Merry drollery, or A Collection of [brace] jovial poems, merry songs, witty drolleries intermix'd with pleasant catches. The first part / collected by W.N., C.B., R.S., J.G., lovers of wit.

The Wedding.

I'LL tell thee Dick where I have been, Where I the rarest things have seen, O things beyond compare! Such sights as these cannot be found In any part of English ground, Be it at Wake or Faire.

At Charing-Cross, hard by the way Where we, thou know'st, did sell out hay, There is a house with staires•• Where I did see then coming down Such folk as are not in the Town, Forty at least in paires.

One of them was pestilent fine, His beard no bigger though than mine, Walk'd on before the rest: Our Landlord look'd 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 there been taken out By all the Maids of the 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 all his wooing, The Parson for him staid; But by your leave, for all your haste, He did not wish so much all past, Perchance, as did the Maid.

The Maid, and thereby lies a tale, For such a Maid no Whitson-Ale Could ever yet produce; No Grape, that's kindly ripe, can be So round, so plump, so soft as she, Nor half so full of juyce.

Her fingers were so small, the ring Would not stay on which they did bring, It was too wide a peck; And to say truth, for out it must, It lookt like a 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 O 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 fair a white was on, As none darst make comparison, Who sees them is undon; For streaks of red were mingled there, Such as are on a Catharine Pear That side that's next the Sun.

Her mouth so small, when she doth speak, Thou'dst swear her teeth her words do break That they might passage get: But O she handles so the matter, They come as good as ours, or better, And are not spoyl'd one whit.

Her lips so red, and one so thin, Compar'd to that was next her chin, Some Bee had stung it newly; But Dick, her eyes so grac'd her face I durst no more upon her gaze Than on the Sun in July.

If wishing had been any sin The Parsons self had guilty been, She look'd that day so purely; And did the Youth so oft the feat At night, as some did in conceit, It would have spoyl'd him surely.

Passion, oh me how I run on, There's that that would be thought upon, I trow, beside the Bride: The business of the Kitchin 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 March't boldly up like our Train-band, Presented, and away.

Now Hats fly off, and Youths carrouse, Healths first go round, and then the house, The Brides came thick and thick; And when 'twas nam'd another health, Perhaps he made it hers by stealth, And who could help it Dick!

O'th' sudden, up they rise and dance, Then sit again, and sigh and glance, Then dance again and kiss: Thus several waies the time did pass, While every woman wish'd her place, And every man wish'd his.

By this time all were stollen aside To counsel and undress the Bride, But that he must not know; But it was thought he guess'd her mind, And did not mean to stay behind Above an houre or so.

When in he came, Dick, there she lay, Like new-faln snow, melting away, 'Twas time, I trow, to part; Kisses were now the only stay, Which soon she gave, as who would say, God b'wy with all my heart.

But just as heavens would have, to cross it, In came the Bridmaids with the posset, The Bridegroome eat in spight: For had he left the women 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, who can tell? But I beleeve it was no more Than thou and I have done before With Bridget and with Nel.