A Nights Search Discovering the Nature and Condition of Night-Walkers with their associats. Digested into a Poem by Hum. Mill |
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To his very good friend, Mr. Humphry Mill, on his Poem called the Nights Search.
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 | A Nights Search |  |
To his very good friend, Mr. Humphry Mill, on his Poem called the Nights Search.
Me
thinks, I heare the Punks and Panders say,
There is a Nights Search coming, let's away:
'Tis time, I see, there's not a fault hath slipt
Away by thee, but has been soundly whipt;
Some burnt i'th' hand, i'th' shoulders, elswhere some;
There's not a drunkard, filthy quean, or scum,
That's left unpunisht; nay, it may be said,
Thou hast a wit that makes the world afraid.
Men dare not kisse a wench, nor she the men,
For feare of thy two-edg'd Satyrick pen.
Go on (brave sir) to punish thus the crimes
Of these abusive and adulterous times,
That th' age to come may say there was a Mill,
That scowr'd the world from such abortive ill.
There is a Nights Search coming, let's away:
'Tis time, I see, there's not a fault hath slipt
Away by thee, but has been soundly whipt;
Some burnt i'th' hand, i'th' shoulders, elswhere some;
There's not a drunkard, filthy quean, or scum,
That's left unpunisht; nay, it may be said,
Thou hast a wit that makes the world afraid.
Men dare not kisse a wench, nor she the men,
For feare of thy two-edg'd Satyrick pen.
Go on (brave sir) to punish thus the crimes
Of these abusive and adulterous times,
That th' age to come may say there was a Mill,
That scowr'd the world from such abortive ill.
Put down your clubs, ye Constables that catch
The leather-winged bats; and you the Watch,
Go stumble home, what needs a rusty bill,
A Welch-hooke, or a halbert? here's a Mill,
That apprehends more Panders, Punks & knaves,
Than all the Beadles with their painted staves:
For this his Nights Search is a piece of worke,
That may, for ought we know, convert the Turke:
'Tis pitty then it should empaled lie,
Within the narrow verge of Britanie:
No, it shall ride in state on Neptunes back,
To th' Court of Amurath and Prester Jack.
Who knowes what vertues in't? perhaps his lines
May make them turne away their Concubines.
Grinde on brave Mill, thou art for all their frauds
The great Shrove-tuesdy to the whores & bawds.
The leather-winged bats; and you the Watch,
Go stumble home, what needs a rusty bill,
A Welch-hooke, or a halbert? here's a Mill,
Than all the Beadles with their painted staves:
For this his Nights Search is a piece of worke,
That may, for ought we know, convert the Turke:
'Tis pitty then it should empaled lie,
Within the narrow verge of Britanie:
No, it shall ride in state on Neptunes back,
To th' Court of Amurath and Prester Jack.
Who knowes what vertues in't? perhaps his lines
May make them turne away their Concubines.
Grinde on brave Mill, thou art for all their frauds
The great Shrove-tuesdy to the whores & bawds.
Robert Chamberlain.
| A Nights Search | |