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Trivial poems

and triolets. Written in obedience to Mrs Tomkin's commands, By Patrick Carey

Cary, Patrick

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AN OCTAUE.

Madame,

I blush, but must obey. you'l have itt soe;
And one such word of yours, stopps all excuse:
Yett (pray) be sure that you lett others know
How you, not pride, did mee to this induce;
Else, when to any these harsh rimes you show,
They'l suffer many a flout; I, much abuse:
Since 'tis acknowledg'd that they here have place,
Not for their worth, but merely through your grace.

PATR. CAREY.

BALLADES.

[Fayre-one! if thus kind you be]

[_]

To the Tune,—“Once I lou'd a Mayden Fayre, &c.

1

Fayre-one! if thus kind you be,
Yett intend a slaughter,
Fayth you'l loose your paynes with mee,
Else-where seeke hereafter:
Though your lookes bee sharp, and quicke,
Thincke not (pray) to drill me;
Loue, perchance, may make mee sicke,
But will never kill mee.

2

Were my mistresse nere soe browne,
Yett, if kind, I'de prize her;
Who's most fayre, if she but frowne,
I shall soone dispize her:
I love kindnesse, and not face;
Who scornes mee, I hate her:
Courtesy gives much more grace,
In my mind, then feature.

3

Red and white adorne the cheeke
Lesse by farre, then smiling;

That's the beauty I most seeke,
That charme's most beguiling.
Fayre-one! now you know my mind,
See if th'humour take you;
I shall love you, whilst y'are kind;
When y'are not, forsake you.

[The Ermine is without all spott]

[_]

To the Tune,—“I'le doe by thee as ne're was donne.”

1

The Ermine is without all spott,
And harmelesse is the doue;
The lambe is innocent, but not
Like to my chastest loue:
Soe pure a flame did neuer shine
From any breast before;
And (trust mee) such an one as mine
Thoul't neuer meet with more.

2

Hadst thou accepted of my heart,
And us'd itt well awhile;
Hadst thou but sweetned all itt's smart
With one poore word, one smile;
Nay hadst thou not, with angry scorne,
Bid itt thenceforth give o're;
Itt would not then have thus forborne,
'T had lou'd thee euermore.

3

But since thou didst my loue requite
With soe much coy disdayne,
Pretending that thy honnour might
From thence receaue some stayne,

My wronged heart (being innocent)
Broke all the chaynes itt wore;
And vou'd, to give thee full content,
Itt ne're would loue thee more.

4

Thus to a cruell sheppeardesse
A poore sad shepeard sung;
Hee wept (such greife could doe noe lesse)
His pipe away hee flung:
Then rising, for her hand hee stroue,
Kiss'd his last kisse, and swore
That from that time, to her of love
Hee'd neuer speake word more.

[There's noe woeman, but I'me caught]

[_]

To the Tune,—“I would give Twenty Pound,” &c.

1

There's noe woeman, but I'me caught
Whilst she lookes with kind eyes on mee;
If I loue not then, the fault
Is uniustly cast uppon mee:
They are to bee blam'd, not I,
If with freedome still I houer;
Were I us'd but courteously
I should soone becomme a louer.

2

Did I any one exclude
For her dye, or for her feature,
I should grant my selfe a rude
Manner-lesse, hard-hearted creature:
But since I except gainst none
By whom I am not contemned,

If I can't find such an one,
Pray tell, who's to bee condemned?

3

Not by frownes, but smiles, my heart,
(I declare't) is to bee chained;
On fayre termes with itt I'le part,
But by foule t'will ne're bee gained:
Take then other taskes in hand
You, who lo'ure, and scorne to crave itt;
But who's kind shall itt command,
And for th'asking she shall have itt.

[I nere yett saw a lovely creature]

[_]

To ye Tune of—“Bobbing Joane.”

1

I nere yett saw a lovely creature
(Were she a widdow, mayd, or wife)
But streight within my breast her feature
Was paynted, strangely to the life:
If out of sight
(Though ne're soe bright)
I straight-wayes lost her picture quite.

2

It still was mine, and other's wonder
To see mee court soe eagerly;
Yett soone as absence did me sunder
From those I lou'd, quite cur'd was I.
The reason was
That my brest has
In stead of heart, a looking-glasse.

3

And as those formes which lately shined
I'th' glasse, are easily defac'd;
Those beautyes soe, which were enshrined
Within my brest, are soone displac'd:
Both seeme as they
Would n'ere away;
Yett last, but whilst the lookers stay.

4

Then lett noe woeman thincke that euer
In absence I shall constant prove;
Till some occasion does us seuer
I can, as true as any, love:
But when that wee
Once parted bee,
Troth I shall court the next I see.

[Fayre beautyes! If I doe confesse]

[_]

To the Tune of,—“Troy Towne.

1

Fayre beautyes! If I doe confesse
My self inconstant in my drincke,
You ought not to love mee the lesse,
I say but that which most men thincke:
And (troth) there is lesse hurtfull art
In a light toungue, then a false heart.

2

Some use to sweare that you will find
Nothing but truth within their brests;
Yet wauer more then does the wind,
When in a tempest least itt rests;
Nought of my thoughts I say to you,
But what you'l find to bee most true.

3

More then I promise, I'le performe;
They give you oaths, but keepe them not:
You build i'th' ayre, when as you forme
False hopes on vowes long since forgott.
Leaue, leaue them then, and deale with mee,
So you will ne're deceaued bee.

4

Fayrely before hand I declare,
That when I'me weary, I shall leave;
Fore-warned thus, you'l be aware,
Whilst falser men would yee deceaue:
Besides, in this I nothing doe
But what I'de sweare you will doe too.

5

When of your loue I weary grow,
Before I change, I'le tell you on't;
Doe you the same when you are soe,
And give mee time to thincke uppon't;
Else-where I soone shall place my heart,
Then, kindly wee'l shake hands, and part.

[Surely now I'me out of danger]

[_]

To the Tune,—“But I fancy Louely Nancy,” &c.

1

Surely now I'me out of danger,
And noe more need feare my heart;
Who loves thus to bee a ranger,
Nere will fix in any part;
All the graces
Of fayre faces
I have seene, and yett am free:
I like many, but not any
Shall subdue my libertee.

2

Anne was once the word which mooued
Most my heart, I'le itt auuow;
Twelue att least soe call'd, I'ue loued,
But I care not for them now:
Yett if euer
I endeauour
For a mistresse, that's her name;
These are fancyes,
But with Nancyes
Luckiest still hath beene my flame.

3

With three Bettyes I was taken;
Yett noe more, then whilst in sight:
One of them is now forsaken,
And her sister has her right.
To'other's pritty,
But (what pitty!)
In a castle she is penn'd:
The third plenty
Has for twenty,
But she's courted by my friend.

4

Lucyes there are two; for beauty,
Vertue, witt, beyond compare:
Th'one's too high for loue, in duety
I respect, but noe more dare:
As for t'other,
Though a mother
(As I take't) to halfe a score;
Had she tarryed
To bee marryed,
Shee'd have had one suitour more.

5

I know two, and each a Mary,
One's the greatest of this land:
Th'Oxford-vintner made mee wary
Least I should a gazing stand.
Though I like her,
Most unlike her
Is the secound; and I sweare,
Had her portion
Some proportion
With my wants, I'de marry there.

6

Katherne has a lippe that's ruddy,
Swelling soe, itt seemes to poute;
How to kisse her I did studdy,
But could neuer bring't about.
Beauteous Frances
Loues romances,
But (alasse!) shee's now a wife;
She makes uerses,
And reherses
With great grace Primaleon's life.

7

Doll has purest brests, much whiter
Then their milck, but naked still;
That's the reason why I slight her,
For I'ue seene them to my fill.
Jane is slender,
But God send her
Lesse opinion of her race!
Nell's soe spotted
That sh' has blotted
Allmost out, her little face.

8

Peg is blith; but O she tattles;
Nothing's soe demure as Ruth.
Susan's head is full of rattles,
Rachell preacheth well in truth.
Were not Tolly
Melancholly,
She hath parts I most could prize:
Amorous Sophy
Reares noe trophy
On my heart, with her gray eyes.

9

Thus I still find somewhat wanting,
Allways full of iffs, or ands;
Where there's beauty, money's scanting;
Something still my choice withstands.
'Tis my fortune,
I'le importune
With noe my prayers my destiny:
If I'me scorned,
I'me not horned;
That's some joy in misery.

[Come (fayth) since I'me parting, and that God knowes when]

[_]

To the Tune of,—“The Healths.”

1

Come (fayth) since I'me parting, and that God knowes when
The walls of sweet Wickham I shall see aghen;
Lett's e'en haue a frolicke, and drincke like tall men,
Till heads with healths goe round.

2

And first to Sr William, I'le take't on my knee;
Hee well doth deserue that a brimmer itt bee:
More braue entertaynements none ere gaue than hee:
Then lett his health goe round.

3

Next to his chaste lady, who loues him alife;
And whilst wee are drincking to soe good a wife,
The poore of the parish will pray for her life,
Besure her health goe round.

4

And then to young Will, the heyre of this place;
Hee'l make a braue man, you may see't in his face;
I onely could wish wee had more of the race,
Att least lett his health goe round.

5

To well-grac'd Victoria the next roome wee owe;
As uertuous shee'l proue as her mother I trow,
And somewhat in huswifry more she will know;
O lett her health goe round!

6

To plump Besse her sister, I drinck downe this cup:
Birlackins (my masters) each man must take't up;
'Tis foule play (I barre itt) to simper and sup,
When such a health goes round.

7

And now helter-skelter to th'rest of the house,
The most are good fellowes, and loue to carowse;
Who's not, may go sneake-up; hee's not worth a louse;
That stoppes a health i'th' round.

8

To th'clearcke, soe hee'l learne to drincke in the morne;
To Heynous, that stares when he has quaft up his horne;
To Philip, by whom good ale nere was forlorne;
These lads can drincke a round.

9

John Chandler! come on, here's some warme beere for you;
A health to the man that this liquour did brew:
Why Hewet! ther's for thee; nay take't, 'tis thy due,
But see that itt goe round.

10

Hott Coles is on fire, and fayne would be quench'd;
As well as his horses the groome must be drench'd,
Who's else? let him speake, if his thirst hee'd haue stench'd
Or haue his health goe round.

11

And now to the woemen, who must not bee coy.
A glasse, Mistresse Cary, you know's but a toy:
Come, come, Mistresse Sculler, noe perdonnez moy,
Itt must, itt must goe round.

12

Dame Nell; soe you'l drinck, wee'l allow a soppe.
Up with't, Mary Smith; in your draught neuer stoppe.
Law ther-now Nan German has left ne're a droppe,
And soe must all the round.

13

Jane, Joane, Goody Lee, great Meg, and the lesse,
Yet must not bee squeamish, but doe as did Besse:
How th'others are nam'd, if I could but guesse,
I'de call them to the round.

14

And now, for my farwell, I drincke up this quart;
To you, lads, and lasses, eene with all my heart:
May I find yee euer, as now when wee part,
Each health still goeing round.

[And can you thincke that this translation]

[_]

To the Tune,—“I'le tell thee, Dicke, that I haue beene,” &c.

1

And can you thincke that this translation
Will benefitt att all our nation,
Though fayre bee the pretence?
'Tis meet, you say, that in the land
Each one our lawes should understand,
Since wee are gouern'd thence.

2

But tell mee pray, if euer you
Read th'English of Watt Montague,
Is't not more hard then French?
And yett that will much easyer bee
Then the strange gibbring mish-mash, wee
Shall hence-forth heare att th'Bench.

3

For from the lawes whilst French wee'd banish,
Wee shall bring in Italian, Spanish,
And forty nations more;
Who'l then peruse the text, must know
Greeke, Latine, Dutch, both High and Low,
With Hebrew too, before.

4

Because i'th Greeke ther's chang'd a letter,
That they can understand itt better,
Fooles only will pretend;
As hee, who did himselfe perswade
That hee spoke Latine, cause hee made
In bus each word to end.

5

But had wee English words enough,
Yett ought wee never to allow
This turning of our lawes:
Much lesse t'admitt that att the barre,
The merchand, clowne, or man of warre,
Should plead (forsooth) his cause.

6

Wordes may bee common, cleare, and pure,
Yet still the sence remayne obscure,
And wee as wise, as when
Wee should some long oration heare,
Which in a new-found language were,
Ne're heard by us till then.

7

'Twas not the language, 'twas the matter
(But that we loue our selves to flatter)
That most times darcknesse brung:
Some questions in philosophy,
To puzzle schollers would goe nigh,
Though putt in any toungue.

8

The shoe-maker, beyond the shoe
Must not presume to haue to doe,
A painter sayd of old:
Hee sayd aright; for each man ought
To meddle with the craft hee's taught,
And be noe farther bold.

9

What th'anchor is, few ploughmen know;
Saylers can't tell what meanes gee-ho;
Termes proper hath each trade:
Nay, in our uery sports, the bowler,
The tennis-player, huntsman, fowler,
New names for things haue made.

10

Soe words i'th' lawes are introduc'd
Which common talke has neuer us'd;
And therefore sure ther's need
That the gown'd tribe be sett a part
To learne by industry this art,
And that none else may pleade.

11

Our church still flourishing w'had seene
If th'holy-writt had euer beene
Kept out of lay-men's reach;
But, when 'twas English'd, men halfe-witted,
Nay woemen too, would be permitted
T'expound all texts, and preach.

12

Then what confusion did arise!
Coblers, deuines gan to dispise,
Soe that they could but spell:
This, ministers to scorne did bring;
Preaching was held an easy thing,
Each-one might doe't as well.

13

This gulfe, church-gouerment did swallow;
And after will the ciuill follow,
When lawes translated are:
For eu'ry man that lists, will prattle;
Pleading will be but twittle-twattle,
And nought but noyse att bar.

14

Then lett's eene bee content t'obay,
And to beleeue what judges say,
Whilst for us, lawyers brawle:
Though fowre or five bee thence undonne,
'Tis better haue some iustice donne,
Then to haue none att all.

[Good people of England! come heare mee relate]

[_]

To the Tune,—“That we may row with my P. ouer ye Ferry.”

1

Good people of England! come heare mee relate
Some misteryes of our young purse-sucking state,
Whereby eu'ry man may conceaue out of's pate
A reason for things here ordayned of late.

Heigh downe, downe, derry derry downe,
Heigh downe, downe derry!
What e're the state resolues, lett us bee merry.

2

French clarret was banish'd (as most doe suppose)
Cause Noll would haue nought here, so red as his nose;
Or else cause itt's crimson from thence first arose:
'Thas tooke our wine from us, would t'were in my hose.

Heigh downe, downe, &c.

3

Since that, hee most brauely himselfe did entrench,
Beleaguer'd, and tooke (as hee thought) a Scotch wench;
But by th'tottring of's toter, hee has found she was French;
And therfore that toungue is now silenc'd att th'bench.

Heigh downe, downe, &c.

4

His wrath gainst th'whole nation I cannot much blame,
Since by't was endanger'd a nose of such fame;
That's England's great standard, and doth more inflame
You people, then ere did that att Nottingham.

Heigh downe, downe, &c.

5

Noll! eene turne to Hebrew the lawes of our land,
For (howsoere) wee neuer shall them understand;
But th'Act of forbidding French wines counter-mand,
Oddsniggs else wee'l pisse out thy fuming fire-brand.

Heigh downe, downe, derry derry downe!
Heigh downe, downe derry!
Till clarett be restor'd, lett us drincke sherry.

[Jacke! nay prithee come away]

[_]

To the Tune,—“Will, and Tom, &c.”

Dicke.

1

Jacke! nay prithee come away,
This is noe time for sadnesse;
Pan's cheife feast is kept to day,
Each shepeard showes his gladnesse:

W'are to meete all on the greene,
To dance and sport together;
O what brau'ry will bee seene!
I hope t'will proue fayre weather.

2

Looke I'ue got a new suit on;
Say man! how likest the colour?
Will't not take Nell's eyes anonne?
All greenes then this are duller.
Marcke how trimm'd up is my hooke,
This ribband was Nell's fauour:
Jacke the wench has a sweet looke,
I'le dye but I will haue her.

Jacke.

3

Dicke, eene goe alone for mee;
By Nell thou art expected:
I noe loue haue there to see,
Of all I am reiected.
Att my ragges each mayd would flout,
If seene with such a shiner;
Noe, Il'e n'ere sett others out;
I'le stay till I am finer.

4

Shall I go to sitt alone,
Scorn'd eene by Meg o'th' dayry?
Whilst proud Tom lyes hugging Joane,
And Robin kisses Mary.
Shall I see my riuall Will
Receave kind lookes from Betty?
Both of them I'de sooner kill:
Att thought on't, Lord, how fret I?

5

Cause hee has a flocke of sheepe,
And is an elder brother;
'Cause (poore hireling!) those I keepe
Belong unto another,
I must loose what's mine by right,
And lett the rich foole gayne her:
I'le att least keepe out of sight,
Since hopelesse e're t'obtayne her.

Dicke.

6

Courage man, thy case is not
Soe bad as thou doest take itt:
Yett 'tis ill; could I (God wott!)
Much better would I make itt.
Hee is rich; thou, poore; 'twere much
Wer't thou preferr'd by a woeman;
Woemen though keepe sometimes touch,
But (sooth) 'tis not soe common.

7

Thou, unto thy pipe can'st sing
Loue-songs of thine own making;
Hee, nor that, nor any thing
Knowes how to doe, that's taking.
She did loue thee once, and swore
Ne're (through her fault) to loose thee;
If she keepe her oath, before
The richer, she will choose thee.

Jacke.

8

Neuer, neuer, lasse! such oathes
Haue force but for few howers;
If she lik'd once, now she loathes;
And smiles noe more, but lowers.

Scarce his suit had hee apply'de,
But she lou'd mee noe longer:
Soone my fayth she gan deride;
For wealth, then fayth, is stronger.

9

Farewell, shepeard, then. Bee gonne;
The feast noe stay here brooketh:
Prithee marcke Besse there anonne,
If kind on Will she looketh.
Who loues truely, loues to heare
Tales, that encrease his fier;
I, alasse! bade tydings feare,
And yett for newes enquier.

[And now a figge for th'lower house]

[_]

To the Tune,—“But that nere troubles mee, Boyes,” &c.

1

And now a figge for th'lower house;
The army I doe sett att nought:
I care not for them both a louse;
For spent is my last groat, boyes,
For spent is my last groate.

2

Delinquent I'de not feare to bee,
Though gainst the cause and Noll I'had fought;
Since England's now a state most free,
For who's not worth a groat, boyes,
For who's not worth a groate.

3

I'le boldly talke, and doe, as sure
By pursuiuants ne're to bee sought;
'Tis a protection most sicure,

Not to bee worth a groate, boyes,
Not to bee worth a groate.

4

I should be soone lett loose againe
By some mistake if I were caught;
For what can any hope to gaine
From one not worth a groate, boyes,
From one not worth a groate.

5

Nay, if some foole should mee accuse,
And I unto the bar were brought;
The judges audience would refuse,
I being not worth a groate, boyes,
I being not worth a groate.

6

Or if some raw-one should bee bent
To make mee in the ayre to vault,
The rest would cry, hee's innocent,
He is not worth a groate, boyes,
He is not worth a groate.

7

Yee rich-men, that soe feare the state,
This priviledge is to bee bought;
Purchase itt then att any rate,
Leaue not yourselues a groate, boyes,
Leaue not yourselues a groate.

8

The parliament which now does sitt
(That all may have itt, as they ought)
Intends to make them for itt fitt,
And leaue noe man a groate, boyes,
And leaue noe man a groate.

9

Who writt this song, would little care
Allthough att th'end his name were wrought;
Committee-men their search may spare,
For spent is his last groate, boyes,
For spent is his last groate.

THE COUNTRY LIFE.

[_]

To a French tune.

1

Fondlings! keepe to th'citty,
Yee shall haue my pitty;
But my envy, not:
Since much larger measure
Of true pleasure
I'me sure's in the country gott.

2

Here's noe dinne, noe hurry,
None seekes here to curry
Fauour, by base meanes:
Flatt'ry's hence excluded;
Hee's secluded
Who speakes ought, but what hee meanes.

3

Though your talcke, and weeds bee
Glittering, yett your deeds bee
Poore, wee them dispize:
Silken are our actions,
And our pactions,
Though our coates and words bee frize.

4

Here's noe lawyer brawling;
Rising poore, rich falling;
Each is what hee was:
That wee have, enioying;
Not annoying
Any good, another has.

5

There y'haue ladyes gawdy;
Dames, that can talke bawdy;
True, w'haue none such here:
Yett our girles loue surely,
And haue purely
Cheekes unpainted, soules most cleare.

6

Sweet, and fresh our ayre is;
Each brooke coole, and fayre is;
On the grasse wee treade:
Foule's your ayre, streets, water;
And thereafter
Are the liues which there you leade.

7

Not our time in drenching,
Cramming, gaming, wenching,
Here wee cast away:
Yett wee too, are jolly;
Melancholly
Comes not neare us, night nor day.

8

Scarce the morne is peeping
But wee straight leaue sleeping,
From our beds wee rise:

To the fields then hye wee,
And there ply wee
Wholsome, harmelesse exercise.

9

Each comes back a winner;
Each brings home his dinner,
Which was first his sport:
And uppon itt feasting,
Toying, ieasting,
W'enuy not your cates att court.

10

Th'afternoones wee loose not,
Idlenesse wee choose not,
But are still employ'd:
Dancers some, some bowlers,
Some are fowlers,
Some in angling most are ioy'd.

11

Th'euening home-wards brings us,
Whither hunger wings us;
Ready soone's our food:
Spare, light, sweet to th'pallett,
And a sallett
To refresh our heated blood.

12

Pleasantly then talking
Forth wee goe a walking;
Thence returne to rest:
Noe sad dreame incumbers
Our sweet slumbers;
Innocence thus makes us blest.

13

Keepe now, keepe to th'citty
Fondlings! y' haue my pitty,
But my enuy, not:
Since much larger measure
Of true pleasure
You see's in the country gott.

[The parliament ('tis sayd) resolu'd]

[_]

To the Tune,—“And will you now to Peace encline,” &c.

1

The parliament ('tis sayd) resolu'd,
That, sometime ere they were dissolu'd,
They'd pardon each delinquent:
And that (all past scores to forgett)
Good store of Lethe they did gett,
And round about that drincke went.

2

If soe; 'tis hard. For th'haue forgott
All thought o'th' act 'tis true, but not
One crime that can bee heard on:
Soe that 'tis likely they'l constrayne
Malignants to compound againe,
In lieu o'th' noys'd out pardon.

3

This comes of hoping to sitt still:
By this wee find, 'twas not good will,
But feare, that caus'd their pitty.
How sweet, how fayre, they spoke of late!
What benefitts both church and state
Should reape from each committy?

4

The country for itt's fayth was prays'd;
Noe more the great tax should be rays'd;

Arrears should all bee quitted:
Our everlasting parliament
Would now giue up itt's gouernment;
A new mould should bee fitted.

5

Th'Act of Obliuion should come out,
And wee noe longer held in doubt;
Religion should bee stated:
Goldsmithe's, and Haberdasher's Hall,
Noe longer should affright us all,
Nor Druery-house bee hated.

6

Feare made them promise this, and more,
But now, they thincke the storme is o're,
Not one word is obserued:
The souldier, full of discontent,
To Ireland for's arrears is sent;
The tax is still conserued.

7

Th'Act of Obliuion's layde aside;
Seets multiply and subdiuide,
'Gainst which noe order's taken:
And for th'new representatiue,
Fayth (for my part) I'de eene as liue
The thought on't were forsaken.

8

Th'except gainst this, th'except gainst that;
They'l haue us choose, but onely what
Shall square with their direction:
They doe soe straightly wedge us in,
That if wee choose not them again,
They'l make uoyd our election.

9

Cromwell! a promise, is a debt.
Thou made'st them say, they would forgett,
O make them now remember!
If they their priuiledges urge;
Once more this house of office purge,
And scoure out euery member.

[Speake of somewhat else I pray]

[_]

To a French Tune.

1

Speake of somewhat else I pray;
This yeare, I'le not married bee:
Lilly (Joane) fortells, they say,
That hornes plenty wee shall see:
This aspect of Capricorne,
I'le lett passe, for feare o'the horne.

2

Not that I pretend alone
To goe free, since 'tis i'th' text;
Cuckolds shall bee euery one;
In this world, or in the next.
I'de a while keepe out o'th' heard;
That's not lost, that is differr'd.

3

I'ue not patience yett enough,
All my gelosye's not gonne;
I'de stay, till my fore-head tough
Felt not, when that capp's putt on:
Quietly then, with the rest,
I shall beare the well-knowne crest.

4

When Joue th'European rape
Did committ, large hornes hee wore;
Though hee reassum'd his shape,
Those hee euer after bore:
Since the Gods doe weare them then,
Why should they be scorn'd by men.

[5]

Cause great lords are crown'd, you guesse
That their heads noe hornes doe beare;
Yett, allthough wee see them lesse,
Joane! assure thy selfe, th'are there:
Neither learning, strength, nor state
Can secure us from that fate.

6

For one branch the begger hes,
Forty can the rich man show;
Whilst by madame often was
Th'horner payde, to make them soe:
Cuckold then who feares to bee,
Meritts not good company.

7

From such honour, yett awhile
I'le bee kept, by my weake stead:
But ere long (Joane) thou shalt smile,
Seeing how my fayre hornes spread.
For my comfort: cuckolds (Jone)
I'le make thousands; bee but one.

[A greeu'd Countesse, that e're long]

[_]

To a French Tune.

1

A greeu'd Countesse, that e're long
Must leaue off her sweet-noys'd title;
A greu'd Countesse, that ere long
'Mongst the crowde for place may throng;
In her hand that patent holding
Which perforce she must bring in,
Oft with moyst eyes itt beholding,
Her complaynt thus did beginne.

2

Cruell monsters! doe you know
What a massacre y'haue uoted?
Cruell monsters! Doe you know
Th'harme you'l cause att one sad blow?
Dukes, earles, marquises, how many!
'Las! how many a lord, and knight,
Without pitty shewn to any,
You'l cutt off through bloody spight!

3

Fond astrologers away,
You that talke o'th' sunnes thick darcknesse;
Fond astrologers away,
Y'are mistaken in the day.
Sure you calculate not duely,
Th'ephimerides else skippes;
On the twenty-fift more truely
Y'ought to place the great ecclipse.

4

Our deare-purchas'd honours then
Will by foggy mists bee clouded;
Our deare-purchas'd honours then
Will (alasse) ne're shine aghen.

All my hopes are, that those uapours
Which extinguish now our light,
Will putt out too th'ancient tapers;
Since I'me darcke, would all were night!

[Poore heart, retire!]

[_]

To an Italian Tune.

[1]

Poore heart, retire!
Her lookes deceaue thee;
Sooth not thy desire
With hopes she'll receive thee:
Thyself neuer flatter;
Her smile was noe call;
Lasse! ther's noe such matter,
She lookes thus on all.
Mean't sh' ought by her smiling (poore heart, creditt me)
Shee'd frowne on thy riualls; shee'd smile but on thee.

2

Thy flames extinguish,
Noe more them feeding:
Learne, learne to distinguish
'Twixt loue and good breeding.
Fayre words are in fashion,
Thou must not them mind;
She spoke not with passion,
To all she's as kind.
Meant sh' ought by those fayre words (poor heart, creditt me)
Shee'd speake that deare language to none but to thee.

3

Perhappes she granted
Some few faynt kisses;
But euer they wanted
That which makes them blisses.

A kisse has noe sauour,
If loue doe'nt itt owne,
I count it no fauour,
'Lesse I kisse alone.
Noe kindnesse oblidges (poore heart, creditt mee)
When t'others itt's granted, as well as to thee.

['Tis true. I am fetter'd]

[_]

To an Italian Tune.

1

'Tis true. I am fetter'd,
But therein take pleasure:
My case is much better'd;
This chayne is a treasure.
My prison delights mee;
'Tis freedome, that frights mee;
I hate liberty:
I'le not be lamented,
You'd all be contented
To haue such chaynes as I.

2

When (heretofore flying)
My loues oft I quitted;
I then was a trying,
And now I am fitted.
I ne're should haue changed,
If she (whilst I ranged)
Had first strucke mine eye:
As soone as I mett her,
Enchayne mee I lett her:
Yee'd all doe, as I.

3

Soft cords made of roses,
Then mine, would more gall mee;
Her bright hayre composes
Those bonds which enthrall mee.
Now, when she has proued
How much her I'ue loued,
My hopes will soare high:
Perchance, to retayne mee,
Her armes will enchayne me;
Then who'd not bee I?

[Cease t'exaggerate your anguish]

[_]

To a Spanish Tune, called,—“Folias.”

1

Cease t'exaggerate your anguish,
Ye, who for the gout complayne!
Louers, that in absence languish,
Onely know, indeed, what's payne.

2

If the choyce were in my power,
Sooner much the racke I'de choose,
Then, for th'short space of an hour,
My deare Stella's sight to lose.

3

Sometimes feare, sometimes desire
Seaze (by cruell turnes) my heart;
Now a frost, and then a fire
('Las!) I feele in eu'ry part.

4

Horrid change of paynes! O leaue mee,
With my death else end your spight!
Absence doth as much bereaue mee
As death can, of her lou'd sight.

5

Thus (deare Stella) thy poore louer
His unlucky fate bemoanes;
Whilst his parting soule does houer
'Bout his lippes; wing'd by sad groanes.

6

Yett thou may'st from death repriue him;
Loue such power to Stella giues:
With thy sight thou canst reuiue him;
As thou wilt hee dyes, or liues.

[O permitt that my sadnesse]

[_]

To the Italian Tune, called,—“Girometta.

1

O permitt that my sadnesse
May redeeme my offence!
Lett not words, spoke in madnesse,
Prejudice innocence!

2

'Twas i'th' height of my passion,
Lasse! I rau'd all the time:
Not thy wrath, but compassion,
I deseru'd by my crime.

3

Jealous feares, with their thicknesse,
Had ore-clouded my brayne:
What I spoke in my sicknesse
Ne'er remember agayne.

4

Franticke men may talke treason,
From all guilt they are free:
Lawes, for such as want reason,
Noe chastisement decree.

5

Sure noe tyrant did euer
Call that tongue to account,
Which, (in time of a feauer),
Tales of plotts did raccount.

6

Then, since none can bee heard on
That e'er punished such faults,
O refuse not my pardon
To my past words, or thoughts!

7

Loe! as soone as I'me cured,
I repent, I recant:
Make mee too, once assured
That my grace has thy grant.

[This Aprile last a gentle swayne]

[_]

To the Tune of,—“To Parliament the Queene is gone,” &c.

1

This Aprile last a gentle swayne
Went early to the wood;
His businesse was, that hee would fayne
His lott haue understood.
'Las! poore man!
Sad and wan
He was growne, for loue of Nan;
'Twould him cheare,
Could hee heare
The sweet nightingale's uoyce here:
Whereso-ere he went,
Still his eare hee bent
Listning her to find.

2

His friend (itt seemes) was better luck'd,
And heard one in the parcke;
Whereatt by th'sleeue her t'other pluck'd,
And cry'de, Harcke! there's one, harcke!
Th'honest lad
Was right glad,
Thincking now good newes t'haue had:
Whilst that hee
(Full of glee)
Listing stood to eu'ry tree,
Not the nightingall,
But th'affrighting-all
Ill-lou'd cuckow sang.

3

What tydings this may signify
I leaue to time to tell:
But (if itt were mine owne case) I
Should hope all would goe well.
As I guesse,
Faythfullnesse
With the cuckow may expresse:
Marcke your fill
When you will,
Him you'l find in one note still.
Though men feare him all
When they heare him call,
'Tis a lucky bird.

4

Then cheare up James, and neuer sett
False comments on the text:
If with th'one bird this yeare th'hast mett,
Thoul't meete with t'other next.

Doe not droope!
Nan shall stoope
To thy lure, though th'cuckow whoope:
The bird sayth
That thy faith
Itt's reward now neare-hand hath.
Neuer thincke on't, man!
Come, lett's drincke to Nan,
She shall bee thine own.

[Some prayse the browne, and some the fayre]

[_]

To the Tune of,—“I'le haue my Loue, or I'le haue on.”

1

Some prayse the browne, and some the fayre;
Some best like blacke, some flaxen hayre:
Some loue the tall, and some the low;
Some choose, who's quicke; and some, who's slow.

2

If in all men one mind did dwell,
Too many would lead apes in hell:
But, that noe mayd her mate may lacke,
For euery Joane there is a Jacke.

3

Thus, I haue mine owne fancy too;
And uow, none but the poore to woe:
My loue shall come (when e'er I wed)
As naked to the church, as bed.

4

The fayre, the chast, the wisest dame,
Though nobly borne, and of best fame,
(By all the gods), would ne'er enthrall
My heart, if she were rich withall.

5

I money count as great a fault,
As poornesse is 'mongst others thought:
With thousand goods you'l find supply'de
The want of portion in a bride.

6

There's noe such gagge, to still the lowd;
There's noe such curbe, to rule the proud:
Itt neuer fayles to stint all strife;
Itt makes one master of his wife.

7

Should I reueale each good effect,
(Though pouerty now bring neglect,)
Suitours would throng about the poore,
Ne'er knocking att the rich-mayd's doore.

8

Then, least that some should surfeitts want.
And others sterue, the while for want,
What rests (the rich not to offend,)
I'le onely tell to some choyce friend.

[Ned! she that likes thee now]

[_]

To the Tune of,—“Phillida flouts me.

1

Ned! she that likes thee now,
Next weeke will leaue thee!
Trust her not, though she uow
Ne'er to deceaue thee;
Just soe to Tom she swore,
Yet straight was ranging;

Thus shee'd serue forty more,
Still shee'l bee changing.
Last moneth I was the man;
See, if denye't she can;
Else aske Francke, Jone, or Nan:
Ned! fayth looke to itt.

2

Shee'l prayse thy uoyce, thy face;
Shee'l say, th'art witty;
Shee'l too cry up thy race,
Thy state shee'l pitty;
Shee'l sigh, and then accuse
Fortune of blindnesse:
This forme she still doth use,
When shee'd shew kindnesse.
Thoul't find (if thou but note)
That t'all she sings one note;
I'ue learn'd her arts by rote:
Ned! fayth looke to itt!

3

With scorne, as now on mee,
(Lesse may'st thou care for't!)
Ere long shee'l looke on thee,
Thy selfe prepare for't.
The next new face will cast
Thine out of fauour;
The winds change not soe aft,
As her thoughts wauer:
If them thou striu'st t'enchayne,
Thereby thou'lt onely gayne
Thy labour for thy payne:
Ned! fayth looke to itt!

[Alasse! long since I knew]

[_]

To the Tune of,—“Francklin's is fled away.”

1

Alasse! long since I knew
What would betide;
My hopes ne'er yett spoke true,
My feares ne'er ly'de:
False tales to please my heart,
Those tell; these bring mee smart,
But still the truth th'impart,
Ne'er flatt'ring mee.

2

Yett I was apt to heare
Good newes though made;
And still would chide my feare,
When itt gayn-sayde;
This made mee entertayne
Thoughts which now proue most uayne
Beleeuing what soe fayne
I'de haue had true.

3

I fancy'de that thy mind
Was fix'd on me;
But (lasse!) my loue I find
Contemn'd by thee:
'Cause I'de not feare before
(Fond man!) I must therefore
Despayre now euer-more;
Sad is my chance.

4

But since thy kindnesse had
Part in my fault,
I know thou wilt bee sad
To see mee caught;
And, if thou'lt not allow
Thy loue, the next best now
Is, that with pitty thou
Looke on my griefe.

TRIOLETS.

I WILL SING UNTO THE LORD. Psalm xiii. vers. vi.

[Worldly designes, feares, hopes, farwell!]

1

Worldly designes, feares, hopes, farwell!
Farewell all earthly joyes and cares!
On nobler thoughts my soule shall dwell,
Worldly designes, feares, hopes, farwell!
Att quiett, in my peacefull cell,
I'le thincke on God, free from your snares;
Worldly designes, feares, hopes, farwell!
Farwell all earthly joys and cares.

3

I'le seeke my God's law to fullfill,
Riches and power I'le sett att nought;
Lett others striue for them that will,
I'le seeke my God's law to fullfill:
Least sinfull pleasures my soule kill,
(By folleye's uayne delights first caught,)
I'le seeke my God's law to fulfill,
Riches and power I'le sett att nought.

4

Yes (my deare Lord!) I'ue found itt soe;
Noe joyes but thine are purely sweet;
Other delights come mixt with woe,
Yes (my deare Lord!) I'ue found itt soe.

Pleasure att courts is but in show,
With true content in cells wee meete;
Yes (my deare Lord!) I'ue found it soe,
Noe joyes but thine are purely sweet.

[By ambition raysed high]

“O that I had wings like a doue,
For then would I fly away, and bee att rest.”
Ps. lv. vers. vi.

1

By ambition raysed high,
Oft did I
Seeke (though bruis'd with falls) to fly.
When I saw the pompe of kings
Plac'd aboue,
I did loue
To draw neare, and wish'd for wings.

2

All these joyes which caught my mind
Now I find
To bee bubbles, full of wind:
Glow-wormes, onely shining bright
When that wee
Blinded bee
By darck follye's stupid night.

3

Looking up then I did goe
To and froe,
When indeed they were below:
For now, that mine eyes see cleare,
Fayre noe more

Small and poore,
Farre beneath mee they appeare.

4

But a nobler light I spy,
Much more hye
Then that sun which shines i'th' sky:
Since itt's sight, all earthly things
I detest;
There to rest,
Give, O give mee the doue's wings!

Seruire Deo, Regnare est.

1

Are these the things I sigh'd for soe, before?
For want of these, did I complayne of Fate?
Itt cannot bee. Sure there was somewhat more
That I saw then, and priz'd att a true rate;
Or a strange dullnesse had obscur'd my sight,
And euen rotten wood glitters i'th' night.

2

Mine eyes were dimme, I could noe nearer gett;
This trash was with itt's most aduantage plac'd:
Noe meruayle then, if all my thoughts were sett
On folly, since itt seem'd soe fayrely grac'd.
But now that I can see, and am gott neare,
Ugly (as 'tis indeed) itt doth appeare.

3

Now, were I putt on th'Erithrean sands,
I would not stoope the choycest jew'les to take:
Should th'Indian bring me gold in full-fill'd hands,
I would refuse all offers hee could make,

Gemmes are but sparckling froth, naturall glasse;
Gold's but guilt clay, or the best sort of brasse.

4

Long since (for all his monarchy) that bee
Which rules in a large hiue, I did dispize:
A mole-hill's chiefest ant I laugh'd to see,
But any prince of men I much did prize.
The world now seemes to mee noe bigger then
Mole-hill, or hiue; ants, bees, noe lesse then men.

5

Who wishes then for power, or plenty craues,
O lett him looke downe on them both from hence!
Hee'l see that kings in thrones, as well as graues
Are but poore wormes, enslau'd to uilest sence:
Hee'l find that none are poore who care for nought;
But they who hauing much, for more haue sought.

6

Come, poore deluded wretch! climbe up to mee;
My naked hermitage will teach all this:
'Twill teach thee too where truest riches bee,
And how to gayne a neuer-fading blisse.
'Twill make thee see that truely none doe raigne,
But those who serue our common souuerayne.

[Whilst I beheld the necke o'th' doue]

“The invisible things of him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made.” Ep. to ye Rom. i. 20.

1

Whilst I beheld the necke o'th' doue,
I spy'de, and read these words.

This pritty dye
Which takes your eye,
Is not at all the bird's.
The dusky rauen might
Haue with these colours pleas'd your sight,
Had God but chose soe to ordayne aboue;
This labell wore the doue.

2

Whilst I admir'd the nightingale,
These notes she warbled o're.
Noe melody
Indeed haue I,
Admire mee then noe more:
God has itt in his choice
To giue the owle, or mee this uoyce;
'Tis Hee, 'tis Hee that makes mee tell my tale;
This sang the nightingale.

3

I smelt and prays'd the fragrant rose,
Blushing, thus answer'd she.
The prayse you gaue,
The sent I haue,
Doe not belong to mee;
This harmelesse odour, none
But only God indeed does owne;
To bee his keepers, my poore leaues hee chose;
And thus reply'de the rose.

4

I tooke the honny from the bee,
On th'bagge these words were seene.
More sweet then this

Perchance nought is,
Yett gall itt might haue beene:
If God itt should soe please,
Hee could still make itt such with ease;
And as well gall to honny change can Hee;
This learn't I of the bee.

5

I touch'd, and lik'd the downe o'th' swanne;
But felt these words there writt.
Bristles, thornes, here
I soone should beare,
Did God ordayne but itt;
If my downe to thy touch
Seeme soft and smooth, God made itt such;
Giue more, or take all this away, Hee can;
This was I taught by th'swan.

6

All creatures then, confesse to God
That th'owe him all, but I.
My senses find
True, what my mind
Would still, oft does deny.
Hence Pride! out of my soule!
O're itt thou shalt noe more controule;
I'le learne this lesson, and escape the rod:
I too, haue all from God.

Crux via Cœlorum.

1

Lowdly the winds doe blow,
High doe the sea-waues goe;
Where is the saylour now, I'de know?
Amidst the billowes (looke) how hee is tost,
Yett hopes the shore t'obtayne:
In a small barcke the ocean hee has cross't:
All for a little gayne.
Hee fitts his sayles to th'wind,
Then carelessely hee sings;
The hope hee has contents his mind,
And comfort to him brings.
Heauen for to gayne then, shall I bee lesse bold,
Then is a saylour for a little gold?

2

Whilst itt doth rayne, freeze, snow;
Whilst coldest winds doe blow,
How clad does the poore captiue goe?
Noe furres has hee to wrappe his body in;
Nay more, hee cares for none,
But scornes all weathers in his naked skin;
Feare makes him make noe moane.
He has uppon his backe
The marckes of many a wand;
Yett (after stripes) hee is not slacke
To kiss his master's hand.
And shall I then for loue, repine to beare
Lesse then a naked slaue endures for feare?

3

The scarres of many a blow
Can the maym'd souldier show,
Yett still unto the warre does goe.
Fame makes him watch many a winter-night,
Hee sleeps oft on the ground;
With hunger, thirst, and foes hee oft must fight,
And all but for a sound.
Whole long dayes must hee march,
When all his force is spent;
The scorching sun his skinne doth parch,
Yett is his heart content.
Shall then for fame a souldier doe all this,
And I shrincke, suff'ring lesse for heauenly blisse?

4

In a darke caue below
The conqueror does throw
His miserable vanquish'd foe.
Deepe is the dungeon where that wretch is cast,
Thither day comes not nigh;
Dampish and nasty uapours doe him blast,
Yett still his heart is high.
His prison is soe straight
He cannot mooue at will;
Huge chaynes oppresse him with their waight,
Yett has hee courage still.
And can I thinke I want my Libertee,
When in such thrall hee keepes his mind so free?

5

Itt shall not bee: Noe, noe;
The saylour I'le out-goe,
The souldier, slaue, and uanquish'd foe,
When others rage, I'le thincke how I am tost,

The seaman in the mayne;
The naked slaue shall, i'th' most pearcing frost,
Make mee beare any payne.
The marche I'le call to mind,
When weary, and gett wings:
Least I should thincke my selfe confin'd
The pris'ner, freedome brings.
When e're restraint, or greife, or feare, or cold,
Tempt me, these thoughts will then my mind uphold.

“Man is born unto trouble.”

—Job, ch. v. uers. 7.

Crucifixus pro Nobis.

[Looke, how hee shakes for cold!]

CHRIST IN THE CRADLE.

1

Looke, how hee shakes for cold!
How pale his lippes are growne!
Wherein his limbes to fold
Yett mantle has hee none.
His pretty feet, and hands
(Of late more pure and white
Then is the show
That paynes them soe)
Haue lost their candour quite.
His lippes are blew
(Where roses grew)
Hee's frozen eu'ry where:
All th'heate he has
Joseph, alasse!
Giues in a groane; or Mary in a teare.

CHRIST IN THE GARDEN.

2

Looke, how hee glowes for heate!
What flames come from his eyes!
'Tis blood that hee does sweate,
Blood his bright forehead dyes,
See, see! Itt trickles downe:
Looke, how itt showers amayne!
Through euery pore
His blood runnes ore,
And empty leaues each uayne.
His very heart
Burnes in each part;
A fire his brest doth seare:
For all this flame,
To coole the same
Hee onely breathes a sigh, and weepes a teare.

CHRIST IN HIS PASSION.

3

What bruises doe I see!
What hideous stripes are those!
Could any cruell bee
Enough, to giue such blowes?
Looke, how they bind his armes
And uex his soule with scornes,
Upon his hayre
They make him weare
A crowne of pearcing thornes.
Through hands and feete
Sharpe nayles they beate;
And now the crosse they reare:
Many looke on;
But onely John
Stands by to sigh, Mary to shed a teare.

4

Why did hee shake for cold?
Why did hee glow for heate?
Dissolue that frost hee could,
Hee could call backe that sweate.
Those bruises, strippes, bonds, tauntes,
Those thornes, which thou didst see,
Those nayles, that crosse,
His own life's losse
Why, O why sufferr'd hee?
'Twas for thy sake.
Thou, thou didst make
Him all those torments beare:
If then his loue
Doe thy soule mooue,
Sigh out a groane, weep downe a melting teare.

Ex dolore gaudium.

Fallax et Instabilis.

“There is nothing new under the sun.” —Ecl. i. u. 10.

1

'Tis a strange thing this world,
Nothing but change I see:
And yett itt is most true
That in't there's nothing new,
Though all seeme new to mee.
The rich becomme oft poore,

And heretofore 'twas soe;
The poore man rich doth grow,
And soe 'twas heretofore:
Nor is itt a new thing
To haue a subiect made a king;
Or that a king should from his throne bee hurl'd.
'Tis a strange thing this world.

2

All things below doe change,
The sea in rest ne'er lyes;
Ne'er lay in rest, nor will:
The weather alters still,
And ne'er did otherwise.
Consum'd is many a towne
By fire; how, none can tell:
Playnes up to mountaynes swell,
While mountaynes doe sincke downe.
Yett ought wee not t'admire
The sea, the ayre, the earth, or fire:
The sun does thincke nothing of all this strange;
Since all things here still change.

3

Lett none then fix his heart
Uppon such trifling toyes;
But seeke some obiect out,
Whose change hee ne'er may doubt;
There, lett him place his joyes.
Since that our soules are made
For euer to endure;
Of chiefest greife w'are sure,
If what wee loue must fade:

For friends feele greatest payne
When one must goe, t'other remayne.
With what I loue then, that I ne'er may part,
On God I'le fix my heart.

“Vide in omnibus uanitatem, et afflictionem animi, et nihil permanere sub sole.”

—Eccl. ii. u. 11.

Nulla Fides.

1

For God's sake marcke that fly:
See what a poore, weake, little thing itt is.
When thou hast marck'd, and scorn'd itt; know that this,
This little, poore, weake fly
Has kill'd a pope; can make an emp'rour dye.

2

Behold yon sparcke of fire:
How little hott! how neare to nothing 'tis!
When thou hast donne despising, know that this,
This contemn'd sparcke of fire,
Has burn't whole townes; can burne a world entire.

3

That crawling worme there see:
Ponder how ugly, filthy, uild itt is.
When thou hast seene and loath'd itt, know that this
This base worme thou doest see,
Has quite deuour'd thy parents; shall eate thee.

4

Honour, the world, and man,
What trifles are they! Since most true itt is

That this poore fly, this little sparcke, this
Soe much abhorr'd worm, can
Honour destroy; burne worlds; deuoure up man.

[What use has hee made of his soule]

1

What use has hee made of his soule
Who (still on uices bent)
N'ere stroue his passions to controule;
But hum'ring them, his life has spent?
Pray tell me, if I can
Call such a very thing as that is, man?
For since that iust as sense has bidde,
Itt doe, or leaue; itt wrought, or ceast;
And would not heare when reason chidde,
Or her commands reguard the least;
Itt might haue liu'd e'ene as itt did,
And yett have beene a beast.

2

Had itt a lyon beene; just soe
Itt would roare out, and fume:
Were itt a peacocke; itt would goe
Just thus, admiring itt's owne plume:
Or if itt were a goate;
Thus, onely on base pleasures itt would dote.
More then this thing, the rauenous hogge
Searches not, where his gutts to fill:
Nor att a stranger's hound, the dogge
O'th' house more snarle or enuy will;
Then this odde thing (though apt to cogge)
Repine att others still.

3

The crow, that hoardes up all she findes;
The ant, that still takes paynes;
Doe nothing more, then hee who minds
But how to fill his baggs with gaynes.
The snayle and sluggerd bee
Within alike, tho' in shape they disagree.
Call not that thing then, man; euen as
Thou wouldst not iniure by the same
Man, who like God created was;
God who for man's sake, man became:
But, since soe much o'th' beast itt has,
Call itt by itt's owne name.

Accepit in uano animam suam.

—Psalm xxiii. uers 4.

Dirige vias meas Domine!

1

Open thy selfe, and then looke in;
Consider what thou mightst haue bin,
And what thou art now made by sin.

2

Asham'd o'th' state to which th'art brought,
Detest, and greeue for each past fault;
Sigh, weepe, and blush for each foule thought.

3

Feare, but dispayre not, and still loue;
Looke humbly up to God aboue
And him thoul't soone to pitty mooue.

4

Resolue on that which prudence showes;
Performe what thou doest well propose;
And keepe i'th' way thou hast once chose.

5

Uice, and what lookes like uitious, shunne;
Lett use make good acts eas'ly donne:
Haue zeale, as when th'hadst first begunne.

6

Hope strongly, yett bee humble still;
Thy good is God's; what thine, is ill:
Doe thus, and thee affect hee will.

7

Pray, when with others; when alone.
To scorne, or prayse bee as a stone:
Forgett thy selfe, and all, but One.

8

Remooue what stands twixt God, and thee.
Use not thy fancy, him to see:
One with his will, make thy will bee.

9

Looke purely on God when thou doest well;
But not on heauen; much lesse on hell:
Thoul't gett him thus in thee to dwell.

10

Use-lesse our Master wee doe serue;
Our labours noe reward deserue;
Yett happy who these rules obserue.

Nobis natus in Pretium: Nobis datus in Prœmium.

1

Great God! I had beene nothing but for thee;
Thy all-creating power first made mee bee:
And yett, noe sooner had I gott
A being, but I straight forgott
That thou (Great God!) that thou had'st giuen itt mee.
My being somewhat I did spend
Onely, thy goodnesse to offend;
And, though chastis'd, yet ne'er would mend.

2

Christ! but for thee, I had remayned soe;
Thou didst redeeme mee, though I were thy foe.
And yett thou hadst noe sooner spilt
Thy blood, to wash away my guilt,
But my ingratitude I straight did show.
My chaynes thou kindly didst unloose;
My liberty I soone did loose;
And, to becomme a slaue, did choose.

3

Blest Spirit! (once agayne my soule to try)
Thou didst her cleanse, renew, and sanctify.
Scarce was she purged by thy flame,
But straight, more horrid, she became
Then, e're (blest Spirit!) thou didst her purify.
All the three persons now in uayne
Had try'de a peruerse soule to gayne,
Who was resolu'd on her owne bane.

4

Thus, though to saue mee God stroue eu'ry way,
To punishment I did my selfe betray.
I greeue for th'ill that I haue donne;
I weepe to see my selfe undonne;
But, in excuse, have not one word to say.
Yes (God!) since thou didst me create,
Then ransome, then sanctificate;
Saue what th'hast bought att such a rate!

Exprimetur.

Who without horrour, can that house behold
(Though ne're soe fayre) which is with tombe stones made;
Whose walls, fraught with inscriptions writt of old,
Say still, Here underneath some-body's layde.
Though such translated church-yards shine with gold,
Yett they the builder's sacriledge up-brayde;
And the wrong'd ghosts, there haunting uncontroul'd,
Follow each one his monumentall shade.

But they that by the poore-man's downefall rise,
Haue sadder epitaphes caru'd on their chests:
As, Here the widow, Here the orphan lyes.
Who sees their wealth, their avarice detests;
Whilst th'iniur'd for revenge urge heauen with cryes;
And, through itt's gvilt, th'oppressour's mind ne'er rests.

Dies Iræ, Dies Illa.

1

A day full of horrour, must
All this world dissolue to dust:
Prophets say itt; w'are to trust.

2

What heart will bee uoyd of feare
When our great judge shall appeare
Strictly each man's cause to heare?

3

A shrill trumpett there will sound
All must rise from under-ground,
And the Judge's throne surround.

4

How astonish'd then will bee
Death and Nature, when they see
From their lawes each body free?

5

A booke where men's deeds are writt
Shall be read; the Judge to itt
Will th'eternall sentence fitt.

6

Att his sitting, twill be uayne
To conceale a secret stayne;
Nought unpunish'd shall remayne.

7

How shall I that day endure?
What friend shall I then procure,
When the just are scarce sicure?

8

My request doe not reject,
Thou that sauest thine elect;
God! of mercy mee protect.

9

Christ! remember in that day,
I'me thy sheep, tho' gonne astray!
Leaue mee not to wolues a pray.

10

Weary, oft mee sought thou hast;
For mee, nayl'd to the crosse thou wast:
Loose not all this pray'rs att last.

11

Though my sinnes to vast summes mount,
Yett thy mercyes them surmount:
O ne're call them to account!

12

I confesse my guilt; th'art meeke:
Grant that pardon which I seeke!
Loe, shame's blushes dye each cheeke.

13

Mary, and the theife, scarce leaue
Sin, but thou doest them receaue;
What hopes hence mayn't I conceaue?

14

True, my prayers deserue not ought;
By thy passion th'art besought:
Keepe me from the fiery vault!

15

Mongst the sheepe grant mee a stand;
Driue mee from the goat's curs'd band,
Placing mee on thy right hand.

16

This t'obtayne, my knees I bend;
For this, all my prayers I send:
Lord, take care of my last end!

17

O! that day'le cause weeping eyes,
When to judgement men shall rise;
'Gainst then, mercy! my soule cryes.