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Latine Songs

With their English: and Poems. By Henry Bold ... Collected and perfected by Captain William Bold

Bold, Henry (1627-1683)

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To my Worthy Friend Captain William Bold, on his Collection of his Brothers Latine Songs, &c.

TO CAPT. WILLIAM BOLD ON HIS Collections. &c.

SONGS AND POEMS.

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Hor. 2. L. 2. Ep. II. Singula de nobis, Anni predantur euntes,
Eripûere Jocos, Venerem, Convivia, Ludum,
Tendunt extorquere Poemata: Quid faciam vis?

To my Worthy Friend Captain William Bold, on his Collection of his Brothers Latine Songs, &c.

Hearing y'had undertaken to Collect
These scatter'd Papers, which none could Expect,
Should e're in bulk have view'd the World again
But like their Author in the Grave remain,
And wrapt in Flannel under Earth have lain.
A Task so difficult, I durst believe,
(But his own Genius,) none could e're retrive,
Yet those have seen them loose, in their first birth,
Doe know they've nothing lost of native worth.

Therefore I could not choose but entertain
With Joyful welcome this your generous vain,
That raises Harry from the dead again.
'Twas such a kindness to forlorne thoughts,
(Past Expectation none could e're have brought's,
But such industrious studdies yours have been,
You have in this reviv'd both us and him.

When Songs & Verse, that in their kind were good
By times & fashions, as condemned stood,
For want of polite Phrase, and modern guise
Scarce 'scap'd the Execution, or th' Assize.
Your Brother took them home, and by his Care,
Nurs'd them so well, that still they living are,

He taught them speak so Elegant and true,
Their language Carries them the World quite through,
His Charity in that was great, but now
We all receive the benefit from you.
Like Pilgrims, singly he abroad them sent,
But you have brought them into one Convent.
Where cloyster'd by your care they now shall live,
And when y'are dead your memories revive.
Your Brothers, as their Founder and Instructer,
Yours, as their Quæstor and Chief Benefactor.
As pious works do speak their Founders stories,
These sheets are fixt your Monumental Glories.

TO CAPT. WILLIAM BOLD ON HIS Collections. &c.

Full of faint hopes, and fears the World hath been,
That these sweet measures, were no sooner seen
In publick sheets, which so long lost have lain
In private hands disperst, and void of name,
Like Embrions which are stifl'd e're their birth
Are only pitty'd and return'd to Earth,
Of fostring neither capable or worth.
And these loose Papers a like fortune had,
If by your Care and Industry not made
A Ripe and full grown birth; which sure must be
Of e'ry spritely wit the Nursery,
The Bosom friend, and welcome pocket Guest,
Of all Ingenious Company a Feast;
Who is't that would his fancies recreate
With an old Song, by time worne out of date,
Yet 'cause he Loves the Humor, or the Tune,
Would not be laught at by the boys o'th' Town,

Here, he may find a Remedy at hand,
And please himself, when few can understand
How neately he doth put the change upon
Old Chevy-Chase, or new, Nay prithee John.
Being thus provided of quaint Phrase in Ryme,
Youth may improve their knowledg, mirth & time
If riper years will have a Round or Catch,
Here's that which will their frolick humor match,
If frail conceit lye couch'd in any place,
Here's language gives it modesty and grace.
How basely then, had these rich lines been left
An Embrio, of form and life bereft.
Had you not found a means to bring to light,
What had been swallow'd in e'rlasting night.
For, Harry, careless of what he had done,
At's Friends request, to's Friend he left alone
And thought it was his Friends, and not his own.
Never reserving Copy well Corrected,
But some few scatter'd notions quite neglected,
VVithout concern, or thought of such a miss
H'has sent for Copies to that Friend of his,
Distant an hundred miles, so to retrive
Forgotten lines which he did make and give,
So that you surely found them halt and lame,
Some torn in wretched Rags and tatters came,
Some wanting Digits, some had lost a Foot,
But by your care and skill, you holp'd them to't;

And we ackowledg your Labours have been great,
Of such lame limbs to make a Corps compleat,
And now, devoting these your studies thus,
In raising these, you raise both him and us.

SONGS AND POEMS.

SONG I.

I

Good your Worship, cast your Eye
Upon a Souldiers misery,
And let not these lean Cheeks (I pray)
Your Bounty from a Souldier fray.
But like a noble Friend,
Some Silver lend,
And Jove shall pay you in the End.
And I will pray to Fate
To make you Fortunate
In Heavenly and in Earthly State.

II

I never was wont to beg (Good Sir)
Which makes me Blush to keep this Stir,
I never went from place to place,
For to make known my woful Case:

Oh I am none of those,
A Roguing goes,
And Maundring shew their Drunken-Blows,
Which they have only got,
By banging of the Pot,
And Quarelling to pay the Shot.

III

But I who Limp thus Wars have seen,
And in brave Battles have I been;
Still where the Cannons Us'd to Roar,
My proper Sphear was Evermore.
Once at a Barricado,
In Bravado
Tossing of the Hand-Granado,
Death was very near,
For it took away mine Ear,
And yet (thank God) Ch'am here, Ch'am here.

IV

I have at least a dozen times
Been blown up by these Roguish mines,
Thrice through the head I have been shot
My Brains have boyl'd up like a Pot,
And being left for Dead
When all were Fled,
They sent me back again to Bed.
Those dangers I have past
From First to Last
Would make your Worship sore agast.

V

At push of Pike I lost this Eye,
At Bergen Seig I broke my Thigh:
At Brussels, (though a very Lad)
I laid about as I were Mad.
Oh little would you Ween
That I have been
Such an old Souldier of the Queen;
But if Sr. Francis Vere
Were living now and here
He'd tell you how I Slash'd them there.

VI

The Zealanders my Fury know,
I oft with them have Chang'd a blow,
From whence we led a Warlike dance
Out of Spain and into France,
Where we have spent a Flood
Of very noble Blood,
And did but very little Good;
And now I am come Home
With Rags about my Bum,
To beg of you for this small Sum.

VII

And now my case you Understand,
Good Sir lend me your helping Hand;
A little thing would pleasure me,
To keep in Ure your Charity,

Oh! 'tis not bread and cheese
Or Barly leese
Or any such like Scraps as these
That I do ask of you,
But Shillings one or two,
Therefore your purse-strings straight undo.

SONG II.

I

Dame Fortune if thou want'st a guide,
I'le tell thee how thou maist divide,
Distribute unto each his due,
Justice is Blind and so are you.

II

To the Usurer this doom impart,
May's Scrivener break, and then his Heart,
His Debtors unto beggary fall,
Or what's as bad turn Courtiers all.

III

Unto Tradesmen that sell too dear,
A long vacation all the Year!
Revenge us thus on their deceits,
And send them Wives, light, as their Weights.

IV

And lest the Players should grow poor,
Send them Aglaura's more and more,
Unto the Puritans more Ears,
Then Ceres in her Garland wears.

V

But Fortune how canst recompence,
The French mens daily insolence?
For them I know no greater pain,
Then to be sent to France again.

VI

To the Physician (if you please)
Send him another new disease,
And give to Scholars (if thou canst do't)
A Benefice without a suit.

VII

To Court Lords great Monopolies,
And to their Wives Communities,
So Fortune shalt thou please them all,
When Lords do rise and Ladies fall.

VIII

Unto the Lawyers (I beseech)
As much for silence as for speech.
To Ladies Ushers strength of Back
And to my self a cup of Sack.

SONG III.

I

Sit thee down by me (mine own) Joy
Thou'lt quite kill me should'st thou prove Coy,
Should'st be Coy, and have none of me,
Where should I have such another Lass as thee.

II

I've been at Wake, and I've been at Fair,
Yet saw not one, with thee to Compare.
Long have I sought, but ne're could I find,
One like to thee, if thou prove kind.

III

Thou shalt have gay things to make the fine,
Thou shalt have all things if thou'lt be mine;
Thy head with the choicest Flowers shall be crown'd,
And thy pink-petty-coat shall be Laced round.

IV

We'l go early to the brook side,
To catch Fishes as they do glide;
And ev'ry Fish thy Captive shall be,
Thou catching them as thou hast caught me.

V

When the scrip's full then what shall we do?
But gang to the little house on the hill brow.
There will we sit and eat up our Fish,
But sure 'tis thy self must make the best dish.

VI

Come let me kiss thy cherry lips, and trace
All o're the wonders of thy sweet face;
Thy breasts, that so white, and roundly do rise,
Thy ruddy-Cheeks, and thy black Eyes.

VII

I'le ly by thee, all the cold night,
Thou shalt have all things for thy delight.
Thou shalt have any thing, thou shalt have me,
Sure I have some thing, that will please thee.

SONG IV.

I

My dearest Mistress, hath an heart,
Kind, as those soft looks she gave me;
When with her resistless arts,
And her Eyes she did inslave me.

But her Constancy's so weak,
She's so wild and apt to wander,
That my Jealous heart will break,
If that we live one Day asunder.

II

Melting Joys about her move,
Killing Charms, and wounding blisses,
She can arm herself with love,
And her lips can Charm with kisses,
Angels listen when she speaks,
She's my delight and mankinds wonder,
Yet my Jealous heart she breaks,
If that we lye one night asunder.

SONG V.

I

Diana , Penelope, Lucrece,
Were sullen, and Idle Queans,
There is ne're a Countess or Dutchess,
Like one that will use the means:
They give their minds unto't,
And ply you, Tooth and Nail,
And when you set in't they'l do't
As Devil were in their Tail.

II

They look for no tedious-Woing,
or whispering this and that,
without any further-a-Doing,
They know what you would be at.
To Dead-Lifts they'l not fail,
And handle your matter so,
But wy-he. They'l wag the tail,
And buckle unto your bow.

III

Then Pox o'that pittiful Sinner,
That whines at a Ladyes dore,
Hee'l find less of pleasantness in her,
Then in a Whetston-Whore:
There you must cring, and crouch,
To purchas a kiss o'th Hand,
When here, you may take a touch,
She's ever at your Command.

SONG. VI.

I

By the Charms of his Phillis, lead with vigorous power,
The Shepheard arriv'd, and rush'd in at the dore.

All his hopes, and his fears, were Confirm'd by this Chance,
For he found her at work with herself in a Trance.

II

On her back she was laid, with her legs spread a sunder,
Nor had she omitted the Pillow laid under:
With only her hand, and her fancy opprest,
She panted and heav'd, you may guess at the rest.

III

Before he cou'ld come to succor her Flame,
The Nymph was so quick, she had plaid out her Game:
With that she lookt up, and saw him in the place,
Oh wretched! she cry'd, how comes this to pass?

IV

'Tis the fate of our Sex to lye under this Curse,
If we lye not with yours, we do what is Worse,
We languish in Love, look Pale, and Wan,
Whilst this is the Vertue, resists thee oh Man.

V

With that the bold Shepherd began to draw near,
And the Nymph started back, with her usual fear.

He closely persu'd, oh! gently she Cry'd,
Oh! Fool that I was, that so long I Deny'd.

VI

She gave him her hand which she sealed with a Kiss,
And swore 'till that minute she never knew bliss
She smil'd, then Laugh'd out, and about him still hung,
And cry'd (my dear Damon) I hope you han't done.

VII

The Shepherd then rallying to charge her again,
With a courage as feirce as at first he began,
By ill fate awaked, and then found it was all
But a Dream, though he look'd upon it as a call.

VIII

To the Nimph he ador'd, away straight he Ran,
And before an hower past, what he Fancy'd got done,
From that time he swore, he'd believe Revelation
Since to him it had prov'd the best Baud in the Nation.

SONG. VII.

I

Why dost thou say I am forsworne,
'Cause thine I vow'd to be?
Thou se'st it is already morn,
And 'twas last night I promis'd thee,
That fond Impossibility.

II

And I have lov'd thee much and long,
A tedious twelve houres space,
I should do other Beauties wrong,
And rob thee of a fresh imbrace,
Should I still dote upon thy Face.

III

Not but all Joyes in thy brown hair,
By others may be found:
But I must have the black and Faire,
So for treasures some do sound,
In altogether unknown Ground.

IV

But if, when I have rang'd my Round,
Thou prov'st the pleasant'st she,
With spoyles of other beauties Crown'd,
I laden will return to thee,
Even sated with variety.

SONG. VIII.

I

Wert thou far fairer than thou art,
Which lies not in the power of art;
Or had'st thou in thine Eyes more darts,
Than ever Cupid shot at Hearts,
Yet if they were not throw'n at me,
I would not cast one thought on thee.

II

I'de rather marry a disease,
Than court a thing cannot please,
She that will cherish my Desires,
Must feed my Flames with equal Fires!
What sweetness is there in a kiss,
To him that doubts the Heart's not his?

III

I love thee not 'cause thou art Fair,
Softer than Down, sweeter than Air,
Nor for these Cupids that do Lye,
In every Corner of thine Eye.
But would'st thou know what it may be,
'Tis I love you, 'cause you love me.

SONG. IX.

I

Sweet! let me now this evening dye!
Oh smile not to prevent it,
But use this oppertunity,
Lest that we both repent it;
Frown quickly then, and break my Heart,
That so my way of Dying
May, (though my life be ful of smart,)
Be worth the World's Envying.

II

Some striving knowledg to refine,
Consume themselves with thinking
Others who freindship seal in Wine,
Are kindly kill'd by Drinking,
And some are Wreck'd on the Indian Coast,
Thither by gain invited,
Others in smoke of Battel lost,
Whom Drums not Lutes Delighted.

III

Alas! how poorly these Depart!
Their Graves still unattended,
Who Dye not with a broken Heart,
Are not in love Commended.

His memory is ever sweet,
All praise and pitty moveing,
Who bravely at his mistress Feet,
Can Dye with over Loving.

IV

And now thou frown'st and now I Dye,
My Corps by lovers Follow'd,
Which straight shall by Dead lovers Lye,
For that ground's only Hallow'd.
If Priests take't ill I have a Grave,
My Death not well approving,
The Poets mine Estate shall have,
To teach the art of Loving.

V

Then every where they'le ring the Bells,
For thy poor youth Departed,
Who every other else Excells
That is not broken Hearted:
Virgins on me their Flowers shall strew,
But if thy teares Fall near them,
They'le so excell in scent, and shew,
Thy self will shortly wear them.

VI

Such Flowers how much will Flora Prise,
Which near a Lover growing,
Will watered be by Mistres Eyes,
With Pitty overflowing?

A Grave thus deckt will (though thou art,
Yet fearful to come nigh me,)
Invite thee straight to break thine Heart,
And ly down boldly by me.

VII

Then every where the Bells shall Ring,
Whilst all to black is Turning,
And every where all Quires shall Sing,
As natures self were Mourning.
Yet we hereafter shall be Found,
By Destinyes night Placeing,
Making (like Flowers) love under Ground,
Whose Roots are still Embracing.

SONG X.

I

Prethee be blith! sit not so Sadly,
Troth! this dull-humour makes thee look Badly,
Lov'st thou thy Friend, take this Canary,
Sweet Dispositions seldom should Vary,
Poor Soul! alas!
He wants his Glass;
Here is it
That Sharpes the wit,
And makes us Cheary.

II

One ounce of Myrth's worth ten of moaning,
There's little joy or pleasure in groaning,
Hast thou spent all the Cash in thy Pocket?
Or hast a Member not well in Socket?
Thoughts of this kind
Put out of mind!
Dost not ken,
Gentlemen
Must Bouze and Smoak it?

III

'Tis to the King! take off the Bowl-full,
And be thou rather Drunken than Dolefull.
From a good Health let's never be shrinking,
We do not purpose pay it with thinking.
Pox on this Vein!
Let's quaff amain!
Let not Wine
Fall and pine
For want of Drinking.

IV

If Melancholly make aparition,
Oh! let the Vintner be thy Physician.
If thou perceive a troublesome motion,
Take off thy Sack, for that's the best Potion.

And when th'art in,
Ne're fear thy skin!
Rather than
Want a dram,
Gives an whole Ocean.

SONG XI.

I

Fortune is blind
And Beauty unkind,
The Devil take them both!
One is a Witch,
And t'other's a Bitch,
In neither's Faith or Troth:
There's hazard in hap,
Deceit in a Lap,
But no fraud in a Brimmer;
If truth in the bottom Lye,
Thence to redeem her,
We'll drain a whole Ocean dry.

II

Honour's a Toy,
For Fools a Decoy,
Beset with care and fear;
And that (I wuss)
Kills many a Puss
Before her clymacht year:

But Freedom and Mirth,
Create a new Birth,
While Sack's the Aqua Vitæ
That Vigour and Spirit gives
Liquor Almighty!
Whereby the poor Mortal lives.

III

Let us be blyth
In spight of Death's Sythe!
And with an Heart and half
Drink to our Friends,
And think of no ends,
But keep us sound and safe;
While Healths do go round
No Malady's found,
The Maw sick in the Morning,
For want of it's wonted strain,
Is as a warning,
To double it over again.

IV

Let us maintain
Our Traffique with Spain
And both the Indies slight;
Give us their Wines,
Let them keep their Mines,
We'l pardon Eighty Eight;

There's more certain Wealth
Secur'd from stealth
In one Pipe of Canary,
Than in an unfortunate Isle:
Let us be wary,
We do not our selves beguile.

SONG XII.

I

Love is a Bauble;
No man is able
To say, it is This, or 'tis That:
An idle Passion,
Of such a fashion,
'Tis like I cannot tell what.

II

Fair in the Cradle,
Foul in the Saddle,
Always too cold, or too hot;
An errant Lyar,
Fed by desire;
It is, and yet it is not.

III

Love is a Fellow
Clad all in yellow,
The Canker-worm of the mind;
A privy mischief,
And such a sly Thief,
No man knows where him to find.

IV

Love is a Wonder;
'Tis here, and 'tis yonder,
'Tis common to all men, we know;
A very Cheater,
Ev'ry ones better;
Then hang him, and let him go.

SONG XIII.

I

I love my Love, she not me,
Because I am so poor:
But, poor or rich, she hath my heart,
And shall have evermore.

II

I went unto my true Loves Gate,
And knocked at the Ring;
So ready was my own, her self,
To rise, and let me in.

III

I looked in my true Loves face,
Me thought she seem'd but wan;
I took her in mine arms so wide,
And carry'd her to bed agen.

IV

Where all the fore-part of the night
Together close we lay,
And all the latter-part of the night
She slept in mine arms till day.

V

But cursed be that little Tirry-Cock
That crow'd in the morning so soon;
I thought it had been the dawning of the day,
When 'twas but the light of the Moon.

VI

Then up I rose, and donn'd my Cloaths,
And walk'd it over the Plain;
Wishing my self on my true Loves Bed,
And her in mine arms again.

SONG XIV.

I

I am a cunning Constable,
And a bag of Warrants I have here,
To press sufficient Men, and able,
At Horn-Castle to appear;
But now-a-days they're grown so cunning,
That hearing of this Martial strife,
They all away from hence are running;
Where I miss the Man, I'll press the Wife.

II

Ho! who's at home? Lo! here am I!
Good morrow, Neighbour. Welcom, Sir.
Where is your Husband? Why truly
He's gone abroad, a Journey far.
Do you not know when he comes back?
See how these Cowards fly for life!

The King for Souldiers must not lack;
If I miss the Man, I'll take the Wife.

III

Shew me by what Authority
You do it? Pray, Sir, let me know.
It is sufficient for to see,
The Warrant hangs in bag below.
Then pull it out, if it be strong,
With you I will not stand at strife.
My Warrant is as broad as long;
If I miss the Man, I'll press the Wife.

IV

Now you have prest me, and are gone,
Please you, but let me know your name,
That when my Husband he comes home,
I may declare to him the same.
My name is Captain Ward, I say,
I ne'r fear'd man in all my life:
The King for Souldiers must not stay;
Missing the Man, I'll press the Wife.

SONG XV.

I

Come, dear heart, and let us dally
Underneath the shady Tree:
Why should'st thou stand shall I? shall I?
When there's no man here to see?

II

He was full of amorous sporting,
Being in a lusty Vein:
She took it for his way of Courting,
And gave him kiss for kiss again.

III

Ah! ah! ah! thou wilt undo me,
Oh! so vile and rude you are:
Yet I cannot choose but love thee,
'Cause thou cam'st to me so far.

IV

Love to me was but a stranger,
Fearing lest I might be slain:
But now, I see there is no danger,
Come and kiss me once again.

V

Her Shoes were of the Spanish fashion,
Her Stockins of that Countrey Silk,
The like there were not in the Nation;
Her Smock was whiter than the Milk.

SONG XVI.

I

There was a London Gentlewoman
That lov'd a Countrey man, a;
And she did desire his company
A little now and than, a. Fa, la, &c.

II

This man he was a Hemp-dresser,
And dressing was his Trade, a;
And he doth kiss the Mistress, Sir,
And now and then the Maid, a. Fa, la, &c.

III

He took up her Petty-coat,
And would take up her Smock, a;
And went unto the Parlor-door,
That he her Hemp might knock, a. Fa, la, &c.

IV

He held up his Boitle then,
And she set down the Block, a;
And there he fell to work indeed,
With knick a knack, knick a knack, knock, a. Fa, la, &c.

SONG XVII.

I

Sitting beyond a River-side,
Parthenia thus to Cloe cry'd,
While from the fair Nymphs eyes apace
Another stream o'r-clouds her beauteous Face,
Happy Nymph is she that can
So little trust to faithless man.

II

Oft the perfideous things would cry,
They love, they bleed, they burn, they die:
But if they're absent half a day,
Nay, if they stay but one poor hour away,
No more they die, no more complain,
But, like unconstant Wretches, live again.

SONG XVIII.

I

Would God it were Holy-day,
Hey derry down, down derry;
That with my Love I might go play,
With oh! my heart is merry:
My whole delight
Is in her sight:

Would God I had her Company, her Company,
Hey down down, derry derry down.

II

My Love is fine, my Love is fair,
Hey derry down, &c.
No Maid may well with her compare
In Kent or Canterbury;
From her my Love
Shall ne'r remove:

Would God I had, &c.

III

To see her laugh, to see her smile,
Hey derry down, &c.
Doth all my sorrows quite beguile,
And makes my heart full merry;

No grief doth grow
Where she doth go:

Would God I had, &c.

IV

When I do meet her on the Green,
Aey derry down, &c.
Methinks she looks like Beauties Queen,
Which makes my heart full merry;
Then I her greet
With kisses sweet:

Would God I had, &c.

V

My Love comes not of churlish kind,
Hey derry down, &c.
But bears a loving courteous mind,
Which makes my heart full merry;
She is not coy,
She is my Joy:

Would God I had, &c.

VI

Till Sunday comes, farewell, my Dear,
Hey derry down, &c.
When we do meet, we'll make good Cheer,
And then we will be merry.

If thou love me,
I will love Thee,

And still delight thy Company, thy Company,
Hey down down, derry derry down.

SONG XIX.

I

A pretty Jest I will you tell,
O'th' guelding of the Devil of Hell.
There was a Baker of Mansfield Town,
To Nottingham Market he was bound;
And riding under a Willow there,
The Baker sung with a lusty cheer.

II

The Baker's Horse was plump and sound,
And worth, in judgment, full five pound;
His skin was smooth, his flesh was fat,
His Master was well pleas'd thereat,
And therefore sings so merrily,
As he was riding on the way.

III

But as he rode over the Hill,
There meeting with the Devil of Hell
Oh Baker, Baker! then cry'd he,
How came thy Horse so fat to be?
These be the words the Baker did say
Because his Stones are cut away.

IV

Then, quoth the Devil, if it be so,
Thou shalt gueld me before thou go:
First, tie thy Horse to yonder Tree,
And be thou ready to gueld me.
The Baker had a knife for th' nones,
Wherewith to cut out th'Devils stones.

V

The Baker, as it came to pass,
In hast alighted from his Horse;
And as the Devil on's back did lay,
The Baker cut his Stones away;
Which put the Devil to great pain,
And made him to cry out amain.

VI

Oh! quoth the Devil, beshrew thy heart!
Thou dost not feel how I do smart;
And for the Deed that thou hast done,
I will revenged be agen;
And underneath this Green-wood-Tree
Next Market-day I will gueld thee.

VII

The Baker then but little said,
But at his heart was sore afraid,
And longer there he would not stay,
But he rode home another way;
And coming to his Wife, did tell
How he had guelt the Devil of Hell.

VIII

Moreover, to his Wife he told
A thing which made her heart full cold:
A grievous word as he did say,
That he'd gueld me next Market-day:
To whom quoth Goodwife, without doubt,
I'd rather both your eyes were out.

IX

For then all people far and near
That knows thee will both mock and jeer,
And good Wives they will sooff and brawl,
And stoneless Guelding will thee call:
Then hold content, and be thou wise,
And I'll some pretty trick devise.

X

I'll make the Devil change his Note,
Do thou but lend to me thy Coat,
Thy Hose and Doublet eke also,
And I like to thy self will go,
And warrant thee next Market-day
To fright the Devil quite away.

XI

The Bakers Wife thus being drest,
With Market-bread upon her Beast,
She goes to Nottingham brave Town,
To sell her Bread, both white and brown;
And as she rode over the Hill,
She met there with two Devils of Hell.

XII

A little Devil and another,
As they played both together:
Oh! quoth one of them, right fain,
Here comes the Baker on amain;
And be thou well, or be thou wo,
I will gueld thee before thou go.

XIII

The Bakers Wife to th' Devil did say,
Sir, I was guelded yesterday.
Oh! quoth the Devil, I mean to see,
Pulling her Coats up to the knee:
So looking upward from the ground,
Oh! there he spy'd a terrible wound.

XIV

Ah! quoth the Devil, now I see
He was not cunning guelded thee;
For when he had cut out thy Stones,
He should have closed up the wounds:
But if thou'lt stay a little space,
I'll fetch some Salve to cure the place.

XV

He had gone but a little way,
When up her Belly creept a Flea:
The little Devil seeing that,
He with his paw did giv't a pat:
Which made the Goodwife for to start,
And out she let a rowzing Fart.

XVI

O! quoth the Devil, thy life's not long,
Thy breath it smells so wondrous strong;
Then go thy way, and make thy will,
This wound is past all humane skill:
Be gone, be gone, make no delay,
For here no longer shalt thou stay.

XVII

The Goodwife at this News was glad,
And left the Devil almost mad;
And when she to her Husband came,
She gladly told to him the same,
How she had couzen'd the Devil of Hell,
So for to make a Jest full well.

SONG XX.

I

You Rural Goddesses,
That Woods and Fields possess,
Assist me with your skill,
That may direct my Quill
More jocundly to express
The mirth and delight,
Both morning and night,
On Mountain, or in Dale,
Of them who choose
This Trade to use,

And through cold Dews
Do never refuse
To carry the Milking Pail.

II

The bravest Lasses gay,
Live not so merry as they;
In honest civil sort
They make each other sport,
As they trudge on the way:
Come fair or foul weather,
They're fearful of neither,
Their Courages never quail:
In wet and dry,
Though winds be high,
And dark the Sky,
They ne'r deny
To carry the Milking Pail.

III

Their hearts are free from care;
They never do despair,
Whatever do befal,
They bravely bear out all,
And Fortunes frowns out-dare.
They pleasantly sing
To welcom the Spring,
'Gainst Heav'n they never rail.
If Grass will grow,
Their thanks they shew,
And Frost or Snow,
They merrily go
Along with the Milking Pail.

IV

Base idleness they do scorn,
They rise very early i'th' morn,
And walk into the Fields,
Where pretty Birds do yield
Brave Musick on ev'ry Thorn:
The Linnet and Thrush
Do sing on each Bush,
And the dulcid Nightingale
Her Note doth strain,
In a jocund vain
To entertain
That worthy Train
Which carry the Milking Pail.

V

Their labour doth health preserve,
No Doctors rules they observe,
While others too nice
In taking their advice,
Look always as if they would starve:
Their meat is digested,
They ne'r are molested,
No sickness doth them assail;
Their time is spent
In merriment,
While Limbs are lent
They are content,
To carry the Milking Pail.

VI

Those Lasses nice and strange,
That keep shops in the Change,
Sit pricking of Clouts,
And giving of flouts,
They seldom abroad do range:
Then comes the Green-sickness,
And changeth their likeness,
All this is for want of good sale;
But 'tis not so,
As proof doth show,
By them that go
In Frost and Snow
To carry the Milking Pail.

VII

If they any Sweethearts have
That do their affections crave,
Their priviledge is this,
Which many others miss,
They can give them welcom brave:
With them they walk,
And pleasantly talk,
With a Bottle of Wine or Ale;
The gentle Cow
Doth them allow,
As they know how,
God speed the Plough,
And bless the Milking Pail.

VIII

Upon the first of May,
With Garland fresh and gay,
With Mirth and Musick sweet,
For such a season meet,
They pass their time away:
They dance away sorrow,
And all the day thorow
Their legs do never fail;
Yet they nimbly
Their feet do ply,
And bravely try
The Victory,
In honour o'th' Milking Pail.

IX

If any think that I
Do practice Flattery,
In seeking thus to raise
The merry Milk-maids praise,
I'll to them thus reply,
It is their Desert
Inviteth my Art
To study this pleasant Tale,
In their defence,
Whose Innocence
And Providence
Gets honest Pence
Out of the Milking Pail.

SONG XXI.

CHEVY-CHASE. By Order of the Bishop of London.

[God prosper long our Noble King]

I

God prosper long our Noble King,
our lives and safeties all,
A woful hunting once there did
in Chevy-Chase befal.

II

To drive the Deer with Hound & Horn
Earl Piercy took his way;
The child may rue that is unborn
the hunting of that day.

III

The stout Earl of Northumberland
a vow to God did make,
His pleasure in the Scottish Woods
three Summers days to take.

IV

The chiefest Harts in Chevy-Case
to kill and bear away;
These tidings to Earl Douglas came,
in Scotland, where he lay.

V

Who sent Earl Piercy present word,
he would prevent his Sport:
The English Earl, not fearing this,
did to the Woods resort.

VI

With fifteen hundred Bowe-men bold,
all chosen men of might,
Who knew full well in time of need
to aim their Shafts aright.

VII

The gallant Grey-hounds swiftly ran,
to chase the fallow Deer;
On Monday they began to hunt,
when day-light did appear.

VIII

And long before high-noon they had
an hundred fat Bucks slain:
Then having din'd, the Drovers went
to rouze them up again.

IX

The Bowe-men mustred on the Hills,
well able to endure;
Their back-sides all with special care
that day were guarded sure.

X

The Hounds ran swiftly through the Woods,
the nimble Deer to take;
And with their cries the hills and dales
an Eccho shrill did make.

XI

Lord Piercy to the Quarry went,
to view the tender Deer:
Quoth he, Earl Douglas promised
this day to meet me here.

XII

But if I thought he would not come,
no longer would I stay.
With that a brave young Gentleman
thus to the Earl did say.

XIII

Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come,
his men in Armour bright,
Full twenty hundred Scotish Spears,
all marching in our sight.

XIV

All men of pleasant Tividale,
fast by the River Tweed.
Then cease your sport, E. Piercy said,
and take your Bowes with speed.

XV

And now with me, my Countrey-men,
your courage forth advance;
For never was there Champion yet
in Scotland or in France,

XVI

That ever did on Horse-back come,
but if my hap it were,
I durst encounter man for man,
with him to break a Spear.

XVII

Earl Douglas on a milk-white Steed,
most like a Baron bold,
Rode foremost of the Company,
whose Armour shone like Gold.

XVIII

Shew me, he said, whose men you be
that hunt so boldly here,
That without my consent do chase
and kill my fallow Deer.

XIX

The man that first did answer make
was Noble Piercy, he,
Who said, We list not to declare,
Nor shew whose men we be.

XX

Yet we will spend our dearest blood,
the chiefest Harts to slay.
Then Douglas swore a solemn Oath,
and thus in rage did say;

XXI

E'r thus I will out-braved be,
one of us two shall die:
I know thee well, an Earl thou art,
Lord Piercy, so am I.

XXII

But, trust me Piercy, pity it were,
and great offence, to kill
Any of these our harmless men,
for they have done no ill.

XXIII

Let thou and I the Battle try,
and set our men aside:
Accurst be he, Lord Piercy said,
by whom it is deny'd.

XXIV

Then stept a gallant 'Squire forth,
Witherington was his name,
Who said, he would not have it told
to Henry our King, for shame,

XXV

That e'r my Captain fought on foot,
and I stood looking on:
You be two Earls, said Witherington,
and I a'Squire alone.

XXVI

I'll do the best that do I may,
while I have power to stand;
While I have pow'r to weild my Sword
I'll fight with heart and hand.

XXVII

Our English Archers bent their Bowes,
their hearts were good and true;
At the first flight of Arrows sent,
full threescore Scots they slew.

XXVIII

To drive the Deer with hound & horn
Earl Douglas bad the bent;
A Captain mov'd with mickle pride,
the Spears to shivers sent.

XXIX

They clos'd full fast on ev'ry side,
no slackness there was found,
And many a gallant Gentleman
lay gasping on the ground.

XXX

O Christ! it was great grief to see,
and likewise for to hear,
The cries of men lying in their gore,
and scattered here and there.

XXXI

At last these two stout Earls did meet,
like Captains of great might;
Like Lions mov'd they laid on load,
and made a cruel fight.

XXXII

They fought until they both did sweat
with Swords of tempered steel,
Until the blood, like drops of Rain,
they trickling down did feel.

XXXIII

Yield thee, Lord Piercy, Douglas said,
in faith I will thee bring
Where thou shalt high advanced be
by James our Scotish King.

XXXIV

Thy Ransom I will freely give,
and thus report of thee,
Thou art the most couragious Knight
that ever I did see.

XXXV

No, Douglas, quoth Earl Piercy then,
thy proffer I do scorn;
I will not yield to any Scot
that ever yet was born.

XXXVI

With that there came an Arrow keen
out of an English Bowe,
Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart,
a deep and deadly blow.

XXXVII

Who never spoke more words than these
fight on my merry men all;
For why my life is at an end,
Lord Piercy sees my fall.

XXXVIII

Then leaving life, Earl Piercy took
the dead man by the hand,
And said, Earl Douglas, for thy life
would I had lost my land.

XXXIX

O Christ! my very heart doth bleed
with sorrow for thy sake;
For sure a more renowned Knight
Such mischance did ever take.

XL

A Knight amongst the Scots there was,
which saw Earl Douglas die,
And in his wrath did vow revenge
upon the Earl Piercy.

XLI

Sir Hugh Montgomery was he call'd,
who with a Spear most bright,
Well mounted on a gallant Steed,
ran fiercely through the fight:

XLII

And past the English Archers all,
without all dread or fear,
And through Earl Piercy's body then
he thrust his hateful Spear,

XLIII

With such a vehement force & might
he did his body gore,
The Spear went through the other side
a large Cloth-yard and more.

XLIV

So thus did both these Nobles die,
whose courage none could stain.
An English Archer then perceiv'd
the Noble Earl was slain:

XLV

He had a Bowe bent in his hand,
made of a trusty Tree;
An Arrow of a Cloth-yard long
up to the head drew he:

XLVI

Against Sir Hugh Montgomery
so right his shaft he set,
The grey-goose-wing that was thereon
in his heart blood was wet.

XLVII

This sight did last from break of day,
till setting of the Sun;
For when they rung the evening Bell,
the battle scarce was done.

XLVIII

With the Earl Piercy there was slain
Sir John of Ogerton,
Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,
Sir James that bold Baron.

XLIX

And with Sir George and good Sir James
both Knights of good account,
Good Sir Ralph Rabby there was slain,
whose prowess did surmount.

L

For Witherington needs must I wail,
as one in doleful dumps;
For when his legs were smitten off,
he fought upon his stumps.

LI

And with Earl Douglas there was slain
Sir Hugh Montgomery,
Sir Charles Currel, that from the field
one foot would never flie.

LII

Sir Charles Murrel of Ratcliff too,
his Sisters Son was he;
Sir David Lamb so well esteem'd,
Yet saved could not be.

LIII

And the Lord Markwel in likewise
did with Earl Douglas die:
Of twenty hundred Scotish Spears,
scarce fifty five did fly.

LIV

Of fifteen hundred English men,
went home but fifty three,
The rest were slain in Chevy-Chase
under the Green-Wood tree.

LV

Next day did many widdows come,
their Husbands to bewail,
They washt their wounds in brinish tears,
but all would not prevail.

LVI

Their bodies bath'd in purple blood,
they bore with them away,
They kist them dead a thousand times,
when they were clad in clay.

LVII

This news was brought to Edenburg,
Where Scotlands King did reign,
That brave Earl Dowglas suddenly,
was with an Arrow slain,

LVIII

O heavy news King James did say,
Scotland can witness be,
I have not any Captain more,
of such account as he.

LIX

Like tidings to King Henry came,
within as short a space,
That Peircy of Northumberland,
was slain in Chevy-Chase.

100

LX

Now God be with him said our King,
sith't will no better be,
I trust I have within my Realm,
five hundred as good as he.

LXI

Yet shall not Scot nor Scotland say,
but I will vengeance take,
And be revenged on them all,
for brave Earl Pircies sake.

LXII

This vow full well the K. perform'd,
after an Humble Down,
In one day fifty Knights were slain
with Lords of great renown.

LXIII

And of the rest of small account
did many hundreds dye,
Thus ended the hunting of Chevy-Chase
made by the Earl Piercy.

LXIV

God save the King and bless the Land
in plenty, joy, and Peace,
And grant henceforth that foul debate,
'twixt Noble men may cease.

102

SONG XXII.

I

Sir Francis, Sir Francis his own Son,
Sir William, Sir Thomas, and all did run,
Then came my Lord of Southhampton,
And shew'd himself a gallant Man.

II

Then came the Chamberlain with his Staff,
And all the People 'gan to Laugh,
At length the Queen began to speak,
You'r welcome home Sir Francis Drake.

III

Ye Nobles all of Brittish Blood,
Why Sayle ye not o're the Ocean Flood?
In truth you are not worth Filberd,
Compared to Sir Humphry Gilberd.

IV

For he went out on a Rainy day,
To New-found-land he took his way,
Most Rare and Comely to be seen,
But never came back, (God save the Queen.

104

SONG XXIII.

I

I'le tell you all, both great and small,
I tell you all truly,
That we have cause, and very great cause,
For to Lament and Cry,
Fy, Oh! fy, oh! fy, oh! fy!
Fy on thee Cruel Death!
For thou hast ta'ne away from us!
Our Queen Elizabeth.

II

Thou mayst have taken other folks,
That better might be mist,
And have let our Queen alone,
Who lov'd no Popish Priest,
In Peace she rul'd all this Land,
Beholding unto no Man,
And did the Pope of Rome withstand,
And yet was but a Woman.

III

A Woman said I? nay that is more,
Then any one can tell,
So fair she was, so chast she was,
That no one knew it well,
With that, from France came Monsier o're,
A purpose for to woe her,
Yet still she liv'd, and Dy'd a Maid,
Do what they could unto her.

106

IV

She never acted any ill thing,
That made her Conscience prick her,
Nor never would submit to him,
That called is Christs Vicar,
But rather chose couragiously,
To Fight under Christs Banner
'Gainst Pope and Turk and King of Spain,
And all that durst withstand her.

V

But if that I had Argus Eyes,
They were to few to weep,
For our Queen Elizabeth,
That now is fal'n a sleep,
A sleep indeed where she shall rest,
Until the day of Doom,
And then shall rise unto the shame
Of the great Pope of Rome.

SONG XXIV.

An Ode.

I

Under 500 Kings three Kingdoms groan,
Go Finch dissolve them Charles is in the Throne,
And by th' Grace of God will Reign alone.

108

II

What will the Commons have? The Royal line,
Heaven doth dispose of. 'Tis not theirs or mine,
But his by whom Kings Rule, and are Divine.

III

I represent the King of Kings who gave
The Crown, the Sword, the Scepter that I have,
I am Gods Servant, not the Peoples slave.

IV

Their Frantick Votes, and mad Resolves I hate,
I know a better way to heal the State,
Then to Sin rashly and Repent too late.

SONG XXV.

I.

Great Alexanders Horse, Bucephalus by name,
Brave Writers have inrol'd, within the books of fame,
But Poor Will Pickerings Mare,
So far she did excel,
She never run the Race,
But she bore away the Bell.
But for Tyhe, whyhee, hrk, prp, for Caper and Career,
All Holland could not shew
You such another Mare.

110

II

But now the News is come,
His bonny Mare is Dead,
Whereat he stampts and swears,
He had rather ha' lost his head,
But for Tyhee, &c.

III.

Her foremost shoos she gave,
Unto some Popish Fool,
To carry him to Rome,
For a Pardon for his Soul
But for Tyhee, &c.

IV.

Her hinder shoos that had
Plaid many a Jadish trick
She gave unto curst Wives,
Their Husbands us'd to kick.
But for Tyhee, &c,

SONG XXVI.

I.

From the faire Lavinian shoar,
I your Market come to store
Muse not that so far off I dwell,
And come here my ware to sell,
Such is the sacred hunger of Gold!
Then come to my Pack
While I cry
What do ye lack,
Or what d'ye buy!
For here it is to be sold.

112

II.

Though thy Father thee before,
Neither armes, or Scutcheon bore,
Or thy Gentry been as young,
As the Rose that's newly blown;
Canst thou find in thine heart to part with thy Gold!
Then come to me (Lad)
Thou shalt have,
What thy Dad
Yet never gave,
For Heraldry's to be sold.

III.

Madam for your wrinckled face,
Heres Complexion it to grace.
Which if your earnest be but small
It takes away the vertues all.
But if your Palmes are anoynted with Gold
Then you shall seem
Like a Queen of fiftteen,
Though you are threescore years old.

114

SONG XXVII.

I

Thou art not fair for all thy red and white,
Nor all those Rosy Ornaments in thee,
Thou art not sweet, nor made for mere delight,
Nor sweet nor fair unless thou pity me,
I will not, I will not sooth thy fancies, thou shalt prove
So ill a Creature, no Man thee shall love.

II

Neither Love thou me, nor think thou to allure,
My thoughts with beauty were it more divine,
Thy smiles, and kisses I cannot indure,
I'le not be wrapt up in those Eyes of thine,
Now shew, now shew it, if thou art a Woman right,
Embrace and Kiss, and love me in despight.

SONG. XXVIII.

I

Why so pale and wand fond Lover?
Prethee why so pale?
If looking well thou canst not move her,
Will looking ill prevail?
Prethee why so pale?

116

II

Why so dull and mute, young Sinner?
Prethee why so mute?
If speaking well thou canst not win her,
Can saying nothing doe't,
Prethee why so mute?

III

Quit, quit, for shame? this will not move her
This cannot take her,
If of her self she will not Love,
Nothing can make her,
The Devil take her.

SONG XXIX.

If any so wise is,
That sack he despises.
Let him drink his small bere & be sober
While we drink Sack and sing,
As if it were spring,
He shall droop like the trees in October.
Be sure over night,
If this dog do you bite,
You take it henceforth for a warning.
soon as out of bed,
To settle your head,
Take an hair of his tail in the morning.

118

Then be not so silly,
To follow old Lilly,
For ther's nothing but sack that can tune us.
Let his ne assuescas,
Be put in his Cap-Case,
And sing bibito vinum jejunus.

SONG XXX.

I

Come Boyes fill us a Bumper,
Wee'l make the Nation roar,
She's grown sick of a Rumper,
That stick's on the old score,
Pox a Phanaticks wee'l rout 'em,
They do thirst for our blood.
We'le raise our taxes without'em,
And Drink for the Nations good.

II

Charge the Pottles and Gallons,
And bring the Hoggshead in.
We'l begin with a tall one,
And Rummers to our King.
Round a round with a fresh one,
Let no man balke his Wine,
We'l drink to the next in Succession,
And keep in the right line.

120

SONG XXXI.

Dialogue.

Strephon.
Come my Daphne! come away!
We do wast the Christal day:

Daphne.
'Tis Strephon call's, what would my love?

Strephon.
Come follow to the myrtle Grove,
Where Venus shall prepare,
Fresh Chaplets for thine hair.

Daphne.
Were I shut up within a tree,
I'd rend my bark to follow thee.

Strephon.
My Shepardess make hast,
The Minutes slide too fast.
In those Cooler shades will I,
Blind as Cupid kiss thine eye,

122

In thy bosome then I'le stray,
In such warm Snow who will not lose his way.

Chorus.
We'l laugh and leave this world behind,
And God's themselves that see,
Shall Envy thee and me,
But never know such Joyes,
When they Embrace a Deity.

SONG XXXII.

Oh the merry Christ-Church Bells,
One, two, three four, five, six,
They are so woundy great,
So wondrous sweet
And they trowl so merrily, merrily.

Oh the first and second Bell
That every day at four and ten
Cries come come, come come, come to Prayers,
And the Verger troops before the Dean.

124

Tingle, Tingle, Ting, goes the small bell at nine
To call the Beerers home,
But there's never a man
Will leave his can,
Till he hears the mighty Tom.

SONG XXXIII.

Cast away care and merrily sing,
There is a time for every thing,
He that playes at his work,
And works at his play,
Neither keepes working nor holyday;
Set business aside and let us be merry,
And drown these sad thoughts in Canary and Sherry

SONG XXXIV.

Fye nay prethee John
Do not quarel Man,
Let's be Merry and drink about
You'r a Rogue! you cheated me,
I'le prov't before this Company,
I care not a farthing Sr. for all you are so stout:
Sr. you lye I scorn the word,
From any man that wears a sword,
For all you huff I care not a turd,
Or who cares for you?

126

SONG XXXV.

The name of Lord
Shall be abhord,
For every mans a brother,
No reason that
In Church or State,
One man should rule another.
When we have thrown,
The Bishops down,
And leveld each degree.
The Sisters soon
Shall be our own,
And Hey then up go we.

128

SONG. XXXVI.

I

Since all the Features of Love that adorn thee
And thy Curious face must fail,
And those that were thine admirers shall scorn thee,
Beauty less pleasant is the frail;
Thy blooming sweets will soon decay,
And ne're reflourish to a second May:
The lease thou hadst of Grace and Hue,
Nature will never, never more renew.

II

Now that thy Beautyes, are ripen'd to Harvest,
And all the Fruits of love in their prime,
And midst of plentiful Dainties thou starvest,
And do'st refuse the presents of time;
In one free Kiss, thy self resign,
And I will render my Soul up to thine:
Thus (Fairest) shall we two make one,
Contracted by a Mistique Union.

117

SONG XXXVII.

Dear Friend.

I

The King and the Prelates,
Will Cudgel the Zealots,
With Crosier, and Scepter,
Good Master Præceptor.
And send them to whence came their Bible,
Those wights in the Gate-House
(As Berkenhead Ga't us)
Who thought to besquiter ye
With the old Presbytery,
Will hang ere't be long, 'tis possible.

II

They'l serve to help Squire
Dun, out of the mire.
VVho be'gan as a Friend
To bring to an end,
Both Covenant and Covenanters,
He has but two wayes
(As his VVorship now says)
For those that come after
To Hang, or cross Water,
To Plant or Transplant, our Supplanters.

130

III

I hop'd from your letter,
To have had a better
Account of the man,
That again and again,
Does hit us in the teeth from the Pulpit,
Since Pelf from the Bore
Can make me no more
A man of the Law
Then was Jack Straw,
Qui legem ac Jura revulsit.
A recruit must quicken the dull wit.

SONG XXXVIII.

I

My Dearest sweet ly down by me,
With thine Enamell'd ckeek to mine,
While I my Soul breath into thee,
And every kiss returns me thine.

II

Our Bodies we'l in Pleasures lull,
And active Dalliances prove;
For why? th' face is not more full,
Of Beauty than I am of Love.

III

My willing Armes and Thighs shall clip,
And Ivy-like thy limbs entwine,

131

When from thy Balsom-mouth I'le sip
A sure restoring Medicine.

IV

And in the Respites of our sport,
Thou shalt be-pearl thy Diamond Eye
Cause Nature made her sweet so short,
And shame me to a fresh supply.

V

My busy hand and lips shall rove,
O're all the sweets thy beauties wear
And in thine Hony-suckle-grove,
I'le distill what I gather'd there,

VI

Thy bold, and thy provoking touch,
Shall Loves Alimbeck so apply,
And shew thy Chymick skill is such,
That I must melt in Love and Dy.

VII

And being thus bereft of breath,
Lovers shall at my Tomb appear,
Wishing themselves no worse a Death,
Nor better life, then I had here.

VIII

Ladies shall sighing drop a Tear,
As with pure Love and Pity mov'd,
That such a constant Servant (here,)
Should dy because he over Lov'd.

120

POEM XXXIX.

On the Market in St. Pauls Church-Yard, set up by Tichborn, and Removed by Sir Rich. Browne Kt. and B. Lord Mayor of London.

Sacer hic locus est, procul hinc procul ite prophani.

The House of Prayer was made a Den of Thieves,
Heavens forgive us! lets amend our Lives!
A Scourge befal that Mony-changing Crew,
Where neither God, nor Cæsar has his due!
Defiling sacred ground with Market stuff,
As if the Streets had not been broad enough,
To make a Burial-Place, a place of Trade,
It is a kind of Living by the Dead,
Me thinks the grave should open, & the sprights,
Of such as sin'd by measure & by Weights,
Should fright these Sons of Traffick from their bound
Who with unhallow'd feet profan'd their ground,
Tis well their Spirits are laid: Tichburn's a Guest,
Like an ill Conscience, ner'e would let them rest,
What could we hope for, when we could not have,
Quiet, within a solitary grave?

121

But oh! how just is Heaven! his doom is red,
No place among the Living, or the Dead;
Perch with thy Brethren in Iniquity!
A just Reward for all thy Simony!
Whilst Pious Browne deserves our thanks at least,
That when we are dead, our bones shall be at Rest.

SONG XL.

I

Let's wet the whistle of the Muse,
That sings the praise of every Juice,
This House affords for Mortals use,
Which no Body can Deny.

II

Heres Ale of Hull which 'tis well known
Kept King and Keyser out of Town,
Now in, will never hurt the Crown,
Which no body, &c.

III

Here's Lambeth Ale to cool the Maw,
And Beer as Spruce as e're you saw,
But Mum as good as Man can draw,
Which no, &c.

134

IV

If Reins be loose as some mens Lives,
Whereat the Purling Female grieves,
Here's stitch-back that will please your Wives,
Which, &c.

V

Here's Cyder too, you little wot,
How oft 'twill make you go to pot,
Tis Red-streak all or it is not,
Which, &c.

VI

Here's Scholar that has doft his Gown,
And donn'd his Cloak & came to Town,
Till all's up drink his Colledg down,
Which, &c.

VII

Here's North-down, which in many a Case,
Pulls all the Bloud into the face,
Which blushing is a sign of Grace,
Which, &c.

VIII

If belly full of Ale doth grow,
And Women runs in head, you know,
Old Pharoh will not let you go,
Which, &c.

IX

Here's that by some bold Brandy hight,
Which Dutch men use in Case of fright,
Will make a Coward for to fight,
Which, &c.

135

X

Here's China Ale surpasseth far,
What munden vents at Temple Bar,
Tis good for Lords and Ladies ware,
Which, &c.

XI

Here's of Epsam will not fox
You, more then whats drawn out of Cocks
Of Middleton, yet cures th'Pox,
Which, &c.

XII

For ease of heart here's that will do't,
A Liquor you may have to boot,
Invites you or the Devil to't,
Which, &c.

XIII

For Bottle Ale though it be windy,
Whereof I cannot choose but mind yee,
I would not have it left behind yee,
Which, &c.

XIV

Take Scurvy Grass or Raddish Ale,
Twill make you like an Horse to stale,
And cures whatsoever you Ail,
Which, &c.

XV

For County Ales as that of Chess,
Or of Darby you'l confess,
The more you drink, you'l need the less,
Which, &c.

124

XVI

But one thing must be thought upon,
For mornings draught when all is done
A Pot of Purle for Harrison,
Which no body can deny.

SONG XLI.

I

Lets sing as one may say the Fate
Of those that meddle with this and that,
And more then comes to their shares do prate,
Which no body can deny.

II

Such who their Wine and Coffee Sip,
And let fall words 'twixt Cup and Lip,
To scandal of good fellowship,
Which no body, &c.

III

Those Clubbers who when met & sate,
Where every Seat is Chair of State,
As if they only knew whats what.
VVhich, &c.

125

IV

Dam me says one, were I so and so,
Or as the King I know what I know,
The Devil too wood with the French should go,
Which, &c.

V

Would the King Comission grant
To me, were Lewis John of Gant,
I'de beat him or know why I shant,
Which no, &c,

VI

I'de undertake bring scores to ten
Of mine at hours-warning-men,
To make France tremble once again
Which, &c.

VII

The Claret takes, yet e're he drinks,
Cries Pox o'th' French-man, but me thinks
It must go round to my brothe-
Which, &c.

VIII

He's the only Citizen of Sence,
And Liberty is his pretence,
And has enough of Conscience,
Which, &c.

IX

The Bully that next to him sate,
With a green Livery in his Hat,
Cry'd what a plague would the French be at,
Which, &c.

138

X

Zounds had the King without Offence,
Been Rul'd by me, you'd seen long since,
Chastisement for their Insolence,
Which, &c.

XI

They take our Ships, do what they please,
VVere ever play'd such Pranks as these,
As if we were not Lord o'th' Seas,
Which, &c.

XII

I told the King on't th'ther day.
And how th' Intreagues o'th' matter lay,
But Princes will have their one way,
Which, &c.

XIII

The next Man that did widen throat
Was wight in half pil'd Velvet Coat,
But he and that not worth a Groat,
Which, &c.

XIV

VVho being planted next the Dore,
(Pox on him for a Son of Whore)
Inveighs against the Embassador,

XV

Had the King (quoth he) put me upon't,
You should have found how I had don't,
But now you see what is come on't,
Which, &c.

139

XVI

Quoth he if such an Act had stood,
That was design'd for publick good,
'Thad pass'd more then is understood,
Which, &c.

XVII

But now forsooth our strictest Laws,
Are 'gainst the Friends o'th' good old Cause,
And if one hangs the other draws,
Which, &c.

XVIII

But had I but so worthy been,
To sit in place that some are in,
I better had advis'd therein,
Which, &c.

XIX

I am one that firm doth stand
For Manefactures of the Land,
Then Cyder takes in, out of hand,
Which, &c.

XX

This English Wine (quoth he) & Ale,
Our Fathers drank before the Sale
Of Sack on Pothecaries Stall,
Which, &c.

XXI

These Outlandish drinks quoth he,
The French, and Spanish Foppery,
They tast too much of Popery,
Which, &c.

128

XXII

And having thus their Verdicts spent,
Concerning King and Parliament,
They Scandalize a Government,
Which, &c.

XXIII

An Hierarchy by such a Prince,
As may be said without offence,
None e're could boast more Excellence,
Which, &c.

XXIV

God bless the King, the Queen & Peers,
Our Parliament and Overseres,
And rid us of such Mutineers,
Which no body can deny.

SONNET XLII.

I

Reproach me not heretofore,
I only freedome did adore,
And bragg'd that none tho kind and fair,
My loss of heart could er'e repair
Since I most willingly do yield
To Cloris beauty all the feild

129

II

With greater joy I now resign,
My freedome then thou yet keep'st thine.
And am resolv'd constant to prove
Though thy neglect transcend my love.
Strange charmes they are that make me burn,
VVithout the hope of a return.

III

Thine eyes the greatest heart out braves,
And at once pleases and enslaves,
Thou wouldst not sure else see in them,
An Act which now thou dost Condemn.
Who then shall that assault abide,
When fate doth strike on either side.

IV

Thy Charming voice is much more free,
Then after it thy hearers be.
Nay thy voice is so firm and Clear
That it inspires love through the Ear.
VVho then can hope for a defence,
Since thou hast chrams for every sence.

V

I must confess a while I strove
With reasons to resist my love.
As Saints sometimes 'gainst death do pray,
Though't be to heaven the only way.
'Tis Cloris only hath the skill,
To make me blest against my will.

142

VI

Nor will I so much as indure,
To think inconstancy a Cure.
For were I to that sin but bent,
Here would it prove my punishment.
Where to adore I must Confess,
Is better then elswhere success.

VII

To see thee and not be in love
A wonder like thy self would prove.
Thy charmes by vertue and by Art,
Do each of them deserve an Heart,
So that my sorrow is not small,
I have but one to pay them all.

POEM XLIII.

The new Year.

To the ever Honored Mrs. M. H.

Madam

When I perceive the lease bound tenants prove,
Their vn-mal'd Foules, fit Emblems of their love.
(Which they Coop up, like the Tyth-Pig I mean,
Not to approve in fat, but keep them lean.)

143

I fear, when I with Annual Tribute come
(A single offering, not an Hecatombe.)
And starvling verses on your Alter lay,
In lieu of what the Indyes cannot pay;
That in a just dislike, as of that Crew,
You will conclude that I'me ill guisted too.
But I assume the Complement they make.,
—Madam, I wish 'twere better for your sake
But as it is—

Live long and Happy! that your Age may be,
As a Continual lasting Jubilee!
And be it made the business of your life,
To prove the Joyes of a Beloved Wife.
Yet never know the same! and may all those,
Sorrows Contriv'd for you, befall your Foes!
And let your Marriage Computation run,
With even Feet, for every year a Son,
And what we do in other Children call,
A Dutious-Love, in them be Naturall!
Last having left a fair posterity,
To stock the Earth, ascend unto the Skye!
Where you shall reap the Joyes of Heavens store,
When years shall cease, and time shall be no more.

132

SONG XLIV:

Mock.

I.

Full twenty times over and twenty to that,
I musing have wondred what tis you'd be at,
You pine and look pale like the liquors that's flat.
For he's a cold Drinker,
That now will turn skinker.
Since thus runs the play,
Since thus runs the play,
If you sit up all night you are ready next day,
Since thus runs the play,
If you sit up all night you are ready next day.

II.

There's a Pipe ready Broach'd that would not be shut,
With Legions of bottles prepar'd for the gut,
If you give but your mind to't you'l swallow a But.
Then stand not so dully
But laver the Gully,
VVith beer-bowl in fist,
VVith beer-bowl in fist,
If you charge him but well you may hit whom you ist.
VVith beer-bowl in fist,

133

III.

Some idle Companions when with them you sit,
Will talk and fly high as if they had all the wit
But alas it appears there the Devil a bit.
Their Bisket Iests after
They've steept in their laughter,
VVith their pipes being broke,
VVith their pipes being broke.
And their Tobacco once out, they will vanish in smoak
VVith their pipes &c.

IV.

Some stately proud high Boys will rant it & call
As if they would tipple the devil and all,
But stand to them stiffly they will easily fall.
Then to it nere fear them
Set foot and come near them
By drinking about,
By drinking about.
Be their heads ne're so empty they can ne'rehold it out,
By drinking about,
Be there heads ne're so empty they can nere hold it out.

V.

Some Punyes whose Cheekes are with blushes o're laid
To fuddle a gallon will not be afraid,
Put them to't and but tell them they drink like a maid
Then cry but have at it,
Lads will you be at it.
If e're they refuse,
If e're they refuse,
To water as thou dost or I let them chuse,
If e're they refuse
To water as thou dost or I let them chuse.

134

SONG XLV.

Mock

I.

Good Gaffer stand a loofe
With your tinder-box hoof,
That strikes fire at each stroak
VVith a fume that choake
One sooner then the vapour of match.
Your stamps and your shrugs,
Your claps and your hugs,
Your salute with a stroak,
That would fell down an Oak,
VVith Zounds Rogue how dost,
And such clouted accost.
You may keep for the Clods and the Thatch,
You'r a Creature below us to bondage accurst,
When the beasts vnto Adam were subjected first.

II.

Titles are but a sign,
To that which is within
To let you Clounes know,
What duty you owe,
To their vertue and birth that do bear them,
Else would you gape wider
On the Horse then the Rider,

135

With admiration adore
Dick the Constable more.
VVhen with state he doth sit,
VVith Rug gown and no wit.
Then Robes or the nobles that wear them,
Atough back's the best Herauld you peasants can have,
And the heigth of your title a lusty stout Knave.
No clothes can controule,
A Gentlemans Soul
But still hee'l appear,
All glorious and Clear.
Through the Clouds of blew breeches and patching.
VVhile you though daub'd o're,
VVith that you adore,
Gold lace cannot hide
Or change your inside,
But that we may know
Though glittering go,
You've a Soule that is scarce worth the thatching.
A lord though in rags still looks like the Law,
VVrit in worme eaten bookes that strikes terrour and Awe.

IV.

VVe all are but dust
Yet differ we must.
For if you can say
Bacon broth and sowr whey

136

With which the Veins of you Bores swolne be,
Is the same or as good
As that generous Bloud,
Which flows from the Springs
Of Princes and Kings,
The way to be forgot,
Were to be Valiant and stout,
Since our deeds Live no longer then we,
Our Children the Gout and our Acres inherit,
And why not what's our own too, our Titles and Merit.

V.

Then in your thatch sit
And drink Ale as 'tis fit,
And if you aspire,
Be it but to drink higher,
Call for sack and let State things alone,
Or if you do look
Into a News Book,
Be it but to advise
How your Rents may arise,
And new Cesses and Rates,
To Genteelize your Estates,
And inable you by being undone,
So may you gain Honour while your no Cares afford
You leasure to tipple, and be as drunk's a Lord.

137

SONG XLV.

I

Prethee Friend leave of thy thinking,
Cast thy Cares of Love away;
Sorrows still are drown'd in Drinking,
Do not longer then delay;
Bacchus Sweares it is his will,
That we should be drinking still.

II

Do but View this Glass of Clarret,
How invitingly it looks,
Drink it quickly, or you'l marr it,
Pox of Fighting, and of Books,
Fill us then good store of VVine,
And hang him up that doth repine.

III

Call the drawer bid him fill it
Full, as ever it can hold,
Oh take heed you do not spill it,
'Tis more precious far then Gold,
Take it off, and then you'l prove,
That Drinkings better sport then Love.

138

SONG XLVI.

Mock.

I

Prethee Friend leave of thy Drinking,
Cast thy Cups of Wine away,
Do not Muse, but let's be thinking
To get Whores, without delay.
Venus Swears it is her Will,
That, we should be wenching still.

II

Do but view these pretty Lasses,
How invitingly they sit,
Tempting us to mind their Faces,
And to please their Appetit,
Then in kind Embraces prove,
Women only worth your Love.

III

Call the Baw'd, and bid her fetch us,
Fresh young Wenches in a main;
Whilst betwixt each bout, we stretch us
Kiss, and then go to't again,
So when Natures sport is spent,
Drinking then may yield content.

139

SONG XLVII.

I

Fire Fire,
Loe! Here I burn in Such desire,
That all the Tears that I can strain
Out of my Empty Love sick brain,
Cannot asswage my scorching pain,
Come Humber, Trent, and silver Thames,
Dread Ocean hast with your Streams,
And if you cannot quench my Fire,
Drown both me and my desire.

II

Fire Fire,
There is no help for my desire,
See how the Rivers backward fly,
The Ocean doth its Tides deny,
For fear my heart should drink them dry.
Come Heavenly showers, come powring down,
Come, you that once the World did drown,
And if you cannot quench my Fire,
O drown both me, and my desire.

140

SONG XLVIII.

Mock.

I

Fire Fire,
Is there no help for thy desire?
Are Tears all spent? is Humber low?
Doth Trènt, stand still? doth Thames not flow?
And does the Ocean backward go?
Though all these can't thy Feaver Cure,
Yet Tyburn is a Cooler lure,
And since thou can'st not quench thy Fire,
Go hang thy self, and thy desire.

II

Fire Fire,
Here's one left for thy desire,
Since that the Rainbow in the Skye,
Is bent a deluge to deny,
As loth for thee a God should Lye.
Let gentle Rope come dangling down,
One born to hang shall never drown,
And since thou can'st not quench the Fire,
Go hang thy self, and thy desire.

141

SONG XLIX.

I

Love! let me have my Mistress such
(If I must need have one,
Whose mettal will indure the touch,
Whose touch will try the stone!
Let her have sence I ask no more
A Womans reason I abhor!

II

Her noon like Eyes should shine as clear;
And be so fixt on mine,
The Salamander babe there,
Should kindle and entwine,
Then look me dead, that men may swear
There is no Basilisk but her.

III

If th' upper manna-lips distill,
The sweets of every food,
To sauce the Appetite (not fill)
The Lover Limbeck's good:
To relish which, let Love invent,
Away to crane his Instrument.

IV

The shrillows of the Siren noise,
Should charm an Adders Ear;
And where she Eccho'd all to voice,
I'de be in Love with her

142

To be Clamæleon'd who would Care,
So he might Juncat on such Air.

V

I'de have her panther in her breath;
And Phœnix in her breast,
The vallies that are underneath,
The Spicery of the East.
I'de have her without much ado,
But lo! I'de have her naked too:
In spight of Fate, thus would I lye
Mandrake to all Eternity.

SONG XLIX.

I

Cloris forbear a while,
do not o'rejoy me,
Urge not another smile
Lest it destroy me
That beauty pleases most,
And is best taking,
Which soon is won, soon lost
Kind, yet forsaking:
I Love a coming Lady faith! I do!
But now and then, I'de have her scornful too.

143

II

O're cloud those Eyes of thine,
Bo-peepe thy Features,
Warm with an April shine,
Scortch not thy Creatures,
Still to display thy ware,
Still to be fooling,
Argues how rude you are,
In Cupids Schooling,
Disdains begets a suit, scorn draws us nigh,
'Tis 'Cause I would, and cannot, make me try.

III

Fairst, I'de have thee Wise,
When Gallants view thee,
And Court, do thou dispise;
Fast moves an Appetite;
Fly, they'l persue thee;
Fast moves an Appetite,
Makes hunger greater,
Who's stinted of Delights,
Falls to't the better,
Be kind and Coy by turns, be smooth & rough!
And buckle now and then, and that's enough.

144

SONG L.

I

Come, come, away!
No delay,
To our wished delight!
Sweet quickly hast, unto the greedy Lover!
Throw, throw aside
What may hide,
The inquisitive sight!
I'le be the only veil that shall the Cover,
And we,
Will both agree,
And then shall see
How we the time abuse,
To trifle it away, with Empty wishes;
Fond dreames,
Are Childish Themes,
Wherein the Creams
O'th' sport, we always loose,
Ad do neglect the sweeter after Kisses

II

Come do not frown!
Lay thee down!
'Tis a thing must be done,
Take of thy hand-good faith! 'tis wondrous pretty?
Oh! what a quoyle?
And a spoyle!
E're this fort could be won,
Nay, though thou sqeak, or cry I dare not pity.
And now,
I'le shew thee how

145

Thy Dad did do,
And score up wealthy Sums
Of Kisses, on thy lips to highten Pleasures:
Again!
I can't refrain,
I fear no pain,
Oh now it comes, it comes!
'Tis all, thine own, thou shalt have standing Measure.

On a Servant Maid who satisfied her Amours with a Mastiff Dog.

I.

Out! out! you Bitch! what it's the Devil you ail?
How to a four-ledg Creature turn your tayle
Strange Death of Female-mongers sure in town,
When Mauger law Woman to beast lyes down
And takes a nasty Cur those legs between,
Where many a Christian had or ought to have been.
Oh! what an age we live in, when alack,
There's found a gill, that could not find her Jack,
So that Sans fear of God in hugger mugger,
The Femal must seduce the Male to bugger,
Spight of Dame Shipton we have Men enough,
Nor are they all bewitch'd, but Woman proof,

146

The maid o'th holder forth first gave this hint,
Or furor Cunni of the Devil was in't,
Or was't for that two-leg'd-lawful Creature,
I'th' Execution of the deed of Nature,
Made that Sport was so sweet to be so short,
(And little thanks is con'nd dame nature for't,)
That thou playd'st this Dog trick & wouldst be Lym'd
Ev'n for that Cause, thou mightst as well be Brim'd
But lets suppose each wight is not so stayward,
As Wallace was (of Yore) or yet blind Bayard,
Yet one would think, that in this knack of love,
Each Member should be fit as hand and glove.
And that a Porters Pego may be as stiff,
Dispraise to none as Utensill of Mastiff,
Ev'ry Dog has his day, but this I wot,
Before his Brethren's, came in, went to Pot,
Like will to like as in old Writ we find,
And why not Dog as well as Cat to kind.
But what's the issue come on't, but all
Bigenerous and Paternatural?
Of such a kind of Breed as this I guess
Luellins was in his Men miracles,
Where Aries head and face as said Man Daniel,
Was not unlike to that of Dog call'd Spaniel,
But how the Mulier formosa superni,
Shall the desinit, that will concern yee,
Yet for Examples sake Serini's Monster,
Births of this or that nature can't misconter.

147

New-gate's black Dog, or Pistols Island Cur,
Was probably this Sires Progenitor,
But be they this or that or be they neither
Dead and alive it seem'd they hang'd together.

SONG LI.

I

I came, and look'd, and lik'd lov'd,
And Frolick't in her Eye,
While, fair Florilla, approv'd
The harmless Courtesy:
When, though my hopes were drown'd love blaz'd
And set on fire my heart,
While I still gaz'd
On that, which caus'd my smart,
Nor could my Tongue,
Declare the wrong,
Whereby, I sadly know,
No pain above,
The grief, they prove,
Who fall in Love,
And dare not say! they do.

148

II

What priviledg takes the nicer she?
To me the thing's all one,
Whether, of softer wax she be,
Or of the Parian stone:
The sport's the same, then tell me why,
Fancy, should be so rude,
For to deny
What is, perhaps as good,
From her that lends,
And freely spends,
What nature to her sent
As from that dame,
That counts it shame,
To play the Game,
Which lost, she may Repent.

On a Barber who became a great Master of Musick

In former time 't hath been upbrayded thus,
That Barbers Musick was most Barbarous,
For that the Cittern was confin'd unto
The Ladies fall, or John come kiss me now,

149

Green sleeves and Pudding Pyes, the Punks delight,
Winning of Bolloigne, Essex's last good night.
But, since reduc'd to this Conformity,
And Company became Society,
Each Barber writes himself (in strictest Rules)
Master, or Bachelor i'th' Musick Schools,
How they the meer Musitians do out-go,
These one, but they have two strings to their Bow,
Barber-Musitians! who are excellent.
As well at Chest, (as the Case) Instrument,
Henceforth each Steward shall invite his guest
Unto the Barbers and Musitians Feast.
Where sit ye merry, whilst we Joy to see
Art thus embrac'd by Ingenuity.

A Round.

I

Come smooth off your Liquor!
It makes the VVit quicker,
And he, that his water refuses,
VVhilst we laugh and sing,
And quaff healths to the King;
Shall ne're have a Bout with the Muses.

II

The next to the Queen,
Hold it up let's be seen;

150

For we came to laugh and be merry,
Call the Drawer with VVine,
And cry this is mine,
Be it Claret, Canary or Sherry.

III

To the Duke swallow Franker,
Since we have the Spanker,
VVee'le'ry man drink out an od peice,
He that fails of his whole one,
VVere he greater then Solon;
Shall have all the rest in his Codpiece.

On the Act of the Rump against Titles of Honour given by the King.

I

Draw the VVine,
Fill the Bowl,
Ne're repine
Or Condole
At the usage the States lay upon us!
Though they trample us down,
Under foot, from a Crown,
If we but hold up,
For a Penliful Cup,
VVe'l forgive all the mischief they've done us.
Let our Honours
And our Mannors,

151

Be Confiscate to their Powers,
If we Sack
May not lack,
The whole VVorld shall be ours,
And while their kindness, this fair boon affords,
Tho we cannot spend, we'l be as drunk as Lords.

II

Then about
Give the Glass,
Suck it out!
Let it pass!
And who tipples as long as he's able,
Tho' he's shrunk from Sir John,
To poor Jack all is one,
Let his Lady take snuff,
If he but drink enough,
VVe'l Instal him Knt. of the round table,
Other Titles,
Are but Trifles,
Not deserving our thinking,
Hence we'l make
Lawes, to take
Our degrees, from good drinking.
Honour's a Pageant, we disclaim the thing?
VVho'd be a Knt. where Charles is not a King?

III

Drink away,
Have at all,
VVhile we stay
Let us call,

152

And, as Lilburn would have us, be Freemen,
And who tope out their time,
Till the midnight shall shine,
Their Mistresses, they
Shall be Ladies of the May,
And themselves, of the bottles, the Yeomen?
The Commanders,
That were Ranters,
Shall Comence, now, to be Hectors,
And be still
As Gentile
As the Kingdoms Protectors,
And bear, (dispite of State or Heraulds Rules)
I'th' Pockets, Argent in their Faces Gules.

At General Monk's coming to London.

I

Now Lambert's sunk,
And mighty Monk
Succeeds the Tyrannous Cromwel,
Aud Arthurs Court,
'Cause time is short,
Do rage like Devils from Hell
Let's mark the Fate,
And Course of State,

153

VVho rises, while t'other is sinking,
And believe, when this is past,
'Twill be our turn at last;
By the good Old Cause of Drinking.

II

First Sa' fleum Nol,
He swallow'd all,
His smeller, show'd he lov'd it,
But Dick his Son,
As he were none,
Gave't off, and had reprov'd it,
But that his Foes,
Made bridge of's nose,
And cry'd him down for a Protector,
Proving him, to be a fool,
That would undertake to Rule,
And not fight and drink like Hector.

III

The Græcian lad,
He drank like mad,
Minding no work above it;
And (Sans question)
Kill'd Ephestion,
Cause he'd not approve it,
He got Command
VVhere God had Land,
And like a right maudlin Younker,
VVhen he tippl'd all, and wept,
He lay'd him down and slept,
Having no more VVorlds to Conquer.

154

IV

Rump Parliament,
VVould needs invent
An Oath of Abjuration,
But Obedience,
And Alegiance,
Now are all in Fashion;
Then here's a bowl,
VVith Heart and Soul
To Charles, and say amen to't,
Tho they brought the Father down
From a triple Kingdom Crown,
VVe'l drink the Son up agen to't.

155

New-Years-Day

To my Dear Friend W. M. Esq;:

Though 'mongst the numerous throng I'm hither come,
With one poor Item, 'tis my total sum,
A Poets stock (tho no great matter 'tis,)
Is all that one can wish, and such is this.
Health that's the Joy of Life, and Soul of Mirth,
Bane of Dispair, and Comfort of our birth,
May't with your Years, as clearly last and rise,
As 'twas e're winds had blasted Paradice?
Wealth! the support of Pleasure and the Crown
Of Worldly hope! the Glory and Renown,
Of Fortunes white Boys, the fond beggers grutch,
Envy'd of only those deserve not much,
May this (and each) year, yeild to my Lov'd Moyle,
As a perpetual Triumph and a spoile!
Now, as who not enjoy, or covet more,
Are but their Riches Goalers, and still poor,
May the same equal temper, the same Fire,
(That never Flag too low, nor can mount higher,)

156

Enflame your Breast; whereto be ever sent,
That Which all seek (but find not) true content
May all your Aims atchieve their purpos'd end,
And never find what 'tis to want a Friend.
Unless the Kinder Heavens had me assign'd
As much of Power to serve you, as of mind,
Then need you wish no more, for't should be known,
‘How far I prize your Fortunes 'bove mine own,
Mongst other gifts, I'le give you this gift too,
I ne're found Friend, so much a Friend as you.

New Year

to W. M. Esq;

Now when the honest Tenant gladly brings
His Eunuch't Gift, (to shew that love hath Wings)
Prompted by his Customs, (by nature) so,
My half hatch't Muse becomes penfeather'd too,
For (tho I'm but at will and can't renew,
Yet,) during Life I hold mine all from you,
You (my best Genius) whose Indulgent Care
Confirms me, there's none other Tutelar:
My Glory and my Comfort, All in All,
A narure truly supernatural.
Had Plutarch liv'd, and known you half so well,
Y'had puzled him t'have found your Parallel.

157

May Heaven forestall your asking with such bliss
As neither you, nor I should dare to wish.
Quiet in State and mind oh may you prove
Content in all things, as your Ladies love.
And may your mutual Embraces bind
Not only bodies but each others mind,
Which never any Power may untye,
Untill that either one, or both shall dye.
May both your Sons be like you in th' Extreme,
And then I'le swear none e're shall be like them,
May you still have your Will, and ne're want Powers,
And I ne're be my self but when I'm
Yours.

On one Grace C. an Insatiate Whore.

Go shameful Model of a Cursed Whore!
Damn'd by Creation ever to be poor!
Tho' Cloth'd in Indian Silk, or what may be,
Consumed on thy matchless Venery.
Thou Eldest Daughter to the Prince of Night,
That can'st out-ly thy Father at first Sight.
Out-Scoff an Ishmaelite and attempt more,
Than all our Wicked Age hath done before.

158

Nay where the Devil ends, thou can'st begin,
And teach both him and us, new ways to sin;
Making us to conclude that all bad Crimes
Are but thy peices Coppy'd by the times.
Surely thou wert born a Whore from the Womb
Of some Rank Baud, Unsavory's a Tomb.
That Carted from all Parishes did sell
Forbidden Fruit in the high way to Hell.
If 'twere not Sin to Curse, would they might have
Thee in Esteem, as an insatiate Grave!
And when with old age and diseases crost,
(The patient Grissel of thy Nose being lost)
Let every Hospital grudg and repine,
To give thee one poor plaister for thy Groyne.
And ne're let any Man bemone the Case
That ever knew thee in the State of Grace Cook

159

On the Death of the late Tyrannical Vsurper, Oliver Cromwel.

Gone with a Vengeance! had he twenty lives
He needs must go (they say) the Devil drives.
Nor went he hence away, like Lamb so mild
Or Falstaff-wise, like any Chrisome-Child.
In Arthur's Bosom, he's not hush, yet dy'd
Just as he did, at turning of the Tide;
But with it such wind, the Sails did swell,
Charon ne're made a quicker pass to Hell.
Now, as there must be wonder to pretend
Every notorious Birth, or dismal end,
Just as when Hotspurs Grannams Cat (of Yore)
Did Kitten, or when Pokins lost a Bore,
So when this prodigy of Nature fell,
Her self seem'd half unhing'd, Tempest foretell
Direful Events, Boreas was out of Breath,
Till by his Soul inspir'd at his Death.
Then full of this same blustring Sir, he throws
Down sturdy Oakes and Elms, to kiss his Toes.
Himself was heart of Oak, so now they strive
To simpath with him, dead as when alive.
Trees now, as Men, like Trees reverted stood,
You'd think the Devil had been gon to wood.
All things were Topsy-turvy, thus he fell,
The wrath of Heaven, and the prey of Hell.

FINIS.