Sportive vvit the muses merriment, a new spring of lusty drollery, joviall fancies, and a la mode lamponnes, on some heroic persons of these late times, never before exposed to the publick view / collected for the publick good by a club of sparkling wits, viz. C.J., B.J., L.M., W.T., cum multis alsis----

The Clowns Song.

THe Courtier scorns us Country-Clowns, We Country-Clowns do scorn the Court: We can be as merry upon the Downs, As you at midnight with all your sport: With a fadding, with a fadding.

You hawk, you hunt, you lie upon Pallets, You eat, you drink▪ the Lord knows how: We sit upon hillocks, and pick upon Sallets, And sup up our Sillibubs under a cow: With a fadding, with a fadding.

Your Suits are made of Silks and Sattins, And ou••s are made of good Sheeps-gray: You mix your discourses with pieces of Latin, We speak our old English as well as we may: With a fadding, with a fadding.

Your Masks are made of Knights and Lords, And Ladies that be fresh and gay: We dance with such musick as Bag-pipe affords, And trick up our Lasses as well as we may: With a fadding, with a fadding.

Your Rooms are behung with cloth of Arras, Our Meadows are deck'd as fresh as may be: And from our Pastime you never shall bar us, Since Ioan in the dark's as good as my Lady: With a fadding, with a fadding.