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Poems by Matthew Stevenson

Stevenson, Matthew (fl. 1654-1685)

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Mathew Stevenson

To my Ingenious Friend, Mr. Matthew Stevenson on His Excellent Poems.

To my Friend V. O. on his reading to me several Queint Poems of Mr. Stevenson's.

To my Ingenious Friend the Author.

To my Ingenious Friend the Author.

A PANEGYRICK UPON The Right Honourable EDWARD Lord Marquess of WORCESTER,

A Complement of a Gentleman in his Ale to a Lady of Quality.

Upon a Vintner that draws the Gentry better Wine upon Trust, than his daily Guests, the Dyers, for ready mony.

The Fair Prisoner.

York-shire Ale.

Upon a Great Gamester that slights his Wife and keeps a Wench, and at Play lost his Brothers Cloak, who was bound for the Indies.

L. B. To his Mistris E. R. to whom he sent half a dozen pair of Gloves, which She sent back again, and after would have had them, and he would not send them.

To His Sweet-Heart Mistris Mary, A Papist.

Upon the Fair Mistris Elizabeth White, Her Pocket pickt in Pye-Corner of twenty shillings, and a Key wrapt up in a piece of Holland.

From York to my Forgetful Friends in Lombard-Street.

Upon Mrs. Bell forfeiting her Faith to Her first Love, and Marrying another.

Upon two Cambridge Scholars at a baudy-House.

The Master to His Scholars, barring him out at Christmas.

An Answer to a Song call'd Fair Archybella to whose eyes, &c.

Upon a Girle, would be his Wife, 'cause She had been his Wench.

The Sheep to his Shrew.

Upon a Pye lin'd with a couple of Geese, and Norfolk Lincks, after long expecting sent by the Carts.

Upon one (Twine) Drawn, hang'd and quarter'd for Printing Treason.

Upon Norwich Gallowes set in the Town-close and the first there Executed was one Clarke.

Upon a Young Tradesman carrying News to a Knight, his Wife was brought to Bed of a Boy, bad him acquaint the Parish.

The Nameless Bride.

I. G. to Will a Footman, his Rival.

Phylis Funeral.

Love-sick Lucilla to her unkind Shepheard

To Charola the Coy.

Abstemia to Her importunate Lover.

P. T. Of the Old Exchange to the Right Honourable, the Countess of Dorset, promising him her Kinswoman in Marriage.

A Drunken Porter reeling into the Ring to wrastle with a Taylor.

To my strange Rival engrossing both his own Mistris, and mine too.

The Middle Sister.

To my Rival presenting my Mistris Gold, upon her Journey.

In Commendation of York-shire Ale.

Upon the Shooemakers offering a Pair of Shooes for an Answer.

A Stripling to his Lady who lookt upon him as too young.

Love, blind, or not Blind?

A Gentleman to a Lady that told him he lookt asquint upon her.

An Elegy upon Sir Henry Wright Baronet, who dyed Feb. 5. 1663.

Upon a Gentleman drown'd, and lost in the River Wharfe in Yorkshire.

Upon a Lady at York dying in Child-Birth.

Epitaph upon Mr. Robert Dey Apothecary.

Epitaph upon a Weaver.

Upon one Mr. Lee, desiring some Friends of his to steal a Westphalia Ham, and giving them Sack to it.

Upon a City Captain in Eutopia, arresting a Book-seller for beating him.

As plain dealing, being the Ladies Answer.

Upon a long, long'd for Friend contingently met in an Inn, who lay all night next Chamber to me, and I never knew it till next morning.

The Scotch Covenant Army first coming into England.

King CHARLES the First.

The High and Mighty Monarch CHARLES the Second.

Upon George Satchell, presenting his Master Kid instead of Fawn.

Upon a Gentleman presenting His Mistris a young Cypress Cat.

To Captain John Clarke, upon his Activity in suppressing the Phanaticks.

CAPTAIN JOHN CLARKE.

Upon forty shillings refus'd for a Nightingal that dyed next day.

To the foul and false.

To the Fair and Faithful.

Upon a Friend calling me out in a frosty Morning to take a walk to Holloway before day.

Upon a Gentlewoman providing a second Husband whilst her first was alive.

The Vizor Mask.

Upon a Mad Parson playing at Tables for Tobacco, and carried to the Compter.

Upon a Leicester-shire Parson in his Pulpit inveighing against Citizens, particularly one Gentleman present in the Church, and Suitor to a Gentlemans Daughter of the Parish, warning the Maids Parents to take heed, for Citizens come in fine Cloaths, which, 'tis like they never paid for.

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Epitaph upon a Weaver.

Here lyes a Weaver, whom that Turk,
And Tyrant Death turn'd out of Work.

115

Poor fellow, he is gone, what though?
He's out of bonds, would I were so.
Alas he sold Chamelion ware,
By which he sav'd scarce ought but air.
Gone, quoth he! pray, how should he stay?
Such gain will drive us all away.
Well, 'twas a sad and suddain change,
And yet to me 'tis nothing strange.
For tradings dead, and Wares will give
No price at all, how could he live?