The second part of The nights search, discovering the condition of the various fowles of night, or, The second great mystery of iniquity exactly revealed with the projects of these times : in a poem / by Humphrey Mill, author of The nights search.

SECT. II.

A sharking thiefe, how knaves do spend Their Masters goods, and of the end That Strumpets have, the Letchers gold, One lov'd young flesh and starv'd being old. One welcomes three, the dance is round, The Laundresse plea, a Charter found. The Drunkards moanes, the Fiends do rise, He falls dispairing so he dies.

BY this, the middle Region was refin'd The fire-fac't Travellours did in their kind Post through the azure globe: but from above The distance great, I could not see'em move. The Metamorphis'd Nimph, did sometimes hide Her face with cipresse like a maiden Bride: But suddenly the sawcie clouds would rush Most rudely by them, with a modest blush

She'd over-looke the world. Muse do not thou Sing comick straines, thou'st tragick fancies now To try thy Genius: yonder comes a theefe, Who seekes at doores and windowes for reliefe; If he can snap a prey, that would redeeme His losse amongst his drabs, he would esteem Himselfe a happie bruit: and it would be A coverlet, and present remedie For drunkennesse, and lost; he's very bare, The spending of his money bought his care. He cannot speed as yet, oh, this a spite! His wife and children have not supt to night; They wait his coming home, had he but sped With any thing that would but purchase bread, 'Twould serve for once: but home he must not goe Till he hath toucht, his shaddow tells him so.

A little further-there a rout I spide, Feasting and kissing; where they did divide Their Masters goods by retaile, every jade Must have her share, then she will freely trade; They sparing not for cost, provide such cheare, Their Masters would be glad of once a yeare: They drinke their Mistris health, and then they woo, They'l pay, and so away, yet tarrie too, To drink another pottle we'l allow, We meet but seldome, let's be merrie now. With many times adieu, at last they part, Each one with corner kisses leaves his heart.

Then meet I with a Trub, most shamelesse, vild, Sh'was of the old translation, big with child,

And wants a father for't: now, if she can, She does intend to shame a guiltlesse man. Her friends had cast her off: she hopes to find (Though they are harsh) their nearest neighbour kind: He being honest, scornes to bribe this whore, Shee'll after wait to leave it at his doore.

When this was past, a fierce enammell'd Queane Came raging with her Whiskin, who did meane To trade in mischiefe; they a match did make, To indure Hell for one anothers fake: They newly came from prison, bail'd from thence By Mutton-mongers, who for recompence Crave but her love: and now they may abuse Their neighbours freely; neither can they chuse, Because it fits their tempers. Oh, abhor it! They think in time to get a Patent for it. A Justice with his Letter makes a way: When that is done, it will encrease their joy.

The next a sordid Letcher, verie old, Tempting a modest Beautie with his gold: Though sin had suckt him drie, yet his desire Did mock his lost into a foolish fire. In his conceit, if he his will could have, 'Twould make him young, and keep him from his grave. But she being wisely honest, would not fawne On him, nor's gold, to lay her soule to pawne.

Ere this was past, I heard a woman crie, Being weak with age; Ah, wo is me! must I Be faine to beg my bread? I married thee Being young, for pitie, that thy miserie

Might be remov'd, thee succor'd, being poore, My wealth I made thine owne; and thou this store Hast vainely spent, thou slight'st me in my need, Now I am punisht' cause I did thee feed.

Another yet? a doore being open made, Two men together lying by a jade, 'Twas monstrous to behold, they would away, She past all shame, desired them to stay, I thought they had been brothers, made a stand, To see a third man seize upon their land: And at his entrance if he'l give a fee He may beone, for she had room for three: Help her but in a case, conceale the crime, She'l pleasure him at any other time.

Just as I stept away, I lookt about, I saw a place, from whence came dauncing out A troup of Gallants, other while they staid, Sometimes the fidler sung, somtimes hee plaid. The sparke that led the daunce, was all in blacke, He cut his capers till the strings did cracke. And then he stunke apace, they fear'd no weather, What need they feare seeing they were drunk together?

The dances being past, it was my fate To see a Landresfs, who had been so late To fetch her Masters linnen, all was husht, She went in pale, but coming out she blusht. But making her defence thus (quicke enough) I by mis-fortune, did forget a ruffe, Which I must starch, before I close mine eyes, And bring it home, before he'l please to rise.

I do no ill, mistrust me not, I pray; I come so late, 'cause he's from home all day,

But after this, I heard (without a cause) A Pimping cheater raile against the Lawes; He had for's villanie been lately whipt, Warm'd in the hand, then shoulder markt and snipt: O cruell times! hard bound! and thus he sits, This is an Age, we cannot use our wits. I pimp, I shark, and steale, (do I amisse?) Yet cannot be allow'd, to live by this; A Senior thus reply'd, Do'st thou begin To curse the Law, which shames thee for thy sin? Hell gapes for such as thee: then out he flings Bis pueri senes, is the note he sings.

My Muse with sad conceits begins to scan The Centinels, where first my Search began: I heard such moanes as cut my heart like swords, Consisting more in groanes, and lesse in words: A dying sinner loath to change his life, For whom vast hell is with the earth at strife; He drunk into a surfeit, he must have The hottest wines, there's coldnesse in the grave; Fill me the t'other bowle, I like it well, They say such liquor's very scarce in hell: Alas it will not downe! ah, now must I Go down, down, down, where I shall still be dry. Then crying towards the shadow of the Moone, Away ye horrid Fiends! yee come too soone! I am not rotten yet, though I am curst, Oh, do not take me, till I've quencht my thirst!

Earth, wilt thou leave thy friend? and as he cry'd My hope is gone, he of the surfeit dy'd.

His Epitaph.

Forbeare ye tender hearts, let not your eyes Drop pearles in vaine: h'was wet too much before: He was a sink to what the grave denies, Death yeoman of his celler, keeps the doore. He dranke himselfe to dust, nor can his skin Keep out the wormes, which kept the liquor in.

I see my charge is heavie, what will fall, In my precinct, when I shall sum up all? I have a strange beginning! who will share With me in paines? or undertake my care? All kinds of walking spirits I must meet, Though they are wrapt in skin: the open street Gives all the succour I am like to find, To cheare my wearie muse, or case my mind.

Man that was made of all the creatures free, The beasts are not such vassalls now as hee. He's borne, he lives, and dyes, yet never knowes His errand to the world: nor what he owes To him that fram'd him in his mothers womb, His soule is out at use, untill his tomb Closeth upon his flesh: and then hard stones With natures leave, are partners with his bones. You have but yet a tast, to what I will Discover to your view of night-born ill. I cannot passe my serious part so brief, 'Twill aske some time to sifta a Bawde: the thiefe

Will with the rabble put their answers in, Aud you shall heare, how they will plead for sin, With the reply: which turnes the poyson dart, Then all their actions moraliz'd in part; Together with the helps I shall apply, That they may learn to live before they dy. Without the practice, how those things I know, To cleare all doubts, I at the end will show. So, now my Muse go search for stranger sins, Thy charge is ended, when the day begins

Notes

• A thief
• A deniall
• Three to one
• A Landresse
• Complaints