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Poems

or, A Miscellany of Sonnets, Satyrs, Drollery, Panegyricks, Elegies, &c. At the Instance, and Request of Several Friends, Times, and Occasions, Composed; and now at their command Collected, and Committed to the Press. By the Author, M. Stevenson

Stevenson, Matthew (fl. 1654-1685)

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To the Accomplish'd, and his Ingenious Friend, Mr. Matthew Stevenson, On His Facetious Poems.

To the fair Madam M. H. at Sharington-Hall in Norfolk.

To my Lord B.

To the Boy that brought up the Bottles of bad Wine.

Upon Madam A. C. a fair Lady that dyed of the Small-Pox.

Upon John Robinson, a pretty Witty Boy, that never Suckt.

Upon Madam E. B. of Blakeny in Norf. a beautiful Child.

Upon some Gentlemen Rowing down the River, on Friday, June the last, an exceeding hot Day.

Upon a Country Parson and his Man, and a Parishoner whose Name was Ivorie.

Upon a Dog call'd Fudle, turn-spit at the Popinjay in Norwich.

Upon a Confident Chast Young Lady.

To the thrice Lovely Guiana.

Upon Guiana's Farewell to Sharington.

To my Honoured Friend Mr. J. W. Student in Lincolns Inne, Upon the Death of his dear Wife Mrs. A. W.

An Elegy upon Mr. Robert Doughty of Grayes Inn, depriv'd of his Spouse.

Upon His Majesties Progress into Norfolk, Sept. 28. 1671.

Observations upon Lillie's Almanack.

Upon the Norfolk Largess.

To my dear Friend Mr. Sam. Stainer new come from Messina.

The Cooks Catastrophe.

Upon Shortwhite, the Noble Hampstead Cock.

To a Non-sensical Barbar wou'd seem Poetical.

Upon one Day that ran away, and laid the Key under the Door.

To T. B. Esq; wanting a Son, and Heir; and upon his two fair Daughters.

An Elegy on the Reverend John Crofts, D. D. and Deane of Norwich.

An Elegy upon a Reverend Divine Buryed in the Ruines of his Church.

Upon the Reverend Herbert Ashley, L L. B. Elected Dean of Norwich, from many Rivals.

Upon the Famous Sun Tavern behind the Exchange.

Upon a Silver Box presented to His Mistriss, with this Paper in It.

Upon the Vertuous Brown (I know who) at the Popinjay.

Upon a Token drunk at the Star, sent Me by Honest Tho. Ridland, at the Popinjay in Norwich.

Upon a Sparrow catcht at a Pipe of Canary.

The Willow Garland.

Upon a Miller's Son, Sometimes a Peticannon, but turn'd out for disaffectedness to Episcopacy.

Defiance to the Dutch.

Upon a Friend Lamenting the Loss of Learning.

To a Coy Lady that wou'd not come to a Treat.

Upon the great Fire at St. Catharines, on Whitsunday, 1672.

Upon a Rusty Patch on an Iron Face.

Upon one that promised me Four Cravats, boasting he had Fifty.

Upon a Trusty Taylor.

To the Gentile Drapers in St. Paul's Church-Yard, retorting to the Play call'd, The Citizen turn'd Gentleman.

Upon one Mrs. K---, who sets all her Neighbours together by the Ears with lying Tales.

CAROLINA.

Fair and Faithful.

The Quakers Wedding.

Upon a Camp should have been plaid, neer the black house by Kirby for a Crown a piece, and was not.

To Tom. Sharington, Commendations to mine Hostess, where his Mare was at Cure.

Upon a great Windy Night.

An Elegy upon old Freeman, us'd hardly by the Committee, for lying in the Cathedral, and in Church-Porches, praying the Common-prayer by heart, &c.

An Elegy upon Sir Joseph Payne, sometimes Major and Collonel of the Train'd Bands of the City of Norwich, who dyed in Harvest.

An Elegy Perpetuated to the Memory of Henry Terne, Esq; Captain of the Triumph.

An Elegy upon the Right Worshipful Sir Thomas Rant.

An Elegy upon Miles Hobart, Esq; who dy'd the Friday before good Friday.

An Elegy upon the Reverend John Porter, D. D. and Prebend of Christ-Church in Norwich.

Upon a Red Face

The Low Estate of the Low-Country Countess of Holland, on Her Death-bed, with the Advice of her Doctors, and Confessors.

The Royal Rendezvous. Or, the Magnificence of His Majesties Fleet.

Upon one Bacon Rob'd by a Red Coat.

Upon the New Vizor Mask.

A Vindication of the Vizor-Mask.

To One that told Me, He had Three Heads.

Upon a Hosier that carry'd His Wife to give Her a Lobster, and lockt Her up in an Apothecarie's House, pretending her mad, where She was kept Fourteen Days with Bread and Water.

Pallor in ore Sedet.

Upon One pretending to Treat His Wife with a Lobster, and putting of her in Lobspound.

SONG.

A Contest at the Hoop-Tavern between two Lawyers.

An Elegy upon Mrs. R. H. who dyed for Love of a piteous perfideous Presbyterian.

A. B. To an Old Woman was afraid He would steal her Daughter, who was ugly, and crooked as a Sythe, and Light withall.

An Elegy some Years after the Death of his honoured Couzen Mr. R. Cooke.

The Woman's Warre; Or, the Dutch beat to Dirt by the Frowes.

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The Willow Garland.

How many Coronets of Daffodillies?
Of purer Roses, and of Paphian Lillies,
Wove thy false hope, for her thou thought'st thine own,
When Fate was wreathing Willows for thy Crown?
Unhappy faith, to trust so false a Love,
Cou'd fast and loose thee in thy Myrtle Grove!
Those blissful shades, where every sacred bough
Offer'd it self to kiss, and Crown thy brow!
Thy Tongue, alas! is lost in the surprize,
And nothing now is fluent, but thine Eyes.
From whose all-watery banks, these Willows spread
And plat a woful VVillow for thy Head.
On every Leaf crowns thy neglected hair,
Hang all thy fears, cares, doubts, sighs and dispair;
VVhilst o're thy Crown, as other crowns, the loss
Of all thy Presents is a real Cross.
Unfortunate! that all Herbs Powers cou'd not
Cure thy deep wounds, and unkind Hymen wou'd not!
But, since their vertues fail, seek it in death,
And change thy Willow for a Cypress wreath.

Forsaken? 'tis a sound to be abhord;
Some blasted Air form'd that unlucky word.

Suppose, since for her Sex thou can'st not sight Her;
Thy choler, sulphur, and thy fury Nitre.
To this thy Willow add, and thou hast Powder:
And coudst thou fancy rage, or vengeance lowder.
Thy heavy heart, next into Bullets cast;
Sure thou for her wilt be prepar'd at last.
Then from her flinty bosome strike a spark,
And fire it at her heart, she's a fair mark.
But now I think upon't, thou mayst desist,
It is a White thy destiny has mist:
Content then with thy Chaplet, set thee down:
Who can despair, when sorrow has a Crown?