Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

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)

[epigraph]

[dedication]

[section]

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.

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

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

1

News (Sirs) News from near the Exchange,
News indeed, and wonderous strange,
And what makes me the bolder.
It is a story of an Ass,
When Oliver took Horseback, was
His Stirrop-holder.

2

His Wife, whom he suspected Light,
He to a Lobster did invite,
But she found no such matter:

114

For, when unto the Place she came,
To treat Her Palate with the same,
Deile a bit, but Bread and Water.

3

Unto an Apothecary,
Did the Hosier his Wife carry,
Stockt with neither groat, nor teaster:
Where a Fortnights famishment,
She found, and a lean-jaw'd Lent,
When she lookt for full-mouth'd Easter.

4

Thus this woful, wicked Scab,
For a Lobster, gave a Crab,
A Crab that did so claw Her;
Her Husband did it for the nonce,
And tore the Flesh so from her bones,
He scarce cou'd know her, when he saw her.

5

Did ever 'Pothecary think,
To Cure her with such Diet-drink?
A cruel, curs'd Cromwellian!

115

Though he false Knave, was in the Plot,
Alas good Woman, she was not,
Nor in the least Rebellion.

6

What pitty is it then, that she
Should suffer for his Jealousie;
Whom she had never injur'd:
Because he at Bull-feather Fair,
Had met a parcel of such Ware,
Such Bread, was too much ginger'd.

7

Is this the way to tame a shrow?
Believe me, I can't think it so.
No wanton, nor no gadder.
This was a course so curs'd, so sad;
That, if indeed she had been mad?
It must have made her madder.

8

Was this the way he did intend,
The manners of his Wife to mend?
I like not such forecasting:

116

For I am almost of the mind,
That he this roguery design'd,
To find her fresh and fasting.

9

Might I now but have my will,
I wou'd throw away my Quill,
And equal to his merit:
I wou'd to a Conduit bring,
This crackt, and craste, horn-mad thing,
And souce Him for a spirit.

10

But He's such a Knave in grain,
Water wou'd be spent in vain.
No, no, he has a debtor;
That is an offended Wife,
Will requite him to the life;
And who can do it better?