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Wit A Sporting In a pleasant Grove Of New Fancies

By H. B. [i.e. Henry Bold]
Bold, Henry (1627-1683)

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THE AUTHOR, TO THE READER.
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A Pleasant Grove of new Fancies.
 
On a Lillie in his Ladies hand.
 
His Choyce.
 
To his Mistress when she was going into the Country.
 
To his Mistress on her scorne.
 
The Question and Anwser.
 
To his Worthy friend and Mistress.
 
To his Mistress.
 
Anagramme.
 
Fooles Paradise, or Reason Bewitcht.
 
Loves Apostacy to his friend Mr. E. D.
 
The broken-heart-song.
 
Women are mens shadows.
 
Women are not mens shadows.
 
To himself of his Mistris.
 
To his Superlative Mistris.
 
Of one Mary Frail, who lay with Mr. Reason.
 
The new Petition.
 
The Widdow Bride.
 
The true, and happy state of Love.
 
An Elegiack Sonnet.
 
A Complaint of his seperation from his Mistris, caused by his friends injunction
 
A trick for your Learning.
 
The Usurer.
 
To a Detractor.
 
To the Slanderer.
 
That he is love sick and cannot write Verses.
 
The bag of the Bee.
 
To his Mistris.
 
His Protestation to his Mistris.
 
Upon Love.
 
To his Mistris.
 
On himself.
 
To the Virgins to make much of time.
 
Upon Cupid.
 
Upon her Brests.
 
Upon himself.
 
Draw-Gloves.
 
To the Rose.
 
How Violets came blew.
 
Counsel not to love.
 
On the Willow-tree.
 
To his Mistris to command him any thing.
 
A Hymne to Venus.
 
The good night to the Bride
 
The Willow-Garland.
 
To a Teltale.
 
To Baull, the Cryer.
 
On deaf Joan, the Ale-wife.
 
To Zounds the Swaggerer
 
To the same.
 
To his Mistris.
 
On Love.
 
To his Mistris.
 
The Fairies.
 
Cherry-Pit.
 
To Robbin Redbrest.
 
His Vision to his Mistris.
 
Charon and Philomel,
 
To his Mistris.
 
To his Mistris, on the Day-break.
 
Stool-ball.
 
The May-pole.
 
To his Mistris.
 
Charmes.
 
Another.
 
Another, to bring in the Witch.
 
Another Charm for Stables.
 
Upon Cupid.
 
A Vow to Venus.
 
Charms.
 
Another.
 
Another.
 
St. Distaffs day, or the morrow after Twelf-day.
 
On Poets.
 
Of Warr.
 
On Josephs Cloke.
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DREAMS.

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68

To Robbin Redbrest.

When I'me led out for dead, let thy last kindness be
With leaves and moss-work for to cover me:
And while the wood-nimphs my cold corps inter,
Sing thou my Dirge sweet warbling Chorister,
For Epitaph in foliage next write this,
Here, here the tomb of William Redley is.
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