Wit restor'd in several select poems not formerly publish't.

The Sowgelder's Song, in the Beggers-Bush.

I Met with the Divell in the shape of a Ramme, Over and over the Sow-gelder came, I took him and haltred him fast by the horne, And pickt out his stones as you'd pick out your cornes. Oh quoth the Divell and with that he shrunk, And left me a carkase of mutton that stunk.

Walking alone but a mile and a halfe, I saw where he lay in the shape of a calfe; I took him and gelt him e're he thought any e∣vill, And found him to be but a sucking Divell. Bla quoth the Divell and clapt down his taile, And that was sold after for excellent veale.

I met with the Divell in the shape of a Pigge, I look't at the rogue, and he look't something bigge; E're a man cold fart thrice, I had made him a hogge, Oh quoth the Divell and then gave a Jerke That the Jew was converted by eating of porke.

In woman's attire I met him full fine, I took him at least for an Angell divine; But viewing his crabb-face I fell to my trade, And I made him forsweare ever acting a maid. O quoth the Divell, and so ranne away, And hid him in a Fryers gray weeds, as they say.

For halfe a yeare after it was my great chance To meet with a gray coate that lay in a Trance, I took him and I graspt him fast by the codds; Betwixt his tongue and his taile I left little odds. Oh, quoth the Divell, much harme hast thou done, Thou art sure to be cursed of many a man.

My ram, calfe, my porke, my punk and my fryar, I have left them unfurnish't of their best Lady ware; And now he runs roaring from alehouse to Taverne,

And sweares hee'le turn tutor to the swagger∣ing gallant: But if I catch him Ile serve him no worse For Ile lib him, and leave him not a peny in his purse.