Choyce drollery, songs & sonnets being a collection of divers excellent pieces of poetry, of severall eminent authors, never before printed.

Choice DROLLERY: SONGS AND SONNETS.

The broken Heart.

1.

DEare Love let me this evening dye, Oh smile not to prevent it, But use this oportunity, Or we shall both repent it: Frown quickly then, and break my heart, That so my way of dying May, though my life were full of smart, Be worth the worlds envying.

2.

Some striving knowledge to refine, Consume themselves with thinking, And some who friendship seale in wine Are kindly kill'd with drinking: And some are rackt on the' Indian coast, Thither by gain invited, Some are in smoke of battailes lost, Whom Drummes not Lutes delighted.

3.

Alas how poorely these depart, Their graves ffill unattended, Who dies not of a broken heart, Is not in death commended. His memory is ever sweet, All praise and pity moving, Who kindly at his Mistresse feet Doth dye with over-loving.

4.

And now thou frown'st, and now I dye, My corps by Lovers follow'd, Which streight shall by dead lovers lye, For that ground's onely hollow'd: If Priest take't ill I have a grave, My death not well approving, The Poets my estate shall have To teach them th' art of loving.

5.

And now let Lovers ring their bells, For thy poore youth departed; Which every Lover els excels, That is not broken hearted. My grave with flowers let virgins strow, For if thy teares fall neare them, They'l so excell in scent and shew, Thy selfe wilt shortly weare them.

6.

Such Flowers how much will Flora prise, That's on a Lover growing, And watred with his Mistris eyes, With pity overflowing? A grave so deckt, well, though thou art Yet fearfull to come nigh me, Provoke thee straight to break thy heart, And lie down boldly by me.

7.

Then every where shall all bells ring, Whilst all to blacknesse turning, All torches burn, and all quires sing, As Nature's self were mourning. Yet we hereafter shall be found By Destiny's right placing, Making like Flowers, Love under ground, Whose Roots are still embracing.

Of a Woman that died for love of a Man.

NOr Love nor Fate dare I accuse, Because my Love did me refuse: But oh! mine own unworthinesse, That durst presume so mickle blisse; Too mickle'twere for me to love A thing so like the God above, An Angels face, a Saint-like voice, Were too divine for humane choyce.

Oh had I wisely given my heart, For to have lov'd him, but in part, Save onely to have lov'd his face For any one peculiar grace, A foot, or leg, or lip, or eye, I might have liv'd, where now I dye. But I that striv'd all these to chuse, Am now condemned all to lose.

You rurall Gods that guard the plains, And chast'neth unjust disdains; Oh do not censure him him for this, It was my error, and not his. This onely boon of thee I crave, To fix these lines upon my grave, With lcarus I soare too high, For which (alas) I fall and dye.

On the TIME-POETS.

ONe night the great Apollo pleas'd with Ben, Made the odde number of the Muses ten; The fluent Fletcher, Beaumont rich in sense, In Complement and Courtships quintessence; Ingenious Shakespeare, Massinger that knowes The strength of Plot to write in verse and prose: Whose easie Pegassus will amble ore Some threescore miles of Fancy in an houre; Cloud-grapling Chapman, whose Aerial minde Soares at Philosphy, and strikes it blinde; Danbourn I had forgot, and let it be, He dy'd Amphibion by the Ministry; Silvester, Bartas, whose translatique part Twinn'd, or was elder to our Laureat: Divine composing Quarles, whose lines aspire The April of all Poesy in May,

Who makes our English speak Pharsalia; Sands metamorphos'd so into another We know not Sands and Ovid from each other; He that so well on Scotus play'd the Man, The famous Diggs, or Leonard Claudian; The pithy Daniel, whose salt lines afford A weighty sentence in each little word; Heroick Draiton, Withers, smart in Rime, The very Poet-Beadles of the Time: Panns pastorall Brown, whose infant Muse did squeak At eighteen yeares, better than others speak: Shirley the morning-child, the Muses bred, And sent him born with bayes upon his head: Deep in a dump John Ford alone was got With folded armes and melancholly hat; The squibbing Middleton, and Haywood sage, Th'Apologetick Atlas of the Stage; Well of the Golden age he could intreat, But little of the Mettal he could get; Threescore sweet Babes he fashion'd from the lump, For he was Christ'ned in Parnassus pump; The Muses Gossip to Aurora's bed, And ever since that time his face was red. Thus through the horrour of infernall deeps, With equal pace each of them softly creeps, And being dark they had Alectors torch, And that made Churchyard follow from his Porch, Poor, ragged, torn, & tackt, alack, alack, You'd think his clothes were pinn'd upon his back.

The whole frame hung with pins, to mend which clothes, In mirth they sent him to old Father Prose; Of these sad Poets this way ran the stream, And Decker followed after in a dream; Rounce, Robble, Hobble, he that writ so high big Basse for a Ballad, John Shank for a Jig: Sent by Ben Johnson, as some Authors say, Broom went before and kindly swept the way: Old Chaucer welcomes them unto the Green, And Spencer brings them to the fairy Queen; The finger they present, and she in grace Transform'd it to a May-pole'bout which trace Her skipping servants, that do nightly sing, And dance about the same a Fayrie Ring.

The Vow-breaker.

WHen first the Magick of thine eye Usurpt upon my liberty, Triumphing in my hearts spoyle, thou Didst lock up thine in such a vow: When I prove false, may the bright day Be govern'd by the Moones pale ray, (As I too well remember) this Thou saidst, and seald'st it with a kisse.

Oh heavens! and could so soon that tye Relent in sad apostacy? Could all thy Oaths and mortgag'd trust, Banish like Letters form'd in dust, Which the next wind scatters? take heed, Take heed Revolter; know this deed Hath wrong'd the world, which will fare worse By thy example, than thy curse.

Hide that false brow in mists; thy shame Ne're see light more, but the dimme flame Of Funerall-lamps; thus sit and moane, And learn to keep thy guilt at home; Give it no vent, for if agen Thy love or vowes betray more men, At length I feare thy perjur'd breath Will blow out day, and waken death.

The Sympathie.

IF at this time I am derided, And you please to laugh at me, Know I am not unprovided Every way to answer thee, Love, or hate, what ere it be.

Never Twinns so nearly met As thou and I in our affection, When thou weepst my eys are wet, That thou lik'st is my election, I am in the same subjection.

In one center we are both, Both our lives the same way tending, Do thou refuse, and I shall loath, As thy eyes, so mine are bending, Either storm or calm portending.

I am carelesse if despised, For I can contemn again; How can I be then surprised, Or with sorrow, or with pain, When I can both love & disdain?

The Red head and the White.

1.

COme my White head, let our Muses Vent no spleen against abuses, Nor scoffe at monstrous signes i'th' nose, Signes in the Teeth, or in the Toes, Nor what now delights us most, The sign of signes upon the post. For other matter we are sped, And our signe shall be i'th' head.

2.

Oh! Will•• Rufus, who would passe, Unlesse he were a captious Asse; The Head of all the parts is best, And hath more senses then the rest. This subject then in our defence Will clear our Poem of non-sense. Besides, you know, what ere we read, We use to bring it to a head.

1.

Why there's no other part we can Stile Monarch o're this Isle of man: 'Tis that that weareth Nature's crown, 'Tis this doth smile, 'tis this doth frown, O what a prize and triumph 'twere, To make this King our Subject here: Believ'e, 'tis true what we have sed, In this we hit the naile o'th' head.

2.

Your nailes upon my head Sir, Why? How do you thus to villifie The King of Parts, 'mongst all the rest, Or if no king, methinks at least, To mine you should give no offence, That weares the badge of Innocence; Those blowes would far more justly light On thy red skull, for mine is white.

1.

Come on yfaith, that was well sed, A pretty boy, hold up thy head, Or hang it down, and blush apace, And make it like mines native grace. There's ne're a Bung-hole in the town But in the working puts thine down, A byle that's drawing to a head Looks white like thine, but mine is red.

2.

Poore foole, 'twas shame did first invent The colour of thy Ornament, And therefore thou art much too blame To boast of that which is thy shame; The Roman Prince that Poppeys topt, Did shew such Red heads should be cropt: And still the Turks for poyson smite Such Ruddy skulls, but mine is white.

1.

The Indians paint their Devils so, And 'tis a hated mark we know, For never any aim aright That do not strive to hit the white: The Eagle threw her shell-fish down, To crack in pieces such a crown: Alas, a stinking onions head Is white like thine, but mine is red.

2.

Red like to a blood-shot eye, Provoking all that see't to cry: For shame nere vaunt thy colours thus Since 'tis an eye-sore unto us; Those locks I'd swear, did I not know't, Were threds of some red petticoat; No Bedlams oaker'd armes afright So much as thine, but mine is white.

1.

Now if thon'lt blaze thy armes Ile shew't, My head doth love no petticoat, My face on one side is as faire As on the other is my haire, So that I bear by Heraulds rules, Party per pale Argent and Gules. Then laugh not 'cause my head is red, Ile swear that mine's a noble head.

1.

The Scutcheon of my field doth beare One onely field, and that is rare, For then methinks that thine should yeild, Since mine long since hath won the field; Besides, all the notes that be, White is the note of Chastity, So that without all feare or dread, Ile sweare that mine's a maidenhead.

1.

There's no Camelion red like me, Nor white, perhaps, thou'lt say, like thee; Why then that mine is farre above Thy haire, by statute I can prove; What ever there doth seem divine Is added to a Rubrick line, Which whosoever hath but read, Will grant that mine's a lawful head.

2.

Yet adde what thou maist, which by yeares, Crosses, troubles, cares and feares,; For that kinde nature gave to me In youth a white head, as you see, At which, though age it selfe repine, It ne're shall change a haire of mine; And all shall say when I am am dead, I onely had a constant head.

1.

Yes faith, in that Ile condescend, That our dissention here may end, Though heads be alwaies by the eares, Yet ours shall be more noble peeres: For I avouch since I began, Under a colour all was done. Then let us mix the White and Red, And both shall make a beauteous head.

1.

We mind our heads man all this time And beat them both about this rime; And I confesse what gave offence Was but a haires difference. And that went too as I dare sweare In both of us against the haire; Then joyntly now for what is said Lets crave a pardon from our head.

SONNET.

SHall I think because some clouds The beauty of my Mistriss shrouds, To look after another Star? Those to Cynthia servants are; May the stars when I doe sue, In their anger shoot me through; Shall I shrink at stormes of rain, Or be driven back again, Or ignoble like a worm, Be a slave unto a storm? Pity he should ever tast The Spring that feareth Winters blast; Fortune and Malice then combine, Spight of either I am thine; And to be sure keep thou my heart, And let them wound my worser part, Which could they kill, yet should I bee Alive again, when pleaseth thee.

On the Flower-de-luce in Oxford.

A Stranger coming to the town, Went to the Flower-de-luce, A place that seem'd in outward shew For honest men to use;

And finding all things common there, That tended to delight, By chance upon the French disease It was his hap to light.

And lest that other men should fare As he had done before, As he went forth he wrote this down Upon the utmost doore.

All you that hither chance to come, Mark well ere you be in, The Frenchmens arms are signs without Of Frenchmens harms within.

ALDOBRANDINO, a fat Cardinal.

NEver was humane soule so overgrown, With an unreasonable Cargazon Of flesh, as Aldobrandine, whom to pack, No girdle serv'd lesse than the zodiack: So thick a Giant, that he now was come To be accounted an eighth hill in Rome, And as the learn'd Tostatus kept his age, Writing for every day he liv'd a page; So he no lesse voluminous then that Added each day a leaf, but 'twas of fat.

The choicest beauty that had been devis'd By Nature, was by her parents sacrific'd Up to this Monster, upon whom to try, If as increase, he could, too, multiply.

Oh how I tremble lest the tender maid Should dye like a young infant over-laid! For when this Chaos would pretend to move And arch his back for the strong act of Love, He fals as soon orethrown with his own weight, And with his ruines doth the Princesse fright. She (lovely Martyr) there lyes stew'd and prest, Like flesh under the tarr'd saddle drest, And seemes to those that look on them in bed, Larded with him, rather then married.

Oft did he cry, but still in vain to force His fatnesse powerfuller then a divorce: No herbs, no midwives profit here, nor can Of his great belly free the teeming man. What though he drink the vinegars most fine, They do not wast his fleshy Apennine; His paunch like some huge Istmos runs between The amarous Seas, and lets them not be seen; Yet a new Dedalus invented how This Bull with his Pasiphae might plow.

Have you those artificial torments known, With which long sunken Galeos are thrown Again on Sea, or the dead Galia Was rais'd that once behinde St. Peters lay: By the same rules he this same engine made, With silken cords in nimble pullies laid; And when his Genius prompteth his slow part To works of Nature, which he helps with Art: First he intangles in those woven bands, His groveling weight, and ready to commands, The sworn Prinadas of his bed, the Aids Of Loves Camp, necessary Chambermaids; Each runs to her known tackling, hasts to hoyse, And in just distance of the urging voyce, Exhorts the labour till he smiling rise To the beds roof, and wonders how he flies.

Thence as the eager Falcon having spy'd Fowl at the brook, or by the Rivers side, Hangs in the middle Region of the aire, So hovers he, and plains above his faire▪

Blest Icarus first melted at those beames, That he might after fall into those streames, And there allaying his delicious flame, In that sweet Ocean propogate his name.

Unable longer to delay, he calls To be let down, and in short measure falls Toward his Mistresse, that without her smock Lies naked as Andromeda at the Rock, And through the Skies see her wing'd Perseus strike Though for his bulk, more that sea-monster like.

Mean time the Nurse, who as the most discreet, Stood governing the motions at the feet, And ballanc'd his descent, lest that amisse He fell too fast, or that way more than this; Steeres the Prow of the pensile Galleasse, Right on Loves Harbour the Nymph lets him pass Over the Chains, & 'tween the double Fort Of her incastled knees, which guard the Port,

The Burs as she had learnt still diligent, Now girt him backwards, now him forwards bent; Like those that levell'd in tough Cordage, teach The murall Ram, and guide it to the Breach.

Jack of Lent's Ballat.

1.

LIst you Nobles, and attend, For here's a Ballat newly penn'd I took it up in Kent, If any ask who made the same, To him I say the authors name Is honest Jack of Lent.

2.

But ere I farther passe along, Or let you know more of my Song, I wish the doores were lockt, For if there be so base a Groom, As one informes me in this room, The Fidlers may be knockt.

3.

Tis true, he had, I dare protest, No kind of malice in his brest, But Knaves are dangerous things; And they of late are grown so bold, They dare appeare in cloth of Gold, Even in the roomes of Kings.

4.

But hit or misse I will declare The speeches at London and elsewhere, Concerning this design, Amongst the Drunkards it is said, They hope her dowry shall be paid In nought but Clarret wine.

5.

The Country Clowns when they repaire Either to Market or to Faire, No sooner get their pots, But straight they swear the time is come That England must be over-run Betwixt the French and Scots.

6.

The Puritans that never fayle 'Gainst Kings and Magistrates to rayle, With impudence aver, That verily, and in good sooth, Some Antichrist, or pretty youth, Shall doubtlesse get of her.

7.

A holy Sister having hemm'd, And blow•• her nose, will say she dream'd, Or else a Spirit told her, That they and all these holy seed, To Amsterdam must go to breed, Ere they were twelve months older.

8.

And might but Jack Alent advise, Those dreams of theirs should not prove lies, For as he greatly feares, They will be prating night and day, Till verily, by yea, and nay, They set's together by th' ears.

9.

The Romish Catholiques proclaim, That Gundemore, though he be lame, Yet can he do some tricks; At Paris, he the King shall show A pre-contract made, as I know, Five hundred twenty six.

10.

But sure the State of France is wise, And knowes that Spain vents nought but lies, For such is their Religion; The Jesuits can with ease disgorge From that their damn'd and hellish forge, Foule falshood by the Legion.

11.

But be it so, we will admit, The State of Spain hath no more wit, Then to invent such tales, Yet as great Alexander drew, And cut the Gorgon knot in two, So shall the Prince of Wales.

12.

The reverend Bishops whisper too, That now they shall have much adoe With Friers and with Monks, And eke their wives do greatly feare Those bald pate knaves will mak't appeare They are Canonical punks.

13.

At Cambridge and at Oxford eke, They of this match like Schollers speak By figures and by tropes, But as for the Supremacy, The Body may King James's be, But sure the Head's the Pope's.

14.

A Puritan stept up and cries, That he the major part denies, And though he Logick scorns, Yet he by revelation knows The Pope no part o' th' head-piece ows Except it be the horns.

15.

The learned in Astrologie, That wander up and down the sky, And their discourse with stars, Foresee that some of this brave rout That now goes faire and soundly out, Shall back return with scars.

16.

Professors of Astronomy, That all the world knows, dare not lie With the Mathematicians, Prognosticate this Somer shall Bring with the pox the Devil and all, To Surgeons and Physitians.

17.

The Civil Lawyer laughs in's sleeve, For he doth verily believe That after all these sports, The Citzens will horn and grow, And their ill-gotten goods will throw About their bawdy Courts.

18.

And those that do Apollo court, And with the wanton Muses sport, Believe the time is come, That Gallants will themselves addresse To Masques & Playes, & Wantonnesse, More than to fife and drum.

19.

Such as in musique spend their dayes, And And study Songs and Roundelayes, Begin Begin to cleare their throats, For by some signes they do presage, That this will prove a fidling age Fit for men of their coats.

20.

But leaving Colleges and Schools. To all those Clerks and learned Fools, Lets through the city range, For there are Sconces made of Horn, Foresee things long ere they be born, Which you'l perhaps think strange.

21.

The Major and Aldermen being met, And at a Custard closely set Each in their rank and order, The Major a question doth propound, And that unanswer'd must go round, Till it comes to th'Recorder.

22.

For he's the City's Oracle, And which you'l think a Miracle, He hath their brains in keeping, For when a Cause should be decreed, He cries the bench are all agreed, When most of them are sleeping,

23.

A Sheriff at lower end o'th' board Cries Masters all hear me a word, A bolt Ile onely shoot, We shall have Executions store Against some gallants now gone o're, Wherefore good brethren look to't.

24.

The rascall Sergeants fleering stand, Wishing their Charter reacht the Strand, That they might there intrude; But since they are not yet content, I wish that it to Tyburn went, So they might there conclude.

25.

An Alderman both grave and wise Cries brethren all let me advise, Whilst wit is to be had, That like good husbands we provide Some speeches for the Lady bride, Before all men go mad.

26.

For by my faith if we may guesse Of greater mischiefs by the lesse, I pray let this suffice, If we but on mens backs do look, And look into each tradesmans book You'l swear few men are wise.

27.

Some thred-bare Poet we will presse, And for that day we will him dresse, At least in beaten Sattin, And he shall tell her from this bench, That though we understand no French, At Pauls, she may hear Lattin.

28.

But on this point they all demurre, And each takes counsell of his furre That smells of Fox and Cony, At last a Mayor in high disdain, Swears he much scorns that in his reign Wit should be bought for mony.

29.

For by this Sack I mean to drink, I would not have my Soveraign think for twenty thousand Crownes, That I his Lord Lieutenant here, And you my brethren should appear Such errant witlesse Clownes.

30.

No, no, I have it in my head, Devises that shall strike it dead, And make proud Paris say That little London hath a Mayor Can entertain their Lady faire, As well as ere did they.

31

S. Georges Church shall be the place Where first I mean to meet her grace, And there St. George shall be Mounted upon a dapple gray, And gaping wide shall seem to say, Welcome St. Dennis to me.

32.

From thence in order two by two As we to Pauls are us'd to goe, To th' Bridge we will convey her, And there upon the top o' th' gate, Where now stands many a Rascal's pate, I mean to place a player.

33.

And to the Princesse he shall cry, May't please your Grace cast up your eye And see these heads of Traytors; Thus will the city serve all those That to your Highnesse shall prove foes, For they to Knaves are haters.

34.

Down Fishstreet hill a Whale shall shoot, And meet her at the Bridges foot, And forth of his mouth so wide a Shall Jonas peep, and say, for fish, As good as your sweet-heart can wish, You shall have hence each Friday.

35.

At Grace-church corner there shall stand A troop of Graces hand in hand, And they to her shall say, Your Grace of France is welcome hither, ▪Tis merry when Graces meet together, I pray keep on your way.

36.

At the Exchange shall placed be, In ugly shapes those sisters three That give to each their fate, And Spaine's Infanta shall stand by Wringing their hands, and thus shall cry, I do repent too late.

37.

There we a paire of gloves will give, And pray her Highnesse long may live On her white hands to wear them; And though they have a Spanish scent, The givers have no ill intent, Wherefore she need not feare them▪

38.

Nor shall the Conduits now run Claret, Perhaps the Frenchman cares not for it, They have at home so much, No, I will make the boy to pisse No worse then purest Hypocris, Her Grace ne're tasted such.

39.

About the Standard I think fit Your wives, my brethren, all should sit, And eke our Lady Mayris, Who shall present a cup of gold, And say if we might be so bold, We'l drink to all in Paris.

40.

In Pauls Church-yard we breath may take, For they such huge long speeches make, Would tire any horse; But there Ile put her grace in minde, To cast her Princely head behind And view S. Paul's Crosse.

41.

Our Sergeants they shall go their way, And for us at the Devil stay, I mean at Temple-barre, And there of her we leave will take, And say 'twas for King Charls his sake We went with her so farre.

42.

But fearing I have tir'd the eares, Both of the Duke and all these Peeres, Ile be no more uncivill, Ile leave the Mayor with both the Sheriffs, With Sergeants, hanging at their sleeves, For this time at the Devill.

A SONG.

A Story strange I will you tell, But not so strange as true, Of a woman that danc'd upon the ropes, And so did her husband too. With a dildo, dildo, dildo, With a dildo, dildo, dee, Some say 'twas a man, but it was a woman As plain report may see.

She first climb'd up the Ladder For to deceive mens hopes, And with a long thing in her hand She tickled it on the ropes. With a dildo, dildo, dildo, With a dildo, dildo, dee, And to her came Knights and Gentlemen Of low and high degree.

She jerk'd them backward and foreward With a long thing in her hand, And all the people that were in the yard, She made them for to stand. With a dildo, &c.

They cast up sleering eyes All under-neath her cloaths, But they could see no thing, For she wore linnen hose. With a dildo, &c.

The Cuckold her husband caper'd When his head in the sack was in, But grant that we may never fall When we dance in the sack of sin. With a dildo, &c.

And as they ever danc't In faire or rainy weather, I wish they may be hang'd i' th' rope of Love, And so be cut down together. With a dildo, &c.

Ʋpon a House of Office over a River, set on fire by a Coale of TOBACCO.

OH fire, fire, fire, where? The usefull house or'e Water cleare, The most convenient in a shire, Which no body can deny.

The house of Office that old true blue Sir-reverence so many knew You now may see turn'd fine new. Which no body, &c.

And to our great astonishment Though burnt, yet stands to represent Both mourner and the monument, Which no body, &c.

Ben Johnson's Vulcan would doe well, Or the merry Blades who knacks did tell, At firing London Bridge befell. Which no body, &c.

They'l say if I of thee should chant, The matter smells, now out upon't; But they shall have a fit of fie on't. Which no body, &c.

And why not say a word or two Of she that's just? witnesse all who Have ever been at thy Ho go,* 1.1 Which no body, &c.

Earth, Aire and Water, she could not Affront, till chollerick fire got Predominant, then thou grew▪st hot, Which no body, &c.

The present cause of all our wo, But from Tobacco ashes, oh! 'Twas shitten luck to perish so, Which no body, &c.

'Tis fatall to be built on lakes, As Sodom's fall example makes; But pity to the innocent jakes, Which no body, &c.

Whose genius if I hit aright, May be conceived Hermophrodite, To both sex common when they sh— Which no body, &c.

Of severall uses it hath store, As Midwifes some do it implore, But the issue comes at Postern door. Which no body, &c.

Retired mortalls out of feare, Privily, even to a haire, Did often do their businesse there, Which no body, &c.

For mens and womens secrets fit No tale-teller, though privy to it, And yet they went to 't without feare or wit, Which no body, &c.

A Privy Chamber or prison'd roome, And all that ever therein come Uncover must, or bide the doome, Which no body, &c.

A Cabinet for richest geare The choicest of the Ladys ware, And pretious stones full many there. Which no body, &c.

And where in State sits noble duck, Many esteem that use of nock, The highest pleasure next to oc— Which no body, &c.

And yet the hose there down did goe, The yeilding smock came up also, But still no Bawdy house I trow, Which no body, &c.

There nicest maid with naked rump, When straining hard had made her mump, Did sit at ease and heare it plump, Which no body, &c.

Like the Dutch Skipper now may skit, When in his sleeve he did do it, She may skit free, but now plimp niet, Which no body, &c.

Those female folk that there did haunt, To make their filled bellies gaunt, And with that same the brook did launt, Which no body, &c.

Are driven now to do't on grasse, And make a sallet for their A— The world is come to a sweet passe, Which no body, &c.

Now farewell friend we held so deare, Although thou help'st away with our cheare, An open house keeper all the yeare, Which no body, &c.

The Phoenix in her perfumed flame, Was so consum'd, and thou the same, But the Aromaticks were too blame, Which no body, &c.

That Phoenix is but one thing twice, Thy Patron nobler then may rise, For who can tell what he'l devise? Which no body, &c.

Diana's Temple was not free, Nor that world Rome, her Majesty Smelt of the smoke, as well as thee, VVhich no body, &c.

And learned Clerks whom we admire, Do say the world shall so expire, Then when you sh—remember fire. VVhich no body, &c.

Beware of fire when you scumber, Though to sh—fire were a wonder, Yet lightning oft succeeds the thunder, VVhich no body, &c.

We must submit to what fate sends, 'Tis wholsome counsel to our friends, Take heed of smoking at both ends, VVhich no body can deny.

Ʋpon the Spanish Invasion in Eighty eight.

1.

IN Eighty eight, ere I was born, As I do well remember a, In August was a Fleet prepar'd, The month before September a.

2.

Lishone, Cales and Portugall, Toledo and Granada; They all did meet, & made a Fleet, And call'd it their Armada.

3.

There dwelt a little man in Spain That shot well in a gun a; Don Pedro hight, as black a wight As the Knight of the Sun a.

4.

King Philip made him Admirall, And charg'd him not to stay a, But to destroy both man and boy, And then to come his way a.

5.

He had thirty thousand of his own, But to do us more harm a, He charg'd him not to fight alone, But to joyn with the Prince of Parma.

6.

They say they brought provision much As Biskets, Beans and Bacon, Besides, two ships were laden with whips, But I think they were mistaken.

7.

When they had sailed all along, And anchored before Dover, The English men did board them then, And heav'd the Rascalls over.

8.

The queen she was at Tilbury, What could you more desire a? For whose sweet sake Sir Francis Drake Did set the ships on fire a.

9

Then let them neither brag nor boast, For if they come again a, Let them take heed they do not speed As they did they know when a.

Ʋpon the Gun-powder Plot.

1.

ANd will this wicked world never prove good? Will Priests and Catholiques never prove true? Shall Catesby, Piercy and Rookwood Make all this famous Land to rue? With putting us in such a feare, With huffing and snuffing and guni-powder, With a Ohone hononoreera tarrareera, tarra∣reero hone.

2.

▪Gainst the fifth of November, Tuesday by name, Peircy and Catesby a Plot did frame, Anno one thousand six hundred and five, In which long time no man alive Did ever know, or heare the like, Which to declare my heart growes sike. With a O hone, &c.

3.

Under the Parliament-house men say Great store of Powder they did lay, Thirty six barrels, as is reported, With many faggots ill consorted, With barres of iron upon them all, To bring us to a deadly fall. With a O hone, &c.

4.

And then came forth Sir Thomas Knyvet, You filthy Rogue come out o' th' doore, Or else I sweare by Gods trivet Ile lay thee flatlong on the floor, For putting us all in such a feare, With huffing and snuffing, &c.

5.

Then Faux out of the Vault was taken And carried before Sir Francis Bacon, And was examined of the Act, And stoutly did confesse the Fact, And swore he would put us in such a feare. With huffing, &c.

6.

Now sure it is a miraculous thing, To see how God hath preserv'd our King, The Queen, the Prince, and his Sister dear, And all the Lords, and every Peere, And all the Land, and every shire, From huffing, &c.

7.

Now God preserve the Council wise, That first found out this enterprise; Not they, but my Lord Monteagle, His Lady and her little Beagle, His Ape, his Ass, and his great Beare▪ From huffing and snuffing, and gunni powder.

Other newes I heard moreover, If all was true that's told to me, Three Spanish ships landed at Dover,▪ Where they made great melody, But the Hollanders drove them here and there, VVith huffing, &c.

A CATCH.

DRink boyes, drink boyes, drink and doe not spare, Troule away the bowl, and take no care. So that we have meat and drink, and money and clothes What care we, what care we how the world goes.

A pitifull Lamentation.

MY Mother hath sold away her Cock And all her brood of Chickins, And hath bought her a new canvasse smock And righted up the Kitchin. And has brought me a Lockeram bond With a v'lopping paire of breeches, Thinking that Jone would have lov'd me alone, But she hath serv'd me such yfiches▪ Ise take a rope and drowne my selfe, Ere Ist indure these losses: Ile take a hatchet and hang my selfe Ere Ist indure these crosses. Or else Ile goe to some beacon high, Made of some good dry'd furzon And there Ile seeme in love to fry Sing hoodle a doodle Cuddon▪

A Woman with Child that de∣sired a Son, which might prove a Preacher.

AMaiden of the pure Scociety, Pray'd with a passing piety That since a learned man had o're-reacht her, The child she went withall should prove Prea∣cher. The time being come, and all the dangers past, The Goodwife askt the Midwife What God had sent at last. Who answer'd her half in a laughter, Quoth she the Son is prov'd a Daughter. But be content, if God doth blesse the Baby, She has a Pulpit where a Preacher may be.

The Maid of Tottenham.

1.

ASI went to Totnam Upon a Market-day, There met I with a faire maid Cloathed all in gray, Her journey was to London With Buttermilk and Whay, To fall down, down, derry down, down, down, derry down, derry, derry dina.

2.

God speed faire maid, quoth one, You are well over-took; With that she cast her head aside, And gave to him a look. She was as full of Leachery As letters in a book. To fall down, &c.

3.

And as they walk'd together, Even side by side, The young man was aware That her garter was unty'd, For feare that she should lose it, Aha, alack he cry'd, Oh your garter that hangs down! Down, down, derry down, &c.

4.

Quoth she I do intreat you For to take the pain To do so much for me, As to tye it up again. That will I do sweet-heart, quoth he, When I come on yonder plain. VVith a down, down, derry down, &c.

5.

And when they came upon the plain Upon a pleasant green, The fair maid spread her leggs abroad, The young man fell between, Such tying of a Garter I think was never seen. To fall down, &c.

6.

When they had done their businesse, And quickly done the deed, He gave her kisses plenty, And took her up with speed. But what they did I know not, But they were both agreed To fall down together, down Down, down, derry down, Down, down, derry dina.

7.

She made to him low curtsies And thankt him for his paine, The young man is to High-gate gone The maid to London came To sell off her commodity She thought it for no shame. To fall downe, &c.

8.

When she had done her market, And all her money told To think upon the matter It made her heart full cold But that which will away, quoth she, Is very hard to hold. To fall down, &c.

9.

This tying of the Garter Cost her her Maidenhead, Quoth she it is no matter, It stood me in small stead, But often times it troubled me As I lay in my bed. To fall down, &c.

To the King on New-yeares day, 1638.

THis day inlarges every narrow mind, Makes the Poor bounteous, and the Miser kind; Poets that have not wealth in wisht excesse, I hope may give like Priests, which is to blesse. And sure in elder times the Poets were Those Priests that told men how to hope and feare, Though they most sensually did write and live, Yet taught those blessings, which the Gods did give. But you (my King) have purify'd our flame, Made wit our vertue which was once our shame; For by your own quick fires you made ours last, Reform'd our numbers till our songs grew chast. Farre more then fam'd Augustus ere could doe With's wisdome, (though it long continued too) You have perform'd even in your Moon of age; Refin'd to Lectures, Playes, to Schooles a stage. Such vertue got why is your Poet lesse A Priest then his who had a power to blesse?

So hopefull is my rage that I begin To shew that feare which strives to keep it in: And what was meant a blessing soars so high That it is now become a Prophesie. Your selfe (our Plannet which renewes our year) Shall so inlighten all, and every where, That through the Mists of error men shall spy In the dark North the way to Loyalty; Whilst with your intellectuall beames you show The knowing what they are that seeme to know. You like our Sacred and indulgent Lord, When the too-stout Apostle drew his sword, When he mistooke some secrets of the cause, And in his furious zeale disdain'd the Lawes, Forgetting true Religion doth lye On prayers, not swords against authority. You like our substitute of horrid fate That are next him we most should imitate, Shall like to him rebuke with wiser breath, Such furious zeale, but not reveng'd with death. Like him the wound that's giv'n you strait shall heal, Then calm by precept such mistaking zeal.

In praise of a deformed woman.

1.

I Love thee for thy curled haire, As red as any Fox, Our fore fathers did still commend The lovely golden locks. Venus her self might comelier be, Yet hath no such variety.

2.

I love thee for thy squinting eyes, It breeds no jealousie, For when thou do'st on others look, Methinks thou look'st on me. Venus her self, &c.

3.

I love thee for thy copper nose, Thy fortune's ne're the worse, It shewes the mettal in thy face Thou should'st have in thy purse Venus her self, &c.

4.

I love thee for thy Chessenut skin, Thy inside's white to me, That colour should be most approv'd, That will least changed be. Venus her self, &c.

5.

I love thee for thy splay mouth, For on that amarous close There's room on either side to kisse, And ne're offend the nose. Venus her self, &c.

6.

I love thee for thy rotten gummes, In good time it may hap, When other wives are costly fed, Ile keep thy chaps with pap. Venus her self, &c.

7.

I love thee for thy blobber lips, 'Tis good thrift I suppose, They're dripping-pans unto thy eyes, And save-alls to thy nose. Venus her self, &c.

8.

I love thee for thy huncht back, 'Tis bow'd although not broken, For I believe the Gods did send Me to thee for a Token. Venus her self, &c.

9.

I love thee for thy pudding wast, If a Taylor thou do'st lack, Thou need'st not send to France for one, Ile fit thee with a sack. Venus her self, &c.

10.

I love thee for thy lusty thighes, For tressels thou maist boast, Sweet-heart thou hast a water-mill, And these are the mill-posts. Venus her self, &c.

10.

I love thee for thy splay feet, They're fooles that thee deride, Women are alwaies most esteem'd, When their feet are most wide. Venus her self may comelier be, &c.

On a TINKER.

HE that a Tinker, a Tinker, a Tinker will be, Let him leave other Loves, and come fol∣low me. Though he travells all the day, Yet he comes home still at night, And dallies, dallies with his Doxie, And dreames of delight. His pot and his tost in the morning he takes, And all the day long good musick he makes; He wanders up and down to Wakes & to Fairs, He casts his cap, and casts his cap at the Court and its cares; And when to the town the Tinker doth come, Oh, how the wanton wenches run, Some bring him basons, and some bring him bowles, All maids desire him to stop up their holes. Prinkum Prankum is a fine dance, strong Ale is good in the winter, And he that thrumms a wench upon a brass pot, The child may prove a Tinker. With tink goes the hammer, the skellit and the scummer, Come bring me thy copper kettle, For the Tinker, the Tinker, the merry merry Tinker, Oh he's the man of mettle.

Ʋpon his Mistris's black Eye-browes.

HIde, oh hide those lovely Browes, Cupid takes them for his bowes, And from thence with winged dart He lies pelting at my heart, Nay, unheard-of wounds doth give, Wounded in the heart I live; From their colour I descry, Loves bowes are made of Ebony; Or their Sable seemes to say They mourn for those their glances slay; Or their blacknesse doth arise From the Sun-beams of your eyes, Where Apollo seemes to sit, As he's God of Day, and Wit; Your piercing Rayes, so bright, and cleare, Shewes his beamy Chariots there. Then the black upon your brow, Sayest wisdomes sable hue, Tells to every obvious eye, There's his other Deity. This too shewes him deeply wise, To dwell there he left the skies;

So pure a black could Phoebus burn, He himself would Negro turn, And for such a dresse would slight His gorgeous attire of light; Eclipses he would count a blisse, Were there such a black as this: Were Night's dusky mantle made Of so glorious a shade, The ruffling day she would out-vie In costly dresse, and gallantry: Were Hell's darknesse such a black, For it the Saints would Heaven forsake; So pure a black, that white from hence Loses its name of innocence; And the most spotlesse Ivory is A very stain and blot to this: So pure a black, that hence I guesse, Black first became a holy dresse. The Gods foreseeing this, did make Their Priests array themselves in Black.

To my Lady of Carnarvon, January 1.

IDol of our Sex! Envy of thine own! Whom not t' have seen, is never to have known, What eyes are good for; to have seen, not lov'd, Is to be more, or lesse then man, unmov'd; Deigne to accept, what I i' th' name of all Thy servants pay to this dayes Festival, Thanks for the old yeare, prayers for the new, So may thy many dayes to come seeme few, So may fresh springs in thy blew rivolets flow, To make thy roses, and thy lillies grow. So may all dressings still become thy face, As if they grew there, or stole thence their grace▪ So may thy bright eyes comfort with their rayes Th' humble, and dazle those that boldly gaze: So may thy sprightly motion, beauties best part, Shew there is stock enough of life at heart. So may thy warm snow never grow more cold, So may they live to be, but not seem old. So may thy Lord pay all, yet rest thy debtor, And love no other, till he sees a better:

So may the new year crown the old yeares joy, By giving us a Girle unto our Boy; I'th' one the Fathers wit, and in the other Let us admire the beauty of the Mother, That so we may their severall pictures see, Which now in one fair Medall joyned be: Till then grow thus together, and howe're You grow old in your selves, grow stil young here; And let him, though he may resemble either, Seem to be both in one, and singly neither. Let Ladies wagers lay, whose chin is this, Whose forehead that, whose lip, whose eye, then kiss Away the difference, whilst he smiling lies, To see his own shape dance in both your eyes. Sweet Babe! my prayer shall end with thee, (Oh may it prove a Prophecy!) May all the channells in thy veynes Expresse the severall noble straines, From whence they flow; sweet Sydney's wit, But not the sad, sweet fate of it; The last great Pembroke's learning, sage Burleigh's both wisdome and his age; Thy Grandsires honest heart expresse The Veres untainted noblenesse. To these (if any thing there lacks) Adde Dormer too, and Molenax. Lastly, if for thee I can woo Gods, and thy Godfathers grace too, Together with thy Fathers Thrift: Be thou thy Mothers New-years-gift.

The Western Husband-man's Complaint in the late Wars.

UDs bodykins! Chill work no more: Dost think chill labour to be poor? No ich have more a do: If of the world this be the trade, That ich must break zo knaves be made, Ich will a blundering too.

Chill zel my cart and eke my plow, And get a zword if ich know how, For ich mean to be right: Chill learn to zwear, and drink, and roar, And (Gallant leek) chill keep a whore, No matter who can vight.

God blesse us! What a world is here, It can ne're last another year, Vor ich can't be able to zoe: Dost think that ever chad the art, To plow the ground up with my cart, My beasts be all a go.

But vurst a Warrant ich will get From Master Captaine, that a vet Chill make a shrewd a do: Vor then chave power in any place, To steal a Horse without disgrace, And beat the owner too.

Ich had zix oxen tother day, And them the Roundheads vetcht away, A mischiefe be their speed: And chad zix horses left me whole, And them the Cabbaleroes stole: Chee voor men be agreed,

Here ich doe labour, toyl and zweat, And dure the cold, with dry and heat, And what dost think ich get? Vaith just my labour vor my pains, The garrisons have all the gains, Vor thither all's avet.

There goes my corne and beanes, and pease, Ich doe not dare them to displease, They doe zo zwear and vapour: When to the Governour ich doe come, And pray him to discharge my zum, Chave nothing but a paper.

U'ds nigs dost think that paper will Keep warme my back and belly fill? No, no, goe vange thy note: If that another year my vield No profit doe unto me yeild, Ich may goe cut my throat.

When any money chove in store, Then straight a warrant comes therefore, Or ich must blundred be: And when chave shuffled out one pay, Then comes another without delay, Was ever the leek azee?

If all this be not grief enow, They have a thing cald quarter too, O'ts a vengeance waster: A pox upon't they call it vree, Cham zure they make us zlaves to be, And every rogue our master.

The High-way mans Song.

I Keep my Horse, I keep my Whore, I take no Rents, yet am not poore, I traverse all the land about, And yet was born to never a foot; With Partridge plump, and Woodcock fine, I do at mid-night often dine; And if my whore be not in case, My Hostess daughter has her place. The maids sit up, and watch their turnes, If I stay long the Tapster mourns; The Cook-maid has no mind to sin, Though tempted by the Chamberlin; But when I knock, O how they bustle; The hostler yawns, the geldings justle; If maid be sleep, oh how they curse her! And all this comes of, Deliver your purse sir.

Against Fruition, &c.

THere is not half so warme a fire In the Fruition, as Desire. When I have got the fruit of pain, Possession makes me poore again, Expected formes and shapes unknown, Whet and make sharp tentation; Sense is too niggardly for Bliss, And payes me dully with what is; But fancy's liberall, and gives all That can within her vastnesse fall; Vaile therefore still, while I divine The Treasure of this hidden Mine, And make Imagination tell What wonders doth in Beauty dwell.

Ʋpon Mr. Fullers Booke, called Pisgah-sight.

FUller of wish, than hope, methinks it is▪ For me to expect a fuller work than this, Fuller of matter, fuller of rich sense, Fuller of Art fuller of Eloquence; Yet dare I not be bold, to intitle this The fullest work; the Author fuller is, Who, though he empty not himself, can fill Another fuller, yet continue still Fuller himself, and so the Reader be Alwayes in hope a fuller work to see.

On a Sheepherd that died for Love.

1.

CLoris, now thou art fled away, Aminta's Sheep are gone astray, And all the joyes he took to see His pretty Lambs run after thee. Shee's gone, shee's gone, and he alway, Sings nothing now but welladay.

2.

His Oaten pipe that in thy praise, Was wont to play such roundelayes, Is thrown away, and not a Swaine Dares pipe or sing within this Plaine. 'Tis death for any now to say One word to him, but welladay.

3.

The May-pole where thy little feet So roundly did in measure meet, Is broken down, and no content Came near Amintas since you went. All that ere I heard him say, Was Cloris, Cloris, welladay.

4.

Upon those banks you us'd to tread, He ever since hath laid his head, And whisper'd there such pining wo, That not one blade of grasse will grow. Oh Cloris, Cloris, come away, And hear Aminta's welladay.

5.

The embroyder'd scrip he us'd to weare Neglected hangs, so does his haire. His Crook is broke, Dog pining lyes, And he himself nought doth but cryes, Oh Cloris, Cloris, come away, And hear, &c.

6.

His gray coat, and his slops of green, When worn by him, were comely seen, His tar-box too is thrown away, There's no delight neer him must stay, But cries, oh Cloris come away, Aminta's dying, welladay.

The Shepheards lamentation for the losse of his Love.

1.

DOwn lay the Shepheards Swain, So sober and demure, Wishing for his wench again, So bonny and so pure. With his head on hillock low, And his armes on kembow; And all for the losse of her Hy nonny nonny no.

2.

His teares fell as thin, As water from a Still, His haire upon his chin, Grew like tyme upon a hill: His cherry cheeks were pale as snow, Testifying his mickle woe; And all was for the loss of her hy nonny nonny no.

3.

Sweet she was, as fond of love, As ever fettred Swaine; Never such a bonny one Shall I enjoy again. Set ten thousand on a row, Ile forbid that any show Ever the like of her, hy nonny nonny no.

4.

Fac'd she was of Filbard hew, And bosom'd like a Swanne: Back't she was of bended yew, And wasted by a span. Haire she had as black as Crow, From the head unto the toe, Down down all over, hy nonny nonny no.

5.

With her Mantle tuckt up high, She foddered her Flocke, So buckesome and alluringly, Her knee upheld her smock; So nimbly did she use to goe, So smooth she danc'd on tip-toe, That all men were fond of her, hy nonny nonny no.

6.

She simpred like a Holy-day, And smiled like a Spring, She pratled like a Popinjay, And like a Swallow sing. She tript it like a barren Doe, And strutted like a Gar-crowe: Which made me so fond of her, hy, &c.

7.

To trip it on the merry Down, To dance the lively Hay, To wrastle for a green Gown, In heat of all the day, Never would she say me no. Yet me thought she had though Never enough of her, hy, &c.

8.

But gone she is the blithest Lasse That ever trod on Plain. What ever hath betided her, Blame not the Shepheard Swain. For why, she was her own foe, And gave her selfe the overthrowe, By being too franke of her hy nonny nonny no.

A Ballad on Queen Elizabeth;

to the tune of Sallengers round.

I Tell you all both great and small, And I tell you it truely, That we have a very great cause, Both to lament and crie, Oh fie, oh fie, oh fie, oh fie, Oh fie on cruell death; For he hath taken away from us Our Queen Elizabeth.

He might have taken other folk, That better might have been mist, And let our gratious Queen alone, That lov'd not a Popish Priest. She rul'd this Land alone of her self, And was beholding to no man. She bare the waight of all affaires, And yet she was but a woman.

A woman said I? nay that is more Nor any man can tell, So chaste she was, so pure she was, That no man knew it well.

For whilst that she liv'd till cruel death Exposed her to all. Wherefore I say lament, lament, Lament both great and small.

She never did any wicked thing, Might make her conscience prick her, And scorn'd for to submit her self to him That calls himself Christs Vicker: But rather chose couragiously To fight under Christs Banner, Gainst Turk and Pope, I and King of Spain, And all that durst withstand her.

She was as Chaste and Beautifull, And Faire as ere was any; And had from forain Countreys sent Her Suters very many. Though Mounsieur came himself from France, A purpose for to woe her, Yet still she liv'd and dy'd a Maid, Doe what they could unto her.

And if that I had Argus eyes, They were too few to weep, For our sweet Queen Elizabeth, Who now doth lye asleep: A sleep I say she now doth lye, Untill the day of Doome: But then shall awake unto the disgrace Of the proud Pope of Rome.

A Ballad on King James;

to the tune of When Arthur first in Court began.

WHen James in Scotland first began, And there was crowned King, He was not much more then a span, All in his clouts swadling.

But when he waxed into yeares, And grew to be somewhat tall, And told his Lords, a Parliament He purposed to call.

That's over▪ much quoth Douglas though, For thee to doe I feare, For I am Lord Protector yet, And will be one halfe yeare.

It pleaseth me well, quoth the King, What thou hast said to me, But since thou standest on such tearmes, Ile prove as strict to thee.

And well he rul'd and well he curb'd Both Douglas and the rest; Till Heaven with better Fortune and Power, Had him to England blest.

Then into England straight he came As fast as he was able, Where he made many a Carpet Knight, Though none of the Round Table.

And when he entered Barwicke Town, Where all in peace he found: But when that roaring Megge went off, His Grace was like to swound.

Then up to London straight he came, Where he made no long stay, But soon returned back again, To meet his Queen by th' way.

And when they met, such tilting was, The like was never seen; The Lords at each others did run, And neer a tilt between.

Their Horses backs were under them, And that was no great wonder, The wonder was to see them run, And break no Staves in sunder.

They ran full swift and coucht their Speares, O ho quoth the Ladies then,

They run for shew, quoth the people though, And not to hurt the men.

They smote full hard at Barriers too, You might have heard the sound, As farre as any man can goe, When both his legges are bound.

Ʋpon the death of a Chandler.

THe Chandler grew neer his end, Pale Death would not stand his friend; But tooke it in soul snuff, As having tarryed long enough: Yet left this not to be forgotten, Death and the Chandler could not cotton.

1.

FArre in the Forrest of Arden, There dwelt a Knight hight Cassimen, As bold as Isenbras: Fell he was and eager bent In battaile and in Turnament, As was the good Sr. Topas.

2.

He had (as Antique stories tell) A daughter cleped Dowsabell, A Maiden faire and free, Who, cause she was her fathers heire, Full well she was y-tought the leire Of mickle courtesie.

3.

The Silke well could she twist and twine, And make the fine Marchpine, And with the needle work. And she could help the Priest to say His Mattins on a Holy-day, And sing a Psalme in Kirk.

4.

Her Frocke was of the frolique Green, (Mought well become a Mayden Queen) Which seemely was to see: Her Hood to it was neat and fine, In colour like the Columbine, y-wrought full ••eatuously.

5.

This Maiden in a morne betime, Went forth when May was in her prime, To get sweet Scettuall, The Hony suckle, the Horelock, The Lilly, and the Ladies-Smock, To dight her summer Hall.

6.

And as she romed here, and there, Y-picking of the bloomed brier, She chanced to espie A Shepheard sitting on a bank, Like Chanticleere he crowed crank, And pip'd with merry glee.

7.

He leerd his Sheep as he him list, When he would whistle in his fist, To feed about him round,

Whilst he full many a Caroll sung, That all the fields, and meadowes rung, And made the woods resound.

8.

In favour this same Shepheard Swaine Was like the Bedlam Tamerlaine, That kept proud Kings in awe. But meek he was as meek mought be, Yea like the gentle Abell, he Whom his lewd brother slew.

9.

This Shepheard ware a freeze-gray Cloake, The which was of the finest locke, That could be cut with Sheere: His Aule and Lingell in a Thong, His Tar-box by a broad belt hung, His Cap of Minivere.

10.

His Mittens were of Bausons skin, His Cockers were of Cordowin, His Breech of country blew: All curle, and crisped were his Locks, His brow more white then Albion Rocks: So like a Lover true.

11.

And piping he did spend the day, As merry as a Popinjay, Which lik'd faire Dowsabell, That wod she ought, or wod she nought, The Shepheard would not from her thought, In love she longing fell:

12.

With that she tucked up her Frock, (White as the Lilly was her Smock,) And drew the Shepheard nigh, But then the Shepheard pip'd a good, That all his Sheep for sook their food, To heare his melody.

13.

Thy Sheep (quoth she) cannot be lean, That have so faire a Shepheard Swain, That can his Pipe so well: I but (quoth he) the Shepheard may, If Piping thus he pine away, For love of Dowsabell.

14.

Of love (fond boy) take thou no keep, Look well (quoth she) unto thy Sheep; Lest they should chance to stray.

So had I done (quoth he) full well, Had I not seen faire Dowsabell, Come forth to gather May.

15.

I cannot stay (quoth she) till night, And leave my Summer Hall undight, And all for love of men. Yet are you, quoth he, too unkind, If in your heart you cannot find, To love us now and then.

16.

And I will be to thee as kind, As Collin was to Rosalinde, Of courtesie the flower. And I will be as true (quoth she) As ever Lover yet mought be, Unto her Paramour.

17.

With that the Maiden bent her knee, Down by the Shepheard kneeled she, And sweetly she him kist. But then the Shepheard whoop'd for joy, (Quoth he) was never Shepheards boy, That ever was so blist.

Ʋpon the Scots being beaten at Muscleborough field.

ON the twelfth day of December, In the fourth year of King Edwards reign Two mighty Hosts (as I remember) At Muscleborough did pitch on a Plain. For a down, down, derry derry down, Hey down a. Down, down, down a down derry.

All night our English men they lodged there, So did the Scots both stout and stubborn, But well-away was all their cheere, For we have served them in their own turn.

For a downe, &c.

All night they carded for our English mens Coats, (They fished before their Nets were spun)

A white for Six-pence, a red for two Groats; Wisdome would have stayd till they had been won.

For a down, &c.

On the tewelfth day all in the morn, They made a fere as if they would fight; But many a proud Scot that day was down born, And many a rank Coward was put to his flight.

For a down, &c.

And the Lord Huntley, we hadden him there, With him he brought ten thousand men: But God be thanked, we gave him such a Banquet, He carryed but few of them home agen.

For a down, &c.

For when he heard our great Guns crack, Then did his heart fall untill his hose, He threw down his Weapons, he turned his back, He ran so fast that he fell on his nose.

For a down, &c.

We beat them back till Edenbrough, (There's men alive can witnesse this)

But when we lookt our English men through, Two hundred good fellowes we did not misse.

For a down, &c.

Now God preserve Edward our King, With his two Nuncles and Nobles all, And send us Heaven at our ending: For we have given Scots a lusty fall. For a down, down, derry derry down, Hey, Down a down down, down a down derry.

Lipps and Eyes.

IN Celia a question did arise, Which were more beautifull her Lippes or Eyes. We, said the Eyes, send forth those pointed darts, Which pierce the hardest Adamantine hearts. From us, (reply'd the Lipps) proceed the blisses Which Lovers reape by kind words and sweet kisses. Then wept the Eyes, and from their Springs (did powre Of liquid Orientall Pearle a showre: Whereat the Lippes mov'd with delight and pleasure, Through a sweet smile unlockt their pearly And bad Love judge, whether did adde more grace, Treasure: Weeping or smiling Pearles in Celia's face.

On black Eyes.

BLacke Eyes; in your dark Orbs doe lye, My ill or happy destiny, If with cleer looks you me behold, You give me Mines and Mounts of Gold; If you dart forth disdainfull rayes, To your own dy, you turn my dayes. Black Eyes, in your dark Orbes by changes dwell, My bane or blisse, my Paradise or Hell.

That Lamp which all the Starres doth blind, Yeelds to your lustre in some kind, Though you do weare, to make you bright, No other dresse but that of night: He glitters only in the day. You in the dark your Beames display.

Black Eyes, &c.

The cunning Theif, that lurkes for prize, At some dark corner watching lyes; So that heart-robbing God doth stand In the dark Lobbies, Shaft in hand,

To rifle me of what I hold More pretious farre then Indian Gold.

Black Eyes, &c.

Oh powerful Negromantick Eyes, Who in your circles strictly pries, Will find that Cupid with his dart, In you doth practice the blacke Art: And by th' Inchantment I'me poslest, Tryes his conclusion in my brest.

Black Eyes, &c.

Look on me though in frowning wise, Some kind of frowns become black eyes, As pointed Diamonds being set, Cast greater lustre out of Jet. Those pieces we esteem most rare, Which in night shadowes postur'd are. Darknesse in Churches congregates the sight, Devotion strayes in glaring light. Black Eyes, in your dark Orbs by changes dwell, My bane, or blisse, my Paradise, or Hell.

CRVELTY.

WE read of Kings, and Gods that kindly took A Pitcher fill'd with water from the Brook. But I have dayly tendred without thanks, Rivers of tears that overflow their banks. A slaughtred Bull will appease angry Jove, A Horse the Sun, a Lamb the God of Love. But she disdains the spotlesse sacrifice Of a pure heart that at her Altar lyes: Vesta's not displeas'd if her chaste Urn Doe with repaired fuell ever burn; But my Saint frowns, though to her honoured name I consecrate a never dying flame: Th' Assyrian King did none ith' furnace throw, But those that to his Image did not bow: With bended knees I dayly worship her, Yet she consumes her own Idolater. Of such a Goddesse no times leave record, That burnt the Temple where she was ador'd.

A Sonnet.

WHat ill luck had I, filly Maid that I am, To be ty'd to a lasting vow; Or ere to be laid by the side of a man, That woo'd, and cannot tell how; Down didle down, down didle me. Oh that I had a Clown that he might down didle me, With a courage to take mine down.

What punishment is that man worthy to have, That thus will presume to wedde, He deserves to be layd alive in his grave, That woo'd and cannot in bed; Down didle down down didle me. Oh that I had a Lad that he might down didle me, For I feare I shall run mad▪

The Doctors Touchstone.

I Never did hold, all that glisters is Gold, Unlesse by the Touch it be try'd; Nor ever could find, that it was a true signe, To judge a man by the outside. A poor flash of wit, for a time may be fit To wrangle a question in Schools. Good dressing, gay cloathes, with other fine shews, May serve to make painted fools.

That man will beguile, in your face that will smile, And court you with Cap and with knee: And while you're in health, or swimming in wealth, Will vow that your Servant hee'l be. That man Ile commend, and would have to my friend If I could tell where to choose him, That wil help me at need, and stand me in stead, When I have occasion to use him.

doe not him fear, that wil swagger & sweare, And draw upon every cross word, And forth with again if you be rough & plain, Be contented to put up his sword.

Him valiant I deem, that patient can seem, And fights not in every place, But on good occasion, without seeking evasion Durst look his proud Foe in the face.

That Physitian shal pass that is all for his glass And no other sign can scan, Who to practice did hop, from Apothecaries shop, Or some old Physitians man. He Physick shal give to me whilst I live, That hath more strings to his Bow, Experience and learning, with due deserving, And will talk on no more then he know.

That Lawyer I hate, that wil wrangle & prate, In a matter not worth the hearing: And if fees do not come, can be silent & dumb, Though the cause deserves but the clearing. That Lawyer's for me, that's not all for his see, But will do his utmost endeavour To stand for the right, and tug against might, And lift the truth as with a Leaver.

The Spark I do scorn, that's only well born, And brags of his antient house, Yet his birth cannot fit, with money nor wit, But feeds on his friends like a Louse, That man I more prize, that by vertue doth rise Unto some worthy degree,

That by breeding hath got, what by birth he (had not, A carriage that's noble and free.

I care not for him, that in riches d th swimme, And flants it in every fashion, That brags of his Grounds and prates of his Hounds, And his businesse is all recreation. For him I will stand, that hath wit with his Land, And will sweat for his Countreys good, That wil stick to the Laws, and in a good cause Will adventure to spend his heart-blood.

That man I despise, that thinks himself wise, Because he can talk at Table, And at a rich feast break forth a poor jest, To the laughter of others more able. No, he hath more wit, that silent can sit, Yet knowes well enough how to do it, That speaks with reason, & laughs in due seasō And when he is mov'd unto it.

I care not a fly, for a house that's built high, And yeelds not a cup of good beer, Where scraps you may find, while Venison's in kind For a week or two in a yeare. He a better house keeps, that every night sleeps Under a Covert of thatch, Where's good Beef from the Stall, and a fire in the Hall, Where you need not to scramble nor snatch.

Then lend me your Touch, for dissembling (there's much, Ile try them before I do trust. For a base needy Slave, in shew may be brave, And a sliding Companion seem just. The man that's down right, in heart & in sight, Whose life and whose looks doth agree, That speaks what he thinks, and sleeps when (he winks, O that's a companion for me.

A copy of Verses of a mony Marriage.

1.

NO Gypsie nor no Blackamore, No Bloomesbery, nor Turnbald whore, Can halse so black, so foule appeare, As she I chose to be my Deare. She's wrinkled, old, she's dry, she's tough, Yet money makes her faire enough.

2.

Nature's hand shaking did dispose, Her cheeks faire red unto her nose, Which shined like that wanton light, Misguideth wanderers in the night. Yet for all this I do not care, Though she be foul, her money's faire.

3.

Her tangled Locks do show to sight, Like Horses manes, whom haggs affright. Her Bosome through her vaile of Lawne, Shews more like Pork, her Neck like Brawn. Yet for all this I do not care, Though she be foul, her money's faire.

4.

Her teeth, to boast the Barbers fame, Hang all up in his wooden frame. Her lips are hairy, like the skin Upon her browes, as lank as thin. Yet for all this I do not care, Though she be foul, her money's faire.

5.

Those that her company do keep, Are rough hoarse coughs, to break my sleep. The Palsie, Gout, and Plurisie, And I••iue in her legge and thigh. Yet me it grieves not, who am sure That Gold can all diseases cure.

6.

Then young men do not jeere my lot, That beauty left, and money got: For I have all things having Gold, And beauty too, since beautie's sold. For Gold by day shall please my sight, When all her faults lye hid at night.

The basenesse of Whores.

TRust no more, a wanton Whore, If thou lov'st health and freedom, They are so base, in every place, It's pity that bread should feed 'um. All their fence, is impudence, Which some call good conditions. Stink they do, above ground too, Of Chirurgions and Physitians.

If you are nice, they have their spice, On which they'le chew to flout you, And if you not discern the plot, You have no Nose about you. Furthermore, they have in store, For which I deadly hate 'um, Persumed geare, to stuffe each eare, And for their cheeks Pomatum.

Liquorish Sluts, they feast their guts, At Chuffs cost, like Princes, Amber Plumes, and Mackarumes, And costly candy'd Quinces. Potato plump, supports the Rump, Eringo strengthens nature. Viper Wine, so heats the chine, They'le gender with a Satyr,

Names they own were never known Throughout their generation, Noblemen are kind to them, At least by approbation: Many dote on one gay Coat, But mark what there is stampt on't, A stone Horse wild, with toole defil'd, Two Goats, a Lyon rampant.

Truth to say, Paint and Array, Makes them so highly prized. Yet not one well, of ten can tell, If ever they were baptized. And if not, then tis a blot, Past cure of Spunge or Laver: And we may sans question say The Divel was their God-father.

Now to leave them, he receive them, Whom they most confide in, Whom that is, aske Tib or Sis, Or any whom next you ride in▪ If in sooth, she speaks the truth, She sayes excuse I pray you, The beast you ride, where I confide, Will in due time convey you.

A Lover disclosing his love to his Mistris.

LEt not sweet St. let not these eyes offend you, Nor yet the message, that these lines impart, The message my unfeined love doth send you, Love that your self hath planted in my heart.

For being charm'd by the bewitching art Of those inveigling graces that attend you: Love's holy fire kindled hath in part These never-dying flames, my breast doth send you.

Now if my lines offend, let love be blam'd, And if my love displease, accuse my eyes, And if mine eyes sin, their sins cause only lyes On your bright eyes, that hath my heart in∣flam'd.

Since eyes love, lines erre, then by your directi∣on, Excuse my eyes, my lines, and my affection.

The contented Prisoner his praise of Sack.

HOw happy's that Prisoner That conquers his fates, With silence, and ne're On bad fortune complaines, But carelessely playes With his Keyes on the Grates, And makes a sweet consort With them and his chayns. He drowns care with Sack, When his thoughts are opprest, And makes his heart float, Like a Cork in his Breast.

The Chorus.

Then,

Since we are all slaves, That Ilanders be, And our Land's a large prison, Inclos'd with the Sea: Wee'l drink up the Ocean, To set our selves free, For man is the World's Epitome.

Let Pirates weare Purple, Deep dy'd in the blood Of those they have slain, The Scepter to sway. If our conscience be cleere, And our title be good, With the rags we have on us, We are richer then they. We drink down at night, What we beg or can borrow, And sleep without plotting For more the next morrow.

Since we, &c.

Let the Usurer watch Ore his bags and his house,

To keep that from Robbers, He hath rackt from his debtors, Each midnight cries Theeves, At the noyse of a mouse, Then see that his Trunks Be fast bound in their Fetters. When once he's grown rich enough For a State plot, Buff in an hower plunders What threescore years got.

Since we, &c.

Come Drawer fill each man A peck of Canary, This Brimmer shall bid All our senses good-night. When old Aristotle Was frolick and merry, By the juice of the Grape, He turn'd Stsgarite. Copernicus once In a drunken fit found, By the coruse of his brains, That the world turn'd round.

Since we, &c.

'Tis Sack makes our faces Like Comets to shine, And gives beauty beyond The Complexion mask, Diogenes fell so In love with this Wine, That when 'twas all out, He dwelt in the Cask. He liv'd by the sent Of this Wainscoated Room; And dying desir'd The Tub for his Tombe.

Since we, &c.

Of DESIRE.

FIre, Fire! O how I burn in my desire. For all the teares that I can strain Out of my empty love-sick brain, Cannot asswage my scorching pain. Come Humber, Trent, and silver Thames, The dread Ocean haste with all thy streames, And if thou can'st not quench my fire, Then drown both me and my Desire.

Fire, Fire! Oh there's no hell to my desire. See how the Rivers backward lye, The Ocean doth his tide deny, For feare my flames should drink them drye. Come heav'nly showers, come pouring down, You all that once the world did drown. You then sav'd some, and now save all, Which else would burn, and with me fall.

Ʋpon kinde and true Love.

'TIs not how witty, nor how free, Nor yet how beautifull she be, But how much kinde and true to me. Freedome and Wit none can confine, And Beauty like the Sun doth shine, But kinde and true are onely mine.

Let others with attention sit, To listen, and admire her wit, That is a rock where Ile not split, Let others dote upon her eyes▪ And burn their hearts for sacrifice, Beauty's a calm where danger lyes.

But Kinde and True have been long try'd, And harbour where we may confide, And safely there at anchor ride. From change of winds there we are free, And need not fear Storme's tyrannie, Nor Pirat, though a Prince he be.

Ʋpon his Constant Mistresse.

SHe's not the fairest of her name, But yet she conquers more than all the race, For she hath other motives to inflame, Besides a lovely face. There's Wit and Constancy, And Charms, that strikes the soule more than (the Eye. 'Tis no easie lover knowes how to discover Such Divinity.

And yet she is an easie book, Written in plain language for the meaner wit, A stately garb, and a gracious look, With all things justly fit. But age will undermine This glorious out-side, that appeares so fine, When the common Lover Shrinks and gives her over, Then she's onely mine.

To the Platonick that applies His clear addresses onely to the mind; The body but a Temple signifies, Wherein the Saints inshrin'd, To him it is all one, Whether the walls be marble, or rough stone; Nay in holy places, which old time defaces, More devotion's shown.

The Ghost-Song.

'TIs late and cold, stir up the fire, Sit close, and draw the table nigher, Be merry, and drink wine that's old, A hearty medicine 'gainst the cold; Your bed of wanton down the best, Where you may tumble to your rest: I could well wish you wenches too, But I am dead, and cannot do. Call for the best, the house will ring, Sack, White and Claret, let them bring, And drink apace, whilst breath you have, You'l finde but cold drinking in the grave: Partridge, Plover for your dinner, And a Capon for the sinner, You shall finde ready when you are up, And your horse shall have his sup. Welcome, welcome, shall flie round, And I shall smile, though under ground.

You that delight in Trulls and Minions, Come buy my four ropes of St. Omers Onions.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  haut goast.