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1

TO THE State of Love.

OR, The Senses Festivall.

I saw a vision yester-night
Enough to tempt a Seekers sight:
I wisht my selfe a Shaker there,
And her quick pulse my trembling Sphear:
It was a she so glittering bright,
You'd think her soule an Adamite.
A person of so rare a frame,
Her body might be lin'd with 'same,
Beauties chiefest Maid of Honour;
You'd break a Lent with looking on her.
Not the faire Abbesse of the skies,
With all her Nunnery of eyes,
Can shew me such a glorious prize.
And yet, because 'tis more renown
To make a shadow shine, she's brown;
A brown, for which, heaven would disband
The Gallaxye, and stars be tan'd.
Brow by reflection, as her eye,
Dazels the Summers livery.
2

Old dormant windows must confesse,
Her beams their glimmering spectacles;
Struck with the splendor of her face,
Do'th'office of a burning-glasse.
Now where such radiant lights have shown,
No wonder if her cheeks be grown
Sun-burnt with lustre of her owne.
My sight took pay, but (thank my charms)
I now empale her in mine arms,
(Loves compasses) confining you
Good Angels to a compasse too.
Is not the Universe straight-lac't,
When I can clasp it in the wast?
My amorous foulds about thee hurl'd
VVith Drake, I compasse in the VVorld;
I hoop the firmament, and make
This my embrace the Zodiack.
How would thy Center take my sence,
VVhen admiration doth commence,
At the extream circumference!
Now to the melting kisse that sips
The jelley'd Philtre of her lips
So sweet, there is no tongue can prais't
Till transubstantiate with a taste,
Inspir'd like Mahomet from above,
By th'billing of my heav'nly Dove;
Love prints her Signets in her smacks,
Those ruddy drops of squeezing wax;
Which wheresoever she imparts,
They're Privy Seales to take up hearts.
3

Our mouths encountring at the sport,
My slippery soul had quit the fort,
But that she stopt the Sally-port
Next to those sweets her lips dispence,
As twin-conserves of eloquence,
The sweet perfume her breath affords;
Incorporating with her words;
No Rosary this votresse needs,
Her very syllables are beads.
No sooner 'twixt those Rubies born,
But Jewels are in Ear-rings worn.
VVith what delight her speech doth enter,
It is a kisse o'th'second venter,
And I dissolve at what I hear,
As if another Rosomond were
Couch'd in the Labyrinth of my ear.
Yet, that's but a preludious blisse;
Two souls pickering in a kisse.
Embraces do but draw the line,
'Tis storming that must take her in.
VVhen bodies whine, and victory hovers
'Twixt the equall fluttering lovers,
This is the game, make stakes my dear,
Hark how the sprightly Chanticlere,
That Baron Tell-clock of the night,
Sounds Boot-esel to Cupids knight.
Then have at all, the passe is got,
For coming off, oh name it not:
VVho would not dye upon the spot?
4

FUSCURA, or the Bee Errant.

Natures confectioner, the Bee,
Whose suckets are moist Alchimie,
The Still of his refining mould,
Minting the Garden into gold;
Having rifled all the fields
Of what dainties Flora yields,
Ambitious now to take Excise
Of a more fragrant Paradise,
At my Fuscara's sleeve arriv'd
Where all delicious sweets are hiv'd.
The ayrie Free-booter destreins
First on the Violet of her Veins,
Whose tincture could it be more pure,
His ravenous kisse had made it bluer:
Here did he sit, and essence quaff,
Till her coy pulse had beat him off:
That pulse which he that feeles may know
Whether the Worlds long-liv'd or no.
The next he prayes on is her Palm,
That Alm'ner of transpiring Balm;
So soft, 'tis air but once remov'd,
Tender as 'twere a Jelly glov'd.
Here while his canting drone pipe scan'd
The Mystick figures of her hand,
He tipples Palmestry, and dives
Oh all her fortune-telling lives.
5

He bathes in blisse, and finds no ods
Betwixt the Nectar and the Gods,
He pearches now upon her wrist,
A proper hawk for such a fist,
Making that flesh his bill of fare,
Which hungry Canibals would spare.
Where Lillies in a lovely brown
Inoculate Carnation:
He Argent skin with Or so stream'd,
As if the milky way were cream'd.
From hence he to the wood-bine bends
That quivers at her fingers ends,
That runs division on the tree,
Like a thick branching pedigree.
So 'tis not her the Bee devours,
It is a pretty maze of flowers,
It is the rose that bleeds when he
Nibbles his nice Phlebotomy.
About her finger he doth cling
I'th'fashion of a wedding ring,
And bids his Comrades of the swarm
Crawl on a bracelet 'bout her arm,
Thus when the hovering Publican
Had suck'd the toll of all her span,
Tuning his draughts with drowsie hums,
As Danes carowse by kettle-drums,
It was decreed that posie glean'd
The small familiar should be wean'd.
At this the Errants courage quails,
Yet aided by his native sails,
6

The bold Columbus still designes
To finde her undiscovered mines:
To th'Indies of her arm he flies
Fraught both with East and Western prize,
Which when he had in vain assaid,
Arm'd like a dapper Lance-presade,
With Spanish pike he broacht a pore,
And so both made and heal'd the sore:
For as in Gummy trees ther's found,
A salve to issue at the wound,
Of this her breach the like was true,
Hence trickled out a balsome too:
But oh! what Wasp was't that could rove
Rutilias to my Queen of Love?
The King of Bees now' jealous grown,
Lest her beame should melt his throne;
And finding that his tribute slacks,
His Burgesses, and state of VVax
Turn'd to an Hospitall, the combs
Build rank and file like Beads-men rooms,
And what they bleed but tart and sowre,
Matcht with my Danaes golden showre,
Live-Hony all, the envious elfe
Stung her, cause sweeter than himselfe.
Sweetnesse and she are so ally'd.
The Bee committed parricide.
7

To Julia to expedite her promise.

Since 'tis my Doom, Lov's under-Shrieve
Why this Reprieve?
Why doth my She-Advowson flie
Incumbency?
Panting Expectance makes us prove
The Anticks of benighted Love,
And withered Mates when wedlock joynes.
Th'are Hymens Monkeys which he ties by th'loyns,
To play (alas!) but at Rebated Foynes.
To sell thy self dost thou intend
By Candle end?
And hold the contract thus in doubt,
Life's Taper out?
Think but how soon the market failes,
Your Sex lives faster than the males,
As if to measure Age's span
The Sober Julian were th'Account of Man,
Whil'st You live by the fleet Gregorian.
Now since you bear a Date so short
Live double for't.
How can thy fortresse ever stand
If't be not man'd?
The Siege so gaines upon the Place,
Thoul't find the Trenches in thy Face,
Pitty thy self then, if not me,
And hold not out, lest (like Ostend) tho be
Nothing but Rubbish at Deliverie.
8

The Candidates of Peter's chair
must plead great hair,
And use the Simony of a cough
To help them off;
But when I woe thus old and spent,
I'le wed by Will and Testament.
No, let us love while crisp'd and curl'd,
The greatest honours on the aged hurl'd
Are but gay Furlowes for another world.
To morrow what thou render'st me
Is Legacie;
Not one of all those rav'nous houres
But thee devours.
And though thou still recruited be,
Like Pelops, with soft Ivorie;
Though thou consume but to renew,
Yet Love, as Lord, doth claime a Herriot due.
That's the best quick thing I can finde of you.
I feel thou art consenting ripe
By that soft gripe.
And those regealing christal spheares
I hold thy teares,
Pledges of more distilling sweets,
The Bath that ushers in the sheets,
Else pious Julia (Angel-wise)
Moves the Bethesda of her trickling eyes
To cure the spittle-world of maladies.
9

THE HECATOMB TO HIS MISTRESSE.

Be dumb ye beggers of the rhiming Trade,
Geld the loose wits, and let the Muse be splaid.
Charge not the parish with the bastard phrase
Of Balm, Elixar, both the Indias,
Of shrine, saint, sacriledge, and such as these
Expressions common as their Mistresses.
Hence ve fantastick Postillers in song,
My text defeats your art, ties Natures tongue,
Scorns all his tinsil'd Metaphors of pelf,
Illustrated by nothing but his self.
As Spiders travell by their bowels spun
Into a thred, and when the race is run,
Wind up their journey in a living clew,
So is it with my Poetry and you.
From your own essence must I first untwine,
Then twist againe each Panegerick line.
Reach then a soaring quill, that I may write,
As with a Jacobs staffe to take the height.
Suppose an Angel darting through the air,
Should their encounter a religious prayer
Mounting to heaven, that inelligence
Should for a Sunday-suit thy breath condense
10

Into a body. Let me crack a string
In venturing higher; were the note I sing,
Above heavens Ela, should I undecline,
And with a deep-mouth'd Gammut sound again
From pole to pole, I could not reach her worth.
Nor finde an Epithite to set it forth.
Mettals may blazon common beauties; She
Makes pearl and planets humble herauldry.
As then a purer substance is defin'd,
But by a heap of Negatives combind;
Ask what a spirit is, you'l hear them cry
It hath no matter, no mortality:
So can I not define how sweet, how fair,
Onely I say she's not as others are:
For what perfection we to others grant,
It is her sole perfection to want.
All other formes seem in respect of thee
The Almanacks mishap'd Anatomy,
Where Aries, head and face; Bull, neck and throat,
The Scorpion gives the secrets; knees, the Goat:
A brief of limbs foul as those beasts, or are
Their name-sak'd signes in their strange character.
As the Philosophers to every sence
Marry it's object, yet with some dispence.
And grant them a Poligamy withall,
And these their common sensibles they call:
So is't with her, who stinted unto none,
Unites all Sences in each action.
The same beam heats and lights; to see her well,
Is both to hear and feel, to taste and smel.
11

For can you want a palate in your eyes,
When each of his contains a double prize,
Uenus his apple? can the eyes want nose,
When from each cheeks buds forth a fragrant rose?
Or can the sight be deaf if she but speak,
A well tun'd face such moving Rhetorick?
Doth not each look a flash of lightning feel,
Which spares the bodies sheath, and melts the steal?
Thy soul must needs confesse, or grant thy sence
Corrupted with the objects excellence,
Sweet Magick, which can make five sences lie
Conjur'd within the circle of an eye.
In whom, since all the five are intermixt,
Oh now that Scaliges would prove his fixt!
Thou man of mouth, that canst not name a She
Unlesse all nature pay a Subsidie,
Whose language is a Tax, whose Musk-cat verse
Voides nought but flowers from thy Muses herse,
Fitter than Celia's looks, who in a trice
Canst state the long disputed Paradise:
And with divines hunt with so cold a scent,
Can in her bosome finde it resident.
Now come aloft, come come and breath a vein,
And give some vent unto thy daring strain.
Say the Astrologer, who spels the stars,
In that faire Alphabet reads peace and wars,
Mistakes his Globe and in her brighter eye
Interpets heavens Physiognomy.
Call her the Metaphysicks of her Sex,
And say she tortures wits, as Quartans vex.
12

Physitians: call her the Square circle, say
She is the very rule of Algebra:
What e're you undertake not, say't of her,
For that's the way to write her Character.
Say this and more, and when thou hop'st to raise
Thy fancie so as to inclose her praise,
Alas poore Gotham with thy Coocko hedge,
Hyperbolies are here but sacriledge.
Then rouze up Muse, what thou hast reveal'd out,
Some comments clear not, but increase the doubt.
She that affords poor mortals not a glance
Of knowledge, but is known by ignorance:
She that commits a rape on every sence,
Whose breath can countermand a pestilence;
She that can strike the best invention dead,
Till bafled Poetry hangs down her head:
She, she it is, she that contains all blisse,
And makes the world but her Periphrasis.
13

UPON Sir Thomas Martin

Who subscribed a Warrant thus. We the Knights and Gentlemen of the Committee, &c. When there was no Knight but himselfe.

Hang out a flag, and gather pence a piece
(Which Affrick never bred, nor swelling greece
With stories Timpany) a beast so rare,
No Lecturers wrought cap, nor Bartholmew fare
Can match him; natures whimsey, one that out-vies
Trediskin and his arke of Novelties.
The Gog and Magog of prodigious sights
With reverence to your eyes, Sir Thomas Knights:
But is this bigamy of titles due?
Are you Sir Thomas, and Sir Martin too?
Isachar couchant 'twixt a brace of Sirs,
Thou Knighthood in a paire of panniers.
Thou that look'st wrapt up in a warlike leather,
Like Valentine and Orson bound together.
Spurs representative! thou that art able
To be a Voider to King Arthurs Table:
Who in this sacrilegious masse of all,
It seems ha's swallowed Windsors Hospitall.
14

Paire-royall headed Cerberus his Cozen:
Hercules labours were a Bakers dozen.
Had he but trumpt on thee, whose forked neck
Might well have answered at the Font of Smeck:
But can a Knighthood on a Knighthood lie,
Mettall on mettall is ill Armoury.
And yet the knowne Godfrey of Bullion's coat
Shines in exception to the Heraulds vote.
Great spirits move not by pendantick laws
There actions, though eccentrick, state the cause,
And Priscian bleeds with honour: Cæsar thus
Subscrib'd two Consuls with one Julius.
Tom never oaded Squire scarce Yeoman high,
Is Tom twice dipt knight of a double dye?
Fond man! whose fate is in his name betrai'd,
It is the setting Sun doubles his shade;
But it's no matter, for Amphibious he
May have a Knight hang'd, yet Sir Tom go free.
15

On the memory of Mr. Edward King drown'd in the Irish Seas.

I like not teares in tune, nor do I prize
His artificiall griefe who scans his eyes,
Mine weep downe pious beads, but why should I
Confine them to the Muses Rosary?
I am no Poet here; my pen's the spout
Where the Raine-water of mine eyes run out
In pitty of that Name, whose fate we see
Thus copied out his griefes Hydrography:
The Muses are not Mair-maids, though upon
His death the Ocean might turn Helicon.
The Sea's too rough for verse; who rhimes upon't
With Xerxes strives to feter th'Helespont.
My tears will keep no channell, know no laws
To guide the streames; but (like the waves their cause)
Run with disturbance, til they swallow me
As a description of his misery.
But can his spatious virtue find a grave
Within th'imposthum'd bubble of a wave?
Whose learning if we sound, we must confesse
The Sea but shallow, and him bottomelesse,
Could not the wind to counter-maid thy death,
With the whole card of lungs redeem thy breath?
Or some new Island in thy rescue peep,
To heave thy resurrection from the deep!
That so the world might see thy safety wrought,
With no lesse wonder then thy selfe was thought.
16

The famous Stagarite, who in his life
Had nature as familiar as his wife,
Bequeath'd his Widow to survive with thee
Queen Dowager of Philosophy:
An ominous Legacy that did protend
Thy fate and predecessors second end:
Some have affirm'd, that what on earth we find
The Sea can paralell in shape and kind:
Books, arts, and tongues were wanting, but in thee
Neptune hath got an University.
Wee'l dive no more for pearls, they hope to see
Thy sacred reliques of mortality
Shall welcome storms, and make the sea-men prize
His shipwrack now more than his merchandize.
He shall embrace the waves and to the tombe
As to a Royaller Exchange shall come.
What can we now expect? water and fire;
Both elements our ruine do conspire:
And that dissolves us which doth us compound,
One Vatican was burnt, another drown'd.
We of the Gown our Libraries must tosse
To understand the greatnesse of our losse,
By pupils to our grief, and so much grow
In learning as our sorrows overflow.
When we have fill'd the Rundlets of our eyes,
Wee'l issu't forth, and vent such Elegies,
As that our tears shall seem the Irish Seas,
We floating Islands, living Hebrides.
17

On the same [On Edward King.]
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Tell me no more of Stoicks: canst thou tell
Who 'twas, that when the waves began to swel,
The Ship to sinck, sad passengers to call,
[Master we perish] slept secure of all?
Remember this and him that waking kept,
A minde as constant as he did that slept.
Canst thou give credit to his zeale and love,
That went to Heaven, and to those flames above
Wrapt in a fiery Chariot? since I heard
Who 'twas that on his knees the Vessell steer'd
With hands bolt up to Heaven, since I see
As yet no singe of his mortality;
Pardon me, Reader, if I say he's gone
The self-same journey in a watry one.

Square Cap.

Come hither Appollo's bouncing girle,
And in a whole Hipocrine of Sherry
Let's drink a round till our braines do whirle,
Tuning our pipes to make our selves merry;
A Cambridg-Lasse, Venus-like, borne of the froth
Of an old half-fill'd Jagg of barly broth;
She she's my Mistresse, her suiters are many,
But shee'l have a Square-cap if ere she have any.
And first, for the Plush sake, the Monmouth-cap comes
Shaking his head like an empty bottle.
With his new fangled oath by Jupiters thumbs,
That to her health hee'l begin a pottle:
He tels her that after the death of his Grannam,
He shall have God knowes what per annum:
But still she replyed, good Sir La bee,
If ever I have a man, Square-cap for mee,
25

Then Calot Leather-cap strongly pleads,
And faine would derive his pedigree of fashion:
The Antipodes wear their shooes one their heads,
And why may not we in their imitation?
Oh, how this foot-ball noddle would please,
If it were but weel toss'd on S. Thomas his Lees.
But still she repli'd, good Sir La-bee,
If ever I have a man, Square-cap for me.
Next comes the Puritan in a Wrought-cap,
With a long wasted conscience towards a Sister,
And making a chappell of ease of her lap,
First he said grace, and then he kist her.
Beloved, quoth he, thou art my Text,
Then falls he to Use and Application next:
But then she replied, your Text (Sir) I'le be,
For then I'me sure you'l ne'r handle me.
But see where Satten-cap scouts about,
And faine would this wench in his fellowship marry;
He told her how such a man was not put out,
Because his wedding he closely did carry,
Hee'l purchase Induction by Symony,
And offers her money her incumbent to be.
But still she replied, good Sir La-bee,
If ever I have a man, Square-cap for me.
The Lawyer's a Sophister by his Round-cap,
Nor in their fallacies are they divided;
26

The one milks the pocket the other the tap,
And yet this wench he fain would have bribed.
Come leave these thred-bare Scholars, quoth he,
And give me livery and season of thee:
But peace John-a-Nokes, and leave your Oration,
For I never will be your Impropriation.
I pray you therefore good Sir La-bee;
For if ever I have a man, Square-cap for me.

The Scots Apostasie.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Is't come to this? what shall the Cheeks of fame,
Stretch with the breath of learned Lowdons name
Be flag'd againe? and that great piece of sence,
As rich in Loyalty, and eloquence,
Brought to the Test, be found a trick of State
Like Chymists tinctures prov'd adulterate?
The Devill sure such language did atchieve,
To cheat our un-forewarned Grandam Eve,
As this imposture found out to besot
Th'experienc'd English, to believe a Scot:
Who reconcil'd the covenants doubtfull sence?
The Commons argument, or the Cities pence?
Or did you doubt persistance in one good
Would spoil the fabrick of your brotherhood,
Projected first in such a forge of sinne,
Was fit for the grand divels hammering?
Or was't ambition that this damned fact
Should tell the world you know the sins you act?
The infamy this super-treason brings
Blasts more than murder of your sixty Kings,
A crime so black as being advis'dly done,
Those hold with this no competition.
55

Kings onely suffer'd then, in this doth lie
Th'Assasination of Monarchy.
Beyond this sin no one step can be trod,
If not t'atempt deposing of your God.
Oh were you so ingag'd, that we might see
Heavens angry lightning 'bout your ears to flee,
Till you were shrivel'd to dust; and your cold land
Parcht to a drought beyond the Lybian sand!
But 'tis reserv'd, till heaven plague you worse,
Be Objects of an Epidemick curse.
First may your brethren, to whose viler ends
Your power hath bauded, cease to count you friēds,
And prompted by the dictate of their reason,
Reproach the Traytors though they hug the Treason.
And may their jealousies increase and breed,
Till they confine your steps beyond the Tweed:
In forrain Nations may your loath'd name be
A stigmatizing brand of infamy;
Till forc'd by generall hate, you cease to rome
The world, and for a plague to live at home.
Till you resume your poverty, and be
Reduc'd to beg whore none can be so free
To grant; and may your scabby Land be all
Translated to a general Hospital.
Let not the Sun afford one gentle Ray,
To give you comfort of a summers day;
But, as guerdon of your traiterous war,
Live cherish'd only by the northern star,
No Stranger deign to visit your rude coast,
And be to all but banisht men, as lost.
56

And such in heightning the infliction due,
Let provok'd Princes send them all to you.
Your State a Chaos be where not the law,
But power, your lives and liberties may aw.
No Subject 'mongst you keep a quiet brest,
But each man strive through blood to be the best;
Till, for those miseries on us you've brought.
By your own sword our just revenge be wrought.
To sum up all let your Religion be,
As your Allegiance, mask'd hypocrisie:
Untill when Charls shall be compos'd in dust,
Perfum'd with Epithetes of good and just;
HE sav'd, incensed heaven may have forgot
T'afford one act of mercy to a Scot,
Unlesse that Scot deny himselfe, and do
(Whats easier far) renounce his Nation too.

Mark Anthony.

When as the Nightingale chanted her Vespers.
And the wild Forrester couch'd on the ground,
Venus invited me in the evening whispers,
Unto a fragrant field with Roses crown'd:
Where she before had sent
My wishes complement,
Unto my hearts content,
Plaid with me on the Green,
Never Mark Anthony
Dallied more wantonly
With the fair Ægyptian Queen.
First on her cherry cheeks I mine eyes feasted,
Thence feare of surfetting made me retire:
69

Next on her warmer, which when I tasted,
My duller spirits made me active as fire;
Then we began to dart
Each at anothers heart,
Arrowes that knew no smart:
Sweet lips and smiles between.
Never Mark, &c.
Wanting a glasse to plate her amber tresses,
Which like a bracelet rich decked mine arm,
Gawdier than Juno weares when as shee graces
Jove with imbraces more stately than warm,
Then did she peep in mine
Eyes humor Christalline;
I in her eyes was seen
As if we one had been,
Never Mark, &c.
Mysticall Grammer of amorous glances,
Feeling of Pulses the physick of love,
Rhetoricall courtings, and Musicall dances:
Numbring of Kisses Arithmetick prove.
Eyes like Astronomy,
Straight limb'd Geometry:
In her hearts ingeny
Our wits are sharp and keen.
Never Mark Anthony
Dallied more wantonly
With the fair Ægyptian Queen.
70

The Authors Mock-Song to Mark Anthony.

When as the Night-raven sung Pluto's Mattins:
And Cerberus cryed three Amens at a houl,
When night-wandring witches put on their pattins
Mid-night as dark as their faces are foul:
Then did the furies doom
That the Night-mare was come;
Such a mishapen Groom
Puts down Su. Pomfret clean.
Never did Incubus
Touch such a filthy Sus,
As this foul Gypsie Quean.
First on her Goosberry cheeks I mine eyes blasted
Thence feare of vomiting made me retire!
Unto her blewer lips which when I tasted,
My spirits were duller then Dun in the mire.
But then her breath took place,
Which went an Ushers pace,
And made way for her face;
You may guesse what I Mean.
Never did Incubus
Touch such a filthy Sus,
As this foul Gypsie Quean.
Like snakes ingendring were platted her tresses,
Or like slimy streaks of ropy ale;
71

Uglier then Envy wears, when she confesses
Her head is periwig'd with Adders tail.
But as soon as she spake,
I heard a harsh Mandrake:
Laugh not at my mistake,
Her head is Epicœne.
Never did &c.
Mysticall Magick of conjuring wrinckles,
Feeling of pulses, The Palmstrey of Hags,
Scolding out belches for Rhetorick twincles
With three teeth in her head like three gags.
Rainbows about her eyes,
And her nose weather-wise,
From them th' Almanack lies,
Frost, Pond, and Rivers clean.
Never did, &c.

How the Commencement grows new.

It is no Curranto news I undertake,
New teacher of the Town, I mean not to make,
No New England voyage my Muse does intend,
No new fleet, no bold fleet, nor bonny fleet send,
But if you'l be pleas'd to hear but this ditty
I'le tell you some news as true and as witty.
And how the Commencement grows new.
72

See how the Symony Doctors abound,
All crowding to throw a way fourty pound;
They'l now in their wives stammel petticotes vaper,
Without any need of an argument draper,
Beholding to none, he neither beseeches,
This friend for ven'son, nor tother for speeches.
And so the Commencement grows new.
Every twice a day teaching Gaffer
Brings up his Easter book to chaffer,
Nay some take degrees who never had steeple,
Whose means like degrees comes from places of people
They come to the fair, & at the first pluck,
The Toll-man Barnaby strikes'um good luck.
And so, &c.
The Countrey Parsons they do not come up
On Tuesday night in the old Colledge to sup,
Their bellies and table books equally full,
The next Lecture dinner their notes forth to pull;
How bravely the Margret Professor disputed,
The Homilies urg'd, and the school-men confuted,
And so, &c.
The Inceptor brings not his father, the clown,
To look with his mouth at his Grogorum gown
With like admiration to eat rosted beef,
Which invention pos'd his beyond-Trent-belief:
Who, should he but hear our Organs once sound,
Could scarce keep his hoof from Sallengers round.
And so, &c.
73

The Gentleman comes not to shew us his satin
To look with some judgment at him that speaks lattin,
To be angry with him that makes not his cloaths,
To answer O Lord Sir, and talk play-book oaths,
And at the next Bear-baiting, full (of his sack)
To tell his Comrades our discipline's slack.
And so the Commencement grows new.
We have no Prevaricators wit,
Ay marry Sir, when have you had any yet?
Besides no serious Oxford men comes,
To cry down the use of jesting and hums.
Our ballad, believ't, is no stranger than true,
Mum Salter is sober, and Jack Martin too,
And so the Commencement grows new.

The Hue and Cry after Sir John Presbyter.

With hair in Characters, and lugs in text,
With a splay mouth, and a nose circumflect;
With a set ruff of Musket bore, that wears
Like Cartrages or linnen bandileers,
Exhausted of their sulphurous contents:
In Pulpet fire-workes, Which that bomball vents,
The Negative and covenanting Oath,
Like two Mustachoes, issuing from his mouth;
74

The bush upon his chin (like a carv'd story,
In a box knot (cut by the Directory;
Madams confession hanging at his ear,
White-drawn through all the questions, How and Where
Each circumstance so in the hearing felt,
That when his ears are cropt he'l count them gelt;
The weeping Cassock scar'd into a Jump,
A signe the Prisbyter's worn to the stump:
The Presbiter, though charm'd against mischance,
With the Divine right of an Ordinance.
If you meet any that do thus attire'em,
Stay them, they are the tribe of Adoniram.
What zealous frenzie did the Senate seize,
That tare the Rotchet to such rags as these?
Episcopacy minc'd, reforming Tweed
Hath sent us Runts even of her Churches breed;
Lay-interling Clergy, a divice
That's nick-name to the stuff call'd Lops and Lice.
The beast at wrong end branded, you may trace
The Devils foot-steps in his cloven face.
A face of severall Parishes and sorts,
Like to a Sergant shav'd at In's of Court.
What mean the Elders else, those Kirk Dragoons,
Made up of Ears and Ruffs like Ducations?
That Hierarchy of Handicrafts begun?
Those new Exchange-men of Religion?
Sure they're the Antick heads which plac'd without
The Church, do gape and disembogue a spout:
Like them above the Commons house have been
So long without, now both are gotten in;
75

Then, what Imperious in the Bishop sounds,
The same the Scotch Executor rebounds.
This stating Prelacy, the classick rout,
That spake it often, e're it spake it out;
So by an Abbies Scheleton of late,
I heard an Echo supererrogate.
Through imperfection, and the voice restore,
As if she had the Hiccop o're and o're.
Since they our mixt Diocesans combine
Thus to ride double in their Discipline,
That Pauls shall to the Consistory call
A Dean and Chapter out of Weavers-Hall:
Each at the Ordinance for to assist
With the five thumbs of his great-changing fist.
Down Dagon Synod with thy motley ware,
Whilst we do swagger for the Common-Prayer,
That Dove like Embassie, that wings our sence
To heavens gate in shape of innocence.
Pray for the Miter'd Authors, and defie
These Demicasters of Divinity.
For when Sir John with Jack-of-all trades joynes,
His Finger's thicker than the Prelates Loyns.

The Antiplatonick.

For shame thou everlasting Woer,
Still saying grace, and never falling to her!
Love that's in contemplation plac't,
Is Venus drawn but to the wast.
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Unlesse your flame confesse it's gender,
And your parley cause surrender,
Y'are Salamanders of a cold desire,
That live untoucht amid the hottest fire.
What though she be a Dame of stone
The Widdow of Pigmalion;
As hard and unrelenting she,
As the new-crusted Niobe;
Or what doth more of Statue carry,
A Nun of the Platonick Quarry?
Love melts the rigor which the rocks have bred,
A flint will break upon a feather-bead.
For shame you pretty female Elves,
Cease for to candy up your selves:
No more you sectaries of the Game,
No more of your calcining flame.
Women commence by Cupids Dart,
As a King hunting dubs a Hart,
Loves votaries inthral each others soul,
Till both of them live but upon Paroll.
Vertues no more in Woman-kind
But the green sicknesse of the mind.
Philosophy, their new delight,
A kind of Char-coal appetite.
There's no Sophistry prevails,
Where all convincing love assails;
77

But the disputing petticoat will warp,
As skilfull gamsters are to seek at sharp.
The Souldier that man of Iron,
Whom ribs of Horror all inviron;
That's strung with Wire, instead of Veins,
In whose embraces you'r in chaines,
Let a magnetick girl appear,
Straight he turns Cupids Cuiraseer.
Love storms his lips, and takes the Fortresse in,
For all the brisled Turn-pikes of his chin.
Since Loves Artillary then checks
The breast-works of the firmest sex,
Come lets in affections riot,
Th'are sickly pleasures keep a Diet:
Give me a lover bold and free,
Not Eunucht with formality:
Like an Enbassador thats beds a Queen
With the nice Caution of a sword between.
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