University of Virginia Library

To the Author my very loving Cos. Mr. M. Stevenson.

Cos. I confesse, and thou knowst I am one
That never yet had tast of Helicon.
Yet those loose ares that I did lately glean
From the full Harvest of thy fruitfull pen,
I here returne thee; knowing the so kinde
Thou wilt my love: and not my language minde.
Trust mee Cos. this course paper I designe
Not as a grace, but soyle to set off thine.
For I am certaine theres no eare so terse
But will be ravisht with thy smoother verse.
But hold, I must thy just applause refraine
For that, Part of my bloud runn's in thy veyne.
Yet they will pardon this poore God a mercie,
That note how many Poems point at

To the inimitable Poet, My honourd friend, The AUTHOR.

But must I pen thy prayse my noble friend
That were a task would never have an end.
Ide have thy golden Poems writ in Gold
Thy names great title in fames list enrold.
Virgill no more shall Prince of Poets be
But thou; Hee's but a petty Prince to thee.
Ile to the grove where freshest Laureats grow
And plat a wreath my self to crown thy brow.

To my Ingenious friend, the AUTHOR

And must I adde my mite Deare Stevenson,
I know thou wilt accept it, well? tis done.
Faith I can't tell while I thy lines read ore
Whether I love thee! Or admire the more.
Thy books not fraught with tales of Robin hood,
But lofty fancy, By the Lord tis good:
Thy sweet-lippt Muse most ample test doth give,
Of high events, and I say let her Live.

To my most esteemed friend, The AUTHOR.

Tell me no more of Withers wilde abuses
Thy book a thousand times more wit produces.
Withers shall wither, whilst thy bayes are seen
Like Daphnes Chapplet of immortall green:

To his very good friend The AUTHOR.

I have perus'd thy book in which I finde
The perfect portrait of thy noble minde.
I must confesse I once was one of those
Did both suspect thy poesie, and prose.
But having read thee too, as well as it
I am thy wittnesse, t'was thine owne pure witt.
And therefore shall even for thy sake alone
Conclud, Minerva weares a colour'd gowne.

In Honorem Authoris.

Not that I think that thy Aonian wine
Has any need of this poore bush of mine.
But that in some small measure yet I might
Exrpess the love I owe thee, I must writ
And prayse thy fluent fancy that atteines
To that with ease, which others can't with pains
Many of these thy Poems did I see
Drop from thy ready pen Ex tempore.
And fitly cal'd Occasions ofspring wast
For the το νυν of time flew not more fast:
Did the conceit come even twixt Cup and Lip.
It was thine owne occasion could not slip
Whence Ime convinc'd that poetri's a spirit,
Which except heaven infuse none can inherit.

A young Gentleman to his Lady, who lookt upon him as too immature.

MADAM,

I love you, should I not do so,
I were an Anchorite and my Breast like Snow:
Yes I do love, and humbly here commence
Affection ushererd in with Reverence.
Deigne but your-lilly hand, No bold desire
Shall wing up my ambition any higher.
Nay if that be too much, let me descry
My rudeness chastiz'd in your scornfull eye.
I must confess these early years of mine
May look on, but not love Women nor Wine:
Not love sayd I? who can but love a face
So winning unless of Deucalions race?
Yet while I love and in my breast enshrine yee
It don't to pitty, but contempt incline yee.
Nature will lend my lip a cloak, And than
I may profess, I want not zeal, though man:
My statures small, And Cupid cannot find
Me yet; Shrubs loose th' advantage of the wind:
Yet should I love thus young, I might produce
Such presidents would warrant my excuse;
And yours too, Sapho sum'd up all her joy
In the embrace of a Cicilian boy
The Queen of Greece lov'd Theseus but a Lad,
And Cytharea her Adonis had.
Nay, Love himself that God, is but a Child,
Shall I then be for want of years exil'd?
Yea I have heard fair Damsels say, In truth
Of all that love, give me the Smooth-chin'd Youth.
True I am young, and thence I dare approve
My non-acquaintance with the slights of love.
You are that wounded me the first and all:
Blame me not then that come at the first call.

To Amabunda.

But dost beleive in faith that I
Lov'd thee? faith thou beleiv'st a lye.
Extinguish therefore thy desire
Ere it becomes unruly fire,
For thy flames work but the same way
With mee as the hot Sun on clay.
No thou must take thy heeles, and flee,
If thou wouldst have mee follow thee.

An Answer to the Song call'd faire Archybella to whose eyes. &c.

My dearest,

The Answer to Well-well tis true, &c.

The Virgin Canticle to Gerrard.

The Choice.

Tis not thy rubie Lips; nor Rosie Cheeks,
In which my heart a full contentment seekes
Tis not the treasure of thy golden tresses,
That makes me rich, or challenge my Caresses
Nor yet thy light-dispersing eyes though they,
Be the true Phosphors of the breaking day,
Should I serve beauties obvious to the eye
Pigmaleons statue then would see the vye.
And I might well (if I should cease to range,)
Advantage my affection at the change.
But I have suited at a nobler rate,
Then to court paint; Beauties inanimate,
In summe there's nothing out-sides can impart,
Hath power to make a conquest on my heart.
But J love you, whose beauty still I find
But index to the beauty of your mind.
You are the Pearl that highest value win,
Being faire without, and cordiall within.

To my Coy and Captious Mistress.

Ile court my shade no more, but flee
From it, and make it follow me:
Nor shall the losty Cedar bough
To the base Bramble, tis too low.
Ile kneel no more t'ungrateful Thistles,
Nor listen to each Bird that whistles:
I have forgot you, and to day
I did make Ortes of better Hay.
I lov'd thee once, but now my scorne
Shall triumph over thee forlorne:
Ile wrap my front up in disdain,
Nor shalt thou it uncloud again,
No, though one careless smile would save
Thy cast-of carkass from the grave:
Thy tears, and prayers and looking wan
VVere but to wash an Indian.
Nay, wert thou fair as thou art not,
Thou shouldst not move my breast one jot:
Nor would I love thee one half hour,
Though both the Indies were thy Dower:
Though all the Saints should bless thy face,
Thou get'st not henceforth one embrace:
I hate thine eyes, and rather would
A Basilisk should me behold.

A longing Lady to her long-staying Lover.

Tvvice twenty times hath Titan run his course
From th' orientall, to the VVestern sourse:
Since last I saw you can one parting kiss
Sustain me such an age of night as this:
How I am rackt in thy unkind delay?
Come my sweet Phosphor, come and bring the day.
Sorrow and solitude in this small space
Have figur'd age on my Hermetick face.
Go happy Paper be my Mercury,
And having kist his hand bring it to me.
That I may be thy Rivall; tell him I
Must see him soon, or in despair I dye.
And if he come not; I shall plainly see
He's out of town, or out of love with me.

A forsaken Lady to her Apostate.

But are those flashes fled? those flames quite gon
Into the ashes of oblivion?
VVhere are those Vows, those Heaven-attested oaths,
Seal'd on my lips the pledges of our troaths?
What all amort, all banisht in a trice,
All our embraces a fools Paradice?
Then farewell faith, and friend, next time I find
My self affective Ile embrace the wind.

A mock song to O stay by mee—

The Furies Answer.

Be content Sir, we are sent Sir
Not to trouble you,
But to sport with and consort with
Our own cuttaild crew.
Let nothing then skear you, for weel not come near you
But down to our own black cell,
for in hell,
VVe confesse wee do dwell.

A Gentleman to his Mistress that told him he lookt asquint upon her.

To Franke.

For my part, mee thou couldst not please,
Though thou couldst sh--- mee ninepences.
Nor couldst thou move in mee delight,
Shouldst thou afford mee every night
A fresh & sportfull maidenhead
Their signes should not pollute my bed,
And yet I may chance loath my life
Come then and thou shalt bee my wife.
However for your offer Frankey
I were to blame should I not thank yee,
But let mee perish in thy Curse
If ever offer lik't mee worse.
Thou gav'st thy selfe to mee; and
Give thee back to thy self Godbye

An Epithal.

On. Mr. B. C. his Nuptialls.

To my lillie white Leda in Commendation of a pale face.

The Postscript,

To the precedent Poem.

But stay my whiteing, though I took thy part,
'Twas not to shew thy beauty, but my art.
My conscience tells mee Red & white best pleases,
VVhite not set off with Red portends diseases:
But Poets pro, and con, salute and slight:
Tell yee the Dove is black, And the Crow white,
I could have writ as much, and given a grace
As ample, to the Calfe with the white face.
Thus have I made thee faire and fowle; so truely
Starch be it nere so white, comes of but blewly.

To Mr. R. D.

SIR,

Your safe returne unto mine eares being come
I could no less then bid you welcome home.
At present I have nothing worth your view,
Only my white fac'd Leda, but shee's new
And fresh attir'd, If I have drest hir right:
Say but the word, And I have hit the White:

Militat omnis amans, & habet sua Castra Cupîdo.

LOVE hath his tents & lovers souldiers are
Prest out to serve in an intestine VVarr,
Cupid become a Leader now I finde,
The proverb, verified, The blind leads the blinde.

To my honoured friend.

A Gentleman that in a frollick would needs barb mee.

To William Kemp.

Saturday last faith Will you sent mee Sack
By Bacchus scarce was worth the sending back
Be now a trusty soule, and, send me White.
Or Renish, which you will but let't be right
Feel out some cell where Phœbus cannot come
I know Will will send good if VVill b'at home

A Gentleman surprized with the sight of a Lady unknowne to him, betroathed to another.

Unhappy happinesse, peircing pleasing sate
By too good fortune made infortunate,
My blest, and blasted eyes made mee at once
My self an Emperour, and a slave pronounce.
What strange affections on my spirit ceaze?
Whereof the cure is worse then disease.
VVhat hevenly fire is this, torments & joyes mee
VVhich if I blow consumes; if quench destroyes mee?
Take here O take this love-slaine heart of mine
This victim fallne on your victorious shrine,
Only let love since to your pile I come
Honour my sacriffice with martyrdome.
And tis enough, Since I cant overcome yee.
Ile kille the stroakes my fates allot mee from yee
Yet on my urne should you one glance contrive
My ashes with the Phenix might revive,
If not a smile, O yet let pitty lend mee
A sigh, that may to the next world commend mee
Where my then happier eyes may have the grace
Freely to feast on your Seraphick face.

To my Cozen Coy.

To my pale Pippin

Her cheeks are like her blind cheeks pale
And wan, Her lipps are lick her taile,
Her piteous looks may happily move
Compassion in mee; never love.
Shall I bow down; or kneel to that
That seems to mee inanimate?
So while I to my suite addict her,
I pray with Papists to a Picture,
Doe yee not see how meager death,
Seems through hir Organs to steal breath
And Succubus ha's from the dust
Rear'd her to satiate his lust
Tell mee pale Phebe dont you climbe
Old walls to banquet on the lime?
I know you love such festivalls
Your white-washt cheeks resemble walls.
Say mother pitous, doe you not
For Oatmeal? rob the Porrige-pot
Run you not into privat holes
To break your fast with salt and Coales
I might a thousand knacks repeat,
VVhat could I name but you would eat
In shame whereof your bloud refraines
Your cheeks, And lurks within your veines,
Vntill it bee subpæna'd thence,
By your flagitious conscience.
Nor are you lillie like, but sallow
And sapie-contenanc'd like tallow,
For when your dropping nose you handle,
You seeme to mee to snuffe a candle.
And they that keepe you reape disgrace,
Whilst men read famine on your face.
Natures, besiegd, And all your pores
Obstructed block up her recourse
Whilst in dispaire of life you burne,
For a good husband, or goode turne..
There must bee vent, Tis to noe boot
To talke, you must or dye, or doet.
And should, wee but a while delay you,
You'd cry harke harke for life wee pray you.
You can no such improvement feel
In allume possets or crude steele.
You know your selfe theres nothing can,
Be so aperitive as man.
Who in the sweetest sence is said,
To cure you of your maiden head.
Which should you but a while retaine,
A pessarie would come in vaine.
What neede men care then for such wives,
As Marry but to save their lives?
He must as much (that weddeth thee)
Thy doctor; As thy husband be.
Noe, Ile to Bacchus where being come,
The first attendant shewes a rome.
The next prersents a glanceing lasse,
Like Venus in a venice glasse.
With that I knock, & as some sp'rite
I conjur up pure red and white.
My circles a round table. And
In midst thereof does Hymen stand
With a light tapour. when I call,
To celebrate my nuptiall.
Here doe I a french madam place
And there a sweet-lipt spanish lasse
Here all in white a lady dances.
And there in red an other glances.
And least mine eyes want fresh delight,
Here sets Claretta red & whit.
Nor doe I complement I trow,
But tell them plaine 'tis so and so,
Thy struggle not nor are they coy
But I may what I will enjoy.
No there's no coyle made for a kisse,
Though melting melting, melting blisse.
No shifting from the freindly cup
But I may freely all take up.
And in each face if I so please,
Ile court myne owne effigies.
VVho would not then on this stage act Narcisus,
VVhere lively lipps so sweetly say come kisse us?

Mrs. E. G. To hir false and faithlesse servant.

To the faire Mrs E. R.

MADAM.

Y'are lovely faire, and but I know,
You are not proud, I would not tell you so.
For my part I commend your sweet complexion.
Nither for hope of favour, nor affection.
Only since I have litle else to doe,
I prayse the most prayse worthy, And tis you:
Here's no hard words but in plaine english thus,
Y'eare handsme, yonge, rich, vertuous.
VVhat can be wisht for more? where nature places
A heaven of beauty in a heaven of graces.
But if you be as free as you are faire
All's nothing, and you are not what you are.

Da dextram miseræ & tecum me tolle per vndas.

Phillis, Charon.

Ph.
A Boat, a Boat Charom, come set me over.

Ch.
VVho calls hells fatall ferriman?

Ph.
A Lover.

Ch.
And thou shalt stay the longer for't I vow,

Ph.
Youle not be so unmercifull I trow.

Ch.
Left handed luck light on yee every houre
Ime troubl'd to transport such brands as you are.

Ph.
Ney good sweet Charon, come

Ch.
Yes sweet on still,
VVhen I have nothing else to do, I will.

Ph.
VVhat?

Ch.
Grease my Boat, and patch my shattered sailes
And set me down and rest mee;

Ph.
Jove what ayle,
This froward patch? come prethee to the stath
I am a stranger, come put off thy wrath.

Ch.
Hence Cupids brands,

Ph.
Not so.

Ch.
Ile come no nigher:

Ph:
VVhy?

Ca.
For youl set my pitchy Boat on fire,
I fry already with transporting flames
Such as have almost drank up al my streams

Ph.
Canst thou feare that and see these fresh supplies.
So streaming from the Conduits of mine Eyes?

Ch.
VVell well,

Ph.
Nay more if Charon shall think good
These Armes as Oares shall wave the stigian flood,
This wast thy Mast: And this dishevell'd haire,
Ile into Cables twist;

Ch.
VVell you speak faire.

Ph.
Come then;

Ch.
I am at hand, but ere thy foot Boord mee,
How cam'st thou here timely or not?

Ph.
VVhat makes that to my speed? Come wast me over,
And talke of that anon.

Ch.
Nay soft, discover
Or thou art at thy furthest; Trust no trix
Nor falsities, But sweare by sacred Stix,
VVhich even the gods call not to lyes,
VVithout the forfeit of their deityes,
And loss of Nectar for a hundred years.
Speak, Phs VVhat is Phillis faultie here appeares.

Ch.
Thou canst not pass.

Ph.
The gods forbid O smother
That breath, This death is worse then th' other;
I past last night, That I implunged in
For love, and must I dye again for sin?
Is it decreed?

Ch.
It is, and signed by fate.

Ph.
Ile supplicate the Gods then.

Ch.
Tis too late.

Ph.
Hard hap, but sawst thou not my Demophon

Ch.
I did.

Ph.
VVhere;

Ch.
Hee is to Elysium gone.

Ph.
And I left here O Charon prethee either
VVast mee to him, or fetch him hither.

Ch.
Neither?

Ph.
Shall he live happy?

Ch.
Yes.

Ph.
Then let me come
For hee knowes I am his Elysium.

Ch.
Thou canst not wretch:

Ph.
Noe? whether shall I then
Betake my selfe?

Ch.
To yond fowle foggy fen,

Ph.
And what when there?

Ch.
Still tide it to and fro,
In deep despaire as those self murtherers doe,
Seest thou these Troops like Autumnes leavy spoile,
VVhat self bemoaning, what unpittied coyle
They keep? But I sterne Charon have no eares
To heare their plaints; no eyes to see their teares.

Ph.
Have I contemned life, neglected Thrace
And my imperiall scepter for this place?

Ch.
Blame thine own Rashnes to anticipate,
The supreame act of Adamantine fate.

Ph.
Has thou no pitty left for Queens.

Ch.
No, now
The basest beggar is as great as thou.

Ph.
O give me yet a draft of Lethe, that
I may forget the tyranny of fate.

Ca.
It cannot be allow'd alas thy woes
Begin but now

Ph.
VVhen end they then?

Ch.
God knowes.

Ph.
Pitty sweet Charon, pitty for his sake,
VVhose innocence must of my greifs pertake
For hee and I long since agreed upon
This, Hee should Phillis be, I Demophon
Our faithfull lipps were pledges of this twine
Hee giving his heart, I returning mine.
Tis I have sin'd, And must hee beare the blow.
Tis not my heart, but his that suffers now,
O either yeild then to my just desire,
Or let mee suffer in my selfe entire,
But if't may be, Celestiall pitty move,
To spare us both, and lay the fault on Love.

Ch.
Weell love shall blind the Gods & pittie shal
For once the faire quene be presidentiall.
Or if the Gods will not commiserate,
Ile steale thee over stix in spite of fate

Miserum me fuisse fælicem!

To Mr. H. C.

Had Palynurus, never stear'd so farre,
As India, where the earthes choyce treasures are.
His wooden Castle. might have split in sunder,
And nere arrived at a nine dayes wonder:
Had Bellisarrus, and I, never seene,
The faithlesse face of change's changefull queene'
And to so loftie hopes had no admission,
How blest had wee bene in our low condition?
Had Athenais not Eudoxia bene,
T'had bene no wound to be throwne downe agen;
Had I nere sene you (fairest) then my breast,
Had still bene calmie in its haven of rest.
What th' eye nere sees, the heart nere grieves? had I
Nere drank at all, then had I nere bene dry.
I saw you but, and the wing archers bow,
Drawn by the attractives of your eyes peirc'd through.
My heart, so did hee from those eyes procure,
His bolt, his bowstringe, and his cynosure.
Unlucky luck, with joy and woe it fills mee,
Tarantula like, it makes mee laugh, and kills mee.
Tis thou hast wounded mee, and I must meet
My cure in thee, O my sweet, bitter-sweet.

A. B. To an Irish Gentlewoman that slighted him.

What time my bloud shall boyle so in my Ueines
As I shall need a cooler for my reynes,
Ile call on Jo. fairer far then you are
Shall ease me of my Cod-peice Calenture;
But if a Priapisme put me hard upon't
Ile keep a Cow: And not an Jrish Ront.

To my noble Cosen Mr. R. C. coming in mourning to be merry with his friends.

And why in black? what means this nights array
Since J am frolick as the day?
Why comest thou thus in mourning to thy friend,
As if to minde him of his end?
In such sad weeds the unwellcome Raven come
To croak out our determinated doomes:
Shake of these mystie foggs, that wee may know,
How much wee to thy visit owe.
Come not as thou hid'st treason in thy shrowd,
But lend the sweltring Sun thy cloud.
So shall hee set him downe and slumber, while
Thou cher'st us with thy smile;
How ill contrived is that companie
VVhere one does laugh, another cry?
This man is cloathed in whit, that blew, thou black
Even just like Jeffery, Iames and Iack.
VVhat will the world conclude when they see thee
In this sleabitten liverie?
Wee laugh, you lowre, wee singe, your serious state.
Seemes to affect the marbles fate,
This discord is unmusicall come, come,
Vncase unmask, and let each roome.
Thou glidest through, so radiant appeare,
As if the orbe of light moved there:
Breake out bright Soule, & give our wonder birth
At the Meridian of thy mirth.
Trust mee t'were good and rare, but I see plaine,
Thou bring'st old fashions up againe;
Thy presence was a banquet and thou didst,
Present a deaths head in the midst.
So all thy courtesie ru'ns upon cruches,
Like him, makes a good feast, and grutches:
But, prethee, shall I this a visit call?
Suer thou cam'st to my funerall;
Or i'st because thy clothes gainst surfets be,
mementoes of mortalitye?
Dost come to laugh, And set good chear to wrack,
And yet bring Lent upon thy back?
Nere fear good Cos. Heres nothing needs,
Such overmonitory weeds;
Wee have not to presnt you, what is rare
Only y'are wellcome to our country; fare;
Good powderd beefe, good mutton and good sherrie,
And so, and so, I pray be merry,
With which accept our hearts; wee could extend
no more, should a'll the Gods descend.
And if this paper find acceptance too,
That's more sir then I promis'd you.
But I had rather be abrupt then tedious,
And therefore thus, and only thus,
You come in mourning, but when you returne,
You may leave of, but we must mourne.

A gratus ades To my highly honoured cozen Mr B. C. Comming to Norwich.

And art thou come boone Ben? then Norwich say,
Thankes (noble Phosphor) for this wisht for day
Then wellcome, wellcome, be they ever dumb:
That say not now wellcome B. C. wellcome:
Had I bene mute from birth, I now had broke,
All tounge tyes, and with dumb borne Atis spoke;
As Jove came downe the trifle to discusse,
T'wixt frogs and mice; so camst thou downe to us;
Both from above: though, here some difference lyes;
Hee came from heave'ns, thou from earth's paradise.
Yee both desend, being both divinely bright,
To dazle our inferiour Orb with light:
The country swaines' cause they alas could spell
No higher title, call thee Collenell;
Some wiser though then others, reaping come,
Thinke thou art Ceres, and resound their horne.
Devoutly beg thy largesse, and out vye,
The thunder with the ecch'o of their cry.
But when thou camest in at Stephens gate,
Thou gav'st our city cause enough of prate;
O how the people hurry, hurry ran,
To gaze upon thee as lf more then man!
What heards of Aproners at every looke?
Read on thy robes Norfolks illustrous Duke?
Weavers, like shutles, here, and there peep out,
And make no workon't for the revell rout.
Who finding how in vaine they strive for roome,
Each in a sustian furrey to his loome.
Returnes, And armed with his well try'd beame,
Levels his passage through th' oposing stream;
You'd laugh to see, how Taylours skipt about,
As mad as dogs to see themselues cut out.
VVishing theire needles had no eyes so they,
(Poore theeves) might see their bellyfull to day.
The that her from the top oth' house, seing all,
Capers as if hee car'd not for a fall;
But tis too tedious to recite the rest,
They that were part oth Crowd can tell you best.
O how they shrunk into each others arme!
T'was a great mercy, that there was no harme:
Their bodyes twin'd, and tounges lay never still,
As if the rout had bene a twistring mill.
In deede the Mayor, and all the skarlet Donnes,
The bells too, and the thunder thumping Gunnes.
Had bene your entertainment; but of late,
Tis superstition and growne out of date,
Nor had I thought t'haue writte, but your advance.
Constraind mee, Orpheus. playes, & trees must dance
I am created post by my Theame,
Like Memnon's statute by Apollos,. beame.

To the worshipfull A. D. his Majesties Physitian Crossing the Seas.

Accept his sad farewell, Sir, who here sings,
As dying Swans do at Meanders springs;
Farewell, Stop there; O how the surges rise,
Into a brynie spring-tide from mine eyes?
As if yet hope were left that these salt flowes
Might lend you Sea room, or else drown my woes:
And least you want wherewith to fill your saile,
My sighes swell up themselves into a gale;
If still be-calm'd, may you at least yet finde,
The proverb true in this, my Words, are Winde.
Meane time I shall to Æolus repaire,
That he would breath you winde enough and faire;
And then, to him commands the wavye Court,
To chyde the Dolphins from their ominous sport;
Next ile entreat the azure-mantled skies,
To let their smiles, be your faire auguries;
And may your thankfull patients, beg of heaven
Health for you, Sir, who health to them have given
If among us to rearrive you please,
VVeel say, Phœbus comes from th' Antipodes.
If your return though, be deny'd by fate;
Live Nestors years in Avicenna's state.
And Æsculapius-like confirme the Earth
With faith, that you are of immortall birth;
This boon I beg, Sir, and this only one,
Now, and then, think on your poor Stevenson.

To the City of CRACOVIA.

Not out of Love, but fear of following evills,
The Moores of India sacrifice to devills;
So we to Norwich did invite Sir Thomas,
Only for this, to get him further from us.

To ------ upon his giving mee a Library.

How say you now? think you, I do not please
My friend well, to obtaine such guifts as these?
VVhat a whole Library at once? who lookes
Upon it, must conclude mee in his books.

To a Gentlewoman, that refused. A very rich Suitor, because he was not very handsome.

Faire Cosen, let me in this case advise,
To quitt your fancy: and give reason eyes:
They that choose apples by their looks, are oft
Foild in their hopes, and for their folly scoft.
Tis not the outside makes the man, Alas
A man's a man, had hee no Nose on's face.
Your Lapidaries not unoften note,
The rarest Jewell in a ragged Coat:
This Genleman whose double duty serves you,
For ought I know, is one that well deserves you.
Forsake your eyes here, and trust to your eare,
Hees sober, steady, staid, and fit to steare
In this tempestuous age: hard hap betides
Such vessells as have green heads for their guides:
But you shall ride amidst proud waves secure,
Hee being Pilor, And you Cynosure.
I could both name the parties, and the places,
Had bargaines foule enough of the faire faces,
Nor yet is liking allwayes beauties child,
Some have more wit then so to be beguild:
Beauties a blossom, and so quickly fled,
Tis scarce possest, ere it be vanished:
Strike while the Irons hot Cos, least you find
The Proverb true, occasions bald behind.
To me the man seems passing lovely, Tush,
His beauty's inward, Good wine needs no bush
Hee's rich enough to make the world his debtor
Love, and lay hold then, seldome comes a better.
I had not writ thus much, but that I know
Your parents own it, and advise you so.
VVhose directory pleasure but fullfill,
And you do well, though you do nere so ill:
Read, and revise these lines, sweet Cos. least you
VVhilst you your self make fast, your selfe undoe.

To a faire Lady.

Madam;

Hard is the task to write to such as you,
For if I give you but whats halfe your due,
Such as are unacquainted with your worth;
Are apt to say, I highly set you forth;
Whilst these that know you, must conclude, with mee,
Your praise above the straine of flattery.
They that nere saw the glory of the Sun,
Would think the Moon lights only parragon;
So such, to whom scarce a good face is knowne,
Measure your beamfull beauty by their owne;
Whilst, saw they but your face, As in amaze
Theyd worship, what they wonder I so praise:
Could you (faire soule) but parcell out your graces,
There were, enough t'enrich a thousand faces
And leave your selfe such store, as (though your light,
Have made them starres) you'd still be Queen of night,
But hold my Muse, my paper is halfe done
And I have scarce her story yet begun.
But that would ask (to tell you what I think)
A world of paper, and a Sea of Inke.
Of Inke said I? Inke alas! would make that,
A spotted fame, that is immaculate,
No, I will rather never write at all,
Then mention her, who is all-sweet, in gall:
Hee that the Bow-bell of her praise would ring,
Must pluck a pineon from a Seraphins wing.
And write in Nectar till her fame appeares
An anthem to the musick of the spheares
But to leave what only my wish effects,
My fancy to whats feasible directs;
Ile rob the Swan of her white quill and then
With the same pen-knife that I make my pen,
Ile lance my purple veynes, and therewith write
Her story, like her self in red, and white.
And when my bloud ha's all forsook my veines,
Let mee but be her Martyr for my paines.

To my Mistresse.

So love me ever all yee powers divine;
As I love her, whom hope perswades is mine:
Rich then and happie were I, thus to winne
A beauty, Heaven without, and Heaven within.
Had I the world (as Alexanders heire)
Left mee, a patrimony high, and faire
Enough yee'd think, yet I for all this store,
Except shee whom I love, love mee; am poore.

The joviall Journey.

Up Phœbus up, and guild the horizon,
For love, and beauty, are a progresse gone.
Stand not to gaze, least thy too curious eye,
A fairer Daphne, in this Coach espie;
And thou great Prince of winds vouchsafe to us
The gentle gusts of sweet breath'd Zepherus:
Come yee auspicious Choristers of the aire,
Let these faire Ladies see yee promise faire.
Cherp up (sweet Syren of the woods) nere feare
Here is no Tereus, come be merry here.
And if the dust, it self too proudly reares,
Some gentle Cloud rebuke it with its teares:
Let the Earths green Plush, and floscular starres out vye
The brighter Orbs, of the frost warning skie;
Let every brook present some pretty toy,
And every hedge be lin'd with travellers joy,
Grant fates, no inauspicious hare may chance
To crosse, yee, through unlucky ignorance;
But as the morning, so the evening may
Answer the beauty of a glorious day.
Then Sun, Wind, Birds, Raine, Earth and flowers conspire
A harmony, next the Celestiall Quire.
And when friends meet, be your embraces such
As lovers, that each minuts absence grutch.
Whilst all that see, admire your greeting kisse,
As if the body met the soule in blisse.

Vpon a Porter Catching a Gentlewoman as shee past by him.

Last night a Porter, standing by the pye,
At Algate, saw a handsome lasse com by,
To whome hee flew with all his speede to court her,
I wonder, for shee did not call a porter.
Still hee did hugg and in his armes enfold her,
As if he meant to heave her on his shoulder:
Hee wound her so, a stander by strait swore,
Some gentleman had sent him for a whore.
Shee cald him rogue, and sure shee cald him right
Yet hee, shee should not goe, sware by his light
Porter said I take heede, though shee be not,
Too heavy, sirrah, shee may be too hot.
Besides shee's of your trade, And free, shee beares
As many burthens as you for your eares:
Though with this difference, shee beares her pack,
Vpon her belly; you upon your backe.
Yee both weare baggs, distinguist the same way,
With Fryers shee of black, and you of grey;
You have a pad, and shee, for ought I saw,
Was like enough to have a pad ith straw:
You have a Cord you do about you cast
Shee had a cordie robe about her wast:
Both have your aprons. Say you have a frock,
So shee haes that will rime to it a smock.
Shees call'd upon, and calls upon her too
Sometimes a Porter such a knave as you.
But J perceive you well whereto she ply'de
And had the fit come on you now to ride:
If not, you are a lasie looby right,
To struggle with a burthen was so light.

At a Tapsters wedding.

Faith J will tell you now a prettie trick,
This Tapster, gat the wench just in the nick,
Shee was; stay there! But why should I be loath
To tell the truth? shee was, as light as froath:
Hence I perceive, the Proverbs sometimes crost,
For shee that's light, does not lye uppermost.
Shee had been broacht a hundred times before,
No matter, he had tapt as many more:
Shee's modest though, as l'me an honest man
Shee blushes, just like any Cedar can.
And cause sheel be a smirking rogue, shee sweare
sheel snatch the smiles from all the laughing bere,
But heres enough of her, lets kisse the Cup
And if her Husband wont: weel stop her up.
As for his part, hee was so crank, his geare
Out of his Codpeice, flew like bottle bere.
But she hoping the worst did clap her thigh
Close to the --- that nere a drop went by.
She was a thrifty wench he got from Wopping,
That thought it sin to loose the least tap-droping.
I heard her say my selfe though he should fill her
Up to the brim, he should not want a Killer:
She told him of his wenching too, and swore
Unless he left it, she would quit his score;
Nor should he ramble up and down the Town
Nor draw through any Fasset but her own
Faith if you do, (and out an Oath she lashes)
Ile find you out among your balder dashes)
And if your tralops must not be forborne,
Ile break your pots: And make you drink in horne.
But t'end the jeast adding one more t'out passe it
See here the Spiggit's marrig'd to the Fasset.

Summer.

Snakes cast their skins, and they are young ag'n
Summers the substance, winter the cast skin:
Summer is Youth in sprightly Æquipage,
Winter's decrepit crasie, useless Age.
Sol's aureat beames so guild the worlds vast stage,
Twere small mistake, to calt the golden age;
Summers all praise, what need it then a Poet
to speak it faire? since who know nought else, know it
I might imbellish summers sweet complexion,
Call Winter death; Summer the resurrection.
And when my tale with all my art is told,
What will the world conclude my news, but old?
Nor is it more then children use to say,
A summers' evening, is a winters day.
But Ile abruptly off, and what I have,
Begun absurdly, as absurdly leave;
Least I goe scale the spheares, and blinde with light
Set in a cloud & simply say, Good night:

In prayse of winter.

Upon Yorkshire Ale.

To my right well reckon'd host at the Lamb.

The Postscript.

To the precedent Poem.

But what? your angry, twas not my intent
To slay the Lamb: or hurt the innocent.
VVhist! whist for shame! least people as they passe
Say, Look yee there dwells Ba---lam and his Ass.
Come Jack be wise and thy self sober keep
And thou shalt be mine Host, when they are Sheep
Tel them the reckning twice twelve pence a peece's
J'le warrant thee that thou shalt get their fleeces;
And let them then come, and laugh thee to scorne
VVhen thou hast turn'd them out, like sheep new shorne.

Upon a hungry gutted Porter.

No marvell Chapman falls so to the scrap,
The first, and best part of his name is chap:
Which if a man but spell, he easily can
Perceive, more letters go to Chap, then man.
Yet this is all but mirth, although perhaps
He may conceit I take him on the Chaps.
Well if I do, my frolick is to swap
My nimble braine, against his nimble chap.
Yet this by way of leave ile adde, a more
In sitting poster never kept a dore.
How should he ope it? for hee never heares
If it be true, The belly hath no eares.

E. B. To his noble friend, that gave him a new paire of Boots, and Gloves.

I never drew on a compleater Boot;
The blushing top makes me top gallant, and
Me thinks I do on beds of Roses stand:
Nay even the very leggs do seem to owe
Their orient tincture to the Sonnes of Bow:
Nor can I think but Jove-Lov'd-Jo's hide
Was purchast, to compleat this Ocrean pride:
Who having been the thunderers Curtesan,
Blushes to crib it with the Calves of man:
The wax was borrowd from the Lillyes bed,
And the three Sisters span, and cut the thred.
The Boot in the exactest mode doth set,
All (in a word) from top to toe is neat.
As for the Shoemaker I can only tell,
For one hee never saw, hee fits me well.
Your Gloves too make me spruse, as John a Gant
Protest (sweet Sir) you are right Cordevant,
For you have given mee Boots, and Gloves to boot
What shall I say? y'have bound mee, hand and foot.

A. B. to his shoemaker.

Sirra looke to't I shall reduce your pride;
Rip up your roguarie and tew your hide.
My weather long shall apt a time for th' nonce
To streatch the latchets of your logger sconce.
You were too high ith' instep, I'm afraid,
Your loftinesse will soone be underlaid;
Crispine coucht in a shoemakers disguise,
Cause none so base to cheat inquiring eyes.
Yet to fit mee should Crispin come to doe't,
Crispine, by Jove hee came but to my foot.
And dost thou wretch to reach this head of mine,
Muster thy brussels as the Porcupine
Her quills' presumptious trash, I could afford,
To send the challenge to the cutting board;
New vampe your manners, & more modish bee,
Least Peter streatch you on a crosse graind tree:
Where being once set up, tis ten to one,
You'l find it harder to come off, then one:
Villian avant, henceforth nere looke to have
The lengh of my foot, since y'have plaid the knave.
Noe noe, I view your bill and there I see,
The very place where my shoe pinches mee;
But make your market pray of what is past,
Fellow beleve't of me y've had y'our last:
And that the world may see in every line,
I fitt thy foot, as thou hast fitted mine.
Thus I in fine translate thee, goe, extend
Thy base spun thread, to make a Coblers end.

Vpon his giveing a payre of shoes to get the former paper answered.

Alice Goffe. A poore woman taken stealing soape.

Why how now woman? what's the newes? belike
You serve'd the grocer but a slippery trick.
T'was very cheap, nay marry you must thrive,
If wee pay ten, & you get under five.
But stay they say the grocer turn'd his eyes,
And you stole, both the custome, and excise:
And well enough you did, but a rope
The mischeife lyes, you should have left the soap.
You made wash way with't, being but a reach,
But have a care, ith end 'tmay cost a streatch.
You know the broverb, ti's as true as old,
If the one chance to slip, t'hother, will hold.
Alas you never could have stoll'ne a badder,
Commoditie, Sope brings you to the ladder.
You think to have't with a wet finger, but
A cleanly theife had better be a slut.
Come, Come, stay the hoggs leisure pray, I hope
As good as you doth wash with Lincolneshrie sope.
If you steale sope to make your clothes so fine,
Youle bring your selfe, as well as them, to th' line.
Yet I confesse, twas pittie goody Goffe,
Stealing good soap, you came no cleanlyer of.

To my Noble Friend.

This after-noon your rideing Boots and bands,
Your good-grey cloak, and Gloves came to my hands;
The Gloves were trim, the Cloak most purely feeles,
The bands, and Boots have tyde me neck & heel.

To the same Gentleman desiring my verses upon any price and on his sending mee a new Suit.

Price? out upont! what price? pray doe you think?
A peice of paper, and a little ink?
If you like our poetick merchandise,
Traffick, and your acceptance is the price.
For mee I think it even in justice meet,
So long as you finde Boots, that we finde feet:
Sir in a word, your love returnes with ours,
Our suit accepted was, and so is yours.

To a Schoole master. In excuse of his Scholler G. Green.

This duskie morne the youth was overseen
Pardon good Sir, in truth the boy is Green.

To my valued friend: A New-years gift.

Had I but Mydas Chymick tuch,
My new years gift should now be such
Europ should it admire: But I
Talk of Larks in a falling skie;
In stead therefore of hopelesse pelfe,
Deyne but acceptance, and my selfe
Am your oblation, but alas!
How shall this guift for current pass?
Since what I here present unto you,
Being given you long a goe I owe you;
Since then our gifts prove empty dishes,
Weel furnish them with wholsom wishes:
Our first be this, where ere you come;
May you but view, and overcome;
Weed wish you yonger brothers wit,
But that wee see y'abound with it.
May shee that moves your amorous thirst
Be wounded, and your pris'ner first;
And let her unconcealed fires
Foment your temperate desires,
May favoring heaven, lend her no rest
On any Pillow but your breast;
And when glad Hymens holy twine,
Hath clapt her Lilly hand in thine,
Then let thine armes at once enfold
Faire Hellens face, and Danaes Gold:
May all her care, and study be,
To love, and be belov'd of thee;
And to eternize mutuall favour,
Heavens make her such as thou wouldst have her
I envie, any foes shall make yee,
Be this their curse, A Good yeare take yee.

A Visit.

Last Fryday, to my neighbours house J stept,
To see what Hospitallity he kept;
Soon I espid his Chimnie like a Maiden
In the green sicknesse, with her colour fading,
Blushlesse, and bleath; only herein they sever:
This a numme Palsie hath, and that a Feaver:
Neighbour said I, your Chymnies to be let
Why (Sir) quoth hee, you see no bill out yet;
Well then, said I, to put you out of doubt,
I guesse so, cause your fire is going out.

To the World.

Some say Deucalion made the World
Repopulous, with stones he hurld
Over his shoulder; On my life
Tis false, Hee hurld them ore his wife;
And ever since 'thas been the fashion,
So to hurle stones in generation.

O. P. to A. C. that oversold him a Horse repay him at the day of his marriage, he being contracted and to marry with in ten dayes: O. P. not dreaming of any such matter.

Why how now Jockie? what upon the Catch?
Had I suspected yours, 'thad been no match.
Look how the Proverbs crost, you'r hastily bent
To marry, yet not you, but I repent.
How have my starres my credulous hopes still crost?
You ride a cockhorse: I must pay the Post.
Hence I the ereame of the conceit espie,
You were though close, as hot upon't as I;
But I had smelt you out, and stopt your course,
Had I had as much forecast as my horse.
What will men say to whom this storys told?
But I and not my horse, am bought and sold.
You have my monie, and I hope with it
That I have paid for both your horse, and wit
Whilst it must be of all the world confest,
On your side a good bargaine, mine, good jeast.
But don and past, I shall revive no strife,
But take my beast, Sir, as you take your wife.
Whom herein I presume I make my debtor,
You, double paid, must do your work the better:
In brief tis thus, neither better nor worse
You up, and ride, and I must hold your horse.
Whilst I conclude as sad experience teaches,
Not only you, but your horse over-reaches;
But 'twas so close, so slighly brought about,
Neither my horse, nor I could stumble't out.
Yet thus much might be spoken on my side,
Selling your horse, who'd think you meant to ride?
But twas my error to conceive you lackt
A Nag, your wife I hope found one well backt.
I might have lookt him in the mouth I see,
Neither your horse, nor you are over free:
My bargain, Sir, was bad, and you have done mee
Some injury with mine own horse t'out run mee,
But yet if your civility extends
To this requitall, we are absolute friends;
Since you are hee, whom I did so confide in,
You'l only lend mee your old boots to ride in.

Upon the name of the same horse being called Butler.

Butler! why that sounds draft horse, but I see
That thou canst scarce draw thy leggs after thee.
But yet thy crafty Master laid a ginn
And thou, and hee, made shift to draw mee in.
But Troy will tell thee these are things of course,
Synon could do it with a wooden horse.

Pseudo Poeta in a paper of false verses inveying against Tantalia for her lyeing tales.

Shall I condemne Tantalia, and not you?
Her tales were false, your verses are not true.
Be gentle pray, you seem to have forgot
The proverb, whilst the kill upbraids the pot.
Come, yee arë guilty both, of oversight,
Neither your verses, nor her tales are right.
Yea I could show you too as many slips
In your false feet, as in her faltering lips;
But I excuse yee both, for you perchance
As well as shee, did it in ignorance.

Upon ------ his Picture Prefixt to his Almanack.

What base aspect is this? didst thou devise
This haggy look, to be thought weather wise?
Gypsies doe just the same, they get an ill
And counterfeit complexion, that's their skil.
But thou, as thine owne patron didst advance
This front; A lye had need of countenance.
Whence, by the by, no wiseman undertakes,
The patronage of any almanacks.
Yet I durst sweare, ther is, if truth were known
Nothing in thine, but the fooles face thine owne.
That preface false and foul nor is that yet
Thine owne, but like the rest they counterfeit.
But mumm, since I have lately understoode.
That you with the fowre hundred prophesie good.
Yet thus by way of caution, take heede now,
You tell a lye, And set a face on't too.

To Mr. ------ upon his silly Epitaph in print.

But didst thou pump this lamentable stuffe?
Prtest the lines are pittifull enuffe;
Th' are somewhat shallow, but if thou wouldst keepe her
Immortall, let th' ingraver sink them deeper.
Thou, for the funerall, didst thy verses sort,
As men doe sugar plum's, some long, some short:
'Twas goodluck though, they to thearse were pin'd
Else being lame tha'd sure been left behin'd:
But have a care, least with affront you greet.
The collenell, to send his wife a sheet;
Sure shee was rich enough, to leave behinde her
Other gate stuffe, then thy fowle sheet, to wind her.
Did'st thou intend this sing song to her honour?
Thoud'st plaid the Sexton, & thrown dirt upon her.
Thou shouldst have lighted too thy dismall dashes
At the next torch, and cry'd ashes to ashes:
Then, as her preist, or poet choose you whether,
Thou'dst bury'd fame, and body both together.
Had'st thou soopt sack, it would have brought thy chymes,
In better tune and tought thee loftier ry'mes.
But ah! thy, muddy fancy showes me clear.
Thou stood'st among the beggers, serv'd with bear.
Thou'dst better brooke an elegiak jeast,
And made an affidavit mortua est,
Yet 'twas well done t'avouch it with thy name,
Least honest men should suffer for thy shame.
Thou say'st thy belly shakd when thou didst writ,
I think so too, the divel a verse was right.
When my ill fortune's dead, and I would laugh,
He send for thee to jerke an Epitaph.
Thou wouldst be both a Poet, and Attorney,
Alas thy braines won't serve thee halfe the journy.
Would'st be a poet and atturney? Harke
What I advise, learne first to be a clark.
But here's enough; hee that writ this, hee knowes,
The muses never dwell in Silly Howse.

On the Gun-powder treason.

Now, fooles! how think yee is there not a God?
Ask but your backes, that smart with your owne rod.
When yee prepar'd this cup, did yee then thinke,
The dregs should be the draught your selves must drink?
Doubtlesse, yee'd not have dig'd so deepe a pitt,
Had yee but dream't your selves should hansell it:
Bow black was this eclypse? what mean't yee by't?
A flame, and yet no light; twas hell fire right.
VVas ever vulcan matcht with such a horne?
But hee that sate in heaven laught yee to scorne.
VVhat at one blow both court and commons? pish
'Twas but a falsifie, a Caligula's wish,
Yea but false fire, by heaven the touch hole was,
So stopt the flame could not to th' barrell passe.
Blest be the churches great protector for't!
'Twas yee gave fire, but wee gave the report.
Infernall Angells fight with Gabriell,
And heaven it selfe seemes undermin'd by hell.
But O how vainely the black brood of night.
Martiall their mates against the sonnes of light?
Fear not Bethulin. Holoferenes shall,
Be dead drunk, and by his owne fawehin fall.
Goliahs boasts are breathlesse, mercilesse Mydian,
Must buckle to the brandisht blade of Gideon.
VVee need not feare, nor care wee though hell knock
Our temple's built on an impregnable rock;
Preserv'd by providence. Babells bratts may kick
But never move our heaven fixt candle stick,
Tis Rome must ruine Rome, tis not your ginnes,
Are able to ensnare us, but our sinnes:
Puffe till yee pant againe, alas! fond foe,
You doe but ashes off our alters blow.
And whilst your hell-hacht plots, your hate reveal
You don't extinguish, but inflame our zeal.
The wind, that shakes the boughes, fastens the root;
And you confirm us, whilst yee goe about.
Thus to supplant us; tush! yee doe but hence,
Endeare us to our God, for new defence.
But would you be reveng'd? then thus let't be,
Plot so, as he that made the eye, may'nt see.

To the right honourable the C. of DORSET, Promising a Gentleman her Kinswoman in marriage.

Madam,

The charmefull language from your lips distilld
My ravisht eares with heavenly musick fill'd.
Had I led Love unto your Neeces heart;
And praid him there transfix his keenest dart
His being blind would have left him exempt
From penalty, And charg'd the whole attempt
On my accompt, whose boldnes durst aspire
(Prometheus like) unto celestiall fire.
Twere secriledge, and just such, to bereave
Diana of a Nimph, without her leave.
Or steal a starre from off his region
Whilst Phebe slept with her Endymion.
I had been fellon to your honours bloud
And stolne a cignet from that royall floud.
Had not your grace first given me my book
The golden Scepter of your gracious look.
But now with humble confidence I resort
To this faire stream, having your warrant for't
Only let me beseech your honour that
You'd ratifie it with a second date.
Then being armd with this encouragement
My next addresse is to the Lady bent:
My fortunes balance, on whose only breath,
Depends the sentence of my life, or death.
If such a match felicitate my life,
Ile treat her as my Mistresse though my wife.
Ile study what may please her, and contend,
With fate, to make her happie to the end.
As for you gratious madam) deigne mee still,
The clear beames of your ladyships good will:
So shall I be assur'd what I commence.
Shall riyne in such sun light influence:
Meane while no thought shall from my breast arise
But what I dare present as sacrifice.
Thus J returne my selfe to both, whilst shee.
Possesse my heart; your grace commands my knee.

The weavers Memento mori.

To Constantia

Let others ply the oares t'wixt doubts and feares,
For I am past those rocks, those tydes of tears.
My sullen starre is fallen, warr's past, and I
Laiden with trophies of my victorie.
How doe I blesse my fate that I did meet?
With one so faire, so faithfull, and so sweet.
My humble knee bowes henceforth to no shrine,
(Though Venus were thy rivall) but to thine.
Happy my dearest, happie hee may lye,
Vnder the tropick of thy gracious eye.
Nothing but death shall my firme faith remove,
Nothing but the cold flore shall coole my love.
The Gordeon knot that could not be unty'd
By art, did Alexanders sword divide.
Our love knot's faster, nor shall armes, nor arts
Vnlink the chain of our vnited hearts.
The noon-eyd sun may chance run retrograde,
And as a Daphne follow his own shade.
Heaven may descend to earth, And earth aspire
To Heaven. And water be at peace with fire,
Fishes and fowles may change their elements,
And take a glory in their new contents.
But when I faile, but when I cease to love,
The center shall from its fixt base remove,
VVhen I divid the thread our loves have spun,
The streames shall back upon there fountaines run.
This I conclude a possibiltie,
J may forget my name; but never thee.
Ceres cickle; whether art thou gone.
See'st not our hopes into full harvest growne?
Come boonest Bacchus, come let's have a health,
To our best wishes; love hath store of wealth.
View here our vintage, see our blest increase,
Of swelling grapes that only want the presse.
Hast Hymen hast, for wee must find in you,
The end of our desires and verses too.

To Bovino.

You bull it Sir, as if you meant a prize,
VVith milo at the bovine exercise.
Push forwards your good motion Sir, you may,
Encrease my landlords cornucopia.
But to speake naked truth they say that you,
Doe not run to the bull, but to the cow.
VVhere you your selfe in manner of a bull,
Doe give Europa her white belly full.
And as tis fit you should haveing gone halves
In getting, now you help to keepe the Calves.
But have a care St. Stephens wide gates are near,
You'l run your selfe out ere you be aware.

The FLEETS.

My wishes greet The Navie of the Dutch
The English fleet Il all good fortunes grutch
May no stormes tosse Vantrump and his Sea forces
The Harp and Crosse Shall have my daily curses
Smile gentle fate Upon the Dutch and Dane
Upon our State VVait their eternall bane:
Attend all health The Cavalering part
This Common wealth. I vallew not a fart.

To a drunken Porter reeling into the Ring to wrastle with a Taylor.

Hey hey pot-valiant Porter, friend, I feare,
That you have somewhat more then you can beare.
You make mee laugh to see you face and crack,
You puppie, I could beare you on my back.
Out of the Ring unlesse you were more stout:
The Taylor swears heel fling, or cut you out.
You stand so waving and so tottering,
As if there were an Earth-quake in the Ring.
And eye the Taylor, as you would adore him,
Y'are so devout you scarce can stand before him.
Do you not heare him say it shall go hard
But at the first touch hee'l turne up your yard.
Nor will he use a quarter of his strength
To measure all your quarters out at length.
See but his active stout, and able limb,
Porter I see youl never carry him.
Go wrastle with yond tree you dizzie crowne,
More need to hold you up, then hu le you downe.
Had you as many leggs as any louse
The eyes of Argus, Hands of Bryarcus,
All would not do it, for like Polypheme,
You would be run down in this drunken dreame.
And in the turning of a hand be found
As sure as louse in bosome, on the ground.
Cord first his hands and feet, Then if you can,
Stand toot, and throw the ninth part of a man:
But your athletick art's not worth the trying
Go go a man may see where you've been plying
Brave sport, a Porter, and his fox turnd loose
T'encounter with a Taylor and his goose
Thus I perceive 'tis fatall to us all
After a Iustie cup to take a fall.

To a Brewer that promised mee a Staggs Tongue, and dissapointed me.

Now your Æsopick markets Sir, what? you'l
Your selfe be Brewer, and make mee the fool,
Faith Sir you should not need your word to break
Ime sure your beere wont make a Cat to speak.
Come come let's hat, without a tongue, I vow
That I will never speak good word of you.
Are you so politick to think by failing
Mee of my tongue, you do prevent my rayling?
Beleeve it not, Sir, I can cant my wrong
Like injurd Phylomel without a tongue.
Tongues are unruly members but I see
That you can rule yours, where it should befree.
Thus to be fool'd, and bafled all a long,
Twould make one speak that had but half a tongue
But I perceive the reason now my friend
Your tongue is fast by the roots ith Chimnyes end.
I must for peace sake, pocket up this wrong
And keep my hands of, because you keep your tongue.
The tongues a two edgd sword, and by the cup
Of my contempt, J scarce can put it up
May the Staggs hornes be grafted on your head
Till J have the Stags tongue you promised.
My furie flames J feare J shall ere long
Like Dives need your cooler for my tongue
For it begins J see to teare, and rend
Just like a womans tongue that knows no end
Brewer be sure then that you stand aloof
Unlesse you bring your tongue under my roofe
May be you'l say, that you have none, but J
Am sure y't one have told me a divillish lye.
Thus am J faine to vindicate my wrong
Jn writing, because I have lost my tongue.

To this Brewer sending mee halfe a dozen tongues.

Wee judge it just that we distend our lungs
In gratitude to you that sent us tongues.
Wee were a little too long tongu'd but you
Have made the tongues fit for our mouths Sir, now.
You seem to make us double tongud, for wee
Expected but the halfe of what wee see.
Our skill in Phisick sayes the Staggs did die
Of feavers for the tongues were hot and drie,
But wee to wash down such conceits, did make
Them swim in best Beer for the Brewers sake.
The beasts that lost them should not be more brute
Then wee, if we should offer to be mute.
And where as wanting tongues we could allow
But paper praise, we cry a largesse now.
Thanks then thrice bounteous Sir, Twere sin if we
should be tongue-tyde, where your tongues are so free.

To a Gentleman that promised, but failed, to meet mee at an Ale-drapers.

Now halfe an hower past six, and more, & faile:
Your friend, a second time? Come give us ale:
Are you all dissappointment, is your frame,
And fabrick only such? Go fetch the same.
VVhat! was I borne to wait? upon my soule
You wrong my patience; woman, fetch a Rowle.
Your actions are unhandsome, without baile
Or mainprize, y'are condemn'd, go fetch more Ale:
Shall we loose such a morning such fair weather?
Go (faith) even fetch a brace of pots together.
Look, if he come yet; we are sure of these?
Not yet in sight? goe fetch the Holland Cheese,
What? you don't see him yet; well, we must call
For t'other dish of Ale, to wash downe all.
March in my black-brow'd pots; untill ye stand
Before mee, like an Æthiopian band.
Faith, I am now in, goe to, trye, if yee
Eclipsed beauties, be good leachery.
Come then, and give me lip roome, shall I not
Kisse your black lipps? why? Ladyes kisse the pot.
Yes I must kisse, and friends: for it appeares
My wrath hath made me pull ye by the Eares.
Excuse me, pray, if I my selfe forgot,
For all the world can tell, I love the pot.
And therefore this doth my content be get,
Though I had no luck, I had pot-luck yet.

To an other Gentleman, that served me such a trick.

Not yet, nor yet, and yet the Chymes done going?
Some Beer, and Sugar boy! come, let's be doing;
My expectations big, come fill away,
Hope is an Anchor, Anchors make us stay.
Hamborough like, untill the Clock strike few
I mean to drink, videlicet till two;
Nay I'me resolved, if I be alive,
Since I am in, I will not out till five:
Then never grutch at what so e're you heare
I am no waiter, but where there's good cheare.
Sir, I am none of those, that can digest
Hopes false conception; Boy, fetch the best.
Hope is my issue, wherein I'm beguild,
You got it, pray, then answer for the child;
If not, you must, nay (faith) you shall, be witting
To pay the Nurse; And that is just two shilling.

To a Philomuse from whom I received a Paper upon the same Subject and by the same Post.

At the Florists Feast in Norwich

Flora wearing a Crown.

The Song.

An EPITAPH.

Upon Oliver O dead drunk.

Here lyes a Lyon, and a Lamb,
Sweet, and savage, wilde and tame:
Courteous, carelesse, Poore, and proud,
Man, and no man: Litle, and lowd:
Childrens May game; fine, forlorne,
Courtiers consort: Commons scorne:
Kind, and currish, would ye know
Who I mean? tis Oliver O,
That companion base and boon,
Sets and Rises with the Sun:
Thus in brief his exercise
He pipes, dances, and he dyes,
And when passing we can tell;
For he rings out his own knell.

Upon his second time being dead drunk.

Loe here, Twas ruffe,
Dead as the bere, And with a puffe
Was drawn last yeare: Out went the snuffe.
And Coffind up, Alas! how soon
In a lost Cup, Tis after noon?
Lyes, litle heart O, This morning hee O,
Who like a fart O, Was companie O,
Did now depart O. For thee, or mee O.
Tnd tooke But P--- O,
Ahe Spanish smoke, No more but so;
Jnto his poke, Tis Oliver O
As if he meant Lets oversee
Sir, by consent This scape for hee
To tune his pipe O, The truth to tell O
But being ripe, O, Till he was mellow,
Began to type O, Was a good fellow;
And shall to morrow morning make's approach
As quick, and lively, as the fresh abroach.

An Epitaph.

Dedicate to the Memorie of Dr. Ed. Cook.

Unsluce your Captive flouds; what, can ye keep
Your eyes from teares, and see the Marble weep?
Burst out for shame, or if yee find no vent
For greife, yet stay and see the stones relent;
Jf still you can forbeare; weepe then to see:
Your stupid hearts more stone, then Niobe.

On goodwife Plaine.

Here with out either welt, or gard,
Lyes goody Plaine in the Church yard:
Fresh in our memoryes, till the next raine,
Setle the earth againe, downe plaine.

On W. G. A great swearer but litle lyar

VVill, the swearer's dead and gon,
VVhether? you may guesse anon.
Say hee is in heaven J dare not
Jn that sacred place they sweare not.
VVhere then? not in hell, no doubt,
For heed sweare the devill out,
What must then become of him,
Does hee neither sinck nor swim;
Heavens forbid, wel'l judge the best,
And conclude his souls' at rest.
Of his oathes, hee did repent him,
And his conscience do'unt torment him
And hee shall (heavens mercy crav'd)
By Gods bloud, and wounds be sav'd

In memoriam Roberti Dey Pharmacap. Norv.

Arts Parramour is dead, that men may see,
Nature hath no hold of eternitie.
O that my teares were legible that J,
And my sad muse, might weep his elegie:
Norwich, in sorrows weeds attend his urne,
If not for his; yet for your owne sakes mourne.
Remember cittizens, yee us'd to fly
To sue out your reprives from death, to Dy:
Whose salutifierous magazine of artes,
Was your cheife Sanctuary against death's darts.
There, feeble nature in a trice might be,
Arm'd against all disseases Gap ape.
But hee is gone, and in a good old age,
Tooke his calme Exit of a turbulent stage:
His death as harmelesse as his birth, from whence
His years were crownd with double innocence;) good
VVhilst wee, (for so perhaps heavens have thought
Are left, to write our stories in our bloud.
Time's syth hath wounded him, but hee hath got
Such semper-vivum, as hee feels it not.
VVith faith, hope, charitie, & contrition
He made up his Celestiall composition.
And with an unctious name hee mixt a Roll,
Of Gratia dei for his wounded soule:
Now his thread yeilded to the Sisters knife,
For Aqua-vitæ hee drinkes water of life.
Much might unto his prayses spoken be,
And only this one truth; namely that hee,
Even Dey, the true Apothecary was,
All that are left, are but synoyma's.

To the perpetuall memory of my ever honoured Cozen Mr. E. H.

Vnder this sad marble lyes,
Natures pride; and beauties prize:
Such, so sweet her accents were,
As would charme a Syrens eare;
Such her modest mode as shee.
Taught the turtle charitie.
Jn summe a more veruous wife,
Never sweetend husbands life.
To conclude then, all was shee,
Man could wish, or woman be,
Who lyes here, like treasure found
Not above but under ground.

A Legacie to VRBANIA an unworthy Cittie.

Citty ingrate, nay worse, but Ile include,
All your good nature, in ingratitude.
Wellfare your costly swordes which now yee wou'd
As faine encrimson in my inocent bloud.
As ere yee wisht m' Crucifige accept you; ah! you
Hosanna cry, and hosenecha too:
Js it in this; in this, J pray, I wrong yee
To spend my selfe, and my estate among yee?
Jf weary steps to make your Citty flourish,
If head, if heart, if Purse employ'd to nourish
Widows distrest, and orphans be a crime,
Grant heaven no worse offence take up my time,
Bark on black mouthed envie, yee as soone,
Affright mee, as the Syrian wolves, the moone:
Nor doe J envie those, have sought with cost,
The honourable trouble, J: have lost:
Lord fill my hart with thanks, my mouth with praise
My haires may yet see halcyon dayes:
God guards mee still, though I've no swordest t'davance,
Though no fine cap, God is my maintenance.

In Honorem Poetarum.

Moore Fields

This afternoon I met the tribe of Gad,
Running through Bedlam as they had been mad
Shufling and shouldring at so strange a rate,
As if they strove to enter the strait gate.
VVith that seeing the conflux of the traine
I could not choose but mak't Turne againe Lane,
And down the stream making my armes, my Oares
I row'd to Moore fields, where I found more whores
Gentle, and simple, then a man could meet,
Either in Turn ball, or in Turn up Street.
Satting and Silk, and Peticoats brocado
Marcht like an Amazonian armado,
Furious as your French troops, scarce ere a wench
But by her out side, shew her inside French.
Some zealous Gitt'zens shew their wives, that even
By being Cuckolds, they might go heaven.
It made me laugh to see their sweeping trailes
In spite of Barbars puffes, powder their tailes.
O how the leacherous dust did vaught! and rise
Twixt the crosse Chevernes of their foaming thighs.
So light were they, so given to the Tup
VVhat men would not, the very winds took up.
VVith that said I, now too too well perceive I,
Y'are not the tribe of Gad alone, But Levi.
Meane while the trees in such even order grow,
They seem'd a second Pater noster row.
They raild in-grasse-plot as a spacious shop
Of Summer weeds for Virgins was set ope.
And many gallants came from out the towne
Thither, to give their Ladies a green-Gowne.
Here is great wrastling, Boyes, and men, and all
And here and there a woman takes a fall;
Venter on which you please, if men you like,
Know then they sayle close by the Wind mil strike.
If you from men, to women be departers,
You shall not faile to meet them in the quarters.
And therefore if your purpose that way stand
Goe see for them, when you cant see your hand
And to your work (my friend) tis Country play
Not by the belt but felt, catch that catch may.
Be not discourag'd for the duskie night
Bee't nere so dark, Ile warrant you a light.
More of Moore-fields if you desire to know,
Faith I have ta'ne my turne: And so must you.

Upon the Sickness, and recovery of a faire and fairely promised LADY.

But hadst thou Death such hopes alive,
Thy sute could ever thrive,
In flatt'ring her
T'her Sepulher,
From her approaching bridall bed,
Alas! thy hopes are dead.
Dead as thy selfe
Unwelcome else,
But would you faine forestall, forsooth
The sweets of bloomy youth?
Your sute is cold
And you too bold.
Suffice it long time henee that thou
Bath in her aged snow,
Couldst thou her send
To thy dark bed?
Her orient Eye would shoot a ray
Should make thy midnight day;
As though the Sun
Did thither run,
And all his rutilous Jewells set
In that close Cabinet.
Then should mournin
See joyes morning.
Then palest ashes should revive
And Death be made alive.
VVhilst we, blind wee,
If wee would see.
Must all our light Cymmerian like.
From flintie bosomes strike.
But thanks to Heaven,
Death is bereaven:
Th' Eclipse is past, and beauties light
Ha's banisht dead of night.
See, see the love.
Of heaven above.
For we have here Gods blessings got
And the warme Sun to boot.
O let us now
Low as earth bow;
And gratefull sacrifices give,
To him that here said, let her live.

To a Gentleman desiring mee to write a Paper of Verses upon his sitting whilst the Painter was drawing his Picture.

And Poet too? must you your figure see
In silent, and in speaking poesie?
I could admit this double task, in case
You had like Janus too a double face.
Say, is it your desire? whilst he does take
Your superficiall lineaments; I should make
Your vertues image? Is it this you mean?
I must like Momus have a Casement then.
Or feare you men will say you are a creature.
Narcissus like in love with your own feature?
And therefore have the Painter to produce.
A colour: And the Poet an excuse:
Come be advis'd by mee, go to your wife,
Ile warrant you your Picture to the life.
Here you compose your countenance, And set.
Whilst't may be shee's drawing your counterfeit.
Come the true way of lively life commanding
Is never done by sitting, But by standing.
------ Pictoribus atque Poetis
Quidlibet audiendi semper fuit æqua potestas.

To an impudent Scold that perpetually haunts her Husband, and not only abuseth him but whatsoever Company is with him.