The mysteries of love & eloquence, or, The arts of wooing and complementing as they are manag'd in the Spring Garden, Hide Park, the New Exchange, and other eminent places : a work in which is drawn to the life the deportments of the most accomplisht persons, the mode of their courtly entertainments, treatments of their ladies at balls, their accustom'd sports, drolls and fancies, the witchcrafts of their perswasive language in their approaches, or other more secret dispatches ...

THE MYSTERIES OF Love and Eloquence; OR, The Arts of WOOING and COMPLEMENTING, &c.

The Mode of Hide Park.

MAdam, That free Interest which you have granted me in your Favour, ho∣nours me with a boldness to give you an invitation this fair afternoon, to take the Air in Hide Park.

Your most humble servant, Sir, I'le assure you, had you not come as you did, you might perchance have found me there before you, for my Cousin here and I were taking up a resolution to be jogging that way.

I'le assure you, Madam, your journey will not want its plea∣sure, beside that of the season, if the Town news hold true.

I see you came, Sir, with a resolution not to be deny'd, having brought an argument so perswasive to Women, as that of Novelty; but pray what is it?

Madam, they say, Sir Charles—hath put off his mourn∣ing-weeds, and appears this day in the Park with a new Coach and Livery: they report he looks with an amorous Counte∣nance upon the young Lady—to whom he intends, as they say, to give a Treatment at the Spring Garden; so that if Businesses be well manag'd on her side, it may chance to be a match. But, pray give me leave, I heard lately that the old Countess—is dead.

Very true, Madam, I was this morning at a Drapers shop in Pauls Church-yard, and there came in her Steward to provide Four hundred pounds worth of Mourning.

Do's it not bring a very great addition to my Lords Estate?

Doubtless Madam, a very considerable one; for she was al∣ways a near and parcimonious Woman, and indeed was con∣siderable for nothing else, but the affection she bare him. I could tell you more, Madam, but I defer the rest for discourse in the Coach.

In the Ring.

Coachman, keep the out-side of the Ring, I think, Madam, that way will not be so dusty. This is the voice of a Gen∣tleman that would shew a more then ordinary care of his Mistress.

Much discourse cannot be expected from that restless mo∣tion of Wheels and Horses, it being only a preparative for treatment talk; neither indeed in that place of Observation, is more required, then only as occasion serves, to tell your Lady, That is my Lord such a ones Coach; That's my Lady such a one; That's Squire such a one. And then when opportunity offers it self, to say, Your humble Servant; my Lord; Your most humble Servant, Madam. For though it be not so great a sin, yet it is as great a Solecism, as to talk at Church; and they shall be counted as shallow persons, that can give no account of what they have seen here, as those that can remem∣ber nothing that they have heard spoken to a Text. This is not without reason, for it being an impossibility for Ladies to travel, it was thought fit that there should be a publick Meet∣ing

of all sorts of Societies and Habits, both Forreign and Domestique, that so those young and tender Gallants might be spar'd the labour of going beyond Sea.

In the spaces among the Coaches there walk up and down Objects of Charity, and Enticements to Liberality.

Beggars, and Fruiterers, who are bold Wenches, and by their own, well knowing the disposition of other Women, with their Eyes fix'd upon the Ladies, and their Ware held up to the Gentlemen, they cry so as they may easily be heard,

My Lord, Will your Honour have any Civil Oranges! Madam, Will your Honour buy a Basket of Cherries!

The Gentleman finds himself surpriz'd, but knows not which to give, Oranges or Cherries; yet at length remembring Oranges. how great whetters of the stomach they are, and deeply considering the price of Cheesecakes, he resolves up∣on Cherries.

Then quoth he, How do you sell your Cherries, good Woman? A Crown a Ba••ket, my Lord, quoth she; with which word being extreamly pleased, he parts chearfully with his mo∣ney (for who would not purchase Honour at any Rate) and then presents his new bought treasure to his Lady in these words:

Madam, I do here present you with these First-fruits of the Year, which would have been due from Pomona her self, had she not forgot the duty that she owes your per∣fections.

The Lady makes a short reply, well knowing the end of his kindness, which was to stop her mouth.

Whether Cherries are diuretick or no, I will not here di∣spute; however, the Coachman presently after hath a com∣mand given him to wheel off, and the Lady finds in her self a disposition to walk on foot toward the Brakes: yet she is not so much tormented, but that she can talk; which is com∣monly much to this effect:

Really, Sir, I have not seen so great an appearance of com∣pany in the Park all this Spring before.

Madam, it was the lustre of your person drew'em hither, and doubtless having now seen you, they will have no cause to repent their coming.

Sir, you have a strong faith to speak so highly of one whom you have known no otherwise then in the formalities of a Vi∣sit?

I wish I that know my self better, knew my self so well as to confirm your Encomiums.

Madam, that lies not on your part to do, for wherefore hath Nature granted Man to excell in the invention of Lan∣guage, but that she would not so far deprave the dignity of the Female, which is her own Sex, as to make them the vain∣glorious praisers of themselves; and it is retaliation sufficient in you, to favour us with the acceptance of our Labours. I confess I am fallen upon a subject that I could dwell upon; I could make a particular harange in the praise of every part that builds up the noble Frame of your Body, but I am put to silence by that little Bird which warbles tydings of more con∣cernment to your ears. Do you not hear the Nightingale Madam?

I do, Sir. And indeed it is the first time I have heard her this Spring. They say it is lucky to unmarried people to hear her before the Cuckow.

Doubtless then, Madam, the end that brought her hither, was to bring you that good fortune.

Sir, It cannot be but that you must have a greater share in her happy Auguries, who better deserve them.

I should then, Madam, deserve your self, which is the hap∣piest Augury I can expect. Pardon me, Madam; if you have open'd my mouth to utter so great crime; for indeed I could say, I love you, but that I fear lest you should frown me into despair for such a high presumption.

Believe it, Sir, my ambition never aspir'd to such thoughts, as you would fain put into me; but if you have idly scatter'd a little respect upon a person no way meriting, doubtless a few dayes and another Object will soon randezvouze your Passions another way.

Madam, could any protestation avail to fix my Constancy in your belief, you should soon command me to seal my pro∣strate Vows upon the Ground on which you tread; yet since that cannot be, I onely beg this on my knees, That you will still count me your Servant, whom it shall suffice to be ho∣noured with that Liberty which you have hitherto given, till time shall discover my immutable Affection, and the pro∣firable Testimonies of my Obedience.

The Gentleman resolves now to strike while the Iron is hot, and to win her with kindness; for which end he carries her to

the Lodge, and throws away forty or fifty shillings to please her appetite; and to shew her that he was not so much cove∣tous of his Money, as of her Good Will: He breaks up Cheesecakes, cuts up Tarts, and calls in for Wine and Sugar, as if his Mistress had a Legion in her belly; though his ob∣servance is such that he eats nothing himself, for fear she should have a desire to any particular plum in his morsel, In drinking, he sweetens her Affection with a great deal of Sugar with an humble obeysance, wishing it were Nectar for her sake. She cannot be so unmannerly as not to drink to him, there being no body else in the room, which he takes for a very great kindness, and wishes for the capacious throat of the great Gyant, that he might swill up a whole pipe for joy. The Wine inspires him, and produces many extravagant Vows, and sundry Comments on her Hands, Lips, Eyes, and Forehead; which beget an host of Comparisons, putting such a scorn and contempt upon the Sun and Moon, as if they were but meer Candles of Ten in the pound, subject to be capt by every common Extinguisher. At length, emboldned by a surreptitious vapor, upon the merits of his Oblation, he craves a kiss, which being granted, with a high satisfaction he calls to pay. This is the meek spirited Lover. But that bold Mamaluck Yelep'd, a Hector, courts his Lady more daringly.

Madam, cryes he, By Heaven I love you, and then he falls down with a submissive reverence, and kisses the hem of her Petticoat; then arising up again, he proceeds, Madam there is no person living bears you a greater respect then I, or car∣ries more affection for you in his bosom then my self; make trial of it, Madam, and though you bid me die, I'le do it willingly.

He comes into the Park, like the son of Death, arm'd with the accouterments of Mortality, Sword and Pistol? he stands not much upon the nicety of Habit, so his Belt be not out of fashion. He is generally known in the Ring, and every one salutes him by the name of Tom or Jack such a one, whose kindness he requites with an Oath, and an Humble Servant: and so having done his Evening Exercise, he retires to the Lodge, where he spends his money with such a liberality, as if he bore malice to his fortunes.

The next variety is that of the Horse-Races, the general Terms of which Art, are exprest in these following Dia∣logues.

1. Gent. In good faith, Sir, that Horse must have wings that beats me.

2. Sir, your confidence may deceive you, you will ride with a Jocky that hath Horsemanship.

1. Pish, that's but your opinion; I'le tell ye what I say to ye, were it in my power, I'de lay the World upon my Mare, that she should run with the Devil for a hundred pleces.

The Gentlemen to the Jocky.

1. How now, what dost think Jocky?

2. The crack of the whole Field is against you.

Jocky. Let'm crack and be hang'd till their lungs ake.

Gentlemen.

1. What weight?

2. I think he has the Heels.

3. All that you are to do, Jocky, is to get the start.

Jocky. I'le warrant you, if I get within his quarters once, let me alone.

After Starting.

1. Twenty pounds to fifteen.

2. 'Tis done with you.

3. Forty pounds to thirty.

Lord. Done, done, I'le take the odds.

1. My Lord, I hold as much.

L. Not so, Sir.

1. Forty pounds to twenty.

L. Done, done.

2. You have lost all, my Lord, and 'twere a million.

L. In your imagination, well, who can help it.

〈◊〉〈◊〉. Crop had the start, and keeps it.

The Loser.

Gentlemen, you have a sine time to triumph, 'tis not your Odds that makes you win.

Upon the fatal disaster that befell the Gallants upon May-day last in Hide-Park.

THe last sad May-day know ye not? It was a fatal day, God wot, Which gay new Clothes did all bespot With mire and dirt.

Much might be said of other days first, For which that Year ought to be curst, That such inhumane Traitors nurst To do men hurt.

Sad to the Romans was that day When they from Hannibal ran away, Losing their gold Rings in the fray, He did so rout 'em.

Was not dark Monday sad d'ye think, When Phoebus look'd as black as ink, 'Twas all one whether men did wink Or stare about 'em.

That day had made your hearts to ake, If Faux's plot had hap'd to take, Of which the Crums of Comfort make A large recital.

And that sad day my heart doth nettle When Fire on London-bridge did settle, And Thames boyl'd under like a kettle: Men read at Whitehall.

By the vast Flame: Though at this hour, I blame not fire, but a great shower, Which Heaven did on clean linen powr, And Blades a horse-back.

For all that are but worth a groat, On May-day will in fine clothes show't, Some borrow a Belt, and some a loose coat, That money in purse lack.

First the clear Sun-shine did invite The Lord, the Lady, and the Knight, Who all in Satins richly dight, Did sit i'th boot.

The Race-nags follow'd more then ten, Upon their backs sate Gentlemen, They never were so wash'd as then From head to foot.

In sutes. from France, made a la mode, Upon their Barbaries they rode; Oh had their money been bestow'd In pious uses:

T'would ha' built an Hospital in the Strand, For Gentlemen that sell their Land, Or a Poet a week in Sack maintain'd, With all his Muses.

To copy out these Fashions then, For Male and Female Citizen, The Taylor came, as fine as when He went to woe,

Next came those pillars of the Nation, Those polishers of Education, Hight men oth' Kit, all in the fashion From top to toe.

Phoebus withdrew his beams to see Such a deal of bravery, And scorning thus outvied to be By low mortality:

He put on's cap, cryes bonas noches, Then pist, and flung it all ith' Coaches; Quoth he, I'le meet with these Cocaloches For all their great quality:

The Barber, Taylor, and Gentleman eke, They rid each one a tree to seek; They were so sad they could not speak, But sigh'd at each other.

They lookt on the ground with great regret, They lookt on the sky, and cry'd not yet! Then for being born, their stockins to wet, Each curses his mother.

But when their hats began to drip, Then desperation made them weep, And so they put on with spur and whip To London:

But, Oh the saddle of velvet blue,

And stockins of most glorious hew, They now were not fit for the stall of a Jew: Some men were undone,

Then came another in a sad case, With a handful of dirt dasht in his face, Which he wip'd with his band of Flanders lace, Who could him blame,

His Feather, that so gay of late Adorn'd his head, lay now so flat, You'ld think it were crept into his hat For very shame.

But as they pass'd quite through the street, The Alley-women glad to see't, From stalls and cellars did them greet With many a flour.

Most patiently they pass'd along, They took no notice who did'm wrong: But I must make an end of my Song. The candle's out.

The Mode of Balls.

The Dancing Master.

COme stir your selves, Maidens, 'twill bring a fresh colour into your cheeks, rub hard, and let the Ladies see their faces in the boards, you may lose nothing by't, if you be ready to light 'm out of doors your selves.

And by the Mass that will I do, and make'um such fine dops and curtsies in my best Wastecoat, that they shall not chuse but take notice of me; and Sarah shall dance a North coun∣trey Jigg before'um too; I warrant it will please the Ladies better then all your French whisks and frisks; I had rather see one freak of jolly Milkmaids, then all the story that will be here to night.

That's your ignorance, Bess.

Ignorance, I know not what you call ignorance, but I am sure there's one Dance I have been longing to dance this ten

years, and I can get no body to dance it with me in the way of honesty.

'Tis a thousand pities Bess, yet I'le search among my ac∣quaintance, It may be my chance to do thee a kindness; what Trade dost thou love best?

Any trade, any trade, Sir, I'le not confine you; beggars you know must never be their own choosers.

Well, Bess, I'le do my endeavour, in the mean time fetch the perfumes and fume every corner, that there may be no∣thing wanting but our Noble company, to make the room a perfect paradise.

At the entry of the Ladies, the Master of the Ball thus accosts them one by one.

Madam, You have afforded me an honour not to be requi∣ted, in granting me the happiness of your company this day.

To another.

Madam, Y'are welcome to this poor habitation, though your presence hath so far transported me, that I find my self unfur∣nish'd with words to express my gratitude for this high favour

To another.

Madam, I kiss your fair hands, and beg pardon for the rude∣ness of the Invitation which I sent you this morning; But this I can say, you will not find your self the only sufferer through my unmannerliness.

To another.

Madam, Your most humble servant, 'tis but just that I should give you a kind and hearty welcom, since your pre∣sence adds so much to my good fortune.

To another.

Madam, This civility hath eternally obliged me; I confess there is no recompence lies in my power, and therefore I shall

recommend to you these noble Ladies, to receive from them the amends, which my unworthiness is uncapable to render you.

To another.

My best wishes come along with you, Madam; really, you have now done me a kindness answerable to your own goodness in honouring me with your presence before this fair society.

To another.

Madam, I bless my Stars that have bestow'd on me the happiness of your fair company; I assure you, had the Queen of Love her self descended to visit this my poor habitation, she could not have been more welcom.

To the Musick.

Come, why is our Musick silent all this while, hath it no voice to bid these fair Ladies welcom.

To a Lady taking her forth to Dance.

Madam, the ambition which I have to wait on you in a Country Dance, emboldens me to invite you from your seat.

Sir, You have oblig'd me to obey you, for I am engag'd to please this noble company, though I fear my performance will give them but small satisfaction.

To a Gentleman, desiring him to take out his Lady.

Sir, This Dance requires four, and therefore be pleased to engage a Lady to your assistance.

The Applause at the end of the Dance.

Lady, You needed not have made any Apology, for doubt∣less the Cyprian Bowers ne're knew so much delight when the Graces themselves danced there.

Sir, I dare not contest with your more fluent Language, and therefore must submit, though unwillingly, to your commen∣dations.

At their going to dance Countrey Dances.

Ladies, will you be pleased to dance a Countrey Dance or two, for 'tis that which makes you truly sociable, and us truly happy; being like the Corns of a Song, where all the parts sing together.

To his Lady, desiring her to name her Dance.

Lady, will you please to call for your own Dance, or will you lay your commands on me to name it.

An offer to give over.

Ladies, when you please to give your selves rest, command us to leave off; for you must pardon us, if the desire we have to continue our own happiness make us unmanerly.

At giving over.

Ladies we must confess that we have too much presumed upon your goodness, and therefore we shall rather choose to quit our own Felicity, then to make your Recreation tiresom

Answer.

Believe not, Sir, that we can be tir'd where the Content we find in the company gives new refreshment to our Spirits, so that we should be willing still to be a part of your delight, did not the late hour of the Night, or rather the early hour of the Morning put a period to our mirth.

Return of Thanks.

Ladies, You see I have brought you into a rude Chamber; I must beg your pardon, that I can give no entertainment an∣swerable to the pains that you have taken to honour me, and grace this mean habitation of mine.

Answer.

Sir, There needs no such Apologics, for in earnest, you

have so far engag'd us, that I believe, that there is no Lady here but will think her self oblig'd to take from hence a hap∣py occasion, to be the publibk relater of your Nobleness and Civility.

There was now a general cessation of the Feet from labor, onely that small member the Tongue was not a little put to it, to express such Complements as the Brain continually hammer'd out for its delivery: Many high Strains are spoken, many pathetical Sentences are uttered, with all varieties of Congies, Bows, and Kissing of the Hand that may be. But now in come the Sweet-meats and Burnt Wine, as the reward of their great pains, which they tipple with great alacrity, as being all very thirsty. After all this, to give a little more rest to the Ladies weary limbs, they all take ther seats, and a motion is made to go to Questions and Commands, which is by all unanimously consented to.

Questions and Commands.

The Question was put,

Whether Colatinus were not a cuckold for all that Lucretia stabb'd her self?

To which the Lady answered in the Affirmative.

It was demanded,

Whether of the two wrought the most excusable Love-cure upon themselves, Hero that drown'd her self, or Phillis that hang'd her self?

It was answered,

Phillis that hang'd her self; because it may be the nature of some women to love hanging so well, that they had ra∣ther hang by the neck then not hang at all.

It was ask'd,

Whether it were more dangerous for Ladies to dance upon the Ropes, or to dance upon the Ground?

The Reply was,

To dance upon the Ground, because that sport hath been the occasion that several Ladies have caught many a shrewd fall.

It was demanded,

Why women are many times more quick witted then men?

The Answer was,

Because they eat so much salt.

It was required,

Why the Poets do so much extol Cupid for his shaft, being but a Boy;

Answer was made,

That Venus bid them do it upon her reputation, who knew better what belonged to a Page then they did.

It was ask'd,

Why Maiden-heads was so much priz'd?

It was reply'd,

Because a man might then be sure there was no danger.

It was ask'd,

Who was the fittest man to marry a flat nos'd woman?

The Reply was made,

One that had a Roman nose.

The Question was put,

Why women used to spit when they heard men speak bawdy?

It was answered,

Because their teeth water.

It was demanded,

What was the humor of those people that dyed for Love?

The Answer was,

That they lov'd to dye.

It was demanded of a Lady,

Whether she had rather marry a Fool or a Wiseman?

Answer was made,

A Wise man, unless it were such a Fool as would let her do what she listed.

The Question was,

Why women are said to be in subjection to men,

The Answer was,

Because they lie undermost.

The Question was put,

Whether a wise, beautiful, or wealthy woman were to be chosen?

The Reply was drawn from the comparison of a Wallnut;

For they said, Beauty was like the rind, presently peel'd off; that a womans Wit was quickly crack'd; and that therefore Wealth, which was like the kernel, and brought substance along with it, was to be preferred as best of all.

Their Commands consisted more of Unluckiness then Wit.

A Lady was commanded to put her busk in a Gentlemans codpiss.

Another Lady was commanded to pull it out, which occa∣sioned some sport, for she laying hold upon somthing else, after two or three pulls gave over, excusing her disobedience, by pretending that the busk was tackt to the Gentlemans belly.

Another Lady was commanded to lead a Gentleman three times about the Room by the nose with her teeth, which be∣ing done,

He was commanded to wipe off the wet with the lappet of her Smock.

Another Lady is commanded to tell, how often she open'd her back-gates to let forth the captivated wind of her belly since she came into the Room.

Another Lady is commanded to tell, if she have not a wart, like that in her face, upon such or such secret part of her body.

Another Lady was commanded to tell, whether she had her maidenhead or no.

Another was commanded to tell, who she loved best in that Room.

Another was commanded to tell, how many times her Husband had enjoy'd her.

The Gentlemen were commanded,

One to untie a Ladies garter.

Another, to kiss her bare knee.

Another, to tell how many of Aretines postures he had try'd.

Another, to tell who he lay with last.

Another, to tell how many Mistresses he had, and which he loved best.

Another was commanded to tell how many children he had that he durst not own.

Another was commanded to tell how many times he could lie with a Woman in one night.

By this time 'tis very late, and they resolve all to depart, which makes the Master of the Ball put on all his gravity, with which he thus accosts his departing guests.

Ladies, Since the time of parting is now unhappily arrived, I am now to give you thanks for that great kindness which you have shewed me; but seeing I want expressions to per∣form so great a work, I shall endeavour to supply my defect

of words in deeds, beseeching you to command from me what testimonies you please of my duty and service upon all occasions.

Reply.

Sir, we cannot in modesty require any such debt from a person who hath so much engaged us by his favours; and so all happiness attend you till our next meeting.

Pardon me Ladies, I shall wait on you to your Coaches, and then commit you to the protection of your own goodness, and of these Gentlmen who have the happy fortune to attend you home.

An address to a Company of Ladies.

A. Ladies, I beseech you that my coming may be no inter∣ruption to your discourse; though it would be no small hap∣piness to me, to partake of your pleasant entertainments.

B. Sir, our discourses are not of much importance; we meet often among our selves, and therefore we do willingly quit them, to enjoy your better company.

A. Truly, Ladies, he that is in this company cannot want an Object to entertain himself; onely it is my imperfection, that I have not language enough at command to express the zeal which I have to honour and serve your perfections,

B. Sir, we dare not acknowledge any such thing in us, and therefore, if you please, take some other subject on which to imploy your Eloquence; you will otherwise make us believe that you go about to play upon us.

A. Give me leave to tell ye, Ladies, that if your modesty will not let you aver so real a truth, yet the respect which I bear to Ladies, commands me not onely to acknowledge, but to be a witness thereof.

B. Sir, we beseech you not to take so difficult a task upon you, before question be made of what you affirm.

A. It is good to be modest, when we speak in our own commendations, or of the vices and imperfections of another; but when we speak in the praise of a friend, we ought not to conceal any thing of the truth.

B. Sir, you place among your commendations, things that we are not guilty of, rather fancying and imagining such ver∣tues and perfections which may become your eloquence to exalt, then believing any such in us.

A. Ladies, you would force me to an injurious respect; but it is as impossible for me, to forget your deserts, as to for∣get my devotions towards you.

B. Sir, it is your aim to overcome us with the excess of your courtesie: yet believe it, Sir, that there is not any one of us, that does not think her self highly honour'd, if she may bear the title of your most humble servant.

A. Ladies you would make me to dispair, in seeking to beat down that honour which is your due. However, I shall not cease to admire your perfections; being sorry that I have not merit enough to render my obedience worthy your acceptance.

To enter into Discourse with a Lady being in Company.

A. Lady, here is a very fine appearance of fair and hono∣rable persons, and indeed I cannot but esteem my self ex∣tremely happy in meeting with them, to participate of the content that now dwells here; but more particularly in ha∣ving the happiness to see and know you, as being a person in whom all perfections imaginable are so illustrious.

B. Sir, the character which you have given of this Com∣pany is very fine; you could not wish for persons more ac∣complished, nor find more honest content in any other con∣verse. But your favour, Sir, is too excessive, to attribute such great praises to her that doth so little merit them, and which in comparison to others, hath no one vertue to render her considerable.

A. Madam, your modesty makes your speak to your own dis∣advantage, and it may be permitted to you; but if I should consent to what you say, it would be a great fault in me; or if I should dissemble a truth which is so apparent to the eyes of the whole world, I should render my self altogether unworthy to behold so fair an object, should I not know how to admire the wonders and graces of your beauty; the lustre whereof, your modest expressions are not able to reclipse. For my part, I cannot conceal how great a sway you bear over my affections,

so that there is nothing in my power, that I do not freely dedicate to your service.

B. Sir, the more high you are in your expressions, the more am I subject to abate of the praises which you so liberal∣ly bestow upon me; in regard Heaven hath not been so boun∣tiful of its graces towards me. And therefore not judging my self worthy the favours which you heap upon me, I hum∣bly intreat you, Sir, to change your discourse.

A. Lady, though at present, you refuse me the honour of serving you, yet I shall not cease to seek all occasions to make the truth and sincerity of my words apparent.

An Address, to make known an Affection for his Mistriss.

A. Madam, among all the dayes of my life I must accompt this the happiest above all the rest, wherein I had the ho∣nour first to know you.

B. Sir, if I did know any thing in my self, worthy your merits, I should esteem my self obliged to employ it to your honor: But there being in me nothing but weakness, and im∣perfection, I do not imagine how the knowledge of me can any way contribute to your content, much less to your well being.

A. Madam, I see so many perfections; that I find my self oblig'd to honour them to the utmost of my power, and to offer you my most humble service.

B. Sir, this is your courtesie and favour, that seek to quali∣fie my defects, onely to shew the excellent endowments that nature hath bestow'd on you.

A. Pardon me, Madam, it is the inchanting force of your worth and vertues, which oblige me, not onely to honour and serve you, but also to seek an interest in your graces.

B. Sir, all that a Daughter of Honour owes to a Person of Merit, you have already at your devotion; I respect your qua∣lities, admire your vertues, and wish you a happiness answe∣rable to the nobleness of your designs.

A. Believe it, Madam, that my desires are good, and that my affection, if your wishes flow from a sincere intention to oblige me, is the most happy that ever was in the world.

B. Pardon me, Sir, I have not so piercing an apprehension to understand the meaning of your intentions; that which I say

is upon no other accompt, only to give you the honor which is due to you.

It is true, Madam, I do you wrong, to go about, to make you believe, that which I have never made apparent by any certain proof; However, that shall not hinder me from tell∣ing you, that your perfections have so far incaptivated my senses and affection, that I have resolved neither to love nor serve an•• other, but your self. I therefore only intreat you, to esteem my affection real, and to perfect your own wishes.

B. Certainly, Sir, I cannot believe that you would set your affection upon a person so inconsiderable. It su••••ices me to have the honor to know you, and I desire that your good fortune may guide you to some person more worthy your esteem.

A. Madam, I have not so far forgot my self, as to forget your merits and perfections. My resolution is unseigned, to serve you to the utmost of my power, and your refusal dimi∣nisheth nothing of my affection; only take it for granted, that I desire to be your servant.

Sir, I am not Mistriss of my self, and for that reason can∣not accept of your offer; but if you shall find, that the affecti∣on, which you say you bear me, is well liked of by my Pa∣rents, I shall esteem my self, very much honoured in your love, and shall, as far as honour will permit me, do any thing to assure you of my good will.

Lady, you do infinitely oblige me, for which I return you many thanks; I shall seek all occasions to obtain the leave of your Parents, in the mean while honor me with your com∣mand, and suffer me to kiss your hand.

Sir I am your very humble Servant.

Addresses of Salutation.

Save you fair Lady, all health and your own wishes be upon you.

All the toys the Gods delight in, wait on you, fairest.

Ans. Sir, I should be ungrateful not to wish you a share in them.

By your leave Lady, may my boldness prove pardonable.

Good morrow to you Sir, to meet you was a happiness that I did not dream of. But tell me how it is with you?

Well, Sir, at present, and I hope always shall be so, to do you service.

Save you Sir, you are most fortunately met.

Lady, The pleasure of this sweet morning attend you.

On her Face.

You are the beauty without parallel; in your Face all the Graces, and in your Mind all the Vertues are met: he that looks upon your mild Aspect, were it the most savage crea∣ture, would derive a new Nature from your Beauty.

On her Eyes and Lips.

That Eye was Juno's, those Lips were once the Queen of Loves, that Virgin Blush was Diana's: Thus, Madam, You have a Donative from every Deity.

On her Beauty.

Apollo hath given you his orient Brightness; Venus her curious Shape; Jupiter his high and stately Forehead; the God of Eloquence his flowing Speech: and all the Female Deities have show'd their Bounties and Beauties on your Face.

On her Hair.

Her Hair is like the Beams that adorn Apollo's head.

Her Locks

Soft as new spun Silk, curling with such a natural wanton∣ness, as if they strove to delight the Fancy of her that wears them.

Her Forehead

Made a stately prospect, and show'd like a fair Castle com∣manding some goodly Countrey.

Her Face

So full of majesty, that Aurora blushes to see a countenance brighter then her own. Her Face is full of Sun-shine.

Her Looks

Have more entertainment then all the vain pomp which the Persians ever taught the world.

Her Eyes

Dart Lightning through the Air. The Stars borrow new light from your more radiant Eyes. They are able to grace the Heavens, and beautisie the Skie in the clearest night. They are Natures richest Diamonds set in foils of polisht Ivory.

Her Smiles

Are so graceful and full of comfort, that with them she is able to revive a dying Lover.

Her Cheeks

Shew like Lawn spread upon Roses. Nature painted the colour thereof in the most glorious Tulips. They are slips of Paradise, not to be gather'd but wondred at.

Her Breath

So sweet, that the Arabian Odours seem to borrow their excellency from thence. It expires more sweet Odours then issu'd from the palm-trees in Paradise.

Her Lips

Are like the full ripe Cherry, which when they open, dis∣cover a treasury greater then that of the Indian Ivory.

Her Chin

Shews llke a piece of pure and polisht Chrystal, which the God of Love delights to uphold with his soft hand.

Her Tongue

Is tipt with such a fire and powerful art, as might tame the most rebellious spirit.

Her Brow

Is Cupids Bow, most sweetly bent, to shoot his Darts against every heart.

Her Neck

Of such a whiteness as exceeds the unsull'd Snow.

Her Words

Invade the weakned senses, and overcome the heart.

Her Voice

So charming, that it hath power to do more then ever Spi∣rits or Orpheus did; should the holy Church-men use it, it would tie up the nightly, without the addition of more ex∣orcism.

Her Arms

Are sit to embrace a King.

Her Hands

Soft and smooth, the violet Veins whereof run along like Mines of Turkoeses.

Her Breasts

Are two mountains of pure Snow, from the two Fountains whereof, Cupid himself sucks Nectar.

Briefly, in the Abstract of her Self.

She comprehends whatsoever can be imagin'd, or wish'd for in the Idea of a Woman; She is so heavenly a piece, that when Nature had wrought her, she lost her needle, like one that never hop'd to work again any so fair and lively a crea∣ture.

An Address of Courtship to his Mistress.

Lady, My vital breath runs coldly through my veins, I am sick for your Love, dearest Lady; neither is there any thing, but your own heart, can heal me: believe me also, fairest of

Women, there is nothing beneath the Moon, but your frown, can grieve me.

Sir, Methinks this is a strange fit.

Lady, Count not my love light, because 'tis sudden; for By Cupids Bow, I swear, I never knew true Love till now.

Sir, I intreat you not to wrong your self, and me; your love is violent, and soon will have a period; for that is the most perfect love, which loves for ever.

Such love is mine, believe me, divinest Beauty, for although men use to lie, yet do I speak truth; and therefore, Madam, give me sentence either of life, or of a speedy death; can you affect so mean a person?

Truly Sir, I should deny my thoughts, to give you an abso∣lute denial, yet must I not turn disloyal to former Promises, and therefore let this suffice, I cannot wrong my friend.

Then here my love must end, and in your presence thus for love I die.

Nay, hold Sir, these are soul killing passions, I had rather wrong my friend, then that you should wrong your self

Love me dear soul, or else my death is but delay'd; my Vow is fixt in Heaven, and no fear shall move me: for my life is a death, that tortures me, unless you love me.

Give me then but a little respite, and I will resolve you.

Alass, Madam, my heart denies it; my blood is violent, now or else never love me. Love me, and both Art and Na∣ture at large shall strive to be profuse in ravishing thy sense. I will entice Dalliance from thee with my smiles, and I will steal away thy heart with my chaste kisses,

Well, Sir, I am yours then from all the world; your wit and your person have entranc'd my soul.

I kiss thee, Dearest, for that breath; and know that thou hast now joyn'd thy self to one whose life rests onely in thy sight.

To discourse concerning the noise of a Match.

Sir, I am very glad to meet with you, were it for no other reason, but to give you joy.

Sir, Your company is always a thing most acceptable to me, and your wishes cannot be other then very fortunate;

yet, if you please, pray let me understand why you wish me so much felicity, there being nothing new that I know of in my condition.

Sir, You dissemble that which is well known to many, and which hath been told me some few days since.

Pray Sir, do the favour to tell me what it is, for I can nei∣ther think nor imagine.

Sir, They say that you intend to marry in this Town.

Truly, Sir, 'tis the first news that I have heard of any such thing.

I can assure you, Sir, those that told me, believe that they know very well; and they take upon them to report many particulars.

Pray Sir, be pleas'd to tell me, to whom, and what are the good Conditions of this Marriage; perchance the person and the advantages may be such, that I may speedily advise with my self; and as speedily resolve.

Why should you do so, Sir? Would you marry out of your Countrey, far from your friends, and distant from all conve∣niences; obliging your self to quit the sweet presence of your kindred, or else to bring a strange Woman among them, which of what House or Quality soever she be, either will her self be despis'd, or bring envy upon you.

Sir, You have not answer'd my question, but instead there∣of have made a kind of sophistical digression.

I shall therefore come now more close to the matter; the young Lady is the daughter of M. N. to whom her Mother left a very fair Estate, besides a very fair Portion which her father intends to bestow upon her.

Sir, You have told me so much that you make my mouth water; I know her Father well, he is a Gentleman of worth and honour; the young Lady is Fair, Wise, and Rich, which are three good qualities: And truly I do not so much mis∣like her, but that if I thought I had so much interest in her Affections, as that I should be master of them for asking, I would run the hazard of sending one packet.

Surely, Sir, you must know something, I am told that you do not speak the truth, dissemble the matter as well as you ca••.

Believe it, Sir, nothing to any such purpose has been so much as mention'd by me. Those that report this, are

persons that take all occasions to babble, and urge the least appearances of a thing for certainties: and certainly this rumour comes from my frequenting often the places thereabouts, or because that now and then I go to see her Father.

Sir, That may be very likely; but 'tis very incredible but that there must be something in it: you know there is no smoak but there is some fire.

Truly, Sir, I do not wonder at all at it; for we must give the world leave to talk.

But do you believe you should do well to engage your self in a business of such importance, on which, not only your fortune, but the content of your Parents depends.

Be confident, Sir, that I was never counted a rash person, yet I have such an assurance in the paternal care and wisdom of my friends, that if any advantage did present it self in my behalf, they would not stick to quit some part of their content for my good.

Sir, You have fully satisfi'd me, and if there be any thing begun already, I wish you all happiness and content.

Several Addresses of perfect Courtship.

Lady, Who are inspir'd with all the praises that the world can bestow upon your sex, I am come to offer you my ser∣vice, which you may at present only call obedient, hoping that your better knowledge thereof will stile it faithful.

Truly, Sir, I think that fame is more favourable to me then truth, seeing that all that which is publish'd concerning me proves so false; and therefore you have reason to present me your feigned service, in obedience to my feigned merits.

Madam, You wrong your Beauty, which being so great, can work no other designs in men, but those of truly honoring you.

Sir, This confirms my former opinion, for seeing my self without Beauty, of which you cannot be ignorant, I must necessarily be unprovided of all those Services that depend thereon.

Madam, I fear I should sin against the truth, should I put my self to the trouble to make you see them; it is a thing so visible of it self, that by endeavouring to demonstrate it by words, I should presume to assist your judgment.

Sir, I find that you are easily able to overcome my Rheto∣rick, but not my Belief.

Madam, I am confident to gain this advantage by showing the proofs of my Obedience, that men will condemn your misbelief, to authorize my true sayings.

Sir, Such kind of words as these, are usual in this age, which promise alwayes a great deal of Sérvice, but performs little but outward Complement.

Madam, 'tis very ordinary to swear the same words, but a thing very extraordinary to make them afterwards appear to be truth: But that which may assure you that I do not walk the common path, is, That I know your Beauty to be such, as is onely to be serv'd by knowledge, not by imtation; which makes my Design glorious, and my Enterprize noble, that waits on such an Object.

Sir, I know not how you can call this an Enterprize, since your Design is more easie then courageous; and a noble En∣terprize hath always difficulties that opose it.

Madam, My resolution to serve you is so magnanimous, that there can no ill fortune attend upon it; for if you do make the end happy, it will be always an honour to my cou∣rage, to have, and to pretend to your accomplish'd Graces.

Sir, Since you do establish your content upon unhappiness, your hopes, cannot deceive you much; for if it do deceive you, it will be in making you happy.

Madam, I can easily count it an honour to serve you, as being oblig'd by your merit, and my obedience.

Sir, I shall never counsel a generous soul to stop at such Designs, since his resolution is so low, that infallibly both the Design must fail, and Repentance ensue.

Madam, That which animates me more to do you service, is this, That I shall receive this honour from the Enteprize, that there is no small difficulty in performing it, with that perfection, as it requires.

Sir, If you do give such proofs, as you offer, of service, you shall be acknowledg'd through the whole Empire of Love.

Madam, Since I have the courage to pretend to the merit of your fair Graces, I shall have a care to keep my self con∣stant; and certainly it behooves me, there being so strict a watch over me.

The Departure.

Adieu dear Beauty; it behooves me to be banish'd from you, that I may dispose my Soul to esteem you the more; one way, by the loss of your presence, another way, by recollecting the thoughts of past happiness.

Truly Sir, you have very great reason to make use of your Fancy, when you would praise me; for Fancy and Thoughts will forge imagenary Merits, where your Eyes and Judgement will finde the contrary.

Madam, You do very well make use of a new custom, I believe you would perswade your self to speak false, that you might have an advantage over one, that breath nothing but the truth; is it possible that such a vanity should make you offend that which I honour, and that which you possess. Truly Madam, you will gain nothing by it, but the pleasure of fine words.

Sir, Call them rather true, and then you will speak truth your self.

You continue, Madam, acquiring new glories to your per∣swasions, by maintaining Paradoxes against your Beauty, which will be alwayes perfect in it self, though not in your opinion.

Sir, If I am perfect, I do know my self; perfection being the knowledge of ones self: since therefore I do know my self, I may be permitted to stile my self very poor in Merits. But you would perswade the contrary, to exercise your parts, knowing that it is a greater honour to vanquish the Truth, then to sustain it.

Madam, The design which I have to serve you, may give you testimony sufficient of that power which you have to dispose of me; In one moment I saw you enjoying a thou∣sand wonders, and in a moment I was sensible of a thousand torments of Love; and being capable of nothing but Admira∣tion, methought that this Beauty was in the world for no other end, but deserve, and for me to be obedient to. I see no reason, Fairest, that the belief which I have taken with the clearest judgement that I have of your Beauty, should be swal∣low'd up by your misbelieving opinions.

Sir, They say, that contrariety doth animate persons the

more; and therefore I shall be silent, that I may hinder these unjust Praises; perhaps you will have pitty on my seeble re∣sistance, and will be weary of conquering so easily.

Madam, 'Tis rather my self that ought to keep silent, be∣ing so lately in an astonishment; but as for you; Madam, it would be a sin against your fair lips, whose words are Oracles.

Then pray, Sir, why do you not believe that which I say, for all Oracles are truth?

But why will you, Madam, by perswasion hinder the belief which I have taken with sight and judgment. For I will believe your Beauty against all your unbelief and undervalu∣ings: and also continue the Service which I have sworn you, against any thing that shall hinder it. My Attempt also hath promis'd my Design, that future Ages shall admire your Merit and my Servitude; and record us as the most faithful Lovers in Cupid's Dominions.

I fear, Sir, that time will alter this opinion.

Madam, Time can do nothing against that which Love hath ordain'd; he is the master of Fortune, and an enemy to change. But wherefore this superfluity of speech? It is bet∣ter to believe by the force of Words, then by the force of Perswasion; and therefore at this time, it is more necessary for me, to demand of you Remedies for this remove, the apprehension whereof makes me endure this present pain.

Sir, It behooves you to forget your Design, and you will avoid the Pain that will follow, and also the Repen∣tance.

No, Madam, I will keep the memory of my Design eter∣nally, and shall always see painted before me the glory of my Enterprize. Adieu great Beauty, you shall never cast your eyes downward, but you shall perceive, lying at your feet, him that admires you; nor ever elevate your Thoughts to your deserts, but you shall remember your conquest. Adieu Fairest, for now I leave the Sun, and go to seek out Night and Sor∣rows cell.

The Return.

I come, Madam, to receive as much content from your

chearful Countenance, as the loss of it hath yielded me sor∣row. I know the Good will now be as great as the Evil, since they proceed both from the same cause.

Sir, I do believe that you do receive the one, as well as you have suffer'd the other: but I beseech you, Sir, to tell me from whence that pain proceeds, which you say you do en∣dure; for as to my self, I do believe, that the pleasure of Thinking, is greater then that of Seeing.

Madam, It is permitted me to think, but experiment for∣bids me believe that opinion; for I receive from my Ima∣ginations only a good imagination; on the contrary the sight cannot err.

But it is said, Sir, that the presence only contents the Eyes, which are Mortal; but that absence exercises the Soul, which is Divine; and therefore if that did any way afflict you, you might easily avoid it.

It was some good Genius, Madam, that took me yesterday from your eyes, that I might the better value the happiness of their lustre, and avoid the extremity of that pain which the loss of them made me endure; causing in me such an im∣patience to return to you, that every hour I staid from you seem'd an age.

Sir, That which is foreseen is easily avoided. Now you perceive whence the evil that you speak of proceeds, yet the little occasion that you had to fear it, makes you find it out willingly; therefore blame your own desires, which have pro∣cur'd you this evil, and do not complain on Destiny, which is always just.

Madam, My Will is not the cause; for then I should fly my self, and come back to you: but Love, to abuse me the more, gave me the Desire, and hinder'd the Effect. Though I believe it to be one of his Destinies, for it behooves a true passion to overcome the violence of all opposition by a dili∣gent constancy.

Demand of Assurance.

Fairest, It is now time that I should require from you some Assurances of your friendship, because I cannot grant you that authority which you have over my Affections, but by the service which I am willing to render to your power:

The proof whereof depends upon opportunity, and the oppor∣tunity occasion upon your commands: swear to me therefore, by your fair Eyes, that you love that which they have subdu'd, that I may boast my ruine to be a mark as well of my glory, as of your puissance.

Do you think, Sir, that that which is ruin'd by the Eyes, can ••e belov'd by the Heart?

Dear Lady, why should you not affect that love which you your self have created? Would you cause it to be born and dye at the same instant? that would be the action of an incon∣stant soul.

It is you, Sir, that run the hazard of being call'd by that name; for if love proceed from merit, you will soon finde some one more worthy your Affection then my self.

Madam, I shall never seck the means to find any more signal worth then that which you possess; it is permitted to those who are less worthy to have such jealousies, but not to you whose Beauty hath such a supereminence above all others in the world. No Madam, take counsel of your own worth, and it will shew the fair Election which I have made, how im∣possible it is to be changed; the design coming from the judge∣ment of our Soul, which being Divine, cannot erre.

But, Sir, they say that love is very subject to knowledge, of which you being so well provided, 'tis to be fear'd, that you may make use of those agreeable diversities, that Love doth every day present to unfaithful Lovers.

Madam, May he banish me from his Empire, if I have any other Will, then what is agreeable to his. He sees that I am yours, so his Power and my Will are agreed; my Designs concur with his Commands.

Sir, I believe that Love himself could not know how to force you to love.

He fear'd, Madam, lest he should be made himself a slave; He hath no force able to resist your puissance, unless it be your own: therefore since you have this Glory entire to your self, to have vanquish'd all the world, there remains nothing now, but that you should vanquish your self.

Sir, I cannot do any thing else but vanquish, having neither Will nor Thought, which doth not render obedience to that duty, which I have taken to be the perfect guide of my life.

Madam, You oppose your Designs to my Prayers, to the

end, this refusal may redouble my passion, and cause me to persist more eagerly in the pursuit of your tempting Graces: yet it suffices that the pain and difficulties of the acquest, will remain the glory of my conquest.

If it be your Difficulties, Sir, that can create your Glory, why do you complain?

Madam, I do not repine at the pain, but at your unkind∣ness that will not acknowledge it; but if that be not so, I do conjure your fair Lips to produce some assurance of your friendship.

Will Sir, then I do promise your servitude, to acknowledge it for the price of your constancy; and believe this, that as my true passion doth onely oblige me, so there is no adjura∣tion shall have power over me.

Madam, I wish that I could transform my whole will into words, to render you sufficient thanks for this favourable promise; but since I am not born capable of such a happiness, I will only say this, That he to whom your Favours are so liberally extended, shall pass the rest of his days in your Service.

The Trial.

Madam, If the opportunities of serving you were as ordi∣nary, as those of speaking to you, I had rendred you as many Services, as I have spoken Words. I dare not confirm them always with the same testimonies; and since I am so little capable of persuasion, I fear I shall discover my Ignorance and not my Servitude.

Sir, I am of opinion that the custom of Persuasion is only used there, where Truth is wanting: and therefore seeing you have always protested the Truth, you ought not to make use of it, else you will make your Oaths and my Credit as in∣different, as your Words and Assurance would be.

The cunning of a Discourse shall never do me such an ill office, as to make me believe an untruth; for I am ignorant of the custom and invention thereof, which shall cause me not to seek out such an Enterprize, to the end, that being warranted from the disturbance which I find between the resolution and the event, I should not give you for an assurance, that the whole world, seeing so noble a Design as mine, will judge that I owe an eternal perseverance to it.

Be advis'd, Sir, to conform your minde to your words, for time will give us always opportunities to distinguish between those that are feigned, and those that are true. Truly I must make this promise in answer to your promises, that if I do not finde them true, you will repent to have so vainly lost them; for I shall always reserve to my self this power, either to reject or accept of what you tender me,

Why should your belief take any ill impression of your ser∣vant? I do call love and your beauty to witness, that I should always preserve my self the same.

Well Sir, I shall content my self at present with your drift, notwithstanding I shall expect better assurances.

Madam, Be confident that you shall draw as much fidelity from your conquest, as I expect glory and happiness from my subjection.

But I desire to know if your Promises shall be as faithfully performed, as your Oaths.

Much more, Madam, for I can give you but weak words, which my ignorance furnishes me withall: whereby you work effects worthy a glorious death.

Will you then die for me, Sir?

No, Madam, for that which would be a death to others, would be a life to me, provided it came from your hand.

Live then, Sir, and take heed that your repentance do not kill you.

'Tis well, Madam, I shall live your Servant, and live long through the worth of my preserver.

Full Satisfaction.

Madam,

The day wherein I had the happiness to present my Soul and my Affections to you, and then you made au entire con∣quest of all that was within me, I had also a thousand jealou∣sies of misfortune: for the fairest conquests are always cross'd, and my small merit did not permit me the honour of your friendship. But since that you and my good fortune have de∣ceiv'd my apprehension, therefore by how much the more extraordinary the Affection is which you have testifi'd to me, so much the more carefully shall I keep the Obligation which I have to serve you.

Not me, Sir, I never could in the least pretend to your Fa∣vour, that is a happiness which, I swear to you, my Desire doth rather enjoy then my Hope; and there is reason for it, seeing you the possessor of so many rich Qualities.

I see, Madam, that I shall possess nothing hereafter, since I must take all from my self to bestow it upon her, for whom I could willingly suffer my self to be robb'd of all.

Sir, When I shall enjoy that happiness, the gift will be much greater then all I can yet call my own.

Teach me, Madam, how I may swear, and you shall see what use I will make of it, to assure you, that I am wholly yours; and that that which Love gives you now, can never be taken from you but by death.

Sir, Be confident that I shall diligently seek all opportuni∣ties to deserve you; and receive these words for the most infallible, that ever Faith it self swore.

Madam, I shall live always at your devotion.

And I, Sir, living to you, shall live to my self.

Then, Lady, let us tye our souls together with this kiss. And now this enterprize having given me so much joy as to think of it, I will go sacrifice my silence to your judge∣ment.

An Amorous Complement.

Lady, Wounded by your beauty, I will acknowledge it a mercy if you kill me not; yet rather murther me then vul∣nerate still your creature, unless you mean to heal what you have hurt; giving me a remedy from the same instrument wherewith you pierc'd me; your Eye having shot lightning into my breast, hath power with a smile to fetch out the consuming fire, and yet leave my heart enflamed.

Sir, Although, where I am not guilty of offence, I might justly deny to descend to a satisfaction; yet rather then I would be counted a murtherer, I would study to preserve so sweet a Model as your self; and since you desire that my Eye which hath enflamed you, should by the vertue of a gracious Smile make you happy in your fire: It shall shine as you would have it, disclaim that Beam that displayes it self upon another Object.

The Discourse of a Gentleman bringing his Friend into Company.

Gentlemen, Knowing that you were here, I am come to have the honour to see you, and to kiss your hands; and moreover on the confidence of your favour, I have taken the boldness to bring this Gentleman along with me, being a per∣son that deserves much respect.

The Company.

Sir, It is a singular contentment to us to see you; you and your friend shall be always welcome; our devotion is dedi∣cated wholly to your service: But as for these Ladies we can∣not so dispose of them, it lies on your part and his to insi∣nuate your selves into their favour.

The Stranger Replies.

Gentlemen, I durst not have so far presum'd thus to thrust my self into your company, being altogether unknown to you, if this Gentleman, who is my friend, had not put me under the shelter of his favour; the honour which you shew me for his sake obliges me infinitely: and as for these Ladies, their excellent beauty and a••••ability seem to promise me this happiness, that at least my presence shall not displease them; and that if they will permit me the ••avour to see them, per∣haps hereafter by my services, I shall gain some other inte∣rest in their Affection.

The Ladies.

Sir, We should shew our selves as much unprovided of Judgment, as we esteem our selves to be of Beauty, if we should not regard your worth, of which your friend and ours gives so good a testimony, and which your behaviour and lan∣guage discovers sufficiently of it self. You need not doubt, Sir, but that you are lookt upon with a good Eye by every one of us, and that we altogether desire to give you that ho∣nour which is due to you.

To them the Stranger.

Ladies, You oblige me with so much civility and respect, that I shall bear you an eternal gratitude; this is my unhap∣piness, that I have not an opportunity to render you that service which may equal your deserts: yet shall I not cease to offer it to you, beseeching you to receive it with as good a will, as I offer it unfeignedly to you.

The Ladies.

Sir, You exceed in your courtesie, we are satisfi'd enough with the honour of your presence, and with the contentment which we receive from your acceptable company.

The Stranger.

Perhaps, Ladies, you do not esteem my service worthy your deserts; yet for all that, I shall not omit any opportu∣nity to testifie how much I honour and esteem you.

Another Gentleman.

Sir, We are going to play, will you please to make one, or do you like it better to entertain the Ladies?

The Stranger.

Sir, I am very well here, and though I have to do with the stronger party, yet I shall try my fortune among the Ladies.

The Ladies.

Sir, You will have a hard task to be a gainer here.

The Stranger.

Ladies, I care not for any loss, so I may gain a part in your good affections.

A Lady.

Sir, I believe you will have small content in our slender entertainment.

The Stranger.

Ladies, Had I no other happiness but that of seeing you, there is enough to ravish all my senses, so much do I see there of Beauties and Graces; neither do I believe that Paris ever saw more perfection in the three Goddesses.

To him one of the company answers.

Sir, If you had an apple of Gold to bribe them withall, you would perswade them sooner to your opinion.

The Stranger.

But besides this, Ladies, I doubt not but that the excel∣lency of your minds is correspondent to the beauty of your Faces; and that there are not more Charms in your Words, then there are Wonders in your Thoughts, which makes me prefer the happiness of being in your company, before any other.

The Ladies.

Sir, If we did not know our selves very well, you would make us presume very high of our selves; but we only be∣lieve that you put your Eloquence into a full career to pass away the time.

The Stranger.

Ladies, Your modesty shall not make me to forget my duty, which is to admire and publish your perfections, and to honor them with all my p〈…〉〈…〉; yet if my unhappiness shall be such, that you shall no•• 〈…〉〈…〉e a person worthy such a task, it will be my comfort 〈◊〉〈◊〉 have met with such pleasing enemies.

To offer Service and to begin a Friendship

G. Sir, The reputation of your vertue and courtesie hath made me desire the honour of your knowledge and fami∣liarity, so that not finding any other opportunity to insinuate my self, I have taken the boldness to come and find you, to offer you my humble service, and assure you of the sincerity of my affection.

Sir, I thank you most kindly for the paines that you have taken to come and see me, though I know nothing in me that can merit the honour which you have done me. Yet if there be any thing which may make me worthy your friendship and affection, assure your self that I do offer it you with a very good will. Beseeching you that for a tryall thereof, you would honour me with your commands, and my obedience shall testifie my affection.

Sir, You ought not to debase those good qualities which are in you, the worth thereof is too well known, and I do not esteem the obligation less for the honour which you do me, in receiving me so courteously in the number of your friends, only I fear that I shall not have means enough to acknow∣ledge them according to their true esteem.

Sir, I shall receive full satisfaction from your good will, with the which I finde my self highly honoured; and there∣fore I shall study to preserve it by my humble service, and shall honour my self in coming to see you.

Sir, There shall be no man more welcom to me, I shall earnestly attend your coming, in the confidence whereof I kiss your hands.

Sir, I remain your most humble servant.

To make an Acquaintance

Sir, I count it a singular happiness to have met with this acceptable company, since it hath been a means to bring me into your acquaintance.

Sir, If the good fortune that brought us together into this place did put also into my hands the means to make my ac∣quaintance profitable, since your favour esteems it acceptable,

I should think my self happy in a double manner; but I be∣seech you, Sir, let not my good will suffer for want of op∣portunity.

Sir, Your worth obliges me to make a great esteem of your acquaintance, and to desire your friendship; and indeed it was my intention to offer you my most humble service; but, Sir, you have doubly obliged me, preventing me by the offer of your good affection, for which I give you my most cordial thanks, and beseech you to accept reciprocally of mine.

Sir, I accept the offer which you are pleased to make me, but on condition that I may merit them by all means possible.

Sir, You would oblige me further then my power is able to acknowledge; it shall be sufficient for me to have the honour of your good will, and the liberty of coming sometimes to re∣ceive your commands.

Sir, I say nothing how far my duty doth oblige me, I beseech you to believe that the affection which I have to put in practise, is sincere, and shall appear upon the first occa∣sion. Notwithstanding, there is nothing which I shall more desire, then the honour of waiting on you at your own House.

Sir, You shall ever be most welcome.

A Visit.

Sir,

Ever since I have had the honour to be acquainted with you, you have obliged me with so many favours, that I know not how to enter into any worthy acknowledgement. I have taken the boldness to give you a Visit, that I might give you more ample thanks, and assure you of the continuance of my devotion to your service.

Sir, I do not believe it in my power to give you respect euough for so much worth; but assure your self that it shall be no fault of my good will. You infinitely oblige me, in giving me the honour of this visit. Sir, you are more then welcome.

Sir, You oblige me with courtesie, and every day bestow new favours on me; I fear that in the end you will oblige me to become ungrateful, not being able to requite the honour

which you do me. But now tell me, Sir, how have you done since I had last the honour to see you.

Very well, Sir, at your service; pray how have you done?

I have not been very well, but this shall not hinder me from serving those that do me the honour to have any kind∣ness for me.

To request a Courtesie.

Sir, The good affection which you have always testifi'd towards me, hath made me take the boldness to request a Courtesie of you, That you would be pleas'd to give me your advice, and lend me your assistance in an affair of moment; it would add to your former obligations, and I shall be always oblig'd particularly to acknowledge it.

Sir, The affection which I bear you is sincere, and as for that little proof which you have seen thereof, it is but a small pattern of that which I desire to perform on your behalf. Assure your self that in this which you demand, and upon all other occasions, you shall finde me always dispos'd to serve you.

Sir, You double the obligations which you have laid upon me by your readiness and freeness; it will never be in the power either of my words or actions to make a full acknow∣ledgement: Yet if you please, honour me with some of your commands, that I may be enterprizing some action of duty and gratitude.

To give thanks for a Courtesie received.

Sir, That good affection which you have made appear to∣ward me, commands me to give you thanks for the honour and favour which you were pleas'd to do me, you have ob∣lig'd me more then any man in the world.

Sir, I do cordially love my friends, and do not willingly refuse them any thing which is in my power; take what I do in good part, and believe that I would do more for you.

Sir, I have not merited this favour; it behooves me to seek all opportunities to make you a full acknowledgement.

Sir, Your thanks have surpass'd the service which I have done you; I would not put you to purchase so dearly the favor

of your friends: I can assure you, Sir, there is nothing in my power which is not at your commands.

Sir, I cannot doubt of your affection, and be confident that I shall ever acknowledge it. I am, Sir, your as much obliged as affectionate Servant.

To invite a Friend to Dinner.

Sir, Since you are so well met, I beseech you Sir, to go home and dine with me.

Sir, I give you many thanks; it suffices me to have had the honour to see you, and to understand your good health.

Sir, I intreat you that I may have the honour to entertain you a little longer, which may be conveniently done for a di∣ning while, if you please to have the patience to stay.

Sir, If in so doing I could do you any service, or that my Presence were capable of giving you any content, I should not be difficultly intreated; but I am afraid of giving you so much trouble.

Pardon me, Sir, your company is very acceptable, and ob∣liges me very much.

Sir, I have some business which I must dispatch, and there fore I beseech you to excuse me.

Sir, I would not be a hinderance to you, but I am sorry not to have the happiness to enjoy you a longer time.

Sir, I am as much troubled that I cannot accept of the ho∣nour which you would bestow upon me, yet I must confess my self to have a very great obligation.

Sir, I hope another time will be more convenient.

Sir, I shall be always ready to obey you

Another form of Invitation.

Sir, Since I have the good fortune to meet you, oblige me so far as to take a small Dinner with me.

Sir, Were it in my power to do you service, I would wil∣lingly accompany you, but my presence will be both inconve∣nient and troublesome.

I bseech you, Sir, use not these excuses, your company cannot but be very acceptable; but perhaps you suspect your being ill treated.

Pardon me, Sir, I know there is all good entertainment in your house, and that you may not think that I have any such apprehension, I shall do whatsoever you please to com∣mand me.

Sir, You shall be very welcome, and you oblige me ex∣ceedingly.

Before Dinner.

Sir, Be pleas'd to seat your self there, that is the place which is appointed for you.

Sir, I shall be obedient, 'tis better to be uncivil, then trou∣blesom.

After Dinner.

Sir, You will excuse your bad entertainment, otherwise we must oblige our selves to make you a better.

Sir, Your entertainment hath been very good, there hath been no fault, there is no need of excuses.

At least you may assure your self to have been lookt upon with a respect, and to have been cordially receiv'd. I wish I could testifie my affection to you in a thing that were more worthy of you.

Sir, I have had so many testimonies of your favour that I am ashamed that I have not bin able to give you better ac∣knowledgements, which I shall be ready to do, when you are pleas'd to honour me with your commands. At present I humbly thank you for my entertainment and kiss your hands.

Sir, I recommend my self to your good thoughts.

To take leave of his Friends Wife.

Madam, The favour which I have received from your hus∣band, obliges me to you both; I cannot at present give you sufficient thanks, but I beseech you to believe that my appre∣hension of them is such, that I shall give my self no repose, till I have found an occasion to revenge my self. Your most humble servant, Madam.

To take leave of a Lady with whom you are familiar.

Madam, among the favours that I have received in this town I esteem the honour of your acquaintance the chiefest; But as much as I estem'd my self happy in the content which I receiv'd in your sweet company and conversation, so much do I now find my self unfortunate by reason of the necessity of my departure. If I thought my self worthy of your memory, I would beseech you to bear me always in your thoughts. For I do assure you, that nothing shall take from my mind th'Idea of your perfections, to which I have vow'd so much service and respect, and which I shall always cherish in my memory. Neither will there be any greater glory which I can boast of, then to stile my self your most obedient Servant; under which notion I give you this farewel, recommending my self to your fair vertues and affections.

A Private Intercourse between the Trunk-breech'd Page and the waiting Gentlewoman in her Ladies Chamber.

Come Mrs. Katharine, now my Master and my Lady are gone forth, you and I in their absence had best stay and exercise one another.

How mean you Page?

Why I'le teach you, if you will vouchsafe to learn.

How prithee now?

Let me beg your Lip.

I cannot spare it by any means.

I warrant you scorn me now, because I want hair upon my upper-lip; yet I can tell you, I have kist Ladies ere now, and have been sent for to their Chambers.

That's a good one, you sent for!

Yes, and have been trusted with their secrets too; such pretty little things as we are, can play at hoop all hid under a Fardin∣gale; prithee how long hast thou been a Waiting-woman?

Not above a month yet.

I thought so, you are so ignorant: I warrant you have your maiden-head still.

I do hope so.

Oh fie upon't, away with it for shame, chaffer it with the Coach-man for the credit of your profession; 'tis finable among Lasses of your rank.

Good Mr. Page, how long have you been skill'd in these affairs.

E're since I was in Breeches; I vow you'l find your hone∣sty very troublesome.

How can that be?

Why, when you have truckt away your maiden-head, you have a lawful excuse to put off Gamesters, by telling them you have not what they look for: besides the benefit of being impudent as occasion serves; 'tis a thing very necessary for a Waiting-creature, and we Pages can instruct you in it, if you will be tractable.

Sure thou art wild.

So wild, that if you will lead me the chase I'le follow you.

Mock-Complements, or Drolling-Complements.

A Complement between a Gentleman and a Gentlewoman before a Riband-Shop in the Exchange.

MAdam, y'are welcom to this Paradise of Toys: be pleas'd to chuse what you like, and I shall sacrifice to your beauty upon the Altar of this Stall, what gold you shall think fit to command from my pockets.

Sir, You enrich me with your gifts; I'le assure you Sir; I do as freely accept of your kindness, as you do liberally be∣stow them: for we Ladies of this Town, seldom have any mercy upon a Country-gentlemans pocket, when we meet with an opportunity to empty it.

Madam, Your nimble eye wherewith you do espie the faults of garb and habit, emboldens me to crave your judg∣ment concerning the cut of my Breeches, the choise of my Fancies, and the fling of my Legs.

Sir, For your clothes, were not your Breeches a little too long, they were Jeer-proof against all the Ladies either in Hide-Park or Spring-Garden. You walk with such a Barbary prance and stately step, that your feet are like load-stones, drawing the eyes of all persons on you.

Madam, I wish the Gods would transform me into this Fan, that I am now about to give you, that I might be always puf∣fing

into your mouth the breath of my affections; or this piece of Ribband, that I might always hang about you in two ••assels, the one at your breast, the other at your breech.

Sir, I never fancied flesh-colour knots, nor am I about to build Cities, that you should proffe•• me your hide to measure the compass of the walls; If I were your favours, Sir, merit, that I should like Dido, use something else for that work; rather chusing you for my Aeneas, to help me to people it.

A Horse Courser courting a Parsons Widow.

Lady, The great affections that I bear you, and the great de∣sire I have to be luckie in Horse-flesh, spur me on to accost you with an humble request, that I may be your Servant.

Sir, Your proper person and eloquent language would ac∣cuse me of ingratitude, should my obstinacy to your reason∣able demands be any hindrance to your fortunate Markets.

An Apprentice and a young Lady at a Boarding-School.

Lady, Seeing the painted cloth of your Vertues hang out at the window, and Fame standing at the door with a trum∣pet in her hand, I could not chuse, out of a natural inclina∣tion which I have to Sights and Puppet-playes, but step in to behold the monstrousness of our Beauties; and now, Ma∣dam, having seen you, I admire you more then the Hairy-Gentlewoman.

Sir, Your kindness proceeds more from your goodness then my desert; but you must give me leave to think you com∣plement, since you have compar'd me to a person whose in∣comparable qualities are as much above mine, as Pauls is above St. Gregories.

Lady, If you'l be pleas'd to take a Cheesecake, and a bottle of Beer, as the earnest of my affection, I shall think my self honour'd with waiting on you to the next Ale∣house.

Sir, I shall not refuse the proffer of your kindness, for the short Commons our Mistriss allows us, makes us very willing to embrace such invitations.

At the Cake-house.

Madam, Let me beg a kiss from you, that I may drink to you in that liquor which I most love, the Nectar of your lips.

Your servant, Sir, now give me leave to pledge you in that liquor which I most love, which is a cup of bottle Ale, for I am very dry.

Madam, These Cheesecakes were made to eat, I would you could feed on them with that eagerness, that I could feed on the perfections of your face; there is in them sweetness, ten∣derness, and pleasantness, the emblems of your qualifications.

Sir, I know not how to recompence these favours, so that I am troubled that I must be now more in your debt, before I have gratifi'd your first kindnesses; for I must desire you to give me leave to go ••orth to make water.

At Parting.

Empress of my soul, God give you good night, many thanks to you for your sweet company.

I must return the same acknowledgments to you again, Sir, who have this night both fill'd my heart with your Love, and my belly with good Cheesecakes.

A Passado Complement between a Gentleman and a Lady, meeting in two several Coaches in the High-way going to Hide-Park.

Your most humble servant, Madam, I bless the opportu∣nity that now gives me leave to tell you how much I honour you, since you are the only Lady that ride triumphant in the Coach-box of my heart.

Sir, I do not know how I have merited so great a favour, I wish it were a sufficient recompence to let you understand, that you are the only person that hold the Reins of my affection.

Madam, Be pleased to honor me with your commands, and I shall diet my self like a Race-horse, that I may be swift to obey them.

Sir, My commands are only, that you would accept of my love, which I bestow upon you with the same freeness

that you ever gave your Mistress bottle Wine and Tarts.

Oh Dear, Madam your most humble servant, drive on Coach-man.

Between a Gentlemam and a Sempstress.

Lady, The neat cut of your Bands which I do now and then send for by my Foot-boy, hath brought me to visit the maker of those comely ornaments of my neck.

Sir, Were it not for speaing against my Trade and Profit, I would say that your good face needs no band.

Then the Gentleman ••olling over the Counter thus proceds.

Truly Mistress, I do not wonder that your pretty fingers do stitch up so many neat ornaments, seeing that you are that very picture of ornament it self, and doubtless your Trade must be very innocent for you deal all in white.

Sir, Your good opinion doth much oblige me; yet I en∣treat the favour of you to believe, that there is as much deceit in our Trade, as in any occupation about London.

Lady, You may perceive by my behaviour and my garb, that I am a person wholly made up of complements, so that the greatest complement that I can give you, is my self. And as a testimony of this I should be glad to give you a treatment at the Sebastian over against Southampton-house, not daring to doubt, but that you are, as fame speaketh most of your calling, of a courteous and yielding nature.

Sir, Your great estate would argue me of folly, should I de∣ny you any thing that may obtain your custome.

Between a Journeyman-Haberdasher of small Wares, and a Ladies Chamber-maid.

Fair Creature,

For whose sake Cupid became a Weaver; that he might twist into thee all his mothers graces, grant me the favor to accost thy coral lip, that I may shew thee how my Master kisses my Mistress.

Sir, Though our Butler hath bin teaching me something of

this nature already, yet I shall be glad to take better example from your more exquisite accomplishments.

Lady, I have here brought you four pair of blew Shoe∣strings to signifie the knots wherewith you have tied my heart; as also a Love-hood, to remember you of the love I bear you; and a pair of trimm'd Gloves, that when your fingers are im∣prisoned in them, you may think upon the captivity into which you have brought my soul. 'Tis true, I rather chose to steal then buy them, partly having the advantage of my Ma∣sters Shop, and partly knowing how much young people do delight in stoln contents.

Sir, Though I that am a Chamber-maid, an exact Trim∣mer of Gloves, have deserved these, and greater ••avors then these; yet if you will bring me when you come hither next Sunday a set of Lemon colour and silver Knots, I shall then think it my part to study the satisfaction of your desires; but it must be upon good conditions.

Lady of my constant affections, impose what conditions you please, the strictest of them will not be too heavy for him that desires to bear the burthen of your love.

Briefly thus Sir, You must let me have young Pease by lat∣ter end of March, ripe Cherries by May-day; in clothes none of my quality must go finer then I. 'Twill be your gain, for I shall sit in the Shop and invite custom.

Mistriss Prudentia, You may think I lye now, but let me ne∣ver stir more if I do; in reality I love you; and as for these conditions, if I do not follow them, then cut my throat, and throw me into the House of office; what can a man say more?

Well Sir, go to, I'le tell you more next Sunday; but be sure you remember my Knots.

Between a Gentleman Usher, and a Waiting Gentlewoman.

Bright pearl in Natures eye, I have made a journey from my looking-glass hither, that I may present you my exiguous devoires.

Sir, Your exquisite knowledge in the service of Ladies emboldens me to desire a ••avour of your hands, that you would be pleas'd, the maids being all busie in washing, to help me to comb my head.

Lady, The softness of your Hair betrays the softness of your disposition, and indeed how should it be otherwise, it having been so long sleek'd with the smoothing-iron of a mild and gentle education.

Sir, As one shoulder of mutton drives down another, so the readiness wherewith you have done me one courtesie makes me to request another from you, that when my Lady is engag'd abroad in company, you would be pleas'd to carry a Complement from me to a Sweet-heart of mine, a Barber in Fleet-street; I can assure you, that for my sake, he will give you a cast of his Office for nothing at any time.

Lady, You have ript up an old sore in my heart, which hath been wounded long ago by your Beauty; for it was now my intention to have ingrafted my self into your affection.

Oh, Sir, I dare not presume upon a man that goes before my Lady; beside, that your Periwig and the smallness of the Calf of your Leg, would cause the Hickup in my Fancy should you urge your request any further, and therefore I implore you to desist.

Between a Lawyers Clerk and his Masters Daughter.

Most celestial beam of Beauty, I have receiv'd you into my heart, which like a burning-glass contracting the heat of your rayes, is now all on fire, not to be quench'd but by the moi∣stening julip of your affection.

Kind Robin, I have long thought thee to be what now I find thee, a Phenix among men, which thou provest, by going about to die in thy flames: but heaven forbid, I will first make water in a bason, and give it thee wherein to bathe thy burning breast, before I will be depriv'd of thy service.

How willingly Mrs. Mary, should I receive such a stream into my bosom. But, Oh your Father; he's the shoe that wrings us both by the foot; methinks I hear him saying al∣ready, Out ye poor condition'd slut; what, marry your Fa∣thers Clerk?

Come Robin, Clerk me no Clerks, I love thee; and if my father do compel me to marry another, yet Robin, thou know∣est there are private corners in London.

Mrs. Mary, I bow with all reverence to your manifold fa∣vours. But what do you think of a little horse-play in the time.

Robin, I acknowledge thy civility, and shall not refuse any occasion to gratifie thy reasonable request; for I love tumbling dearly.

Between the Countrey Bumkin and his Mistriss going to a Fair.

Well overtaken my dear Katie, I no sooner heard that thou wert gone to the Fair, but I came a swinging pace after thee; for in troth Katie I love thee above all things, as a man may say, in the versal world. Alas, Katie, thy love hath gor'd me to the very heart, so that I shall be always as sick as a Horse till thou hast cur'd me with the plaister of thy love.

Nay Richard, As bad as I love thee, I do not love thee so Ill, but that I'le kiss my lips into a consumption to save thy life.

Ita, say'st thou me so Kate, God a mercy for that girle, by the mass, and that word shall cost me the best fairing in the Ped∣lers pack. Come hold by my skirts, and let's make all the haste we can Kate.

O Dear, Richard, how you sweat! here take my handkercher to wipe your face. But Richard, must not I wear a gold Ring like my Dame, when I am married

I Kate, and a posie in it too, which shall be this, Richard and Kate shall live without hate. 'Twas my own invention, and judge you now Kate, if I be not a brave blade to lead a Hen to water.

Truly Richard did I not take you for a very pretty fellow, you should not be so much in my books as you are; I know more then one or two that would kiss my back side to have half those favours from me that you have received. Heaven bless us, how the Fair's crouded already.

In the Fair.

Come Kate, follow close, unhook my dublet, take fast hold on my Wasteband, shoulders make room for your Mistriss. Thom, dost do, Thom Kate where are ye, what do ye like at that Stall.

Oh Richard, Ile tell thee what thou shalt give me; A silver Bodkin to scratch my head at Church withal, and a silver Thimble to make thy Wedding Shirt.

What thou wilt Kate, my fobb buttons and unbuttons at thy

command. Uds boars Kate, why dost think I won't please my Sweet-heart, Yes faith, and ••l'e give thee a Bottle of white Wine and Sugar too at the George, before we go home.

At the Inn.

Come Kate, give me thy Suger-candy first. Here's to thee with heart and good will. And now caperDick for joy; Katie's thine, Katie's thine, boy. I have purchased her with a silver Bodkin, and a Thimble, and she's now my Tenant in Tail: come Girle, give me thy hand once more, and strike me good luck.

Here Richard, here's to thee. I'le warrant thee a merry grigg how ere the world go.

Come say away Girle;

Hey down a down a derry down, Hey down a down a derry do? My Love she is as brown as a Nut, My Love's a very pretty little Slut; She hath a dimple in her chin, And I am he that did her win.

Nay 'tis true Kate, and I'le lay our pie-bald Mare against any Horse in the Town, that thou hast as pretty a smelling brow as any Lass in the Countrey.

Ay, but Richard will you think so hereafter? Will you not when you have me throw stools at my head; and cry, Would my eyes had been beat out of my head with a cricket-ball, the day before I saw thee.

Kate, My Infections are greater toward thee yn so. But if I should chance to call louder then ordinary, why, 'tis but saying hold your tongue Dick, here's piece of bag-budding for you: I and my mouth is stopt presently.

Richard, thou dost well to tell me some of thy humors; But art thou not terrible mad when th'art drunk, and quarrelsome withall?

No Kate, as quiet as any Lambkin: All that I shall do is one∣ly this, that when I come home, I may snore an hour or two perhaps with my head in thy lap; then I start up and cry, Hoh Kate, what's a clock? and so go to bed.

Well Richard, my left eye itches, which puts me in mind of

going home, for I'm afraid my Dame will thrash my bones for staying so long.

Between the Coach-man and the Kitehin-maid.

Fair Goddess of the pottage pot, how done you do tzip morning?

In truth George, I find my self very hot.

Oh, I am glad that you begin to feel the heat which you make me suffer.

Why, what hurt have I done you? have I scratch'd you, or prickt you with any of my loose pins, or have I trod upon your corns? Truly Bess, you are in the right on't, for the nails of your allurements have scratch'd my mind, the pins of your features have prick'd me; and the foot of your disdain hath trod upon the toes of my perseverance; and besides all this, you have struck me to the heart.

With what good George.

With the miracles of your beauty.

Alas that cannot be, for I am blacker then the Crock in the Chimney.

Truly Bess, if thou art a Chimney Crock, thou oughtest not to be us'd in any place, but in the Chimneys of the Gods, where there is no fire made but that of Love. Oh that I were some Celestial Kettle that I might hang always over thee, that I might be never separated from thee!

George, You will never leave your jeers, but 'tis no matter, I have a back broad enough to bear'em. Truly Bess, I speak nothing but the truth; measure me according to the greatness of my affections, not by the smallness of my deserts; and though I am but a poor Coach-man, scorn me not, for I can tell you of Goddesses themselves, that have affected mortal men, perhaps meaner then my self.

The Picture of the Poets Mistress.

Gentleman, step in and see the begining; here is a Lady worth your seeing, She was born like Minerva, for she hath been breeding like mites in old cheese, in the heads of several Poets for this thousand years. Who have at length produc'd her to out-miracle the Hairy Gentlewoman; being quite contrary to

her, for hair she hath none, her head being cover'd with an Aurora colour'd silk, which hangs dis-shevel'd about her shoulders; instead of curls it is ty'd in nooses, such as they catch Jacks withall, with which she recreates her self in fish∣ing for Gudgeons. Her fore-head is a Tower planted all about with Cupids artillery; The whole structure of her head re∣sembles a stately Palace; Her nose is the Throne where Ju∣piter himself sits under the Arches of her brows, which are not brows but two rainbows, to signifie the warry temper of their eyes; Instead of her eyes she hath two burning Torches in each hole, and here by the way, the Poets tell a story, how that Cupid about a hundred years ago sing'd his wings in the flames thereof, and falling into one of the corners, was al∣most drown'd in the Rhume; Her lips are two Altars of red Coral, continually reeking with the incense that comes from her mouth; Her teeth are not made of bone like those of other Women, but of the tears of true lovers congealed into pearl; Her Neck is nothing but a cloud, out of which you may see a Sun break ••orth to enlighten the two Orbs of her breast; though indeed they are not so properly to be termed Orbs, as Mountains, resembling the two hillocks that are upon Mount Parnassus; these overlook her belly, which is not a belly, but rather a plain, large and smooth, like that near Sa∣lisbury. Further I might go, but the Painter being not willing to draw more, makes me as abruptly to break off with my Pen, as he did with his Pencil.

Many Books have been written of sundry, and several Arts and Sciences, so that even the scabby invention of Short-hand hath not wanted Printed Instructions for the attaining there∣of. Yet strange it is to tell, that there never was yet any Book published concerning the Art of Ushering Ladies; doubt∣less it would have sold well, and might aptly have been call∣ed, The Gentleman Usher in Print. Therefore that this gene∣ration of Men may no longer live like Jews, depending whol∣ly upon Tradition; it was thought requisite to set them down some few Precepts, not doubting but that some or other of them, in their lazie hours, may build greater works upon this small Foundation.

The Choice of a Gentleman Usher.

He ought to be indifferently tall, that is, being measured with a Carpenters Rule, seven foot, three inches, and a quarter. He ought to have haunted Dancing Scools with more zeal then the old Women have that go to St. A••••li••s; He ought diligently to have studied over Melchi•• Swashbucklerus, de hol∣dendo ha••••um in hando, and Cussius Candus of the Ornaments of Nations; he ought to be a diligent Observer of Fashions, and an espyer of faults in the garb and house keeping of other La∣dies, that he may be able to furnish his own Lady now and then with discourse. Lastly, he must have a good head of hair, and handsom feet without corns.

How he must be fitted for Service.

Having been bespoken, and received earnest, he must de∣sire a weeks time to fit himself for her Ladiships service. The first two days he must walk in iron Boots, and an iron Breast and Back-piece, such as children wear that have the rickets, to bring his body into an upright and perfect po∣sture. After that he must drink Scurvygrass-Ale to reform his complexion. He must then furnish himself with all the Books of Complementing, and be sure to get enough to ena∣ble him to shew his wit the first night before the Waiting Gentlewoman at the Stewards Table. His motion must be with such a Clock-work formality, as if he were only made to strike the Quarter-Bell upon Bow-Steeple. This must be practised every morning in his Looking-glass, and he must not suffer himself to eat until he find he hath profited something.

His Behaviour in the House.

He must be affable to his fellow-servants, especially the Wait∣ing-Gentlewoman and the Cook; to the one for his break∣fast, to the other for a kiss or two now and then, and that she may speak well of him to her Lady; when he goes before his Lady he must walk as circumspectly as a Milk-maid with a pail upon her head, crying ever and anon, by your leave Gentlemen.

He ought in company to value himself according to the de∣gree of his Lady, wherein he must have a care not to lose the least atome of her dignity. His pockets must not be greasie, because he may have occasion to carry his Ladies Hoods and Scarfs in them. He ought not to cast any affection upon his Masters daughter, for the Butler having more wit then himself, made sure of her before he could make his approaches.

His Dressings.

He must not be long in dressing himself, because of walking the Rounds of his morning Visits. The heels of his Shoes ought to be long and very slender, that he may tread with the more grace, and make the less noise. His clothes ought to be put on with so much accurateness, as if he were to dress himself every day for his life, or if the world would perish, were there a wrinkle in his Band; white Gloves he must not want, for they like white staves in other employments, are the badges of his preferment. In his Hair he must be as nice as the ancient Greeks, and good reason that he should make much of it while he hath it, it being uncertain how long a man in his place may keep it.

The Diseases incident to Gentlemen Ushers, and their Cures.

The first is, when his hair doth utterly abandon his head, leaving his ears open to all reproaches, finding the wages of their nourishment as small as the recompence of his service.

The Cure of this, is by way of humble Petition to the Gen∣tlewoman, to afford him her Combings, and some few spare Locks, to hide the nakedness which she laid bare.

The other is the dwindling away of the calves of his legs; This happens from his being overtoyl'd; for being to divide himself between the Lady and her Woman, they never leave sucking him, till they have made him so transparent that you may see his very thoughts. For the cure of this disease, he must go to the Hosier instead of the Apothecary. If the Gen∣tlewoman will take the pains to nurse him, his body may per∣haps return again to his soul, otherwise he dies like a Silk∣worm, having spun out himself to pleasure others.

To his Mistriss.

O Thou the dear inflamer of my eyes, Life of my soul, and hearts eternal prize! How delectable is thy love, how pure, How apt to vanish, able to allure A frozen soul; and with thy sacred fires, To affect dull spirits with extream desires. How do thy joys, though in their greatest dearth, Transcend the proudest pleasures of the earth? Thou art a perfect Symetry, a rare Connexion Of many perfects, to make one perfection Of Heavenly Musick; where all parts do meet, In one sweet strain to make one perfect sweet: Glorious Extraction, where each several feature Divine compriz'd, to so Divine a Creature; Give me thy heart, and for that gift of thine, Lest thou shouldst rent a heart, I'le give thee mine.

Song.

MIstake me not, I am as cold as hot; For though mine eyes betrays thy heart o're night, Ere morn, ere morn, ere morning all is right.

Sometimes I burn, And then do I return; There's nothing so unconstant as my mind: I change, I change, I change even as the wind.

Perhaps in jest I said, I lov'd thee best; But 'twas no more, then what was long before I vow'd, I vow'd, I vow'd to twenty more.

Then prithee see, I give no heart to thee,

For when I ne're could keep my own one day, What hope, what hope, what hope hadst thou to stay.

Plurality in Love.

HE whose active thoughts disdain to be captive to one foe, And would break his single chain, or else more would undergo; Let him learn the art of me By new bondage to be free.

What tyrannick Mistriss dare, to one Beauty, Love confine? Who unbounded as the air, all may court, but none decline; Why should we the Heart deny As many Objects as the Eye?

Wheresoe're I turn or move, a new Passion doth detain me; Those kind Beauties that do love, or those proud ones that disdain me: This frown melts, and that frown burns me, This to tears, that to ashes turns me.

Soft fresh Virgins not full blown, with their youthful sweetness take me; Sober Matrons that have known long since what these prove, awake me: Here staid Coldness I admire, There the lively active Fire.

She that doth by skill dispence every favour she bestows, Or the harmless innocence, which nor Court nor City knows; Both alike my Soul enflame, That wild Beauty and this tame.

She that wisely can adorn nature, with the wealth of arts; Or whose rural sweets do scorn borrow'd helps to take a heart: The vain care of that's my pleasure, Poverty of this my treasure.

Both the Wanton and the Coy, me with equal pleasures move; She whom I by force enjoy, Or who forceth me to love: This because she'l not confess, That not hide her happiness.

She whose loosely flowing hair, scatter'd like the beams oth' morn; Playing with the sportive air, hides the sweets it doth adorn: Captive in that net restrains me, In those golden-fetters chains me.

Nor doth she with powers less bright, my divided heart invade; Whose soft tresses spread like night, o're her shoulders a black shade: For the star-light of her eyes, Brighter shines through those dark skies.

Black, or fair, or tall, or low, I alike with all can sport; The bold sprightly Thais woe, or the frozen Vestal Court: Every Beauty takes my mind, Ty'd to all, to none confin'd.

A description of his Mistriss.

SO looks the Virgin Rose, which cherish'd by the genial truth; Her crimson Beauties doth disclose, as doth the ruby portals of her mouth.

Which when she doth unfold, Two bright transparent rows Of pearl ye may behold; From between which a breath of Amber flows.

A more then Tyrean purple doth o'respread Her lips, which softer are Then the Swans down, and smoother far: The costly juice that dwells In Oriental shells, To them looks pale, they are so purely red.

Fair Cheeks that look like blushing roses plac't In purest Ivory, Or Coral, within snow enchas'd; The Glories of the Spring Grow pale, and languishing For envy, so out-shin'd by them to be.

Sweetly triumphing Eyes, That in two Crystal prisons do contain, Death in affrown's disguise, How gladly would I die to be by those eyes slain.

Delightful cruelty Of those all charming Eyes, That have on one design'd to try With what a pleasing empire they can tyrannize.

The Melancholy Lover.

HIther I come delightful groves To spend my sighs, and make my moan, To whose still shades it best behoves To make my plaints and sorrows known, And these gentle trees invite, To pity my disconsolate plight.

'Tis rigorous love that doth torment This disturbed heart of mine;

But of a Creature so Divine, That I ought not to repent To have loved, though unlov'd again, The sole author of my pain.

Is bright Sylvia gentle bowrs, To your gloomy walks unknown? Who loves to spend the harmless hours Among silent groves alone; Hnd can with her presence bright To the darkest shades give light.

Sylvia hath about her charms Nations able to subdue; And can conquer with those arms More then mightiest Kings can do: But I that am her chiefest aim, Am destin'd to the greatest flame.

I die Sylvia, when I behold Those eyes that set on fire my heart; Yet I (for love is uncontroll'd) Greedy, and fond of my own smart: And captive to my misery, Love to behold those Stars, and die.

To his Mistriss falsly accusing him.

WRong me no more In thy complaint, Blam'd for inconstancy: I vow'd to adore The fairest Saint, Not chang'd while thou wer't she; But if another thee out-shine Th' inconstancy is only thine.

To be by such Blind Fools admir'd, Gives thee but small esteem;

By whom as much Thou'dst be desir'd; Did'st thou less beautious seem; Sure why they love they know not well, Who why they should not, cannot tell.

Women are by themselves betray'd, And to their short joys cruel? Who foolishly themselves perswade, Flames can outlast their fuel. None (though Platonick their pretence) With reason love unless by sense.

And he by whose command to thee, I did my heart resign; now bids me chuse a Deity Diviner far then thine, No power from love can beauty sever, I'me still loves subject, thine was never.

The fairest she whom none surpass, To love hath only right: and such to me thy beauty was till one I found more bright: But were as impious to adore thee now, as not t'have don't before.

Nor is it just by Rules of Love, Thou shouldst denv to quit a heart that must anothers prove even in thy right to it; Must not thy subjects captives be To her who triumphs over thee?

Cease then in vain to blot my name With forg'd Apostacy; thine is that stain, who dar'st to claim what others ask of thee: Of Lovers they are only true Who pay their hearts where they are due.

To his false Mistriss.

CElio remains disconsolate, forsaken of his cruel Lover; Who not asham'd to violate Her faith, doth for her false heart discover.

Oft do I her hard heart bemoan, Inveigh on her unconstant mind, Oft blame my self for doting on a thing more fickle then the wind.

Sometimes unhappy men he deem'd, her absence might have quench'd his flame: But now more and fair then e're she seem'd, his flames increase through her disdain;

Now nought is left me but dispair, My adverse ••ate brought me to see Things distant most admired are, enjoyment breeds satiety.

I go to see the fair unkind, whom her new Lovers arms immure; Me she vouchsas'd not once to mind in her inconstancy secure.

Was't not enough, Phillis said I, that thy deceitful charming wiles Should cheat my ••ond credulity, that thou seekst others to beguile.

If amidst these thy new delights Thou hapst no time to think on me, Think how awakn'd conscience frights; Think Phillis on thy perjury.

Longer to grieve I see 'tis vain, Longer my troubled thoughts to vex; Phillis triumph in her disdain, Phillis the falsest of her sex.

Resolution to Love.

I Wonder what the Grave and Wise Think of all us that love; Whether our pretty fooleries Their mirth or anger move: They understand not breath that words do want, Our sighs to them are unsignificant.

One of them saw me t'other day Touch thy dear hand, which I admire; My soul was melting straight away, And dropt before the fire: This silly Wiseman, who pretends to know, Ask'd why I look'd so pale and trembled to.

Another from my Mistriss dore Saw me with watry eyes to come; Nor could the hidden cause explore, But thought some smoak was in the room: Such ignorance from unwounded learning came, He knew tears made by smoak, but not by flame.

If learn'd in other things you be, And have in Love no skill; For God sake keep your arts from me For I'le be ignorant still: Study or actions others may embrace, My Love's my business, and my Book's her face.

These are but trifles I confess, Which me weak mortal move; Nor is your busie seriousness Less trifling then my love: The wisest King, who from his sacred brest Pronounc'd all vanity, chose it for the best.

Tyranny in Love.

BLind Cupid lay thy Bow aside, Thou dost know its use; For Love thy Tyranny doth shew, Thy kindness is abuse.

Thou who wer't call'd a Pretty Boy, Art thought a Skeleton: For thou like death dost still destroy, When thou dost strike at one.

Each vulgar hand can do as much; Then Heavenly skill we see When we behold two Arrows touch Two marks that distant be.

Love always looks for joy agen, If e're thou woundst mans heart, Pierce by the way his Rib; and then He'l kiss, not curse thy dart.

Against Love.

NOw fie on love it ill befits, Or Man or Woman know it; Love was not meant for people in their wits, And they that fondly shew it Betray their too much feather'd brains, And shall have Bedlam only for their pains.

To Love is to distract my sleep. And waking, to wear fetters; To Love is but to go to School to weep: I'le leave it for my betters: If single love be such a curse, To marrie is to make it ten times worse.

The Maiden-head.

THou worst estate even of the sex that's worst, Therefore by nature made at first T'attend the weakness of our birth; Slight outward Curtain to the nuptial Bed, Thou cause to buildings not yet finished: Who like the Center of the Earth Dost heaviest things attract to thee, Though thou a point imaginary be.

A thing God thought for mankind so unfit, That his first blessing mind it; Cold frozen nurse of fiercest fires, Who like the parched plains of Africk sand, (A sterel and a wild unlovely Land) Art always scor••ht with hot desires, Yet barren quite didst thou not bring Monsters and Serpents sorth thy self to sting.

Thou that bewitchest men, while thou dost dwell Like a close Conju••er in his Cell; And fear'st the days discovering eye No wonder 'tis at all that thou shouldst be Such tedious and unpleasant company, Who liv'st so melancholily; Thou thing of subtil slippery kind, Which Women lose and yet no man can find.

Although I think thou never found wilt be, Yet I'me resolv'd to search for thee, To search it self rewards the pains; So though the Chymick his great secret miss;

(For neither it in art nor nature is) yet things well worth his toil he gans, and doth his charge and labour pay, With good unsought experiments by the way.

Say what thou wilt, chastity is no more to thee, then a Porter to the dore; in vain to honour they pretend, Who guard themselves with Ramparts and with Walls; Them only ••ame the truly valiant calls, who can an open breach defend: of thy quick loss can be no doubt, Within so hated, and so lov'd without.

A Fond Design.

IN vain fair C••••is you design To be cruel, to be kind; For we know with all yours arts, You never hold but willing hearts: Men are too wise grown to expire, With broken staves and painted fire.

2.

And if among a thousand Swains. Some one of Love or Fate complains; And all the Stars in Heav'n defie, With Clora's lips, or Celia's eye: 'Tis not their Love, the youth would chuse But the glory to refuse.

3.

Then wisely make your price of those, Want wit or courage to oppose; But tempt not me that can discover What will redeem the fondest Lover: And fly the least, lest it appear, Your power is measur'd by our fear.

4.

So the rude wave securely shocks The yielding Bark, but the stiff Rocks If it attempt, how soon in vain,

Broke and dissolv'd it fills the main; It foams and roars, but we deride, Alike its weakness and its pride.

On his Mistress Singing.

I Have been in Heav'n I think, For I heard an Angel sing Notes, my thirsty ears did drink; Never any earthly thing Sung so true, so sweet, so clear, I was then in Heav'n not here.

2.

But the blessed feel no change, So I may mislike the place, But mine eyes would think it strange Should it be no Angels face; Powers above it seems design Me still mortal, her Divine.

3.

Till I tread the Milky way, And I lose my senses quite; All I wish is that I may Hear that voice, and see that sight: Then in types and outward show, I shall have a Heav'n below.

Parting.

But that I knew before we met, the hour would come that we must part; and so had fortify'd my heart, I hardly could escape the net, My passions for my reason set.

But why should reason hope to win a victory, that's so unkind, and so unwelcome to my mind? To yield is neither shame nor sin, Besieg'd without, betray'd within.

And though that night be ne're so long, in it they either sleep or wake; and either way enjoyments take In dreams or visions, which belong, Those to the old, these to the young.

But friends ne're part to speak aright. for whose but going is not gone; Friends like the Sun must still move on, And when they seem most out of sight, Their absence makes at most but night.

I'me old when going, gone 'tis night, my parting then shall be a dream, and last tell the auspicious beam Of our next meeting gives new light; And the best vision that's your sight.

Not to be Alter'd.

CAn so much beauty over a mind; o'resway'd by Tyranny, As new afflicting ways to find a doubtless faith to try; And all examples to out-do, To scorn, and make me jealous too. Alas, she knows my fires are too too great! and though she be stone-ice to me, Her thaw to others cannot quench my heat.

2.

That Law that with such force o're ran the armies of my heart; When not one thought I could out-man, that durst once take my part: For by assault she did invade, No composition to be made; Then since that all must yield as well as I, to stand in aw of Victors Law, There's no prescribing in captivity.

3.

That love, which loves for common ends, is but self loving love; But nobler conversation tends soul mysteries to prove: And since love is a passive thing, It multiplies by suffering, Then though she throw life to the waining Moon On him her shine The dark part mine, Yet I must love her still when all is done.

Loves Martyr.

HOw long shall I a Martyr be, To love and Womans cruelty? Or why doth sullen ••ate consine My heart to thee, that is not mine? Had I ev'r lov'd as others do, But only for an hour or two; Then there had store of reason been, Why I should suffer for my sin.

But Love thou know'st with what a flame, I have ador'd my Mistress name; How I ne're offer'd other fires, But such as rose from chaste desires, Nor have I e're profan'd thy shine With an inconstant fickle mind; Yet you combining with my ••ate Hast forc'd my Love, and her to hate.

O Love, if her supremacy, Have not a greater power then thee; For pitties sake then once be kind, And throw a Dart to change her mind: Thy Deity we shall suspect, If our reward must be neglect: Then make her love, or let me be Inspir'd with scorn, and well as she.

Protestation of Love.

DEar soul, who hath encaptiv'd so my heart; Vouchsafe to bear these lines which I impart; I dare not bless my self to call thee mine, Yet I, if I am any thing, am thine. The Poles shall move to teach me e're I start, And when I change my Love, Ile change my heart; Nay, if I wax but cold in my desire, Think Heaven hath motion left, and heat the fire, Much more I could, but many words have made, That oft suspected, which men would perswade; Take therefore all in this, I love so true, That I will never love none else but you.

The Golden Age.

WHen from each Thought a seed did spring, And every Look a plant did bring, And every Breath a flower; The Earth unplough'd did yield her crop, And honey from the Oak did drop, The Fountains did run milk: The Thistle did the Lilly bear, And every Bramble Roses wear, And every Worm made Silk. The very Shrub did Balsom sweat, And Nectar melt the Rock with heat, And Earth did drink her fill: Then she no hurtful weed did know, Nor barren Fern, nor Mandrake low, Nor Mineral to kill. The Male and Female us'd to join, And into all delight did coin, That pure simplicity: Then Feature did to Form advance, And Youth call'd Beauty forth to dance, And every Grace was by. It was a time of no distrust,

So much of Love had nought of Lust, None fear'd a jealous eye. The Language melted in the ear, Yet all without a blush might hear; They liv'd with open vow. Each touch and kiss was so well plac't, They were as sweet as they were chaste.

FRom the fair Lavanion shore, I your Markets come to store; Muse not at me that so far dwell, And hither bring my Wares to sell. Such is the sacred hunger of gold, Then come to my pack where I cry, What do you lack, what do you buy? For here it is to be sold.

You, whose birth and breeding base, Are rank'd into a noble race; And whose Parents heretofore, Neither Arms nor Scutchons bore: Such is the sacred hunger of gold, Then come to my pack, where I cry, What do you lack, what do you buy? For here is Honors to be sold.

Madam, for your wrinkled face, Here's complection it to grace; Which, if your earnest be but small, It takes away the vertue all: But if your palms be well anointed with gold, Then shall you seem like a Queen of fifteen, Though you be threescore years old.

On the perfections of his Mistress.

HER lo••ks are streams of liquid amber, Curtains fit for beauties chamber; Of which slender golden sleave, Love his wanton nets did weave.

Her forehead, that is beauties sphere. A thousand graces moving there. Venus triumpheth on her brow, That comely arch of silver snow. The Savages that worship the Sun-rise, Would hate their god, if they beheld her eyes; All heavenly beauties joyn themselves in one, To shew their glory in her eye alone: Which when it turneth it's celestial ball, A thousand sweet Stars rise, a thousand fall. Her nose is beauties splendid port, Where Zephyrus delights to sport. Her breath is such, whose native smell All Indian odours doth excell; If all the pleasures were distill'd Of every Flower in every Field, And all that Hybla's hives do yield, Were into one broad mazer fill'd If thereto added all the Gums And Spice that from Panchaia comes; The Odours that Hydaspes lends, And Phoenix proves before she ends; If all the Air that Flora drew, Or Spirit that Zephyrus ever blew Were put therein, and all the Dew That ever rosie morning knew; Yet all diffus'd could not compare With her breath, delicious air. The melting rubies on her lip, Are of such power to hold, as on one day Cupid flew thirsty by, and stoopt to sip, And fasten there, could never get away. Have you seen Carnation grow, Fresh blushing through new flakes of snow? Have you seen with more delight, A red Rose growing through a white? Have you seen the pretty gleam That the Strawberry leaves in cream? Or morning blushes when day breaks? Such is the tincture of her cheeks. Her silver neck is whiter far

Then Towers of polisht Ivory are, And now behold her double brest, Of Venus Babe the wanton nest, Like Pommels round of marble clear, Where azure veins well mix'd appear; With dearest top of porphiry, Betwixt which two a way doth lie; A way more worthy beauties fame Then that which bears the Milky name; That leads unto the joyous field, Which doth unspotted Lillies yield; But Lillies such, whose native smell, All Indian Odours doth excell. Her hands would make a Tyger meek, So soft, so delicate, and sleek; That we from hence might justly prove, Nature wore Lillies for a Glove. Where whiteness doth for ever sit, Nature her self enameld it, Wherewith a strange compact doth lie, Warm snow, moist pearl, sost ivory. There fall those Saphir colour'd brooks, Which conduit-like with curious crooks, Sweet Ilands make in that sweet Land; As for the fingers of that hand, (The bloody shafts of Cupids war) With Amethyst they headed are.

Her Chastity.

HEr cool thoughts feel no hot desires, Serving not Venus flames, but Vesta's fires: In wanton dalliance such, as untill death, Never sinelt any but her Husbands breath. Jupiter would court her, did he know a shape Would tempt her chastity, unto a Rape; Who when her lawful sports she doth begin, Still blushing, thinketh her own kisses sin.

On her Beauty.

WHen that my Mistress looks my sight doth grace, She seems to sway an Empire in her face; Nature her self, did her own self admire, As oft as she were pleased to attire Her in her native lustre, and confess, Her dressing was her chiefest comliness: Where every limb takes like a face, Built with that comely and majestick grace; One accent, from whose lips the blood more warms Then all Medea's exorcisms and charms. He that since Nature her great work began, She made to be the mirror of a man: That when she meant to form some matchless limb, Still for a pattern took some part from him; And jealous of her coming, brake the mould. In his proportion, done the best she could, If she discourse, her lip such accents breaks, As love turn'd air, breaths from him as he speaks. She maketh Jove invent a new disguise, Inspite of Juno's watchful jealousie: Whose every part doth also reinvite The coldest most decayed appetite: And shall be Nurse, as mighty Juno swears, To the next bright hair'd Cupid that she bears.

On a fair and richly attir'd Lady at a Mask.

IN one Heav'n many Stars, but never yet In one Star many Heav'ns, till now, were met; Her Orient cheeks and lips exceeded his, That leapt into the water for a kiss Of his own shadow; and despising many, Dy'd ere he could enjoy the love of any. Had wild Hippolitus this beauty seen, Pierc'd with his Darts, he had enamour'd been. The wealth she wore about her, seem'd to hide Not to adorn her native beauties pride.

Though there bright pearls from Erythrean Shore, With silver Ganges, and Hydaspes store; And chearful Emralds, gather'd from the green Arabian Rocks, were in full splendor seen; Pale Onyx, Jaspers of a various dye, And Diamonds darkned by her brighter eye; The Saphirs blew, by her more azure-veins, Hung not to boast, but to confess their stains; The blushing Rubies seem'd to lose their dye, When her more ruby lips were moving by; It seem'd so well became her all she wore, She had not robb'd at all the creatures store: But had been Natures self there to have show'd What she on creatures could or had bestow'd. And Jupiter would revel in her bower, Were he to spend another golden shower.

Song.

CElia, thy sweet Angels face May be call'd a heavenly place; The whiteness of the starry way, Nature did on thy forehead lay? But thine eyes have brightness won, Not from the Stars but from the Sun.

The blushing of the morn, In thy Rosie cheeks is worn; The Musick of the Heav'nly Spheres, In thy soul winning voice appears: Happy were I, had I like Atlas, grace So fair a Heav'n with mine arms to embrace.

The Queen of Fairies.

COme follow, follow me, You Fairy Elves that be; Which Circle on the Green, Come follow me your Queen:

Hand in hand, let's dance a round, For this place is Fairy ground.

When Mortals are at rest, And snorting in their nest; Unheard and unespy'd Through Key-holes we do glide: Over Tables, Stools and Shelves, We trip it with our Fairy Elves.

And if the House be foul, Or Platter, Dish, or Bowl; Up stairs we nimbly creep, And find the sluts asleep: There we pinch their arms and thighs None escapes nor none espies.

But if the house be swept, And from uncleanness kept; We praise the Houshold-maid: And surely she is paid: For we do use before we go, To drop a Tester in her Shoe.

Upon a Mushrom's head, Our table we do spread; A Corn of Rie, or Wheat, Is Manchet which we eat: Pearly drops of dew we drink, In Acorn Cups fill'd to the brink.

The brains of Nightingales, The unctious dew of Snailes, Between two Nut-shels stew'd, Is meat that's easily chew'd; And the beards of little Mice Do make a feast of wondrous price.

On tops of dewie grass, So nimbly do we pass, The young and tender stalk,

Ne're bends when we do walk: Yet in the morning may be seen, Where we the night before have been.

The Grashopper and Flie, Serve for our minstrelsie; Grace said, we dance a while, And so the time beguile: And when the Moon doth hide her head, The Gloe-worm lights us home to bed.

Cupid Contemn'd.

CUpid thou art a sluggish Boy, and dost neglect thy calling; Thy Bow and Arrows are a toy thy monarchy is falling.

Unless thou dost recall thy self, and take thy tools about thee; Thou wilt be scorn'd by every Elf, and all the world will flout thee.

Rouze up thy spirit like a God, and play the Archer finely; Let none escape thy Shaft or Rod, 'gainst thee have spoke unkindly.

So may'st thou chance to plague that heart, That cruelly hath made me smart.

Bootless Complaint.

THough bootless I must needs complain, my faults are so extream: I loved and was belov'd again, yet all was but a dream,

For as that love was quickly got, so was it quickly gone; I'le love no more a flame so hot, I'le rather let't alone.

The Departure.

WE must not love as others do, With sighs and tears as we were two; Though with this outward form we part, We find each other in our heart. What search hath found a being, where I am not, if that thou be there? True love hath wings, and will assoon, Survey the World, as Sun or Moon; And every where our triumph keep: Our absence which makes others weep, Shews it thereby a power is given To love on Earth, as they in Heaven.

To a Lady in Prison.

LOok out bright eyes, and clear the air, even in shadows you are fair; Caged beauty is like fire, that breakes out clearer still, and higher: Though the body be confin'd, and soft Love a prisoner bound; Yet the beauty of your mind, neither check nor chain hath found. Look out nobly then, and dare Even the fetters that you wear.

To Sorrow.

Sorrow why dost thou seek to tempt my quiet soul, to misery and wo; My constant thoughts from thine assaults exempt Inur'd to fortunes crosses long ago: Go seek out some who doth affect thy pain, If none thou find'st, return to me again.

When elder years witness my race as run, and hoary locks my hollow temples fill;

When I shall sit and say, the world is done; sorrow return, and satisfie thy will: Till then, go seek out some who affects thy pain, If none thou find'st, return to me again.

Constancy resolved.

COme constant hearts that so prevail, That every passion puts in bail; My innocence shall dare as far, To bid the Tyrant open war: If warm'd with pride he kindle fires, We'l drown them in our chaste desires, If he assail with Dart and Bow, We'l hide them in the hills of snow: So shall his heart plagu'd, mourn, and die, While we smile at his memory; And keep our hearts, our eyes, and ears, Free from vain sighs, sad groans, and tears.

Lose no time.

LOse no time, nor youth, but be Kind to men, as they to thee; The fair Lillies that now grow In thy cheeks, and purely show: The Cherry and the Rose that blow, If too long they hand and waste, Winter comes that all will blast: Thou art ripe, full ripe for Men, In thy sweets be gather'd then.

Song.

NOt Roses couch'd within a lilly bed, are those commixtures that depaint thy face; Nor yet the white that silver Hyems head, mix'd with the dewy mornings purple grace:

but thou, whose face my senses captive led, Whom I erst fondly deem'd of heav••nly race; Hast from my guiltless blood which thou hast shed, And envious paleness, got thy white and red.

Song.

REad in the Roses the sad story, Of my hard fate, and your own glory; In the white you may discover The paleness of a fainting Lover: In the red, the flames still feeding On my heart, with fresh wounds bleeding. The white will tell you how I languish, And the red express my anguish; The frown that on your brows recided, Have the Roses thus divided: O let your smiles but clear the weather, And then they both shall grow together.

Dying to Live.

YOung Thirsis laid in Phillis lap, and gazing on her eye; Tyought life too mean for such good hap, and fain the Lad would die.

When Phillis who the force did prove of Love, as well as he, Cry'd to him, Stay a while my Love, and I will die with thee.

So did these happy Lovers die, but with so little pain, That both to life immediately return'd, to die again.

Who his Mistress is.

WIll you know my Mistress face? 'tis a Garden full of Roses When the Spring in every place: white and blushing red discloses; 'Tis a Paradise, where all That attempt the fruit, must fall.

Will you know her forehead fair,Line 2 'tis heavenly living Sphere; Under which the veins like air, all Celestial blew appear: But those burning Suns, her Eyes, He that dares live under, dies.

Will you know her body now,Line 3 'tis a tall ship under sail; From the rudder to the prow, nothing but Imperial: But that foolish man that stears, Fills his Compass by his fears.

Shall I now her mind declare,Line 4 'tis a body arm'd for war; Marching in proportion fair: till the Lover hopes too far: Then her eyes give fire, and all Within level, helpless fall,

In praise of Fools.

FOols they are the only nation, Worth mens envy, or admiration Free from love and sorrow taking, Themselves and others merry making. O, who would not be! He, He, He.

All they speak or do, is sterling, your Fool he is your great mans darling; And your Ladies sport and pleasure, tongue and babble are his treasure.

Even his face begetth laughter, and he speaks truth free from slaughter; He's the grace of every feast, And sometimes is the chiefest guest; Hath his Trencher and his Stool; When Wit waits upon the Fool. O! who would not be? Hee, Hee, Hee.

The Impolitick Beauty.

CLoris I wish, that envy were As just, as pity doth appear Unto thy state; whereby I might Rob others, to give thee more delight: But your too free, though lovely charms, In others glory breeds your harms. But since you so admit, So many rivals to your wit; Unthriftily you throw away The pleasures of your beauties sway. Which loosely scatter'd so on many, Securely fastens not on any. And then your beauty doth discover, Many that gaze, but ne're a Lover; And your so greedy hands destroy, What you would your self enjoy. So Princes by Ambition thirsty grown, In chase of many Kingdoms, lose their own.

YOU must suppose it to be Easter Holy-days: for now Sisly and Dol, Kate and Peggie, Moll and Nan are march∣ing to Westminster, with a Lease of Apprentices before them; who go rowing themselves along with their 〈…〉〈…〉t Arms to make more haste, and now and then with a gre〈…〉〈…〉 ••uckender wipe away the dripping that bastes their 〈◊〉〈◊〉. At the door they meet a croud of Wappin•• Sea-〈…〉〈…〉 Southwark Broom-men, the Inhabitants of the Bank-side, and 〈…〉〈…〉utcher or two prickt in among them; there a while they 〈…〉〈…〉nd gaping for the Master of the Shew, staring upon the Sub〈…〉〈…〉s of their delight, just as they view the painted Cloth before they go in to the Puppet-play: by and by they hear the Keys, which rejoyces their hearts like the sound of the Pancake-bell; for now the Man of comfort peeps over the spikes, and beholding such a learned auditory, opens the Gates of Paradise, and by that time they are half got into the first Chappel (for time is then very precious) he lifts up his voice among the Tombs, and begins his lurry in manner and form following:

HEre lies Will. de Valence, a right good Earl of Pembroke; And this is his monument which you see, I'le swear upon a Book: He was High Marshal of England, when Harry the Third did raign: But this you may take upon my word, that he'l ne're be so again.

Here the Lord Edward Talbot lies, the Town of Shrewsbury's Earle, Together with his Countess fair, that was a delicate Girle.

The next to him there lieth one Sir Richard Peckshall, hight; Of whom we always first do say, he was a Hampshire Knight. And now to tell the more of him, there lies under this stone His two Wives, and his Daughters four, of whom I knew not one.

Sir Bernard Brockhurst there doth ••le, Lord Chamberlain to Queen An••: Queen Ann was Richard the Second's Queen, and he was King of Englan.

Sir Francis Hollis, the Lady Frances, the same was Suffolks Dutchess, Two children of Edward the Third lie here in Deaths cold clutches.

This is King Edward the Third's brother, of whom our Records tell Nothing of note, nor say they whether, he be in Heaven or Hell.

This same was John of Eldeston; he was no Costermonger, But Cornwals Earl. And here's one dy'd 'cause she could live no longer.

The Lady Mohum Dutches of York, and Duke of York's Wife also; But Death resolving to cuckold the Duke, made her lie with him here below.

The Lady Ann Ross, but note thee well that she in child-bed dy'd. The Lady Marquess of Winchester lies buried by her side.

Now think your penny well spent good folks, and that ye are not beguil'd; Within this Cup doth lie the heart of a French Embassadours Child: Nor can I tell how came to pass, on purpose or by chance; The bowels they lie underneath, the body is in France.

There's Oxford's Countess, and there also the Lady Burley, her Mother;

And there her Daughter, a Countess too, lie close one by another.

These once were bonny Dames, and though there were no Coaches then, Yet could they jog their tails themselves, or had them jogg'd by men. But wo is me, these High-born sinners, that strutted once so stoutly; Are now laid low, and cause they can't; Their statues pray devoutly.

This is the Dutchess of Somerset, by name the Lady Ann; Edward the Sixth her Lord protected, and he carried himself like a man.

In this fair Monument which you see, adorn'd with so many Pillars, Doth lie the Countess of Buckingham, and her Husband, Sir George Villars.

This old Sir George was Grandfather, the Countess she was Granny To the great Duke of Buckingham, who often fox'd King Jamny.

Sir Robert Eatam a Scotch Knight, this man was Secretary, And scribled Complements for two Queens; Queen Ann, and eke Queen Mary.

This was the Countess of Lenox, I clep'd the Lady Marget King Jame's Grandmother, but yet 'gainst death she had no Target.

This was Queen Mary, Queen of Scots, whom Buchanan doth bespatter, She lost her head at Fothringham, whatever was the matter.

The Mother of our Seventh Henry, this is, that lieth hard by; She was the Countess wot ye well, of Richmond and of Darby.

Harry the Seventh himself lies here, with his fair Queen beside him; He was the Founder of this Chappel, Oh! may no ill betide him?

Therefore his Monument's in brass, you'l say that very much is. The Duke of Richmond and Lenox there lieth with his Dutchess; And here they stand upright in a Press, with bodies made of wax; With a Globe and a Wand in either hand, and their Robes upon their backs.

Here lies the Duke of Buckingham, and the Dutchess his Wife: Whom Felton stab'd at Portsmouth Town, and so he lost his life.

Two Children of King James these are, which Death keeps very chary; Sophia in the Cradle lies, and this is the Lady Mary.

And this is Queen Elizabeth, How the Spaniards did infest her? Here she lies buried with Queen Mary, and now she agrees with her Sister.

To another Chappel now come we, the people follow and chat; This is the Lady Cottington, and the people cry, Who's that?

This is the Lady Frances Sidney, The Countess of Sussex is she. And this the Lord Dudley Carleton is, and then they look up and see.

Sir Thomas Bromley lieth here, Death would not him reprieve; With his four Sons, and Daughters four, yet I heard no body grieve.

The next is Sir John Tullerton, and this is his Lady I trow, And this is Sir John Duckering with his fine Bed-fellow.

That's Earl of Bridgewater in the middle, who makes no use of his bladder; Although his Countess lies so near him, and so we go up a ladder.

King Edward the First, that gallant blade, lies underneath this stone; And this is the Chair which he did bring, a good while ago from Scone.

In this same Chair till now of late, our Kings and Queens were crown'd; Under this Chair, another stone doth lie upon the ground.

On that same stone did Jacob sleep, instead of a doun Pillow; And after that, 'twas hither brought by some good honest Fellow.

Richard the Second he lies here, and his first Queen, Queen Ann. Edward the Third lies here hard by, I, there was a gallant man: For this was his two-handed Sword, a Blade both true and trusty; The French mens blood was ne're wip'd off, which makes it look so rusty.

He lies here again with his Queen Philip, A Dutch Woman by Record;

But that's all one, for now alas! his Blade's not so long as his Sword.

King Edward the Confessor lies within this Monument fine; I'me sure, quoth one, a worser Tomb must serve both me and mine.

Harry the Fifth lies there. And there doth lie Queen Elenore; To our first Edward she was Wife, Which is more then ye knew before.

Henry the Third lies there entomb'd, he was Herb John in Pottage; Little he did, but still reign'd on, although his Sons were at age. Fifty six years he reigned King, ere he the Crown would lay by; Only we praise him, 'cause he was last Builder of this Abby.

Here Thomas Cecil lies: Who's that? why, 'tis the Earl of Exeter. And this his Countess is to die * 1.1 how it perplexed her.

Here Henry Cary, Lord Hunsdon rests, what a noise a makes with his name? He was Lord Chamberlain unto Queen Elizabeth of great fame.

And here one William Colchester lies of a certainty, An Abbot he was of Westminster, * 1.2 and he that says no, doth lie.

This is the Bishop of Durham, by Death here laid in Fetters; Henry the Seventh lov'd him well, and made him write his Letters.

Sir Thomas Ruthat, what of him? poor Gentleman not a word; Only they buried him here. But now behold that man with a Sword.

Humphrey de Boliun, who though he were not born with me in the same Town; Yet I can tell, he was Earl of Essex, of Hereford, and Northampton;

He was High Constable of England, as History well expresses. But now pretty Maids be of good chear, we are going up to the Presses.

And now the Presses open stand, and ye see them all arow: But more is never said of these, than what is said below.

Henry the Seventh and his fair Queen, Edward the First and his Queen; Henry the Fifth here stands upright, and his fair Queen, was this Queen.

The noble Prince, Prince Henry, * 1.3 King James's eldest Son; King James, Queen Ann, Queen Elizabeth, and so this Chappel's done.

Now down the stairs come we again, the man goes first with a staff; Perchance one tumbles down two steps, and then the people laugh,

This is the great Sir Francis Vere, That so the Spaniards curri'd; Four Collonels support his Arms, and here his Body's buried.

That statue against the wall with one eye, * 1.4 is Major General Norrice; He beat the Spaniards cruelly, as is affirm'd in Stories.

His six Sons there hard by him stand, each one was a Commander; To shew he could his Lady serve as well as the Hollander.

And there doth Sir John Hollis rest, who was the Major General To Sir John Norrice, that brave blade, and so they go to Dinner all.

For now the Shew is at an end, all things are done and said; The Citizen pays for his Wife, The Prentice for the Maid.

The Hector's Farewell.

GOod people all, I pray give ear, my words concern ye much, I will relate a Hector's life, pray God ye be not such.

There was a Gallant in the Town, a brave and jolly Sporter, There was no Lady in the Land, but he knew how to court her.

His person comely was, and tall, more comely have been few men; Which made him well beloved of men; but more belov'd of women.

Besides all this I can you tell, that he was well endow'd With many graces of the mind, Which Heav'n on him bestow'd.

He was as liberal as the Sun, his Gold he freely spent; Whether it were his own Estate, or that it were him lent.

For valor, he a Lion was, I say a Lion bold; For he did fear no living man that Sword in hand did hold.

And when that he with glittring blade did e're assail his foes; Full well I trow they did not miss their belly full of blows.

A Frenchman once assaulted him, and told him that he ly'd.; For which with Quart-pot he him slew, And so the French man dy'd.

Three Danes, six Germans, and five Swedes met him in Lane of Drury; Who cause they took of him the Wall, did kill them in his fury.

Upon his body I have heard, full many a ••ear he bore, His skin did look like Sattin pinckt, with gashes many a score,

Oh had he lost that noble blood For Countries liberty! Where could all England then have found so brave a man as he?

But wo is me these vertues great, were all eclips'd with vice; Just so the Sun that now shines bright, Is darkned in a trice.

For he did swagger, drink, and game, indeed, what would he not? His Psalter, and his Catechize he utterly forgot.

But he is gone, and we will let no more of him be said; They say 'tis nought to reveal The vices of the dead.

Beside we have some cause to think, that he may scape tormenting; For the old Nurse that wach'd with him, did say he dy'd repenting.

The Second Part.

FArewell three Kings, where I have spent full many an idle hour; Where ost I won, but ne're did lose if it were within my power.

Where the raw Gallants I did chuse, like any Ragamuffin: But now I'me sick and cannot play, who'l trust me for a Coffin.

Farewel my dearest Piccadilly, Notorious for great Dinners; Oh, what a Tennis Court was there! alas! too good for sinners.

Farewel Spring-garden, where I us'd to piss before the Ladies; Poor Souls! who'l be their Hector now to get 'em pretty Babies?

Farewel the glory of Hide-Park, which was to me so dear; Now since I can't enjoy it more, would I were buried there.

Farewel tormenting Creditors, whose scores did so perplex me; Well! Death I see for something's good, for now you'l cease to vex me.

Farewel true brethren of the Sword, all Martial men and stout; Farewel dear Drawer at the Fleece, I cannot leave thee out.

My time draws on, I now must go from this beloved light; Remember me to pretty Sue, and so dear friends good night.

With that, on Pillow low he laid his pale and drooping head: And straight e're Cat could lick her ear, poor Hector he was dead.

Now God bless all that will be blest, God bless the Inns of Courts; And God bless Davenants Opera, which is the sport of sports.

On the Death of Jo. W.

WHen rich men die, whose purses swell with silver and with gold; They straight shall have a Monument, their memories to uphold.

Yet all that men can say of them, they lived so unknown;

Is but to write upon their Tombs, here lieth such a one.

When Joseph, who died poor, (though Simon was his Porter) Shall die as if he ne're had been, and want his worths reporter.

Full many a Can he often drank, In Fleet-street in the Cellar; Yet he must unremembred dye, like some base Fortune-teller.

He made the Ballad of the Turk, and sung it in the street; And shall he dye, and no man heed it? no friends, it is not meet.

He lived in a Garret high, as high as any Steeple; And shall he dye? alas poor Jo! unknown unto the People.

He had no Curtains to his Bed, yet still paid for his quart, While Coin did last; and shall he dye? And no man lay't to heart.

He lov'd his Dog, Icleped Trou, his Dog he loved Pye; Shall Tobit live for his Dogs sake? and Jo neglected, dye.

He hated all the Female sex, who knows his private grudge; And must he therefore dye forgot? I leave the World to judge.

Each Term he ask'd his Father Blessing, most gravely and demurely, Who then did give him Shillings Ten; and must he dye obscurely?

No Jo, I'le bid peace to thy bones, Though they were sick and crazie, And must be quite made new again, Before that Heav'n can raise thee.

And since th'art gone, and there is none, who knoweth where to find thee; I'le fix this truth upon thy name, Thou didst leave Wit behind thee.

Wit that shall make thy name to last, when Tarletons Jests are rotten; And George a Green, and Mother Bunch, shall all be quite forgotten.

Now if you ask where Jo is gone, you think I cannot tell; Oh he is blest! for he was poor, and could not go to Hell.

But for his Father rich in Bags, the Devil ought to have him; That took no care of such a Son, till 'twas too late to save him.

The Song of the Caps.

THe Wit hath long beholding bin Unto the Cap, to keep it in; Let now the Wit fly out amain With Praise, to quit the Cap again; The Cap that owes the highest part, Obtain'd that place by due desert. For any Cap what e're it be, Is still the sign of some Degree.

The Cap doth stand, each man doth show, Above a Crown; but Kings below. The Cap is nearer Heaven than we, A greater sign of Majesty;

When off the Cap we chance to take, Both Head and Feet obeysance make. For any Cap, &c.

The Monmouth Cap, the Saylors Thrum, And that wherein the Saylors come. The Physick, Law, the Cap Divine, The same that crowns the Muses nine. The Cap that Fools do countenance, The goodly Cap of Maintenance. And any Cap, &c.

The sickly Cap, both plain and wrought, The Fudling Cap, however brought. The Quilted, Furr'd, the Velvet, Sattin, For which so many Pates learn Latin. The Crewel Cap, the Fustean Pate, The Periwig, a Cap of late. Thus any Cap, &c.

The Souldiers that the Monmouth wear, On Castle tops their Ensigns rear. The Saylors with their Thrum do stand On higher place than all the Land. The Tradesman Cap aloft is born, By vantage of (some say) his horn. Thus any Cap, &c.

The Physicks Cap to dust may bring, Without controll the greatest King. The Lawyers Cap hath heavenly might, To make a crooked Cause stand right: Which being round and endless, knows To make as endless any Cause. Thus any Cap, &c.

Both East and West, and North, and South, Where e're the Gospel finds a mouth, The Cap divine doth thither look; The Square-like Scholars and their Book: The rest are round, but this is square;

To shew that they more stable are. Thus any Cap, &c.

The Motley man a Cap doth wear, That makes him fellow for a Peer; And its no slender part of wit, To act the fool where great men sit: But Oh the Cap of London town! I wis 'tis like the Giants crown. Thus any Cap, &c.

The sick mans Cap not wrought with silk, Is like repentance white as milk. When Hats in Church drop off in haste, This Cap ne're leaves the head uncaste. The sick mans Cap if wrought, can tell, Though he be ill, his state is well. Thus any Cap, &c.

The Fudling Cap, God Bacchus might, Turns night to day and day to night; Yet spendors it prefers to more, By seeing double all their store. The Fur'd and Quilted Cap of age, Can make a mouldy Proverb sage. Thus any Cap, &c.

Though Fustean Caps be slender wear, The head is of no better gear. The Crowel Cap is knit like Hose, For them whose zeal takes cold in the nose Whose purity doth judge it meet, To cloth alike both head and feet. This Cap would fain, but cannot be, The only Cap of no degree.

The Satin and the Velvet hive, Unto a Bishoprick doth drive: Nay when a file of Caps y'are seen in, The Square Cap this, and then a Linen. This treble may raise some hope, If fortune smile to be a Pope. Thus any Cap, &c.

The Periwing, Oh that declares! The rise of flesh the loss of hairs, And none but Graduates can proceed In sin so far, till this they need. Before the Prince none cover'd are, But those that to themselves go bare. This Cap of all the Caps that be, Is now the sign of high degree.

The Jolly Ale-Drinker.

I Cannot eat but little meat, my stomach is not good; But sure I think, that I can drink with him that wears a hood: Though I go bare, take ye no care, I nothing am a cold, I stuff my skin, so full within, with jolly good Ale and old. Back and sides go bare, go bare, both foot and hand go cold; But Belly, God send thee good Ale enough, whether it be new or old.

I love no Rost, but a nut-brown Tost, and a Crab laid in the fire; A little bread, shall serve my stead, for much I not desire. No frost or snow, no wind I trow, can hurt me if I would; I am so wrapt, and throughly lapt with jolly good Ale and old. Back and sides, &c.

And Tib my Wife, that as her life loveth good Ale to seek; Full oft drinks she, till you may see the tears run down her cheek. Then doth she trowl to me the Bowl, even as a Mault-worm should;

And saith, Sweet-heart, I took my part of this jolly good Ale, and old. Back and sides &c.

Now let them drink, till they nod and wink, even as good Fellows should do; They shall not miss, to have the bliss, good Ale doth bring men to. And all poor Souls, that have scowr'd Bowls, or have them lustily trowl'd; God save the lives of them and their Wives, whether they be young or old. Back and sides go bare, &c.

The Shepherd's Song in praise of his God Pan, who prefers him before the Sun.

THou that art call'd the bright Hiperion, Wert thou more strong then Spanish Gerion, That had three heads upon one man; Compare not with our great God Pan.

They call thee Son of bright Latona, But girt thee in thy ••orr••d Zona; Sweat, baste, and broil, as best thou can, Thou art not like our Dripping Pan,

What cares he for the great God Neptune; With all the broth that he is kept in; Vulcan or Jove he scorns to bow to, To Hermes, or th'Infernal Pluto.

Then thou that art the Heavens bright Eye, Or burn, or scorch, or boil, or fry: Be thou a God, or be thou Man, Thou art not like our Frying Pan.

They call thee Phoebus, God of Day, Years, Moneths, Weeks, Hours, of March and May: Bring up thy Army in the Van, We'l meet thee with our Pudding Pan.

Thy self in thy bright Chariot settle, With Skillet arm'd, brass Pot, or Kettle; With Jug, black Pot, with Glass or Can, No talking to our Warming Pan.

Thou hast thy beams thy brows to deck, Thou hast thy Daphne at thy beck: Pan hath his horns, Syrinx and Phillis; And I his Swain, my Amarillis.

Song on Women.

TRust not a Woman when she cries, For she'l pump water from her eyes With a wet finger; and in faster showers, Then April when he rains down Flowers.

As out of Wormwood Bees suck honey; As from poor Clients Lawyers firk money; As Parseley from a rosted Coney: So though the day be ne're to sunny.

If Wives will have it rain down, then it drives; The calmest Husbands make the most stormy Wives.

On an Excellent Race-Horse.

COme Muses all that dwell nigh the Fountain, made by the winged Horses heel; Which firk'd with his Rider over each Mountain, let me your gallopping raptures feel. I do not sing of Fleas, nor Frogs, Nor of the well-mouth'd Hunting-dogs; Let me be just, all praises must Be giv'n to well-breath'd Jilian Thrust.

2.

Young Constable and Kil-deer's famous, the Cap, the Mouse, the Noddy gray, With nimble Pegabrigg, you cannot shame us,

With Spaniard nor with Spinola; Hill climing white Rose praised doth not lack, Handsom Dunbar, and yellow Jack: But if I be just, all praises must Be given to well-breath Jilian Thrust.

3.

Sure spurr'd Sloven, true runing Robin of young Shaver, I do not say less; Strawbery, Soam, and let Spider pop in, fine Brackley, and brave running Bess, Victorious too was Herring Shotten, And Spin in's arse is not forgotten. But if I be just, all honour must Be given unto Jilian Thrust.

4.

Now Gentleman all I pray you hark yet, to winning Makarel, fine mouth'd Freak; Bay Tarral that won the Cup at New-market; thundring Tempest, Black-dragon eke; Precious Sweet-lips, I do not lose, Nor Toby with his golden Shoes: But if I be just, all honour must Be given to well-breath Jilian Thrust.

The Clown's Description of his Mistress.

HAppy am I in Mop••s love, that ever I bespoke her; Whose hair's as fine as any hemp, and colour'd like red ok••r. Whose hammer-head and beetle-brows. will never me deceive; If I have any Nail to drive, or any Block to cleave.

Those eye-holes, if thy eyes were out, would serve as well for Sawcers; But thy plump cheeks puft up do hang like to a pair of Dossers. And from this Limbeck the rare Juice,

continually that flows: Lest thou should lose one drop of it, thou hast a Bottle-nose.

Thy chaps do water, I protest, as they were greas'd with tallow; Thy scattering teeth enamel'd are, with blew, and black, and yellow: When thou dost talk, I do admire, thy stumbling and thy trips; Thou art no great blab of thy tongue, but a little of thy lips.

The rubies, and the carbuncles, on thy face shine most Star-like; But oh! thy spicy fragrant breath, smells like a bed of Garlike. Thy comely breasts to me appear like Mole-hills newly raised; Which for their mountainous extent, are highly to be praised.

Her sides be long, her belly lank; of her legs what should I say? But that she feels well in the flank, her feet themselves display.

The Watch-mens Song.

SIng and rejoyce, the day is gone, and the wholesome night appears, In which the Constable on throne of trusty Bench, doth with his peers The comely Watch-men, sound of health, sleep for the good ot'h Commonwealth.

'Tis his office to do so, being bound to keep the peace, And in quiet sleep you know, mortal jars and lewd brauls cease.

A Constable may then for's health, Sleep for the good ot'h Commonwealth.

Unless with nobler thoughts inspir'd, to the Tavern he resort; Wherewith sack his senses fir'd, he raigns as Fairy King in Court: Drinking many a lusty health, Then sleep for the good ot'h Commonwealth.

With a comely Girle, whom late he had taken in his watch; Oft he steals out of the Gate, her at the old sport to match: Though it may impair his health, He sleeps for the good ot'h Commonwealth.

Who then can Constables deny, to be persons brave and witty; Snce they only are the eye, the glory, the delight o'th City: That with Staff and Lanthorn light: A like-black Pluto Princes of the night.

The Jovial Companion.

COme let's drink, the time invites, Winter and cold weather; For to pass away long nights, and to keep our wits together: Better far thna Cards or Dice, Or Jack's balls that quaint delights, Made up with fan and feather.

Of great actions on the Seas, we will ne're be jealous; Give us liquor that will please, and 'twill make us braver fellows, Then the stout Venetian Fleet,

When the Turk and they do meet, Within their Dardanello's.

Mahomet was not Divine, but a simple Wigeon; To forbid the use of Wine, unto those of his Religion; Falling sickness was his shame, And his Tomb shall have the same, For all is whispring Pigeon.

Therefore water we'l desclaim; mankinds adversary; Once it caus'd the worlds whole same in the deluge to miscarry. Nay this enemy of joy, Seeks with envy to destroy, And murther good Canary.

Valentien that famous Town, stood the French mens wonder; Water it employ'd to drown, so to force their Troops asunder: Turain cast a helpless look, Whilst the crafty Spaniard took La Ferto, and his plunder,

See thee Squibs, and hear the Bells the fifth day of November; The Preacher a sad Story tells, and with horror doth remember, How some Dry-brain'd Traitor wrought Arts, that might have ruine brought. To King, and every member.

He that drinks hath no such thoughts, black and void of reason; We take care to fill our vaults with Wine for every season: And with many a chearful cup We blow one another up, And that's our only treason.

A New Ballad of St. George for England, and the Dragon.

WHY should we boast of Arthur and his Knights, Knowing how many men have performed fights Or why should we speak of Sir Lancelor du Lake, Or Sir Tristram du Leon, that fought for Ladies sake: Read old Stories, and there you shall see, How St. George, St. George did make the Dragon flee; St. George he was for England, St. Denis was for France, Sing Hony soit qui maly pense.

To speak of the Monarchs, it were too long to tell; And likewise of the Romans, how far they did excel; Hannibal and Scipio they many a field did fight; Orlando Furioso he was a valiant Knight; Romulus and Rhemus were those that Rome did build, But St. George, St. George the Dragon he hath kill'd. St. George, &c.

Jephtha and Gideon they led their men to fight, The Gibeonites and Ammonites they put them all to flight; Hercules's labour was in the Vale of Bass, And Sampson slew a thousand with the Jaw bone of an Ass; And when that he was blind, pull'd the temple to the ground; But St. George, St. George the Dragon did confound. St. George, &c.

Valentine and Orson they came of Pippin's blood; Alphred and Aldrecus they were brave Knights and good; The four Sons of Ammon that fought with Charlemain, Sir Hugh de Burdeaux, and Godfrey de Bolaigne; These were all French Knights, the Pagans did convert; But St. George, St. George pull'd forth the Dragons heart. St. George, &c.

Henry the Fifth he conquered all France; He quarttered their Arms his honour to advance; He razed their walls, and pull'd their Cities down;

And garnished his head with a double treble Crown; He thumped the French, and after home he came; But St. George, St. George he made the Dragon tame. St George, &c.

St. David you know, loves Leeks and tosted Cheese; And Jason was the man brought home the Golden Fleece; St. Patrick you know he was St. Georges Boy, Seven years he kept his Horse, and then stole him away; For which knavish act, a Slave he doth remain; But St. George, St. George the Dragon he hath slain. St. George, &c.

Tamberlain the Emperour in Iron Cage did crown, With his bloody Flags displayed before the Town; Scanderbag magnanimous Mahomets Bashaw did dread; Whose Victorious bones were worn when he was dead; His Bedlerbegs, his Corn-like drags, George Castriote was he call'd But St. George, St. George the Dragon he hath mauld. St. George, &c.

Ottoman the Tarter, Cham of Persia's race, The great Mogul, with chests so ful of all his Cloves and Mace; The Grecian youth, Bucephalus he manly did bestride; But those with all their Worthies nine, S. George did them de∣ride; Gustavus Adolphus was Sweedlands warlike King; But St. George, St. George pull'd forth the Dragons sting. St. George, &c.

Poldraggon and Cadwallader of Brittish blood do boast; Though John of Gaunt, his foes did daunt, St. George shall rule the rost, Agamemnon, and Cleomedon, and Macedon did feats, But compared to our Champion, they were but meerly cheats; Brave Malta Knights, in Turkish fights their brandish Swords out drew, But St. George met the Dragon, & ran him through & through. St. George, &c.

Bidia the Amazon Potius overthrew; As fierce as either Vandal, Goth, Saracen, or Jew; The potent Holophernes, as he lay in his bed, In came wise Judith, and subtly stole his head; Brave Cyclops stout, with Jove he fought, although he showr'd down thunder,

But St. George kill'd the Dragon, was not that a wonder; St. George, &c.

Mark Anthony, Ile warrant you, plaid feats with Egypts Queen; Sir Eglamone that valiant Knight, the like was never seen; Grim Gorgons might, was known in sight; Old Bevis most men frighted; The Myrmidons and Prester John, why were not those men knighted? Brave Spinola took in Breda, Nassau did it recover: But St. George St. George he turn'd the Dragon over & over. St. George he was for England, St. Denis was for France, Sing Hony soit qui mal y pense.

New Song. In Defiance of Drinking-sack

WHat a Devil ail our Poets all, For drink, for drink thus always to call? And nothing goes down but drink, Friends, whether are your stomachs flown? That you the noble food disown, That better deserves your ink.

Food! I there is a substantial word, And it beget a substantial turd, That breeds grass for Cows and Sheep: The Countrey-bumpkin he comes for it, And at night it rideth in a Charret, When all men are asleep.

Alass! for drink, 'tis not worth your meeter, Drink maketh Piss, and piss makes Salt-peeter, That kills and blows up the people. You may drink Clarret, and have the gout, Ile eat, and drink little, and go without, And laugh at the drunken Cripple.

Let Lady's the Exchanges range, The Shambles shall be my Exchange, Which I count a noble place:

What do I care for pins or points, Let me behold the solid joynts, That keep up humane race.

The noble Sirloins there doth lie, A Joynt well known to satisfie, Though you feed ne're so fiercely: And there you may see the glorious Buttocks Of many a Cow, and many a fat Ox; Oh how they taste with Parseley;

The Brisket must not be forgot, 'Tts meat for a Prince, while it is hot, If Cabbage do attend it; Though if the Turneps be of Hackney, I will not covet any Sack nigh, To inspire me to commend it.

Nor must we pass the Leg of Mutton, Tis a noble Dish for any Glutton, Although he rul'd an Empire: Whether a Sea of Anchovies sawce, Like Delas Isle, do it imbrace, or serv'd with Capers and Sampire.

Your Venson Pasty, if well soakt, If not, I wish the Cook were choakt, What say you to such meat? Capons refus'd, to let it go down, It wisdom gives to the man o'th Gown, Who will feed on't till he sweat.

Who will not commend the high-soaring Larks, Or a Pidgeon-pye, worth three or four Marks, With Rabbets all butter'd about? The Woodcock, Partridge, and the Teal, The Pheasant and Turky, which the Commonweal could never be without.

There be your Hashes, and Fricasses Which are contemn'd by none but Asses,

And mushroms no meat for Carters; With a thousand more so long to recount, 'Twould make my Song for to surmount The three great Books of Martyrs

Nor would I now advise any man, For to extol the glass or can, Least he receive the foil; Should we compare them with pot or kettle, Or ladle, or skimmer of as good mettle, Or grid-iron fit to broil;

Or with the spit much us'd at court, Which Vulcan found out, heaven bless him for't, As sing the learned Atticks: And for the Jack, there is no watch, Was ever able for to match The Turn-spit Mathematicks.

Nor let the men that drink Paris Wine, Or Sack, which I take to be more Divine, Plead wit, or inspirations; Meat has a more large prerogative, For by it all Professions live, And it multiplies the Nations.

The man that drinketh all his life, What can he do unto his wife? Poor soul she lives in quiet? But such a restless quiet 'tis, That never ends, till she doth kiss The man that eats good dyet.

The crafty Polititian, Who with his acts doth all he can, The Cellar dores to shut; Must have his boil'd, his bak'd, his rost, Nor will he spare for any cost, To cram his lawless gut.

The serious Lawyer, who doth firk Out of his pate full many a quirk,

Refuses all strong liquor; Yet cause his commons are but short, A Clients feast does him no hurt, It will make them talk the quicker.

Peace therefore, Broom, for liquor so fierce, The Cooks are angry at thy verse, And ha'sworn the Fidlers to cripple; If against next Term they ha' ne're a new song, Which may to the praise of Meat belong, As well as to that of Tipple.

The OLD GILL.

IF you will be still, Then tell you I will, Of a lovely old Gill, Dwelt under a hill: Her Locks are like sage, That's well worn with Age, And her visage would swage A stout mans Courage.

Teeth yellow as Box, Clean out with the Pox; Her Breath smells like Lox, Or unwiped Nocks: She hath a devilish grin, Long hairs on her chin, To the soul footed Fien, She is nearly a Kin.

She hath a beetle brow, Deep Furrows enow, She's ey'd like a Sow, Flat nos'd like a Cow: Lips swarthy and dun, A mouth like a Gun, And her tattle doth run, As swift as the Sun.

On her back stands a Hill, You may place a Wind-mill, And the Farts of her gill, Will make the sails trill: Her neck is much like, The foul swines in the Dike, Against Crab-lice and Tike, A blew pin in her pike.

Within this Anno, There dwells an Hurricano, And the rise of her Plano, Vomits smoak like Vulcano: But a pox of her twist, It is always bepist, And the Devil's in his list, That to her Mill brings grist.

'Ware the dint of her dirt, She will give you a flirt, She has always the squirt, She is loose and ungirt: Want of wind makes her pant, Till she fizzle and rant, And the hole in her gant, Is as deep as Levant.

Yea deep as any well, A Furnace or Kell, A bottomless cell, Some think it is Hell: But I have spoken my fill, Of my Lovely old Gill, And 'tis taken so ill, I'le throw by my Quill.

The PUDDING.

FRom twelve years old, I oft have been told A Pudding it was a delicate bit, I can remember my Mother has said what a delight she had to be fed With a Pudding.

Thirteen being past, I long'd for to tast What Nature or Art could make so sweet, For many gay Lasses about my age Perpetually speak on't, that puts me in a rage For a Pudding.

Now at Fifteen I often have seen Most Maids to admire it so, That their humour and pride is to say O what a delight they have for to play With a Pudding.

When I am among some Wives that are young, Who think they shall never give it due praise, It is sweet, It is good, It is pleasant still They cry, they think they shall ne'r have their fill Of a Pudding.

The greater sort of the Town and the Court, When met, their tongues being tip't with Wine, How merry and Jocund their Tattles do run To tell how they ended and how they begun With a Pudding.

Some ancient Wives, who most of their lives Have daily tasted of the like food, Now for want of supplies do swear and grumble, That still they'r able enough, to mumble A Pudding.

Now, now I find, cat will to kind Since all my heart and blood is on fire, I am resolv'd whatever comes on't My Fancy no longer shall suffer the want Of a Pudding.

For I'le to John who says he has one That's cram'd as close as Cracker or Squib, Who ever is telling me when we do meet Of the wishing desires and sweetness they get In a Pudding.

I thought at first, It never would burst, It was as hard as grissel or bone, But by the rouling and trowling about How kindly and sweetly the Marrow flew out Of his Pudding.

Well, since I ne'r, was fed with such geer, Untill my John did prove so kind, I made a request to prepare again That I might continue in Love with the strain Of his Pudding.

Then straight he brought, what I little thought Could ever have been in its former plight, He rumbl'd and jumbled me ore and ore Till I found he had almost wasted the store Of his Pudding.

Then the other mess, I begg'd hin to dress, Which by my Assistance was brought to pass. But by his dulness and moving so slow I quickly perceiv'd the stuffing grew low In his Pudding.

Though he grew cold, my Stomach did hold With vigor to relish the other bit, But for all he could do, could not furnish agen, For he swore he had left little more than the skin Of his Pudding.

A Parly, between two WEST-COUNTRIMEN on sight of a WEDDING.

I Tell thee Dick where I have been, Where I the rarest things have seen; O things beyond compare! Such sights again cannot be found In any place on English ground, Be it at Wake or Fair.

At Charing Cross, hard by the way Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay, There is a House with stairs; And there did I see coming down, Such Volk as are not in our town, Vortie at least in pairs,

Amongst the rest one pest'lent fine, (His beard no bigger though than thine) Walkt on before the rest: Our Landlord looks like nothing to him The King (God bless him) 'twould undo him Should he go still so drest.

At Course-a-Park without all doubt, He should have first been taken out By all the maids i'th Town; Though lusty 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 his woing, The Parson for him staid, Yet by his leave (for all his hast) 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 Whitson-Ale

Could ever yet produce: No gr••pe that's kindly ripe, could be So round, so plump, so soft as she, Nor half 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 petticoat, Like little mice stole in and out, As if they fear'd the light: But Dick she dances such a way, No Sun upon an Easter day Is half so fine a sight.

He would have kist her once or twice, But she would not she was so nice, She would not do't in sight; And then she lookt as who would say, I will do what I list to day; And you shall do't at night.

Her cheeks so rare a white was on, No Dazy makes comparison (Who sees them is undone:) For streaks of red were mingled there; Such as are on a Katherine Pear, The side that's next the Sun.

Her lips were red, and one was thin Compar'd to that 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, Than on the Sun in July.

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 a whit.

If wishing should be any sin The Parson himself 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!

Ther's that that would be thought upon (I trow) besides the Bride, The business 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-band, Presented and away.

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

Now hats fly off, and youths carouse; Healths first go round and then the House; The Brides came thick and thick; And when 'twas nam'd anothers health, Perhaps he made it hers by stealth; (And who could help it, Dick?)

O'th suddain up they rise and dance; Then sit again, and sigh, and glance: Then dance again and kiss: Thus sev'ral ways the time did pass,

Whil'st every woman wisht her place, And every man wisht his.

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

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

But just as Heavens would have to cross it In came the Bride-maids with the Posset, The Bride-groom eat in spight; For had he left the woman to't; It would have cost two hours to do't, Which were too much that night.

At length the Candle's out and now, All that they had not done they do; What that is, you can tell; But I believe it was no more, Than thou and I have done before With Bridget and with Nell.

The OLD and NEW COURTIER.

WIth an Old Song made by an Old Antient pate, Of an old worshipful Gentleman who had a great Estate: Who kept an Old house at a bountiful rate, And an Old Porter to relieve the Poor at his Gate, Like an old Courtier of the Queens.

With an Old Lady whose anger good words asswages, Who every quarter pays her old Servants their wages, Who never knew what belongs to Coachmen, Footmen & Pages; But kept twenty or thirty old Fellows with blew-coats and badges: Like an Old Courtier, &c.

With an old Study fill'd full of Learned books, With an Old Reverend Parson, you may judge him by his looks, With an old Buttery hatch worn quite off the old hooks, And an old Kitchin which maintains half a dozen old cooks; Like an Old, &c.

With an old Hall-hung round about with Guns, Pikes and Bows, With old swords and bucklers, which hath born many shrewd blows. And an old Frysadoe coat to cover his worships trunk hose, And a Cup of old Sherry to comfort his [Copper Nose;] Like an Old, &c.

With an old Fashion when Christmas is come To call in his Neighbours with Bag-pipe and Drum, And good chear enough to furnish every old Room, And old Liquor able to make a cat speak, & a wise man dumb; Like an Old, &c.

With an old Hunts-man, a Falkonner and a Kennel of Hounds Which never Hunted, nor Hawked, but in his own Grounds: Who like an old Wise-man kept himself within his own bounds And when he died gave every Child a thousand old pounds; Like an Old, &c.

But to his eldest Son, his house and land he assign'd, Charging him in his Will to keep the same bountiful mind, To be good to his Servants, and to his Neighbours kind, But in the ensuing Ditty, you shall hear how he was enclin'd; Like a young Courtier of the Kings.

Like a young Gallant newly come to his Land, That keeps a Brace of Creatures at's own command,

And takes up a thousand pounds upon's own Bond, And lieth drunk in a new Tavern, till he can neither go nor stand; Like a young Courtier, &c.

With a neat Lady that is fresh and fair, Who never knew what belong'd to good house keeping or care, But buys several Fans to play with the wanton air, And seventeen or eighteen dressings of other womens hair; Like a young, &c.

With a new Hall built where the old one stood, Wherein is burned neither coal, nor wood, And a new Shuffle-bord-table where never meat stood, Hung round with pictures which doth the poor little good. Like a young, &c.

With a new Study stuff't full of Pamphlets and Plays, With a new Chaplin, that swears faster than he prays, With a new Buttery Hatch that opens once in four or five days, With a new French-Cook to make Kickshaws and Toys; Like a young, &c.

With a new fashion when Christmas is come, With a journey up to London we must be gone, And leave no body at home but our new Porter John, Who relieves the poor with a thnmp on the back with a stone. Like a young, &c.

With a Gentleman-Usher whose carriage is compleat, With a Footman, a Coachman, a Page to carry meat, With a waiting Gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat, Who when the Master has din'd gives the servants little meat; Like a young, &c.

With a new honour bought with his Fathers old Gold, That many of his Fathers Old Mannors hath sold, And this is the occasion that most men do hold, That good House-keeping is now a days grown so cold; Like a young Courtier of the Kings.

The FRYER and the MAID.

ASI lay musing all alone A merry Tale I thought upon; Now listen a while and I will you tell Of a Fryer that lov'd a Bonny Lass well. He came to her when she was going to bed Desiring to have her Maiden-head; But she denyed his desire, And said that she did fear Hell-fire.

Tush, tush, quoth the Fryer, thou need's not doubt. If thou wer't in Hell, I could sing thee out: Why then, quoth the Maid, thou shalt have thy request; The Fryer was as glad as a Fox in his nest.

But one thing more I must request More than to sing me out of Hell-fire, That is for doing of the thing An Angel of Mony you must me bring.

Tush, tush, quoth the Fryer, we two shall agree, No Mony shall part thee and me; Before thy company I will lack Ile pawn the Gray-gown off my back.

The maid bethought her on a Wile How she might this Fryer beguile; When he was gone, the truth to tell, She hung a Cloth before a Well:

The Fryar came, as his bargain was, With Mony unto his bonny Lass; Good morrow, Fair Maid, good morrow, quoth she; Here is the Mony I promis'd thee.

She thank'd him, and she took the Mony; Now let's go to't, my own sweet Honey:

Nay, stay a while, some respite make, If my Master should come, he would us take.

Alass; quoth the Maid, my Master doth come; Alass! quoth the Fryer, where shall I run; Behind you Cloth run thou quoth she, For there my Master cannot see.

Behind the Cloth the Fryer went, And was in the Well incontinent: Alass: quoth he I'm in the Well; No matter quoth she if thou wer't in hell.

Thou said'st thou could'st sing me out of Hell, I prithee sing thy self out of the Well; Sing out, quoth she, with all thy might, Or else thou'rt like to sing there all night.

The Fryer sang out with a pitifull sound, Oh! help me out or I shall be Drown'd: She heard him make such a pitiful moan, She hope him out, and bid him go home.

Quoth the Fryer I never was serv'd so before; Away, quoth the Wench, come here no more: The Fryer he walked a long the street As if he had been a new washed Sheep, Sing hey down a derry; and let's be merry, And from such sin ever to keep.

TOM a BEDLAM.

FOrth from my sad and darksome Cell, From the deep abyss of Hell, Mad Tom is come to view the world again, To see if he can ease his distemper'd brain.

Fear and Despair possess my Soul; Hark how the angry Furies howl!

Pluto laughs, and Proserpine is glad To see poor naked Tom of bedlam mad.

Through the World I wander Night and Day To find my troubled Senses, At last I found old Tine With his Pentateuch of Tenses.

When he me spies, away he flyes, For Time will stay for no man; In vain with cryes I rend the Skies, For pitty is not common.

Cold and comfortless I lye, Oh help, O help or else I dye! Hark I hear Apollo's Team, The Carman'gins to whistle; Chast Diana bends her bow, And the Bore begins to bristle.

Come Vulcan with tools and with tackles. And knock off my troublesome Shackles; Bid Charles make ready his Wain To fetch my five Senses again.

Last night I heard the Dog-Stark bark, Mars met Venus in the dark; Lymping Vulcan heat and Iron bar, And furiously run at the god of War.

Mars with his weapon laid about, Lymping Vulcan had the gout, For his broad Horns hung so in his light That he could not see to aim aright.

Mercury the nimble Post of heaven Stay'd to see the Quarrel, Gorrel belly Bacchus giantly bestrid A Strong-beer barrel:

To me he drank, I did him thank, But I could drink no Sider; He drank whole Buts till he burst his guts, But mine were ne're the wider.

Poor Tom is very dry, A little drink for Charitie: Hark! I hear Acteon's hounds, The Hunts-man hoopes and Hallows; Ringwood, Rockwood, Jowler, Bowman, All the Chace doth follow.

The man in the Moon drinks Clarret, Eats powder'd Beef, Turnep and Carret; But a Cup of old Maligo Sack Will fire the Bush at his Back.

Alas poor Scholar, Whither wilt thou go? OR Strange Alterations which at this time be, There's many did think they never should see.

IN a Melancholy Study, None but my self, Methought my Muse grew muddy; After seven years Reading, And costly breeding, I felt, but could find no pelf; Into Learned Rags I've rent my Plush and Satten, And now am fit to beg In Hebrew, Greek and Latin; Instead of Aristotle, Would I had got a Patten. Alas poor Scholar, whither wilt thou go?

Cambridge now I must leave thee, And follow Fate, Colledge hopes do deceive me! I oft expected To have been elected, But Desert is reprobate. Masters of Colledges Have no Common Graces, And they that have Fellowships Have but common Places, And those that Scholars are They must have handsom faces: Alas poor Scholar, whither wilt thou go?

I have bow'd, I have bended, And all in hope One day to be befriended. I have preach'd I have printed What e'r I hinted, To please our English Pope: I worship'd towards the East, But the Sun doth not forsake me: I find that I am falling, The Northern winds do shake me: Would I had been upright, For Bowing now will break me: At great preferment I aimed, I looked lately To live most stately, And have a Dairy of Bell-ropes milk; But now alas, My self I must not flatter, Bigamy of Steeples Is a laughing matter; Each man must have but one; And Curates will grow fatter. Alas poor Scholar, whither wilt thou go?

Into some Country Village Now I must go, Where neither Tythe nor Tillage

The greedy Patron And parched Matron Swear to the Church they owe: Yet if I can preach, And Pray too on a sudden, And confute the Pope At adventure, without studying, Then ten pounds a year, Besides a Sunday Pudding. All the Arts I have skill in, Divine and Humane, Yet all's not worth a Shilling; When the Women hear me, They do but jeer me, And say, I am profane: Once, I remmember, I preached with a Weaver, I quoted Austin. He quoted Dod and Clever; I nothing got, He got a Cloak and Bever: Alas poor Scholar, whither wilt thou go?

Ships, Ships, Ships, I discover, Crossing the Main; Shall I in, and go over, Turn Jew or Atheist, Turk, or Papist, To Geneva, or Amsterdam? Bishopricks are void In Scotland; shall I thither? Or follow Windebank And Finch, to see if either Do want a Priest to shrive them? O no, 'tis blust'ring weather. Alas poor Scholar, whither wilt thou go?

Ho, ho, ho, I have hit it, Peace good-man Fool? Thou hast a Trade will fit it;

Draw thy Indenture, Be bound at adventure An Apprentice to a Free-School, There thou mayst command By William Lylies Charter; There thou mayst whip, strip, And hang, and draw, and quarter, And commit to the Red Rod Both Will and Tom, and Arthur, I, I, 'tis thither, thither will I go.

Superscriptions for Letters.

To a Duke.

A Duke first was made by the French Kings, when they had chased the Romans out of Gallia; bestowing the name of Dux, a little altered to the French Idiom, upon those to whom they gave the Principal Government over those Pro∣vinces which they had recovered: in process of time theyusurp∣ed the Inheritance of their Governments; and made their Fei∣feswhich before were revocable at the Princes pleasure, to be hereditary. So that at length their Titles came to be so much esteemed as to be thought the next in order to that of a King.

The Title which is most usually applied to a Duke, is that of Grace; and we address ourselves ••ohim by word of mouth, thus.

May it please your Grace.

If he be the Kings Son, or of the Royal blood, we write to him thus.

To the most Illustrious Prince Henry, &c.

To the most excellent Prince.

Or else,

To the most High and Noble.

EArls at the same time, and upon the same account, were created by the French King, only here seem'd the diffe∣rence to be between them; for the Dukes seemed to have the Military Power, and the Earls were only made to exercise the Civil Jurisdiction in the Towns where they were plac'd.

They are now the next in order to Marquess; by word of mouth we make our Addresses thus,

May it please your Honour.

And write to him thus,

To the Right Honourable.

A Marquess formerly was the Governor of a Fronteer Town, and inferiour to the Earl of a Province; but supe∣riour to the Earl of an Inland Town. In speaking we thus ad∣dress our selves to them,

May it please your Honour.

We write to them thus,

To the Right Honourable.

A Viscount was formerly the Lievtenant to an Earl, so that their Dignity hath continued next to that of an Earl ever since; and indeed between a Viscount and a Baron or Lord, there is no difference used in making addresses to them. We speak to them thus,

May it please your Honour my Lord.

We write thus,

To the Honourable.

A Knight is the next Degree of honour being more peo∣perly a Military Dignity; but of late very much confu∣sed. They bear the Title of Right Worshipful. We make our dress thus,

May it please your Worship.

We write thus,

To the Right Worshipful.

ESquire was formerly but he that bore the Shield and Lance of a Knight before him. It is now the next Degree of Honour to the Knight; and now so much used by Gentlemen, that he who stiles not himself Esquire, is hardly a Gentleman. He bears the Title of Worshipful. And we write to him thus,

To the Worshipful J. D. Esquire.

Note here, that the same Titles are appliable to the Wives as to the Husbands; and though the Daughter of an Earl marry an inferior person, yet she doth not lose her Title, which is, Right Honorable.

In the writing of familiar Epistles, there are sundry varieties, which ingenuity will easily apply to his occasion.

For example, at the beginning of a Letter these Expressions do very often offer themselves.

• Honour'd Sir.
• Dear Sir.
• Dear Friend.
• Learned Sir.

• Madam.
• Dear Lady.
• Dearest.

• Joy of my Life.
• My Heart.
• Fairest.
• Delight of my Heart.

These Subscriptions also are usual.

To great Persons,

• Your Graces most faithfull and most obedi∣ent Servant.
• Your Honors most faithfull and most obedi∣ent Servant.
• Your Excellencies most humbly devoted Servant
• Your Worships most faithful Servant.

In familiar Letters thus

• The admirer of your Vertues.
• ...Madam, The Honorer Of your Perfection.
• Madam, The Honorer Of your Vertues.
• Madam, Adorer Of your Perfection.
• Madam, Adorer Of your Vertues.
• Madam, Worshipper Of your Perfection.
• Madam, Worshipper Of your Vertues.
• Your most affectionate Friend and Servant.
• Your assured Friend.
• Your most obedient Servant.
• Your most obliged Friend and Servant.]
• Your eternally engaged Servant.
• Your Creature.
• Your faithful Servant.
• ...

• Yours for ever.
• Yours to command eternally.
• Yours while I have life.
• Yours while I have a being.
• Your faithful, though contemned Servant.

For Superscription; these Forms may be used.

• To my much respected Friend.
• To my much Honored Friend.
• For my much Valued Friend.
• For my much esteemed Friend.
• Friend.
• For my approved
• To the truly Noble
• To the truly Vertuous
• To the most incomparable Lady.
• To the fair Hands of
• To the most accomplisht
• To the mirror of Perfection
• To the most lovely ornament of Nature.

There is something more to be observed concerning the Dignity of places.

For a Knight being made General of an Army, obtains the title of Your Excellency, though but a Lord, Knight, or meaner man by birth.

A Lieutenant-General, is Right Honorable,

A Major-General, Right Honorable.

A Collonel is Honorable, and we give him the title of Your Honor.

A Captain is Right worshipful.

From a Son to Father, Your most dutiful, and obedient Son.

From a Daughter, Your loving and obedient Daughter.

From a Husband, Your most affectionate Husband till death.

From a Wife, Your faithful and loving Wife till death.

From a Servant, Your most obedient and faithful Servant.

Forms for the concluding of Letters.

BUt whatsoever happen, I shall be no other then, &c.

I shall endeavour with the best of my care and indu∣stry, whenever you desire the proofs of the obedience of, &c.

If it could be perswaded that my absence gave you any dis∣quiet, or that my presence could afford you any service, you should soon perceive by my speedy return how much I am, &c.

If I am able to do you service, there wants nothing but that you should command me the imployment; there being no∣thing which I more desire than to witness my self conti∣nually, &c.

There being no man who hath a firmer resolution to ren∣der you all the testimonies of a willing service, in the qua∣lity of, &c.

Let this for the present satisfie you, till I shall meet with some better opportunity, to shew how much I am, &c.

The only happiness that I expect is, that I may be able to change my words into effects, that I might shew you how much I am really, &c.

I shall now free your patience from reading any more, give me leave only to make this conclusion, that I am and shall be, &c.

For every time I reflect upon your great obligations, I am impatient of an opportunity to shew my self; I cannot pass away the unquiet of my mind by any other way, than by seeking occasions to testifie how much I am, &c.

Be pleased to take this for a real truth from him who hath made an Oath to live and die, &c.

This is the advice and friendly Counsel of, &c.

And I hope there is nothing shall debar me from conti∣nuing for the time to come, what hitherto I have been, &c.

Neither is there any thing that I would omit whereby I might give you an assurance of fidelity to your Commands, as protesting to live and die, &c.

But I desire to testifie to you rather by words than by dis∣course, how much I am, &c.

Sir, I beg you to accept this testimony of my gratitude, and my earnest desires to be, &c.

I never reckon up the Catalogue of my friends, but I pre∣sently call to mind how much I am obliged to give you this Subscription, &c.

My gratitude is as necessary as my being, and I can sooner not be, then not be most truly, &c.

For I never think of your favours but it renews the re∣membrance of my engagements to be, &c.

Though I have a very great press and urgency of business at present upon me, yet shall my occasions never be so vio∣lent, but that I will have leisure both to be and to tell you, that I am, &c.

I shall be contented to be counted ungrateful when I am less, &c.

Sir, if you doubt the truth of my service, I beseech you to make use of that absolute power which you have acquired over me, to oblige my endeavours to all manner of proofs, that I am, &c.

He pleased as yet to take my bare word till I can give you further testimonies how much I am, &c.

Though I am debarr'd your sight, yet I hope I am not en∣vied the happiness of giving you notice, how passionately I am, &c.

I will lose my life, rather than my resolution to die, &c.

If you knew with what impatience I expect a reply, charity would oblige you to set at rest the disquiet mind of, &c.

My resolution is to possess my self always, &c.

There is none more interested in your concernments, nor more participates in any satisfaction of yours, than he that is by reason as well as inclination, &c.

Could my endeavours take effect, or my vows accomplish∣ment, you should not long reckon me in the number of your unprofitable servants, for I am most assuredly, &c.

Sir, I know your high merits, and the nobleness of your condition hath much encreased the number of your servants; yet I will say this, that though you joyn them altogether, yet they are not so much as I am, &c.

You may easily know, without being a Prophet, the dear esteem I have for you, and may believe without any further assurance, that I am, &c.

It remains in you to allay the discontent of my mind, by giving me some imployment in your service, which may wit∣ness

the passion that I have to maintain the quality of, &c.

Which obliges me in the midst of mine ill fortune to have recourse to prayers, that you would honour me with your commands, that by my obedience to them you may be forced to believe, &c.

Desiring to make you see rather by effects than words, how much I am without complement, &c.

I shall give you new proofs thereof by the continuance of my respects, and the title which I desire to bear of, &c.

For though you may have a more powerful, yet you never can have a more constant and faithful servant, &c.

I shall expect the favour that I may not bear the unprofita∣ble title of, &c.

Neither shall I be contented till I have given you full te∣stimonies thereof, as being, &c.

Desiring nothing more then to live and die, &c.

Though I shall not regard that while it is for your interest, as being one that makes it his publick profession to appear in all places, &c.

Only be confident of this, that I am more than any man in the World, &c.

For I shall never be capable of apprehending any thing else, but how to testifie my devotion to be, &c.

For she participates very much of that passion which I have to serve you, &c.

In which list I am bold to write my self, &c.

Among all my felicities I count it not the meanest, the li∣berty which you are pleased to give me of stiling my self, what I most truly am, &c.

And find occasions more and more to testifie what I am, and shall ever be, &c.

Sir, if you will permit me to imploy my soul thus, you may still enjoy him, who is, &c.

I am preparing to forsake all the affairs of the world to entertain you, and testifie how much I am, &c.

You know very well that I am but a rude Courtier, but my words carry truth with them, while I affirm, that I am from my soul, &c.

To his Mistriss recover'd from an Ague.

Madam,

YOu may very well admire to receive a Letter from one whom long before this time you might have imagin'd to have been dead: a Patient which the Doctors gave over, and who himself acknowledges no Physick could have cured, but that of your fair presence; which carried such a soveraignty with it, that my Ague presently left me, and nature in spight of my disease, took strength to her self and rais'd me up in my bed, to make this clear acknowledgment of cure to your Beauty. Madam, I now find my self rid of that distemper, and am per∣swaded I shall sooner for the future, suffer under the violence of a Feaver, than of a shivering Cold. I could not but express my scars to you, with my thanks, hoping that you will take care to preserve what you have again created. Be pleas'd to interest your affection for my safety, and to defend a thing, whom your goodness hath made so dear to you, as to be ever,

Madam,

&c.

To his retired Mistriss.

Lady,

YOu carry your eyes like one of those that wear a Veil: not a look of yours but preaches chastity; and you are so con∣firm'd in a general contempt of manking, that if Fortune her self should come to present you with a Husband, you would scarce go out of your Closet to meet him in your Chamber. You speak of nothing but Religion and Cloisters, and all your entertainment, is discourse of mortification. Lady, not to dis∣semble my thoughts to you, I much fear, that a beginning like yours, so full of restraint, will afterwards be followed with a progress of too much liberty; and instead of the precise de∣mureness that you pretend, some Servant or other will read a new Heresie in your face. I shall not at this time send you stu∣died Oaths or Protestations. I know some Moons must go about before you will acknowledge the error wherein you live. For the present I shall only desire you to take care of your health, if not for your own, yet for the common good of those that love you; of which number he desires to be the first, who pre∣sumes to honour himself with the Title of,

Madam,

&c.

To his Mistriss, being disoblig'd by her.

LAdy, I did always expect this favour from your ordinary goodness, that I might promise my self that you would have a little kindness for me; 'tis true that I was pre-inform'd of your humor, but I could hardly believe it; or that you would disoblige those that shall do you service and friendship. I would not now complain of you, but that I should give you advantage by my silence that I had not discovered the subtle∣ties of your deceit; which is so malicious, that I have at once stript me both of love and hatred: and I am now impatient, till I have acquainted those that yet profess their service to you, how that of all the Ladies I ever knew, you are the most un∣worthy of affection. In the mean space I beseech you to believe, that those endeavours which you have employ'd to disoblige me, have absolutely taken away my will and desire to be,

Lady

&c.

To his Mistress, acknowledging the kindness of her Letters.

LAdy, I am no less oblig'd to you for your Letters then for your entertainments, & though I have not judgment enough to censure their goodness, I am not so unfortunate, as not to tast of their sweetness; I must entreat you to belive me, and not to forbear to make me happy with them: You know not but that I may be-come a Ciceronian, being instructed by your elo∣quent Copies; which if I cannot reach to my self, I will at least shew them to those, that shall render them excellent by their imitation. For certainly, without flattery, all nature had need put her self into action, to find out your equal. Lady I I do with all seriousness acknowledge, that it is too great an ambition for me, either to stile my self your Scholar, or your Servant.

To excuse to his Mistress his too easie believing of false Reports,

LAdy, I am impatient till I see you, that I may between your hands abjure all false opinions. Onely be pleas'd so to dis∣pose your self, that you may accept of my recantation. By my

last letters, you might perceive that I had let in some false re∣ports had almost poison'd the fair soul of my belief: but as soon as I receiv'd the characters of your hand, and perus'd the simplicity of that naked truth, wherewith you may put my suspicion to flight, I soon came to my self. I was ever confi∣dent, whatever false rumour divulg'd, that a person of your noble deportment, knew how to preserve your self in the greatest contagion: and that ye could run no other peril in those adventures, but that of being importun'd. You express in your Letter some weak conjectures concerning me: I per∣ceive we were both tainted with the same imperfection. Lady, such jealousies, though they are dangerous if dispers'd, yet are the greatest confirmations of future love. It was no great mat∣ter which of us chang'd our opinion; It was no great matter which of us chang'd our opinions first. The thick breath is now gone off from the clear Crystal of our then blemish'd af∣fections. I assure you now, that I have suffer'd my self to be perswaded by your Reasons; as for your Objections, they were not worth the confu••ing. Lady, you see, how easily I am cured of this sickness, being wholly dispos'd to believe and obey you; and be to the uttermost of my power,

Lady,

&c.

To his Mistriss thanking her for the acceptance of his Service.

LAdy, I am now at last in part perswaded, that I have now two the best fortunes that the earth can afford me; the pos∣session of our virtue, and of your favour. You may say, this language is very fair, and that my friendship speaks like love. I have no other answer to return you, but that as you gain hearts, you have found a way to enter into them, and see what affections they produce. Let me therefore intreat you to behold the violence of devotion; and since I do entitle you my Goddess, be pleas'd to express your self by the effect of so fair a name, in accepting the heart more than the hand, and prizing the character of my sincerity above the value of my oblation. Certainly I should be the most unfortunate a∣mong the living, should you be a severe censurer of my works or words; in both which there is neither power nor elo∣quence:

but had I the one or the other in a perfect degree, I should never be able to shew you, as I would, the desire that inflames me to serve you, and to be

Lady

your, &c.

To his Mistriss, desiring her Picture.

Madam,

I Hope that you will not take amiss the Request that I do now make to you; that you will please to give me your Picture, knowing that I esteem the original more than any thing in the world. That fair Body enliven'd with so much sweetness and perfection, I hold in so great a veneration, that I pant after the shadow thereof. Be pleased therefore to case my impatience by the grant of this favour, assuring your self that I shall place it among the greatest happinesses that could ever befall,

Madam,

Your most humble Servant.

The Reply.

Sir,

THe request that you make to me, to give me your Picture, is so obliging, that I am constrain'd to give my consent; not at all wondring that you have before your eyes the Image of a person that admires you so much; Be pleased to believe this for a truth, in recompence of that favour, which I be∣stow on you, as also that I shall ever continue to be,

Sir,

Your most humble Servant.

To his Mistriss, desiring a Lock of Hair from her.

Madam,

YOu need not wonder at that servitude, to which you have reduc'd me; 'tis so pleasing to me, that I do now request from you new chains, by the gift of a Bracelet of your Hair, to tell you how much I shall esteem this favour, your merit or my love are only capable. And as you have the knowledge of my request, so I shall leave you to think of an∣swering my desires, and also of the passion which I have to serve you, being more than ever,

Madam,

Your most humble and obedient Servant,

The Reply.

Sir,

YOur deserts have wrought so strong a perswasion in me to consent to the favor which you request of me, that I send it you in this Letter; I shall not impose on you the silence which you ought to keep in this matter, knowing that your discretion hath prevented my commands. It suffices me to put you in mind, that as these are no common favours, they require secresie from those that receive them. I suppose that you will not forget your self in this particular, while you remember that I am,

Sir,

Your most humble Servant.

To his Mistress, an Acknowledgment for being belov'd by her.

SHall I pass over in silence, Fairest, so excessive a happiness? or shall I publish it, to render it more great? I know my silence will honour it most, but by making it known, I shall render it more glorious; for in telling it abroad, I shall eternize the memory thereof. Therefore shall my mouth be always open in the extolling of your favour, my mind wholly taken up with thoughts of you, and my soul always admiring its most perfect object, blessing the day of my birth, for being happy in yours. Your Death shall be my Tomb, desiring no other honor or glory while I live, but the title of,

Madam,

Your most faithful Servant

A Lady to her Servant accusing him of Inconstancy.

Sir,

THey do always tax our sex for being inconstant, but I must now apply that fault to you, I say to you, whose Oaths did give so great a testimony of your fidelity, that I durst not doubt them for fear of injuring my self; though the wind was always the bearer of your love, and not your love, for that you

never had; so that if I blame my self for having believ'd you, I shall praise my self hereafter for imitating you though with some trouble, that I was not your example; for it was most reasonable, that I should have preceded you, as being your Mistress, though now

Your Servant.

To request a Favour from his Mistress.

Madam,

YOu bestow your favours with so much bounty, that though I am averse to beg them, yet the freeness of your curtesie leaves me no other shame, then that which proceeds from my inability of return. I do not use to value the services which I perform to my friends, but you are pleas'd to put such a rate upon them, that I have no other way left, but to vow thus with all respect, to solicite you as long as I live. Believe me, Madam, you have entertained my service so nobly, that I stand in fear of a propension to make motions to you, and to remain still an importunate Beggar, till I have tir'd you into a necessity of yielding to my Request, Though I confess, could I but gain the advantage of being esteem'd, and beloved by you, it is the highest ••light that my ambition covets.

To his long absented Mistress.

Madam,

I Cannot but deplore my misfortune, that Cameleon like, I live onely on the Idea; all the support of my frail life having been for this twelve moneths onely from imagination. I pro∣test Lady, those four Letters which I receiv'd quarter after quarter have with much ado kept me alive; the last you direct∣ed to me, being so short, as if you had confin'd me to the ex∣tremity of so thin a dyet, that your most despised Lovers might in my pittiful Picture, read to themselves Lectures of consolation. Lady, I know at the best, that absent persons cannot entertain themselves but by Letters, yet by as woful experience I find, that there is but small pleasure to hear thus so far off from one another, as we do. For my part, I cannot but complain, and I think I

have more cause than any man living; you know the reality of this my expression: believe me, you have expos'd me to such extremities, that I am now resolv'd to approach you, and to write no more, but act what I have been accustom'd to protest, how perfectly I can be,

Madam,

&c.

To his Mistriss upon the death of her Brother.

LAdy, The continuance of your melancholy having toucht me so far, as to make me partake of your grief, wonder not if you receive these undeserved lines from me, which I hope will wipe away your tears, if you consider him that in∣treats you to be pitiful to himself; if not, to his youth. Be∣lieve me, Dearest, my sorrows for your self carry more reason with them, then yours for your deceased Brother, which can have no other pretence than custom, and your good nature. Pardon me if I tell you freely, that if you do not decline your grief, I shall abate of the belief I had of your spirit. I know well that the loss of Friends must needs touch us, nor would I remove the sense of mourning, but the error; not the tri∣bute of tears, but the superfluity of them. For though we must give something to nature, let us not take away all from reason; neither doth Nature so much as Opinion prevail over in these extreams of sorrow. Believe me, Fair one, sorrow hath plac'd you too near the grave, that should you look in your glass, you would already conceive your self there: for never did tears deal more cruelly with any than your self; seeing they have mind at once two of the fairest things in the world, the clearness of your disposition and beauty. Judge therefore, whether I have not as much cause to lament with you, as to write to you. At least I hope you will of your sub∣tle thoughts, to consider a little of him, who with tears en∣treats you to consider of your self, as being

Madam,

&c.

To her Servant accepting his Service,

SIR, Since you can so well express your affection to one that needs it, I could not but let you understand how you have prosper'd; with Justice enough you name your self a

Friend, yet in my opinion you might invent some more signi∣ficant word, though it were to stile your self a Lover; for you have already given me such real testimonies of your affection, that I dare entertain you in such a quality. I only wait for a favourable occasion, which may for my excuse, witness the dear and glorious marks which you gave me of your love and account of me, and how much I am already,

Sir,

&c.

The Answer.

LAdy, I am no longer able to keep my words from letting my heart fall upon this paper: your Letter having won me to you in such a sort, that I have no power over my self but what you leave me; the joy I have entertain'd from your lines, having not yet restor'd me to my reason; this may seem strange to you, but I assure you, I find no other reason to be contented to live, but as you are still in the world; and I am therefore only bound to preserve my self, because you are un∣willing to lose me. Your lines sweetly invite me to give you a visit. Fairest, if you will have me to endure your presence, take some more humane form, and appear not in that fulness of splendor, lest I forget what you are, and never cease to do you continual acts of reverence; and when I should speak to you, should overflow with prayers and thanks; conceiving that I may have fortune from others, but glory from none but you. Let me intreat you therefore, when I approach your fa∣vours, that you would give them out by tale, and distribute them by measure, that he may not be too far transported beyond himself, who is,

Lady,

&c.

From a Lady consenting to her Servants Requests.

SIR, I must not wish you good without endeavouring to do it, as far as my weak endeavours will permit me. I have so many affections that I remain unmoveable, so that you may be assur'd, if you can love your self, that you need not to doubt of my endearments to you. Sir, though I cannot be regu∣lar

in observing complements, I shall never be negligent in necessary duties; and so often think of you, that you need not to sollicite my thoughts. True friendship is always attended with remembrance, and they that can forget were never truly in love. When we fix upon a worthy object, we should resemble the Covetous, who have no less care to conserve, then to heap up treasure. All that for the present I shall request you is, that you would be more bold to employ me, and think if I want a memory to accomplish your desires, that I am then on my death-bed. This is the assurance you may expect from her, who is

Your, &c.

To her Servant, resolving not to Marry.

SIR, I am not yet in the mind to change the blessedness of my Liberty for the Purgatory of Marriage: you tell me a Wife is the wealth of the mind; you must except all, all jealousies and dislikes that may happen: Then that she is the welfare of the heart; 'tis so when her youth with beauty, her wit with vertue, have that happy agreement between themselves, so as to command the affections. But Sir, you are not to learn, they have left most of our sex: It were a sin to pry further into their imperfections; the terms you write on being so extreamly opposite. But if I am not deceived in my reading, the learned express, that they weaken the strength, confound the business of our life, empty the purse, with a thou∣sand other feat qualities, which when I meet you next, you shall be sure to hear of. Till when, wishing you the continuance of that quiet, wherein you boast your self to live, I decline this theame of your wiving Letter till our next visit. I bid you farewell, and rest

Your, &c.

To his Mistress, Sick.

Madam,

THough the most fair envy your beauties, and the most perfect your merits, yet are they silenced by your charms; nay, sick∣ness it self is render'd captive by the puissence of your allure∣ments;

though if it wound you now, it is but with the wounds that you have made; and doubtless it hath seiz'd on you, hoping that by possession of your fair body, it may both change its name and nature; so that it is pardonable, both for its love, and for its subtlety. Neither do I believe that it is you, but your rigour that it aims to destroy, be you less cruel, and the disease will asswage; otherwise you will be in danger of your life. Though doubtless the consideration of destroying so many mar∣vels, will stop his designs. Death oft-times make use of love against us; so that he will have a care of your life, as of his keenest weapon wherewith he brings us men under his command, making us willing to yield to his stroak, as the refuge of that misery into which your cruelty oft-times throws us. This I know by experience, as being your Slave.

To his Mistriss, despairing of her Favour, though unjustly offended against her.

Madam,

WHat avails it you to make me feel your Thorns when I have gather'd your Flower. Why do you blame in words, him whom you have honour'd in effects and blame him without cause, who cannot praise you but unjustly; Moderate your severity, seeing that it offends you more then it hurts me. I have protested a thousand times that I never was faulty, as you thought me; though it was to no purpose, you believing otherwise. It suffices for my satisfaction, that I know the truth, and that I have essay'd, all the ways in the world to make you understand it, though in vain. Adieu most fair but yet too cruel, if you leave me triumphing over the most wor∣thy subject in the world, I leave you vanquish'd by a more faithful Lover.

A Letter of Consolation to a Mistress, upon the death of her Servant.

Madam,

I Believe that if you have been the last who have understood the death of your Servant, that you will be one of the first, and indeed the onely person, who will in your soul celebrate

the sad remembrance of him, a much longer time than any of his Friends: not that his merit doth oblige you, for I well know that all merit loses its esteem in your presence, being so perfect as you are; nor your Piety, though it be a thing natural to you with your other vertues; but only his love, and constancy, as be∣ing both equally incomparable. Neither do I believe, that ei∣ther of these do oblige you at all, for though his love were very great, that could not be otherwise, seeing you were his object, no more than his constancy whatever it were; so that to say the truth, I know not what can urge you to bewail his loss, unless it be the goodness of your inclinations, being as mild and sweet as you are, fair, and consequently full of Piety. I should weep my self, for having the least thought to condemn your tears, yet give me leave to believe, that when you remember that the fires pro∣ceeding from your eyes did help to consume his life, it would make them weep for sorrow. Now what punishment will you im∣pose upon your Beauty, if there be nothing in you that hath par∣taken of the millions of pains which he hath endured for your sake: Certainly you ought to suffer Shipwrack in the Sea of your tears, unless the God of Love have need of you for one of his Altars. Since you are the only Idol, to whom all mortals will present the sacrifices of their Servitude. And as for my self, who have undertaken to succeed to the merits and constancy of your deceased Servant, I will not give assurances in words, for deeds themselves shall always be my sureties. Dry up your tears, stop your sighs. I summon you to this duty, in the behalf of Reason it self, knowing that his Commands are to be obey'd. Madam, when I first put Pen to Paper, I had a design to comfort you, but knowing the greatness of your resolution against all sorts of accidents, I chang'd my intention, to assure you of the love and servitude that I have vow'd to you, under the title of,

Madam,

Your most humble Servant.

Letters.

SIR,

I Know 'tis to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 purpose to dispute of Civilities with you, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 li•••• in the light of the world, and are so well stor'd with the best words to express them. I know too well that the

excellency that dwells in you, begets at the same time desires to preserve, as well as to acquire your favour. I have but one grief, that I have not Soul enough to judge of those perfections that dwell in you, which though I can never attain rightly to conceive, yet I am confident, no man can honour them more, so that should you call me your Idolater, you could not strain a word that could so rightly, as that, express my respects toward you. Sir, Complements are very rare with me, and therefore I request you to believe me, when I say, that they must be very strong cords and dangerous commandments that shall remove me from your service; I know I can never deserve such violent proofs of my obedience: it shall suffice me that I doubt not of your love, as being,

Sir,

Your most devoted Servant.

To his Absent Friend.

SIR,

IF I thought Fortune could be so much our Friend, I should request her to make us inseparable, that I might be no more oblig'd thus to write; since the entertainments that distant friends do give and take by Letters, is but a picture of those between persons presents: for to say the truth, a Letter is but a Copy of that, which makes us more curious of the original; a Glass that shadows to us stronger desires to enjoy the person that is absent. The very lines I receive from you, carrying with them the effects of joy to hear from you, and of a passion to be more near you that I might not still be forc'd to write that to you, which I would willingly protest; and find occasions more and more to testifie what I am, and ever shall be.

To his Friend complaining of Neglect.

SIR,

THE Friendship which you have promised me, and the service which you have protested to me, force me now to demand the reason of your silence. I question not but that you will want no excuse to plead for your self: But I entreat you

to believe, that unless they be very lawful, I shall not cease to complain of you. You do well to lay the fault sometimes upon your urgent occasions, sometimes upon the indisposition of your body: but all this is no satisfaction to me. Confess but your fault, crave pardon, and you shall have it presently granted. This is the way to preserve eternally the friendship of

Your most humble Servant.

The Answer.

SIR,

YOu do me so great a favour in complaining of me, that I am constrained to give you thanks, instead of taking the least offence at you. This is not because I want excuses to authorize my silence, but the interest that you have in me, which makes me to condemn my self, resolving hence forward, that you shall rather complain of my importunity then of my sloathfulness. Which is the protestatiom of

Sir,

Your most humble Servant.

Return of Thanks.

SIR,

I Protest that you have obliged me with a Favour, and that so perfectly, that I must be your Debtor all the dayes of my life. I wish that an opportunity would offer it self for you, to employ me in your service, that I might testifie to you, that since your favours are so extreamly high, there is no extremity which I would not undergo to requite them. This is no com∣plemental discourse, my heart dictates to my Pen all that which I write to you, assuring you once more, that I will long bear in vain the title of

Your most humble Servant.

The Answer.

SIR,

I must complain of the excess of your civilities and curtesies, since our interest consists in a reciprocal friendship. You thank me for curtesies receiv'd from me, as if I were not oblig'd to do them, accustom not your self to such kind of Phrase, and believe that the Language of Complements is unknown to friends. I am in the number of them, and moreover,

Your most humble Servant.

To desire a Curtesie.

SIR, The same of your generosity, hath given me the bold∣ness to require a ••avour from you, to disintangle me from a business, the success whereof depends much upon your autho∣rity. 'Tis true, that I never had the honor to be acquainted with you. But though this be my particular unhappiness, I hope that you will not make any excuse to refuse me the Curtesie which I desire from you, not doubting but that in some other matter I may have the honour to make my self known to you, rather by my services then by my name, since your descent obliges me to remain,

Sir,

Your most humble Servant.

The Answer.

SIR,

I have done all what you required of me, with a great deal of satisfaction, and little trouble. Prepare your self to impose commands upon me, that you may not let the passion which I have to serve you lie idle, and you shall discern by my obedience, that I take delight in nothing more, then in making my self appear in all places.

Sir,

Your most humble Servant.

On the same Subject.

SIR,

ALthough I am the most unprofitable of all your Friends, yet am I none of the least willing to serve you, and from thence I take the liberty to desire you; to give me a meeting. All that I can say for the first acknowledgement of this favour, is, that I shall eternally remember this savour; and that if I cannot meet with any opportunity to requite so great a kind∣ness, I shall bear my sorrow for it to my grave, together with the title of,

Your most loyal Servant.

The Answer.

SIR,

WHen you desire any service from me, I entreat you to consider whether it be in my power to perform it: that I may be more bold to encounter the blame which my unhappiness obliges you to lay upon me. You shall command, when you please other proofs of my willingness to serve you, desiring nothing more then the title of,

Sir,

Your most humble Servant.

To congratulate the good Fortune of his Friend.

SIR,

IF you know how acceptable the news of your good fortune is to me, you would not doubt, but that the joy which sur∣prises me for the same, is equal to yours. Truly I cannot add any thing to it: since it proceeds from the friendship which I have vow'd to you, which is not common since your merit is the object. I would tell you more, if the excess of my joy would give me liberty. It suffices me to assure you, that my content cannot equal the passion which I have to serve you, as being,

Sir,

Your most humble Servant.

The Answer.

SIR,

I Did always believe that you were of so generous a spirit, that you participate in my concernments; But I perswade my self at the same instant of time, that you doubt not of my willingness to serve you, that I may in some measure merit the effects of your noble disposition. This I am urg'd to, not being able further to requite the continual proofs, which you give me of your good will towards me. I entreat you to esteem this for an undenyable truth, as being from my heart and soul.

Sir,

Your most faithful Servant.

To his Accomplish'd Friend.

SIR, If I have hope to be known to after ages, it must be by the honour of your acquaintance; Your reputation at this time, being so just and so general, that 'tis become a verity wherein the Wise agree with the Vulgar. Pardon me Sir, if I presume thus to prevent your command, by this early show∣ing you my ready inclination to obey them: But I am con∣tent that you should give it what name you please, provided you judge well of the effects of my duty, and do me the ho∣nor to believe that I am,

Your, &c.

To his Learned Friend.

SIR, All the riches both of Nature and Art dwell in you, and are of such force, that I acknowledge my inclinations to serve you, carry with them immortal reason; your discourse being so grave, and soild that they cannot be sufficiently listen'd to, for the edification of men that have seen four ages. And for your Letters, in what stile soever you write them

They are always pleasing, if not, most admirably profitable; as if your Spirit had been employ'd from your youth, in perswading of Princes, or instructing of Embassadours. When your Lines are serious, they strain not; when familiar, they are without neglect: like beauties that appear in all fashions, yet allure, whether neatly drest, or carelesly plain. Pardon me Sir, if I lay open my naked soul before you in this simplicity of my ac∣knowledegments, you having so absolutely purchast both my thoughts and affections, that I must need ingenuously confess, that I have nothing left, but to assure you Sir how much I am,

Your &c.

To his Friend at Court.

SIR,

YOU seem to have so persum'd your self with the sweet∣ness of the Court, that you cannot admit of the profaneness of a Village. Such a rudeness is the errand this Letter car∣ries with it; but be pleas'd to accept of it, as you know the keight of my ambition is bounded in such rural presents; neither should I dare to presume thus, were I not perswaded that you allow me this liberty, which otherwise I should never take. But I am confident you delight to gratifie me, and to do me thè same good that I wish to you. If you desire to know the cause of such extraordinary boldness in me, I beseech you to believe there is no other, then the great affection I have to serve you, and to be,

Sir,

&c.

To his Friend, upon the renewing of their Correspondence.

SIR, To be separated from a man so dear to me as your self I do believe I could not live in the fortunate Islands, and having till I embrace you no other way of traffick but by Let∣ters, I am extreamly angry with my self, that you have preven∣ted me in returning our old correspondence. Though I must ac∣knowledge there is some justice in it, for since you were the first that broke it, 'twas fit you should be the first to reestablish it: I write thus of the honour of your favour; assuring you notwithstanding that I could no way deserve it. Therefore Sir, give me leave to beg your pardon for my neglect, if I

were guilty, which I shall never be in any thing that concerns you: and to make it more clear to you, I never ceas'd to honour you; but onely not to express it, was like a secret fire not quench'd but cover'd, which became the more violent when it had less liberty to appear; Wherefore Sir, be confident, that I shall make you see upon all occasions, for what is just that I will never be less then I am

Your, &c.

A Familar Return of Thanks.

SIR,

THis negligence of my stile be pleas'd to esteem one of the marks of friendship between us. Gratitude is one of a poor mans vertues. This is the best Rhetorick you could ex∣pect in so few Lines; and so I would renounce the world, and all its promises, if a mortal could do so, to express my self but truly thankful to you for your exquisite favours. The expedition of this messenger would permit me no further at this time, but onely to set my hand to this protestation, that I love you ex∣ceedingly, that I honour you, and am as much as any man can be in the world,

Your, &c.

To his Friend, inviting him into the Country.

SIR, I will not send you studied complements, I know you are born in a Country of good words; I am here among Thorns and Thistles, among people that are naturally affected with dulness, and dream in the best company, such as can give no other reason for their silence, but that they are entreated not to speak; in so much, that you may walk our Village, and hear nothing but whistling; and which is a miracle, our Coridons are here arrived to such a height of wilful ignorance, as if they held their Lands by no other Tenure, but that of never speaking to the purpose. I should be quite out of heart, if I had not your promise to relie on, that you will suddenly give me a visit, to witness what I am like to suffer this long vacation, except I enjoy your company; I wait for you as for a blessing, and if you come not hither next week, I proclaim to you, that I am no longer,

Your, &c.

To his sick Friend.

SIR, The news of your sickness hath so alter'd my health, that I may count my self a sharer in your misfortunes. Really it hath so much griev'd me, that the sorrow which I sustain, is more then the fever which you endure. Do you therefore take courage, if you will that I should be in good health. You know how much I am interested in your con∣cernments. In a word, I assure you, that if you do not quit your bed, I shall be forc'd to betake my self to mine. These are the absolute protests of,

Sir,

Your, &c.

A Letter of Resolution.

WHY thus in Cynthia's sports do you delight, And take from Loves all their due and right; Yield brightest, and his sweetest pleasures try, Whose fires in funeral flames can onely die. May I not live, if all things plead not sin; I wonder what strange sear doth keep thee in. Though with Diana thou dost seem to vie, Trust me, thy face doth give thy words the lie; More sit for Venus thou then her wilt prove, There's no Religion, sweet, but that of Love. Were the Gods kinde, and to my love agreed, With eyes unwilling thou these Lines should read. When shall I thee embrace intranc't, and lie Languishing wrapt in Loves sweet extasie. If Arts will not avail, then Arms Ile move, And so my longing besome force thy love, Yet us Loves warfare better will become. Soft breathings best please love, not the sierce Drum; If that thou wilt I can more gentle be, Lay shame aside, and yield thy self to me: Either thy self into my arms resign, Or I must fall, for I have vow'd thee mine.

To his Mistress, desiring Enjoyment.

TEll me cruel fair one, why, When I ask you still deny; You thereby unkind do prove, Both to Nature and to Love; Nature when she gave that eye, That hand, that lip, that majesty: Surely then she did not mean, Here riches should be onely seen, And not enjoy'd; were not each sense A Sharer of your excellence? Shee'd wrong her self, and so destroy Mankind by making you so coy. Oh then yield, and let me find That y'are thankful if not kind; Cupid in your bosomes snow, Losing his Shaft, unbent his Bow; And woo'd his Mother, since he shot So long and wounded not. Your eyes henceforth might be his Darts, With which he slew so many hearts, She did; but with all gave you skill To heal again, as well as kill; She gave your eyes power to enflame A breath with all to cool the same; You are just to use that breath, To be a Sentencer of death; Nay, you are impious, if you are Less merciful then you are fair: And by denying needs must grant, That you are proud or ignorant. Where Women truly know their price, 'Tis pride not vertue makes them nice. Let us Lucinda henceforth twine With close embraces. Let us joyn Lip unto lip, and reap the pleasure Of true Lovers without measure; Till our Loves are by wonder grown

From two bodies into one. Yield Lucinda thy consent, That from our true and just content; Others may a perfect rule obtain How they should love, how be belov'd again.

Thus she striveth to indite, That can love but cannot write.

In every Line, here may'st thou understand, That Love hath sign'd and sealed with his hand. These cannot blush although thou dost refuse them; Nor will reply, however you shall use them. O modesty! dist thou not me restrain? How would I chide thee in this angry vain? Pardon me dear if I offend in this, With such delays my love impatient is. I needs must write till time my saith approve, And then Ile cease but never cease to love. Tears, thou know'st well my heart cannot abide; How I am angry when I least do chide: Too well thou know'st what my creation made me; And nature too well taught thee to invade me. Thou know'st too well, how, what and when, and where, To write, to speak, to sue, and to forbear; By signes, by sighs, by motions, and by tears, When vowes should serve, when oaths, when smiles, when prayers. If any natural blemish blot my face, Thou dost protest it gives my beauty grace; And that attire I'me used most to wear, That's the most excellent of all you swear. Or if I wake, or sleep, or stand, or lie, I must resemble some one Deity. But Sweet Diana what strange fears have I, That am confirm'd how men can swear and lie? As with an ague I do shiver still, Since to this paper first I set my quill. What blots so e're thou seest, my tears did make; And yet these tears do weight of words partake. If I do erre, you know our sex is weak, Fear proves a fault when Maids are forc'd to speak.

Could I my soul into thy brest convey, It might like purity to thine display. I should not then come short of any trick, Which makes thee prettily appear love sick; But all my thoughts are innocent and meek, As the chaste blushes on my Virgin cheek: For till this blush, I never did espy The nakedness of an immodesty. Disguise not love, but give thy self to me, I cannot write, but I could die for thee,

A Letter from a Lady with Child.

WHen thou dost see my Letter, dost thou know Whether 'tis my right hands Character or no? Why should I write, I feel a present fear, That I must write more then a Maid should dare. Oh! should I make it to my mother known, Needs must it make m'asham'd what thou hast done. No outward symptome shews my grief, yet I, Wretched, past help of any medecine lie. Think but how weak I am, when I scarce these Can write, or turn me in my bed with ease; How I do fear lest that my Nurse should spie One Letter interchangeing coloque. Then hastily I leave my words half fram'd, My Letter straight is in my bosome cramm'd; The name of Marriage with shame abash't, My pale wan cheeks with glowing blushes quash't. Fond man what glory hast thou won, Or praise, a Virgin thus to have undone? As once an Apple did Atlanta seize, Th'art now become a new Hippomanes. O be not angry quiver-bearing Maid, That I'me loves patiently by youth betray'd; 'Tis now too late, let thy rage be exil'd, And spare the Mother of, but for the Child. He had a face and years too fit for play, A treacherous face that stole my heart away. Who whil'st I sung for Love is all things mind,

Upon my amorous lips did kisses bind Both them, and each part else did please him well; But chiefly when to loves choice sports, he fell; But whither hath my Pen transported me, Thus to discourse to th'Queen of chastity. Sweet Sir. You sware by these same brests of mine To me, and by thrice three Maids Divine, You'd celebrate the Himeneal rites, And in my arms spend all your youthful nights. This was a Language you were us'd to say When we were acting our delicious play; And when of me your last leave you had took, You sware an oath upon my lips, your book, That you would back return with winged speed To save my name from scandal of the deed; With patience Sir your coming I attend, Until you come receive these Lines I send.

A Perswasive Letter to his Mistress.

SWeetest, but read what silent Love hath writ With thy fair eyes, tast but of Loves fine wit, Be not self will'd; for thou art much too fair, For death to triumph o're without a•• heir; Thy unus'd beauty, must be tomb'd with thee, Which us'd, lives thy Executour to be; The Flowers distill'd, though they with Winter meet Lose but their show, their substance still is sweet. Nature made thee her seal, she meant thereby: Thou shouldst Print more, not let the Copie die; What, hast thou vow'd an aged Maid to die? Be not a fool; Lovers may swear and lie. Forswear thy self, thou wilt be far more wise To break an oath then lose a Paradise. For in the midst of all Loves pure protesting, All Faith, all Oaths, all Vows should be but jesting: What is so fair that hath no little spot; Come, come thou mayest be false yet know'st it not. I wish to you, what hath been wish'd by others, For some fair Maids by me would have been Mothers; Pardon me not, for I confess no error;

Cast not upon these Lines a look of terror, Nor vainly Lady think your beauty sought For these instructions are by Loves self wrought; Venus her self my Pen to this theam led, And gives thee freely to my longing bed. I saw thee in my thoughts fair beauteous Dame When I beheld the eyes of fame I lov'd thee, ere I saw thee long ago, Before my eyes did view that glorious Shew. Imagin not your face doth now delight me, Since seen, that unseen did invite me. Believe me, for I speak but what's most true, Too sparingly the world hath spoke of you; Fame that hath undertook your worth to blaze, Plai'd but the envious Huswise in your praise; 'Tis I will raise thy name, and set thee forth, Enjoy thy riches, glorifie thy worth; Nor with vain scribling longer vex my head To fancy love, but leap into thy bed.

Best Wishes from a Lady.

Most worthy SIR,

Unto your Noble blood 'TIS no adition to think you good, For your demeanor bears that equal part Y' have won the love, not envie of the Court; Having observ'd the forms and laws of state; Gaining mens emulation not their hate. With such a noble temper you divide The difference 'twixt formality and pride; Thus your indifferent actions are as far From being too common, as too singular. Whilst in your nature those two Suns arise, The attributes of beautiful and wise. Give me now leave, to wish that you may be As clear from others envy, as y'are free From the desert. But here I must not cease, May no rude chance invade your blessed peace To your chast thoughts, I wish as chast a mate

Blest in her dower, in beauty fortunate. May all the happiness Heaven can confer, Be acted on your lives fair Theater. And may I live to see you thus possest Of these good wishes, that flow from the best

Of your most entire Servant.

A Letter of Acceptance from his Mistress.

I am not angry, wo can angry be With him that loves a Mistress? Love is free; But you have further aim, and seek to do, What Jove defend, I should consent unto. I know that too much trust hath damag'd such As have believed me in their love too much. Leda when she ne're dreamt of God nor Man, Jove did surprize her, shaped like a Swan. But you'r a Wag, I'me certain by the signes You make at Table in the meats and wines; How you can wanton, when your eye advances It's brightness against mine, darting sweet glances; How you can sigh, yet by and by can grace With an angelick smile, your cunning face? You are too manifest a Lover. Tush, At such known sleights I could not chuse but blush. Yet am I not incenst, couldst thou but be As loyal, as th'art amorous to me In the loves just ways; for if thou seekst to climb, My wisht for bed, at the appointed time; When Saffron Hymen hath concluded quite Such covenants as belong to th'nuptial rite; I shall inter pret kindly every sign, And moralize them in my being thine,

Taffy to his Mistress.

MOdest Shentle, when her but see The great laugh her made on me, And fine wink that her send

To her, came to see her friend; Her could not shuse py Cot apove, But he was intangle in her love; A hundred ofttimes her was about, To speak to her, and have her out: But her peeing a Welsh man porn, And therefore was thank her would her scorn; Was fear, put think nothing better, Then put her love into a Letter; Hoping her will not ceptions take Upon her love, for Country sake. For say her be Wilsh man, what ten By Cot they all be Shentlemen; Was descend from Shoves none Line, Par humane, and par divine; And from Venus that fair Coddes, And twenty other shentle Poddies. Hector stout, and comely Paris, Arthur, Prute, and King of Fairies, Was her none Cosin, all a kin, We have the Powels issue in. And for ought that her can see, As cood men as other men pee; But what of that, Love is a knave, Was make her do what her would have; Was compel her to write the rhime, That ne're was write before this time; And if she will not pitty her pain, As Cot shudge her soul shall ne're write again. For Love is like an ague fit, Was bring poor Welsh-men out of her wit, Till by her answer her do know, Whether her do love or no. Her has not pin in England long, And con no speak the English tongue, Put her is her friend and so her will prove; Pray send her word if her can love.

Superscription for the Drol∣ling-Letters.

TO the most gracious Queen of my Soul.

To the most illustrious Princess of my Heart.

To the Countess Dowager of my Affections.

To the Lady of my Conceptions.

To the Baroness of My Words and Actions.

To the Spring-Garden of all pleasure and delight.

To the Peerles Paragon of Exquisite Formosity.

To the chief of my Heart and Affections.

To the Empress of my thoughts.

To the Lady, and Mistress of my thoughts and service.

To the Lilly-white-hands of my Angelical Mistress,

These present.

To the Compleat Mirrour of Beauty and Perfection.

To the ninth Wonder of the World.

To the most Accomplish'd Work of Nature, and the A∣stonishment of all Eyes.

To the Fair Murdress of my Soul

To the Rose of pure Delight.

To the Choise Nutmeg of Sweetest Consolation.

To the most Flourishing Bud of Honour.

To His Most Sacred Angel, Mistress &c.

To Her who is Day without Night, a Sun full of Shade, a Shade full of Light, Mistress, &c.

To the Atlas of her best Thoughts and Affections, Her

Dearly beloved M. L. Broom-man in

SOUTHWARK,

These.

Subscriptions.

MAdam,

Your Gally, Gally, Gally-Slave,

Madam,

Your Always burning Salamander.

Madam,

Your Continual Martyr.

Madam,

Your poor Worm, that must of necessity die, if trod upon by the foot of your disdain.

Madam.

Your Captive, willingly fetter'd in the Chains of your beauty.

Madam,

The Vassal of your Severest Frowns.

Madam,

The Most Loyal Subject to Your Imperial Power.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Life••s sweet.
• * 1.2

  Plain deal∣ing's a Jewel.
• * 1.3

  He does not run atilt.
• * 1.4

  He had two eyes, if he could have kept them.