these the earth brings forth, Compar'd with thine, they would impair thy worth; Such then are other mistresses; but mine▪ Hath nothing earth, but all divine.

The Answer.

If earth doth never change, nor move, There's nought of earth sure in thy love; Sith heavenly bodies with each one, Concur in generation; And wanting gravity are light, Or in a borrowed lustre bright; If meteors and each falling starre, Of heavenly matter framed are, Earth hath thy Mistresse, but sure thine All heavenly is, though not divine.

To his Mistresse.

I love, because it comes to me by kind; And much, because it much delights my mind: And thee, because thou art within my heart: And thee alone, because of thy desert. I love, and much, and thee, and thee alone, By kind, mind, heart, and every one.

Her answer.

Thou lov'st not, because thou art unkind, Nor much, cause it delighteth not thy mind: Nor me, because I am not in thy heart: Nor me alone, because I want desert: Thou lov'st nor much, nor me, nor me alone, By kind, mind, heart, desert, nor any one.

Clownish Courtship.

Excellent Mistresse, brighter than the Moon, Then scoured Pewter, or the Silver-spoon, Fairer then Phaebus, or the morning starre; Dainty faire Mistresse, by my troth you are As far excelling Dian and her Nymphs, As lobsters crawfish, and as crawfish shrimps: Thine eyes like Diamonds, doe shine most clearly, As I'm an honest Man, I love thee dearly.

A Comparison.

Like to the selfe-inhabiting snaile, Or like a Squirrell pent-hous'd under his taile, Even such is my Mistresse face in a vaile: Or like to a Carp that's lost in mudding, Nay, more like to a black-pudding: For as the pudding, the skin lies within, So doth my Mistresse beauty in a taffity gin.

A Question.

Tell me (Sweet-heart) how spell'st thou Ione, Tell me but that, 'tis all I crave; I shall not need to be alone, If such a lovely mate I have; That thou art one, who can deny? And all will grant that I am I, If I be I, and thou art one, Tell me (Sweet-heart) how spell'st thou Ione.

The Answer.

I tell you Sir, and tell you true, That I am I, and I am one, So can I spell Ione without you, And spelling so, can lye alone:

My eye to one is consonant, But as for yours it is not so; If that your eye agreement want, I to your eye must answer no; Therefore leave off your loving plea, And let your I be I per se.

Loves prime.

Dear Love, doe not your fair beauty wrong With thinking still you are too young, The Rose and Lilly in your cheek Doe flourish, and no ripening seek: Those flaming beams shot from your eye, Doe show Loves Midsumer is nigh. Your cherry-lip, red, soft and sweet, Proclaim such fruit for tast is meet: Then lose no time, for love hath wings, And flies away from aged things.

Another to his Mistresse.

When first I saw thee, thou didst sweetly play The gentle thief, and stol'st my heart away; Render me mine again, or leave thy owne, Two are too much for thee, since I have none: But if thou wilt not, I will swear thou art A sweet-fac'd creature with a double heart.

Another.

Sweetest fair be not too cruell, Blot not beauty with disdain, Let not those bright eyes adde fewell To a burning heart in vain; Lest men justly when I dye, Deem you the Candle, me the Flye.

Another.

I cannot pray you in a studyed stile, Nor speak words distant from my heart a mile; I cannot visit Hide-Park every day, And with a Hackney court my time away; I cannot spaniolize it week by week, Or wait a month to kisse your hand or cheek; If when you'r lov'd, you cannot love again, Why, doe but say so, I am out of pain.

Excuse for absence.

You'll ask perhaps wherefore I stay, (Loving so much,) so long away? I doe not think 'twas I did part, It was my body, not my heart:

For like a Compasse in your love, One foot was fixt, and cannot move; Th'other may follow the blind guide Of giddy fortune, but cannot slide Beyond your service; nor will venter To wander far from you the Center.

To a faire, but unkind Mistresse.

I prethee turn that face away, Whose splendor bu•• benight•• my day; Sad eyes like mine, and wounded hearts, Shun the bright rayes that beauty darts; Unwelcome is the Sun tha•• prie•• Into those shades where sorrow lyes. Goe shine on happy things, to me The blessing is a misery; For your bright Sun, not warms, but burns; Like that the Indian sooty turnes. I'l serve the night, and there confin'd, Wish thee lesse fair; or else more kind.

To himselfe.

Retreat sad heart, breed not thy further pain; Admire, but fonder thoughts seek to refrain.

To some Ladies.

Ladies, you that seem so nice, And in show as cold as ice, And perhaps have held out thrice, Doe not think, but in a trice, One or other may entice; And at last by some device, Set your honour at a price.

You whose smooth and dainty skin, Rosie lips, or cheeks, or chin, All that gaze upon you win, Yet insult not, sparks within Slowly burn e'r flames begin, And presumption still hath bin Held a most notorious sin.

A Heart lost.

Good folk, for love or hire, But help me to a Cryer, For my poor heart is gone astray After two eyes that went that way. O yes! if there be any man In Town or Country, can Bring me my heart again, I'll pay him for his pain.

And by these marks I will you show, That onely I this heart doe ow: It is a wounded heart, Wherein yet flick•• the dart, Every part sore hurt throughout: Faith and troth writ round about. It is a tame heart and a deare, That never us'd to roame, But having got a haunt, I feare Will never stay at home, For love-sake walking by this way, If you this heart doe see; Either impound it for a stray, Or send it home to me.

The sad Lover.

Why should I wrong my judgement so, As for to love where I doe know There is no hold for to be taken?

For what her wish thirsts after most, If once of it her heart can boast, Straight by her folly 'tis forsaken.

Thus whilst I still pursue in vaine, Me thinks I turn a child again, And of my shadow am a chasing.

For all her favours are to me Like appari••ions which I see, But never can come near th'••bracing.

Oft had I wish'd that there had been Some Almanack whereby to have seen When love with her had been in season.

But I perceive there is no art Can find the Epact of the heart, That loves by chance, and not by reason.

Yet will I not for this despaire, For time her humor may prepare To grace him who is now neglected.

And what unto my constancy Shee now denies: one day may be From her instancy expected.

A Watch sent to a Gentlewoman.

Goe and count her happy hours, They more happy are than ours: That day that gets her any blisse, Make it twice as long as 'tis: The houre she smiles in, let it be By thine art increas'd to thee:

But if she frown on thee or mee, Know night is made, by her, not thee: Be swif•• in such an hour, and soon Make it night, though it be noon: Obey her time, who is the free, Fair Sun that governs thee and me.

On a Fairing.

Let them whose hear•• distrusts a Mistresse faith, Bribe it with gifts: mine no suspition hath: It were a sin of as much staine in me, To think you false, as so my selfe to be. If to reward that thou hast exprest, Thou dost expect a present: 'tis confest 'Twere justice from another, but I am So poor; I have not left my self a name In substance; not made thine by gift before: He that bestowes his heart, can give no more If thou wouldst have a fairing from me, then Give me my self back, I'll give it thee agen.

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Posies for Rings.

Wee are agreed In time to speed.

I trust in time Thou wilt be mine.

In thy breast My heart doth rest.

This and the giver Are thine for ever.

Tis love alone Makes two but one.

Loves knot once tyde Who can divide?

Where hearts agree No strife can be.

God above Increase our love.

Though time doe slide, Yet in true love abide.

Nought so sweet, As when we greet.

Thy affection, My perfection.

With a

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to Julia.

Iulia, I bring To thee this Ring, Made for thy finger fit; To shew by this, That our love is Or sho'd be, like to it.

Close though it be, Thy joynt is free: So when lov's yoke is on It must not gall, Or fret at all With hard oppression.

But it must play Still either way; And be, too, such a yoke, As not too wide, To over-slide; Or be so strait to choak.

So we, who beare, This beam, must reare Our selves to such a height: As that the stay Of either may Create the burden light.

And as this round Is no where found To flaw or else to sever: So let our love As endlesse prove; And pure as Gold for ever.

True beauty.

May I finde a woman faire, And her mind as clear as air; If her beauty gone alone, 'Tis to me, as if 'twere none.

May I find a woman rich, And not of too high a pitch: If that pride should cause disdain, Tell me, Lover, where's thy gain?

May I find a woman wise, And her falshood not disguise; Hath she wit, as she hath will? Double arm'd she is to ill.

May I find a woman kind, And not wavering like the wind▪ How should I call that love mine, When 'tis his, and his, and thine?

May I find a woman true, There is beauties fairest hue; There is beauty, love and wit, Happy he can compasse it.

Choyce of a Mistresse.

Not that I wish my Mistris More or lesse than what she is, Write I these lines, for 'tis too late Rules to prescribe unto my fate.

But yet a•• tender stomach•• call For some choyce mea••, that bears not all▪

A queazie lover may impart, What Mistresse 'tis that please his heart.

First I would have her richly spred, With natures blossomes white and red; For flaming hearts will quickly dye, That have not fewell from the eye.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 this alone will never win, Except some treasure lies within; For where the spoile's not worth the stay, Men raise their siege and goe away.

I'd have her wise enough to know When, and to whom a grace to show: For she that doth at randome chuse, She will, as soon her choyce refuse.

And yet methinks I'd have her mind To flowing courtesie inclin'd: And tender hearted as a maid, Yet pity onely when I pray'd.

And I would wish her true to be, (Mistake me not) I mean to me; She that loves me, and loves one more, Will love the Kingdome o'r and o'r.

And I could wish her full of wit, Knew she how to huswife it: But she whose wisdome makes her dare To try her wit, will sell more ware.

Some other things, delight will bring, As if she dances, play, and sing. So they be safe, what though her parts Catch ten thousand forain hearts.

But let me see, should she be proud; A little pride should be allow'd. Each amorous boy will sport and prate Too freely, where he finds not state.

I care not much though she let down Sometime a chiding, or a frown. But if she wholly quench desire, 'Tis hard to kindle a new fire.

To smile, to toy, is not amisse, Sometimes to interpose a kisse; But not to cloy; sweet things are good, Pleasant for sawce, but not for food.

Wishes to his supposed Mistresse.

Who e'r she be, That is the onely she, That shall command my heart and me.

Might you hear my wishes Bespeak her to my blisses, And be call'd my absent kisses.

I wish her beauty, That owes not all his duty To gawdy tire, or some such folly.

A face that's best By its own beauty drest; And can alone command the rest.

Smiles, that can warme The blood, yet teach a charme That chastity shall take no harme.

Joyes that confesse Vertue her Mistresse, And have no other head to dresse.

Dayes, that in spight Of darknesse, by the light Of a clear mind, are day all Night.

Life that dares send A challenge to his end, And when it's come, say, Welcome friend.

Soft silken Howers, Open Sunnes; shady Bowers, Bove all; Nothing within that lowers.

I wish her store Of wealth may leave her poore Of wishes; and I wish no more.

Now if time knowes, That her whose radiant browes, Weave them a Garlant of my vowes.

Her that dare bee, What these lines wish to see, I seek no further, it is shee.

Such worth as this is, Shall fix my flying wishes And determine them to kisses.

Let her full glory, (My fancies) fly before ye, Be ye my fiction, but her my story.

To a Lady.

Madam,

Should I not smother this ambitious fire, Which actuates my verse: it would aspire To blear your vertues, in a glimm'ring line; And your perfections in its measures twine. But I have check'd my fancie Muse, nor dare•• Dull Poetry attempt to scan the spheares; Or in a cloudy rime invaile the light, Or court the trembling Watchmen of the night; Some vulgar vertue, or a single blaze, Might stand in Verse; and would endure a gaze: But when both Art, and Nature, shall agree To summe them all in one Epitome: When the perfections of both sexes, are Lock'd in one female store-house; who shall dare In an audacious rapture, to untwine Into loose numbers, what Heaven doth enshrine, In one rich breast? Dazled invention say, Canst thou embowell either India, In one poor rime? Or can thy torch-light fire, Shew us the Sun; or any Star that's higher? If thou wilt needs spend thy officious flame, Doe it in admiration: but disclaime Thy power to praise: thy senders wishes, bear, And be the Herauld of the new-born year:

Wish that each rising Sun, may see her more Happy, then when he rose the morn before; And may, when e'r he gilds the envious West, Leave her more blest, then when he grac'd the feast; Wish higher yet, that her felicity May equalize her vertues: Poetry Thou art too low; canst thou not swell a strain May reach my thoughts: good Madam since 'tis vain, (And yet my verse to kisse your hand presum'd) Let it to be your sacrifice be doom'd: And what it wants in true Poetique fire, Let the flame adde, till so my Muse expire.

An Eccho.

Come Eccho I thee summon, Tell me truly what is Woman? If worn, she is a feather, If woo'd she's frosty weather; If worn, the wind not slighter: If weigh'd, the Moons not lighter: If lain withall, she's apish: If not laine with, she's snappish.

Come Eccho I thee summon, Tell me once more what is woman? If faire, she's coy in courting, If witty, loose in sporting,

If ready, she's but cloathing, If naked, she's just nothing, If not belov'd, she horns thee; If lov'd too well, she scorns thee. The Eccho still replyed, But still me thought she lyed.

Then for my Mistresse sake, I againe reply did make. If worn, she is a Jewell, If woo'd, she is not cruell, If won, no Rock is surer, If weigh'd, no gold is purer, If laine withall, delicious; If not, yet no way vitious. False Eccho goe, you lye, See your errours I descry.

And for the second summon I This for woman doe reply. If faire, she's heavenly treasure, If witty, she's all pleasure, If ready, she is quaintest, If not ready, she's daintiest, If lov'd, her heart she spares not, If not belov'd, she cares not. False Eccho, goe you lye, See, your errours I descry.

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Icar.

Oh you doe my hearing wrong, I have turn'd my eyes thus long To be captiv'd by your tongue.

Phil.

Then my houres are happy spent, If my tongue give such content, It shall be thy Instrument.

Icar.

But be sure you use it then, Thus unto no other men, Lest that I grow deaf agen.

Fidelius and his silent Mris. Flora.

Fid.

My dearest Flora can you love me?

Flo.

Prethee prove me.

Fid.

Shall I have your hand to kisse?

Flo.

Yes, yes.

Fid.

On this whitenesse let me sweare,

Flo.

No, pray forbeare.

Fid.

I love you dearer then mine eyes.

Flo.

Be wise.

Fid.

I prize no happinesse like you.

Flo.

Will you be true?

Fid.

As i•• the Turtle to her Mate.

Flo.

I hate.

Fid.

Who my divinest Flora, me?

Flo.

No flattery.

Fid.

He that flatters, may he dye.

Flo.

Perpetually.

Fid.

And his black urne be the cell,

Flo.

Where Furies dwell.

Fid.

May his name be blasphemous,

Flo.

To us.

Fid.

His memory for ever rot;

Flo.

And be forgot.

Fid.

Lest it keep our age and youth,

Flo.

From love and truth.

Fid.

Thus upon your Virgin hand,

Flo.

Your vows shall stand.

Fid.

This kisse confirmes my act and deed.

Flo.

You may exceed.

Fid.

Your hand, your lip, I'll vow on both;

Flo.

A dangerous Oath.

Fid.

My resolution ne'r shall start;

Flo.

You have my heart.

Fears and Resolves of two Lovers.

A.

What wouldst thou wish? tell me dear lover,

I.

How I might but thy thoughts discover.

A.

If my firme love I were denying, Tell me, with sighes wouldst thou be dying?

I.

Those words in jest to hear thee speaking, For very grief, this heart is breaking.

A.

Yet wouldst thou change? I prethee tell me,

In seeing one that doth excell me?

I.

O no, for how can I aspire, To more then to my own desire? This my mishap doth chiefly grieve me; Though I doe swear'••, you'l not believe me.

A.

Imagine that thou dost not love me; But some beauty that's above me.

I.

To such a thing Sweet doe not will me; The naming of the same will kill me.

A.

Forgive me faire one, Love hath feares:

I.

I doe forgive, witnesse these teares.

A Sonnet.

Who can define, this all things, nothing love, Which hath so much of every thing in it? Which watry, with the Planets oft doth move, And with the Zoane it hath a fiery fit; Oft seizes men, like massy stupid earth, And with the Aire, it filleth every place; Which had no Midwife, nor I think no birth, No shrine, no arrows, but a womans face. A God he is not, for he is unjust; A Boy he is not, for he hath more power; A Faction 'tis not, all will yeeld I trust; What is it then, that is so sweetly sower? No law so wise, that can his absence prove? But (ah) I know there is a thing call'd Love.

A Love-sick-sonnet.

Love is a Sicknesse full of woes, All remedies refusing: A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies, If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries Hey ho!

Love is a torment of the minde, A tempest everlasting; And Iove hath made it of a kinde, Not well, nor full nor fasting. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies, If not enjoy'd, it sighing cryes Hey ho!

A Question.

Fain would I learn of men the reason why They swear they dye for love, yet lowly ly? Or why they fondly dote on, and admire A painted face, or a fantastick tyre. For while such Idols they fall down before,

They prove more fools then those they thus a∣dore.

Answer.

The reason why men loving lowly ly; Is hope to gaine their purposes therby. And that they fondly dote on paint and tires; 'Tis just in love, to shew mens fond desires. And for the rest, this have I heard from Schools That love, makes foolish wise, & wise men fools.

Sighs.

All night I muse, all day I cry, ay me. Yet still I wish, tho still deny. ay me. I sigh, I mourn, and say that still, I onely live my joyes to kill. ay me. I feed the pain that on me feeds, ay me. My wound I stop not, though it bleeds; ay me. Heart be content, it must be so, For springs were made to overflow. ay me. Then sigh and weep, and mourn thy fill,

ay me. Seek no redresse, but languish still. ay me. Their griefs more willing they endure, That know when they are past recure. ay me.

To Celia weeping.

Fairest, when thine eyes did poure A chrystall shower; I was perswaded, that some stone Had liquid grown; And thus amazed; sure thought I When stones are moist, some rain is nigh.

Why weep'st thou? cause thou cannot be More hard to me? So Lionesses pitty, so Doe Tygres too: So doth that Bird, which when she's fed On all the man, pines or'e the Head.

Yet I'le make better omens till Event beguile; Those pearly drops, in time shall be A precious Sea; And thou shalt like thy Corall prove, Soft under water, hard above.

An Hymne to Love.

I will confesse With cheerfullnesse, Love is a thing so likes me, That let her lay On me all day, I'le kisse the hand that strikes me.

I will not, I, Now blubb'ring cry, It (ah!) too late repents me, That I did fall To love at all, Since love so much contents me.

No, no, I'le be In fetters free; While others they sit wringing Their hands for paine; I'le entertaine The wounds of love with singing.

With flowers and wine And Cakes divine, To strike me I will tempt thee: Which done; no more

Ile come before Thee and thine Altars empty.

Loves Discoverys.

With much of paine, and all the Art I knew, Have I endeavor'd hitherto To hide my love; and yet all will not doe.

The world perceives it, and it may be, she; Though so discreet and good she be, By hiding it, to teach that skill to me.

Men without love have oft so cunning growne, That something like it they have showne, But none that had it ever seem'd t'have none.

Love's of a strangely open, simple kind, Can no arts or disguises find, But thinks none sees it cause it self is blind.

The very eye betrayes our inward smart; Love of himselfe left there a part, When through it he past into the heart.

Or if by chance the face betray not it, But keep the secret wisely, yet, Like drunkennesse into the tongue 'twill get.

Heart-breaking.

It gave a piteous groan, and so it broke; In vaine it something would have spoke: The love within too strong for't was Like poyson put into a Venice Glasse.

I thought that this some Remedy might prove, But, oh, the mighty Serpent Love, Cut by this chance in pieces small, In all still liv'd, and still it slung in all.

And now (alas) each little broken part Feels the whole pain of all my heart: And every smallest corner still Lives with that torment which the whole did kill.

Even so rude Armies when the field they quit, And into severall Quarters get; Each Troop does spoyle and ruine more Then all joyn'd in one body did before.

How many loves reigne in my bosome now? How many loves, yet all of you? Thus have I chang'd with evill fate My Monarch Love into a Tyrant State.

A Tear sent his Mistresse.

Glide gentle streams, and bear Along with you my tear To that coy Girle; Who smiles, yet slayes Me with delayes; And strings my tears as Pearle.

See! see she's yonder set, Making a Carkanet Of mayden-flowers! There, there present This Orient, And pendant Pearl of ours.

Then say, I've sent one more Jem, to enrich her store; And that is all Which I can send, Or vainly spend, For tears no more will fall.

Nor will I seek supply Of them, the springs once dry; But I'le devise,

(Among the rest) A way that's best How I may save mine eyes.

Yet say, sho'd she condemn Me to surrender them; Then say; my part Must be to weep Out them; to keep A poor, yet loving heart.

Say too, she wo'd have this; She shall: Then my hope is, That when I'm poore, And nothing have To send, or save; I'm sure she'll ask no more.

A Song.

To thy lover Deer, discover That sweet blush of thine tha•• shameth (When those Roses It discloses) All the flowers that Nature nameth

In free Ayre, Flow thy Haire;

That no more Summers best dresses, Be beholden For their Golden Locks to Phaebus flaming Tresses.

O deliver Love his Quiver, From thy Eyes he shoots his Arrowes, Where Apollo Cannot follow: Feathered with his Mothers Sparrows.

O envy not (That we dye not) Those deer lips whose door encloses All the Graces In their place••, Brother Pearles, and sister Roses.

From these treasures Of ripe pleasures One bright smile to clear the weather. Earth and Heaven Thus made even, Both will be good friends together.

The aire does wooe thee, Winds cling to thee,

Might a word once flye from out thee; Storm and thunder Would fit under, And keep silence round about thee.

But if natures Common Creatures, So deer glories dare not borrow; Yet thy beauty Owes a duty, To my loving lingring sorrow.

When my dying Life is flying; Those sweet Aires that often slew me; Shall revive me, Or reprive me, And to many deaths renew me.

The Cruell Maid.

And cruell maid, because I see You scornfull of my love, and me: Ile trouble you no more; but goe My way, where you shall never know What is become of me: there I Will find me out a path to dye;

Or learn some way how to forget You, and your name, for ever: yet Ere I goe hence, know this from me, What will, in time, your fortune be: This to your coynesse I will tell; And having spoke it once, Farewell. The Lilly will not long endure; Nor the Snow continue pure: The Rose, the Violet, one day See, both these Lady-flowers decay: And you must fade, as well as they. And it may chance that love may turn, And (like to mine) make your heart burn. And weep to see't; yet this thing doe, That my last vow commends to you: When you shall see that I am dead, For pitty let a tear be shed; And (with your Mantle o're me cast) Give my cold lips a kisse at last: If twice you kisse, you need not feare, That I shall stir, or live more here. Next hollow out a Tomb to cover Me; me, the most despised Lover; And write thereon, This, Reader, know, Love kill'd this man. No more but so.

Silence.

No; to what purpose should I speak? No, wretched Heart, swell till you break! She cannot love me if she would; And to say truth, 'twere pity that she should. No, to the Grave thy sorrows beare, As silent as they will be there: Since that lov'd hand this mortall wound doth give, So handsomely the thing contrive, That she may guiltlesse of it live. So perish, that her killing thee May a chance Medley, and no murther be.

'Tis nobler much for me, that I By 'her beauty, not her Anger dye; This will look justly, and become An Execution, that a Martyrdome. The censuring world will ne're refrain From judging men by thunder slain. She must be angry sure, if I should be So bold to ask her to make me By being hers, happier then she; I will not; 'tis a milder fate To fall by her not loving, then her hate.

And yet this death of mine, I fear, Will ominous to her appear▪

When, sound in every other part, Her sacrifice is found without an Heart; For the last tempest of my death Shall sigh out that too, with my breath.

His Misery.

Water, water I aspie: Come, and coole ye; all who fry In your loves; but none as I.

Though a thousand showers be Still a falling, ye•• I see Not one drop to light on me.

Happy you, who can have seas For to quench ye, or some ease From your kinder Mistresses.

I have one, and she alone Of a thousand thousand known, Dead to all compassion.

Such an one, as will repeat Both the cause, and make the heat More by provocation great.

Gentle friends, though I despaire Of my cure, doe you beware Of those Girles, which cruell are.

The Call.

Marina, stay, And run not thus like a young Roe away, No Enemy Pursues thee (foolish Girle) 'tis onely I, Ile keep off harmes, If thou'l be pleas'd to garrison mine arms; What dost thou feare Ile turn a Traytour? may these Roses here To palenesse shred, And Lillies stand disguised in new red, If that I lay A snare, wherein thou wouldst not gladly stay; See, see the Sun Doth slowly to his azure lodging run; Come sit but here, And presently hee'l quit our Hemisphere; So still among Lovers, time is too short or else too long; Here will we spin Legends for them, that have love Martyrs been; Here on this plaine Wee'l talke Narcissus to a flower again; Come here and chose On which of these proud plate thou wouldst Here mayst thou shame

The rusty Violets, with the Crimson flame, Of either cheek; And Primroses white as thy fingers seek; Nay, thou mayst prove That mans most noble passion, is to love.

A Check to her delay.

Come come away, Or let me goe; Must I here stay, Because y'are slow; And will continue so? Troth Lady, no.

I scorne to be A slave to state: And since I'm free I will not wait, Henceforth at such a rate, For needy fate.

If you desire My spark sho'd glow, The peeping fire You must blow; Or I shall quickly grow To frost or snow.

The L••re.

Farewell, nay prethee turn again, Rather then loose thee, Ile arraign My self before thee; thou (most faire) shall be Thy self the Judge; Ile never grudge A law, ordain'd by thee.

Pray doe but see, how every Rose A sanguine visage doth disclose, O see, what Aromatick gusts they breath; Come here we'le sit, And learn to knit, Them up into a wreath.

With that wreath, crowned shalt thou be; Not grac't by it, but it thee; Then shall the fawning Zephir•• wait to hear What thou shalt say, And softly play, While Newes to me they bear.

Come prethee come, wee'l now assay To piece the scantnesse of the day; Wee'l pluck the wheel•• from th'charry of the Sun▪ That he, may give Us time to live; Till that our Scene be done.

Wee'l suffer viperous thoughts, and cares, To follow after silver haires; Let's not anticipate them long before; When they begin, To enter in, Each minute they'l grow more.

No, no, Marina, see this brook How't would its posting course revoke, Ere it shall in the Ocean mingled lie, And what I pray, May cause this stay; But to attest our joy?

Far be't from lust; such wild fire, ne're Shall dare to lurk or kindle here; Diviner flames shall in our fancies roule, Which not depresse To earthlinesse, But elevate the soule.

Then shall a grandiz'd love, confesse, That soules can mingle substances; That hearts can easily counter-changed be, Or at the least, Can alter breasts, When breasts themselves agree.

To Iulia.

'Tis Ev'ning my sweet, And dark; let us meet; Long time w'have here been a toying: And never as yet, That season co'd get, Wherein t'have had an enjoying.

For pitty or shame, Then let not loves flame, Be ever and ever a spending; Since now to the Port The path is but short; And yet our way has no ending.

Time flyes away fast; Our howers doe wast; The while we never remember, How soon our life, here, Grows old with the yeere, That dyes with the next December.

Of Beauty.

What doe I hate, what's Beauty? lasse How doth it passe? As flowers, assoon as smelled at Evaporate,

Even so this shadow, ere our eyes Can view it, flies.

What's colour? 'las the sullen Night Can it affright; A Rose can more Vermilion speak, Then any cheek; A richer white on Lillies stands, Then any hands.

Then what's the worth, when any flower Is worth far more? How constant's that which needs must dye When day doth flye? Glow-worms, can lend some petty light, To gloomy night.

And what's proportion? we discry That in a fly; And what's a lip? 'tis in the test Red clay at best. And what's an Eye? an Eglets are More strong by farre.

Who can that specious nothing heed, Which flies exceed? Who would his frequent kisses lay On painted clay?

Wh'would not if eyes affection move Young Egle••s love?

Is beauty thus? then who would lye Love-sick and dye? And's wretched selfe annihilate For knows not what? And with such sweat and care invade A very shade?

Even he that knows not to possesse True happinesse, But has some strong desires to try What's misery, And longs for tears, oh he will prove One fit for love.

Farewell to Love.

Well-shadow'd Landship, fare-ye-well: How I have lov'd you, none can tell, At least so well As he, that now hates more Then e're he lov'd before.

But my dear nothings, take your leave, No longer must you me deceive, Since I perceive

All the deceit, and know Whence the mistake did grow.

As he whose quicker eye doth trace A false star shot to a Market place, Do's run apace, And thinking it to catch, A Gelly up do's snatch.

So our dull souls tasting delight Far off, by sence, and appetite, Think that is right And reall good; when yet 'Tis but the counterfeit.

Oh! how I glory now; that I Have made this new discovery? Each wanton eye Enflam'd before: no more Will I increase that score.

If I gaze, now, 'tis but to see What manner of deaths-head 'twill be, When it is free From that fresh upper-skin, The gazers joy and sin.

A quick Coarse me-thinks I spy In ev'ry woman▪ and mine eye, At passing by, Check, and is troubled, just As if it rose from Dust.

They mortifie, not heighen me: These of my sins the Glasses be: And here I see, How I have lov'd before, And so I love no more.

To a proud Lady.

Is it birth puffs up thy mind? Women best born are best inclin'd. Is it thy breeding? No, I ly'de; Women well bred are foes to pride. Is it thy beauty, foolish thing? Lay by thy cloths, there's no such thing? Is it thy vertue? that's deny'd, Vertue's an opposite to pride. Nay, then walk on, I'll say no more, Who made thee proud, can make thee poore. The Devill onely hath the skill To draw fair fools to this foule ill.

On Women.

Find me an end out in a Ring, Turn a stream backwards to its spring, Recover minutes past and gone, Undoe what is already done, Make Heaven stand still, make mountaines fly, And teach a woman constancy.

An Apologetique Song.

Men, if you love us, play no more The fools, or Tyrants, with your friends, To make us still sing o're and o're, Our own false praises, for your ends. We have both wits and fancies too, And if we must, let's sing of you.

Nor doe we doubt, but that we can, If we would search with care and pain, Find some one good, in some one man; So going thorough all your strain, Wee shall at last of parcells make One good enough for a Song sake.

And as a cunning Painter take•• In any curious piece you see, More pleasure while the thing he makes,

Then when 'tis made; why, so will we. And having pleas'd our art, wee'll try To make a new, and hang that by

Canto.

Like to a Ring without a Finger, Or a Bell without a Ringer; Like a Horse was never ridden, Or a Feast and no Guest bidden, Like a Well without a Bucket, Or a Rose if no man pluck it: Just such as these may she be said, That lives, not loves, but dies a maid.

The Ring if worn, the Finger decks, The Bell pull'd by the Ringer speaks, The Horse doth ease, if he be ridden, The Feast doth please, if Guest be bidden, The Bucket draws the water••forth, The Rose when pluck'd, is still most worth: Such is the Virgin in my eyes, That lives, loves, marries, ere she dies.

Like a Stock not graffed on, Or like a Lute not playd upon, Like a Jack without a weight, Or a Bark without a fraight,

Like a Lock without a Key, Or a Candle in the day: Just such as these may she be said, That lives, not loves, but dies a maid.

The graffed Stock doth bear best fruite, There's Musick in the finger'd Lute, The weight doth make the Jack goe ready, The fraight doth make the Bark goe steady, The Key the Lock doth open right, A Candle's usefull in the night: Such is the Virgin in my eyes, That lives, loves, marries, ere she dyes.

Like a Call without a Non-sir, Or a Question without an Answer, Like a Ship was never rigg'd, Or a Mine was never digg'd; Like a Cage without a Bird, Or a thing not long preferr'd. Just such as these may she be said, That lives, not loves, but dies a maid.

The Non-sir doth obey the Call, The Question Answer'd pleaseth all, Who rigs a Ship sailes with the wind, Who digs a Mine doth treasure find, The Wound by wholsome Tent hath ease,

The Box perfum'd the senses please: Such is the Virgin in my eyes, That lives, loves, marries ere she dies.

Like Marrow-bone was never broken, Or Commendation and no Token, Like a Fort and none to win it, Or like the Moon, and no man in it; Like a School without a Teacher, Or like a Pulpit and no Preacher. Just such as these may she be said, That lives, ne'r loves, but dies a maid.

The broken Marrow-bone is sweet, The Token doth adorn the greet, There's triumph in the Fort being won, The Man rides glorious in the Moon; The School is by the Teacher still'd, The Pulpit by the Preacher fill'd. Such is the Virgin in mine eyes, That lives, loves, marries, ere she dies.

Like a Cage without a Bird, Or a thing too long deferr'd: Like the Gold was never try'd, Or the ground unoccupi'd; Like a house that's not possessed Or the Book was never pressed.

Just such as these may she be said, That lives, ne'r loves, but dies a maid.

The Bird in Cage doth sweetly sing, Due season prefers every thing, The Gold that's try'd from drosse is pur'd, There's profit in the Ground manur'd, The House is by possession graced; The Book when prest, is then embraced. Such is the Virgin in mine eyes, That lives, loves, marries, ere she dies.

A Disswasive from Women.

Come away, doe not pursue A shadow that will follow you. Women lighter then a feather, Got and lost and altogethar: Such a creature may be thought, Void of reason, a thing of nought.

2.

Come away, let not thine eyes Gaze upon their fopperies, Nor thy better Genius dwell Upon a subject known so well: For whose folly at the first Man and beast became accurst.

3.

Come away, thou canst not find, One of all that's faire and kind, Brighter be she then the day, Sweeter then a morne in May; Yet her heart and tongue agrees As we and the Antipodes.

4.

Come away, or if thou must Stay a while: yet doe not trust, Nor her sighs, nor what she swears. Say she weep, suspect her tears. Though she seem to melt with passion, 'Tis old deceipt, but in new fashion.

5.

Come away, admit there be A naturall necessity; Doe not make thy selfe a slave For that which she desires to have. What she will, or doe, or say, Is meant the clean contrary way.

6.

Come away, or if to part Soon from her, affects thy heart, Follow on thy sports a while, Laugh and kisse, and play a while: Yet as thou lov'st me, trust her not, Left thou becom'st a — I know not wh••••.

An Answer to it.

Stay, O stay, and still pursue, Bid not such happinesse adue, Know'st thou what a woman is? An Image of Celestiall bliss. Such a one is thought to be The nearest to Divinity.

2.

Stay, O stay, how can thine eye Feed on more felicity? Or thy better Genius dwell On subjects that doe this excell? Had it not been for her at first; Man and beast had liv'd accurst.

3.

Stay, O stay, has not there been O•• Beauty, and of Love a Q••een? Does not sweetnesse term a she Worthy its onely shrine to thee? And where will vertue chuse to ly, If not in such a Treasury?

4.

Stay, O stay, wouldst thou live free? Then seek a Nuptiall destiny: 'Tis not natures blisse alone, (She gives) but Heavens, and that in one;

What she shall, or doe, or say, Never from truth shall goe astray.

5.

Stay, O stay, let not thine heart Afflicted be, unlesse to part Soon from her. Sport, kisse and play Whilst no howers enrich the day: And if thou dost a Cuckold prove, Impute it to thy want of love.

The Postscript.

Good Women are like Stars in darkest night, Their vertuous actions shining as a light To guide their ignorant sex, which oft times ••all▪ And falling oft, turns Diabolicall. Good Women sure are Angels on the earth, Of these good Angels we have had a dearth: And therefore all you men that have good wives, Respect their Vertues equall with your lives.

[illustration]

The Description of Women.

Whose head befringed with b••-scattered ••resse••▪ Shew•• like Apoll••es, when the morn he dresse••:

Or like Aurora when with Pearle she sets, Her long discheveld Rose-crown'd Trammelets: Her forehead smooth, full, polish'd, bright and high, Bears in it selfe a gracefull Majesty; Under the which, two crawling eye-brows twine Like to the tendrills of a flatt'ring Vine: Under whose shade, two starry sparkling eyes Are beautifi'd with faire fring'd Canopies. Her comely nose with uniformall grace, Like purest white, stands in the middle place, Parting the paire, as we may well suppose, Each cheek resembling still a damask Rose; Which like a Garden manifestly shown, How Roses, Lillies, and Carnations grown; Which sweetly mixed both with white and red, Like Rose-leaves, white and red, seem mingled. Then nature for a sweet allurement sets Two smelling, swelling, bashfull Cherry-lets; The which with Ruby-rednesse being tip'd, Doe speak a Virgin merry, Cherry••lip'd. Over the which a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sweet skin is drawne, Which makes them shew like Roses under Lawne. These be the Ruby-portalls and divine, Which ope themselves, to shew an holy shrine, Whose breach is rich perfume, that to the sense Smells like the burn'd Sabean Frankincense; In which the tongue, though 〈…〉〈…〉 member sm••ll Stande guarded with a Rosie-hilly-wall.

And her white teeth, which in the gums are set, Like Pearle and Gold, make one rich Cabinet: Next doth her chin, with dimpled beauty 〈◊〉〈◊〉 For his white, plump, and smoth prerogative. At whose faire top, to please the sight the••e grow•• The fairest image of a blushing rose; Mov'd by the chin, whose motion causeth this, That both her lips doe part, doe meet, doe 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Her ears, which like two Labyrinths are pla••••d On either side, with which rare Jewels grac'd: Moving a qu••st••on whether that by them The Jem is grac'd, or they grac'd by the Jem. But the foundation of the Architect, Is the Swan-staining, faire, rare stately ••eck, Which with ambitious humblenesse stands under, Bearing aloft this rich round world of wonder. Her breast a place for beauties throne most fit, Bears up two Globes, where love and pleasure sit; Which headed with two rich round Rubies, show Like wanton Rose-buds growing out of Snow, And in the milky valley that's between, Sits Cupid kissing of his mother Queen. Then comes the belly, seated next below, Like a faire mountain in Riphean snow: Where Nature in a whitenesse without spot, Hath in the middle tide a Gordian knot. Now love invites me to survey her thighes, Swelling in likenesse like two Crystall 〈◊〉〈◊〉;

Which to the knees by nature fastned on, Derive their e••er well 'greed motion. Her legs with two clear Calves, like silver try'd, Kindly swell up with little pretty pride; Leaving a distance for the comely small To beautifie the leg and foot withall. Then lowly, yet most lovely stand the feet, Round, short and cleer, like pounded Spices sweet; And whatsoever thing they tread upon, They make it sent like bruised Cynamon. The lovely shoulders now allure the eye, To see two Tablets of pure Ivory: From which two arms like branches seem to spread With tender vein'd, and silver coloured, With little hands, and fingers long and small, To grace a Lute, a Viall, Virginall. In length each finger doth his next excell, Each richly headed with a pearly shell. Thus every part in contrariety Meet in the whole, and make an harmony: As divers strings doe singly disagree, But form'd by number make sweet melodie.

Her supposed servant, described.

I would have him if I could, Noble; or of greater Blood: Titles, I confesse, doe take me; And a woman God did make me, French to boo••, at least in fashion, And his manners of that Nation.

Young I'd have him to, and faire, Yet a man; with crisped haire Cast in a thousand snares, and rings For loves fingers, and his wings: Chestnut colour, or more slack Gold, upon a ground of black. Venus, and Minerva's eyes, For he must look wanton-wise.

Eye-brows bent like Cupids bow, Front, an ample field of snow; Even nose, and cheek (withall) Smooth as is the Biliard Ball; Chin, as wholly as the Peach; And his lip should kissing teach, Till he cherish'd too much beard, And make love or me afeard.

He should have a hand as soft As the Downe, and shew it oft; Skin as smooth as any rush, And so thin to see a blush Rising through it e're it came; All his blood should be a flame Quickly fir'd as in beginners In Loves School, and yet no sinners.

'Twere too long to speak of all What we harmony doe call In a body should be there. Well he should his cloaths to wear; Yet no Taylor help to make him Drest, you still for man should take him; And not think h'had eat a stake, Or were set up in a brake.

Valiant he should be as fire, Shewing danger more then ire. Bounteous as the clouds to earth; And as honest as his birth. All his actions to be such As to doe nothing too much. Nor o're-praise, nor yet condemne; Nor out-valew, nor contemne; Nor doe wrongs, nor wrongs receive;

Nor tye knots, nor knots unweave; And from basenesse to be free, As he durst love truth and me.

Such a man with every part, I could give my very heart; But of one, if short he came, I can rest me where I am.

Another Ladies exception.

For his minde, I doe not care, That's a toy that I could spare; Let his Title be but great, His clothes rich, and band sit neat, Himself young, and face be good, All I wish 'tis understood. What you please, you parts may call, 'Tis one good part I'd lie withall.

Abroad with the Maids.

Come sit we under yonder Tree, Where merry as the Maids we'l be, And as on Primroses we sit, We'l venture (if we can) ••t wit: If not, at Draw-gloves we will play; So spend some Minutes of the day; Or else spin out the thred of sands, Playing at Questions and Commands:

Or tell what strange tricks love can do, By quickly making one of two. Thus we will sit and talk; but tell No cruell truths of Philomell, Or Phillis, whom hard Fate forc't on, To kill her selfe for Demophon. But Fables we'l relate; how Iove Put on all shapes to get a Love; As now a Satyr, then a Swan; A Bull but then; and now a Man. Next we will act how young men woe; And sigh, and kisse, as Lovers doe, And talk of Brides; and who shall make That wedding smock, this Bridal-Cake; That dresse, this sprig, that leafe, this vine; That smooth and silken Columbine. This done, we'l draw lots, who shall buy And guild the Bayes, and Rosemary: What Posies, for our wedding Rings; What Gloves we'l give and Ribonings: And smiling at our selves, decree, Who then the joyning Priest shall be. What short sweet Prayers shall be said; And how the Posset shall be made With Cream of Lillies (not of Kine) And Maidens-blush, for spiced wine. Thus having talkt, we'l next commend A kisse to each; and so we'l end.

[illustration]

The Shepheards Holy-day.

Mopso and Marina.

Mop.

Come Marina let's away, For both Bride, and Bridegroom stay: Fie for shame, are Swains so long Pinning of their Head-gear on?

Prethee see, None but we 'Mongst the Swaines are left unready: Fie, make haft, Bride is past, Follow me, and I will lead thee.

Mar.

On, my loving Mopsus, on, I am ready, all is done From my head unto my foot, I am fitted each way too't; Buskins gay, Gowne of gray, Best that all our Flocks doe render; Hat of Straw, Platted through, Cherry lip, and middle slender.

Mop.

And I think you will not find Mopsus any whit behind, For he loves as well to goe, As most part of Shepheards doe. Cap of browne. Bottle-crowne, With the legge I won at dancing, And a pumpe, Fit to jumpe, When we Shepheards fall a prancing.

And I know there is a sort▪ Will be well provided for For I hear, there will be there, Liveliest Swaines within the shier••: Jetting Gill, Jumping Will; O'r the floore will have their measure: Kit and Kate There will waite▪ Tib and Tom will take their pleasure.

Mar.

But I feare;

Mop.

What dost thou feare?

Mar.

Crowd the Fidler is not there: And my mind delighted i•• With no stroke so much as hi••.

Mop.

If not he; There will be Drone the Piper that will troun••e it.

Mar.

But i•• Crowd Struck alowd; Lord me-thinks how I could bounce it.

Mop.

Bounce it Mall I hope thou will, For I know that thou hast skill▪ And I am sure, thou there shalt find Measures store to please thy mind.

Roundelayes. Irish hayes, Cog•• and Rongs, and Peggie Ramsy, Spaniletto, The Venetto, Iohn come kisse me, Wilsons fancy.

Mar.

But of all there's none so sprightly To my ear, as Touch me lightly; For it's this we Shepheards love, Being that which most doth move; There, there, there, To a haire; O Tim Crowd, me thinks I hear thee, Young nor old, Ne're could hold, But must leak if they come near thee.

Mop.

Blush Marina, fie for shame, Blemish not a Shepheards name;

Mar.

Mopsus, why, is't such a matter, Maid•• to shew their yeelding nature? O what then, Be ye men, That will hear your selves so forward, When you find Us inclin'd To your bed and board so toward?

Mop.

True indeed, the fault is ours, Though we term it oft time yours.

Mar.

What would Shepheards have us doe, But to yeeld when they doe woe? And we yeeld Them the field, And endow them with their riches.

Mop.

Yet we know Oft times too, You'l not stick to wear the Breeches.

Mar.

Fools they'l deem them, that do hear them, Say their wives are wont to wear them; For I know, there's none has wit, Can endure or suffer it; But if they Have no stay, Nor discretion (as 'tis common) Then they may•••• Give the sway▪ As is fitting, to the Woman.

Mop.

All too long (dear Love) I ween, Have we stood upon this T••eam: Let each Lasse, a•• once it was, Love her Swain, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his Lasse: So shall we Honour'd be,

In our mating, in our meeting, While we stand Hand in hand, Honest Swainling, with his Sweeting.

Alvar and Anthea.

Come Anthea let us two Go to Feast, as others do. Tarts and Custards, Cream and Cakes, Are the junkets still at Wakes: Unto which the Tribes resort, Where the businesse is the sport: Morris-dancers thou shalt see, Marian too in Pagentrie: And a Mimick to devise Many grinning properties Players there will be, and those Base in action as in clothes▪ Yet with strutting they will please The incurious Villages. Neer the dying of the day There will be a Cudgel-play, Where a Coxcomb will be broke, Ere a good word can be spoke••▪ But the anger ends all here▪ Drencht in Ale, or drown'd in Beere

Happy Rusticks, best content With the cheapest Merriment: And possesse no other fear, Then to want the Wake next year.

The Wake.

I, and whither shall we go••? To the Wake I trow: 'Tis the Village Lord Majors show, Oh! to meet I will not fa••le; For my pallate is in hast, Till I sip againe and tast Of the Nut-browne Lasse and Ale.

Feele how my Temples ake For the Lady of the Wake; Her lips are as soft as a Medler With her posies and her points, And the Ribbons on her joynts, The device of the fields and the Pedler.

Enter Maurice-Dancer.

[illustration]

With a noyse and a Din, Comes the Maurice-Dancer in: With a fine linnen shirt, but a Buckram skin. Oh! he treads out such a Peale From his paire of legs of Veale, The Quarters are Idols to him. Nor doe those Knaves inviron Their Toes with so much iron, 'Twill ruine a Smith to shooe him. I, and then he flings about, His sweat and his clout, The wiser think it two Ells: While the Yeomen find it meet, That he jangle at his feet, The Fore-horses right Eare Jewels.

Enter Fidler.

[illustration]

But before all be done, With a Christopher strong, Comes Musick none, though Fidler one, While the Owle and his Granchild, With a face like a Manchild, Amaz'd in their Nest, Awake from the Rest, And seek out an Oak to laugh in. Such a dismall chance, Makes the Church-yard dance, When the Screech Owle guts string a Coffin. When a Fidlers coarse, Catches cold and grows hoarse, Oh ye never heard a sadder, When a Rattle-headed Cutter, Makes his will before Supper, To the Tune of the Nooze and the Ladder.

Enter the Taberer.

[illustration]

I, but all will not doe, Without a passe or two, From him that pipes and Tabers the Tattoo. He's a man that can tell 'em, Such a Jigge from his vellam; With his Whistle & his Club, And his brac't halfe Tub, That I think there ne're came before ye, Though the Mothes lodged in't, Or in Manuscript or print, Such a pitifull parchment story. He that hammers like a Tinker Kettle Musick is a stinker, Our Taberer bids him heark it; Though he thrash till he sweats, And out the bottome beats Of his two Dosser Drums to the Market

Enter the Bag-piper.

[illustration]

Bag-piper good luck on you, Th'art a Man for my money; Him the Bears love better then honey. How he tickles up his skill, With his bladder and his quill; How he swells till he blister. While he gives his mouth a Glister, Nor yet does his Physick grieve him; His chops they would not tarry, For a try'd Apothecary, But the Harper comes in to relie••e him. Whose Musick took its fountaine, From the Bogge or the Mountaine, For better was never afforded. Strings hop and rebound, Oh the very same sound May be struck from a ••ru••kle-bed coarded.

Cock-throwing.

Cock-a-doodle-doe, 'tis the bravest game, Take a Cock from his Dame, And bind him to a st••k••▪ How he strutt•• how he throwes, How he swaggers, how he crowes, As if the day newly brake. How his Mistriss Cackles, Thus to find him in shackles, And ty'd to a Pack-threed Garter; Oh the Bears and the Bulls, Are but Corpulent Gulls To the valiant Shrove-tide Martyr.

Canto.

Let no Poet Critick in his Ale, Now tax me for a heedlesse Tale, For ere I have done, my honest Ned, I'll 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my matter to a head.

The Brazen Head speak•• through the Nose, More Logick then the Colledge knowes: Quick-silver Heads run over all, But Dunces Heads keep Leaden-ball.

A Quirristers Head is made of aire, A Head of wax becomes a Player, So pliant 'tis to any shape, A King, a Clowne, but still an Ape.

A melancholy head it was, That thought it selfe a Venice glasse; But when I see a drunken sot, Methinks his Head's a Chamberpot.

A Poets Head is made of Match, Burnt Sack is apt to make it catch; Well may he gri•••• his houshold bread, That hath a Windmill in his Head.

There is the tongue of ignorance, That hates the time it cannot dance; Shew him dear wit in Verse or Prose, It reeks like Brimstone in his nose; But when his Granhams will is read, O dear! (quoth he) and shakes his head. French heads taught ours the gracefull shake, They learn'd it in the last Earth-quake.

The gentle head makes mouths in state, At the Mechanick beaver pate. The empty head of meer Esquire, Scorns wit; as born a title higher.

In Capite he holds his lands, His wisdome in Fee-simple stands. Which he may call for, and be sped, Out of the Footmans running head.

The Saracens, not Gorgons head, Can look old ten in th'hundred dead But deaths head on his fingers ends, Afflicts him more then twenty fiends An Oxford Cook that is well read, Knows how to dresse a Criticks head. Take out the brains, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the noats, O rare Calves-head for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 throats.

Prometheus would be puzled, To make a new Projectors head: He hath such subtile turns and nooks, Such turn-pegs, mazes, tenter-hooks: A trap-door here, and there a vault, Should you goe in, you'ld sure be caught; This head, if e'r the heads-man stick, He'll spoile the subtile politick.

Six heads there are will ne'r be seen, The first a Maide past twice sixteen: The next is of an Unicorne, Which when I see, I'll trust his horne; A Beggars in a beaver; and

A Gyant in a Pigmies 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ A Coward in a Ladies lap, A good man in a Fryers cap.

The plurall head of multitude, Will make good hodg-podge when 'tis stude; Now I have done my honest Ned, And brought my matter to a Head.

Interrogativ•• Camilena.

If all the world were Paper, And all the Sea were Inke; If all the Trees were bread and cheese, How should we doe for drinke?

If all the World were sand'o, Oh then what should we lack'o; If as they say there were no clay, How should we take Tobacco?

If all our vessels ran'a, If none but had a crack'a; If Spanish Apes eat all the Grapes, How should we doe for Sack'a?

If Fryers had no bald pate••▪ Nor Nuns had no dark Cloysters,

If all the Seas were 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and Pease, How should we doe for Oysters?

If there had been no projects, Nor none that did great wrongs; If Fidlers shall turne Players all, How should we doe for songs?

If all things were eternall, And nothing their end bringing; If this should be, then how should we, Here make an end of singing?

The seven Planets.

♄ ♃ ♂ ☉ ♀ ☿ ☽ SATURNE diseas'd with age, and left for dead; Chang'd all his gold, to be in involv'd in Lead.

IOVE, Iuno leaves, and loves to take his range; From whom, man learns to love, and loves to change▪

IUNO checks Iove, that he to earth should come Having her selfe to sport withall at home.

MARS is disarmed, and is to Venus gon, Where Vulcans Anvill must be struck upon.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 sees, yet 'cause he may not be allow'd, ••o say he sees, he hides him in a cloud.

VENUS tels Vulcan, Mars shall shooe her Steed, For he it is that hits the naile o'th head.

The Aery-nuntius sly MERCURIUS, ••s stoln from Heaven to Galobelgicus.

LVNA is deemed chast, yet she'•• a sinner, Witnesse the man that she receives within her: But that she's horn'd it cannot well be sed, Since I ne'r heard that she was married.

The 12 Signes of the Zodiack.

♈

Venus to Mars, and Mars to Venus came, Venus contriv'd, and Mars confirm'd the same: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the place, the game what best did please, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Vulcan▪ found the Sun in ARIES.

♉

TAURUS, as it hath been alledg'd by some, ••s fled from Neck and Throat to roare at Rome. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 now the Bull is growne to such a rate, The price has brought the Bull quite out of date.

♋

CANCER the backward Crab is figur'd here. O'r stomack, breast, and ribs to domineere. Eve on a rib was made, whence we may know, Women from Eve were Crab'd and backward too▪

♍

VIRGO the Phoenix signe (as all can tell ye) Has regiment o'r bowells, and o'r belly. But now since Virgo could not her belly tame, Belly has forc'd Virgo to lose her name.

♏

SCORPIO Serpent-like, most slily tenders, What much seduceth man, his privy members: Which mov'd our Grandam Eve give eare unto That secret-member-patron Scorpio.

♑

The goatish CAPRICORNE that us'd to presse 'Mongst naked Mermaidens, now's faln on ••s 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Where crest-faln too (poor Snake) he lies as low As those on whom he did his horns bestow.

♊

With arm in arm our GEMINI enwreath, Their individuate parts in life and death:

The arms and shoulders sway, O may I have But two such friends to have me to my grave.

♌

LEO a Port-like Prelate now become, Emperiously retires to th' Sea of Rome: A Sea, and yet no Levant-sea, for than He were no Leo, but Leviathan.

♎

LIBRA the reins, which we may ••ustly call A signe which Tradesmen hate the worst of all: For she implies even weights, but doe not look To find this signe in every Grocers-book.

♐

If thou wouldst please the lasse that thou dost mar∣ry, The signe must ever be in SAGITTARY: Which rules the thighs, an influence more common Mongst Marmosites & Monkies, then some women.

♒

AQUARIUS (as I informed am) Kept Puddle-wharfe, and was a Waterman, But being one too honest for that kind, He row'd to Heaven, and left those knaves behind.

♓

PISCIS the fish is said to rule the feet, And socks with all that keep the feet from sweat▪ One that purveyes provision enough, Of Ling, Poore-Iohn, and other Lenten stuffe.

A Hymne to Bacchus.

I sing thy praise Bacchus, Who with thy Thyrse dost thwack us: And yet thou so dost black us

With boldnesse that we feare No Brutus entring here; Nor Cato the severe.

What though the Lictors threat us, We know they dare not beat us; So long as thou dost heat us.

When we thy Orgies sing, Each Cobler is a King; Nor dreads he any thing.

And though he doth not rave, Yet he'l the courage have

To call my Lord Major knave; Besides too, in a brave.

Although he has no riches, But walks with dangling breeches, And skirts that want their stitches; And shews his naked flitches;

Yet he'l be thought or seen; So good as George-a-Green; And calls his Blouze, his Queen, And speaks in a Language keen.

O Bacchus! let us be From cares and troubles free; And thou shalt hear how we Will Chant new Hymnes to thee.

[illustration]

The Welshmans praise of Wales.

I's not come here to tauke of Prut, From whence the Welse do•• take hur root; Nor tell long Pedegree of Prince Camber, Whose linage would fill full a Chamber,

Nor sing the deeds of ould Saint Davie, The Ursip of which would fill a Navie. But hark you me now, for a liddell tales Sall make a gread deal to the creddit of Wales. For her will tudge your ••ares, With the praise of hur thirteen Seers; And make you as clad and merry, As fouteen pot of Perry.

'Tis true, was wear him Sherkin freize, But what is that? we have store of seize; And Got is plenty of Coats milk That sell him well will buy him silk Inough, to make him fine to quarrell At Herford Sizes in new apparrell; And get him as much green Melmet perhap, Sall give it a face to his Momouth Cap. But then the ore of Lemster; Py Cot is uver a Sempster; That when he is spun, or did Yet match him with hir thrid.

Aull this the backs now, let us tell yee, Of some provisions for the belly: As Cid and Goat, and great Goats Mother, And Runt, and Cow, and good Cows uther. And once but tast on the Welse Mutton; Your Englis Seeps not worth a button.

And then for your Fisse, shall shoose it your disse, Look but about, and there is a Trout. A Salmon, Cor, or Chevin, Will feed you six or seven, As taul•• man as ever swagger With Welse Club, and long Dagger.

But all this while, was never think A word in praise of our Welse drink: Yet for aull that, is a Cup of Bragat, Aull England Seer may cast his Cap at. And what you say to Ale of Webley, Toudge him as well, you'll praise him trebly, As well as Metheglin, or Syder, or Meath, S'all sake it your dagger quite out o'the seath. And Oat-Cake of Guarthenion, With a goodly Leek or Onion, To give as sweet a rellis As e'r did Harper Ellis.

And yet is nothing now all this, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of our Musicks we doe misse; Both Harps, and Pipes too, and the Crowd, Must aull come in, and tauk aloud, As lowd as Bang••••, Davies Bell, Of which is no doubt you have here tell: As well as our lowder Wrexam Organ, And rumbling Rocks in the Seer of Glamorgan,

Where look but in the ground there, And you sall see a sound there; That put her all to gedder, Is sweet as measure pedder.

Hur in Love.

A modest Shentle when hur see The great laugh hur made on mee, And fine wink that hur send To hur come to see hur friend: Her could not strose py Got apove, Put was entangle in hur love. A hundred a time hur was about To speak to hur, and lave hur out, Put hur being a Welshman porne, And therefore was think, hur woud hur scorne: Was fear hur think, nothing petter, Then cram hur love into a Letter; Hoping he will no ceptions take Unto her love, for Country sake: For say hur be Welshman, whad ten? Py Got they all be Shentlemen. Was decend from Shoves nown line, Par humane, and par divine; And from Venus, that faire Goddess, And twenty other Shentle poddy••:

Hector stout, and comely Parris, Arthur, Prute, and King of Fayris, Was hur nown Cosins all a kin We have the Powells issue in: And for ought that hur con see, As goot men, as other men pee: But whot of that? Love is a knave, Was make hur doe whot he woud have; Was compell hur write the Rime, That ne'r was writ before the time And if he will nod pity hur paine, As Got shudge hur soule, sall ne'r write againe: For love is like an Ague-fit, Was brin poor Welseman out on hur wit: Till by hur onswer, hur doe know Whother hur do love hur, ai or no. Hur has not bin in England lung, And conna speak the Englis tongue: Put hur is hur friend, and so hur will prove, Pray a send hur word, if hur con love.

[illustration]

Of Melancholy.

When I goe musing all alone, Thinking of divers things fore-knowne, When I build Castles in the aire, Vold of sorrow and void of feare,

Pleasing my selfe with phantasmes sweet, Me thinks the time runs very fleet. All my joyes to this are folly, Naught so sweet as melancholy.

When I lye waking all alone, Recounting what I have ill done, My thoughts on me then tyrannise, Fear and sorrow me surprise, Whether I tarry still or goe, Me thinks the time moves very sloe. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so sad as melancholy.

When to my selfe I act and smile, With pleasing thoughts the time beguile, By a brook side or wood so green, Unheard, unsought for, or unseen, A thousand pleasures doe me bless, And crown my soul with happinesse. All my joyes besides are folly, None so sweet as melancholy.

When I lye, sit, or walk alone, I sigh, I grieve, making great moan, In a dark grove, or irksome den, With discontents and Furies then, A thousand miseries at once,

Mine heavy heart and soul ensconce. All my griefs to this are jolly, None so soure as melancholy.

Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see, Sweet Musick, wondrous melody, Towns, places and Cities fine, Here now, then there, the world is mine, Rare Beauties, gallant Ladies shine, What e're is lovely or divine, All other joyes to this are folly, None so sweet as melancholy.

Me thinks I hear, me thinks I see Ghosts, goblins, feinds, my phantasie Presents a thousand ugly shapes, Headlesse bears, black-men and apes, Dolefull outcries, and fearfull sights, My sad and dismall soule affrights. All my griefs to this are jolly, None so damn'd as melancholy.

Me thinks I court, me thinks I kisse, Me thinks I now embrace my Mistrisse. O blessed dayes, O sweet content, In Paradise my time is spent, Such thoughts may still my fancy move, So may I ever be in love.

All my joyes to this are folly, Naught so sweet as Melancholy.

When I recount loves many frights, My sighes and tears, my waking nights, My jealous fits; O mine hard fate, I now repent, but 'tis too late. No torment is so bad as love, So bitter to my soule can prove. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so harsh as Melancholy.

Friends and Companions get you gone, 'Tis my desire to be alone, Ne're well but when my thoughts and I, Doe domineer in privacy. No Jem no treasure like to this, 'Tis my delight, my Crowne, my blisse. All my joyes to this are folly, Naught so sweet as Melancholy.

'Tis my sole plague to be alone, I am a beast, a monster growne, I will no light nor company, I find it now my misery. The scene is turn'd, my joyes are gone, Fear, discontent, and sorrowes come.

All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so fierce as Melancholy.

Ile not change life with any King, I ravisht am: can the world bring More joy, then still to laugh and smile, In pleasant toyes time to beguile? Doe not, O doe not trouble me, So sweet content I feele and see. All my joyes to this are folly, None so divine as Melancholy.

Ile change my state with any wretch, Thou canst from gaole or dunghill fetch: My pain's past cure, another Hell, I may not in this torment dwell. Now desperate I hate my life, Lend me an halter or a knife. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so damn'd as Melancholy.

[illustration]

On the Letter O.

Run round my lines, whilst I as roundly show The birth, the worth, the extent of my round O That O which in the indigested Masse Did frame it selfe, when nothing framed was.

But when the worlds great masse it selfe did show, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 largenesse, fairnesse, roundnesse a great O. The Heavens, the Element, a box of O's, Where still the greater doth the lesse inclose. The imaginary center in O's made, That speck which in the world doth stand or fade. The Zodiack, Colours, and Equator line, In Tropique and Meridian O did shine, The lines of bredth, and lines of longitude, Climate from Climate, doth by O seclude. And in the starry spangled sky the O Makes us the day from night distinctly know. And by his motion, round as in a ring, Light to himselfe, light to each O doth bring; In each dayes journey, in his circle round, The framing of an O by sense is found. The Moon hath to the O's frame most affection: But the Suns envy grudgeth such perfection. Yet Dian hath each moneth, and every year, Learned an O's frame in her front to bear. And to requite Sols envy with the like, With oft Eclipses at his O doth strike In our inferiour bodies there doth grow Matter enough to shew the worth of O. Our brains and heart, either in O doth lye, So that the nest of O's the sparkling eye. The ribs in meeting, fashion an O's frame, The mouth and ear, the nostrills bear the same.

The Latins honouring the chiefest parts, Gloryed to make our O the heart of hearts; Fronting it with three words of deepest sense, Order, Opinion, and Obedience. Oft have I seen a reverend dimmed eye, By the help of O to read most legibly. Each drop of rain that fals, each flower that grows Each coyne that's currant doth resemble O's. Into the water, if a stone we throw, Mark how each circle joyns to make an O. Cut but an Orange, you shall easily find, Yellow with white and watery O's combin'd. O doth preserve a trembling Conjurer, Who from his Circle O doth never stir. O from a full throat Cryer, if it come, Strikes the tumultuous roaring people dumbe. The thundring Cannon from this dreadfull O, Ruine to walls, and death to men doth throw. O utters woes, O doth expresse our joyes, O wonders shews, O riches, or O toyes. And O yee women which doe fashions fall, O ••••tre, O gorget, and O farthingall, And O yee spangles, O ye golden O's That art upon the rich embroydered throws Think not we mock, though our displeasing pen Sometime doth write, you bring an O to men, 'Tis no disparagement to you ye know, Since Ops the Gods great Grandame bears an O;

Your sexes glory (Fortune) though she reele, Is ever constant to her O, her wheele, And you Carroches through the street that glide, By art of four great O's doe help you ride. When tables full, and cups doe overflow, Is not each cup, each salt, each dish an O? What is't that dreadfull makes a Princes frowne, But that his head bears golden O the Crowne? Unhappy then th'Arithmatician, and He that makes O a barren Cipher stand. Let him know this, that we know in his place, An O adds number, with a figures grace; And that O which for Cypher he doth take, One dash may easily a thousand make. But O enough, I have done my reader wrong, Mine O was round, and I have made it long.

Pure Nonsence.

When Neptune's blasts, and Boreas blazing storms, When Tritons pitchfork cut off Vulcans horns, When Eolus boyst'rous Sun-beams grew so dark, That Mars in Moon-shine could not hit the mark: Then did I see the gloomy day of Troy, When poor Aeneas leglesse ran away, Who took the torrid Ocean in his hand, And sailed to them all the way by land: An horrid sight to see Achilles fall, He brake his neck, yet had no hurt at all.

But being dead, and almost in a trance, He threatned forty thousand with his lance. Indeed 'twas like such strange ••ights then were seen An ugly, rough, black Monster all in green. That all about the white, blew, round, square, sky; The fixed Starres hung by Geometry. Iuno amazed, and Iove surpriz'd with wonder, Caus'd Heaven to shake, and made the mountaines thunder. Which caus'd Aeneas once again retire, Drown'd Aetna's hill, and burnt the Sea with fire. Nilus for fear to see the Ocean burn, Went still on forward in a quick return. Then was that broyle of Agamemnon's done, When trembling Ajax to the battell come. He struck stark dead (they now are living still) Five hundred mushrooms with his martiall bill. Nor had himselfe escap'd, as some men say, If he being dead, he had not run away. O monstrous, hideous Troops of Dromidaries, How Bears and Bulls from Monks and Goblins varies! Nay would not Charon yield to Cerberus, But catch'd the Dog, and cut his head off thus: Pluto rag'd, and Iuno pleas'd with ire, Sought all about, but cou'd not find the fire: But being found, well pleas'd, and in a spight They slept at Acharon, and wak•• all night: Where I let passe to tell their mad bravadoes, Their meat was tosted cheese and carbonadoes.

Thousands of Monsters more besides there be Which I fast hoodwink'd, at that time did see; And in a word to shut up this discourse, A Rudg-gowns ribs are good to spur a horse.

A messe of Non-sense.

Like to the tone of unspoke speeches, Or like a Lobster clad in logick breeches, Or like the gray freeze of a crimson cat, Or like a Moon-calfe in a slipshooe-hat, Or like a shadow when the Sun is gon, Or like a thought that ne'r was thought upon: Even such is man, who never was begotten, Untill his children were both dead and rotten.

Like to the fiery touchstone of a Cabbage, Or like a Crablouse with his bag and baggage, Or like th'abortive issue of a Fizle, Or the bag-pudding of a Plow-mans whistle, Or like the foursquare circle of a ring, Or like the singing of Hey down a ding; Even such is man, who breathles, without doubt, Spake to small purpose when his tongue was out.

Like to the green fresh fading Rose, Or like to Rime or Verse that runs in prose, Or like the Humbles of a Tinder-box,

Or like a man that's sound, yet hath the Pox, Or like a Hob-naile coyn'd in single pence, Or like the present preterperfect tense: Even such is man who dy'd, and then did laugh To see such strong lines writ on's Epitaph.

An Encomium.

I sing the praises of a Fart; That I may do't by rules of Art, I will invoke no Deity But butter'd Pease & Furmity, And think their help sufficient To fit and furnish my intent. For sure I must not use high straines, For fear it bluster out in graines: When Virgils Gnat, and Ovids Flea, And Homers Frogs strive for the day There is no reason in my mind, That a brave Fart should come behind; Since that you may it parallell With any thing that doth excell: Musick is but a Fart that's sent From the guts of an Instrument: The Scholler but farts, when he gains Learning with cracking of his brains. And when he has spent much pain and oile, Thomas and Dun to reconcile;

And to learn the abstracting Art, What does he get by'••? not a fart. The Souldier makes his foes to run With but the farting of a Gun; That's if he make the bullet whistle, Else 'tis no better then a Fizle: And if withall the wind doe stir up Rain, 'tis but a Fart in Syrrup. They are but Farts, the words we say, Words are but wind, and so are they. Applause is but a Fart, the crude Blast of the fickle multitude. Five boats that lye the Thames about, Be but farts severall Docks let out. Some of our projects were, I think, But politick farts, foh how they stink! As soon as born, they by and by, Fart-like but onely breath, and dy. Farts are as good as Land, for both We hold in taile, and let them both: Onely the difference here is, that Farts are let at a lower rate. I'll no say more, for this is right, That for my Guts I cannot write, Though I should study all my dayes, Rimes that are worth the thing I praise. What I have said, take in good part, If not, I doe not care a fart.

The Drunken Humors.

[illustration]

One here is bent to quarrell, and he will (If not prevented) this his fellow kill:

He fume••, and frets, and rages; in whose face Nothing but death and horrour taketh place. But being parted, 'tother odd jugg, or two, Makes them all friends again with small ado••.

Another he makes deaf your ears to heare The vain tautologies he doth declare; That, had you as many ear•• as Argus eyes; He'd make them weary all with tales, and lyes: And at the period of each idle fable, He gives the on-set to out-laugh the Table.

One he fits drinking healthe to such a friend, Then to his Mistris he a health doth send: This publick Captain•• health he next doth mean, And then in private to some nasty Que••n; Nothing but health•• of love is his pretence, Till he himselfe hath lost both health and sense.

To make the number up amongst the crew, Another being o're-fil'd, begins to spue Worse then the brutish beast; (O fy upon it!) It is a qualme forsooth doth cause him vomit. So that his stomack being over-prest, He must disgorge it, o're he can have rest.

Here sits one straining of his drunken throat Beyond all reason, yet far short of note:

Singing is his delight, then hoops and hallows, Making a Garboyle worse then Vulcans bellows. Now for a Coun••er-tenor he takes place, But straining that too high, fall•• to a base. Then screws his mouth an inch beyond his forme, To treble it, just like a Gelders-horne: He's all for singing, and he hates to chide, Till blithfull Bacchus cause his tongue be tide.

One like an Ape shews many tricks and toyes, To leap, and dance, and sing with ru••full noise; O're the foorme skips, then crosse-legd sits Upon the Table, in his apish fits. From house to house he rambles in such sort, That no Baboon could make you better sport: He pincheth one, another with his wand He thrusts, or striketh, or else with his hand: P••ss••s the room, and as he sleeping lyes, Waters his Couch (not with repenting eyes.)

A seaventh, he sits mute, as if his tongue Had never learn'd no other word but mum; And with his mouth he maketh mops and mews, Just like an Ape his face in form he screws: Then nods with hum, and hah; but not one word His tongue-tide foolish silence can afford. To note his gesture, and his snorting after, 'Twould make a Horse break all his girts with laughter

But questionlesse he'd speak more were he able, Which you shall hear, having well slept at table.

Sir reverence, your stomacks doe prepare Against some word, or deed, ill-sent doth beare. So this most sorded beast being drunk, doth misse The Chamber-pot, and in his hose doth pisse. Nay, smell but near him, you perhaps may find, Not onely piss'd before, but — behind; Each company loaths him, holding of their nose, Scorning, and pointing at his filthy hose: As no condition of a Drunkard's good, So this smels worst of all the loathsome brood.

[illustration]

The Post of the Signe.

Though it may seem rude For me to intrude, With these my Bears by chance-a; 'Twere sport for a King, If they could sing As well as they can dance-a.

Then to put you out Of fear or doubt, He came from St. Katharine-a. These dancing three, By the help of mee, Who am the post of the Signe-a.

We sell good ware, And we need not care, Though Court and Countrey knew it; Our Ale's o'th best: And each good guest Prayes for their soules that brew it.

For any Alehouse, We care not a Louse, Nor Tavern in all the Town-a; Nor the Vintry Cranes, Nor St. Clement Dones, Nor the Devill can put us down-a.

Who has once there been, Comes hither agen, The liquor is so mighty. Beer strong and stale, And so is our Ale; And it burns like Aqu••-vitae.

To a stranger there, If any appeare, Where never before he has bin; We shew th'Iron gate, The wheele of St. Kate, And the place where they first fell in.

The wives of Wapping, They trudge to our tapping, And still our Ale desire; And there sit and drink, Till they spue and stink, And often pisse out the fire.

From morning to night, And about to day-light, They sit and never grudge it; Till the Fish-wives joyne Their single coyne, And the Tinker pawns his budget.

If their brains be not well, Or bladders doe swell, To ease them of their burden; My Lady will come With a bowl and a broom, And their handmaid with a Jourden.

From Court we invite, Lord, Lady, and Knight, Squire, Gentleman, Yeoman, and Groom, And all our stiffe drinkers, Smiths, Porters, and Tinkers, And the Beggers shall give ye room.

If you give not credit, Then take you the verdict, Or a guest that came from St. H••llow••; And you then will sweare, The Man has been there, By his story now that follows.

A Ballade.

[illustration]

A Discourse between two Countrey-men.

I Tell thee Dick where I have been, Where I the rarest things have seen; Oh things beyond compare!

Such sights againe cannot be found In any place on English ground, Be it at Wake or Faire.

At Charing-Crosse, hard by the way Where we (thou know'st) do sell our H••y, There is a House with stair••; And there did I see coming down Such volk as are not in our Town, Vortie at l••ast in pairs.

Amongst the rest, on p••st'lent fine, (His beard no bigger though then thine) Walkt on before the rest: Our Landlord looks like nothing to him: The King (God blesse him) 'twould undo him Should he goe still to drest.

At Course-a-Park, without all doubt, He should have first been taken out By all the maid•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Town: Though Iusty Roger there had been, Or little George upon the Green, Or Vincent of the Crown.

But wot you what? the youth was going To make an end of all his wooing; The Parson for him sta••d:

Yet by his leave (for all his ha••t) He did not so much wish all past (Perchance) as did the Maid.

The Maid (and thereby hangs a tale) For such a Maid no Widson-Ale Could ever yet produce: No grape that's kindly ripe, could be So round, so plump, so soft as she, Nor halfe so full of juice.

Her finger was so small, the Ring Would not stay on which he did bring, It was too wide a peck: And to say truth (for out it must) It lookt like the great Collar (just) About our young Colts neck.

Her feet beneath her peticoat, Like little mice stole in and out, As if they fear'd the light: But Dick she dances such a way I No Sun upon an Easter day Is halfe so fine a sight.

He would have kist her once or twice, But she would not, she was so nice She would not do'•• ••n sight,

And then she lookt as who would say I will doe what I list to day; And you shall do't at night.

Her cheeks so rare a white was on, No D••zy make comparison (Who sees them is undone) For streaks of red were mingled there, Such as are on a Katherine Peare, The side that's next the Sun.)

Her lips were red, and one was thin Compar'd to Heat was next her chin; (Some Bee had stung it newly) But (Dick) her eyes so guard her face, I durst no more upon them gaze, Then on the Sun in Iuly.

Her mouth so small when she does speak, Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break, That they might passage get, But she so handled still the matter, They came as good as ours, or better, And are not spent 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whit.

If wishing should be any sin The Parson himselfe had guilty bin, (She lookt that day so purely)

And did the youth so oft the feat At night, as some did in conceit, It would have spoil'd him surely.

Passion oh me! how I run on! There's that that would be thought upon, (I trow) besides the Bride. The businesse of the Kitchin's great, For it is fit that men should eat; Nor was it there deny'd.

Just in the nick the Cook knockt thrice, And all the Waiters in a trice His summons did obey, Each Serving-man with dish in hand, Marcht boldly up like our Train'd band, Presented and away.

When all the mea•• was on the Table, What man of knife, or teeth, was able To stay to be intreated? And this the very reason was Before the Parson could say Grace, The company was seated.

Now hats fly off, and youths carrouse; Healths first goe round, and then the house, The Brides came thick and thick;

And when 'twas nam'd anothers health, Perhaps he made it here by stealth; (And who could help it Dick?)

O'th sudain up they rise and dance; Then sit againe, and sigh, and glance: Then dance againe and kisse: Thus sev'rall wayes the time did passe, Whil'st every woman wisht her place, And every man wisht his.

By this time all were stolne aside, To councell and undresse the Bride; But that he must not know: But 'twas thought he ghest her mind, And did not mean to stay behind Above an houre or so.

When in he came (Dick) there she lay Like new-faln snow melting away, ('Twas time I trow to part) Kisses were now the onely stay, Which soon she gave, as who would say, God B'w'y'! with all my heart.

But just as Heavens would have to crosse it, In came the Bride-maids with the Posset: The Bridegroom eat in spight;

For had he le•••• the women to't It would have cost two houres to do't, Which were too much that night.

At length the Candle's out, and now, All that they had not done, they doe: What that i••, who can tell? But I beleeve it was no more Then thou and I have done before With Bridget, and with Nell.

The Good Fellow.

When shall we meet again to have a tast Of that transcendent Ale we drank of last? What wild ingredient did the woman chose To make her drink withall? it made me lose My wit, before I quencht my thirst; there came Such whimsies in my brain, and such a flame Of fiery drunkennesse had sing'd my nose, My beard shrunk in for fear; there were of those That took me for a Comet, some afar Distant remote, thought me a blazing star; The earth me thought, just as it was, it went Round in a wheeling course of merriment. My head was ever drooping, and my nose Offering to be a suiter to my toes.

My pock-hole face, they say, appear'd to some, Just like a dry and burning Honey-comb: My tongue did swim in Ale, and joy'd to boast It selfe a greater Sea-man then the toast. My mouth was grown awry, as if it were Lab'ring to reach the whisper in mine eare. My guts were mines of sulphur, and my se•• Of parched teeth, struck fire as they met. Nay, when I pist, my Urine was so hot, It burnt a hole quite through the Chamber-pot: Each Brewer that I met, I kiss'd, and made Suit to be bound appren••i••e to the Trade: One did approve the motion, when he saw, That my own legs could my Indentures draw. Well Sir, I grew stark mad, as you may see By this adventure upon Poetry. You easily may guesse, I am not quite Grown sober yet, by these weak lines I write: Onely I do't for this, to let you see, Whos'ere paid for the Ale, I'm sur't paid me.

Canto, In the praise of Sack.

Listen all I pray, To the words I have to say, In memory sure insert um: Rich Wines doe us raise To the honour of Bayes, Quem non fecere disertum?

Of all the juice, Which the Gods produce, Sack shall be preferr'd before them; 'Tis Sack that shall Create us all, Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum.

We abandon all Ale, And Beer that is stale, Rosa-solis, and damnable hum: But we will rack In the praise of Sack, Gainst Omne quod exit in um.

This is the wine, Which in former time, Each wise one of the Magi Was wont to carouse In a frolick blouse. Recubans sub tegmine fagi.

Let the hop be their bane, And a rope be their shame Let the gout and collick pin 〈◊〉〈◊〉 That offer to shrink, In taking their drink, Seu Graecum, sive Latinum.

Let the glasse goe round, Let the quart-pot sound, Let each one doe as hee's done do: Avaunt yee that hugge The abominable Jugge, 'Mongst us Heteroclita sunto.

There's no such disease, As he that doth please His palate with Beer for to shame us: 'Tis Sack makes us sing, Hey down a down ding, Musa paulo majora canamus.

He is either mute, Or doth poorly dispute, That drinks ought else but wine O, The more wine a man drinks, Like a subtile Sphinx Tantum valet ille loquendo.

'Tis true, our soules, By the lowsie bowles Of Beer that doth nought but swill us, Doe goe into swine, (Pythagoras 'tis thine) Nam vos mutastis & illos.

When I've Sack in my brain, I'm in a merry vain, And this to me a blisse is: Him that is wise, I can justly despise: Mecum confertur Vlysses?

How it chears the brains, How it warms the vains, How against all crosses it arms us! How it makes him that's poor, Couragiously roar, Et mutatas dicere formas.

Give me the boy, My delight and my joy, To my tantum that drinks his tale: By Sack he that waxes In our Syntaxes. Est verbum personale.

Art thou weak or lame, Or thy wits to blame? Call for Sack, and thou shalt have it, 'Twill make thee rise, And be very wise, Cui vim natura negavit.

We have frolick rounds, We have merry go downs, Yet nothing 〈◊〉〈◊〉 done at randome, For when we are to pay, We club and away, Id est commune notandum.

The blades that want cash, Have credit for crash, They'll have Sack whatever it cost um, They doe not pay, Till another day, Manet alta mente repostum.

Who ne'r fails to drink, All clear from the brink, With a smooth and even swallow, I'll offer at his shrine, And call it divin•• Et erit mihi magnus Apollo.

He that drinks still, And never hath his fill, Hath a passage like a Conduit, The Sack doth inspire, In rapture and fire, Sic aether aethera fundit.

When you merrily quaffe, If any doe off, And then from you needs will passe the, Give their nose a twitch, And kick them in the britch, Non componuntur ab asse.

I have told you plain, And tell you again, Be he furious as Orlando, He is an asse, That from hence doth passe, Nisi bibit ad ostia stando.

The vertue of Sack.

Fetch me Ben Iohnsons scull, and fill't with Sack, Rich as the same he drank, when the whole pack Of jolly sisters pledg'd, and did agree, It was no sin to be as drunk as he: If there be any weaknesse in the wine, There's vertue in the Cup to mak't divine; This muddy drench of Ale does tast too much Of earth, the Mault retains a scurvy touch Of the dull hand that sows it; and I fear There's heresie in hops; give Block-heads beer, And silly Ignoramu••, such as think There's Powder-treason in all Spanish drink,

Call Sack an Idoll; we will kisse the Cup, For fear the Conventickle be blown up With superstition; away with Brew-house alm••, Whose best mirth is six shillings Beer, & qualms. Let me rejoyce in sprightly Sack, that can Create a brain even in an empty pan. Canary! it's thou that dost inspire And actuate the soule with heavenly fire. Thou that sublim'st the Genius-making wit, Scorn earth, and such as love, or live by it. Thou mak'st us Lords of Regions large and faire, Whilst our conceits build Castles in the aire: Since fire, earth, aire, thus thy inferiour•• be, Henceforth I'll know no element but thee: Thou precious Elixar of all Grapes, Welcome by thee our Muse begins her scapes, Such is the worth of Sack; I am (me thinks) In the Exchequer now, hark how it chinks, And doe esteem my venerable selfe As brave a fellow, as if all the pelfe Were sure mine own; and I have thought a way Already how to spend it; I would pay No debts, but fairly empty every trunk; And change the gold for Sack to keep me drunk; And so by consequence till rich Spaines wine Being in my crown, the Indie•• too were mine: And when my brains are once afoot (heaven blesse us!) I think my self a better man then Croesus.

And now I doe conceit my selfe a Judge▪ And coughing laugh to see my Clients trudge After my Lordships Coach unto the Hall For Justice, and am full of Law withall, And doe become the Bench as well as he That fled long since for want of honestie: But I'll be judge no longer, though in jest, For fear I should be talkt with like the rest, When I am sober; who can chuse but think Me wise, that am so wary in my drink? Oh admirable Sack! here's dainty sport, I am come back from Westminster to Court; And am grown young again; my Ptisick now Hath left me, and my Judge•• graver brow Is smooth'd; and I turn'd amorous as May, When she invites young lovers forth to play Upon her flowry bosome: I could win A Vestall now, or tempt a Queen to sin. Oh for a score of Queens! you'd laugh to see, How they would strive which first should ravish me: Three Goddesses were nothing: Sack has ••ipt My tongue with charms like those which Paris sipt From Venus, when she taught him how to kisse Faire Helen, and invite a fairer blisse: Mine is Canary-Rhetorick, that alone Would turn Diana to a burning stone, Stone with amazement, burning with loves fire; Hard to the touch, but short in her desire.

Inestimable Sack! thou mak'st us rich, Wise, amorous, any thing; I have an itch To t'other cup, and that perchance will make Me valiant too, and quarrell for thy sake. If I be once inflam'd against thy foe•• That would preach down thy worth in smal-beer prose, I shall doe miracles as bad, or worse, As he that gave the King an hundred Horse: T'other odd Cup, and I shall be prepar'd To snatch at Stars, and pluck down a reward With mine own hands from Iove upon their backs That are, or Charls his enemies, or Sacks: Let it be full, if I doe chance to spill Over my Standish by the way, I will Dipping in this diviner Ink, my pen, Write my selfe sober, and fall to't agen.

The Answer of Ale to the Challenge of Sack.

COme, all you brave wights, That are dubbed Ale-knights Now set out your selves in sight: And let them that crack In the praises of Sack, Know Malt is of mickle might. Though Sack they define To holy divine,

Yet it is but naturall liquor: Ale hath for its part An addition of art, To make it drink thinner or thicker. Sacks fiery sume Doth wast and consume Mens humidum radicale; It scaldeth their livers, It breeds burning feavers, Proves vinum venenum reale. But History gathers, From aged fore-fathers, That Ale's the true liquor of life: Men liv'd long in health, And preserved their wealth, Whilst Barley-broth onely was rife. Sack quickly ascends, And suddenly ends What company came for at first: And that which yet worse is, It empties mens purses Before it halfe quencheth their thirst. Ale is not so costly, Although that the most lye Too long by the Oyle of Barley, Yet may they part late At a reasonable rate, Though they came in the morning early.

Sack makes men from words Fall to drawing of swords, And quarrelling endeth their quaffing; Whilst dagger-ale barrels Bear off many quarrels, And often turne chiding to laughing. Sack's drink for our Masters: A••l may be Ale-tasters▪ Good things the more common the better. Sack's but single broth: Ale's meat, drink, and cloth, Say they that know never a letter. But not to entangle Old friends till they wrangle, And quarrell for other mens pleasure; Let Ale keep his place, And let Sack have his grace, So that neither exceed the due measure.

The Triumph of Tobacco over Sack and Ale.

NAy, soft, by your leaves, Tobacco bereaves You both of the Garland: forbear it: You are two to one, Yet Tobacco alone

Is like both to win it, and wear it. Though many men crack, Some of Ale, some of Sack, And think they have reason to doe it; Tobacco hath more, That will never give o're The honour they doe unto it. Tobacco engages Both sexes, all ages, The poor as well as the wealthy, From the Court to the Cottage, From childhood to dotage, Both those that are sick and the healthy. It plainly appears That in a few years Tobacco more custome hath gained, Then Sack, or then Ale, Though the double the tale Of the times, wherein they have reigned. And worthily too, For what they undoe Tobacco doth help to regaine, On ••airer conditions, Then many Physitians, Puts an end to much grief and paine. It helpeth digestion, Of that there's no question, The gout, and the toothach, it easeth:

Be it early, or late, 'Tis never out of date, He may safely take it that pleaseth. Tobacco prevents Infection by sents, That hurt the brain, and are heady, An Antidote is, Before you're amisse, As well as an after remedy. The cold it doth heat, Cools them that doe sweat, And them that are fat maketh lean: The hungry doth feed, And, if there be need, Spent spirits restoreth again. Tobacco infused May safely be used For purging, and killing of lice: Not so much as the ashes But heals cuts and slashes, And that out of hand, in a trice. The Poets of old, Many fables have told, Of the Gods and their Symposia: But Tobacco alone, Had they known it, had gone For their Nectar and Ambrosia. It is not the smack

Of Ale, or of Sack, That can with Tobacco compare: For taste, and for smell, It bears away the bell From them both where ever they are. For all their bravado, It is Trinidado That both their noses will wipe Of the praises they desire, Unlesse they conspire To sing to the tune of his pipe.

Turpe est difficiles habere nug••s.

A Farewell to Sack.

FArewell thou thing, time past so true and dear To me, as bloud to life, and spirit, and near, Nay thou more near then kindred, friend, or wife, Male to the female, soule to the body, life To quick action, or the warm soft side Of the yet chast, and undefiled Bride. These and a thousand more could never be More near, more dear, then thou wert once to me. 'Tis thou above, that with thy mystick faln Work'st more then Wisdome, Art, or Nature can; To raise the holy madnesse, and awake

The frost bound-blood and spirits, and to make Them frantick with thy raptures, stretching through The soul•• like lightning, & as active too. But why, why doe I longer gaze upon Thee, with the eye of admiration, When I must leave thee, and inforc'd must say, To all thy witching beauties, Goe away? And if thy whimpring looks do ask me, why? Know then, 'tis Nature biddeth thee hence, not I; 'Tis her erroneous selfe hath form'd my brain, Uncapable of such a Soverain, As is thy powerfull selfe; I prethee draw in Thy gazing fires, lest at their sight the sin Of fierce Idolatry shoot into me, and I turn Apostate to the strict command Of Nature; bid me now farewell, or smile More ugly, lest thy tempting looks beguile My vows pronounc't in zeal, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thus much shows thee, That I have sworn, but by thy looks to know thee Let others drink thee boldly, and desire Thee, and their lips espous'd, while I admire And love, but yet not tast thee: let my Muse Faile of thy former helps, and onely use Her inadulterate strength, whats done by me, Shall smell hereafter of the Lamp, not thee.

A fit of Rime against Rime.

Rime the rack of finest wits, That expresseth but by fit••

True conceit. Spoyling senses of their treasure, Cousening judgement with a measure, But false weight. Wresting words from their true calling, Propping Verse for fear of falling To the ground. Joynting syllables, drowning letters, F••st••ing vowels, as with fetter•• They were bound. Soon as lazie thou wer't known, All good Poetry hence was flown, And art banish'd. For a thousand years together, All Parnassus green did wither. And wit vanish'd. Pegasus did fly away, At the wells no Muse did stay, But bewayl'd. So to see the fountaine dry, And Apollo's Musick dye; All light fail'd! S••arveling Rimes did fill the stage, Not a Poet in an age Worth crowning. Not a work deserving Bayes, Nor a l••ne deserving praise; Pallas frowning.

Greek was free from Rimes infection, Happy Greek by this protection Was not spoyled. Whilst the Latine, Queen of Tongues, Is not free from Rimes wrongs; But 〈◊〉〈◊〉 soiled. Scarce the hill againe doth flourish, Scarce the world a wit doth nourish, To restore, Phaebus to his Crown again; And the Muses to their brain, As before. Vulgar languages that want Words, and sweetnesse, and be scant Of true measure, Tyran Rime hath so abused, That they long since have refused Other ceasure. He that first invented thee, May his joynts tormented be, Cramp'd for ever. Still may syllables joyn with time, Still may reason war with rime, Resting never. May his sense when it would meet, The cold ••umor in his feet, Grow unsounder. And his title be long foole,

That in rearing such a Schoole, Was the Founder.

A Letany.

From a proud Woodcock, and a peevish wife, A pointlesse Needle, and a broken Knife, From lying in a Ladies lap, Like a great foole that longs for pap, And from the fruit of the three corner'd tree, Vertue and goodnesse still deliver me.

From a conspiracy of wicked knaves, A knot of villains, and a crew of slaves, From laying plots for to abuse a friend, From working humors to a wicked end, And from the wood where Wolves and Foxes be, Vertue and goodnesse still deliver me.

From resty Bacon, and ill rosted E••les, And from a madding wit that runs on wheeles, A vap'ring humour, and a beetle head, A smoky chimney, and a lowsie bed, A blow upon the elbow and the knee, From each of these, goodnesse deliver me.

From setting vertue at too low a price, From losing too much coyn at Cards and Dice.

From surety-ship, and from an empty purse, Or any thing that may be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 worse; From all such ill, wherein no good can be, Vertue and goodnesse still deliver me.

From a foole, and serious toyes, From a Lawyer three parts noise; From impertinence like a Drum Beat at dinner in his room, From a tongue without a file, Heaps of Phrases and no 〈◊〉〈◊〉, From a Fiddler out of tune, As the Cuckoo is in Iune. From a Lady that doth breath Worse above, then underneath. From the bristles of a Hog, Or the ring-worm in a Dog: From the courtship of a bryer, Or St. Anthonies old fire. From the mercy of some Jaylors, From the long bills of all Taylors, From Parasites that will stroak us, From morsells that will choak us, From all such as purses cut, From a filthy durty slut, From Canters and great eaters, From Patentees and Cheaters, From men with reason tainted,

From women which are painted, From all far-fetch'd new fangles, From him that ever wrangles, From rotten Cheese, and addle Eggs, From broken shine, and gowty Leggs, From a Pudding hath no end, From bad men that never mend, From the Counter or the Fleet, From doing penance in a sheet, From Jesuites, Monk••, and Fryers, From hypocrites, knaves, and lyers, From Romes Pardons, Bulls, and Masses, From Bug-bears, and broken Glasses, From Spanish Pensions and their spies, From weeping Cheese with Argus eyes, From forain foes invasions, From Papisticall perswasions, From private gain, by publick losse, From coming home by weeping crosse, From all these I say agen, Heaven deliver me, Amen.

The Gypsies.

[illustration]

The Captain sings.

FRom the famous Peake of Darby, And the Devills-arse there hard-by, Where we yearly keep our Musters, Thus the Aegyptians throng in clusters.

Be not frighted with our fashion, Though we seem a tattered Nation; We account our raggs, our riches, So our Tricks exceed our stitches.

Give us Bacon, rinds of Wallnuts, Shells of C••ckels, and of small Nuts; Ribands, b••ll••, and saffrand linnen, All the world is ours to win in.

Knacks we have that will delight you, Slight of hand that will invite you. To endure ou•• tawny faces Quit your places, and not cause you cut your laces.

All your fortunes we can tell yee, Be they for the back or belly; In the Moods too and the Tences, That may fit your fine five senses.

Draw but then your gloves we pray you, And ••it still, we will not fray you; For though we be here at Burley, Wee'd be loath to make a hurley.

Another sings.

STay my sweet Singer, ••he touch of thy finger, A 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and linger;

For me that am bringer Of bound to the border, The rule and Recorder, And mouth of the order, As Pri••t of the Game, And Prelate of the same. There's a Gentry Cove here, Is the top of the shiere, Of the Bever Ken, A man among men; You need not to feare, I have an eye, and an eare That turns here and there, To look to our geare. Some say that there be, One or two, if not three, That are greater then he. And for the Rome-Mor••s, I know by their Ports And their jolly resorts They are of the sorts That love the true sports Of King Ptolomeus, Or great Coriphaeus, And Queen Cleopatra, The Gypsies grand Matra. Then if we shall shark it, Here Faire is, and Market.

Leave Pig Py and Goose, And play fast and loose, A short cut and long, Some inch of a Song, Pythagoras lot, Drawn out of a pot; With what says Alkindus And Pharaotes Indus, Iohn de Indagine With all their Pagine, Of faces and Palmestrie, And this is All mysterie. Lay by your Wimbles, Your boring for Thimbles, Or using your nimbles, In diving the Pockets, And sounding the sock••ts Of Simper the Cocke••s; Or angling the purses, Of such as will curse us; But in the strict duell Be merry, and cruell, Strike faire at some Jewell That mine may accrew well For that is the fuell, To make the Towne brew well, And the Pot wring well, And the braine sing well,

Which we may bring well About by a string well, And doe the ••hing well. It is but a straine Of true legerdemaine, Once twice and againe. Or what will you say now? If with our fine play now, Our knack and our dances, We work on the Fancies Of some of your Nancies. These trinckets, and tripsies▪ And make 'em turn Gypsies. Here's no Justice Lippus Will seek for to nip us, In Cramp-ring or Cippus, And then for to strip us, And after to whip us. His justice to vary, While here we doe tarry But be wise, and wary And we may both carry The Kate and the Mary, And all the bright ae'ry. Away to the Q••arry. Or durst I goe further In method and order, There's a Purse and a Seale,

I have a great mind to steale. That when our tricks are done, We might seale our own pardon; All this we may doe, And a great deal more too, If our brave Ptolomee, Will but say follow me.

To those that would be Gypsies too.

FRiends not to refell ye, Or any way quell ye, To buy or to ••ell ye, I onely must tell ye, Ye aim at a Mystery Worthy a History; There's much to be done, Ere you can be a Sonne, Or brother of the Moone. 'Tis not so soone Acquir'd as de••ir'd. You must be Ben-bousie, And sleepy and drowsie, And lasie, and lowsie, Before ye can rouse ye, In shape that arowse ye. And then you may stalk The Gypsies walk;

To the Coops and the Pens. And bring in the Hens, Though the Cock be sullen For losse of the Pullen: Take Turkie, or Capon, And Gammons of Bacon, Let nought be forsaken; We'l let you goe loose Like a Fox to a Goose, And shew you the stye Where the little Pigs lye; Whence if you can take One or two, and not wake The Sow in her dreams, But by the Moon beam••; So warily hie, As neither doe cry. You shall the next day Have license to play At the hedge a flirt For a sheet or a shirt; If your hand be light, I'le shew you the slight Of our Ptolomies knot, It is, and 'tis not. To change your complexion With the noble confection

Of Wallnuts and Hogs-grease, Better then Dogs-grease: And to milk the kine, Ere the milkmaid fine Hath opened her ••••ne. Or if you desire To spit, or fart fire, Ile teach you the knacks, Of eating of flax; And out of their noses, Draw ribbands and posies. And if you incline To a cup of good wine, When you sup or dine; If you chance it to lack, Be it Claret or Sack; Ile make this snout, To deale it about, Or this to run out, As it were from a spout.

[illustration]

A Farewell to Folly.

FArewell, ye gilded follies, pleasing troubles; Farewell, ye honor'd rag••, ye christall bubles; Fame's but a hollow Eccho; Gold, poor clay; Honour, the darling, but of one short day; Beauties chief Idoll, but a damask skin; State, but a golden Prison to live in, And torture free-born minds; imbroydred trains, But goodly Pageant••? proudly swelling vains, And blood alal'd to greatnesse, is but loane, Inherited, not purchast, not our owne. Fame, Riches, Honour, Beauty, State, Trains, Birth▪ Are but the fading blessings of the Earth, I would be rich, but see man too unkinde; Digs in the bowels of the richest Mine.

I would be great, but yet the Sun doth still Levell his beams against the rising hill. I would be faire, but see the Champion proud, The worlds faire eye, oft setting in a cloud. I would be wise, but that the Fox I see Suspected guilty, when the Fox is free. I would be poor, but see the humble grasse Trampled upon, by each unworthy asse. Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd if poor; Great, fear'd; fair, tempted; high, still envide more. Would the world then, adopt me for her heire; Would beauties Queen, entitle me the faire; Fame, speak me honours Minion; and could I With Indian-Angels, and a speaking eye, Command bare heads, bow'd knees, strike Justice dumbe, As well as blind and lame, and give a tongue To stones by Epitaphs; be call'd great Master; In the loose lines of every Poetaster; Could I be more, then any man that lives; Great, Wise, Rich, Faire, all in superlatives: Yet I these favours, would more free resigne, Then ever fortune would have had them mine. I count one minute of my holy leasure, Beyond the mirth of all this earthly pleasure. Welcom pure thoughts, welcom ye carelee groves; These are my guests; this is the Court age loves. The winged people of the skies shall sing Me Anthems, by my sellers gentle spring.

Divinity shall be my Looking-glasse, Wherein I will adore sweet vertues face. Here dwels no heartlesse loves, no pale-fac't fears, No short joyes purchast with eternall tears. Here will I sit and sigh my hot youths folly; And learn to affect an holy Melancholy: And if contentment be a stranger, then Ile ne'r look for it but in heaven agen.

An Invitation to the Reader.

HAving now fed thy youthfull frencies, with these Juvenilian Fancies; let me invite thee (with my selfe) to sing Altiora peto. And then to meet with this thy noble resolution; I would commend to thy sharpest view and serious consi∣deration; The Sweet Caelestiall sacred Poems by Mr. Henry Vaughan, intituled Silex Scintillans.

There plumes from Angels wings, he'l lend thee, Which every day to heaven will send thee.

(Heare him thus invite thee home.)

If thou wouldst thither, linger not, Catch at the place, Tell youth, and beauty, they must rot, They'r but a Case: Loose, parcell'd hearts will freeze; the Sun

With scatter'd locks Scarce warm••, but by contraction Can heat Rocks; Call in thy powers; run, and reach Home with the light; Be there, before the shadows stretch, And span up nighs; Follow the Cry no more: there is An ancient way All strewed with flowers and happinesse, And fresh as May; There turn, and turn no more; let wits, Smile at faire eyes, Or lips; but who there weeping sits, Hath got the prize.

FINIS. 1654.