University of Virginia Library

On a Citizen that was so unreasonably jealous of his wife, that he durst not trust her with the neerest in blood of her own kindred.

Why how now Jack? are you the only man
Whose forehead we must hang our hats upon?
Shall the luxurious folly of your youth
Araign all women at the Bar for truth?
Can no man now be sociable and good,
'Cause you have had a wildfire in your blood?
Because your wife resolves to remaine true
Must your in imagination Cuckold you?
“In what a Sea of sadness doth he swim
“Whose own strong fantsie doth make horns at him?
May we not look on her? can we devise
New wayes of copulation by the eyes?
Can smiles get children? Or if we should leave
Some words behind us, can her ears conceive?
Why dost thou search thy trunks and chests? as if
It should be possible the Placket-theif
Could get in there: is no place free from harms?
“So souldiers (when the wars began) sought Arms
“In silver Saltcellars, and springes set
“To catch a Canon in a Cabinet:
Go search her pocket too (to quit all fears)
And pluck out little Jeffery by th' ears.
There are most sly conveyances in Love,
'T may be Tom Thum is got into her Glove;
Search every corner of the house, and then
Sit down and coin new faces and new men.
Thou sot in jealouzie, whose fantsie vents
Impossibilities for Arguments:
Quick-sighted Quixot, thou that art inclin'd
To look about for what thou dar'st not find:
For (I protest) were I the man whom she
Would chuse to act his just revenge on thee,
Thou shouldst discover me with greater fear
Then men would pick sparks out of gunpowder.
I'd make thee be (my rigor should be such)
A Pillow to the thing thou fear'st so much:
Tempt me with hat in hand, and cast about
To keep that in which thou wouldst now bring out.
Conduct her to my very Arms, and grow
Highly contented thou couldst please me so:
The Law can not relieve in this distress
Because thy own eyes are no witnesses:
Which would exalt thy torture; thus would we
Pay thy old private scores of Luxurie:
And thy mechanick spirit, without doubt,
Will bear all this when thou art beaten to'r.
For shame reform thy folly, let her heart
Be no more measur'd out by thy desert:
Let not the ills which thou hast done, proclaim
Suggested falshood in anothers Fame:
He that thinks every man is his wife's sutor,
Defiles his Bed, and proves his own Cornutor.

Peccavi, to a vertuous Lady, who was vitiously solicited by a Gentleman whilst she was in her mourning.

As guilty men unto the Altar flye
There to appease th' incensed Deity,
After the sin of Blasphemie, or blood
Took from the brests of Innocents, whose flood
Cryes up to heaven for vengeance; so come I
To beg a pardon for this heresie
Against your honor: Truth her self can tell
No unbeseeming action, such as sell
The looser wantons of our times, made me
Attempt to break your chrystal chastity:
I saw no gesture in you that could say
I might have hopes to win the fatal day
Of your undoing; but you did appear
Stainless, and more immortal then you are
Or can be, till the hand of heaven shall
Transform your ashes to a funeral:
Some men desire to speckle whitest paper.
Venus will light her torch at Vesta's taper:
It is a truth divided from all doubt,
That ne'er a Nun'ry can keep Cupid out:
I know your melting eyes, and mourning dress
Might mortifie anothers wantonness,
But it exalted mine, as if my flame
Could feed upon no fuel but your Fame.
This crime relates to that in Paradice,
Your vertue was the Author of my vice.
Your frowns advanc'd my blood, and made it boile,
Your Prayers were Bonfires, and your tears were oile:
(To contract all) what ever I could see
Like frost in you, was a fierce flame in me.
“So cowards when made Conqueror, do boast,
“And are more cruel when their slaves beg most.
I faine would plead excuses, if I cou'd
Alledge the frailty of our flesh and blood,
Your feature and my love; your youth and tongue,
That so I might extenuate the wrong.
But my Religion sayes, To do one sin
And then excuse it, brings another in:
No, I'll submit to pardon: you that have
Ability to judge, have power to save
Your penitent offender: I confess
My fault so criminal, I must address
My self unto your mercy, and I spie
Her silver wing spread in your either eye
To entertain my sute; remove the Bar,
The witnesses and Executioner.
You shall for this no Judge, or Jury call,
At your own pleasure, I will stand or fall.

On handsome women that will marry fools.

She that will marry with a Fool 'tis plaine
Is either crack'd in Credi, or in Braine.

An Apology to a coy Lady for a passionate Letter which a Gent. writ to her when she returned back to him a Diamond which he before had presented.

Madam! In such a calm of peaceful aire
As the self-fenrenc'd sinner sighs in Prayer,
I do salute your Candor; and desire
Your mercy may with pardon, quench the fire
Of my late Passions, for I must confess
Though they were truths, they wore too wild a dress:
I quite forgat the boundless distance that
Is set betwixt my lowness and your state:
And should (but that I see you disapprove)
In time have been a Leveler in Love:
You have reform'd my error, and (with high
Distaste) dismounted my soft heresie;
I am yovr Proselyte, and shall declare
To Lovers (such as I am) that they are
In desperate error if they dare to prove
Man's merit can deserve a Lady's love:
Ther's no such thing in nature; he that can
But scent the aire that issues from her fan,
Hath happiness enough; and he that wears
Her scorns, is paid for all his vows and tears.
His rings and ribbons are oblations that
Defile the shrine which they are offer'd at:
Else (honoured Lady) sure that trifle which
Your Iv'ry finger lately did enrich,
Had not been with such detestation sent
To him that loves you like his nourishment:
What is the motive (Madam) I am more
Tortur'd to know the cause, then feel the soar:
Pray speak it plainly, for the noblest dress
Of Truth is her own native nakedness:
I never yet committed an offence
That was too horrid for my Audience.
I will attend you with undaunted ear,
Although you utter all that I can fear:
My constitution boldly shall endure
To lose that limb which will admit no cure:
I wish you all the happiness that can
(With wisest search) be found in the best man:
May him whom you shall please to favour be
Sincere in all his services for she
That leaves a true heart for a fained one,
Doth give a Di'mond for a Bristow Stone.

On a cruel Creditor.

I will make Dice on's Bones, so doth he cry
Who hath the debtor in Captivity:
Take heed, ther's none will pity thy disaster
When Lucifer (at last) cryes Come the Caster.

On Rebellion.

Rebellion is a Paradox, for they
Are onely put in trust that do betray.

UILLAINIE.

Anagram, I LIVE IN AL.

I live in al; shew me that Name
That hath a larger Anagram:
But lest some should think that I
Do assume ubiquity,
Let them know I want the Art
To be All in every part:
But yet I live in all; I know
All Languages, and Nations too:
'Tis not France with all her Apes
Can outvye me in my shapes;
I wear a Cope, I wear a Crown,
A Souldiers sword, a Lawyers gown,
And (with rev'rence be it spoke)
The Surplice and extempore cloak:
I wear a chain, sometimes a ruff,
A purple Robe, a sute of Buff:
A livery-hood, a Country coat,
A seaman's cap (whose subtle boat
Sailes with all windes, and, as I can
Change snapes, I live in every Man,
And every Place; I live at Court,
And where an Army doth resort
(By which so many men are undon.)
I live at sea, I live in London:
In all parts of it I range,
And I alwayes keep the change;
I live in Courts of peace and war,
On the Bench, and at the Bar:
Sometimes like to love and fury,
I have been in Judge and Jury:
In Physitians I live close,
But am us'd in every dose:
In my coat of Armes I bear
A Roundhead and a Cavalier.
I wear all Passions; but I move
Surest in the shape of Love:
Or in Religion, there I flye
At God knows who, and who knows why?
In a Shopkeeper you'l guess
What I am when I profess:
In a Politick I cry,
Law, Religion, Liberty.
In a Justice I lye hid,
Yet in's Clerk I'm quickly spid:
But my subtleties grow evener
In a Broker and a Scrivener.
In a Sectarist I flame
Like the Aire of Amsterdam:
Covenants and Protestations
Are my yeerly Recreations.
But I am (such is my fate)
Never from the Counter-gate,
And a house in Broadstreet, where
I am in my proper sphere.
But (to cut off prolixity) you shall
Find (by my Anagram) I Live in all.

Defence composed for his friend Mr. Th. Ea. who ignorantly had perswaded some Gentlemen his friends to wash their faces with Mercury, one of them being an elect Bridegroom, the night immediately before the Nuptials, who the next day were much blistered with the venome, and he much accused by the Ladyes, as if it had been done on purpose.

The winged feet of fame that alwayes brings
On swiftest pinnions, most unwelcome things,
Inform'd the Centinel that waits upon
My late araigned Reputation,
That I have done an Act which much offends
Men whom I balance with the best of friends:
That I with venome should deform those faces
Wherein faire Ladyes found so many graces,
At such a season when bright Hymens taper
Inflam'd the Bride, and made the Bridegroom caper,
When all prepar'd themselves in the best dress
Of civil Art, and native comliness:
When active youth, and Beauty did put on
Their smoothest brows, and best complexion;
That I against this Time, without incitement,
Should perpetrate this fact, so runs th' inditement:
To which I plead Not guilty, cause th' event
Doth make men Criminal, or innocent:
That I was instrumental in't, I grant,
But of the vile event as ignorant
As cradled infants; 'tis an Act below
My name, my spirit, and my Nature too:
Did my Accusers know how much I prize
My friends, they would with more indulgent eyes
Look on this chance; the Ladyes (as I hear)
For it esteem me much their injurer,
Which is (indeed) the greatest cause that I
Make this Confession, and Apology:
I am so much a servant to that Sex
Whose ruby lips, bright brows, and Ivory necks
Surprize all eyes, that their alone commands
Have power enough to stay my active hands
From my worst Enemy, if he be one
That wears the badge of their Affection:
How then should I accomplish a design
Of such dishonour to their friends and mine?
Salute the Ladies from me; let them see
My Penitence and my integritie:
Assure them that the sacred Nuptials which
Their precious presence lately did enrich,
Is of so much esteem with me, that I
Disclaim all thoughts or Acts of injury.
Tell them I am divided from all rest,
Till they have sign'd me a Quietus est.

An Ode composed for three voices, at a celebration of the Birth-day of the much honoured G. D. Gent. on Novemb. 29.

I. Voc.
Joy in the Gates of him whose birh
Gives generation to our Mirth,
Whose Fame and meritorious dayes,
Eclipse the lustre of all praise.

Chorus.
Then let our invention
Exceed Apprehension
Let liberty dance a Lavalto,
Till Ceres and Bacchus
With jollity rack us.
And ev'ry mans brains are in Alto.

II. Voc.
Let none appear under this roof,
Whose spirits are not sorrow-proof.
All constellations we defie
That frown at this Nativitie.

Chorus.
We laugh at the silly
Presages of Lilly.
We fear not the force of Invasion:
The Schoolemen are dullmen:
They fool men and gull men;
'Tis Love is the Art of perswasion.

III. Voc.
Let no man in this Circle move
Whose soul is crost with Law or Love:
We likewise do exclude his Pate
That deals in stratagem, and State.

Chorus.
The sum of our treasure
Is freedom in pleasure.
Nor will we forget to remember
The motive that raises
Our voices with Praises
The 29 day of November.

A Vote to the much honored Thomas Bridges, Merchant in Alderman-bury London, and to his most vertuous wife.

If Health and Treasure, Love and Mirth
Be all the happiness on earth,
I wish that every thing you touch,
Or can but think on, may be such.
May all the Pleasures, that we see
Under bright heaven's Canopie,
Waite upon you, and may old Fame
Receive advantage from your Name.
Let your quick understanding be
Clear and serene as Purity.
May all your Excellencies prove
The powerful Adamants of Love:
And may that lustre of your life)
Your fertile, chast, ingenious wife
Continue in her loyal flames,
And be the guide to vertuous dames.
May your Childrens childrens merits
Be the pictures of your spirits;
Then may you draw an equal breath,
With long sweet life, and easie death.
May Cities, Towns, Ships, fields, & bowers
Talke of no other worth but yours:
And may no company (one minute)
Be sorrowful when you are in it.

An Epitaph on a scold.

Here lyes, in dust, a married man's great wo,
A nimble Linguist, or a quick-tongu'd shrew.
Now she is dead, and dust to dust is flung;
The earth holds her that ne'r could hold her tongue.

On Jack Summer, who with two shillings, won twenty pounds of Captaine Swallow.

When poor Jack Summer was an overcomer
Of Swallows purse, one Swallow made a Summer.

On Scorta.

Scorta (the whore) sayes she'l pay all her owings
In the next Term, if God send good her doings.

An Epitaph on Mr. Will. Lawes Batchelor in Musick, who was mortally shot at the siege of Westchester.

Concord is conquer'd: In this Urne there lies
The Master of great Musick's mysteries,
And in it is a riddle like the cause:
Will. Lawes was slain by such whose wills were laws.

A Defence for Musick in its Practique and Theorick, Dedicated to all Lovers of Harmony, but more especially to the much honored

Empress of Order, whose eternal Armes
Put Chaos into Concord; by whose Charmes
The Cherubims in Anthems cleer and even
Create a Consort for the King of Heaven:
Inspire me with thy Magick, that my Numbers
May rock the never-sleeping Soul in slumbers:
Tune up my Lyre, that when I sing thy merits
My subdivided Notes may sprinkle Spirits,
Into mine Auditory, whilst their fears
Suggest their souls are sallying through their ears.
What Tropes or Figures can thy glories reach,
That art thy self the splendor of all Speech?
Mysterious Musique! He that doth thee right,
Must shew thy Excellence by thy own Light:
Thy Purity must teach us how to Praise,
As men seek out the Sun, with his own rayes.
What Creature, that hath Being, Life, or Sense,
But wears the badges of thy Influence?
Musique is Harmony, whose copious bounds
Is not confined onely unto Sounds,
'Tis the Eys object (for without Extortion)
It comprehends all things that have Proportion.
Musique is Concord, and doth hold allusion
With every thing that doth oppose Confusion.
In comely Architecture it may be
Known by the Name of Uniformity,
Where Pyramids to Pyramids relate,
And the whole Fabrick doth configurate:
In perfectly proportion'd Creatures we
Accept it by the title Symmetry,
When many Men forsome design convent,
And all concentre, it is call'd consent:
Where mutual hearts in sympathy do move,
Some few embrace it by the name of Love:
But where the Soul and Body do agree
To serve their God, it is Divinity:
In all melodious Compositions wee
Declare and know it to be Symphonie;
Where all the Parts in Complication roll,
And every one contributes to the whole.
He that can set, and humor Notes aright,
Will move the Soul to Sorrow, to Delight,
To Courage, Curtesie, to Consolation,
To Love, to Gravity, to Contemplation.
It hath been known (by its Magnetique Motion,)
To raise Repentance, and advance Devotion:
It works on all the Faculties, and why?
The very Soul it self is Harmony.
Musique! it is the breath of Second Birth;
The Saints employment, and the Angels Mirth,
The Rhetorick of Seraphims, a Gem
In the Kings Crown of New Jerusalem
They sing continually; the Exposition
Must needs infer there is no intermission:
I hear some men hate Musick: let them shew
In holy writ, what else the Angels do:
Then those that do despise such sacred Mirth
Are neither fit for Heaven, nor for Earth.

A Banquet of Discord, dish'd up and dedicated to all lovers of Confusion, and contemners of Concord.

An Epigram on a Mad-man.

A friend desir'd me once, as I pass'd by
Bedlam (the Dippers University)
To walk in there with him, where when I came,
I did behold one as much out of frame
As was the Chaos in continual Night,
Before Jehovah said, Let there be Light;
Madness and Drunkenness conjoyn'd in one,
Would sure have made a less confusion
Then that within his Brayn: some people by
Observing so supreme an Extasie,
Ask'd if he were marryed that had this strange fit:
No (quoth the mad-man) I'm not so mad yet.

A meer Souldiers Resolution, written by his own direction in the yeer 1642.

Preach not to me the justice of your Cause,
Your Priviledges, or the Kingdoms Laws,
Nor call't Religion to oppose your King;
Such stale pretences fram'd for quarrelling
Ile neither hear, nor ayd; I come to be
A sacrifice for my Necessity.
Give me the Coyn, shew me the golden showrs,
That onely is my Cause, and why not yours?
But (late) I heard a winged Herald sing,
The Cause hath left us, and is gone to th'King.
Why then beat up your Drums, leavy your Men:
We all go for the Cause, to fetch't agen;
Yet stir not till the Troopers have their pay,
The price of blood, just thirty pence a day:
This makes me mount my Jennet; do not tell
What else we fight for, and the Fiends of hell,
Circled with unextinguishable fires
Shall never daunt: But when your Cause requires,
There I am lost agen, foyl'd with a fright:
Your Cause is th'onely cause I cannot fight.

An Elegie and Epitaph, in two Acrosticks, composed on the pious memory of Mistress Grace Drayton, late wife to William Drayton Gentleman, unto whom she was marryed the 20 of January 1652, and deceased the 20 of June 1653.

To his disdainful Mistress, from whom he receiv'd a Repulse at the presentment of his service to lead her by the Arm in the street.

I shall give truth the lye, and must engage
In your defence the Pens of this whole Age,
Not to acknowledge that your form and features
Make you shine brightest 'mongst the best of Creatures.
He that surveys your Person with my Sense
Shall meet (at once) Light, Heat, and Influence;
Yet where you scorn, Experience bids me say,
You raise December in the midst of May.
The Chairs of State, the Scepters, Thrones, and Crowns
Of Life and Death are in your smiles and frowns,
This truth I freely vent, although you crack
The sinews of my soul upon the rack
Of undeserv'd displeasure, I must needs
Confess, all Vertue in your bosom breeds;
You are the mirror of all worth: Yet why
(If I may so capitulate) must I
For some offence unacted, or unknown,
Be tortur'd thus under the frigid Zone
Of your contempt? What have I done that can
Devest me of that Priviledge which Man
And manners justly claim? What is in me
So opposite unto civility,
That you should scatter your disdains upon
The soft Address of my Devotion?
Why should the bared Head, and bended Knee
Of faithful service meet such nicety?
You make me doubt my self, and wonder what
Great Error (like an Attom or a Gnat)
I am accus'd of; whether I did stand
Right with my Legs, or gave you the wrong Hand:
Whether my Gloves were on, or I did err
In wearing some unbutton'd Handkercher:
Which of these hainous sins it is, I can
No more conceive then a deceased man.
Pray manifest the Cause, and let me know
What is the cruel Author of my woe,
That I may curb the Love which did intrude,
And (for the future) cease to be so rude
With such Perfection; I will let the world
(To my own scorn) know why my hopes are hurl'd
From your bright Mercy: they shall understand
It is like Sacriledge to kiss your hand,
And that to Arm you brings as bad a fate,
As to be found in Arms against the State.

On Mrs. Howlet, and Mrs. Boone.

Fickle (they say) loves Howlets daughter, she
That is his eldest, Mistris Margery:
And some suppose the wddow Boon will draw
All his Affection, (Mistress Barbara)
But will not he appear a gross Buffoon
To marry with Madg Howlet, or Bab Boone?

To a Black-moor that had married a deformed Spanish woman, and was jealous of an English Gentleman.

Black Don de Negro fears that I will be
A sharer in his sooty Venery:
He doth believe that in his absence I
Invoke his devil to Adultery;
When (Heaven knows) 'tis such a Creature, none
But one that doubts the Resurrection
Would meddle with; a face Men flye in drink,
Whose eys are Torches, and whose veins run Ink
A thing that sure some Succubus hath nursed,
And onely waits the hour of Go ye cursed.
Yet this strange muddy medly of things horrid,
Makes Don doubt horns upon his woollen forhead;
And I must be the object of his doubt,
I tell thee Don, and all thy sable rout,
Thou fear'st in vain; I would not (I protest)
Add one pin feather to thy Magpies nest
For both the Indies: many (by this light)
Have been undone onely with black and white:
Besides, he is betray'd by self-deceivings,
That takes an armful of the devils leavings.
Dost think I'll deal in Charcole? smack a smother?
And dig in one hell to deserve another?
Or will I leave my lovely Polihynie
With all her Virgin sweets, to sweep thy Chymnie?
Dost think I'll line thy Buckrum with my Tissue?
And contribute unto thy checquer'd Issue?
To fright the Midwife with a womb that swells
With a strip'd stripling arm'd in Tortoise shells?
And in a time where Reformation hath
Made Venery as venial as the Bath?
Dost think I'll have my Heyr look like a Leper?
Like Snow and Gunpowder? or Salt and Pepper?
I hate that hand of Cards, where he that rubbs
Hath nothing dealt him but the ten of Clubbs.
Shall I pollute my Limbs with an embrace
For a py'd Kitling with a dappled face?
A Cradle full of twylight? print and Margent?
A Coat parte-per-fess, sable and argent?
A speckled spawn? joy twisted with disaster?
Or jert concorporate with Alabaster?
Forbear thy frantick follies, thou mayst be
Sooner perswaded I could bed with thee.
Can thy ambitious fears think any one
Would taste of that which thou hast blown upon?
Decline these doubts: when ever I accost her
With a conjunctive generating posture,
The pregnant womb of Wolves shall bring forth Lambe,
The robbing Rat teem Kitlings, the wild dams
Of rocking Bears shall (against Natures Lawes)
Embrace the doggs with titilating Pawes.
When we do mixe in a venereal sheet,
The late dead King and Parliament shall meet
In Westminster; Religion shall controul
The lofty longings of a States-mans Soul.

An Epitaph on a Prisoner for Debt, who dyed of Feaver in the Counter.

Here falls the trophie of a rich man's pride,
Who by a Creditor was crucified:
The Goal became his Cross, a Feavers flashes
Design'd his Death, his Altar, and his Ashes:
Therefore a Gamester lies under this Tyle,
To whom the Counter prov'd both Cross and Pyle

A Bull made Sense.

As Three were walking by a Hedge, one cries
I spye a cluster of red Black-berries.
The second laughed, the third (in his defence)
Said he would justifie it to be Sense,
And with this Question gravely steps between
Are not Black-berries red when they are green?

On Cavaliers wearing of much Ribbon.

Would you know why sequester'd Cavaliers
(Like Haberdashers shops that vent smal wares)
Wear so much Ribbon? Who before were forc'd
To flye from Naseby ragged and unhors'd?
The State took care for them that since their fall,
They should be drest in Haberdashers-hall.

A Congratulatory to the bountiful Lover of the Liberal Sciences, Sir Thomas Prestwich Baronet.

Bright Beam of honor, in whose worth and wit
The ravish'd ruines of the Muses sit;
If wishes wing'd with the felicious flight
Of nimble numbers may create delight,
Or if this composition may set forth
The zeal of one that hath more will then worth;
Suspend your approbation, and you'l see
How much my Love exceeds my Poetry.
Heroick thoughts enflame your soul; may no
Affronts afflict you wheresoe'er you go:
All that is mix'd in Consolations dish,
What studious man can think, or we can wish,
Crown all your Contemplations; may the skie
With fattest favours fill your Treasurie:
Honor embalm your Name, and may your fall
Make you rebound to joys Æthereal.
May all the happiness that can be due
To a redeemed Spirit wait on you.
Love be your Manuductor; may the tears
Of Penitence free you from future fears.
Divinity direct your wary ways,
And guard you from the froth of bad mens praise.
These wishes issue from the soul of one
Who means you more then he can think upon.

To Coll. Washington, on his word Away with't, &c Composed in 1643.

Come Gentlemen Away with't, stand t'your Arms;
In war the valiant prove most free from harms,
The Rear's not more secure then is the Van;
Death doth not always meet the formost Man:
What would become of me then, who did ne'er
Bring up the Front to fall into the Reare,
Like some wise Leaders who can well endure
The Guns to quarrel whilst they stand secure?
Who fain would purchase honor if they durst.
He that Commands in chief should be serv'd first,
And so will I be, though the field be set
With Henbane, Wormwood, deadly Acconit,
Or what soe'er comes terrible to fright
The Feeling, Hearing, Tasting, Sent, or Sight.
My word's Away with't: if you'l know the Cause.
'Tis this, it comprehends my Martial Lawes:
Let not a Souldier dare (that bears a Gun)
Having receiv'd his weekly pay, to run
Away with't, lest the Marshal (arm'd with death)
Stop (both at once) his running and his Breath
Let not a souldier from a Townsmans grass
Drive forth a Lamb, or Sheep; he shall not pass
Away with't, lest he suffer that, and more
(If more can be) then his Camrade before:
Let not a Souldier in his Quarters break
A Trunk or Chest for gold; he shall not sneak
Away with't: 'tis his Majesties intent
I should command an honest Regiment.
But (hear me souldiers) if you sack a Town
That is in opposition to the Crown,
And in their bags or Cabinets do know
Where Plate and Jewels are, I'll bid ye goe
Away-with't: 'tis no more then summum jus
To pillage them that come to Plunder us:
If you finde Linnen, Woollen, Swords and Knives,
Or any thing, but their unuseful wives,
Away with't: but you sots that do encline
To pillage Cellars of their Beer and Wine,
Take heed of Rats-bane, such fair bayts are set
To tempt your Palates, and you'l hardly get
Away with't: if ye finde Powder and Match,
Pikes, Musquets, Bullets, with all quick dispatch
Away with't, load the Cart, when all is done,
Wee'l march Away with it, quoth Washington.

On a Lay-Preacher.

I went the other day to see a Lay-man
Ascend the Pulpit (some say 'twas a Dray-man)
But in his Prayers he made (as some believ'd)
Five hundred sev'ral faces: 'faith I griev'd
To see him so, for (if he were in's wits)
They were no Prayers, but Convulsion fits.

To the great lover and protector of Honor and Sciences Sir Henry Newton Knight, &c.

Sir, I salute your Candor, and commit
These courser Compositions to your Wit:
All that I can commend unto your youth
And abler skill, is this, That they are truth:
Much Learning and Humanity we see
Doth issue from your ingenuity.
Vice is your Enemy, and there doth flow
Nothing but worth from your Seraglio;
Excellent Sir, I know you use to sip
Much of the Muses fair goodfellowship,
Leander and lov'd Hero's Life and Death,
With all the Verse since Queen Elizabeth,
Lifts not the front of Fantsie up so high
As you can when your Genius will comply.
All that is Excellently, Good, and New,
Pious and profitable, chaste, and true,
You have an int'rest in, y'are one of those
That love all worth which men e'er spake in Prose.
Reason and all the rules of Art have taught
You to excel in things above my thought.
The figure of your fame deserves to grow
Green in the leaves of Michael Angelo,
Xeuxes, or great Apelles. I shall then
Conclude, and leave you to a nobler Pen.