A nursery of novelties in Variety of Poetry :: :: University of Virginia Library

When eighteen years had crucify'd our Pleasure,
With Civil Swords, by wasting Blood and Treasure;
When by the Power of a Schismatick brood
Religion's glorious face was in a Cloud;
After the mildest King the Sun e're saw
Was murther'd by imaginary Law:
When Cov'nants made to God, Angels, and Men
Were broke by those who fain would do't agen;
After they did the Bloody Corps Interr,
Of Praying, Preaching, Perjur'd Oliver;
When Parliaments were worn unto the stump,
And England's Head was ruled by a Rump;
When (blinde with sorrow) we began to grope,
When all were out of heart, and out of hope:
Then MONCK, the King of Gen'rals came forth
In a mysterious March out of the North,
To London City; where he and his Men
Pull'd down the Gates, but set them up agen:
When by his smiles he put hope in us all,
This Speech was spoken to him in this Hall.

A Speech made to his Excellency the Lord General Monck, and the Council of State, at Skinners-Hall on Wednesday, being the Fourth of April, 1660. At which time he was nobly entertained by that Honourable Company.

I can forbear no longer, out it must
If I shall prove ingenious or just,
I have with wary eyes observ'd your steps,
Your Stands, your Turns, your Pauses and your Leaps,
And finde, however you may mask your brow,
You are a States-man, and ambitious too:
A right self-ended Person, for be't known,
Yours and the Publick Safety are all one;
You are ambitious to be good, that feat
Our States-men mist, for they were to be great:
But yet (as Solomon made that choice which
Commanded all) Wisdom will make you rich,
And great, and glorious; and these shall last
As long as time, and after time is past:
When such as have their Countreys Rights betray'd,
Shall receive pay in Lucifers Brigade.
My Lord, I scorn to flatter, I'le be true t'ye,
All the good Deeds y'have done, are but your Duty;
But yet your hand stretch't in Jehovahs Name
Hath snatch'd three burning Kingdoms from the Flame;
Our Laws, our Liberties, or what to us,
And all mankinde may be held precious,
Were at the Stake, this Action hath out-run
All thought; we cannot tell you what y'have done,

Nor you your self, it may not be exprest
Till divers years have made it manifest:
Those ravenous beasts that our destruction wrought,
When Church and State were to the Barebone brought,
(Praise God) you ransom'd, and without a Club,
Beat down the daring Doctrine of the Tub;
The sinking Pulpit to you did restore,
Our Apron-Prelates must come there no more;
And now the Iron-Monger will not rush in,
But cease to make an Anvile of the Cushin:
This you have done, quite unknown to the silly
Prognostications of Booker and Lilly,
Who know not (with all help their Arts can do)
What 'tis guides Charles his Wain so well as you.
But I forget my Message, Sir! by me
This faithful Hospitable Company
Doth bid you welcome; welcome as the Spring,
As you your self would welcome home—the thing
We all expect, without the which, each Nation
Subsisteth onely by Anticipation:
These ten or twelve years our three Kingdoms have
Liv'd in a darkness equal to the Grave,
Stifled for want of breath until the bright
Beams of your Presence gave a little light:
'Tis yet but twilight, could we gain the Sun,
And the clear wholesome air, the work were done;
You can dispel these mists and make all fair,
We sue for nothing but the Sun and Air

Continuation of the Induction.

The wary General whose Art did lye
Much in the soul of business, secresie,
Was so obscure in all his postures we
Could not discover his dark Loyalty;
So silent was his tongue, secret his face,
We could by neither finde he did embrace
Our royal hints; but when the upshot came,
Swifter then powder, put into a flame,
Through an obscuring Cloud before he speaks,
Even as a hand Granado e're it breaks,
He fir'd us all, for (with a true consent)
The Kingdom calls a full Free Parliament,
That he by lawful consequence might bring
The suffering Sovereignty of our Dread King
Home to his glories, which no time could do
But this, 'cause Providence would have it so:
And now the Scene is chang'd, for what before
The people did so hatefully abhor,
They heartily embrace: no other thing
Can prove so great a Cordial as the King:
Nothing but He can cure 'm, for the Devil
Had over-run the Land with the Kings Evil.
Now he's Proclaim'd the Bells joyfully ring,

May 10.

The Bonfires blaze, all cry, God save the King;
'Twill make all Ages study and admire on't,
Him whom they call'd the Son of the late Tyrant,

Is now a God; and no where can be had
(To heal their Wounds) the Balm of Gilead,
But in King Charles; whole Troops of glitt'ring Men
Contend by thousands who shall fetch him in:
The City sends forth acclamations high,
No Prayers are made but for his Majesty.
Thus do they guard him to Whitehall, where we

May 29.

Will pray for him and his Posterity,
That when the worst of State-Distempers spring,
We may be cur'd by praying for the King.

Another Speech at Goldsmiths-Hall to the General, April, 9. 1660.

After a Song concluding with a Chorus of Amity. Enter a Sea Captain, he divideth the Singers and speaketh.

Let me make one too; Are ye grown so stout
To contrive Peace, and leave the Sea-man out;
Have you in these large bowls which Plenty gave ye
Drank off the Ocean, and swallow'd the Navy?
You never think upon our Rocks and Shelves,
So you may snudge in safety by your selves;
Are not you Brittains? is not Navigation
The onely guard, and glory of a Nation:
Can ye have Treasure brought without a Fleet,
What is it gilds Cheap-side and Lumbard-street,
But our Sea Trade? by our cutting the curl'd
Ocean, ye hold Commerce with all the world;
Whence come your costly Carpetings and Works,
That grace the Chambers of Triumphant Turks,

But from beyond Sea? and wise men of trust
Believe if we have peace agen, it must
Come from beyond Sea, and d'ye go about
To make a Peace and leave the Main Mast out.

But where's my Admiral? Oh! I have spy'd him,
His merits are so clear, no Clouds can hide him;
I must go droll with him though, what chear! hey?
Up to the ears in Custard, here's a fray
Compounded without blood-shed, these would be
Good bits upon a March, George, or at Sea;
When in the fury of tempestuous Weather
We and our meat are pickled up together:
Here are pure Quarters, Plenty keeps her Spring
In London, 'tis a City for a King.

I came just now ashore to speak with you,
Directly up to Goldsmiths-Hall, I knew

Where I should finde you out, you love to settle
With honest hearts, and men of the best mettle;
They love Saint George, and yet do highly set
A value on Saint Dunston, they'r well met,
Both of them put the Devil in a dump,
One had him by the nose, 'tother the Rump,
And thereby hangs a tail: when I came hither,
My business and my boldness mixt together
Made me thrust in; where crowd ye cry'd they all,
Quoth I to speak with my Lord General,
I'm one of his Sea Captains; presently
The Master, and the generous Company
All bad me welcome, and did strongly woo
Me to bid you so, and this Council too;

In these or such like words they bade me say,
The Sun's not welcomer to a dark day
Then you are to this City; for you are
Temp'rate in undertakings, stout in War,
Prudent in Councils, quick when dangers call,
Secret in great designs, honest in all;
'Twould make the rudest Rebel quite renounce ill,
To see but such a Souldier, such a Council,
God prosper both, and may you never cease
Till you have brought home the bright Princes peace,
That long lost Lady, could we make a Crown
As rich as that was worn by Solomon,
Rather then we would lose her, or displease her
(I mean fair Peace) we'd give that Crown to seize her.

A Speech spoken to the General and Council, when he was feasted at Fishmongers-Hall.

After a Song of difference betwixt the Lawyer, the Souldier, the Citizen, and the Countrey-man: The Chorus being ended, Enter the Speaker habited properly for the Ghost of Massianello Fisherman of Naples.

Is your Peace just? what Rock stands it upon?
Conscience and Law make the best union;
If you gain Birth-rights here by Blood and Slaughter,
Though you sing now, you'l cry for ever after;
Trust my experience one that can unfold
The strangest truest tale that e're was told:
In my degree, few men shall overtake me,
I was as great as wickedness could make me:

This heart, this habit, and this tongue to boot
Commanded forty thousand Horse and Foot:
In three dayes time, my fortune grew so high
I could have match't my Fisher's family
With the best blood in Naples; right and wrong,
And life and death attended on my tongue;
Till by a quick verticity of fate,
I finde too soon what I repent too late;
And though a Rebel in a righteous cloathing,
My glow-worm-glories glimmer'd into nothing:
Thus fell that Fisherman that had no fellow,
I am the wandring shade of Massianello;
Who since I was in this perdition hurl'd,
Am come to preach this Doctrine to the world.

Rebels, though back't with power and seeming reason,
Time and success shall feel the fate of Treason.

But stay! what Picture's this hangs in my sight?
'Tis noble Walworth the King-saving Knight,
That stab'd Jack-Straw; had Walworth liv'd within
These four Months, where had Jack the Cobler bin?
It was a bold brave deed, an act in season,
Whilst he was on the top-branch of his Treason;
But from that shadow dropping down my eye,
I see a substance of like Loyalty.

If long renowned Walworth had the fate
To save a King, you have to save a State.

And who knows what by consequence, the Knight
By that brave deed, gain'd every man his right;
And you by this, may give each Man his due,
Not onely Trusty hearts, but Traytors too:

He drew Blood, you did not, 'tis all one sence,
There's but a Straw's breadth in the difference:
He sav'd the Town from being burnt, and you
Have rescu'd it from Fire and Plunder too:
He was this Companie's good Benefactor,
And you have been their Liberties Protector;
For which I heard them say they would engage
Their States and Bloods, and Lives against all rage
That should oppose your just Design; and that
You are the welcom'st Guest ever came at
This Table: they say all they can exhibit,
Is not so much a Treatment as a Tribute.
They call you the first step to England's Peace,
The right fore-runner of our happiness.

And joyn'd with these great Councellors, you are
Our best preservatives in Peace and War.

You have a Loyal Heart, a lucky hand
Elected for the Cure of this sick Land;
Who (by Protectors and unjust Trustees)
Hath been enslav'd, and brought upon her knees:
We humbly pray this may be thought upon,
Before the Kingdoms Treasure be quite gone,
And hope you will (though envy look a squint)
When all is fit, put a Just STEWARD in't.

Chorus of ten Voices.

Then may your Fame out-live all story
And prove a Monument of Glory,
Kings and Queens (as Tribute due)
On their knees shall pray for you,

Whilst all true hearts confess with Tongue and Pen
A Loyal Subject is the best of Men.

A Speech Composed to Welcome to the English Shore, the most Sacred and Inimitable Majesty of Charles the Second, personated by the Genius of England.

Mirrour of Majesty, bright Rising Sun,
The virtues of all Kings compriz'd in one;
How shall I look on thee Great Lord of Light,
Lay by thy Beams, or fortifie my sight;
Thou art so frequent at the Throne of Grace,
That Gods reflective Glory gilds thy Face:
Shall I make bare my Feet, as I am bound,
Or shall I kneel, for sure 'tis Holy Ground?
I will do so, England behold and blush,
Here's the best Emblem of the burning Bush:
I need not paraphrase, but wish this Nation
May come to Use as well as Application.
Remember Worcester, that escape may well
Match the demensions of a Miracle;
Had I been Rebel of the worst degree,
That very Fate would have converted me;
Who saw not that, saw nothing.—But I come
Dread Majesty to bid you welcome home,
So doth the Kingdom too, and all about ye;
For (in plain terms) we could not live without ye.
The Law and Gospel too bad us good night,
All had been wrong if you had lost your right.

Till Lot came out, great Sodoms lofty Towers
Could not take fire, this very case is ours.

The Land ere this had all in ashes bin
But that, as theirs went out, our Lot came in;
Each individual person in this Nation,
May bid you welcome next to their salvation:
The very Schismaticks, and such as are
The manifest incendiaries of War
May bid you welcome; for their Lives and Lands
Had else been ravish'd by each others hands:
You have a Kingdom here in order put,
So out of frame, Chaos was nothing to't;
Your very presence doth at once dispence
Light, heat, life, growth, and God-like influence:
You gain'd commission from the King of Kings,
To bring us our Redemption in your Wings.

Therefore may all the Joyes that Kingdoms want,
All that good men can beg, or God can grant,

All kindes of happiness past and to come
From the Creation, till the day of Doom,
Fall on your Majesty; may every thing
Contribute to the comforts of the King.
And when the beauties of a Royal Bride
Shall by your Sacred Arms be sanctifi'd;
May the pure power of Union so inflame ye,
That married Pairs may prosper when they name ye.
And may your Princely Progeny out-vye
The Stars for Light and Multiplicity.
You are a man, Sir, after Gods own Heart,
May Stuarts Name, and Englands Crown ne're part;

But may it prove our Comfort and our Cure,
So long as either Sun or Moon endure;
May you have faithful Councellours. and all
As just as George your Loyal General:

May Peace Crown all, and if there ever sprung
A Prophets Spirit in a Poet's Tongue,

May mine hit right, and all my dayes I'le sing
Upon no theam but this, God and the King.

A Prologue to the King.

Long live the King in your Celestial Eyes
The vertue of our late Creation lyes;
Our Re-Creation, for on English Earth,
You are to every thing a second birth:
We must acknowledge Liberty nor Lands
Could come more grateful then your Dread Commands,
Did to our very souls; but we are sorry
We should this Night attend on so much glory,
With such weak worth; or your clear sight engage
To view the remnants of a ruin'd Stage;
For doubting we should never play agen,
We have play'd all our Women into Men,
That are of such large size for flesh and bones,
They'l rather be taken for Amazons
Then tender Maids; but your mercy doth please,
Daily to pass by as great faults as these:
If this be pardon'd we shall henceforth bring
Better oblations to my Lord the King.

Epilogue to the King.

We have all done, if we have giv'n distaste,
It were much better we had done our last;
But mighty Monarch, in your power it lies,
And onely yours to save or sacrifice:
What we do want in playing, it shall be
Supply'd in praying for your Majesty.

On a Picture of the Kings Escape in the Oake.

Behold the King, to avoid danger's stroke
Confines his Royal Body in an Oake,
Which liv'd until his Fathers Life was done,
Then dyed to prove a safety for the Son;
And to us all this well-try'd truth imparts,
Better trust hollow Trees then hollow Hearts.

On the King and Mistris Lane on Horseback.

Behold a Lady who had once the honour
Of having a great King to wait upon her;
A Matchless Madam, Pieties restorer,
For in one man four Kingdoms rides before her;
The great Defender (as true Story saith)
Of him that is Defender of the Faith.

On the Picture of the King on Horseback in Parliament Robes.

Behold King Charles the second doth present
In Royal Robes both King and Parliament;
Which signifies, that in thought, word, and deed,
The King and Parliament are both agreed,
Whilst Traytors Heads are mounted on that Hall
Where Charles the first did finde his final fall
By an High Court of Justice, who consent
At once to ruine King and Parliament:
Long live the King, and God (in whom his trust is)
Preserve his life from such High Courts of Justice.

On Pictures of the King and Queen.

Two of the brightest Stars that have been seen
Shine in this glorious King and vertuous Queen,
In whose fair souls all that is good and great
In England, (or in Portugal) are met;
And may the Heirs of Charles and Katharine be
The stems of all succeeding Sovereignty.

On Pictures of the Duke and Dutchess of York.

Behold Yorks Duke and Dutchess too, whose lives
Are patterns for good Husbands and chaste Wives,
Good nature and good nurture too in them
Make Love appear the greatest Diadem:

May they all ne're more see (as sad beholders)
Religions head upon Rebellions shoulders.

A Prologue to the King, August 16. 1660.

Sure such a glory so serene, so bright,
Started from Chaos when God call'd for light,
For (like that glittering birth of Beams) you do
Transluminate this Western world from you
Our Saint, our Soul, our Sovereign, our King,
We live and grow as the Sun broods the Spring:
Then (as in Loyalty oblig'd) 'tis fit
We render part of our small stock, our Wit
Which hath so long been crampt under their rage
Who durst not see their actions on the stage,
That numb'd with a stupidity we fear
We shall assault the softness of your ear;
We have been so perplex't with Gun and Drum,

Look to your Hats and Cloaks, the Redcoats come.
D'Ambois is routed, Hotspur quits the Field,

Falstaff's out-filch'd, all in confusion yield;
Even Auditor and Actor, what before
Did make the Red-Bull laugh, now makes it roar:
We curse the misery in which our Trade is,
And are secur'd, but our magnifick Ladies
(Thinking to 'scape them) are torn by the Throats
And (like Wine Porters) put in Petty-coats,
Dragg'd to the Muse for Plotters; but your presence
Nullifies them, and gives us a new Essence,

Till you came hither all was so forlorn
We wish'd we had been buried, or unborn;
All things were retrograde, the night and day
Were shrinking to Prima Materia:
We liv'd in such a strange distorted age
Men durst not see their Figures on the stage;

But furious as the deform'd Lady was,
Who for revenge brake her own Looking-glass;

They crack'd our mirrour, and now none but you,
Dread Majesty, can Mend or make us New.

A Prologue to a Play call'd The Florentine Ladies, played in the Night by Gentlemen.

You're welcome to our Ladies, and I know
Most courteous Gallants, Ladies will please you;
Though at this hour, or midnight, else I'le swear
Most of our Knights are lost with the last year:
These creatures are of Florence, and not scorn
To let you know they are Italians born;
Your Ladies, worthy Gentlemen, 'tis thought
Love things that are far fetch't and dearly bought:
Why should not they who of this opinion are
Let you love Ladies that are come so far;
It is a question, and they may mistake
Our Ladies to be Ladies of the Lake;
Which in our English broadness is a Whore,
Then what are we, nay they that keep the door;
What are you too, my Masters? something 'tis
That make your Wives thus follow you to this.

A shrew'd suspicion when our wandring Knights
Arrest strange Ladies, and so late at nights;
But there's no hurt, for if they please but you,
We doubt not they'l content your Ladies too.
Pray take't as 'tis, the best we can afford,
If we do please, why so. Hab nab's the word.

The Epilogue, on New-Years-Day at Night.

With the New Year these Marriages begin,
Which will be broke e're the next year come in,
Unless your hands do give us, all our pains
In Love is lost, if you forbid the banes:
But if you grant us Licence, and appear
Each day to see us thorow the whole year;
Come to our Wedding, to requite your loves,
Shew us your hands we'l fit you all with Gloves.

A Prologue to a Play of mine, call'd, Love hath found his eyes; or Distractions.

I know ye did expect me, but for what,
To say we have a Play, the Bills shew that;
Why let's begin then, Sound—But some will say
Are there no faults in th' Actors, or the Play
To beg your patience for? Yes faith, there's store,
Yet all we crave is you'l not make 'em more.

A very just petition, and 'tis fit
I think, we bear no more then we commit;

Yet there are some, wise judges, that do seek
To raise their laughter on what you dislike:
The errors of the Actors, and they be
The witty tribe of our own Quality;
Why let them laugh, they paid for't, why should we
Deprive a man of that felicity,
That cannot help nor hurt us; and I pray
How e're it prove, don't call't a Pretty Play:
Let it be good or bad, that slight word pritty
Shews the Play naught, and the depraver witty.

The language is but low, and the invention
No higher then a common apprehension,

And (in a word) the Authours wish is such
You'l not despair, nor yet expect too much.

The Epilogue spoken by Cupid.

I hope these mutual Marriages express
My opticks are restor'd for each distress
The Lovers once suppos'd they had by me,
I have converted to a Jubilee.

All's happy but my self, for I poor I
That figure an eternal Deity,

Must quit my glorious supremacy
To stand the censure of mortality:
Be curteous to a God, then whose high laws
Commands all hearts, yet now must beg applause;
For if you censure me like rig'rous men,
You spoil the plot and strike me blinde agen:

All our distractions now are out of date,
I would they were so too in Church and State,
That Englands King and People were at rest
Without confounding eithers interest;
That jealousies and fears may never more
Let loyal hearts lie weltring in their gore;
That so the God of Love may often view
This Island and present himself to you.

A Speech by the way of Epilogue to those that would rise out of the Pit at the Red-Bull in the last Scene, and disturb the Conclusion, by going on the Stage, June 23. 1660.

Pray keep your places Gentlemen, don't rise,
Stay and take t'other Glass, as Peters cryes,
'Tis the Catastrophe crowns all the sport,
I warrant if you had places at Court
You would not part with them so soon, pray stay
Till Grace be said, and we have took away;
You wrong your Ladies in the nick of pleasure,
They would see't out, women love London measure:
Pray keep your seats, let us be your advisers,
You see (of late) what comes of early Risers;
But if you fancy to this custom tends,
Henceforth we'l study Playes that have no ends.

A Prologue to the Comedy call'd The Tamer tamed, June 24. 1660.

Enter reading of the Bill.

The Tamer Tam'd, what do the Players mean?
Shall we have Rump and Rebel in the Scene?
Juncto's of Safety with the righteous rabble
Of Apron-Peers, Knights of Sir Arthur's Table?
Shall Baxter, Hewson, Scot, and Fox be nam'd?
These were our Tamers, but I hope they'r tam'd;
For those were men, who (in their holy rage)
Did things too horrid for a civil Stage,
Unless our company should all comply
To leave good language and speak Blasphemy.

This Play, the Tamer tam'd, is Fletchers wit,
A man that pleas'd all pallats, therefore sit

And see the last Scene out; pray do not run
Into confusion, till the Play be done:
Should strangers see you mix among us thus,
They would be apt to think you some of Us.
Pray keep your seats, you do not sit in fear
As in the dangerous dayes of Oliver;
It is not now (in good time be it spoke)
Enter the Red-Coats, Exit Hat and Cloak.
But such a prosp'rous change doth now attend ye,
That those who did affront ye, shall defend ye.

The Epilogue, spoken by the Tamer, a Woman.

VVith licence of my Husband, I apply
My self to this honour'd society,

I fear I have offended the good Laws
Of houshold government, and given cause
By my example (in this wilde assay)
For some to put in practice what we play;
And 'cause the Breeches now come near the make
Of Petty-Coats, may willingly mistake:
These are old quarrels, and no doubt came in
When Adam digg'd and Madam Eve did spin.
They'r ne're the honester for that, the crime
Of bold Rebellion is older then Time.
The breach of trust is old; the breach of Laws,
Murther of Kings, witness the good Old Cause.
But we exhibit to your Approbation,
Not the Rebellion but the Reformation.

A Prologue to introduce the first Woman that came to Act on the Stage in the Tragedy, call'd The Moor of Venice.

I come, unknown to any of the rest
To tell you news, I saw the Lady drest;
The Woman playes to day, mistake me not,
No Man in Gown, or Page in Petty-Coat;
A Woman to my knowledge, yet I cann't
(If I should dye) make Affidavit on't.
Do you not twitter Gentlemen? I know
You will be censuring, do't fairly though;
'Tis possible a vertuous woman may
Abhor all sorts of looseness, and yet play;

Play on the Stage, where all eyes are upon her,
Shall we count that a crime France calls an honour:
In other Kingdoms Husbands safely trust 'um,
The difference lies onely in the custom;
And let it be our custom I advise,
I'm sure this Custom's better then th' Excise,
And may procure us custom, hearts of flint
Will melt in passion when a woman's in't.

But Gentlemen you that as judges sit
In the Star-Chamber of the house the Pit;

Have modest thoughts of her, pray do not run
To give her visits when the Play is done,
With dam me, your most humble Servant Lady,
She knows these things as well as you it may be:
Not a bit there dear Gallants, she doth know
Her own deserts, and your temptations too.

But to the point, in this reforming age
We have intents to civilize the Stage.

Our women are defective, and so siz'd
You'd think they were some of the Guard disguiz'd;
For (to speak truth) men act, that are between
Forty and fifty, Wenches of fifteen;
With bone so large, and nerve so incomplyant,
When you call Desdemona, enter Giant;
We shall purge every thing that is unclean,
Lascivious, scurrilous, impious or obscene;
And when we've put all things in this fair way
Barebones himself may come to see a Play.

Epilogue.

And how d'ye like her, come what is't ye drive at,
She's the same thing in publick as in private;
As far from being what you call a Whore,
As Desdemona injur'd by the Moor?
Then he that censures her in such a case
Hath a soul blacker then Othello's face:

But Ladies what think you, for if you tax
Her freedom with dishonour to your Sex,

She means to act no more, and this shall be
No other Play but her own Tragedy;
She will submit to none but your commands,
And take Commission onely from your hands.

A Prologue to the Poor mans Comfort.

Enter reading the Title, May 28. 1661.

The Poor man's comfort, this Title some will say
Is fitter for a Pray'r-book then a Play;
And some may censure who are Democraticks,
The times will change, Players are turn'd Phanaticks;
And the Red Bull where sports were wont to be,
Is now a Meeting-house, would 'twere for me
A good full Meeting-house, we should not be
Contrivers of a new Fifth-Monarchy,
And charge up for King Judas: no, the very
Plain truth is this, we meet but to be merry;

Then do you judge what pitty 'tis that we
Should every day want merry company?
Surely the fault is ours, or yours, or both,
Let us consider where it lyes: in troth
You will appear most guilty I'm afraid,
'Tis a full house that makes a Play well play'd:
A numerous presence doth at once inspire
Actor and Auditor with mutual fire:
Therefore pray meet, come as you do to tother,
If not for us, yet to meet one another.

But let me see? what was I going to say?
O! 'tis about the Title of the Play.

The great man's Comfort is above my thought,
The Merchant's Comfort is a Ship full fraught,
The Plow man's Comfort is a Field well till'd,
Our Poor man's Comfort is a House well fill'd.

March 16. 1661. An Advent to the Kings Coronation.

Let all your hearts be fill'd with joy,
King Charles his Coronation Day
Is coming on, let every thing
That fears God and Honours the King,
Advance their spirits, and express
A Royal loyal Thankfulness:

That man that was by dangers tost
From place to place, and almost lost.

He that did 'scape an Armies stroke,
And made a Kingdom of an Oak,

The Royal ORPHANT that was fed
With sorrow, and with borrow'd bread:
He whom his Subjects would confound
And crucifie, shall now be Crown'd.
Then let all souls for such salvation.
Cry up King Charles his Coronation.

On the Day.

The happy day (long wish'd by some)
By God's appointment, now is come,
In which our joyful eyes shall see
King Charles adorn'd with Majesty,
And He who liv'd a life like Job
Shall now with Crown, Scepter, and Globe,
With peaceful seed ascend his Throne,
And every man shall have his own:
The Juncto, Oliver, and Rump
That turn'd up all the Knaves for Trump,
Are totally dissolv'd, and we
Are Subjects to true Majesty.
Then let us all with one consent
Pray for the good Old Government,
Under whose power we may encrease
In Truth and Treasure, Ease and Peace;
And Children yet unborn shall live to say,
This was the happy Coronation Day.

After the Coronation.

The joyful dayes are come, and we
Obtain our ancient Liberty,
Religion rules, Rebellion rots,
We sleep securely without plots;
Our Lives are safe, our Laws are free,
White-Hall's a Court of Equity.
We are secur'd from Tyrants Swords,
Malignant, and such Canting words
Are out of date, Phanatick broods
That preach't away your Lands and Goods,
Are put to silence, and we fear
No forgeries at Westminster.
Would you know how all this comes round,
Take't in four words, King Charles is Crown'd;
Since it is so, let every thing
Praise God, and say, Long live the King.

A Letany delivered, Jan. 1, 1659. to a Friend as a New-Years Gift.

From All, and more then I have written here,
I wish protection to you this New Year.

From those who for self-ends would All betray,
From those new Saints that pistol when they pray;
From flattering features with infernal souls,
From Reformation, such as pull'd down Pauls;

From Church-land purchasers, from Town betrayers,
From Weaving Preachers, and Extemp're Prayers;
From blood, and something else that I could tell ye on,
From Pulpit blasphemy and bold Rebellion;
From new false Teachers which betray the old,
From those that turn the Gospel into Gold:
From that black Pack where Clubs are alwayes trump,
From bodies Politick, and from the Rump;
From those that ruine where they should repair,
From those that cut off heads instead of hair;
From twelve moneths Taxes and abortive Votes,
From chargeable Nurse children in Red Coats;
From such as sell their souls to save their Summs,
From City Charters that make heads for Drums;
From City Saints whose Annagram is Stains,
From plots, and being choak'd with our own chains;
From zeal that wants both Piety and Knowledge,
From the hot Disputants in Gresham Colledge;
From Coblers which ascend to Council Tables,
From dens of thieves, from Churches turn'd to Stables;
From these and ten times more like to ensue,
We humbly pray, Good Lord deliver you.

On a view of the Rebels Arms.

Crosses are crucify'd, the Organ which
In bright Cathedrals soar'd a lofty pitch,
Are now Demolish'd by such men (strange Riddle)
Who in the room set up the Cross and Fiddle.

On Independency.

An Independent is a Maggot bred
In fly-blown brains of Presbyterian head

On the Act against Cock-matches, the next succeeding, their putting down of Church-Marriages.

When Wedlock was pull'd down by powerful hand,
We might well guess Cock-matches would not not stand.

On the Jesuite and Puritan.

The Jesuite and Puritan prevail
In spoil, like Sampson's Foxes tail to tail.

Another.

The Jesuite and Puritan are two,
Who under the best names most mischief do:

Representations in Parts to be Habited, Sung, and Acted, as they have been often times with great applause performed before the Lord Major and the Sheriffs of London.

An Eclogue, or Representation in four Parts, composed for the Lord Major, Sir Tho. Allen, and Sung by the City Musick, Decemb. 18th. 1659.

The Presenters, Love, Plenty, Truth, and Courage.
Love.

My honour'd Lord and Lady,
May that great hand that made ye
Supply this cheer
From year to year,
And may no strength degrade ye,

Truth.

I am a bold intruder,
Which makes me seem the ruder;
But the City is
Much us'd to this
Since civil War subdu'd her.

Plenty.

We are no Lance-presadoes,
No Basket-hilt Bravadoes;
When you know our Names
You'l love our fames,
We deal not in Granadoes.

Love.
We come not to invade ye;
Or subt'ly to perswade ye;

Truth.
I am Truth (in a word)

Plenty.
I am Plenty, my Lord,

Love.
And I am Love my Lady.

1.

Chorus.

Let Buff-coat and Feather

2.
Go drumming together:

All.
We fear not the force of Invasion.

3.
The Voice and the Lute

1.
Makes a better dispute,

All.
Love hath the best art of perswasion.

Plenty.
But stay, methinks our Melody is dull,
We want a voice to fill the Chorus full.

Love.
Truth, where is Peace, (Truth) her absence is no wonder,
For Peace and Truth have been long time asunder:

Where is she gone? we'l hawl her in with Cables.

Love.
Peace seldom goes where Churches are made Stables.

Truth.
Peace never comes amongst those sad disasters,
Into that Land where Servants beat their Masters:

Plenty.
Peace seldom into such confusion comes
Where City Charters are made heads for Drums.

Love.
Peace loves good men, that profess what they'l dye for,
Not such as make Covenants stand for a Cipher.

Truth.
Peace ne're comes where Brother doth fight against Brother,
Nor where Protestations drive out one another.

Plenty.
Peace knows that the Sword men will ne're be true friends,
For Collonels like Coblers are awl for their ends;
She never appears, (though she very much pitty)
Where a bunch of Bandoleers are the keyes of a City.

Love.
When wisdom's wanting,

Truth.
And zeal is canting,

Plenty.
Then rage is ranting,

All.
And Peace lyes panting.

Chorus together.

Then blame not the words of our Tongue or our Pen,
We shall ne're hold our peace till we get her agen:
For Love, Truth, and Plenty must quickly decay,
As experience will tell us when Peace is away:
Love.
But now Peace is gone
And hath left us alone,
What other foundation can we build upon

Truth.
Let courage come rule.

Plen.
I fear he's too cool.

Love.
If he leave Love and Plenty, and Truth, hee's a fool.

Truth.
Can fury out-brave him?
'Tis Truth that must save him;
Go call him:

(Plen.)
I can not, the Prentices have him.

Love.
Go tell him our need,
Our Liberties bleed,
And say that my Lord doth command him with speed.

Plen
At that word he comes. Enter Courage.

Courage.

Boyes beat up your drums,
Are Sword-men abroad, and we picking of crums?
Have we the bold Valour, the Wealth, and the Wit,
And shall we be shallowly cheated of it?
Truth, Plenty, and Love, you all are well met,
In honester Causes ye ne're ventur'd yet;
We serve a brave Master, who for publick good
Will hazard his Fortune, his Fame, and his Blood:
Let Love, Truth, and Courage, and Plenty endeavour
To wait on his person, and serve him for ever.
Then let every voice like a well skill'd Musician
Discover the progress of Pride and Ambition.

Courage.
The basest condition
Is Pride and Ambition,
It rifles and stifles
True Love and Allegiance.
'Tis never contented
Till Time hath consented

To take off and shake off
The bonds of Obedience:

Truth.
It was a shrew'd weed in
The Garden of Eden
It drew out and threw out
Poor Eve and her Adam.
'Twas one of the strange ills
That cast down the Angels
So steep and so deep
That no measure can fadom.

Plenty.
It is but a sad sort of sinning
And ends with a terrible taste,
It shews like a Saint in beginning,
But looks like a Devil at last.

Love.
Ambition strikes every thing dumb
That dams up the way of her hope,
It often doth aim at a Kingdom,
And frequently ends in a Rope.

Chorus. All.
Then since bold ambition doth work such disasters,
Why should we be Monsters in hope to be Masters;
That City shall hold out in spight of all weather,
Where Conscience and Courage are coupled together.

The Cheaters Cheated.

A Representation in four parts to be Sung, Nim. Filcher, Wat, and Moll, made for the Sheriffs of London.

Enter Nim. a Cheat at one door, and Filcher his fellow at the other.
Nim.

1

Good morrow fellow Filcher,
What, do we sink or swim?
Thou look'st so like a Pilcher?

Filch.
Good morrow fellow Nim,
The Devil's in our destiny,
I cannot get a pluck.

Nim.
No, surely if the Devil were in't
We should have better luck.

Fil.

2

What Star is my director,
I am in such a state?

Nim.
Nay, prethe brother Hector
Do not fall out with Fate;
For we are fortunes Minions,
And fight under her banner,
'Tis she is Queen of all the world.

Fil.
A mischief light upon her.

3

No money is reveal'd yet,
I wonder where it lingers?

Nim.
The Souldier hath conceal'd it,
'Tis fast in iron fingers;
From whence if we could get it
By fury or by fraud:
We had as good attempt to pick
The Pocket of a Baud,

Filch.

4

Your roaring Cavalier
Who when he had the Chink,
Would bravely domineer
In diceing, drabs and drink:
Go ask him now for money
And he hath none at all,
Bur cryes 'tis in my Compting-house
In Haberdashers-Hall.

Nim.

5

Our sly Trappanning trade
Maintain'd with so much fury,
Is openly bewray'd
Both by the Judge and Jury;
For Lawyers have so many quirks,
And are such curious skanners,
That they grow cunninger then we,
And do trappan Trappanners.

Fil.

6

Our dyceing Trade is down too,
For when we do begin

By drilling wayes to draw
A yonger Brother in
The Souldier falls upon us
And proves the best Projector.

Nim.
Faith every Red-coat now can make
A puppy of a Hector.

Enter Wat, a West Countrey-man.
Fil.

7

Stay prethe who comes here,

Nim.
A gaping Countrey Clown.

Fil.
Look how the slave doth stare;

Nim.
He's newly come to town.

Filch.
He gazeth in the air as if
The sky were full of Rockets;
Let's fleece him.

(Nim.)
But how shall we get
His hands out of his pockets?

Fil.

8

Let me alone for that: I lately bought a glass,
Wherein all several colours may
Be seen that ever was,
If held up thus with both hands.

Nim.
A pretty new design,
This trick will fetch his fingers out;

Filch.
And hey then in go mine.

Tune changeth.
Wat.

9

Our Taunton den is a dungeon,
And yvaith cham glad cham here,
This vamous zitty of Lungeon
Is worth all Zomerzet-zhere:

In Wagons, in Carts, and in Coaches
Che never did yet zee more horse,
The Wenches do zhine like Roches,
And as proud as my fathers vore horse.

10

Che never zince che was able
To keep my vathers voulds,
Did ever zee such a stable
As thick a thing called Powls:
A Mezle in a red Jacket
Had like to have knack me down,
Because che'd undertake it
Held all the beast in the Town

11

Ch'am come to zee my Lord Major,
And thick as do hang the Thieves,
Ch've forgot what vine neames they are;
(A meazle on them) the zhreeves,
They zay they wear Chains and Scarlets,
And vollow'd by many Guardiants,
Ch'ave lost the neams of the Varlets,
A mischief on them, the Serjeants.

12

And now chill walk my stations
To every place in Town,
Che mean to buy new vashons,
Iche have above fifty pound;
Che took't away from vather
When he was gon a vield:

Cham come away the rather
'Cause ch'ave got a wench with childe.

Tune change. Filcher and Nim. looking in the glass.
Filch.

13

The Rainbow never knew
Such Colours as are here,

Nim.
Here's Purple, Green and Blew,

Wat.
Zooks what have they got there.
Good morrow Master, what d'ye cal't,

Filch.
Good morrow good man clot.

Wat.
Nay vaith vine Gallant there y'are out
My Neame is honest Wat.

Fil.

14

I'le shew thee such a slight that
Thou ne're saw'st honest Wat,
Neither by day nor night yet.

Wat.
Yvaith ch'ud laugh at that.

Fil.
Here take this glass into thy hand
And hold it to thy eyes,
Thou there wilt see more colours than
A Dyar can devise.

Wat.

15

I cannot zee a colour yet,

Nim.
Thou dost not hold it high,

Wat.
Che hav't, che ha't, ch'av got it now,

Nim.
Ifaith and so have I. Picks his Pocket.

Wat.
Here's black, and blew, and gray, and green,
And orange-tauny, white;
And now Ich ave lost all agen. Filch. picks tother Pocket.

Fil.
In troth y'are in the right,

16

Now prethe tell me honest Wat,
How do'st thou like my glass

Wat.
It is the vittest veat yvaith
That e're was brought to pass
And if that thou wilt spare it
Chill give thee money down.

Fil.
I will have nothing for it feels in's pocket.

Chill give thee half a Crown.

17

Yvaith cham very willing.

Nim.
You shall not do it now,
To give thee vour zhilling,

Filch.
'Tis more then you can do. Aside.

Nim.
Farewel good Wat, thou shalt not pay,
Good morrow Gentlemen;

Wat.
Chill get me gone vor vear that they
Zhould get my glass agen.
Exit Wat.

Tune change.
Fil.

18

Quick let us share
For fear of apprehension.

Nim.
Gusman could ne're
Compare with this invention.

Fil.
That rustick Clown
Hath brought a happy harvest.

Nim.
Lay your Money down.

Fil.
My purse is at your service
Crown for Crown.

Nim.

19

Open the Purse,
Our Ship of Fortune fail's in't. Open it.

Fil.
Oh heavy curse
It hath nothing but nails in't.

Nim.
Ne're men till now
Were gull'd by such a Costard;

Fil.
If we meet I vow
Wee'l bang the bacon bastard black and blew.

Open the other.

20

Unlock that font
Let's enter by degrees in't.

Nim.
A pox upon't,
There's nought but bread and cheese in't.

Fil.
Come let's depart
And drink a Saxon Rumkin.

Nim.
I am vext at heart,
But if I spare the Bomkin,
Hang me for't.
Exeunt.

Enter Mol Medlar Sola, with a Basket. Tune changeth.

21

Souldiers fight and Hectors rant on
Whilst poor Wenches go to rack,
Who would be a wicked wanton
Onely for Suppers, Songs, and Sack,
To endure the alteration
Of these times that are so dead;

Thus to lead a long vacation
Without Money, Beer, or Bread.

22

Farewel Bloomsberry and Sodom,
Lukeners-lane and Turnbull-street,
Woe was me when first I trod 'em
With my wilde unwary feet.
I was bred a Gentlewoman,
But our family did fall
When the Gentry's coin grew common,
And the Souldiers shar'd it all.

23

I was sure unto a Hector
Who hath basely broke his vow,
Would I had a good projector
That would well support me now.
Who comes here? what simple Thumkin, Ent. Wat.

Oh! I guess him by his coat,
This is sure some Countrey Bumkin,
Now 'tis time to change my note.

Tune changeth, she singeth and danceth.

24

I can dance, and I can sing
I am good at either,
And I can do the tother thing
When we get together.

25

I have lately lost my dear,
'Twas a holy Brother;
If he do not meet me here
I faith I'le get another.

26

I can nimbly come above,
I can tumble under,
And If I do but like my Love,

Wat.
What Vary's that is yonder?

27

'Tis a dainty dancing Girle,
Zhee would make me gladder,
Her vace doth zyne like mother of Pearl,
chould chuse no more and chad her.

Mol.

28

A Dutch-man loves his Pipe and Can,
A Jew doth like a Turk well,
But I could hug a Countrey-Man,
For he will do his work well.

29

Citizens are full of slight,
They will cog and flatter;
But a Countrey-man will do me right.

Wat.
Che long now to be at her.

30

Good morrow Mistris Trip and goe,

Mol.
My Countrey-man I take it,
I love you Sir,

(Wat)
Chill love thee to,
And vayth chil veze thy Jacket.

Mol.

31

What's thy name, come tell me that
Thou shalt be my Jewel?

Wat.
Why zom vorzooth do call me Wat,
But my neame is Water-Gruel.

32

Prethe zay, and ben't avrayd,
Art not thou a Pedlar?

Mol.
I live close by in Tickle Yard,
My name is Mary Medlar.

Wat.

33

Then zweet Mol come buss thy Wat,
Let us twain be merry:

Mol.
I could nimbly dance, but that
My Basket makes we weary.

Wat.

34

Give it me, chill dance a Spring,
Che have no veaver Lurden? He takes her Basket.

Mol.
If thou wilt dance, then I will sing,
And thou shalt bear the Burden.

Wat.

35

A match, a match, it's well a vine, Both dance to their own singing.

We both zhall make some ztuff on't.

Mol.
Unless thy feet keep pace with mine
Thoul't quickly have ynough on't.

Wat.

36

Well don Moll,
(Moll) 'tis well done Wat,

Wat.
Chill do it to a tittle,

Mol.
But I have too much strain'd my throat,
I prethe sing a little,
She doth dance off.

Wat.

37

Fa la la la liera lo
This is pretty prancing,
We will go to Tickle Yard
When we have done dancing.

38

Now che think ch'av vetcht it up
Zing a little Mary,
We will gulge a merry zup,
Zhuggar and Canary.

39

Thou dost dance and make no noise Turns about and misseth her.

Zhall I turn and kiss thee?
Prethe let me hear thy voice.
Hoop where the Devil is she?

40

Zhe hath left me all alone
Here to mum and mask it,
But yvaith if zhe be gon
Ich chill keep her Basket.

41

Here's good vortune come to me
In a merry minuit,
Now chill puttne down and zee
What zhee have gotten in it.

Tune changeth, he sets down the Basket and looks in it.

42

Oh! wo, wo, what zhall chee do,
Che con no know which way to go
With thick whore here and her vyne zong,
Che have a bore her burden too long;
Che may curse the occasion that e're che came here,
Would che were agen in Zomerzet-zhere.

Pulls a Childe out of the Basket.

43

O! Lungeon Ich cham undone
Ch'ave a brungeon a daughter or a zon,

Thick a jewel hath me beguil'd,
Water Gruel must now veed the childe,
Ich chud never be zorry, but vind it a place
If che had now but good store of Larzhant;
It looks Tory rory, and zmells zo of Mace,
That a zure it was got by zome zarzhant.

Hushes it, carries it to the men, then to the women.

44

Goodman zhreeve ze, look on the vace
Vor a believe me it may be your own case,
Honest vree men Ich cham basely begeld,
Good a woman hold but the cheld,
Chil but step here hard by, 'tis but home to Taunden,
And chill bring ye zom gold in a Casket,
Thick all are hard hearted both women and men,
Che must march with my youth in a Basket,

Puts it in agen to the Basket and Exit.
Tune change. Enter Filcher and Nim.
Fil.

45

We shall ne're have lucky minuit,
None of our designs will hit;

Nim.
Some ill Planet sure is in it,
Fortune makes a fool of wit:
All our feats
Are simple cheats,
And destiny will have it so.

Fil.
There's nothing hits
But with those wits
That cheat Cum Privilegio.

Nim.

The holy drum
And godly gun
Are now the onely Engines that
Make Pimp and Whore
And Hector poor,
And wise men do they know not what.

Fil.

46

All our joyful dayes do leave us,

Nim.
Never were such times as these,

Fil.
Every Bumkin can deceive us

Nim.
With hob-nails

(Fil.)
and with bread and cheese.

Nil.
Though we mist it
He confest it
That he brought up fifty pound,

Nim.
Where he did it
How he hid it
Is the plot that may be found.

Filch.
If we meet him
We will fit him.

Nim.
Hark I here one coming in
Very pleasant
'Tis the Peasant

Filch.
Now let's to our guards agen.
They retreat to several corners.

Tune changeth. Enter Wat with a little Trunck on a stick hanging at his back.

47

Now farawel Lungeon Iche may zing,
Chill no more here until the next spring,

Chave put in security vor the thing,
Which no body can deny.

48

Che did a veat in Zomerzet-Zhere
Which vorst me at virst to zee vashons here,
Ich cham out of the vrying pan into the vere,
Che either must burn or vrye.

49

In plush and in zatten a vynely wrought,
Ich chave laid out forty pound every groat.

Fil.
I want a silk Wastcoat,

(Nim.)
I lack a plush Coat,

Wat.
Ch' have puttne all in the Trunk.

Fil. comes alone to Wat.

50

Here's zilk and gold, and zilver strings,
Here's Gloves, silk Hozen, Points, and Rings.

Fil.
Stand

(Wat.)
what are you

(Fil.)
Lay down your things.
Why zure the Meazle is drunk.

51

What would ye do to a poor Countrey man,

Nim.
First lay down your Trunk, you shall know more anon:

Wat.
And a very vine way to have my Trunk gone:

Filch.
Do so or I'le knock thee down.

Wat.

52

Nay vaith good man Gentle since ch' have zeen it man
Chill lay it down there, and if che can win it
Thou zhalt have my Trunk and all that is in it:
'Twill cost above vorty pound.

Fil.

53

I'l have as much blood as thy heart can afford.

Filch. draws and fights.

Wat.
Thou cowardly knave, wilt thou vight with a zword;
But since 'tis but one, Ich che care not a Twoord,
And what do you think of another.
Nim. draws.

Nim.

54

This Rapier I thorow thy body will run,

Wat.
Ud zooks there's no vighting with two agen one, Exit. Wat.

Ich che rather will trust to my legs and be gon.

Fil.
Why now gramercy brother.

Nim.

55

The rascal already is run out of sight,

Fil.
His hands are vile heavy.

(Nim.)
His legs are as light,
The Plush for a Jacket, I claim as my right,

Fil.
Which really I deny.
For was it not I that prov'd the Projector.

Nim.
But if this good sword had not been your Protector,
The clown would have made you a pittiful Hector,
And beaten you.

(Fil.)
Sirra ye lye.

57

My force hath been try'd against Castles and Towers,
The prize as it lies is equally ours,
Let victory make it out mine or yours,

Nim.
I grant it with all my heart.

They fight, Enter Moll.

Mol.

58

What mad men are these! pray what do you mean,
I never did see such a sorrowful scene;
Nay sweet Mr. Filcher

(Fi.)
stand further ye Quean,
I'le make the proud Rascal smart.

Mol.

59

You alwayes were friends, what makes ye fall out?
Pray tell me true, what is the quarrel about;

Nim.
This duel will suddenly end all the doubt:

Mol.
I'le suffer between your swords.

They make passes. Moll is between.

60

E're such a kind couple of Hectors as yee
Shall squabble and quarrel for Paddington-tree.
Jack Filcher, Tom Nim, be counsel'd by me,
Deliver your Cause in words,

Nim.

61

You know that the Law against Duels is high:
That Rodomontado there gave me the lye,

Mol.
Pray do but consider that Tyburn is nigh;

Nim.
That very word cools my wrath.

Fil.

62

For my own part I onely would live by my Trade,
The Bargain betwixt us must end by the blade;

Mol.
Pray let me but know the conditions ye made,
I'le judge it between ye both.

Fil.

63

Ile tell you then how the quarrel did rise,
This fellow and I have took a rich prize,;

Nim.
And now he denies me my share in't.

(Fil.)
he lies,
We agreed that the sword should decide it.

64

This Trunk is well furnished as e're it can hold,
With silk and with velvet, with silver and gold.

Mol.
Turn't all into money, and when it is sold,
You equally may divide it.

65

But first what assurance have you when you win it,
'Tis worth all this danger

(Nim.)
We yet have not seen
Why then let us open't and see what is in it,
That ev'ry thing may be shown.

Nim.

66

A match, let her break the Trunk open and see.

Mol.
It may be by this means you'l sooner agree.

Fil.
Faith open't or shut it 'tis all one to me,
I vow I'le have all or none.

Mol opens The trunk.
Mol.

67

Then look on your bargain, you both are beguil'd, Mol takes out the childe.

Pray tell me if this be the velvet three pil'd,
Is this figur'd satten?

(Nim.)
I vow 'tis a child.
You swore you'd have all or none.

Fil.

68

I'le stand to my bargain, for I will have none.

Nim.
What? can you so suddenly alter your tone.

Mol.
Come kiss it and love it, for faith 'tis your own.
Remember when we were alone.

69

For this pretty Babe I have shed many showers,

And suffer'd a thousand disconsolate hours,
As sure as 'tis mine, I'm certain its yours,
I never knew Man but you.

Fil.

70

These Projects to me are Riddles and Charms,
How came the child hither?

(Mol.)
For fear of worse harms,
I left it even now in a Countreymans's arms,
A fellow that I never knew.

71

'Twas left to be lost though the plot would not hit,
I never could see you to tell you of it,
A Countrey-man brought it.

(Fil.)
A pox of his wit,
I would I were rid of my life.

Mol.

72

Before I knew Filcher, I was a pure Maid,
Pray do but Remember the Contract we made;
You said you would wed me, and live by your trade.

Fil.
I'le presently make thee My Wife.

Mol.

73

For all the worlds wealth I will ne're be a whore.

Fil.
I'le purchase new Credit upon an old score.

Nim.
Ile deal in these damnable courses no more.

All.
We every one will mend.

Fil.

74

I never will quarrel, or swagger and roar,

Nim.
Then make the poor Simpletons pay all the score.

Mol.
I never will do as I have done before.

All.
We every one will mend.

Exeunt.

Tune change. Enter Wat Solus.

75

Ch' have overcome my voes,
And Watty now is vree;
It is no zin to couzen those,
That would have cheated me:

76

Had che but met with one,
Che had not been o'remaster'd;
Ich che wonder what they thought upon,
when they did vind the Bastard.

77

Did ever vellow vinde
Zuch zimple zots as these,
To leave my fifty pounds behinde,
And steal my Bread and Cheese:

78

Theise zitty theeves are fool'd,
That meant to do me hurt,
The Meazles could not vind my gold,
che knittne in my zhurt;

79

Ich che cannot chuse but zmile,
That men who can talk lattin,
Zhould be zuch fools to take a Child
Vor velvet, zilk, and zatten:

80

But Pride will have a vall,
The Proverb zaith as much;

Now how do you my Measters all,
Ich cham com to laugh a touch.

81

God bless my Lady Zhreeve,
And all that noble pack;
Ch'am almost dead with grief,
Che want a cup a zack.

82

God zave my measter too,
And zend him to live long;
Vayth now ch' a nothing else to do,
Chill zing a merry zong.

A Song on the twelve Companies.

83

The other day among many papers,
Che vown'd a vine zong of the Merchants and Drapers.
The Grocers, the Goldsmiths, the Taylors and Skinners,
And many zuch vinical zinners.

1 Mercers.
The Mercer virst a vine dapper blade is,
He zells yee zoft zattin, and very well paid is;
He makes his Commodity cover the Ladies,
Zo zoft and zweet his Trade is.

2. Grocers.
The Grocer layes his zhuggered baits,
He loves to have his zhip zail in the Straits;
He deals for sweet Almonds, Prunello's, and Dates,
With Ladies as light as his weights.

3. Drapers.
The Drapers next in my fancy doth hover.
It is the best Trade betwixt Barwick and Dover;
But when his zhort Yard the women discover,
They will have a handful over.

4. Fishmongers.
And now have at the Fishmongers jacket,
It proves a good trade as the Taverns do make it:
But of all the vish in the zea chil undertake it,
He'd rather have a virgin naked.

5. Goldsmiths.
The Goldsmiths stall will make me to stop,
For Goldsmiths-Hall hath been a great prop;
Of all the rich mysteries this is the top,
The Tower was a Goldsmith's zhop.

6. Merchant-Taylors.
The Merchant-Taylors may not be outed,
His Calling hath been e're zince Adam was routed:
A zuit makes a Gallants wealth not to be doubted,
That is but a Beggar without it.

7. Skinners.
The Skinners hate Ich che must not incurr,
He covers the Corps of your Worshipful Zur,
And cleaves to your Aldermans back like a bur,
Whose lineing is Voxes vur.

8. Haberdashers.
Your Haberdashers Art che may call,
The onely fine trade that doth cover us all;
But woe to the Cavalier that did vall
Into Haberdashers-Hall.

9. Salters.
The Zalters trade we zhall not omit,
The Scholars zay Zalt is an Emblem of Wit;
But vaith I believe they love a vresh bit,
When Mutton and Capers meet.

10. Iron-mongers.
The fame of Iron-mongers do ring,
The strength of the Mettle can conquer a King;
The Helmet, Musket, and Gauntlet can bring
A Scepter out of a Sling.

11. Vintners.
The Vintner's Art but vew men do know,
Vor it is a zience too zuttle to zhow;
The Devil and he a Conjuring go,
When both are a brewing below.

12. Cloth-workers.
The Cloth-workers trade is a very vine thing,
And of all the Trades may be counted the King;
But yet he will merrily tipple and zing,
'Till his wits go a Wool-gathering.

96

And now Ic che hope no Tradesman will take
Exzeptions at me vor my merriment sake;
Their Trades are all good, but the Vintner's the bonniest,
God bless them and make them all honest.

97

Ic che now will go home to Zomerzetzheere,
And tell all the Countrey what vine things are here;
Chil jog to my Jug, and zee what God hath zent her,
And chil come here agen next Winter.

End of the Representations.

Acrostichs, Annagrams, Epigrams, Elegies, AND Epitaphs.

Acrostichs.

An Acrostich on Mrs. Hester Noy.

How much I am obliged to your worth,
Each faculty I have cannot set forth;
Sure I shall dye in debt, unless you please
To binde me more by granting a Release:
Excellent Lady, may the Powers above
Reward you with those joyes which Angels love.

Nothing that hath affinity with ill
Oppose your understanding or your will,
Your Vertues, which so copiously extend,
Eternity can onely comprehend.

An Epithalamium in a double Acrostick, written on the noble Names and sacred Nuptials of the worthily honoured Ewdward Marrow Esquire, and the most truly vertuous Mrs. Anne Grantham.

Eminent Pair! what ever Sidney saw
in Argalus and his PARTHENIA
Doth figure out your Excellence; how then
shall I depict ye with so poor a Penn
What powers shall I implore? Apollo's gon,
for whom my Muse lies drench'd in Helicon
Arts are malignant, Poems out of date,
the Lay-man calls Learning a Reprobate
Reason is banish'd, and whate're did spring
from those fair banks where peace was flourishing
Divinest pair, whose bright perfections are
more luminary then the morning Starr
May all the pleasures Phœbus ever saw
in Europe, Asia, or AMERICA
Attend your genial joyes; what Nature can
contribute to the excellence of man
Redouble your felicity; may night
and day contend which shall yield most delight
Riches and honour, vertue (the best wealth)
beauty, with all the circumstance of health
Obey your wish: and he that will not pray
as I have done, is Love's Anathema
Warre never fright ye, wheresoe're you come
may bright Apollo's harp drown Mars his drum

ANNAGRAMS.

CHARLES STUART: Annagram, AS CLEER AS TRUTH.

Exposition.

Charles Stuart makes it out in age and youth,
His Name and Nature are as Cleer As Truth.

CHARLES STUART: Annagr. CALS TRU HEARTS.

Expo.

What man who either doth love Arms or Arts,
That goes not when Charles Stuart, calls true hearts.

PARLIAMENT: Annagr. I TRAP AL MEN.

Expo.

When the Long Parliament was sitting, then
This Annagram was right, I Trap Al Men.

OLIVER CROMWELL: Annagr. RULE WELL OR I COM.

Expo.

Rule Well Or I Com cry'd the red nos'd Jew,
'Tis just (since you trap all men) I trap you.

ROUND-HEADS: Annagr. HEAVENS ROD.

Expo.

When Cavaliers by sin offended God,
The bloody Round-heads were made Heaven's Rod.

TEACHERS: Annagram. CHEATERS. SAINTS: An. STAINS.

Ex.

When Heresie creeps into factious Brains,
Teachers are Cheaters, and such Saints are Stains.

MINISTER: An. MENTIRIS.

Ex.

When Presbyter inflam'd with a false fire is,
A man may tell him, Minister, Mentiris.

LOSTE: An. STOLE.

Ex.

This Annagram mysterious sense may boast,
For what is Stole is found in what was Loste.

TOAST: An. A SOTT.

Ex.

A Toast is like A Sott, or what is most,
Comparative, A Sott is like a Toast;
For when their substances in liquor sink,
Both properly are said to be in Drink.

End of the Annagrams.

Epigrams.

1. Epigram.

[A Knight and's Man, both being at an Inn]

A Knight and's Man, both being at an Inn,
The Knight having well eaten, did begin
To say to's Servant, John I have supt well,
Have our horse done so too? I cannot tell,
Replied the Man, for ought I know they may,
I'm sure I saw the Oastler take away.

2. Epigr.

[One said Pauls Church lookt with the Steeple on it]

One said Pauls Church lookt with the Steeple on it,
Just like a Trunk with a hat-case upon it;
No, quoth another, 'tis not like't at all,
Ile tell you what 'tis like, 'tis like to fall.

3. Epigr.

[Sim seeing Harry have a broken head]

Sim seeing Harry have a broken head,
Askt against what he broke it; Harry said,
Against a thing that often doth me ill,
To tell you true, I broke't against my will.

4. Epigr.

[Three Scholars having barely din'd, and growing]

Three Scholars having barely din'd, and growing
A little wanton after it; were throwing
Their bones at one another, a fourth Man,
Who had with plenty dined himself, began
To tell them that their sport was very dull,
Which did declare their bellies were not full,
And in a word his meaning thus exprest,
If they were full, your bones would be at rest.

5. Epigram.

[A Knave and Whore of modesty bereft]

A Knave and Whore of modesty bereft,
Being at that Sport which will ne're be left,
Against a Gate, in a place very wide,
Was question'd of a friend, by whom they were 'spi'd,
Why he would deal with such a dirty Slut
In a wide field, against a Gate too? but
The other made reply, pray do not prate,
The Slut is good enough to prop-a-gate.

6. Epigr.

[A Serjeant sitting at the Compter-gate]

A Serjeant sitting at the Compter-gate,
Fell fast asleep, which made another strait
Grow something witty, and to break a jeast,
This fellow, sayes he, sure hath none to arrest;
And, in meer spightfulness, this envious Elf
(The Serjeant) is Arresting of himself.

7. Epigr. On Mr. Garrat, and Mr. Chambers.

Garrat and his Friend Chambers, having done
Their City business, went to Padington,
And coming near that fatal place where men
(I mean Offenders) ne're return agen;
Looking on Tyburn in a merriment,
Quoth Chambers, here's a pretty Tenement,
Had it a Garrat: Garrat hearing that,
Reply'd, Friend Chambers, I do wonder at
Your simple censure, you prate like a Parrat,
There must be Chambers e're there be a Garrat.

8. Epigram. On a Lady whose name was Mrs. Brown.

We praise the fair, and our Inventions wrack,
In pleasing Sonnets to applaud the Black;
We court this Ladies Eye, that Mistress Hair,
The fair love black, the black affect the fair;
Yet neither sort I court, I doat upon
Nor fair nor black, but a complexion
More rare then either, she that is the Crown
Of my intire affection is Brown.
And yet she's fair, 'tis strange, how can it be,
That two Complexions can in one agree;
Do I love Brown, my Love can please my eye,
And sate my narrowest Curiosity:
If I like fair, she hath so sweet a grace,
A man might leave an Angel for her face.
Let any judge then which Complexion's rarest,
In my opinion she is Brown that's fairest.

9. Epigram. On a little Gentleman, and Mr. Story a tall man.

This little Blade (by th' other mans vain glory
It seems was roughly us'd, (so sayes the Story)
But being strongly heated, and high flown,
In rage he flies on Story, pulls him down:
But when they ris, I know not how it fated,
One got the worst, the Story was translated

From white to red, but e're the fight was ended,
It seems one, whom the little man befriended,
Came in and parted them; the little Blade
There's no man could intreat, nor yet perswade,
But he would fight still, till another came,
And with perswasions counsell'd 'gainst the same,
'Twas in this manner, Friend, you shall not fight
With one that's so unequal to your height.
Story is tall; the other made reply,
I'de pluck him down, were he three Stories high.

10. Epigram. On May-poles.

Hypocrites are like those May-poles they mock,
Rootless and fruitless, with a Weathercock.

11. Epigram. On a red nosed Parson.

A jolly Parson of a comely grace,
Who partly carried his hot zeal in's face,
Being at's Inn, and sitting by the fire,
A pipe of good Tobacco doth require;
The boy straight brings it him, and to his hand
Commits it with a kindled fire-brand;
But as he was at lighting on't, some small
Sparks from the coal upon his hand did fall:
The witty boy perceiving these mishaps,
Cryes, Mr. Parson, hold Sir, your nose drops.

12. Epigram.

[There was a time a difference began]

There was a time a difference began
Betwixt a Welchman and an English man,
Each praising of his Countrey, did express
How much they did abound in fruitfulness;
The Englishman did tell the Welchman, that
There was a piece of ground he had been at,
In Yorkshire, which so fruitful was of grass,
That when a staff was thrown into't, it was
In one nights time so overgrown, they could
Not see't next day: The Welchman cryes out, hold,
That was not worth the praising, In our Land,
Quoth Taffie, I would have you understand,
We have such grass, that turn your horse i'th' ground,
And before morning come, he sha'nt be found.

End of the Epigrams.

Elegies and Epitaphs of two sorts, woful and witty.

An Elegy and Epitaph composed acrostichally on two names occasioned by the Death of Mrs. Mary Kettle, Wife to Mr. Humphrey Kettle of Hollow-way beyond Islington; she dyed in Childe-bed.

Hang all the Rooms with Black, let none appear
Unless he can dissolve into a tear,
Modesty, Loyalty, and Love are all
Put in this Coffin, 'tis their Funeral
Heaven hath took more good then 'twill (I fear)
Return the world again these hundred year:
Every Grace that makes a happy life
You might have found in this dead vertuous Wife,

Knowledge and true Humility were met
Exactly in this curious Cabinet;
Truth was her guide, for she (wee'l boldly say)
Travell'd from Hollow-way the Holy way:
Let all therefore that wish their own souls safe
Endeavour to deserve her Epitaph.

The Epitaph on her Name.

Mourn good Reader, here lies one
As chaste in life as this cold stone;
Religion, Grace, and so much good
Yet ne're dwelt in flesh and blood.

Kinde as Saints, no sweeter Bride
Ever blest a Husband's side,
That in Childe-bed sheet was driven
To be truly Church't in Heaven,
Led by Angels, where the King
Eternal Crowns the Gossipping.

An Epitaph on a Childe.

Ladies that are young and wise
Shall I tell you of a prize,
Here a box of beauty lies.

A Jewel hid from vulgar view,
Whose excellency if you knew,
Your eyes would drop like morning dew.

Dame Nature's Diamond which when
She saw it was too high for men,
Shew'd it, and shut it up agen.

An Epitaph supposed to be written by a Gentleman on himself, who dyed of a Disease, called by the name of a Bad Wife.

Nay tread and spare not Passenger,
My sence is now past feeling,
Who to my grave a wound did bear
Within, past Physicks healing.

But do not (if thou be to wed)
To read my story tarry,
Lest thou creep into my cold bed
rather then live to marry.

For a long strife with a leud wife
Worst of all ill beside,
Made me grow weary of my life,
So I fell sick and dyed.

An end of the Elegies and Epitaphs.

A Canting Rogue Parallel'd with a Phanatick.

Is the worlds running Ulcer, an unfix't
Piece of mortality, begot betwixt
A Tinker and his Doxy in a Den
Of Filchers, which they call the bowzing ken:
Nurs'd by a maunding Mort, whose Mother tongue
Directs him first the way to Nipp a Bung,
And mill the lower from him whose gazing eyes
Are fix'd upon London's varieties,
That the sad Countrey man is forc'd to score
At's lodging, till he be suppli'd with more,
Whilst the impatient Lawyer makes a pause,
Pernicious enough to spoil his Cause:
Nor can the ablest Councel tell him when,
Or by what trick to gain his purse agen.
Thus is poor Colter poison'd with a drench,
Made of Law Latin, and low Pedlers French.
A Language which admits no derivation
But is intire and had its generation,
Without dispute, from Babel Tower's conclusion,
For it is us'd in nothing but confusion,
As Prigging Prancers, Tipping Nab's, and such
Phrases as make the slovenly Low Dutch
A polite Dialect; he is one whose bane
Doth much participate with that of Cain,
The Brother-killing President, whose fate
Gives him the title of a Runnagate;

His body is his land, and every louse
Upon't, are Cattle, the next hedge, his house;
He pretends Palmestry, and as he passes,
Through Villages, the gamesome Countrey Lasses
Do get about him, and do much importune
The Rogue with meat, to tell them a good fortune;
Or else they'l give him nothing, and (to ease 'em
In their desires) the Knave knows how to please 'em;
He and the Annabaptists were in season,
One canted Felony, and 'tother Treason:
And if his Mort with a French Coltstaff strike,
'Tis ten to one they snuffle both alike;
Both preach in Barns, and teach in the same tones,
One storms a Henroost, 'tother strikes at Thrones,
Both hate Authority, for they're often crost,
One with the Noose, tother the Whipping-poast.
In point of Baptisme, for ought I know,
The Rogue's the better Christian of the two:
The Annabaptist in his teaching tone
Defyes God-fathers, he'l have twelve or none;
In Marriages the Rogue and He accords,
For man and wife take one anothers words,
And very fruitful in their spawn they be,
Both deal in liberty and Leachery:
To conclude all, they are a brace of men
That are so like, they are the worse agen;
Whose dispositions could a Limner paint,
You'd not know which is Rogue, or which is Saint.

On the Ordinance prohibiting Cavaliers to wear Swords, April, 1646.

You of the Royalty, attend your Summons,
'Tis this day Order'd by the Lords and Commons
Assembled in that sacred place which we
Must look upon as England's destiny,
That all such dreadful men whose fame doth ring
For active Loyalty to God and King,
Laws and their native Liberties, shall be
Disarm'd and made a Swordless Cavalry;
For some such cause as formerly was given
When men were levy'd against Charles and Heaven,
At that time when the Publick Faith withstood
The Creed and Plate was melted into Blood,
When Subjects sought their Master to betray
At the old rate of thirty pence a day;
When Prentices against all Rules of Reason
Were early Free-men in the Trade of Treason,
When by the Factious Commons wise fore-casting,
Triænial was a word for Everlasting;
When the Mad Shires did with Petitions run,
Humbly desiring they may be undone;
Not dreaming that our English Inquisitions
Did onely sit to answer such Petitions;
When States-mens Trunks were fill'd up to the brim,
In Anno Primo Regni Johannis Pym:
With more such reasons which are yet unknown,
You are to lay your Bloody Bilbo's down,

And march disbladed, since the House of Lords
Have voted Honest men must wear no Swords.
And shall this daunt your Royal Spirits that
Have gain'd a Fame time cannot ruinate;
Your Enemies, though with a wrong pretence,
Have done you right, and put your Innocence
In the true garb, when did you ever see
Innocence figur'd with Artillery?
What need you Weapons since there is not one
Of worth enough to draw your Sword upon
That's not your Sovereigns Friend, and is't not pitty,
On the sinister spawn of a Committee,
To vent your valiant wrath, calm your high passion,
They dare as well do that deserves damnation
In such an Act that's pardon proof as see
You wear your Swords, it is their jealousie,
Of you, their King, nay even of their God,
When have you known Children delight the Rod?
So Cowards when their paler fears increase,
Take blows, and subtly bind men to the Peace:
What need you mutter that your Swords are gone,
Since you may see Justice her self hath none;
Your Valour is not question'd, 'tis for that
You are disarm'd, nor do they wonder at
Your swordless side, for all that justly owe
Allegiance to Valour, truly know,
A bladeless Cavalier can more afford,
Then he whose thigh is branded with a Sword;
Be not dismaid (and you in time shall see)
The Kings Cause hath an occult Quality;

Your Swords are needless, sing, be merry, and
Pray for the King, 'tis fit you understand,
Man's ineffectual aid is vain and light,
When He that made the hand intends to fight;
For you will finde when Rebels Race is run
They shall be conquer'd without Sword or Gun.

On a view of London and Westminster on tother side the Water. 1658.

This pair of sinful Cities, we, with sorrow,
May parallel with Sodom and Gomorrah,
Though one Crime greater then they durst do there,
(Never to be forgot) was acted here;
Cities so pamper'd up with prosp'rous sins,
That (if they could) they'd ravish Cherubins,
Cramp their Creator, and with popular stings
Destroy him 'cause he is the King of Kings.
A Perjur'd Pair, who to secure their own
Will Pimp whilst Fornication tups the Throne,
Prostitute sacred Places, keep the Door
Where each Lay-Lecher makes the Church a Whore,
They swallow Oaths and wicked Protestations,
And, with their Axe, cut off (God grant me patience)
The Head of—Peace, therefore they are, be't known,
A Decolated Corporation.
In brief he ne're shall be who, sides with them,
A Citizen of New Hierusalem.

The Players Petition to the Long Parliament, after being long silenc'd, that they might Play again, 1642.

Heroick Sirs, you glorious nine or ten,
That can dispose the King or the Kings men,
Who by sublimer Rhetorick agree
That Prisons are the Subjects Liberty;
And though we brought in Silver at low rates,
Ye plunder to secure us our Estates,
Your serious subtlety is born so grave,
We dare not tell you how much Power ye have;
Or else you dare not hear us, how ye frown
If we but say King Pym wears Charles his Crown:
Such a word's Treason, and you must not hear it,
Treason to speak it, and yet none to wear it.
Oh! wise mysterious what shall we
Do for such men as you e're forty three
Be quite expir'd, and an unlucky season
Shall put a period to Triænial Treason?
When Master Pym your wise judicious Schollar
Ascends his Throne, and takes his Crown in Collar:
When the Field's pitch't, and some (for all their skill)
Shall fight a fearful Battle on Tower-hill,
When Canterbury coming forth, shall wonder
You have so long secur'd him from the thunder
Of your King-hunting Prentices, and the Major
Shall justle zealous Isaac from his Chair;
Then Cheap-side Cross shall be new guilt, new painted,
Gregory be made a Sheriff, and Tyburn sainted:
Fore-knowing Brooks, thou drew'st a happy lot,
'Twas a wise bolt although it was soon shot.

But whilst you reign, our low Petition craves
That we, the King's true Subjects, and your Slaves

May in our Comick Mirth and Tragick Rage
Set ope the Theatre and shew the Stage;
The Shop of Truth and Fancy, where we vow
Not to act any thing you'l disallow;
We will not dare at your strange Votes to jeer,
Or personate King Pym with his State fleire:
Aspiring Cataline shall be forgot,
Bloody Sejanus, or who ere could plot
Confusion 'gainst a State, the War betwixt
The Parliament and just Harry the Sixt,
Shall have no thought or mention, 'cause their power
Not onely plac'd, but lost him in the Tower;
Nor will we parallel with least suspicion,
Your Synod with the Spanish Inquisition,
Or like the grave advice of learned Pym,
Make a Malignant, and then Plunder Him.
All these and such like actions that may mar
Your soaring plots, or shew you what you are,
We shall omit, lest our inventions shake 'em,
Why should the men be wiser then you'l make 'em:
Methinks there should not such a difference be
'Twixt your Professions and our Quality.

You Meet, Plot, Act, talk high with minds immense,
The like with us, but onely we speak sense

Inferiour unto yours, we can tell how
To depose Kings, there we know more then you;
Although not more then what ye would, so we
Do in our vaster Priv'ledges agree;

But that yours are the larger, and controuls,
Not onely Lives and Fortunes, but mens souls;
Declaring by an Enigmatick sence,
A priviledge on each man's Conscience;
As if the Trinity could not consent
To save a Soul, but by the Parliament:
We make the people laugh at some vain show,
And, as they laugh at us, they do at you,
Onely i'th' contrary we disagree,
For you can make them cry faster then wee:
Your Tragedies more real are exprest,
You murther men in earnest, we in jeast;
There we come short, but if you follow't thus,
Some wise men fear you will come short of us.
As humbly as we did begin, we pray,
Dear School-masters, you'l give us leave to Play,
Quickly before the King comes, for we wou'd
Be glad to say, v've done a little good.
Since ye have sat, your play is almost done,
As well as ours, would 't had ne're been begun;
But we shall finde, e're the last Act be spent,
Enter the King, Exit the Parliament,
And hey then up go we, who by the frown
Of guilty Members have been voted down.
Yet you may still remain, and sit, and vote,
And through your own beam see your brothers mote,
Until a legal tryal shew how
Y'ave us'd the King, and hey then up go you.
So pray your humble slaves (with all their powers)
That when they have their due you may have yours.

FINIS