Pierides :: :: University of Virginia Library

Come jolly God Bicchus, and open thy store,
Let the big-belly'd Grapes of their burden be eased:
Let thy liberality freely flow o're,
For 'tis by thy bounty that we are appeased.
It is Sack that we lack,
It is Sack that we crave;
It is Sack that we fight for, and Sack we will have.

2

Let pining Heraclytus drink of his Tear,
And sniv'ling Tymon lye sick in his cell;
And let the course Bumpkin preach law in his beer;
But 'tis Wine makes our fame and our glory to swell.
It is Wine makes divine
All our wits, and renownes
The Peasant with Scepters, the Shepherd with Crowns.

3

He that spends his money for honour, and climes
In the trees of triumph, may sit there and pause;
All he gets for his pains is the errour of times,
Nurst up by the Pandars of vulgar applause:
But the gold that is fold
For Canary, brings wit,
And there is no honour compared to it.

4

Some love to weare sattin, and shine in their silk,
Yet quickly their fashion will alter and vary;
Sometime they'l eat mutton, sometime they'l drink milk:
But I am for ever in tune for Canary.
It is sack that doth make
All our wants to be nothing,
For we do esteem it both meat, drink, and clothing.

5

A green goose serves Easter, with gooseberries drest;
And July affords us a dish of green peason;
A Collar of Brawn is New-years-tide Feast;
But sack is for ever and ever in season:
'Twill suffice all the wise
Both at all times and places,
It is a good friend to all tempers and cases.

6

Then farewell Metheglin, thou dreg of the hives,
And Cider, thou bastardly darling of Summer;
You dull the quick blood that Canary revives:
Then fill me a pottle of Sack in a rummer;
For Ile drink till each chink
Be full, and 'tis but reason;
And then I shall have no room to harbour treason.

II. The Power.

1

Blest Rosella, shall I praise thee?
With wits herauldry emblaze thee?
Or with strong Encomiums raise thee?

2

No, I need not; I should spoile thee,
Rhymes and Raptures would defile thee,
And of thy own light beguile thee.

3

If the Muses I should muster,
And of Wits bring the whole cluster,
They could not unlock thy lustre.

4

All the verge of my desire
Is not to advance thee higher;
But thy vertues to admire.

5

For th' are of such force and vigor,
Thou canst make the mountains bigger,
And restrain the Lions rigour.

6

Start the Stoick from his station,
Urge a dead man into passion;
And allarm a drowzy nation.

7

Make the Bull to break his bridle;
And the Asse would not be idle,
Till he plaid upon the fiddle.

8

Cause the Thief to break his halter;
And the Saint his zeal to alter;
Making thee to be his Psalter.

9

And now I wish that I could win thee,
Or on my sleeve that I might pin thee,
Or set my Standard up within thee.

III. The Apprentice.

Time mend thy pace, thy sands but slowly run;
Eight weeks seem longer then eight twelve moneths gone:
Sure th' art asleep, thou dost not make such hast
To help me as thou hast done in times past.

Stay'st thou to hear the Syrens whilst they sing?
Or has the rust of age impair'd thy wing?
Have I affronted thee? did I declare
Thy faults, and set them out in secular?
Did I e're babble that the times were bad?
Or did I grumble at the tricks you had?
No, I have prais'd you, and was ever free
To glosse you out with an apology.
Why then this sloth? (dull Mower) can it be
That with revenge you'l pay a courtesie?
Now I've most need of Time, & fain would hug him,
His forehead's grown so bald I cannot lug him.
If thou art sick, then prethee wear a cap;
For I am fearfull thou hast got a clap,
Thy loyns are grown so stiff; and thou dost creep
As though the primum mobile were asleep.
I prethee rouze thy spirits, and let slip
Some gentle gale on my apprenticeship.
I see the haven, but if thou deprive
Me of thine aid, I never shall arrive.
But why should I petition to a soul
Impenetrable, that will not condole
The saddest sorrows; nor concede unto
The strongest prayers, or the deepest Oh?
Ile wait thy motion, be it slow or fast;
I know thou canst not but conclude at last:
And when th' art ended, Ile detest thee more
Then ere I gave thee honour heretofore.
Oh here's my grief, this smothers all my joy;
I can but say I am a prentice-boy

I must be ready at each beck and call,
And if I fail, my bones must pay for all.
And this is long of thee (Time) wert thou ended,
Then all these misdemeanours would be mended.
But Ile take courage, and make woes divine,
With sacred Nectar and Falernian wine:
For I have studied Physick, and am sure
I've no disaster but what wine will cure:

IV. The Discharge.

1

Well, 'tis enough, I've charm'd each thought
That mov'd my fancy into crimes:
My little wits I've largely bought,
And now Ile vex no more at times.
Let States run round,
My muse is bound
O're to the peace, I will give o're;
I've said too much, I'le say no more.

2

I have been punish'd for my sin,
And now my state of life I'le change;
Experience jogs me to begin
A fixed frame, and cease to range.
Ile be content
With Parliament,
With a Protector, or a King,
With House of Lords, or any thing.

3

Why should I strive? what's it to me,
Whatever chance in State doth fall?
No rotten Medler I will be,
Since it avails no good at all.
Heart, tongue and Hand
Shall slily stand,
Attending stories high or low,
As Hench-boyes to their Masters do.

4

Let this man wear a sparkling Crown,
And in his hand a Scepter hold;
Let him take't up, or lay it down,
It gains me neither drosse nor gold:
But if I grutch
'Twill lose me much;
And this resembles him that doubles
His own industry for his troubles.

5

Therefore my fancy does decline,
And Virgin-like Ile stand demure;
So shall I ease this heart of mine,
And drink my sacred wine secure;
And laugh at those
That do oppose
State turns, and every change regard,
Receiving ruine for reward.

V. The Conceit.

1

Give me the boul, the jolly boul
Fill'd to the brim with Claret:
And since the Crown from th' head doth roll,
Upon my nose Ile wear it,
Ile weare it there, and 'tis no crime
If I conceive my self sublime.

2

I have a heart within my breast
That no misfortune knows,
And will not languish in the least,
While Fancy comes and goes.
No alteration me confines,
While my poor Muse doth bronze the vines.

3

I burthen not my brains at all
With Parliamentall matters;
With who shall stand or who shall fall,
Or shall be torn in tatters.
I push out Ladies with my paw,
For I have read the Salique Law.

4

I am as great, perhaps as good
As them that boldly slay
The Root and Branch of noble blood,
Princes & cætera.
Each Martyrs Ghost haunts them, we see,
When there's no fate has power on me.

5

Yet I adore the sacred Stream
O'th' Bacchanalian vain,
Whose pleasures yield a boundlesse Theam:
Then fill the boul again.
If this be vain, you must submit,
Your glory's far more vain then it.

VI. The Encomium.

1

Reach me a golden pen that writes
Such curious Raptures as the Court affords;
Such dainty Language as delights
Ladies saluted by their sprightly Lords:
Such as may paint the feature of Adonis,
Or tell a blind man how serene the Sun is.

2

Oh 'tis my dear, the subject now
Wherein to sport my sporting Muse incites me;
And 'tis the splendour of her brow;
Whose fair reflexes on my Muse inlights me.
Bright Star of Majesty, methinks I see
The Gods and Angels strive to worship thee.

3

So sweet a lip, so pure a cheek,
Such graces seated in her chrystall eye,
As Paris might in Helen seek;
Such food in Juno Jove did ne're enjoy:
Tongues must be silent, phrases are too light,
Textor can teach us no such Epithet.

4

Therefore I must content my passion,
That now is grown so furious and so proud,
Not with my pen, but speculation;
And this must be too through some velvet cloud:
For if I see her clear whom I adore,
Her beams will blind me, I shall see no more.

VII. Winifred.

She is facetious, of a gentle nature,
Well educated, of a seemly stature,

Pleasant and lovely, full of witty knacks,
Sh'as all perfections, and there's none she lacks;
She's young, she's old, she is both stale and new,
She is a virgin and a woman too.
She is religious; nay Ile tell you more,
She is a Lady and she is a whore.

VIII. Honesty.

1

In Lov's school I've lately enter'd,
And have chose my nuptial mate;
On her vertues I have ventur'd,
E're I counted her estate.

2

I have seen her grace exceeding
All the stroke of wanton girls:
I priz'd her bounty and her breeding
Richer then a thousand pearls.

3

And such wealth will ne're be spent all,
Her vertuous soul cannot decay:
And where such beauty's ornamentall,
Who can turn their hearts away?

5

And therefore my love Ile cherish,
Till I make my blisse divine;
And let me for ever perish
When I cease from being thine.

IX. The Farewell to the World.

1

Since the world doth deceive ev'ry one that doth cleave
To't, I now take my leave
From the pleasures thereof, and begin to abhor it:
And did you but know as much as I do,
You'd say I had reason sufficiently for it.

2

What's the best of the worth that the world doth set forth
From the South to the North?
If you look but with reason upon it, it's rotten.
Wherein shall I trust? when I'm laid in the dust,
The flags of my glory will all be forgotten.

3

What's the Prince in his Throne, or the Lord of the town,
Or the States-man in's gown?
If the sound of their titles do onely support 'um,
Their fame will not last till ages are past;
And the things they aspire at will surely come short home.

4

What's the Courtier in plush, or his Mistress's blush,
If she stands every push?
She's not worth the touch of a Gentlemans Lacquey:
If you stick to her close you may forfeit your nose;
Sh' has that in her panniers will presently wrack ye.

5

What's the Mayor in his ruff, or the Souldier in buff,
And his ruffling stuff,
If their powers do serve them but onely to chat on?
They are as grosse as the Clown, that comes and sits down,
While his amorous Mistresse makes water with's hat on.

6

What's the Nun in her nook, or the Clerk from his book,
Or the Judges grim look,
When the pris'ners applaud him with Oh good my Lord Sir?
Take him but from the Law, and he's not worth a straw;
Bid him parse the Greek Grammer, he knows not a word sir.

7

What's the Miser in's dross, who is fearfull of loss?
All his hopes are but mosse;
And the zeal of his fashion is in his trunk-breeches:
But the Scull in his boat, or the Fool in his coat,
Hath a far larger portion of freedom and riches.

8

'Tis the soul that doth shape his designs by the grap
Doth all sorrows escape,
And is freed from the curses of danger and trouble
And I tell you no lie, such a soul I enjoy,
And I find my good, qualities daily redouble.

X. The Puff.

1

Be gone ye dull lights of the world with your vapours,
Ue's curst that relies on your pitiful look;
He's blest that doth banish you out of his book:
Your matter consumes, and it dies like your tapours;
It moulders away like the drammes of a day,
And there's no man doth find it enough to conted him;
The best it will do is to cheat and prevent him:

2

I neither will value your promise nor powers,
I will not aspire at the uppermost throne:
Give me but an Angel, take whose will the Crown
All goodness that thence doth accrew's like the showers
That fall in the springs, or the bird that now sings,
And is hush: from her bush by a puff: if you measure
You'l find there is more of distraction then pleasure.

3

There can be no merit nor object of honour
More worthy then this, for a man to command
His glasses as subjects, his pots as a land:
He that can do this has all wealth, for he won her;
And then he may scorn to be overborn
By the trampling feet of the Court, or obey them;
His freedome of mind doth out-wit aud o're-sway them.

4

Do you but anoynt me with unction of bottles,
Then I will be King, and then I will be Prince,
Then I will confute, and then I will convince,
And teach you more knowledge then ten Aristotles.
And I will not fear then your almighty men,
Whose terrible voices can shake the foundations
Of great ones and small ones all over the nations.

5

Then I and my people would joyntly conspire,
Ile sway them by love, and they shall not refuse,
Ile cheer up my spirits and strengthen my Muse
By the wholsome heat of Bacchus his fire;
And I will not care how State matters shall go:
'Tis not the great Soldan himself nor his asses
Can prove the least title they have to our glasses.

6

He has but the genius of power to rule us.
My Fancy's an Island that lives by the store
Of its own native riches, and needeth no more.
Why then should the Lord of the Ocean befool us?
Let's drink a free health to our own Commonwealth;
For Ile burn out this lump of my body to ashes,
Before Ile be frighted by fools or their flashes.

XI. The Ejection.

1

Now I have wean'd my wits aside
From Melancholy's dismall breast;
And from thy conceited care my genius bids forbear,
And will no more the duggs abide,
That kept her soul unblest
Of nourishment and rest.

2

I've sent sad thoughts to be exil'd
I'th' broker of Oblivions book:
I vow I will give o're, & range about no more,
To seek for glory, pomp or gold.
All time thus spent we spill,
Insatiate souls to fill.

3

World, I have tri'd thee, and I see
The frailty of thy temper such,
As secretly deludes each fancy that intrudes
On that supposed good of thee.
Far off you promise much,
Yet crumble by each touch.

4

Why then (dull fate) should I desire
To wait upon thy wavering heels?
I know thy wanton tricks, alas thou canst no fix
More then the mettal in the fire:
Who, ere thy goodness feels,
It slips away like Eeles.

5

My aspiration at the Throne,
My dartings at Nobility,
My labour for the word of Worship, or my Lord,
Shall fall into Oblivion.
Goodness is alter'd in mine eye,
Worms take it, what care I.

6

Place me but on the jovial joint
Of Bacchus his fraternal crew,
There we will govern point by point:
Wee'l drink deep healths to you,
And make no more ado.

12. The Suit.

1

Ah me, Rosella! what dost meane?
Must I weane
From thee mine eyes away so quick?
Can one glance
Ere advance
Future hopes, or a dance
To remain in my breast? I am sick.

2

I am deeply sick of love;
Come, remove
These mists away by thy bright face:
You can cease
(If you please)
The rage of my disease.
'Tis your sweet presence doth it chase.

3

Have you a heart to teare and rent
My content?
Is this the rhetorick of your zeale?
Have you vow'd
To be proud?
'Cause Nature you indow'd
With beauty both to kill and heale?
Oh stay and doe not leave the City:
Heale me for love or else for pity.

13. Loves best object.

1

Some say, that they
Will onely love where beauty lies:
But sure such lovers lose their way,
And Cupid blinds their slippery eyes;
Such gilded love
Unfixt will prove,
And various as the weather.
For look when beauty doth decay,
Then it and love will die together.

2

Some say, that they
To wealthy girles will onely share
Their hungry soules, but these (I say)
Deceitfull sons of Venus are:
For the intent
Of him that's bent
Unto such base affection,
Is rather riches to enjoy
Then vertuous parts, or good complection.

3

Some say, that they
Will onely turn their wandring eyes,
And stragling spirits to obey

The Nymphs of Pallas, grave and wise.
Such love as this
Most noble is,
And highly to be prised.
But make not wit your only prey,
If you by me will be advised.

4

Some say that they
At Vertues center only shoot:
And such as these might find the way
To happiness, if they would do't.
But yet (alas)
Aside they pass,
And misapply their prizes;
For those that vertues be (they say)
By trial prove but rotten vices.

5

But now, I vow
I'le tell you how it's best to love.
Love verrue, wealth, wit, beauty too;
And this will not unhappy prove.
How bright and clear
Shall she appear,
To a judicious lover,
Who in his apprehensions may,
These (clearly) all in one discover?

14. To our Mistresses.

1

Ladies, expell your formal tricks,
Whereby you wrong your longing nature;
Strip ye your selves, and scorn to mix
Such masks and myst'ries in the creature.
Cog ye, and quibble, and do what ye can
Ye are created for the use of man.

2

Why do ye flinch, and bend your brows,
When we demand if ye are willing
To wait on Venus? each man knows
Your fresh doth lust, and asks fulfilling.
Fain, flatter, and do what ye can,
Ye are created for the use of man.

3

We know your natures, and desire,
Which you conceal with modesty:
We know the thing you most require,
In soft pretences sweetly you deny.
We know you labour all you can
To sport, and dally, and embrace with man.

4

Since then in man you so delight;
Since he's the summe of your affection;

Since 'tis for him your fancies fight,
And make intestine insurrection,
Cast by your coyest veiles, and then
Present your naked bodies unto men.

5

Pine not away with inward fire,
Waste not your beauty with pretence;
Wrong not (with ecchoes) your desire,
Nothing but sorrows spring from hence.
Cast by your blankets once agen,
Present your persons unto naked men.

15. An Epithalme.

1

Goe, goe to bed, brook no delay,
The Curfew Saints-bell calls away,
Let Mars with Venus freely play.

2

Be gone, be gone, let modesty
Not check your fancies, but enjoy
These nuptiall pleasures legally.

3

Doll, draw the curtains, let the eyes
Of day be dark, lest she surprize
These (dove-like) sporting Didymies.

4

Let stupid Morpheus be exil'd,
Till (arme in arme) you both compil'd
Have laid down earnest for a child.

16. The Comparison.

Have you beheld the Apple-trees
How they will moulder by degrees
In luke-warm Autumn, and how bare
In winter time their bodies are?
Then they are dead, but when the spring
Her plant-reviving bell shall ring,
These withered trees begin again
To dresse themselves, and all the train
Of saplesse suckets that were dead,
With verdure will b'invelloped.
So 'tis with my faire Rose, for she
But now ('cause with frigiditie
She's toucht) seem'd dul and dead; but when
Loves spring returns, she'l love agen;
So that the tender plant and tree
With my blest Roses love agree:
Onely they differ in the time,
(Which makes her vertue more sublime)
The trees receive reviving power
But once a year, she every houre.

17. Man.

1

Poor Man,
Why boasts he thus?
It is but for a spanne
That hee must tarry here with us.
Can he his dayes recall? or can he reine
Times nimble Steeds, and call them back againe

2

He bragges,
And takes delight
T'unfold the tattered flagges
Of his own vertues, in the sight
Of every eye: but there is no reflection
Of his owne eyes to his owne imperfection

3

Within,
A calm of rest.
Deceitful peace doth win
The flexile byas of his breast,
To dote on earth: but she disbands her power,
And loses all her glory in an houre.

4

A breath
Produces Joy,
Another, woes or death.
Thus he 'twixt hope and fear doth lie,
His sweets are mixt with sowers, and his glory's
As apt to varie as the Childe of Doris.

5

Hee's crost,
Disturb'd, and vext;
Hurried, enrag'd, and tost
By louzy Fortune, and perplext,
While he has life; and yet he loaths to heare
Deaths doleful Bell-man jangling at his eare:

6

By life,
(Which he adores,
Which to preserve there is such strife;
And for that end, in's flesh he stores
Deaths Antidotes) he is deceiv'd (alas)
It often proves the greatest foe hee has.

7

Hee's lost,
But tell me why:
'Tis thus, because he'l boast
Of Earth, and Earths felicity;
His judgement's blinded, and he thinks amiss,
Like prick-ear'd Midas. Hee is lost in this.

8

By death
Good souls of glory
Receive a joyful sheath;
Yet talk of death, he hates the story:
And what's the reason? why the reason's clear,
'Tis 'cause he dreams there is no heaven but here.

18. On the renowned, Mary Villers, Dutchesse Richmond, &c.

An Acrostick.

M ost reverend Madam (in whose sacred breast
A ll vertue dwells, and heavens wealth doth rest)
R eceive these feeble raptures, which aspire
Y our worth t'imblazon, and your parts admire.

V illers (thou darling of that light divine,
I n whom thy Maker and his grace doth shine)
L ong mayst thou live, long mayst thou reign in peace
L ong may thy vertues thrive & never cease.
E arly and late, may all the Saints attend thee;
R ich robes of Glory may the Angels lend thee;
(S weet soule) and 'tis my prayer, Let God defend thee

19. The Acrostick reduplicate.

M ight I but worship, and the Idoll free,
A h Madam, thou shouldst be my Deity.
R eligion, breeding, birth, renown and worth,
Y ea every ornament Villers holds forth.

V ast is our theme, aa though the Gods intended
I n thee the pride of nature should be mended.
L ove is thy Lacquey, Modesty thy Child,
L ewdnesse thy foe, and every vice exil'd:
E ternall blisse is thy prepared prize.
R ule thou as Goddesse in the earths disguise,
S o shall my soule become thy sacrifice.

20. The degrees of Bacchus.

Here I will closely stand to my devotion,
And wil not stir til we have dreyn'd the ocean.
Here Ile commence brave matters, and aspire
In Bacchus schoole, till I can climb no higher.
Drawer attend me with a cheerfull cheek,
And doe not let my liquor be to seek:
For if thou dost, vile brat, (by Jove) I tell ye,
Ile mortifie thy bones into a jelly.

The 1. Glasse.

Nhah, what is this? the biting of a flea
Into a Beare, a drop unto the sea.
Dull rogue, recrute my cup, fill up the pot,
Keep nothing void, nature admits it not.
Hast thou not heard it on Apollo's drum,
Natura non admittit vacuum?
Supply, supply me with another quick;
This is devoured even at a lick.

2.

Again, again recrute, and do not smother
A good beginning: help me with another;

3.

And yet another, with a nimble hand.
Quick, be obedient unto my command.

4.

These are but empty Prologues, you shall find
There is a Scene of honour lies behind.

5.

All this is nothing to a dusty brain.
Rehearse thy duty, fill the glass again.

6.

So, now I taste it's nature, but (alas)
All this is nothing, fill the other glass.

7.

This whets the appetite, me thinks I find
Room for a volly coming yet behind.

8.

Now I could smile, and in a chearful tone
Sing out the praises of my sack alone.

9.

So, stay a little, and anon you'l see
Which is the strongest, or my wits, or thee
My brave Canary. No excess will grow
On either side. Cork-like, my wits they flow
Upon this liquor; and as that ascends,
So thrives my wit, and to the world extends.

10.

Brave Wine I vow, a Cordial to my heart:
Now I commence a Batchelor of Art.

11.

Now I am Master and a Doctor too;
Law, Physick and Divinity I'le shew
All in a volume. Here's the liquor'd Letter;
And being liquor'd it will work the better.
Here's Art refin'd, sweet Musick I have found;
My head strikes up, and all my brains dance round.
Here's Grammars Key, now I have undertook

To speak all tongues without a Construing book.
Logick and Rhetorick here recorded are;
Here's every thing that's pleasant and that's rare.

13.

Oh that Apollo was but here to see
The harmony betwixt my cups and me!
Oh that proud Hercules stood here before me!
We make him kneel, and tremblingly adore me.
Would he not shiver to behold me stand
With a full glass of Nectar in my hand;
{Him} with a hand full and a head full too?
He'd run away, and glad he scaped so.
Most noble drink, how are my thoughts unsnar'd?
Me thinks I am a man of great regard.
Now I conjecture that the world is mine;
I laugh to see adversity repine,
Because I flourish. Both the Turk and Pope
Stand bare to me, both pleading (with small hope)
For a poor pension. O beloved Sack,
Having but thee, I've all, and do not lack.
Here's wealth and riches, and here's beauty bright,
Here's Vertue and her Ladies of delight.
Here is the hand of Midas, (and that's much)
Which turneth all to gold that it doth touch.
Here is the pride of man, this makes small odds
Betwixt our priviledges and the gods.
Then welcom Sack (brave Sack) with all my heart;
With thee I'le live and die, and never part.
Now to the stars I go, and in my pride,
Become a Deity bestellifi'd,

With glittering Nymphs (Diana-like) that be
Set there on purpose to imbellish me.
From Pole to Pole my fancy flies, to clear
All insurrections that are gathered there:
I dispossess bold Boreas, and asswage
The stubborn sallies of his sturdy rage.
Clearing the air of gloomy clouds, and then
I'le kick down Perseus from his seat agen;
And take the sloven that Lucina bears,
And pull him from his Mistress by the ears.
And being mounted on her Chrystal brest,
There will I sip my solace and my rest.
In her sweet bed of spices will I play
From day till night, and then from night till day.
Though Venus frown I care not, for I lack
No heart to daunt a foe, when fill'd with Sack.
There do I triumph in my glorie, for
I need not bow to each competitor.
But laugh to see how sadly they repine,
And cannot climbe unto such fate as mine.
There do I smile to see our Zealots creep
In clods of earth, half 'wake, and half asleep,
Like crawling Tortoises; while I arise
Mounting aloft (like Eagles in the skies:)
Then welcome Sack, the only wings that carry
A soul into Elysium, is Canary.

21. Her Continence.

'Tis not the force o'th' golden shower,
That once so bounteously did poure
Into Danae's lap, that can
Make my chaste Rose a Courtesan
To Jupiter; she will not stay
Her motion (like Atalanta)
For th' golden Apples that are flung
From th' Wardrobe of a flattering tongue.
No, y' are mistaken, she is none
Of that slight mettal. Shee'l not owne
Smooth Sycophanters; neither will
She slumber carelesly, until
Great Jove the thund'rer shall descend,
(There being no one to defend
Her from the furies of such fate,)
And as she sleeps, divirginate
The tender girl, as once (you know)
He did unto fair Calisto:
And then (t'augment her first despair)
Transforms the Wench into a Bear.
Nor is she like nights queen, that stept
And kist Endimion as he slept;
Leaving her dear Apollo bright,
That still reguilds her horns with light:
And leaves her own Celestial mirth
For the dull pleasures on the earth.
No, no, my Rose will never move

The steddy bias of her love
Like wav'ring Goddesses: 'tis she
Exceeds them all in constancy.
And for thy sake my constant Rose,
The crossest wind that ever blows
Shall not untwist that firm decree
That Heaven seal'd 'twixt thee and me.
If wealthy Juno should present
Her self with all th' Emolument
That e're she had, I should refuse
Her riches, and take thee to chuse.
If solid Ceres should adorn
My granaries with heaps of corn,
Upon condition, that soon after
I'de wed my self unto her daughter;
I'de heed her not: if Pallas should
A Cabinet to me unfold
Of all her gemmes, I'de not dismount
My love from Rose on this account.
In Rose there's Juno, Pallas too,
And there's a Venus fair and true;
Mistake me not, Rose is not base,
Shee's not in act there, but in face.
Therefore (dear Rose) what e're betide us,
It shall but wound us, not divide us.

22. The Soliloquy.

1

I have no riches, neither know
I where the Mines of Silver grow;
The golden age I cannot find,
Yet there is plenty in my mind.
'Tis wealth I crave, 'tis wealth that I require;
Yet there's no wealth to fill my vain desire;
Nor hopes thereof to still my craving lyte.

2

What shall I do in such a case?
I am accounted mean and base.
Both friends and strangers frown on me,
'Cause I am gaul'd with poverty.
Well, let them frown, yet I will not lament,
Nor value them, though fortune has not lent
To me her blessings, yet I have content!

3

Alas poor plant of low esteem,
How base of thee the world doth deem?
I'me but an object, could my name
But once procure the wings of fame;
Then like Apollo, glittering in the skies
I'de ride triumphant, and I'de tympanise,
Daring the apples of all humane eyes.

4

I, but I am not so sublime
In parts and merits, as to clime
Into the high terrestrial story

Of fame, triumph, renown, and glory:
Yet my content shall vanquish my disease.
Perhaps if I should climb such stairs as these,
(Like Icarus) I might salute the Seas.

5

For glory has but waxen wings;
It's like the voice of one that sings
A Prick-song ditty, now he yauls
With mounted voice, and then he falls:
So falls our fame, for censure will exile it,
And ill look't Envy quickly discompile it:
The least disaster may at last defile it.

6

I but poor worm, diseases pierce
The thin and slender universe
Of my poor flesh, weak flesh, yet I
Can find no help nor remedy;
But yet I care not, there's a healthful wind.
Survey Philosophy, and you shall find,
Sick flesh is better then a sickly mind.

7

Then farewel care for carnal wealth,
For worldly fame, and fleshly health:
Il'e use no Doctor, while I find
A wholsome temper in my mind.
I will not grieve, no fate shall make me vary
Both cross and loss shall be no adversary,
Il'e wash down all with glasses of Canary.

23. The Lovers form.

Lady behold, a bruise that lies within
The folded carpet of our skin,
Will at the length be clearly found
To work it self into a wound
That's visible, and will be seen
Unto the eye both fresh and green:
Or like the ember-sparks that lie
Rak't up in tenebrosity,
Which by degrees become a flame:
Even such is Love; and mine's the same
To you fair Madam: Therefore know,
That as these sparks of Love do grow
Within my breast, I must discover
My self to be your faithful lover.
Nor do I speak with feigned tongue,
Projecting at your smallest wrong,
For my intention's sound and true;
(Lady) I'me deep in love with you.

Your vertues and your beauty joynd,
Have kindled love up in my mind:
And such a flame that I am sure
Ther's none beside your self can cure.
Therefore (sweet Mistress) do you please
By loving me again to ease
My wounded heart, which must be yours
While I am mine, or life endures.

25. Another.

Bright stars of beauty, and more bright
In every vertue. Since your light
Is joyn'd and mingled, I will pray
To Jove and Juno that there may
Be no Ecclipse, nor breach of love
To hide your glories, or to move
Your peaceful bosom whilst you be

By Heaven allow'd this unity.
O 'tis my wish, and my desire,
That every action should conspire,
And every power may comply
Even for your tranquillity.
Thus may you thrive, till ye inherit
The livelyhood your vertues merit.

26. To Zoilus.

1

When I remember what mine eyes have seen,
And what mine ears have heard,
Concerning Muses too too young and green;
And how they have been jeer'd:
T'expose my own I am afear'd.

2

And yet this fear decreases, when I call
To my tempestuous mind,
How the strong loines of Phœbus children all,
Have fall'n by censures wind:
And in their road what rocks they find:

3

But then fresh thoughts my breast surprising, lend
More stripes of Eglantine:
For if with strongest Muses they contend,
And at such wits repine;
Much more they'l strike at mine.

4

When snotty Zoilus his detested breed
Shall their dull fingers lay
Upon my volumes, and begin to read
Th' included lines, he'l say
I am but Bacchus boy.

5

And what renowned rhymes can be expected
From him that's sopt in juyce
Of guzling Aristippus, and infected
With liquor too profuse?
His wits are drown'd in's cruse.

6

Thus by my person he'l my Poems measure,
'Cause I am young and poor;
(And who can hinder't if it be his pleasure?)
He'l say my wit's no more,
And I his lash must feel therefore.

7

Well, what of this, though in his furious rage,
With belching words he saies
I am a child, a child and under age,
Ith' non age of my days?
This addes the more unto my praise.

8

But now to you, the lamps of humane wit,
And pillars of discretion;
That on the vertex of Parnassus sit,
Retaining full possession
Of prudence, far beyond expression:

9

You that can please Mecænas, if you please;
And daily drink your fills
Of wit, by courting the Pierides,
Which do invite your quills
To move, as water turns the mills:

10

If you but please to cast your eys upon
The off-springs of my brain,
With censure soft; and see what I have done
With love, and not disdain:
I have enough of joyful gain.

11

And for reward, this promise I will give,
If ye will but incline
To tread within the limits where I live,
(Though all at me repine)
You shall be serv'd with noble wine.

12

The which I'le boast of to transcend the drinks
Wherein the Gods delight:
Here's genuine Nectar, that's defil'd and stinks.
O here's a lovely golden bright;
A taste that charms the appetite:

13

What though my drowzy Muse is too too dull,
Wanting some grains of weight?
Yet Pipes they flow, and Hogsheads they are full
Of liquor pure and right,
To which I do you all invite.

14

Excluding Zoilus, and his crazy crew
I hat fanci'd to contest
With Vulcans honest servant, 'cause there grew
No window in his breast.
Let them drink Ale and be unblest.

27. The way to Wooe.

1

He that would love, and gladly win
Th' objected scope of his affections;
Then let him not conceive 'tis sin
T'attempt the mark by my directions.

2

The God of love (you know) is blind,
Therefore cannot impartial be;
The ey's the window of the mind:
And who can prize right if not see?

3

Since then love's partial, and admits
No solid censure in the theme;
Lovers (like Apes) must shape their wits
To turn the blewest milk to cream.

4

Nor must they want those noble skills
Of Sophistry, whereby to winde
Their waxen words to match the wills,
Not of their own, but Ladies mind.

5

If ne're so fond thy mistress be,
Still be thou sure t'administer:
Though she is pleas'd with foolery,
Say thou it's wisdom, and assist her.

6

If she is proud, then praise her beauty,
And say thou fanciest her attire;
Confess a world of needless duty;
The laws of Love support a lyar.

7

Let all the thundring Eccho's slip
(Though she's the off-spring of disgrace)
Through th' easie crannies of thy lip,
Her feign'd formosity to blaze.

8

If she is wealthy, then adore
Her now and then with gifts of cost;
For if she finds thy present poor,
She'l slight thee, and thy labour's lost:

9

And who so foolish to deny
To set such costly baits as may
Take fishes, whose validity
Will o're and o're his cost repay?

10

Great Jove must not presume to see
Danae's beauty, nor unfold
Her lap, till in her bosom he
Hurls down a shower of gold.

11

If she be fair, then use to kiss
Her lips (those gates of Paradise;)
Embrace her oft, remembring this,
Venus delights in veneries.

12

When e're she's pleas'd to smile, although
Its at conceit, yet represent her;
And when she talks, do thou talk too:
Be thou to her as th' shade to th' center.

13

Of stubbornness thou must be clear.
That thou mayst flee at her request:
Stand not at tearms, although it were
T'atchieve some plot thou dost detest.

14

Only resist her still in this,
When she perswades thee not to love;
And look thou do it with a kiss,
Affirming thou wilt never move,

15

Think nothing scorn that she desires;
For Hercules (have you not heard
The tale?) so glow'd in Cupids fires,
That for his Dear he'd spin and card.

16

If then the God of vigor (who
Dislimb'd the Arcadian Boar,
And slew the Snakes of Juno too
That were design'd his sides to goar;)

17

Stoopt so submissively, and bent
Himself so vile a slave to be:
Stoop thou also, and be content;
For if thou lov'st it suits wlth thee.

18

Just as the Steel doth turn unto
The face of the magnetick power;
Even in your actions so must you
Incline unto your Paramour.

19

If rhyming fancies rule her brains,
Accustom thou thy self to sing
Nasonian and soft Phrygian strains,
Well mounted on the Cyprian wing.

20

Make this thy labour, and aspire
For stuff that may augment the flame;
And soon you'l set that breast on fire
Whereto your love-sick arrows aime.

21

The foes of Love are stubborn words,
Sad lowring eyes, and lips that pout:
These cut more sharp then sharpest swords,
And put your Ladies unto rout.

28. Taylors.

1

Taylors and Wood-cocks both agree,
(But not in point of skills)
For both of them (we plainly see)
Do live by their long bills.

2

The Taylors scrub, the Wood cocks fly;
So both be quick and nimble:
The Wood cock trusts unto his eye;
The Taylor to his thimble.

29. Wisdom.

Thou matchless darling of the heavenly race,
Minerva decked and adorn'd with grace
And sacred beauty. thou that wilt not be
Devirginated by the proudest he
That e're assay'd with vigor or with tears:
I have consum'd the morning of my years
In wooing thee, yet am as far to win
Thy sacred love, as when I did begin.
I cleav'd the waters like a true Meander;
I sought thee here, and did pursue thee yonder;
Like poor Alphæus I have followed thee,
But Arethusa thou hast prov'd to me.
I cannot gain thee, neither can I rest

Till thou residest in my longing breast.
How shall I win thee? how shall I obtain thee?
Thou glorious prize, what shall I do to gain thee?
Thou happy object, thou wilt not be sold
For sums of silver, or for heaps of gold.
The Indian Gems, or Neptunes Corals be
Of no esteem, of no validity
To win this Paragon. 'Tis only Jove
That keeps her seated in his tower above,
That can procure her me; therefore I'le pray
Unto the King of Heaven, that I may
Be wise: Thou mover of Celestial motion,
Attend to my petition and devotion:
Thee I appeal to, under whose protection
Remains the Mistress of my best affection.
I am in love, the object is thy daughter:
Long have I woo'd, and longer have I sought her;
Long have I wisht, and labour'd to obtain her;
But my ignoble person cannot gain her.
Do thou therefore be pleased to infuse
My breast with her; do thou assist my Muse
With heavenly wisedom; for she'l never be
Attain'd for me, if not infus'd by thee.

30. The Mind.

Whose mind shall I decipher? whose intent
Shall I now shadow out, or represent?
My own I cannot. And I think 'tis vain

To tell another's in a Dorick strain
Of my invention. Minds are so unstable,
That we may title them incomparable.
No art can shape them, they're so temporary,
That e're a thought can reach them they will vary
Strange things they be; and who so e're intends
To tell a mind, what e're it comprehends
Must also treat of. And this theme's too ample
To be expounded, or admit example:
Both Earth and Heaven, Hell, Faith, Hope, and Sin,
Yea, ev'ry creature is contain'd therein.
Have you e'e noted a prodigious cloud
In apparition; like a man? endow'd
With manly members? and the same appear
In the next moment, like a shagged bear;
Then (mov'd by Æolus) anon she shapes
Her sable vapor to some Jack an apes.
This shews the mind in part, but (pray observe)
This Cloud in Landskips Zeuxes well might carve
But the deformed Centaures that abide
Within the mind, cannot be typifi'd.
Suppose Apelles brings his Pensils our,
Prepares his sundry paints, and goes about
T'attempt the thing, he'l come as far behind,
As though he were to Manacle the wind.
Alas, Man knows it not: and who can paint
A shadow of the thing he's ignorant?
Surely these knowing times and you scarce find
A man that rightly knoweth his own mind.

31. The Interruption.

Can I not wanton once a day
In her dark night-enlightning ray,
But the pale foes of Love must be
Prepar'd to bark and bite at me?
Can we not spend an hour or two
(When we have nothing else to do)
In Am'rous actions, bobs, and chocks,
And twisting fingers in our locks,
Venerian glances, smiles and kisses,
And such true harmless mirth as this is:
But on a sudden, there must be
The clownish boars of enmity
Sent to distermine and divide us,
And be as rough as though th' had spi'd us
(Like Zimri and his mate) compact,
And join'd in some uncivil act?
Oh these are clowns, and rustick fools,
That ne're were taught loves golden rules:
And like the Dog that will not eat,
Nor let the Ox lick up the mear.
Thou God of Love, where e're thou art,
From these defend us with thy dart;
Bend thou thy bow, and use thy charms,
While I am rampant in her arms.

32. The Requital.

And why did Rose incur such trouble,
As to reciprocate (this bubble)
A ring to him, who only sent
To her the vulgar complement
That Lovers to their Ladies send,
Or that which friend may do to friend?
Nor did I lard it with such words
As wanton feigned love affords.
It was no god of steel, intomb'd
With golden phrases; nor persum'd
With powdred oaths: The Herald knows
'Twas only thus, My love to Rose.
And now my Rose upon this score,
Returns a Ring; what need I more?
I but alas, I cannot flatter,
Her love I value more then th' matter
Expressing it; though she presented
Me with this Ring, I'm not contented
So much as though her lips should move
Thus, pray salute him with my Love.
I, here's a token, if but true,
What pleasure might from hence accrue?
This is a wealth would please me more
Then all the gold oth' Indian shore:
I weigh not gold, when I remember
That glowing spark, that secret ember,
That true Idalean coal that burns

In Rose's breast, and freely turns
To me (its Magnet;) this is joy,
The sum of my felicity.
Therefore sweet Herald, use to bring
Love Letters rather then a Ring;
Though love by tokens is exprest,
Yet of all tokens love's the best.

33. The Dream.

1

Last night my senses being lockt,
Fond Brize came and boldly knockt
Against my fancy gate:
And in her wanton arms she brought
(As with a strong desire I thought)
The Empress of my fate.

2

Who blushing stood before my face
(As twere expecting my embrace)
Her bosom being nak't:
Then Panick fear, and pleasant hope
At once into my spirits crope,
And mov'd me till I quak't?

3

I mov'd this query in my breast;
Is't Rose in earnest or in jest?
The Jury prov'd it she.
Then I with furious faith begun

Towards this glorious prize to run;
But reason bridled me.

4

Stay, stay, (she said) there is no reason
Thou shouldst fall on, for it is treason;
Therefore bold youth return:
But love, which reason doth exceed,
Nay stronger then my self indeed,
So furiously did burn

5

Within the chimney of my breast,
That I was quite berest of rest,
Till in my arms I felt her;
Then with a vigorous haste I rusht
Upon the girl (who wept and blusht)
Thinking t' have purchast shelter.

6

But when I came into the station
(With equity pray poize my passion)
Where she appear'd to me,
I found a stock which neither mov'd
Its bulk, nor breath'd; alas it prov'd
Her shape, it was not she,

34. The Change.

I once thought solace had been bound to serve
My will for ever, 'cause she us'd to carve
Such mellow morcels to my sense, when I

Supt at the table of mine infancy.
When first I entred on this mortal stage,
I challeng'd peace and pleasure as my page;
My heart swom light, cleaving the glorious seas
Of consolation, bliss, content and ease,
With such fair gales, that I thought common pleasure
Was mine successively, my fathers treasure
Which he transferr'd to me; but now I find
It is as apt to vary as the wind.
When I was lull'd in the indulgent arms
Of my dear nurse, and tickled by her charms,
I knew no doubt, nor did I fear the danger
Of future chance; bad fortune was a stranger
Unto my sense; I little thought to see
The dismal furies now tormenting me.
Fate promis'd fairly, when she us'd to bring
Each hour a mess to me well rellishing.
But now her bounty is so poor and slender,
That I can guess her but a meer pretender.
But let her do her worst, now I assure ye,
Sweet Sack hath set me up above her fury.

35. The Mistake.

Tvvas long of Midas who inspir'd
Me with partiality, and injur'd
My clearer judgement, else I had
Not made loves Archery so bad;

Again to me my darts did glide
Too too sublimely, and too wide.
I levell'd with mine eye-sight aim
Toward the center of a Dame,
Whom fortune had with dowries blest,
And sanctity it self exprest;
Whom natures seal had signed pretty,
And noble practise prov'd her witty.
All these I aim'd at, and I thought
To have ensnar'd them, and have caught
Them for my prey; but she deni'd,
And when I shot she slipt aside;
When I said I, she answered no,
And would not bend unto my bow:
When ere I urg'd her to explain
Her mind, she pinch't me with disdain,
No smiles, but frownings waited on
Her sharp responses, whereupon
I did commence to ruminate,
If these were not the signs of hate.
And in my search I proved these
To be the true Antipodes
To my intent: then did I pause
Upon this hate-producing cause
In this fair object. But the quest
Of reason sitting in my breast,
Did soon convince my faith of this,
That my love-darts were shot amiss.
Herein (said they) your folly lies:
You aim'd at her, and she was wise;

Therefore in vain your darts incline,
Prudence with folly will not join.

36. The Encomium.

My mind has mov'd me oft to praise
Rosella's beauty, but her rayes
Recall'd my Muses, and enjoyn'd
My well and ill prepared mind
To curb these praises, ere they sprung
From my soft quill, or softer tongue.
For reason (not the prop alone,
But Basis wisedom stands upon)
Hath re-inform'd me that she lack't
No verbal or external act
To patch her cheeks with, or repair
The tresses of her golden hair.
Where all the fuel is on fire,
There needs no breath to raise it higher.
A stomach fill'd with dainty meats
Disgests not what it after eats.
Then pardon (Rose) my silent quill,
Which fancies not to superfill
Your theme with praises, which you neither
Desire, wish, want or fancy either.
I'le not describe thy crimson blush;
Joves purest Nectar needs no bush:
But I will praise the courser sort
That need it, and will thank me fort.

37. Three Friends.

1

Theer certain friends (whom fortune did expose
To many harms and dangers,
And circumvented with a world of foes;
Some neighbours, others strangers,)

2

VVell blest with vigour, and prepar'd with arms,
And stedfastly conjoin'd
VVith resolution to oppose all harms,
VVith one entire mind.

3

(Their minds thus melted into one) they went
VVith fury, to resist
Each stop that stood their projects to prevent,
And each Antagonist.

4

Nor did success prove poorer unto these,
Then 't was fore-doom'd to do:
For many a one they shackled by degrees,
And many a one they slew.

5

Nor did their thirsty swords forbear to spill
The vitals of their foes;
Nor sheath their bloody jaws in scabbards, till
There was no more t' oppose.

6

Now all is won, and every prize their own,

The trine is sweetly blest
(All the extinsick trouble being gone)
VVith native peace and rest.

7

But pride (the darling of good fortune) sprung
(Arm'd with desire of strife)
These glorious Champions, and these friends among;
And spoil'd their friendly life.

8

Nor would it vanish, till it had untwisted
The knots once love had ti'd;
And now each friend his bosom-friend resisted,
till they were all destroy'd.

The Moral.

These trusty friends three Nations were, well known
To be subordinate to a single Crown;
And while they lov'd, the world could not out-vie
But their intestin hate did soon destroy them.
Intrinsick strife, and home bred contradiction,
Are the next road to ruine and affliction.

38. The Apology.

Dost thou admire to see my rhimes,
Accost thine eyes so oftentimes?
Pray tell me, can the tender lambs

Forget to bleat unto their dams?
Or can the babe refrain its tongue
To wag to her from whence it sprung?
Can it withhold its childish strife
From her that did indow't with life?
No, no, it cannot; neither will
My muse be silent, nor my quill
Refrain its chattering unto you,
From whom my Muses breath accrew.
Had your refulgent rayes ne're shone
(With instigative power) upon
My dull Urania, she had been
Unknown, unskilful, and unseen.
Oft your own lustre did inspire
Me with an active power, and then
(Like souls) shall I not turn agen
To my Creator? mark the flame,
Ascends not it from whence it came?
No wonder then if you behold
My Muses oft to be so bold
To buz beneath your eye-beams, seeing
You are the author of their being.

39. The Encouragement.

1

What power affronts our zeal, or who shall stand
As a sad Gnomon 'twixt thy self & me?
Art thou not mine? and dost thou not command

Me at thy pleasure by authority?
Since then our hearts are link't, who shall prevent
Or break the tenets of our true intent?

2

Be thou but loyal, and it is no matter
Though I be carbonado'd for thy sake;
Though our beleaguerers many a time shall batter
That Chrystal Tower of thine, yet they shall take
No inward prize, nor 'twixt us interpose;
Be but our hearts true, and we'l fear no foes.

3

Be not too much dejected, though th' art forc't
To wait and linger for loves full repast.
The more our stomachs long, the more they fast,
The dearer will our dainties be at last.
The longer a hot fever in thee burns,
The sweeter is thy health when it returns.

4

Then banish doubtings of division, from
The promontories of thy silver breast,
(Those fair Belconies of Elysium,
Where Heaven's Nectar and Ambrosia rest)
Each crabbed Guerdion, by his purest arts,
Shall but divide our bodies, not our hearts.

40. The request to walk.

Sol has prepared every grove,
Fit mansions for retired love.

Come let us walk therein, and see
VVhich shine the brightest, they or thee.
Come, come, there is no secret spy,
No bastard of Antipathy
To Cupids Cordials, that may leere
Among the whistling trees, to hear
Our soft discourses, and there is
None to upbraid us when we kiss.
The feather'd train will gladly sing,
And in their order they will bring
Fresh warbling Sonnets, and advance
Their mellow Musick, while we dance
To their serene and sprightly charms,
VVith hand in hand, and arms in arms.
Speak then, where shall we dance a round?
On Sylvan's floor, or Ceres ground?
Or with Priapus shall we play?
Speak now, and chuse the best you may.

The Answer.

The thorny back't and rough Sylvanus
Shall not refresh nor entertain us:
Nor withered Ceres, 'cause the plow
Has made long furrows on her brow:
But 'tis Priapus I desire;
There we will play until we tire.

41. The self-check.

My chaster Muses freely are inclin'd,
To wish thee to be wary:
Lest by temptation, thou shouldst be enjoyn'd
(Like Cloris) to miscarry.
But pardon me, I doubt not in the least,
Because you would not fall at my request.

42. The Advise.

1

I am big-belli'd with desire
To court thine ears with admonition,
Lest thou art melted by the fire
Of such as unto thee petition

2

To crop thy Virgin blooms, and then
Will leave the branches bare and base:
Of such licentious greedy men
As leave poor Ladies in disgrace;

3

Who (Jason-like) will never spare
To spoil the cask, so they can get
What Jewels it includeth rare;
Ev'n for the Gem spoil th' Cabinet.

4

Attend not to Mercurian lips,

Gay raiment, or Atalanta's balls,
If once thy foot in publick slip,
Thousands will lurk to give thee falls.

5

And this sage counsel I bequeath
You for your good, because I see,
By the inticement of a breath,
You fell so gently down for me.

43. The Blush.

Well may she sigh and blush to see
My love-dri'd cheeks how pale they be.
For her light love, and lean reward
Of my affection, leans so hard
Upon my vitals, that it strains
The crimson tincture from my veins,
And leaves my cheeks to be the right
Type of the Lady of the night.
But stay fond Muses, sure you err,
She wrongs not you, but you wrong her.
For if the slender Love that freez'd
In torid Zone of her, had squeez'd
The tincture from my cheeks, sure then
She would have gilded those agen,
By the continual blush and blaze
That darts (like Pæan) from her rayes.
Her tongue's the mintage, I the coin;
And as she speaks, this heart of mine

Is formed, as the signets be
To wax, so are thy words to me:
If then her words can wrest my nature,
Her blush may burnish my dull feature.
I, but the weakness of her love
Doth still perswade her to remove,
And vail her cheeks: so that the cause
Which from my face the tincture draws,
Doth also hinder and debar
My pined visage from repair.
Why then suppose thy self a fly,
So mayst thou buz beneath her eye;
Then her hot eyes or fragrant breath
May scortch or stifle me to death.
Oh that were best of all! 'tis better fate
To die Loves Martyr, then to live in hate.

44. The Protest.

1

Lady, let not a tear trickle down or appear
In your eye,
To conceive I should leave
My affecting of you till I die.

2

May the Bell never toll as a foy to my soul
When it flies
From its urn, to return
To the place whence it came, o're the skies.

3

May the Sun never shine on this forehead of mine
VVhile I breath,
If that I e're deny
To adore and to love thee till death.

4

May the horrible itch, or the ghost of a witch
Torture me
If I prove to remove
My engagements (fair Lady) from thee.

5

But why should I speak, that have no force to break
My design?
For as well may I sell
My own life, as forbear to be thine.

6

Can the water remove from beneath to above
VVithout art?
No, you know it cannot so.
No more can I alter my heart.

7

Can the day light go out, while the Sun goes about
In the Sphear?
No, you know't cannot so:
No more can my zeal to my Dear.

8

Th' art Queen of my soul, and hast force to controul
Each decree:
For alas! even as
Steel to the Loadstone, so I am to thee.

9

Since then there's no force can divide or divorce
Us in twain,
Throw aside peevish pride,
While I kiss thee again and again.

10

Let us wantonly play, kiss and clip while we may,
Without scorn;
For if we merry be
Over night, I'le not leave thee i'th' morn.

45. The Item.

What I always grumbling, always whining?
Still suming, raving, and repining?
What ails my brat to be so pettish,
So cross, so peevish, and so frettish?
Curst Cur, what makes thee thus? I say,
Why wearest thou thy self away
On macerating envies wheel?
What inward mover dost thou feel?
Or is it ought that dwells in me
That does extort thy voice and thee?
Sure then I'le say, and yet I will not flout thee,
The Devil's in thee, or thy wit's without thee.

46. The Maids Soliloquie.

1

You Virgins of the Queen of Lovers,
Come and consult with me a while;
Help me to chase this bird that hovers
About my breast, into exile.
Shew me a way
Whereby I may,
In stead of sighing, take delight to smile.

2

What though he's gone, in wrath departed?
Shall I for ever more lament?
No, I will not be so faint-hearted;
It shall not cause me to repent,
Though he has left
Me, and bereft
Me of his love, yet I have my content:

3

When in his arms I was confined,
A jealous frenzy vext my brain;
And I each moment was enjoined
To feel the sting of Cupids pain:
For then I thought I had been caught,
But now my heart's become mine own again.

4

If it were needful I should marry;
I need not labour for a lad;
But I will rather chuse to tarry,

Lest some should think that I were mad:
For when I wed,
My joyes are fled,
And all my good days will be turn'd to bad.

5

And since his absence greatly eases
Me of my sorrows and my care,
Pray let him wander where he pleases,
And not return till I despair:
The which shall be
When you shall see
Both Towns and Castles builded in the air.

47. The Dialogue.

Quest.
What mean those golden locks
About Rosella's head?

Answ.
These shew in what bewitching stocks
Thy heart lies fettered.

Q.
Why is her lofty brow so fair,
(Like Eurus cheek) so red?

A.
'Tis her blush, and doth declare
Where modesty is bred.

Q.
What means that moisture that appears
In her bright eyes like Pearl?

A.
It signifies how Cyprian tears
Flew dayly from the girl.

Q.
Wherefore does she withdraw her eyes
When I accost her beams?

A.
Because her rayes should not annoy
Thy sight by their extreams.

Q.
And wherefore does her crimson hue
So often change and vary?

A.
O 'tis a Herald sent to you,
To wish you to be wary.

Q.
What ailes her lips more hard to be
Then Coral, or the Rubie?

A.
This shews the clownishness of thee,
For thou art but a boobie.

Q.
Pray tell me more apparently
Wherein the truth of this is?

A.
Because you do not mollifie
Them by your moistning kisses.

Q.
What mean those knots upon her breast,
And pray what is their duty?

A.
Why feeble art is here exprest
To wait on natures beauty.

Q.
What mean her hands to look so white,
As though they were of snow?

A.
This shews that love is cold and light,
Which in her heart doth grow.

Fond youth thou lyest, and 'tis but thy pretence,
I can refute thee by experience.

48. The Times.

1

My heart, alas, is ever dying,
And yet is never dead.
Like ful-lblown Dames I lie out-crying,
Yet am not brought to bed.

2

A calm, they say, succeeds a storm;
Alas, why I beleeve it:
And good is also chac't by harm,
Which dayly lurks to grieve it:

3

By some unhappy news to day
Tranquillitie's exil'd:
And all my joyes consume away,
And thus I am beguil'd.

4

Perhaps anon this rigid act
Is by the court repeal'd:
And then I am with pleasures back't,
And all my wounds are heal'd.

5

But this is that which ne're endures
Above a day at most:
Some cruel jog doth lance my cures,
And all my joyes are lost.

6

To day here's murder, theft to morrow,
And scandal he comes after:
These are the grounds of wise mens sorrow,
Bat to the foolish, laughter.

7

Here's Tereus bedded with his sister
Ith' midst of all the throng;
And when he had defil'd and kist her,
He rob'd her of her tongue.

8

Here's Irus hang'd for stealing bread,
Though rob'd of his arrears:
And here is Crœsus perjured,
Yet he can keep his ears.

9

Here is Lycaon fiercely slaying
His guests, and yet goes free:
And here are Saints in Temples praying,
As ill design'd as he.

10

Here's Zoilus railing at the times,
As though he did detest them:
Yet notwithstanding Zoilus rhimes,
He closely can digest them.

11

Nor need he rail at them so much;
For they would never be
So wicked, were it not for such
Unconstant fools as he.

49. Put the case

1

If Whores and Rogues were link't together,
'Twould be a brave conjunction;
And oyled with the oyl of leather,
'Twould be a curious unction.
If Mars shall move in Venus sphear,
What alteration might we fear?

2

If I should love and be neglected,
What would become of me?
If the French Pox had thee infected,
What would become of thee?
If Cupid cuts Alceste's Corns,
May not Admetus fear the Horns?

3

If Time with his long sithe should mow
Death down, and make him die:

Then Reader but imagine, oh
What blades were thee and I?
If this were so, in stead of peace,
Both men and malice would encrease,

4

If the first mover of the Orbs
Should chance to fall asleep,
The Scottish Knight, Sir Arthur Forbs,
Could hardly shear his Sheep.
Or if Apollo close his eye,
What light would you see Planets by?

5

If thou and I were both as one,
Endow'd with worldly riches,
If thou keep Whores, and I keep none,
Who first might pawn his breeches?
If Nimrod steals Diana's Dear,
Has not Apollo cause to fear?

50. The Ramble.

Go home loose thoughts, y' have seen enough,
Your pleasure's burnt unto a snuff:
What you conceiv'd your lasting prize,
Now proves a vapor in disguize.
Now you have rambled out your swing,
You find the world is no such thing
As you suppos'd, when you were wont
Only to stand and gaze upon't.

How many friendships were profest?
How many fawners did contest
To wait on me, while I was stay'd,
And kept me close unto my trade?
Oh what pretences, what a brood
Of promises to do me good!
These puft me up, and did invite
My fancy to some fresh delight;
Thought I, I'le try the world, and see
If starting out will better me;
I'le change the course of my estate,
And fall upon some newer fate.
Oh foolish brain! though some indeed
Seek out new fortunes, 'tis for need;
When th' old's so poor 'twill not maintain them,
Then to seek out it doth constrain them.
But he that's fixt well, he is worse
Then mad, in altering of his course;
The follie's mine. Abroad I went,
And many a silver spill I spent,
And I was welcome while it lasted;
But being gone my pleasure blasted:
And they that courted me before
Into their favours, now give o're,
And have so moulded their condition,
That they regard not my petition:
While I had silver, there would be
No want of good societie,
Such pleasant words did me assail
As use to court men into Jail.

I was a sweet young man, they said,
And did deserve as sweet a maid.
Bless him and's fortunes, prudent youth,
And I must be a Saint forsooth.
Pox take their Worships, but no matter,
This Ramble makes my knowledge fatter.
I find all pleasures are but vain;
Therefore I will go home again.

51. The Desertion.

Was I bewitch't or drunk when I essay'd
To change my function, & forsake the trade
The sacred trade of Nectar, which maintains
Our consolation, and supplies our brains
With springs of Wit; and fall into the sphere
Of sullen Ale, and sense-afflicting Beer?
Was e're such folly acted in our school?
Could e're good fellowship breed such a fool?
But stay a little, let me plead excuse,
Else I am lavish in my own abuse:
'Twas not the Beer alone invok'd me hither;
But 'twas the Widdow and the Beer together.
The Wine inflam'd my spirits, and 'tis common
When Nectar's regent, to accost a woman.
But soon the woman did my fancy tire,
And then again for Wine was my desire.
Hence we may note that women, in the taste,
Suffice our will, such pleasures will not last

Above a night or two; but he that uses
In streams of Wine to mollifie his Muses,
Is never cloy'd (his solace knows no sorrow)
For he that's drunk to day loves VVine to morrow.

52. Adonibezeck.

Good deeds deserve requitals, and the men
That strike unjustly, must be struck agen
VVith their own weapons; & from hence it comes,
That proud Adonibezeck lost his Thumbs.

53. Donec eris fœlix.

1

What peevish planet did the heavens sway
When I was born? what star did rule the day
Of my untimely birth? it neither lends
Me wealth nor friends.

2

Why was I born? wherefore did not my mother
Comply with death? death, why didst thou not smother
Me in that womb? then had my body been
At rest unseen.

3

Unnatural father, why didst thou deny
To leave me maintainance? couldst thou not buy
Some grand see-simple? hadst thou but done so,
I'de known no foe.

4

Had this been done, no question but thy son
(Whose state proud Fortune now derides) had won
The day of triumph, and advanc't his fame,
And fathers name.

5

Why didst thou give me learning? why didst thou
Not bring me up to labour at the plow?
This is the road to riches, t'other brings
Contrary things.

6

Carnal discretion tells me, had I bent
My youth to purvey for emolument,
I had been happy in the thing which sends
Both fame and friends.

7

But now (poor abject) I must needs incline
To friends: O Crœsus, if I were but thine,
'Twere great encouragement; Oh let me be
Partner with thee.

8

But stay a little, I must not intrude
Into his secret Counsels, he'l exclude
My sense from thence, and charge me to be gone
To Helicon.

9

I want an equal portion to compare
With his vast treasure, he will never care
To entertain me, if I cannot swim
In wealth with him.

10

I must forsake his dainties, and go feed
My fond desires on the barren weed
That's on Parnassus; there's my pleasure, there
Lies all my cheer.

11

But hold my Muse, I'le lock thee in my trunk,
Lest they that see thee say my Muse is drunk:
Drown not thy self with madness, thou canst rise
Above the skies.

12

Sack is thy sustenance, didst ever know
A Bacchanalian vapor sink so low
As sorrow dwells? no misery can be
Known unto thee.

13

Yet must I pity those unhappy boyes
That juggle with Mæcenas for the bayes
Of vain applause; whose lottery is to lie
In misery.

14

Wit they have plenty, but we seldom know
VVhen wit and riches both together flow
In the same font; Fate (mortals ticklish guide)
Doth them divide.

15

Your waxen-winged verses will dissolve
In time of want; then censure will revolve
Your fame i'th' bowels of contempt, and drown'd
You, once renown'd.

16

Are you in prison? tell me, can you pierce
The gates and wickets by a measur'd verse?
Can your own fancy bail you, can you be
For crimes set free?

17

Where's all your friends? perhaps one sayes I know him
I've seen his person, I have read his Poem.
All wish him well, but which man goes about
To help him out?

18

But now you Poets, if you would have friends,
First learn ye to be happy, else your ends
Are all in vain; and when you happy be,
Remember me.

54. The Souldier and his Mistress.

So.
Hark, hark (my Paragon) the trumpet sounds
The foaming horse come prancing o're the grounds
The noise of battel in my ear rebounds.

2

Arm, arm, brave Hectors, the Centurions cry,
Advance, advance your weapons or you die;
Which horrid noise will break our Sympathy.

Mist.
No, no, it needs not, shall the horrid swarms
Of men and horse allure thee by their charms,
To leave my fleshly for thy martial arms?

4

Cling closer then, for thou shalt not depart
From me this night in person, or in heart;
Arm not, for thou in arms already art:

5

And th' art engag'd unto the harmless fight
Of wanton Cupid, where (this following night)
We'l both be conquer'd, with delight.

6

Our smiles shall be our arrows, and our eyes
Are Stratagems, sufficient to surprize
Thoughts of dissention and Antipathies.

7

Each blow will beg another, and 't will ease us;
Such contestations cannot chuse but please us:
And such a quarrel greatly will appease us.

8

Brave war and harmless! oh who would deny
To be a souldier in't? who would not die
In such a battel, such artillery?

Sold.
I, but I dare not; if my Captain find
Me in your quarters, no excuse will blind
His rigid sentence, and his furious mind.

Mist.
There's none shall find thee, for I'le vail thy face
And body too, with the embroidered case
Of my rich blanket, where we will embrace.

11

My smock shall shroud thee, & my hand shall guide thee

From whatsoe're disaster shall betide thee,
Ith' bushes on my belly I will hide thee.

12

Or if he find thee, I will answer than,
That he is arm'd (let him say what he can)
To ruine mortals, thou to make a man.

55. The Exclamation.

1

Since 't was thy beauty that begun
This fervent ardor in my breast,
Make it, my grief-expelling sun,
That wretched I may take some rest.
I burn, I burn 'twixt the extreams
Of fear and hope, and thy bright beams.

2

One heat another may unthrone;
Then wonder not if I desire
(Who scorching lies ith' torrid Zone)
Your forehead to expel my fire.
Oh smile, and let my heart not lie
Broyl'd on the grid-irons of thine eye.

3

Ice (fires foe) laid to the skin
That's burnt, will cause the flesh to turn
Into a blister, and within
With greater vehemency to burn:
O Icy heart, then be not so,
'Twould bring additions to my woe.

4

Strange kind of creature, whose clear eye
Can scorch and burn like Luna's brother;
And yet her heart in Ice doth lie,
Her self doth freeze, yet burns another.
The torrid and the frigid Zone
Unite their tempers both in one.

5

Then let thine eye thy heart reflect
Upon, and soon the Ice will perish;
And then thy heart will me affect,
And with enlivening flames me cherish?
Now I lie gasping, and I saint
For want of thee, my lovely Saint.

6

Thou art that tree whereon is found
A strange and double-natur'd power;
The one is bitterly to wound,
The other sweetly is to cure.
And since the first on me ha'st past,
Come now and cure me with the last.

7

Oh furious flame! alas I fry,
And cannot damp the heat with water;
My structure reels, and I must die,
If beauty brings me not her daughter.
I toss and turn, and cannot rest:
'Tis Juniper flames within my breast.

8

Come lively soul, let's symphathize

In love and arms, and be not loth;
Let me behold in thy bright eyes
Narcissus and Adonis both.
Were but thy heart as hot as mine,
I should find pleasure to calcine.

9

Poor beauty-strucken soul, I have
No consolation in the world,
Unless thy bounty dain to save
Me from those plagues upon me hurl'd:
Thou art that spell, and only thee
That charmest all my misery.

10

Come sacred Doctress then, and act
Thy energy and power on me:
A word of thine (with Cupid back't)
Is medicine enough to be
Deaths Antidote, and to controul
The extasie wherein I roul.

56. The Invitation to Marry.

1

Put on (Rosella) ride not with delay,
'Tis full of danger; all-devouring time
Brings things (in time) to ruine and decay.
Enjoy thy pleasure now it is thy prime;
All things unused quickly are decay'd,
And for the lack of use are useless made.

2

Observe an house that's not inhabited,
How soon swift time makes pock-holes in the walls:
Observe a cage, from whence the bird is fled,
How soon it's cobweb'd, and to ruine falls.
Oh let not (Rose) thy wanton white and red,
For want of wanton use be withered.

3

Thou art the (Rose the Queen of every flower)
And if in time thou art not choicely taken,
Thou wilt decline, and lose thy fragrant power;
And thy fresh cheeks of beauty be forsaken:
Then take this counsel, let it not be known
So rare a Rose should languish all alone.

4

Make me thy Tenant, and let me inherit
This curious Joynter: let thy youthful age
Be kept for me, to me do you transfer it.
I'le be the Bird too if you'l be the Cage,
I'le keep the house as 'tis, and you shall see
No alteration in the Cage shall be.

5

The Rose is even ripe, and fit to gather;
Here is a hand shall pluck it if you please:
Let it not stand, left time and stormy weather
Shall blanch its vertue, and make beauty cease;
Resign it now, reserve it not until
'Tis neither fit for scent, nor to distil.

6

Let's love no longer single, but enjoy

The true Elysium which our Wedlock brings,
And let us feed on that felicity
Where of the silly Dove of Venus sings;
Die not a Virgin, lest survivers tell,
Rose is departed to lead Apes in hell.

57. The Preeminence.

1

Alas what's Phœbus? I did ne're
Stand trembling to behold his light,
As I have often done to her;
He shines i'th' day, she day and night:
His glory can but dull mine eyes,
But in her lustre my heart fries;
Then tell me where most power lies?

2

Pale-fac'd Diana can but shew
A crazy countenance, but my Rose
Has full-grown beauty, clear and true:
Her heavenly brow no blemish knows;
Yet in Lucina you may see
Apparent spots, pray then tell me
Which is most bright, the Moon or she.

3

Though Ætna's mountain fiercely fries
With burning-Sulphur, yet alas,
Rosella with her piercing eyes,
Its Calenture doth far surpass;

The flames that issue from that urn,
Things at a distance will not burn;
A man may see't and safe return.

4

But whosoe're on Rose shall cast
A fixed eye, he's burned by her.
And he that shall her beauty taste,
Must needs be hurl'd into loves fire;
His breast is strucken by a glance,
Her fatal look's a sad mischance,
And leaves the viewer in a trance.

5

The vertuous Loadstone, though it is
The Map of wonders, yet I say
She can effect as great as his,
By her sweet reason-quelling ray:
This draws my knife too't, that my heart;
Let reason then to me impart,
In which of these lies greatest art?

6

The stone which the Philosopher
Approves for vertue, comes behind
The stronger force that dwells in her
(As by experience I can find;)
With this his stone (poor mortal) he
Can but turn things to gold, but she
Makes mirth of sowrest misery.

7

Then what is Phœbus? may not he
Confess his weakness to his shame?

And what is Luna? may not she
Withdraw her face, and do the same?
The Loadstone and Philosopher,
And Ætna, all must know they erre,
And all pay tribute unto her.

50. The Drollery.

1

Like the rich jewels of a jeaks,
Or like a Mill-stone fri'd in steaks,
Or like the Elbow of a Bat,
Or like a Presbyterian Rat:
Just such is he that call'd my Mistress Madam,
Ten thousand years before the dayes of Adam.

2

Like a red herring drest in coats,
Or like a flea that feeds on oats,
Or like a louse that can speak French,
Or like a whorish honest wench:
Such is that mortal whose discretion can
Both rob and cheat, yet be an honest man.

3

Like Tadpoles that must ride in Coaches,
Or like the leaden wings of Loaches,
Or Humble-Bees in leathern jackets,
Or true mens hands in Harlots plackets:
Such is that goodly Squire, whose intent
Is to build Churches when his money's spent.

4

Just like a Beard that's lin'd with plush,
Or like a three-leg'd Holly-bush,
Or like the Vine that beareth Cider,
Or like the Cloak-bag of a Spider:
Just such is he that took a Gun, and shot
Quite through the shoulder of his Chamber-pot.

5

Like a Sirreverence lapt in Lawn,
Or like a sword that ne're was drawn,
Or furious Whiskin burnt to coals,
Or men that live without their souls:
Such Crœsus is, that would not line his breeches,
Nor get his wife with child, for fear on's riches.

6

Like one that sees though he be blind,
Or the fore-horse that comes behind,
Or like a free-born Bastard brat,
Or like I know not who nor what:
Just such is he that falling sick of sorrow,
Was buried yesterday, and di'd to morrow.

59. Love beyond Reason.

I love to sport above her eye,
I love her well, but know not why.
I love her smell, I love her taste,
I love to twist about her waste:
I love her sound, I love her touch;

The active power of love is such
That for my Mistress I could die,
And yet in troth I know not why:
I search't her soul to see what merit
Was there, and found none did inherit.
To reason for a rudiment,
Upon this scrutiny I went,
Where th' cause of love I did detect,
Not her desert, but my defect:
Or thus more plainly runs the rule;
I lov'd her 'cause I was a fool.

60. In the Garden.

1

Rosella did but look
Upon the Milk-white Rosie bushes,
And presently each Rose forsook
Their white, and vapor'd in Rosella's blushes.

2

She did but cast her eye
Upon the blew-lipt Lavanders,
And presently they did defie
Their own complexion, and did boast of hers.

3

The virid Marjoram
Her sparkling beauty did but see,
And presently their green became
All di'd with Scarlet, blushing, red as she.

4

And when 'tis my delight
My perisht beauty to renew,
Then I accost her, whose first sight
Then turns my pale cheeks to a crimson hue.

5

Brave Artist, then I'le sue
Philosophers no more, to know
Their Elixar; it's all in you,
Prov'd by experience wheresoere you go.

61. A Kiss.

1

A Way false fear,
And come not here.
Cheer up brave thoughts, and grow
In strength, fall not below
Your quality; alas, th' assumption
Of one poor kiss was no presumption;
No, none at all, sweet-lips you did not erre,
There was no treason in saluting her,

2

Where you before
Had thousands more
Without repulse or frown.
No, (wanton girl) 'tis known
Thou ha'st not only lov'd the sport,
But waited and endeavour'd for't.

I've seen thee active to inflame the blisses
That are ingender'd by the game of kisses.

3

Wherefore I'le draw
From Cupids Law,
That Custom might have claim'd
Its right, and never fram'd
The least Apology; nor stood
Poring upon th' Optative mood.
Yet she, forsooth, not only stai'd the use,
But tells me the attempt is an abuse.

4

But sinner, sure
Thou needst not wooe her
To pass such errors by
With an indulgent eye:
Thou needst not blush where there's no fault,
He needs no crutch that ne're did hault.
Cast off thy care, set sorrows on the score,
Since she repulst thee once, ne're kiss her more.

62. Hero.

Woe is me that fall!
Woe is me that perish!
Genius tell me, whither shall
I repair for one to cherish
My declining soul, and condole
My distress? Oh pity! yonder

Swims the Skeleton of Leander:
And then she sigh'd, and then she wept,
And in a passion then she stept aside
In the remorseless waves, and then she died.

63. The Ruine.

1

I Wish that I had never known thee;
Oh that I could not dote upon thee,
Nor adore
Thy alluring lips and eyes
(To which my wanton fancy flies)
Any more!

2

Thy inchanting grace and beauty
(To which Adonis ows a duty)
Have inshrin'd
Deep within that fatal chest
Of thy yet unrelenting brest
All my mind.

3

It is reason thou shouldst carry
The Penal burthen which burglary
Doth require;
For thy penetrating ray
Has broke my house, and stol'n away
My desire.

4

Gentle thief thou hast undone me,
If thou wilt not reflect upon me,
I must go
Unto the dead, then for my sake
Restore my heart again, or take
Me also.

65. Good Liquor.

1

Love, envy, rage, and fury rest,
And secretly repose,
Like hood-winkt Falcons in my breast,
Untill the Ocean flowes:
For want of quaffing cups you die,
And are as ill prepar'd as I.

2

I'le feast you with my rhymes no more,
When once I cease to tipple;
When er'e you bar the Cellar dore,
My Muse becomes a cripple.
As Luna (void of Sol) may wink,
So Clio must for want of drink.

3

Nor is't your Ale and musty Beer
That procreates my phrases.
'Tis Wine that makes my Ela clear,
And worthy of your praises.

All beasts (but Asses) love to chuse
The best of grass, and worst refuse.

4

Tis not your Wine that's mixt and blended
With this and that receit;
That's first decayed, and then amended;
From such I must retreat.
To Heavens Nectar I incline,
My bright Apollo's rasie Wine.

66. The Air.

1

Sweet sounds that issue from the Quire
Of wing'd Musicians, or the Thracian Lyre,
Be dumb, repose your Knells,
You warbling shrill-mouth'd Philomels.
Your tones extort my tears,
Your musick seems unto my ears,
As Ursus to the eye appears.

2

Muses, whose charms are Musket-proof
In passive power, you may stand aloof;
Whose active charms can draw
Waters from mountains, and unthaw
A flinty breast, you be
Of no more value unto me
Then Butter flies to Broom-men be.

3

Sing to the woods, and silver'd brooks;
I neither like your Sonnets, nor your looks.
Court fools as may affect
Your dissonanting dialect:
My Lute's more clear and choice,
Wherein I only can rejoice:
It is Rosella's heavenly voice.

67. Time. The Interpreter.

What serious students with their busied brains
Could ne're unlock; what Philosophick pains
Tri'd, and fell short of: what strong art ne're wist:
What was a theme too hard for th' Alchymist:
What mighty Merlin in his operation,
Fore sight, Prediction, and prognostication,
Could not unroll, Time has now detected:
Yet still he is dispes'd, and dis-respected:
There's no man crowns him with a wreath of praise,
Compos'd of Lawrel triumph, though his waies
Are rules of truth; while error boldly draws
Worlds of applause to her insatiate claws.
Infected Animals, how are ye blinded
With misty judgements? how intic't and winded
With strange belief? how nimble, and how prone
To build on rottenness? Rely upon
Deluding Motives? making declination
From the firm Basis of true revelation.

Page your opinions, you unbridled youths,
[illeg.] time, not Artists will declare our truths.

68. Knowledge.

Through the Meander of invented art
I've deeply waded, and unthaw'd the Ice
Of knotty contexts; as a steely Dart,
I pierc't through mysteries, dark, obscure and nice:
Fair Cypria's function was made known to me,
I've with her daughters been too well acquainted;
I've known Romes stages and her gallantry:
In pastimes Paradise I have been planted.
Nor was my senses oyl'd with such content,
But that displeasure also had its growth.
I know what 't was to laugh and to lament,
I spell'd the nature, and the use of both:
I spur'd my genius, on my Muse I put
Into the Labyrinth of as deep conclusion
As sense and reason knew. I hew'd and cut
The doors of darkness down, and made intrusion.
I was acquainted with the starry realm
As others be, yet here my knowledge lack't,
I knew not him that sitteth at the helm,
By whose discretion all the Planets act.
Therefore thou root of nature, and of art,
(Since void of knowing thee makes knowledg void,)
Infuse no other Science in my heart,
Then of my self and thee, my glorious guide.

69. The Vineyard.

1

Enter you that rave with madness:
Enter you that sigh with sadness,
And receive the oyl of gladness
In the Vine.

2

Here's the mystery of the Muses;
Here's the Font Mæcenas uses;
Here wit gains what ere it loses.
Noble Wine.

3

Here's the Laurel, here's the Bayes,
Here's the sum of Poets praise,
Heare's the cream of Pæans rayes.
Famous liquor.

4

Here's th' Arsenal whence do spring
Presents worthy for a King.
Here my fancies tender wing
Thriveth quicker.

70. The Quere.

Say, shall I love, or shall I leave her?
Shall I leave or love for ever?

Shall I part with my profession,
Or proceed in my progression?

Eccho.

Fall back, suspend thy love for ever;
Call home thy heart again and leave her:
Too much of one sort breeds lothing,
Makes the object fit for nothing;
Spoyls the fancy, spoils the sense,
Turns delight to penitence;
Specially in those that summon
Their wits to attend a woman.
Then refuse, fall off, and leave her,
Lest thou lose thy bliss for ever.
Having once engag'd thy credit,
You may curse that ere you did it;
For if beauty moved thee,
Per adventure that may flee:
Then that face which once was fire
To calcine, shall now expire
The Lamps of Zealots, and shall choke
Thy own sense with thy own smoke:
And you'l feel (in such a case)
Much disease, or much disgrace:
If you go your credits lost,
If you stay you will be crost.
Oh how dismal is't, for he,
All whose love formalitie
Props, or the affection, where
It dwells not for love but fear!
Then return, return and leave her,

Lest thou art a fool for ever.
What avails thy wanton courting?
Kissing, clipping, hugging, sporting,
Smiling, beckning, musing, glancing,
Winding, tripping, footing, dancing,
Chopping, changing, mingling words,
All the joy that love affords:
What art thou for this the better?
Only thou art made a debtor
For't. Although thy Mistress swims
Over the glorious Cherubims
In thy fancy, she'l not scorn
To salute thee with a horn
For thy requital: Such there be;
Then love not such vanity.
O return, return and leave her,
Else I'le say th' art mad for ever.
He's a fool that loves to be
Vassal'd, when he may be free.

71. The life and death of Sarah.

Sarah liv'd and Sarah lov'd,
Sarah thriv'd and Sarah mov'd,
Sarah sat and Sarah slept,
Sarah wak't and Sarah wept,
Sarah sob'd and Sarah smil'd,
Sarah was begot with child,
Sarah sigh't and Sarah song,

And Sarah could not hold her tongue.
Sarah pist and Sarah cri'd,
Sarah shit and so she di'd.

72. The Messenger.

Love commands his servant out
To the woods, to range about
For a Mistress for his Master,
Cause he wanted such a plaister
As a Lady. Out he goes,
Through the woods, streams, verse and prose:
One he found, and then return'd
(To the man that sight and burn'd.)
Expectation did advance,
And hope had the predominance:
Love repli'd to th' Agent then,
Dost thou gladly turn agen?
Art thou fraited with my bliss?
Then he answers, Master yes.

But what hast thou prepar'd for me?
Is she coy, or is she free?
Is she tall, or is she low?
Is she slender? lean or no?
Is she square, or is she round?
Is she sick, or is she sound?
Do the Gods confess their duty
Is to worship such a beauty?

Is but Venus scarce her type?
Is she green, or too too ripe?
Is she foul, or is she fair?
Is she not as others are?
Is she white, or is she black?
Or what i'st that she doth lack?

Answere

I have prepar'd for thee enough.
She's coy enough, and free enough,
She's Low enough and tall enough,
She's big enough and small enough,
She's fat enough and lean enough,
She's rich enough and mean enough,
She's young enough and strong enough,
She's short enough and long enough,
She's sick enough and sound enough,
She's square enough and round enough,
She's black enough and white enough
She's foul enough and bright enough,
She's thin enough and quick enough,
And she will soon be thick enough,
If you can give her P--- enough.

72. The Mask of Adonis.

1

When all the night Ravens, & Bats of the dark
Began to grow sleepy by reason of day;

And the Lamp of lustre, Joves Holiday spark,
Had chac't all the Symptomes of darkness away;
I heard a loud Eccho that cri'd.
Adonis, our moan is not to be deni'd.

2

I askt an old Hermit that dwelt in the Clods,
What meaned the sound in such wondrous measure;
He told me that there was a Mask of the Gods,
And all the spectators were Ladies of pleasure.
Then louder and louder they cri'd,
Adonis, &c.

3

Then towards the Theatre I did accost,
To see their proceedings, and also to hear
The harmony issuing out of the Host
Of Gods and Goddesses mingled there.
But louder, &c.

4

As soon as I entered into the croud,
Lord how I was dazled such sparks to behold!
They kist, & they quibbled, they curl'd & they bow'd.
The stage being Paradise paved with gold.
But louder, &c.

5

The first of the actors that then did invade,
Was Mercury, grac't with a lute in his hand;
Whose Apology prov'd him a notable blade,
As you in the consequence shall understand.
But louder, &c.

6

Quoth he, I'me a messenger sent from the Court

100

To kiss all your lips, and this news to display,
That your senses must swim in the fountains of sport,
For the Gods are intended to court you to day.
Yet louder, &c.

7

Having ended his duty, he gently receded,
And Cupid (that Spark) did appear in his place
With a Bow in his hand, and he lustily pleaded
Whose presence was lined with amorous grace.
Yet louder, &c.

8

The bow (that was quicker to pierce then his tongue
He charg'd with a dart, and he shot a Sister
Of Hellens (that sat like an Angel among
The Ladies of pleasure) but haply he mist her.
Then louder, &c.

9

The Ladies requested the Lad to refrain,
And not to exhibit his strength any more;
Because of the wounds and the prickings of pain
They took from his dart but a little before.
And louder, &c.

10

Apollo came in with a paper of verses,
Some said of the Ladies 't was in commendation
His love and his service to them he rehearses,
Well riveted in with a world of expression.
Yet louder, &c.

11

Harpocrates enter'd with signs and with wonder

101

To some he did beckon, to some he did nod,
Sometimes he would roar like great Jove when he thunders
But he spake not a word, neither even nor odd.
Yet louder and louder they cri'd,
Adonis, our moan is not to be deni'd.

12

One told me that this was the fool of the play;
Wherein he Harpocrates greatly did wrong.
For the badge of discretion is silence we say,
And fools are known by a superfluous tongue.
But louder, &c.

13

Then Vulcan appeared in flashes of fire,
And up to the top of the Theatre climbs:
Yet could he not warm the spectators desires,
'Cause his legs they resembled Elegiack rhimes.
But louder, &c.

14

Next followed Mars with an Herald of Arms,
(Like the fool of a Puppet-play) riding before him:
He turn'd him about, and among all the swarms,
He singled out Vulcan, and swore he'd devour him.
But, &c.

15

Now Vulcan he knew not the God at a blush,
Wherfore he demanded the cause of his threat:
You rogue (saies the warrier) your bones I wil crush;
I am Mars, whom thou tookst with thy wife in a net.
But, &c.

102

16

Each look of the Black-Smith encreas'd Mars his ire;
(For souldiers are lightly more rigid then crafty
And Vulcan was forced himself to retire,
And lie in the snout of his Bellows for safety.
But, &c.

17

He being departed, Dame Venus came in
With ribbons, adorned like a Bartholmew fairing;
Her breasts they were naked to shew her white skin,
No paints, nor perfumings, nor powder was sparing.
But &c.

18

I am almost perswaded that this was a match
'Twixt Mars and his dame; for they went through
And in a short time they their work did dispatch,
Whom Vulcan surpriz'd not as he did before,
But. &c.

19

But when they returned, Dame Venus her blood
Was suddenly risen so fresh in her face,
That, by her complexion, 't might be understood
The carnal condition of Mars his embrace.
But, &c.

20

Oceanus enter'd with two silver dishes,
Charg'd with Pickle-herrings, and prim'd with Eeles:
And Neptune succeeds with many small fishes,
And Mermaids especially waited at's heels.
But, &c.

103

21

Then Pan (like a Piper) came into the Court,
Attended with Oxen, with Goats, and with Sheep;
He pip'd and they danced with rustical sport,
Enough to have lull'd all the Ladies asleep.
But, &c.

22

Proteus (Camelion like) the author of shapes,
Came changing his likeness as oft as a cloud:
Now he is an Ass, anon a Jack-an-apes.
Soon after an Eagle with feathers endow'd.
But, &c.

23

Priapus came in with a basket of Pears,
Which unto the Ladies he freely presented;
But sure had he g'in them his holiday wares,
He had been more welcom, & they more contente
But, &c.

24

Sappho, the petty God also appear'd,
(Though deifi'd not by the Poets Commission
Many birds having builded their nests in his {beard}
But the Synod abhorr'd him because of ambition
But, &c.

25

Blithe Bacchus succeeded with Sack and with Claret,
Whom Venus with Lillies and Roses had crown'd,
Yet nevertheless the conceit would not carry it,
Wine was not acquirable though 't did abound.
But, &c.

104

26

Now the Maskers perceiving no real intent
Would take in the croud by their politick action;
They compli'd and consulted a while, then they sent
For the Goddesses also to make satisfaction.
But louder, &c.

27

The first that appeared was Juno, attir'd
With Silks and with Sattin: her linen was Lawn;
A sight you'd ha' thought were enough to have fir'd
All tender-ey'd spirits, and brib'd them to pawn.
But, &c.

28

This argues th' condition that riches allow,
But speaks not a little concerning its pleasure;
For Iuno declar'd by her wrinkled brow,
That richmen of solace are scanted in measure.
But, &c.

29

Minerva succeeded with rustical dresses,
Her Apron was Canvas, her Gown it was Bayes:
She did not dishelve into publick her tresses;
Yet she was the subject of every ones praise.
But, &c.

30

From whence we may note, that the wisest of brains
Delight not so dearly to burnish their back.
With fancy born whimseys (which prudence disdains)
As to furnish acquaintance with wit when they lack.
But, &c.

105

31

Minerva did conge to all that she saw,
She scorn'd not the poorest that ever she ey'd;
From whose disposition this tenet we draw,
That wisdom that's true's not acquainted with pride.
But, &c.

32

And afterward Venus did make her invasion,
And was in a garment of Taffata wrapt;
But a younker seduc'd her with little perswasion,
From whence we note, beauty is easily snapt.
But, &c.

33

Ceres presented a sheaf of her corn,
The best that her Servants could gather or reap;
The Ladies of pleasure her present did scorn;
For then (God be thanked) provision was cheap.
But, &c.

34

Then up started Luna, as fierce as a Lion,
Whose rigorous visage dissolved a Cloud:
Where souldiers this lesson may studdy and ply on,
That they with austerity may be endow'd.
But, &c.

35

Next after came Flora with lap-fulls of flowers,
With Pinks and with Gilliflowers mixt with carnations;
Her bosom was arm'd with the jewels of bowers
Things that might have conquerd the girls lamentation.
But, &c.

106

36

Now the Gods they discerning what Goddesses were
On the Theatre standing, their minds did advance
To give a companion to every one there;
For the Gods were designed to lead them a dance.
But, &c.

37

They coupled with speed, & the Harpers they plai'd,
Sweet as Orpheus with Musick most rare,
A harmony pleasantor never was made;
The twang were enough to have ravish't the air.
But, &c.

38

They footed it neatly, and nimbly they caper'd,
They answer'd the Layes to a hair or a feather;
They flourish't their fingers about, and they vapor'd
They wag'd their light breeches too hither & thither.
But, &c.

39

But while they were busied, Adonis came in;
Whose approch was discri'd by the light on the wal;
The Ladies knew him by the reflex of his skin,
But till they beheld him they mov'd not at all.
Yet, &c.

40

But when they discover'd his heavenly cheek,
They greedily ran to the boy and embrac't him;
Oh he was the Masker for whom they did seek!
And (Deity-like) they ador'd and they grac't him.
But then, &c,

107

41

Thus the fair Adonis concluded the sport,
For now not a Masker at all was respected:
'Tis only Adonis the Ladies will court:
Adonis his actions are onely respected
By the Ladies which formerly cri'd,
Adonis our moan is not to be deni'd.

73. The lost Maidenhead.

1

As I went wandring o're the grounds,
Where fruitful Ceres hand appear'd,
Among the soul-enchanting sounds
Of feather'd Choristers, I heard
Clarinda making doleful moan,
Because her Maidenhead was gone.

2

Alas! (quoth she) the rose is fled,
That in my Azure veins did flow:
Ah pity me! my Maidenhead
Is lost, and now what shall I do?
Undone, undone, the woods proclaime;
My folly has betrai'd my fame.

3

The Gods (alas) will all combine
My sorrows to exasperate:
The blushing sun will cease to shine
On me. Oh cursed is my fate!

108

Undone, undone the mountains utter;
And angry heaven seems to mutter.

4

If Iove forbear to break my heart
In pieces by his bolts of thunder,
Yet will the chaste Diana's dart
Dash and divide me all in sunder.
Undone, undone, unhappy girl;
I've lost my Gem, my only Pearl.

5

But while she warbled out her wrong
By the bright vapors of her passion,
And mournful Dirges sadly song,
Serv'd up in cups of Execration:
An Eccho then repli'd and said,
Lament not for thy Maidenhead.

6

'Tis like proud flesh that hurts the wound,
If 'tis not clip't away in time;
Or like the swarfie scum that's found
In boyling pots: excessive slime,
Which if not scum'd when it doth rise,
Sinks in, and all within annoyes.

7

Yet if thy graces can but brook
The loss, but still thou dost implore it,
I'le give thee what another took;
If th' art content I will restore it.
Content I am, she answer'd then,
Restore it me thou happy man.

109

And then he gave it,
As she did crave.

8

The golden flower is now replanted
Within his native place again;
And fair Clarinda is not daunted,
Remembring no departed pain.
But since she found the loss so soft,
I fear she'l love to lose it oft.

57. Good Fellowship.

1

Fill, fill the glass to the brim,
'Tis a health unto him
That refuses
To be curb'd, or disturb'd
At the power of the State,
Or the frowns of his fate;
Or that scorneth to bark or to bite at our Muses:
And that never will vary
From the juyce of the Vine, and the cups of Canary.

2

Drink to your friend, drink away,
For the showers to day
Will replenish
The sweet Vine with rich Wine,
Which the But and the Pipe
Shall receive when 'tis ripe.

110

Both the white and the red, both the green and the Rhenish;
For we never will vary, &c.

3

Watch, watch his waters, and see
He drink fairly, as he
That begun it:
Fill his Cup, fill it up;
For why should we pinch
Him, or bate him an inch?
'Tis his own ev'ry drop, and he ought not to shun
There's no man shall vary, &c.

4

Mind, mind the work in your hand!
Let the rogues in the land
Not affright us:
Hang the sons and the guns
Of proud Mars, though we hear
His rebounds in our ear;
Yet he neither can hurt us, disturb us, or bite us,
Nor force us to vary, &c.

5

Let them wrangle and jar,
They are Pillars of War
And contention:
But we'l stay all the day
In the Tavern, and find
More delight in our Wine
Then the Chymist can draw from the rarest invention.
And we never will vary
From the juyce of the Vine, or the cups of Canary.

111

75. The Aspirer.

Full-fraighted with a strong desire, he seeks
That fames loud Trumpeter might fill his cheeks,
To tell his glory to all humane ears,
And make it thunder in the Hemisphears:
Nought will suffice him but a large report
Of his magnificence about the Court;
He would be Cæsar faine: but heark my friend,
In all essayes premeditate thy end.
He that's exalted, quickly may be cast
By rapid storms, disturb'd by every blast.
The Cedars tremble, while the Bushes stand,
Not mov'd not frighted by the winds command.
And the bold Borean arm most strongly knocks
Against the largest and the tallest rocks:
When fortune meeteth with her strongest foe,
She takes advantage there to overthrow.
Destruction glories and delights to ride
Upon the shoulders of presuming pride.
The longest freedom has the closest thrall:
The highest rise begets the greatest fall.
Since then such danger in the mountain lies,
Fond youth descend, descend if thou art wise.
It is a fate more happy to remain
{Tius} belov'd, then Crœsus in disdain.
Besides, thy worth can challenge no such thought,
As Princes Reliques, they are dearly bought

112

By birth & blood, blood spilt, and blood that's noble;
Sad thoughts, high passions, and a world of trouble.
Now, if th' are thine by birth and worthy deed,
Arm thou thy self with boldness, and proceed
Unto possession; but (alas) we know
No birth nor merit e're in thee did grow.
Then spell thy self, and ponder on thy merit,
For thou art too unworthy to inherit
Such Gems as these. Each vulgar must not pass
Within the bounds of the Corinthian Lass.
Wilt thou be Prince? review thy self, and than
Thou mayst be happy if a Serving man.
Besides, were honour thine by Ioves decree,
Thou needst not seek for it, 't would follow thee

75. Vice Courted.

On melted Pitch can I my hand not lay,
But it must needs defile me?
Or court an unchast Mistress for a day,
But needs she must beguile me?
'Tis but a feeble Bulwark cannot bear
The brunt of one attempt:
There is no confidence in such a Sphere;
All vertue is exempt.
Go wet your hands in water, then you know
Pitch has no power to stain:
Go oyl your heart with grace, and whores also
Will tempt you, but in vain.

113

Then lie a little in Radopha's arms;
Be confident and wary,
{But} let thy chastity oppose her charms;
So may thy soul not vary,
[illeg.] passively receive the sugered sin
That's bounded by her wake;
[illeg.] (like the Diers hand) declare wherein
Thou dipdst thy finger last.
{Some}times 'tis good to search corrupted souls,
For hence we may discern and see
How sad it is where only vice controls,
And prize more noble honesty.

76. Semper Idem.

Who would not morgage faith & fame
To purchase so divine a soul as she,
That is for ever more the same,
Altering no more then Anaxarete?
As the first day I came to wooe her,
So stedfastly she doth continue still;
And so 'tis like she will endure:
For she ne're lov'd me yet, nor ever will.
Let greedy Rivals then adjorn
Their forward suits and sue for her no more:
For I shall still enjoy her scorn
In spite of them; she has't for me in store.

114

77. Nobility.

Tell me no more, no more, thou young transgressor
Of the renown due to thy predecessor
Tell me no more, no more, thou tardy Stoick,
What man was famous, or what man Heroick,
Thou being idle: This will rather bring
Lead, then a feather to the failing wing
Of thy own same. This is not thy defence,
The publick eye looks on the present tense.
It looks not backward, then recite not thou
Thy fathers fame or merit: tell me now
Thy noble Acts, and so thou shalt repair
His rusty glory, and thine own: forbear
Fond Thraso, else you know such brags will be
Disparagements unto thy line and thee.
What if thy father had been born a fool,
Hadst thou but prosper'd in th' heroick School
Of rare exploits, then thou shouldst have enjoy
Thy recompence (which none should have deni'd,)
Abundantly, and in as ample measure,
As though all vertue were thy fathers treasure,
But if th' art foolish, though thy father was
A Tully or a Hector; yet alas
'Tis no more beneficial unto thee,
Then Alexanders glory is to me:
Only it adds more anguish to thy mind.
When thou remembrest how thou hast declin'd.

115

Know then, Nobility, if rightly meant,
Is rather by self-action then descent.

78. The Extremes.

Fair one, those radiant lustres that arise
From (those bright Tapers) thy Celestial [illeg.]
Have fired me; I burn in every part,
They gnaw (like Vulters) my relenting heart.
And then the numness of your frozen zeal
Starves all my bliss, and makes my hope congeal
So that my heart lies in a restless Urn;
With Caucasus I freeze, with Ætna burn.
Wherefore that sorrows may not me eclipse,
Chace frost and fire with thy love and lips.

79. The dying Lover.

You murthering eyes, you have disliv'd a man:
Nay, do not court me now, you never can
Repair the breach. Dull lamps they may be cherish
But there's no succour for a heart that's perisht.
You may deplore my fall, but not recover
The blood you spilt; deaths fatal blow is over.
And now behold I die, my senses reel,
My humane powers dissolve. I gently feel
My soul departing to the sphere above,
The low Elysium of terrestrial love.

116

Bewaile your self, not me, for I am ceast:
Yours is the crime, mine is eternal rest.
These words he spake, then with a doleful gasp,
His soul and body death did soon unhasp.

80. Furioso.

Monsieur Mundungo, in a three-sol'd hat,
Lined with Louse-skins, and a suit of that,
One day came walking with a sword b' his side,
Along the medows, where the man espi'd
Two Rivals fighting for a Lass that stood
Bleeding in sorrow, to behold their blood.
To these he march'd, as though he'd have devour'd
Both Lords and Lady too: Lord how he lowr'd!
With ears like Midas, and a head as large
As Lugnals Chimney, or a Gravesend Barge.
His neck like Atlas, and the fool exprest
Deformed Tytius in his ugly breast.
His gouty fingers were like Millers pegs:
And great Colossus furnish'd him with legs.
This mighty Monster armed (I'le assure ye)
With hobnail tushes, oyl'd with hellish fury.
Accosts these Champions, vowing in a breath,
To send their bodies to eternal death.
But as he enter'd to oppose the play,
He drew his sword, and stoutly run away.

117

81. Loves frailty.

Love, thou art a false delight,
Th' art shoulder'd up with blisses,
Blinded with golden kisses;
Thy holiday is night.
Love, thou art a wanton youth,
And guilty of high treason
Against the Prince of reason:
Thy target is untruth.
Love, those leering looks of thine
Are gilt with feigned passion,
Mixt with dissimulation:
Flattery's thy Brigandine.
Love, thou art a subtile thiefe,
That dost both rob and wound us,
And many times confound us,
But giv'st us no relief.
Then Love avoid, and court my thoughts no more;
Thy birth is spurious, Venus is a whore.
Think not to trap me with thy sugered wiles;
I care not for thy frowns, nor weigh thy smiles:
One shall not please me, nor the other grieve me;
Beauty shall neither wound, nor Love relieve me.

118

82. The She Cockney.

My City dame fell sick, she sigh'd, she wept
She went to bed, she slumber'd and she slept
She rose again, she fed, she walk'd, yet still
Forsooth, my mistress was extremely ill.
It pleased her fleeting fancy then to steer
Her course into the fields, to see if there
Her qualm might cease, yet still (poor soule) her gnet
Can meet with no cessation nor relief.
Her tender foot steps to the fragrant bowers,
She fed upon the fruits, she cropt the flowers,
She went, she wept, she smil'd, she sigh'd, yet still
Forsooth, my Lady is extremely ill.
Well, she retired to repose again
Upon her downy bed, yet still the pain
Attended her: Her pulse did loudly pelt,
Whose verberation I am sure I felt,
Which hardly she did, neither could she say
What was ker pain, or in what part it lay:
But 'tis the mode, forsooth, and therefore still
Our City Mistress is extremely ill.

83. Weak Love.

1

Base love that cannot hold
A frown;

119

And baser heart that is control'd,
And thrown
Into despair at one denial,
Thou hast betraid thee in thy trial.

2

Poor heart that cannot bear
Nor brook
One vice, where many vertues are:
Nor look
Through's fingers at a venial error;
He learn't not this from Cupids mirror.

3

Poor soul that cannot rest
A day
From her being absent, nor digest
Delay
Of promise, though he knows it be
Obstructed accidentally.

4

We know that girls will smile
And lowre,
Now th' are as pert as Camomile,
Then sowre:
Who robs a Hive (loud fame doth sing)
Must with the honey taste the sting.

5

They'l trip, and rise agen,

120

And so
Experience cries the best of men
Will do:
And shall we therefore not descry
A fault and see it secretly?

6

They'l promise much, 'tis true,
And yet
They are slack to pay: and will not you
Do it?
Come, come, revise your self, you'l see
Her vice is your Epitomy.

84. Rosella Sleeping.

Blow not Zephyrus in the least give o're
Dexamine to dash against the shore.
Advance thy trident, and put down thy billows;
Oh Neptune buzze not in the muffled willows.
Peace Hornets, musick is of no effect,
Where dull ey'd Morpheus holds the intellect.
Then cease Canary-birds, and let her rest
Breathing on me, while I breath on her breast;
Whose balmy breath (so fragrant) shall refresh
The mournful passion of my panting flesh;
While her sweet eye-lids, on her eyes laid down,
Screen her poor lover from the torrid Zone.

121

Such is our walking in a Summers day,
When cooler clouds mask Titans fiery ray.
Then whistling Myrtles peace, refrain to shake,
Wake not Rosella till Rosella wake.

85. Minerva.

1

Away, away all you that be
Of Cupids gang; your sugered faces
Are no Magneticks unto me,
I can detest your soft embraces:
I need not care to flie from you,
I have the Graces and the Muses too:

2

Go Vulcan, go and tell thy tale,
And shew thy vices to another;
Thou never shalt on me prevail,
I've wit enough thy flames to smother.
I can take pleasure void of you,
I have, &c.

3

Go ruffling Courtiers, and salute
Such as you know will fall before ye;
No powder'd hair nor Sunday suit
Shall bribe Minerva to adore ye.
I can take pleasure, &c.

122

4

Go envies cursed whelps, and sit
Where snaky Strigies use to dally:
And you that spurn (like Zoilus) wit,
Go rest you in Charybdis valley.
I can rejoice in spite of you;
I have the Graces and the Muses too.

86. The Charm.

1

Come my fairest, come my dearest,
Come my dearest, come my fairest,
Let's enjoy
Cupids pleasure
In full measure,
Since here's none but thee and I.

2

Give me kisses, give me blisses,
Give me blisses, give me kisses.
Do not arise,
Let us dally
In loves valley,
While Apollo shuts his eyes.

123

87. Rosella Maskt.

1

So have I seen a cloud impair
The azure Heavens, and the fair
Ambition of the Prince o'th' air.

2

And I have seen the Borean weather
Sweep all the clouds away together,
And drive them to I know not whither.

3

Even so I've seen a Mask obscure
Rosella's cheek, and vail the pure
Illustrious blood her veins immure.

4

And I have seen the vail has gone
And disinvellop't that fair Sun,
As soon as I have breath'd thereon.

88. Tom Tell-troth.

1

I love not a cast in the eye,
Nor lead in the edges of Knives:

124

I love not a man that will lye,
Unless 't be with other mens wives.

2

I love not the ribs of a Lark,
I love not the brains of a Crow,
I love not a Dog that will bark,
Except he will bite also.

3

I love not to sit on a bench
While you put my foot in the Stocks,
But I love a beautiful wench,
Provided she has not the Pox.

4

I care not for hunting the Hare,
I care not for coursing the Coney.
I care not for selling my ware,
If I thought I should get no money.

5

I care not for courting a Witch,
Nor drinking of Milk when 'tis hairy.
I care not for eating of Pitch;
But I love to be drinking Canary.

6

I love merry lads in my heart,
That mirth with their honesty have:

125

But as for a fool I care not a fart,
And I cannot endure a knave.

89. The Dejection

1

Why art thou chain'd to th' world? canst not remove
A little higher to the orbs above?
How slenderly dost thou thy stock improve?

2

Why is thy heart contained in a snare?
What secret thought dulls fancy? Oh what are
Thy thoughts invellop't with the clouds of care?

3

How cam'st thou thus, what Cell-created news
Pull down thy progress? what condition screws
Thy genius to the post, and dulls my Muse?

4

Tread down this fog, and let the beams of light
(Of a light heart I mean) display their bright
Essential glories to disband the night.

5

Rest not within thy self, what life is this?
Thy mirth is sadness, sorrow is thy bliss;
Thou liv'st below a man, and think'st amiss.

126

90. O Yes!

O yes! O yes! O yes! If any man
In City, Town, or Country can
Tell tidings of my Love, that's fled
Out of the warm and naked bed
Last night, while I lay slumbring by her;
Let him bring word unto the Crier,
And for his labour he shall have
As large requital as he'l crave.
Her Characters be these; She's drest
With honesty, and that's the best
Attire (I think) that Ladies wear.
Prudence has pleated up her hair:
As for her face, where e're you spie
A girl whose beauty blinds your eye,
And wounds your heart, say that is she;
And then conduct her safe to me:
For till I find her I must trace
Through all the thickets and the groves
Where lovers use to look their loves.
With Hercules I'le search the fountains,
And make an Eccho in the mountains,
For my fair one that's fled and hid;
As he for his dear Hylas did.
The torch of Ceres I will borrow;
I'le search to day and seek to morrow;
Baulking no trouble, nor no pain,
Till I have found her out again.

127

O yonder, yonder sure she stands
[illeg.] heavens, wringing both her hands.
Yet that's not she too, 'tis a cloud
O which poor Ixion once was proud.
I am mistaken, I must leave,
And travel on, left I deceive
My hopes, and smother up my love,
So will my search immortal prove.

91. The Reply.

And is she gone? Ah pity then!
That she should ere return agen
To you (dull Clown) whose slumbering eye
Could fall asleep when she lay by.
She was a jewel, it is true;
And was esteemed so by you,
When you had lost her. Learn you then,
If ever she return agen,
To keep her as a Gem of cost,
And prize the Gem before it's lost.
But all my fear is, that you had
A Tytians face. This is no lad
For fair Aurora; she will buss
Rather the young spark Cæphalus.
And from her bed each morning flie
To wanton in the southern Skie.
Content you then with crazy age;
And if the Nymphs of Cupids stage

128

Fly off from thence, this is the reason
They love not faces out of season:
Time-wasted flesh, and wrinkled brows
Are no fit objects for their bows.
Love's fresh and young, the like it loves,
But snotting age it never moves.

93. A Token.

Here take my heart, my heart and body too,
Had I a greater gift I'de give it you.

The Exception.

Could I but sink into your thoughts, and spy
Your roving fancy in your rolling eye;
I'de cast mine eyes upon't, and if I found
Your love was loyal, and your heart was sound,
I would accept them, but I dare not take
Vail'd Gems at venture, nor presume to make
Such cover'd bargains. Leave your suit fond lover,
Unless the gift you give you can uncover.

Another Token.

That our affection may increase and shine,
Let's change, give me thy heart, and thou take mine.

129

The Exception.

Keep home your heart pray, and from me retire,
'Tis more then my desert, or my desire.
I'le be no changling 't would produce much dangers
To turn acquaintance out, and put in strangers.
My heart lives well, and does not care to move;
Pray be content, I thank you for your love.

94. The Station.

1

Come fancy, and do not thou dabble
Thy wings, nor the wit of thy Muse,
Among the sophisticate rabble
Of Judas's, Doegs and Jews.
Fly off from their modes, do not mingle
Nor mix
Thy nature with theirs; tarry single,
And fly from their tricks.

2

Shun the fraud of the Court, if you ken it,
And from the loose Libertines flee;
Yet be not so strict as Saint Bennet:
For that superstition would be.
Be sure thy designs they be stable
And stout,

130

And let them be invariable,
Not like to the rout.

3

Let Jesuits envy their Masses,
And Recabites fall to their Wine:
Let Puritans fly from their Lasses,
And Atheists all be divine.
Let Ranters lie down with the Sleepers;
And then
Let the zealous Pilgrims, and Weepers
Turn laughers agen.

4

Let um chop, let um change, let um alter,
Though one take the Crown for the Oare:
Though some the gold chain for the halter,
And some the Strapado for th' Whore.
Though some 'stead of rags gather riches
And fame;
And some bewray their noble breaches:
Yet I'le be the same.

5

'Tis neither bad time, nor bad season
Shall cut off the cords of my mirth:
'Tis neither bad rhime nor bad reason
Shall spoil my design in the birth:
Let every one change as he pleases:
But yet

131

Whether solace or sorrow encreases,
I'le not stir a bit.

6

My Science is clearly convicted
That all their intentions are vain:
Therefore I their folly relicted,
And never will mind them again.
I know them, I felt them, I tri'd them
At best.
I like them not, but Semper Idem
For ever I'le rest.

95. Urbs in fœlix.

1

If like a Mill my Harp did move,
I need not use my fingers,
Nor call for help from heaven above,
Nor seek for earthly singers.
The streams of tears that from mine eyes gusht out,
Would be enough to turn the wheel about.

2

I've search'd each angle of thy soul,
I've peep't through every cranny,
I find beyond compare th' art foul,
Thy vices are too many

132

For tongue to tell to the intentive ears,
Flowing as proudly as my brack sh tears.

3

I from my window cast mine eye,
Where wanton girls were seen,
All clothed with immodesty,
And prides rich Magazine:
Whose proud array, and prouder looks did tell
Their journeys were in vain, their end was hell.

4

Unhappy people, come refrain;
Renew your so lowing years:
Weep for your loss and for your gain,
Till sin is drown'd with tears.
Your golden mines of Love and Peace are dumb,
While leaden strife and envy take their room.

96. The Iron Age.

1

When Saturn dwelt in Italy,
The Golden Age begun:
But (Ah!) ere my nativity,
The Golden Age was done.

2

I've read how he sometimes would go
And drink a pint of Wine

133

With old Japetus, where they two
Would tell a tale divine.

3

They had their feasts of Love and Peace,
Knitting their hearts in Uno:
But now in stead of these, we be
Like Hercules and Iuno.

4

'Twas after that Iove had bereaven
His Father of his Crown,
And had assum'd the power of Heaven
To be his only own.

5

This revolution did produce
An happy Scene of powers;
And pleasure then was grown profuse:
I wish the case were ours.

6

But look where Pride doth sway the Stage,
And Folly rules the Pagin,
Th' event will be the Iron Age,
As well you may imagine.

134

97. The Bride Weeping.

1

Flee blushing Sol, thy motion is too slow;
And Vesper thou delai'st.
Has night forgotten what she has to do,
Or turn'd Loves bitter foe,
And so will not make haste?
Pity remorseless Gods, and see
How the sweet girl has wept for ye.

2

Lash on thy Nag dull Phœbus, and renew
Vesper thy tardy pace;
And lazy night lend your assistance too.
We only wait your race,
We only wait for you.
See how she panteth for the sport,
Her heart even breaks in longing for't.

3

Peace wrong d girl, and rest a while content,
Relief begins to spring:
Darkness doth vail the brighter element.
Bubo extends her wing,
While day birds cease to sing.
Then peace my dear, and cease to cry,
Thou shalt be eased by and by.

135

98. The Passion.

Ah, wo is me! she turns aside,
And still refuses:
When I would kiss, I am deni'd
With cold excuses.
Ah me! I can receive no rest,
But I must perish,
Until her lips and mine contest,
My soul to cherish,
But that I know she'l never do;
She holds it evil.
Then fare her well, and let her go
Unto the Divel.
She that refuses my good will,
And scorns my favour,
I'le also scorn to wooe her still,
But let the Divel have her.

99. To Fate.

1

Tread under Fate, be not destroy'd,
Rouse up again and live;
Take courage and revive:
Take reason for thy guide:
Love's blind, and so is fortune, let them be
Captains-Conducters to themselves, not me.

136

2

Sigh not for sorrows past, refrain
To let base fear control
The sallies of thy soul:
What priviledge we gain
By giving vantage unto sorrow, shall,
If put into our eyes, not hurt at all.

3

Adversity's of no effect
To smother, or to bind
A well disposed mind.
Fleet Souls low Spheres neglect;
And soaring to another Zone, they claim
Fates upper hand, and wear the Crown of Fame.

4

Come then my soul, and see thou go'st
Into thy self, and there
Survey what things you wear,
Then get what you have lost.
And arm'd with courage, to the world relate
Thy self triumphant o're the Tower of Fate.

137

100. Confidence.

1

Could I imagine how I might
Destroy my foes in thinking,
Or draw their bloods by drinking,
I'de stay at home, and in an Angle fight.

2

Yet may I triumph o're the times
With my laborious Quill
(While I my self sit still)
With measur'd Rhetorick, and melodious rhimes.

3

Then arm thy self Vrania,
And flee to every Zone
That Mortals tread upon.
Surround the Globe, and in their fansies play.

4

Sprout forth young sprig of tender Wit,
Well fledg'd with Dorick strains,
Flee swiftly from my brains,
And let the wurld see I'm not curb'd by it.

5

Grow Darts on thy ignoble Stem,
That wisely may resist

138

Each proud Antagonist;
And tell thy foes thou wilt not stoop to them.

101. The Check.

1

But stay, lie down my soul,
Lie down, (dear soul) and leave
The world, corrupt and foul
With vanity, and cleave
Unto thy self, and like a Hermit, spend
Thy days in silence, till thy days shall end.

2

He sleeps in silver peace
That in a Cell remains,
Where altercations cease
Both from his breast and brains.
No revolution of the reeling State
Can mend or mischief his monastick fate.

3

No blustring blast that blows
From rigid mouths of Kings;
No poysoned surge that flows
From worth-consuming springs
Can drown his fortunes by their furious flashes,
Or beat his walls down by their dismal dashes.

139

The Counter Check.

But stay (my soul) th' art born
A burning Taper bright,
Whose luster should adorn
Thy neighbour and the night.
Then spread thy beams, and he that shall despise
T'embrace thy light, may it burn out his eyes.

102. Sack-Drawers.

1

You Swains of the Deity ruling the Vines,
Why hang ye your heads and decline in your spirits?
What! can ye not meet in the strength of the wines,
The high supposition that Bacchus inherits?
The Calling you follow
Is allow'd by Apollo,
Where he and his Muses do feed;
And ye are all Gentlemen Drawers indeed.

Ye are all better then Princes, all heavenly heirs,
The honey-lipt Bacchus (a God) is your father;
But some have the Devil, the Devil for theirs.

140

Then are ye not worthy and reverend rather?
Your Function's a treasure of solace and pleasure,
As it by the Gods was decree'd.
And ye are all, &c.

3

Each day is a Holiday full of delight;
No Antidote like unto Wine against sorrow,
We sing and we play and are wanton to night,
Which mirth doth encrease and is doubled to morrow
With singing and laughing,
With drinking and quaffing,
Our fancies we fleece and we feed,
For we are all, &c.

4

And are we not company fit for the best
Of Nobles and Gallants that tread on the Center?
With them we confer, we comply and contest,
VVhich doth to our profit arise peradventure.
Our ways do present us
All things that content us;
There's nothing at all that we need.
And we are all, &c,

5

VVe eat of the best, and we drink of as good,
A dish of Ambrosia each day is prepared;
And also to nourish our hearts and our blood,
Nepenthe and Nectar is liberally shared.

141

Our Tenches and Sammons,
Our VVenches and Gammons,
Canary our Cod-pieces bleed.
Then are we all Gentlemen Drawers indeed.

6

Our Rent is prepar'd, our Taxes are paid,
No secular action doth cause us to alter,
And he that is bent to repine at our Trade,
As well when he's hanged may rail at his halter.
Let no man upbraid us,
Since heaven hath made us
Mechanick to rule and exceed.
For we are all, &c.

7

Then let the dumb Stoick do all that he can,
VVe live by our Melody, he by his mettle.
A fig for the Rechabite, and Puritan,
VVhose head is as round and as dull as a Beetle:
I ever will follow
The drink of Apollo,
Ejecting the juyce of the weed.
And we are all Gentlemen Drawers indeed.

103. Her Endowments.

My Mistress must be spic'd with pride,
And not corrupt with filthy scorn;

142

She must be wanton too beside.
Yet not too much for fear o'th' horn.
She must not be as others are,
Either too foolish or too wise:
She must be neat, but not too fair,
Lest her bright luster blind my eyes.
I care not for rich cloaths or coin:
'Tis feigned love that sues for stock,
But where I fix this love of mine,
I'le love my Mistress in her smock.

104. Griefe.

1

Away (thou gnawing worm) fond grief.
Away from me, away,
Thy absence is my sweet relief,
Then flee without delay;
He that gives way to woe and sorrow,
May grieve to day, and mourn to morrow.

2

Go now into another Zone,
Where mortal brains are light,
And press them down; I've need of none
Since I have felt thy weight.
He that shall change his frown for laughter,
May laugh to day, and sing hereafter.

143

3

I tri'd you both, and know you well;
But do not like you so;
A light heart has no parallel,
But oh the pangs of woe!
Yet Woe, the heart can never shoot,
If Thought be not the Porter to't.

4

Then get the touch-stone which may turn
All dross and dregs to gold.
When grief begins in you to burn,
Let fancy make it cold:
Know either peace, or blustring passion,
Arises from th' imagination.

5

Suppose you then that all is good,
And in that thought repose:
This will alay that fiery blood
Which in thy body flows.
And mark me now (for this is chiefe)
Nothing on earth requireth griefe.

6

If accident should chance to fall,
It falls from heaven above.
Then let no poverty or thrall,
Your soaring spirits move.

144

Nothing but sin can grief require,
Then grieve for sin, else grief expire.

55. A Quiet Mind.

1

In midst of plenty only to embrace
Calm patience, is not worthy of your praise;
But he that can look sorrow in the face
And not be daunted, he deserves the Bayes.
This is prosperity, when ere we find
A heavenly solace in an earthly mind.

2

Let Crœsus then with drossie coin depress
His heavy heart, while mine to heaven flies;
He lies tormented in a deep distress,
Whiles I am regent in the throne of joyes.
Oh here is happiness, when men can find
An empty pocket, and a thankful mind.

3

Estates are setters, if they are not blended
With charity, and not too much of care:
Hence is the soul not better'd, but offended;
Riches with reason is a jewel rare.
Yet poor or rich be quiet, and you'l find
No blessing level to a quiet mind.

145

106. Love stealing his Mistress.

1

Hand in hand, and heart in heart,
We will secretly depart,
(While the Dogs and Cocks and Crows
Nature calleth to repose.)
To the valley,
Where Venus use to dally.
Come away,
Leave relations all at home,
Make conceit oblivions pray.
Its no theft to steal loves pleasure,
Or to rob its golden treasure,
Then prepare thy self, and come
To Cupids dark Elysium,
Where we'l take a thousand kisses,
Searching out more secret blisses.

2

Let invention frame excuses,
Love and Ladies have their Muses.
Wanton Cupid though he's blind,
Can a thousand crotchets find
To excuse thee,
While I gently use thee.
Let us fly
(Silent as the subtile Cranes
Over Taurus) through the skie,

146

To the Park of Venus, where
I will soon hunt down my Dear,
Tracing thy Meandring veins,
To take pleasure for my pains.
There I'le hunt thee down with laughter,
Shooting not before, but after.

107. A Health.

Here's a health to her, whose Power
Surmounteth all the rest,
To her that only I adore,
To her I fancy best,
To her that can with subjects fill
My nimble Brains, or empty Quill,
And furnish me with sense divine;
It is this noble glass of Wine.
Let others fansie whom they please,
Their poor and feeble Mistresses;
Yet I will still embrace the Cup
Brim full of Sack, and hug it up.

147

108. The Exaltation.

1

A rout, a rout my fansie cries,
If reason shall give way to 't,
I know not what to say to 't.
Then wake sublimer thoughts, and rise,
Help me quickly,
I am sickly,
Despair is come, and pleasure dies,

2

But yet me thinks it should not do't,
Hast thou no more discretion?
Then hark to my expression,
And it will be a fair recruit.
Disinherit
Thy dull spirit
Of such thoughts as make it mute.

3

Rear up the down-falls of thy heart,
Remit both care and sorrow
Today before to morrow.
This is a melancholy smart,
From which Colledge
All the knowledge
We derive's not worth a fart.

148

4

Sweep down the Cobwebs of despair,
Shake hands with in-bred pleasure,
Dive in light fancies treasure;
And bid your heaviness forbear.
Be oblivious
(Not lascivious)
Of your folly, not your prayer.

5

Drink down disasters, wash away
The filth of all misfortune,
And to the Gods importune,
That Bacchus power may not decay.
'Tis Sack and Claret
That will carry't
When the world shall say you nay.

6

Reject times errors, such as steer
The conscience to perdition:
As envy and ambition.
Shun Lady-lust, if she appear,
And do not dally
In her valley,
Neither seek for Venus there.

7

Your cordial help and your redress,

149

Your strength and sure assistance,
(Which is not at a distance)
Is drink that from the Grape we press.
Then do not vary
From Canary;
'Tis your help and happiness.

109. Reality.

Cast off conceit a while, lay fancy by,
And clear thy pockets of Hyperbolie.
This done (my Genius) court me, and declare
What worthy creatures all your Women are.
Women are sugered Pills, the baits of Gins,
Mixt with corruption, and a world of sins.
Man wins the day, but Woman bears the fame:
Th' are Maps of Modesty but not the same.
Deluding Devils in the garb of Saints;
Built of corruption, beautifi'd with paints,
VVhom nature sent (though art did them attire)
Like Sampsons Foxes, to set all on fire.

150

110. The Ultimum vale.

I shall not beg your praise, nor spend my breath
In expectation of a Laurel VVreath.
Read and give judgement, be it good or ill,
All's one to me, I'le not confine my Quill
Unto such servile labour, as to measure
Out this Lords humor, or that Ladies pleasure.
I write my down-right fansie, and I bend
Not for the fear of Foe, or love of Friend.

FINIS.