 | The Workes of Benjamin Jonson |  |
76
[From a Gipsie, in the morning]
Pat.1
From a Gipsie, in the morning,Or a paire of squint-eyes turning:
From the Goblin, and the spectre,
Or a Drunkard, though with Nectar;
From a woman true to no man,
Which is ougly, besides common;
A smocke rampant, and the itches,
To be putting on the breeches:
Wher so'ere they ha' their being,
Blesse the Sov'raine, and his seeing.
2
From a foole, and serious toyes;From a Lawyer, three parts noyse;
From impertinence, like a Drum
Beate at dinner in his roome;
From a tongue without a file,
Heapes of Phrases, and no stile.
From a Fiddle out of tune,
As the Cuckow is in June.
From the candlesticks of Lothbury,
And the lowd pure wives of Banbury:
Or a long pretended fit;
Meant for mirth, but is not it:
Onely time, and eares out-wearing,
Blesse the Sov'raine, and his hearing.
77
3
From a strolling Tinkers sheete,Or a payre of Carriers feet:
From a Ladie that doth breath,
Worse above, then underneath.
From the Diet, and the knowledge
Of the students in Beares-colledge.
From Tobacco, with the tipe
Of the Devills glister-pipe;
Or a stincke all stincks excelling,
A Fishmongers dwelling,
Blesse the Sov'raigne, and his smelling.
4
From an Oyster, and fry'd fishA Sowes babye in a dish:
From any portion of a Swine,
From bad Venison, and worse wine.
Ling, what Cooke so'ere it boyle,
Though with mustard sawc'd and oyle,
Or what else would keepe man fasting,
Blesse the Sov'raigne, and his tasting.
5
Both from birdlime, and from pitch,From a Doxie, and her itch.
From the brisles of a Hogge,
Or the ring-worme in a Dogge.
From the courtshippe of a brier,
Or St. Anthonies old fier.
From a needle, or a thorne;
I'the bed at Ev'n, or Morne.
Or from any Gowtes least grutching.
Blesse the Sov'raigne, and his touching.
Blesse him too from all offences,
In his sports, as in his sences.
From a Boy to crosse his way,
From a fall, or a foule day.
In his sports, as in his sences.
From a Boy to crosse his way,
From a fall, or a foule day.
Blesse him, ô blesse him Heav'n, and lend him long
to be the sacred burthen of all song;
The Acts, and yeares, of all our Kings t'out go;
And while hee's mortall, we not thinke him so.
to be the sacred burthen of all song;
The Acts, and yeares, of all our Kings t'out go;
And while hee's mortall, we not thinke him so.
| The Workes of Benjamin Jonson | |