The Second part of The Nights Search :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Second part of The Nights Search

Discovering The Condition of the various Fowles of Night. Or, The second great Mystery of Iniquity exactly revealed: With the Projects of these Times. In a Poem, By Humphrey Mill

Mill, Humphrey

[section]

[dedication]

[All those that would these lines digest]

To the degenerate Nobility, and new found Gentry.

To all Judges, Justices, Church-Wardens, Constables, &c.

To the Fowles of Night.

To his friend Mr. H. Mill, upon his Discoveries of Night.

To his ingenious friend Mr. Mill, upon his loftie Discoveries of Night.

To his industrious and quick-sighted friend, Mr. Humphrey Mill, upon his Night-search.

To his worthy friend Mr. Mill, upon his excellent Poem of the Night-Birds.

THE Second Part of the Nights Search, discovering the conditions of the various Fowles of Night.

II.

III.

IV.

SECT. V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

10.

11.

12.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XV.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

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SECT. V.

Imps feasting those that hide their shame,
What they had, from whence it came:
Their figures drawne. A Searchers doubt,
What wayes to find these sinners out,
And spoyle their nests. Hell is reveal'd;
Vpon what tearmes the Devill seal'd.
The Witch deni'd. The hatefull Frie
Turn'd to a dreadfull 'Natomie.

Night bribes the greedy Clowds, whose Buckrom skin
Tan'd black with envie, drawes thick darknesse in;
Flatters the subtill vapours from the earth,
T'assist the goddesse, travelling in birth,
With various changings of the last edition,
Which must be cover'd close: no repetition
Of her conception, she conceales her breed
For black designes; pray Officers take heed:
Morpheus resignes his keyes, and she hath prest
The world to silence, who must keep a feast

For men of qualitie: the Jaylors first
Shew kindnesse to their Brats, when no man durst.

The Bridewell Beadle's next if any slip,

The guests.

They'll twist it soft, and oker o're the whip,
To make a signe for shew, but save their skin:
They're welcome here; then Marshals men come in;
For passing by the doores they are invited:
The common watch-men, when they are benighted,
Conduct them to their lodgings, and will hide
Faults, persons, places; if they be espide,
The Beadle winks at all: and they must be
Their middle guests to this societie.

Two Supervisors, Justice ------ his Clark
Came blundring, found it, though it was so dark:
To do them service he will be their page.
The others over-see them, and the cage
Diverted from a Bug-beare, they passe by,
With carelesse looks, and a disdainfull eye.

At last the Hang-man came, (being verie late)
And prov'd himselfe an Officer of State;
'Cause he can help'em to a falling band
That is in fashion, turne them of his hand
With gentlenesse, he's entertain'd in love,
He sits below, that us'd to ride above.

The place where they did feast, I'm loth to name;
Seeing I disclose, and they conceale their shame,

The place.

Ile note, 'twas neere Long-Acre, in a place,
In which Hells fearfull She shall reap disgrace:
If with her Imps she haunt it in the day,
Where Sodom and Gomorrha (as they say)

Receive a second being, where in fell
The tragick part, the second Scene of Hell:

Now all the guests are come, and for their fare,
Those that are frinds to darknesse, do prepare
Their dishes severall: for the love they found
From them at severall times, their chear shall now abound,

The Bill of Fare.

A Letter pard'ning sweet offence,
With halfe a thousand Peter-pence,
As tickets from Queenes street,

A Court-like dish of divers things,
Larks, Puets, Teile, a Germane brings
From a child of the Kitchin,

A Lady knowne to divers Peeres,
I dare not name her for mine eares,
Sent a Venison Pastie.

Black Jenkin brought from turne-taile Mogs,
Two Pheasants rosted full of eggs,
With a charger of sweet meats.

A Mutton-pastie full of plums,
A rosted pig, with sauce, which comes
From the old Cherrie-garden.

A Leg of Mutton, and a Hen,
Well drest, for halfe a dozen men;
From Parkers Lane.

Two necks of Mutton, neatly boyl'd,
The meat was good, the broth was spoyl'd,
From the Cole-yard.

A Loyne of Mutton of the best,
Two Rabbets which did grace the feast,
From the new Cherrie-garden.

A Loyne of Veale, a curious Hare,
Two Pippin-ples, which was the fare,
From Pickadella and So-ho.

A hanch of Venson verie fat,
(And when they saw't, they smil'd at that)
From Mistresse Peele.

A brace of Woodcocks, and a flight
Of Partridges, all caught since night,
From Mistresse Gray and Mistresse Hill.

Dame Agur shew'd she loves her trade,
Who sent two Custards ready made,
With a pottle of Sack.

Moll Cut-purse sent, with Ambergreece,
Two fooles made sweet, worth Crownes apeece,
With a Monkey to make'em sport.

They had a Turkie rosted browne,
'Tis thought it cost at least a Crowne,
From Nine-penny Moll.

Dame Lopas sent the Brewers Clark,
(Who lost his way it was so dark)
With a Pigeon-pie.

From mother Gardner was convay'd
To them, two Pullets never laid,
With a gallon of Claret.

Pimp Major brought from everie jade,
That was in stock, and kept her trade,
Six pence at least for wine.

Who knowes what that lascivious Imp,
Which swore Saint George into a Pimp,
Might send in his Sedan.

To shew what Gammer Welch did send,
Or Goody Grigs, I should not end,
Till I had tir'd my Muse.

What Giles's, Martins in the fields,
What Black-mans street, or Kent street yeelds,
Would be tedious to relate.

For ev'rie one within the Line,
Which sent in money, meat, or wine,
Cannot be nam'd.

The Beadle tun'd his pipes, and rais'd his throat,
He hath a mind to sing, his straggling note

Is now reduc'd; but had his necke been strung,
H'had plai'd a fit or two, but never sung.

The Song.

VVhat candid sweetnesse is exprest,
From hearts, by love, made free?
Pans Tribe had never such a feast,
Nor such rewards as we.
The bounty of the winged God
Is in his subjects showne,
Blind follie! make for those a rod
Who traffique with their owne?

Jove, crowne with pleasures and content
With freedom, and successe,
Those pollisht treasures nature meant
Her off-spring should possesse.

Doth any Swaine enjoy a field
Which may not sow the ground,
And reap the fruit which it doth yeeld
With pleasures that abound?
The Spring bestowes her Maiden-head
Where natures fine is paid,
Whose babes had been but hunger-fed
Had Ceres dy'd a maid.

Jove crowne, &c.

We'll honour still the free-borne race,
VVhose minds to merits move:

Winke at, help, free all those with grace
And praise the Queen of Love.
To please young gallants is no crime,
Or put new life to age,
We'll clap a perriwig on time,
And he shall be their page.

Jove crowne with pleasures, &c.

Love muzzells envy, puts a bit
Into the mouths of them,
Whose beards hang downe for signes of wit
Yet prize not Cupids jem.
Let Supervisors search the aire,
And Paper-scare-crowes flye,
To vent their spleen into dispaire,
Till malice bleake and dye.

Jove crowne &c.

We'l travell dry-shod through the deep
And cool through fierie flames,
Our braines in Helicon we'll steep,
To blaze their honour'd names.
Let Pegasus their Sumptures beare,
Parnassus traine attend
Their joyes alive, and Trophies weare
To grace them to their end.

Jove crowne, &c.

When they with wounds of love shall dye,
Fame shall their vertues crowne,

And ev'rie star that's in the skie,
Shall weare a mourning gowne:
The Sun a sable riding suit,
The Moone a Tabbie vaile,
The world (with Cypresse hung) be mute,
Grim death, go under baile.

Jove crowne, &c.

The birds which visit shadie groves,
In silence'droop the wing;
Save Philomel which sorrow moves
Their Elegies to sing.
The painfull Silk-wormes Master-peece
(Perfum'd) shall make them shrouds:
For balme wee'll rob the pride of Greece,
Cut Seare-cloth from the clouds.

Jove crowne, &c.

With roses, pinks, and gilly-flowers,
Adorne their monefull Herse;
Teares turn'd to pearles, with honey showers,
Compos'd with stately verse;
To measure out Apollo's height,
Which strong-breath'd loftie lines,
Shall sacrifice the Muses right,
To consecrate their shrines.

Jove crowne with pleasure and content,
With freedome and successe,
The pollisht treasures Nature meant,
Her off-spring should possesse.

They're verie joviall drinking healths about
To all their benefactors. E're the rout
Did fall in pieces, thus the clarke did wish,
On that my Master had but such a dish!
He loves it deerly, think it is not lost,
His curtesies will countervaile the cost.

But Squire Dicke perceivd, to whom the slip
Belong'd by right, did hardly feel the whip.
And that his plice was wrong'd, which by descent
Did fall to him, took pet, away he went;

To shew their humours (to prevent the harms
They use their names as vizards do their charmes)
Is needlesse here, but all this dunghill breed
Look like the excrements, on which they feed.
A maistive litter! which at carion plucks,
And like the witches, which the Devil sucks;

Dunghill breed.

They live on sins (as Parrators did use)
And strip truth naked, to maintaine their stewes.

I turn'd, and did a powerfull man espie,
And he began to search as well as I;

Another Searcher.

With whom I had discourse: he askt me how
These things might be redrest? said I, alow
Wise men, but leave to search suspected places
With Warrants; by their habits, and their faces,
With carriage, course of life, will soon bewray
(First try a smooth, and then a rugger way)
Their guiltinesse. One's poor, being over-awde,
Plundred of all, a Cozen to the bawde
Another proves her self: a souldiers wife,

How to finde'm.

The third will be, and she is now in strife

To get his pay: the fourth is in debt;
She lives in private, for the Hounds are set
To smell her out. Another can produce
Letters, to shew her portion's out at use,
And cannot get it in; her mother's laine
To send her meanes, which by her notes is plaine:
But written by the Pimp still, once a week.

The last, of all, her answers are to seek,
And shee'll confesse the vilenesse of this trash,
So you will save her from the Beadles lash:

Send out to seize'em, as they walk the street,
They'll call familiar names, you smiling greet,
With Coze, How d'ye Sir? What's a clock? Good night:
Oh, Countrey-man! what newes? and you invite
To drink a cup: put them within (for state)
One of the Bridewells, or the Counter gate.

The houses you may know, by little cans,
And Pimping pots, from any honest mans.
Where, they sell drink, or of their neighbours bought,
Of everie penny they will make a groat.

Their times of meeting's after candle-light,
You'll find them in their filthy nests by night,
With their foule Traine; trie, finding bad their cause,
Do justice quickly; bribes will blind the Lawes:
Shame partiall Knaves: do (trusting faithfull men)
More in a yeare than has been done in ten.

This pleas'd him well; he'ld use his power and skill,
To honour true men, chase away the ill.

And parting thus, a Rogue, that bought his wife,
Being kin to great men, they might save his life,

And make him Sessions proofe, appear'd before.

When he was past, there was behind a doore

Conference with the Devill.

The Devill booted, in his hand a switch,
Who with a Bawd, a Strumpet, and a Witch,
Held conference; the first, as it appeares,
Demands a lease of one and thirtie yeares,
To live at ease, with mirth (as she hath seen)
But his Commission grants but seventeen
Vpon a rotten soule. The second must
Have fortie five to satiate her lust,
And dwell with pleasures; and the Fiend must be
Engag'd to keep her from the Gallow-tree,
And whipping posts: 'cause her bewitching tongue
Must bring him custome, being faire and young;
He seales for thirtie, giving her a jeere,
I never us'd to buy a soule so deare.

Then spoke the Witch, to have her lease renew'd,
'Most out of date; which when the Devill view'd,
He laughing said, I will renew thy roule,
If thou canst pawne me but thy daughters soule;
For this is mine. Do'st take me for thy slave?
Lend time on that, which shortly I must have!
Feare made her quake. He (to resolve the doubt)
Will keep her warme when her Indenture's out.

As strangers, flatter'd with deceitfull snow,
Fall in a deadly pit; they do not know,

Morall.

That ruine waits upon them. Like the Asse,
Vpon bare quarter to and fro doth passe,
Laden with spices, gold, and precious stones,
Fowles teare his flesh, and dogs do gnaw his bones.

When they die, slaine, diseased, weak, or old,
They cannot bribe these vermin with their gold.

So Hell-hounds, peece-meale, vexeth everie part,
Which suck their bloud; the Vulture eats the heart.
Their feet make creepers, to support the brand,
Their legs in flames, like hand-irons do stand:
Their bellies fill'd with horrours, and for racks,
To hang their bowels on, they use their backs:
They drie their livers, and they broyle their lungs;
Slicing their Armes, their hands they use like tongs,
To stir the burning coales: in sulph'rie smoke,
Their heads must hang, with which the throat must choke:
The veines and sinnewes shrink; the ribs must lie
Like gridirons, on which their soules must frie:
Their spirits dye alive, they have their skin
Tann'd brimstone proofe, to keep their torments in
Th' ad better been unborne, than thus misled,
To be in Hell anatomiz'd when they'are dead.