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 |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XV. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
 | SECT. XXVI. The Second part of The Nights Search |  |
My muse, scarce treats with any one that fights.
For Princely crimes, nor of the new-made Knights
Nor where their lands do lye, that should maintain
Their worships titles, or what number slain,
To feed conceit; nor where they sell, or when:
Nor those ignoble ones that came agen,
When riding paund their trust, nor of the curst
Humors of such, whom bloud must quench their thirst.
For Princely crimes, nor of the new-made Knights
Nor where their lands do lye, that should maintain
Their worships titles, or what number slain,
To feed conceit; nor where they sell, or when:
Nor those ignoble ones that came agen,
When riding paund their trust, nor of the curst
Humors of such, whom bloud must quench their thirst.
Not how our brave Commanders in the West,
Have gain'd eternall fame; how they are blest
From heaven with successe: but if I may
Make truce with time, I'le view their acts by day:
Nor hath she ransack't in the Cavies den;
Nor touch't the Excize, nor Grand Committee men,
Nor of those flattering rimes, that can declare
A coward valiant, knaves beyond compare,
Nor of the false imprisoning of the just,
Nor what in traytors hands are left in trust,
Nor of the torments which the Laws indure,
How those make wounds, that should apply the cure.
Have gain'd eternall fame; how they are blest
From heaven with successe: but if I may
Make truce with time, I'le view their acts by day:
Nor hath she ransack't in the Cavies den;
Nor touch't the Excize, nor Grand Committee men,
Nor of those flattering rimes, that can declare
A coward valiant, knaves beyond compare,
Nor of the false imprisoning of the just,
Nor what in traytors hands are left in trust,
161
How those make wounds, that should apply the cure.
But chides with begger buff, and charms the pride
Of Major plund'rer; all that do divide
The spoils of mem, bawds, panders, whores, and pimps,
Thieves, Witches, sherks, the Devil and his Imps:
Gulls, letchers, jaylors, beadles, bribing Clerks,
Buffoons, base upstarts, drunkards, swagg'ring sparks,
That parle with lust, and for the Devill fight,
Make articles with hell, all found last night,
Now laid in view: the fowls were hard to find,
More hard to take; yet bats, you know, are blind.
Of Major plund'rer; all that do divide
The spoils of mem, bawds, panders, whores, and pimps,
Thieves, Witches, sherks, the Devil and his Imps:
Gulls, letchers, jaylors, beadles, bribing Clerks,
Buffoons, base upstarts, drunkards, swagg'ring sparks,
That parle with lust, and for the Devill fight,
Make articles with hell, all found last night,
Now laid in view: the fowls were hard to find,
More hard to take; yet bats, you know, are blind.
But, here's a swash, drain'd from this dropsie age,
Who keeps his punk, attyred like a Page.
His second [rich] was husband to a Whore;
He's but her cosin now, 'cause he's grown poore:
A Bridewell strumpet [salt] being mov'd with ire,
Tom ran away with all her whorish hire,
Coms with them, railing, in whose hands I spie
My charge drawn up, to which I must reply,
Partly ingrost by them; the rest doth speak
From better minds, though ignorant and weak.
Who keeps his punk, attyred like a Page.
His second [rich] was husband to a Whore;
He's but her cosin now, 'cause he's grown poore:
A Bridewell strumpet [salt] being mov'd with ire,
Tom ran away with all her whorish hire,
Coms with them, railing, in whose hands I spie
My charge drawn up, to which I must reply,
Partly ingrost by them; the rest doth speak
From better minds, though ignorant and weak.
What! malice sold in print? revenge is set
To seize delight, to make us die in debt.
Our sweet's o're-charg'd with envy: if we die,
We'll wage the bill, and never will comply.
Yet he may do us favour, to renew
And teach our art, which many never knew.
To seize delight, to make us die in debt.
Our sweet's o're-charg'd with envy: if we die,
We'll wage the bill, and never will comply.
Yet he may do us favour, to renew
And teach our art, which many never knew.
His practice taught his art, for which he gives
To charge from sense, so Clavill peacht the thieves.
He hath been bit, which makes his courage cool,
Boyes payes for wit, when they are whipt at school
Can he court truth, doth heaven judge stewes fit
To teach men reason, modesty and wit?
To charge from sense, so Clavill peacht the thieves.
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Boyes payes for wit, when they are whipt at school
Can he court truth, doth heaven judge stewes fit
To teach men reason, modesty and wit?
| SECT. XXVI. The Second part of The Nights Search | |