University of Virginia Library

My Noble Friends, at you I aim,
And of my self I do complain,
To all bad vices I've been bent,
And yet there's small amendement;
The Devil, the Flesh, the World doth me oppose,
And are my mighty and my mortal foes,
The Devil and Flesh do draw me still,
The World on wheels run after with good will,
For that which I the World may justly call,
I mean the lower Glob Terrestrial,
Is as the Devil, and an VVhore doth please,
Drawn here and there, and every where with ease;
These that there lives to vertue here do frame:
Are in the World, but yet not of the same;
Some such there are, who neither Flesh nor Devil,
Can willfully draw on to any evil,
But for the World, as it's the World you see,
It runs on wheels, and they the Palfrey be,
Which Emblem to the Reader doth display,
The Devil, the Flesh do run both swift away,
The shrewd insnared World do follow fast,
Till all into Perditions Pit be cast:
Let no man be offended, or think I do him wrong,
In comparing of the Gentry unto a Shepherd Swain,
Many Ages past a Shepherd was of such dignity,
That Gentry he surpast and best Nobility;
Cain and Abel brethren were in the first Age of Man,
The elder was a Husbander, the younger a Shepherd Swain,
The younger offer'd Sacrifice to please the High Majesty,
The elder was a Murderer, given to all Villany,
Some Shepherds past were Kings at last,
So were never Husbandmen;
Generals, Conquerors and Emperors,
They have been Shepherds Swains:
The renown of a Shepherd Swain,
Doth reach unto the Sky,
The Charles-Wain signifies the same
To the Mariners on the Sea;
When you have read and understood my Mind,
I hope your wonted favours I shall find;
In spight of railing baseness whose lewd Tongues
Are Satans Instruments for slandrous Wrongs,
A thousand Rim of Paper it would not contain,
To justifie the worthy Shepherd Swain.
Much hath the Church our Mother propagated,
By venerable Fathers Works translated.
St. Jerom, Gregory, Ambrose, Agustine,
St. Basil, Beries, Cyprian, Constantine,
Eusebius, Epiphanius and Origen,
Ignatius and Lactantius (reverend men)
Good Luther, Calvin, learned Zwinglius,
Melancton, Beza, Orcalampadus;
These and a world more that I can recite;
Their Labours would have slept in endless night,
But that in Paper they preserv'd have been,
And instruct us to shun Death, Hell and Sin.
How should we know the change of Monarchies,
The Assyrian and the Persian Empyres,
Great Alexanders long small lasting glory,
Or Romes high Cesar often changing Story.
How should Chronologies of Kings be known
Of either others Countrys or our own:
Shepherds have been Priests, and Shepherds have been Kings,
And Shepherds have been Emperors, as my Muse sings,
Which makes me to compare
The worthy Name of Scot,
To Shepherds and to Shepherds Swain,
For they Flocks and Lands have got,
I would have none think these I call Shepherd Swain,
Is all the Name of Scot, and that there's none but them,
There's fourty eight that I have set apart,
All Landed Gentlemen that live upon their Rent;
And for the Shepherds Swains, I have dedicate them,
Each one to a Gentleman of that same Name,
All Landed Gentlemen that are Infeft and Siez'd,
In five Month in the year they pay the King his Fee,
All besides Burgers in City and in Town,
That number Heretors of respect and renown:
And for the fourty eight that live upon their Rent,
Unto the Reader I'm minded to relate,
Because I have not nominate them in fore-time,
I here rehearse them in my following Rime.

Sir Francis Scot of Mengertoun he hath a good Estate,
Although he be but young in years, he is Knight-Baronet,
And John Scot of Sinton he is a pretty man,
He outstrips in Wisdom any man I ken,
Headshaw and Burnfoot into the Water of Ale,
They are both Gentlemen, they dwell in Tiviotdale,
Chappel's a Gentleman, Lochthirlston's another,
And Gladswood he's the same old Gallowsheils's Brother,
The Laird of Langshaw him I have no mind to flee,
He is a Gentleman, and is of Kin to me,
The Laird of Lochquharret he lives in good report,
So likewise doth the Laird of good Hundelshope,
The Laird of Langhope is a very young man,
But the Laird of Broad-meadows is both great and strong,
Into Annandale three Lairds of Scots there be,
Heuk, Bagra, and the Laird of Gillisbie,
In Esdail-muir there does two Lairds remain,
The Laird of Johnstoun and Laird of Devingtoun,
I'm now for Tiviotdale, if the fates do please,
And not miss the Laird of the Mirrinies,
And the Laird of Harwood is a pretty man,
As is any in the South of them that I do ken,
The Laird of Glack he may not be omitted,
He sold the Lands of Gaudilands long ere he got it,
The Laird of Alton-crafts I know him well enough,
The last lineal-male-branch that's sprung of Buckcleugh,
The Laird of Whitoch I do him well know,
He is representative of the old Family of Headshaw.
The Laird of Caudhouse he is but a brood,
He is representative to the old House of Howscord,
Three Lairds all Scots I must exprime,
Tandlaw, Gallalaw, and Clarilaw's their name,
The Laird of Bonraw, a very young man,
The representative of the old Family of Sinton,
The Laird of Newton he is a Gentleman of note,
So is the Laird of Alton on Tiviots Burnfoot,
The Laird of Brierie-yard I cannot him refer,
Nor yet the Laird of Winns, nor Laird of Boonchaster,
Scots-Tarbot and Ardross they are Lairds in the North,
But sprung from the loins of Haining in the South;
Bevely and Hallyards I had almost forgot,
They descended from Lawrence Scot Advocat,
The Laird of Carnwathmill he is a Gentleman,
And the representative of the old House of Bonnitoun,
There's another Bonnitoun into West-Lothian,
But I believe he be of Clarkintons kind,
The Laird of Deans-houses he is a Gentleman,
Descended from the House of Gaudilands,
The Laird of Chappel-know I need him not explain,
Through Tiviotdale h'es known a Gentleman,
The Laird of Lies if that ye wou'd him knaw,
He is brother to the Laird of Clarilaw,
The Laird of Clarklands is a Gentleman indeed,
From his youth he has been a Souldier bred,
John Scot a Quarter-master sometime in command,
He married the Heretrix of Clarklands,
Betwixt them two was procreat,
That French Scots Souldier, call'd William Scot:
The Laird of Lethen, and the Laird of Vogrie,
From the South they have their Pedegree.
Here's an hundred and ten Heretors of Credit and Renown,
All Gentlemen, besides Burgesses in Towns,
And for every one of these sivescore,
Of the worthy Name of Scot there's above a hundred more,
Which the number of ten thousand doth exceed,
In the Forrest and Tiviotdale on the South-side of Tweed,
All of one Kindred into that Country-side;
I mean not the spacious Nation long and wide,
But from one Root these worthy Branches sprang
Like Jacobs Seed, when they to Egypt came:
I wish Apollo from great Etlas Mountain
Assist them with his Grace to fulfil their Fountain;
That Vertue, Love and Grace amongst them ever grow,
And that their Fountain still may overflow.
Like Trees in Wood, some great, some small,
So is our Heretors, yet Gentlemen all;
There's many moe that to me is not known,
For never a man to me a single one has shown,
If I should pick from Burgh or stot,
Landed Gentlemen of the Name of Scot,
Although it unto me would be a cumber,
Yet I could have added fourty to the number,
An hundred Heretors of one Name,
The like in Scotland I've not seen.
When Walter Earl of Buckcleugh he did to Holland wain,
There went with him a hundred Gentlemen of that Name,
For besides privat Souldiers these did gang,
But Friends and Relations to attend his own person,
If he had been alive in the bygone troublesome time,
He might have raised a thousand, all of his own Name,
And never a man been threatned by force,
But all Voluntiers for Foot and Horse;
My Verse is honest, true, seemly and mild,
My Muse shall wade through dirt, and not be fil'd;
The Sun on loathsome Dunghill shines as well,
As on fair Flowers that hath a fragrant smell;
The Air, by which we live, doth every where
Breathe still al ke, upon the rich and poor;
The Sea bears many an old despised Ship,
Yet on the Sea the best Ship doth but float:
And Earth allows to call his scatter'd brood,
Food, Cloathes, and Lodging, either good or bad;
Yet Sun, Air, Sea and Earth thinks it disgrace,
For any bounty which they give the base;
Even so my Muse free from all foul Intents,
Doth take example from the Elements;
Yet will I not my Sense nor Meaning mar,
With Terms obscure, nor Phrases fetch'd from far,
Or will I any way equivocat,
With Words sophistical or intricat;
Small Eloquence men must expect from me,
My Schollarship will name things as they be;
I may set out this little Book indeed,
Yet cannot Write, and little thing can Read:
And now I fear I have done wrong,
In calling my Friends Shepherds Swain,
So many sorts of Shepherds constantly do grow,
That where there is no Shepherds, it is hard to know;
Cast but your Eyes upon the Man of Rome,
That stiles himself the Head of Christendom,
Christ's universal Vicar and Vicegerent,
In whom Fools thinks the Truth is inherent,
That he can Souls to Heaven or Hell prefer,
And being full of Errors cannot err,
Although his Witchcraft a thousand have imbrac'd,
Yet he'll be call'd the Lievtenant to Christ,
Who by that false Conventicle of Trent,
Made Laws that neither God, nor good Men meant,
Commanding Worshipping of Stone and Stocks,
Of Reliques, Dead Mens Bones, and sensless Blocks,
From which Adultery, painted Adulation,
Men worse than Stock or Block must seek Salvation.
Great Julius Cesar was so free and common,
And call'd a Husband unto ev'ry Woman;
Proculus Emperor (the Story says)
Deflowr'd an hundred Maids in fifteen days:
If all be true that Poets use to write,
Hercules lay with fifty in one night;
When Heliogabulus Romes Scepter sway'd,
And all the World his lawless Laws obey'd,
He in his Court caused Stews be made,
Whereas (cum privilegio) Whores did Trade,
He invited two and twenty of his Friends,
And kindly to each one a Whore he lends;
To set Whores free that then in bondage lay,
A mighty mass of Money he did pay,
He in one day gave to each Whore in Rome,
A Ducat, a large and ill bestowed Sum;
He made Orations unto Whores, and said,
They were his Souldiers, his Defence and Aid;
And in his Speech he shew'd his Wits acute,
Of sundry forms of Bawdry to dispute,
And after giving unto every Whore,
For listning to his Tale three Ducats more,
With Pardon unto all and Liberty,
That would be whores within his Monarchy,
And yearly Pensions he freely gave,
To keep a Regiment of whores most brave;
And oft he had, when he in progress went,
Of Whores, Bawds, Pandresses, such a Rablement,
Six hundred Wagons, as Histories reports,
Attended only on these brave consorts:
This was a Royal Whore master indeed,
A special benefactor in their need;
But none since Heliogabulus deceast,
I think the World with Whores is so increast,
That if it had an Emperor as mad,
He might have twice so many as he had.
Here I leave Whores and Whore-masters,
Unto the Man of Rome;
And to the worthy Shepherd Swain,
I presently return.

Because I know, and presently maintain,
That he that laboureth to be a worthy Man,
May with a better conscience sleep in Bed,
Then with the Gout and Gravel as I'm speed,
Yet to keep my health from falling to decay,
When I am most tormented, I terrifie,
A thousand times it is more pains than dead,
I'm sure it by antiquity hath stood,
Since the Worlds drowning universal Flood;
Though my Wits be like my Purse, but bare,
With Poets I dare not compare,
Yet to dite Verse, provided that they be,
No better skill'd in Schollar-ship than I,
And then come on as many as you will,
And for a wager, I'le Verse with them still;
My self I liken to an untuned Vial,
For like a Vial I'm in a case,
And whoso of my Fortune makes a tryal,
Shall like to me be strung and tuned base;
And treble troubles he shall never want:
But here's the period of my mischiefs all,
Though Base and Treble Fortune did me grant,
And Means, but yet alas it is too scant;
Yet to make up the Musick, I'le venture a fall,
To the Tenor in the Carset Town-hall:
A Poet rightly may be termed fit,
An Abstract, or Epitome of Wit,
Or like a Lute, that other pleasures breed,
Are sweet and Strong their curious eyes to feed,
That scornfully distaste it, yet it's known,
It makes the hearers sport, but it self none:
A Poet's like a Taper burnt by night,
That wastes it self in giving others light,
A Poet's the most fool beneath the skyes,
He spends his wit in making others wise,
Who, when they should their thankfulness return,
They pay him with disdain, contempt and scorn,
An Independant is like a Poet's Purse;
For both do hate the cross, what cross is worse?
His holy Hymns, and Psalms for consolation,
For reprehension, and for contemplation;
And finally to show us our salvation,
The Prophet Amos unto whom the Lord,
Reveal'd the sacred secrets of his Word,
God rais'd him from the Sheepfolds to fortel;
What plagues shall fall in sinful Israel;
True Patience Patern Prince of his afflictions
Most mighty tamer of his imperfections,
Whose guard was God, whose guid's the Holy Ghost,
Blest in his VVealth, of whom Sheep was the most;
Just Job's last riches doubled was again,
Who liv'd belov'd of God, admir'd of men:
The first of happy tydings on the Earth,
Of our all only blessed Saviour's birth;
The glorious Angels to the Shepherds told,
As Luke the Evangelist doth unfold,
And should my Verse a little but decline,
To humane Stories, and leave Divine;
There are some mighty Princes I can name,
VVhose breeding at the first from Shepherds came;
Romes founder Romulus was bred and fed
'Mongst Shepherds, where his youthful dayes he led;
The Persian Monarch Cyrus he did pass,
His youth with Shepherds, and a Shepherd was,
The terror of the World, that famous man,
Who conquer'd Kings, and over Kingdoms ran;
His stile was, as some Histories do repeat,
The Schythian Shepherd, Tammerlane the Great,
Tis is such a title of preheminence,
Of Reverence, and such high Magnificence;
That David who so well his words did frame,
Did call our Great Creator by that Name;
Our blest Redeemer, God's Eternal Son,
VVhose only Merits our Salvation won,
He did the harmless Name of Shepherd take.
Apollo Father of the Sisters nyne,
I crave thee, and inspire this Muse of mine,
Thou that thy golden Glory didst lay by,
As Ovid doth relate most wittily,
And in a Shepherds shape didst design to keep,
Thy loves beloved Adamus Sheep,
And rural Pan thy help I do intreat,
That to the life thy praise I may repeat;
Of the contented life, and mighty Stocks,
Are happy Shepherds, and their harmless Flocks;
But better thoughts my errours do controul,
For an offence most negligent and foul,
In this involving like an heathen man;
Help helpless from Apollo, or from Pan;
When as the subject which I have in hand,
Is almost infinit, as stars, or sand,
Grac'd with antiquity upon record,
In the eternal never failing Word;
There 'tis ingraven, true and manifest,
That Sheep and Shepherds were both best and blest,
I therefore invocat his gracious aid,
Of him whose mighty hand hath all things made;
I Israels great Shepherd humbly crave,
That his assur'd assistance I may have;
That my unlearn'd Muse no Verse compile,
Which may be impious, prophane or vile,
And though through ignorance or negligence,
My poor intention fall into offence,
I do implore that boundless grace of his,
Not strictly to regard what is amiss;
But unto me belongeth all the blame,
And all the glory be unto His Name;
Yet as my Book is Verse, so men may know,
I might some Fictions and Allusions show:
Some shreds or remnants, reliques, or some scrapes,
The Muses may inspire me with perhaps,
Which taken literally, as't lyes may seem,
And so mis-understanding may misdeem.
Of Sheep therefore before to work I fall,
To show the Shepherds first original;
These that the best records will read and mark,
Shall find just Abel was a Patriarch,
Our Father Adams second Son a Prince;
As great as any man begotten since,
And in his function he a Shepherd was,
And so his mortal pilgrimage did pass;
And in the Sacred Text it is compil'd,
That he that's Father of the Faithful stil'd,
Did as a Shepherd live upon th'increase
Of Sheep, untill his dayes on earth did cease;
And in these times it was apparent then,
Abram and Abel both were Noble-men;
The one obtain'd the title righteously,
For his unfeigned serving the most High,
He first did offer Sheep, which on record,
Was Sacrifice accepted of the Lord;
He was before the Infant World was rype,
The Churches Figure, and our Saviour's Type;
A murdered Martyr, who, for serving God,
Did first of all feel Persecutions Rod,
And Abram was in account so great,
Abimelech his friendship did intreat,
Faiths Patern, and obedience Sample he,
Like Stars, or Sand, was in prosperity,
In him the Nations of the Earth were blest,
And now his Bosom figures heavenly rest;
His Sheep almost past numbring multiplied,
And when as he thought Isaac should have died,
Then by the Almightie's Mercies, Love and Grace,
A sheep from out the Bush supplied the place;
Lot was a Shepherd, Abrams Brother Son,
And such great favour from his God he won;
That Sodom could not be consum'd with fire;
Till he and his did out of it retire;
They felt no vengeance for their soul offence,
Till righteous Lot was quite departed hence;
And Jacob, as the Holy Ghost doth tell,
Who afterward was called Israel,
Who wrestled with his God, and to his Fame
Obtain'd a Name, and Blessing for the same;
He under Laban was a Shepherd long,
And suffer'd from him much ingrateful wrong;
For Rachel and Leah he did bear,
The yoke of servitude full twenty year:
He was a Patriarch, a Prince of might,
Whose wealth in Sheep was almost infinite;
His twice six Sons, as holy Writ describes,
Who were the famous Fathers of twelve Tribes,
Were for the most part Shepherds, and such men,
Whose like the VVorld shall ne're contain again:
Young Joseph 'mongst the rest especially,
A constant mirror of true chastity,
Who was in his afflictions of behaviour,
A mortal Type of his immortal Saviour,
And truth his Mother Rachel doth express,
To be her Father Labans Shepherdess.
Meek Moses whom the Lord of Hosts did call,
To lead his People out of Ægypts thrall,
Whose power was so much as none before,
Or since his time hath any mans been more,
Within the Sacred Text it plainly appears,
That he was Jethroes Shepherd twenty years.
Heroick David, Jesses youngest Son,
Whose Acts immortal memory hath won,
Whose valiant vigour did in pieces tear
A furious Lyon, and a ravenous Bear,
Who arm'd with faith, and fortitude alone,
Slew great Goliath with a slinging stone;
Whose Victories the People sang most plain,
Saul hath a thousand, he ten thousand slain,
He from the Sheep-fold came to be a King,
Whose Fame for ever through the VVorld shall ring,
He was another Type of that most High,
That was, and is, and evermore shall be,
For our protection and his mercies sake.
Those that will read the sacred Text, and look
With diligence throughout that heavenly Book,
Shall find the Ministers have Epithets,
And named Angels, Stewards, VVatch-men, Lights,
All Builders, Husband-men, and Stars that shine,
Inflamed with the Light that is Divine,
And with these Names within that Book compil'd,
They with the stile of Shepherds are instil'd;
Thus God the Seer and Son the Scriptures call,
Both Shepherds Mystical and Literal;
And by similitudes comparing, do
All Kings and Church-men bear that title too.
Wise and unscruteable, Omniscient,
Eternal, Gracious and Omnipotent,
In love, in justice, mercy, and in might,
In honour, power, and glory Infinite,
In works, in words, in every attribute;
Almighty, All commanding, Absolute,
For whoso notes the Letters of the Name,
Jehovah shall perceive within the same,
The vowels of all tongues included be,
So hath no name, that e're was named but He.
And I have heard some Scholars make relation,
That H, is but a breathing aspiration,
A Letter that may be left out and spared,
Whereby is clearly to our sight declared,
That great Jehovah may be written true,
With only vowels, a, e, i, o, u.
And that there is no word but this,
That hath them alone, but only this,
So that the Heaven, with all the mighty host,
Of Creatures there, Earth, Sea, or any Coast,
Or Climat, any Fish, or Fowl, or Beast,
Or any of his VVorks, the most and least,
Or thoughts, or words, or writing with the pen,
Or deeds that are accomplished by men;
But have some of these Letters in them all,
And God alone hath all in general:
By which we see according to his will,
He is in all things, and does all things fill;
And all things said or done he hath ordain'd,
Some part of his great Name's therein contain'd,
All future, present, and all past things, seing,
In Him we live, and move, and have our being;
Almighty, All, and all in every where,
Eternal, in whom change cannot appear;
Immortal, who made all things mortal else,
Omnipotent, whose Power all power excels,
United three in one, and one in three,
Jehovah, unto whom all glory be.

Besides the learned Poets of all times,
Have chanted out their Praises in pleasant Rhimes,
The harmless lives of rural Shepherd Swains,
And beauteous Shepherdesses on the Plains,
In Odes, in Roundelays, and Madrigals,
In Sonnets, and in well penn'd Post'rals,
They have recorded most delightfully,
Their Loves, their Fortunes and Felicity,
And sure if in this low terrestrial round,
Plain honest Happiness is to be found,
It with the Shepherds is remaining still,
Because they have least power to do ill;
And whilst they on their Feeding flocks attend,
They have the least occasions to offend,
Ambition, Pomp, and Hell-begotten Pride,
And damned Adulation they deride,
The complemental-flatt'ry, of Kings Courts,
Is never intermix'd amids their sports,
They seldom envy at each others state,
Their love and fear is Gods, the Devil's their hate;
In weighty Business they not mar, or make,
And cursed Bribes they neither give nor take,
They are not guilty, as some great men are,
To undo their Merchant and Embroiderer;
Nor is't a Shepherds Trade by night or day,
To swear themselves, and never pay,
He's no State-plotting Matchivilian,
Or Project-Monger Monopolitan,
He hath no Tricks or Wiles to circumvent,
Nor fears he when there comes a Parliament,
He never wears Cap, nor bends his Knee,
To feed Contention with an Advocats Fee,
He wants the Art to Cog, Cheat, Swear and ly,
Nor fears the Gallows, nor the Pillory,
Nor cares he if great men be Fools or Wise,
If Honour fall, and base dishonour rise;
Let Fortunes mounted Minions sink or swim,
He never breaks his Brains, all's one to him:
He's free from fearful Curses of the Poor,
And lives and dies content with less or more.
He doth not waste the time as many use,
His good Creators creatures to abuse,
In drinking such ungodly Healths to some,
The veriest Canker-worms of Christendome;
My Lord Ambition, and my Lady Pride;
Shall with his quaffing not be magnified,
Nor for their sakes will he carouse and feast,
Until from Man he turn worse than a Beast;
Whereby he 'scapes vain Oaths and Blasphemy,
And Surfeits Fruits of drunken Gluttony,
He 'scapes occasion unto Lusts pretende,
And so escapes the Pox by consequence;
Thus doth he hate the Parator and Proctor,
The Apothecary, Chirurgeon and Doctor,
Whereby he this Prerogative may have,
To hold while he be laid into his Grave,
Whilst many that his betters far have been,
Will very hardly hold the laying in:
Crook, Blanket, Terkit, Tar{t}iur-tike, call'd Crouse,
Shall breed no Jars into the Parliament House.
Thus Shepherds live, and thus they end their lives,
Adorn'd and Grac'd with these Prerogatives,
And when he dies, he leaves no wrangling Heirs,
To Law, till all be spent, and nothing theirs.
Peace and Tranquillity was all his life,
And dead, his Goods shall breed no cause of strife.
Thus Shepherds have no Places, Means or Times,
To fall into these Hell-deserving Crimes,
Which Courtiers, Lawyers, Tradesmen, men of Arms
Commit unto their Souls and Bodies harms.

And from the Shepherds now I turn my Stile,
To sundry sort of Sheep another while;
The Lambs that in the Jews Passover died,
Were Figures of the Lamb that's crucified;
And Esay doth compare our heavenly Food
To a Sheep, which dumb before the Shearer stood,
Whose death and merits did this title win,
The Lamb of God, which freed the World from sin;
The Anagram of Lamb is blame and blame,
And Christ the Lamb upon him took our blame,
His precious Blood God's heavy Wrath did calm,
'Twas the only balme for sin to cure the same;
All Power and Praise and Glory be therefore
Ascribed to the Lamb for evermore:
And in the fourscore Psalm we read,
That like a Sheep our God doth Joseph lead;
Again of us he such account doth keep,
That of his Pasture we are called Sheep,
And every day we do confess almost,
That we have err'd and stray'd like Sheep that's lost;
Our Saviour that hath bought our Souls so dear,
Hath said, his Sheep his Voice will only hear,
And thrice did Christ unto St. Peter call,
In which he spake to his Disciples all,
If ye do love me, feed my Sheep (quoth he)
And feed my Lambs, if ye love me;
Moreover, in the final Judgment day,
There is the right-hand, and the left-hand way,
VVhereas the Sheep he to himself doth gather,
VVith saying, come, ye blessed of my Father, &c.
And to the Goats in his consuming ire,
He bids depart to everlasting fire.
Thus our Redeemer and his whole Elect,
The name of Sheep had ever in respect,
And the Comparison holds reference,
To profite, and to harmless innocence,
For of all Beasts that ever were or are,
None can for goodness with a Sheep compare,
Indeed for Bone and Burden I must grant,
He's much inferiour to the Elephant,
The Dromadary, Camel, Horse, and Ass,
For Load Carriage doth a Sheep surpass,
Strong Taurus, Eunuchs son, the labouring Ox,
The stately Staig, the bobtail'd crafty Fox;
These and all ravenous Beasts of Prey must yield,
Unto the Sheep the honour of the Field;
I could recount the names of many more,
The Lyon, Unicorn, the Bear, and Boar,
The VVolf, the Tyger, the Renoscerat,
The Leopard, and a number more I wot;
But all these greedy Beasts great Ovid's Pen,
Calls metamorphos'd into Men:
For Beast to Beast afford more Conscience can,
And much less Cruelty than Man to Man;
I'le therefore let such Beasts be as they be,
For fear they kick and snarl at me.
Unto the Sheep again my Muse doth flee,
For honest Safety and Commoditie,
He with hsi Flesh and Fleece doth cleed and feed,
All Languages and Nations, good and bad.
What can it more than die, that we may live,
And ev'ry year to us a Liv'ry give?
'Tis such a Bounty, and the Charge so deep,
That nothing can defray the Charge but Sheep;
For should the World want Sheep but five whole year,
Ten thousand Millions would want Cloaths to wear:
And wer't not for the Flesh of this kind Beast,
The World might Fast when it doth often Feast;
There's nothing doth unto a Sheep pertain,
But 'tis for Mans Commodity and Gain,
For Men to Men so much untrusty are,
To lie, to couzin, to forswear and swear,
That Oaths, and passing Words and joyning hands,
Is like Assurance written in the Sands,
To make Men keep their Words, and in end this
The silly Sheep-skin turn'd to Patchment is;
There's many a wealthy man whose whole Estate,
Lyes more in Parchment than in Coyn or Plate,
Indentures, Leases, Evidences, Wills,
Bonds, Contracts, Records, Obligations, Bills,
With these, although the Sheep-skin be but weak,
It binds men strongly that they dare not break:
But if a man eats Spiders now and then,
The Oyl of Parchment cures him oft again,
And what rare Stuffs which in the World are fram'd,
Can be in value like to Parchment nam'd?
The richest Cloath of Gold that can be scornd,
A Yard of it was ne're worth five hundred pound,
And I have seen two Foot of Sheep-skin drest,
Which hath been worth ten thousand pound at least;
A piece of Parchment well with Ink laid over,
Helps many Gallant to a starving power,
Into the Merchant it some Faith doth strick,
It gives the Silkman hope of no dislike,
The Taylor it with charity assails,
It thrusts him last betwixt his Bill and Vails,
And by these means a piece of Parchment can,
Patch up and make a Gull a Gentleman,
The nature of it very strange I find,
It's much like Physick, it can loose and bind,
It's one mans freedom and anothers loss,
And like the Pope it doth both bind and loose,
And as the Ram and Ew doth fructifie,
And ev'ry year a Lamb doth multiply,
So doth a Sheep-skin bound make Money breed,
And procreat, as Seed doth spring from Seed.

Thus is a Sheep-skin prov'd the only ty,
And stay whereon a world of men rely,
Which holds a crew of Earth-worms in more aw,
Than both the Tables of the sacred Law:
Past number I could Functions name,
Who as it's Parchment live upon the same;
But it's sufficient this small homely touch,
Should more be writ, my Book would swell too much.
Now for the Ram, the Ew, the Lamb, and Weather,
I'le touch their Skins as they are touch'd to Leather,
And made in Pursses, Pouches, Laces, Strings,
Gloves, Points, Books, Covers, and ten thousand things;
And many Tradesmen live and thrive thereby,
Which if I would I more could amplify,
Their Guts serve Instruments which sweetly sound,
Their dung is best to make most fruitful Ground,
Their Hoofs burnt will most venomous Serpents kill,
Their grated Horns are good for Poyson still,
Their Milk makes Cheese that has no fellow,
The best that's made in Etrick or in Yarow,
Their Feet for the Healthy or the Sick,
Drest as they should be, are good Meat to pick;
The Cook and Butcher with the Joynts do gain,
And poor Folks eat the Gedder, Head and Brain,
And though all wise-mens Judgments will allow,
A Sheep to be much lesser than a Cow.
Now for the honour of the valiant Ram,
If I were learn'd more treble than I am,
Yet could I not sufficiently express,
His wondrous worth and excellent worthiness,
For by Astronomers it is verified,
How that the Ram in Heaven is styllified,
And of the twelve is plac'd Head Sign of all,
Where Sols keep first his Equinoctial,
For having with the Bull drunk Aprils Showers,
And with the Twins doth deck the Earth with Flowers,
And scorch't the Crab in June with burning Beams,
Made Julys Lyon chaff with fiery Gleams,
In August solace to the Virgin given,
With Ballance in September made time even,
October Scorpion with declyning course,
And passing by Decembers Archers force,
Then having past Novembers frozen gate,
He next to Janus watry Sign doth float,
He to the Lentil Sign in February,
And so bright Phœbus ends his years Figarie;
Then to the Ram in March in his Carrier,
He mounts, on which this Sonnet's written here;
Now chearful Sol in his illustrious Car,
To glade the Earth his Journey 'gins to take,
And now his glorious Beams he doth unbar,
Whiles absence marr'd, his presence now doth make,
Now he Earths weeping 'gins to dry,
With Eolus breath and his bright Heavenly heat,
March-Dust like Clouds through Air doth march and fly,
And seeming Trees, and Plants now life doth get;
Thus when the Worlds Eye-dazler takes his time,
At the Celestial Ram then Winter's done,
And then Dame Nature doth her Livery spin,
Of Flowers and Fruits, which all the Earth puts on;
Thus when Apollo doth to Aries come,
The Earth is freed from Winters Martyrdom.
Thus have I prov'd the Ram a lucky Sign,
Wherein Sun, Earth, and Heaven, and Air combine,
To have their universal Comfort harl'd,
Upon the time of our decaying World;
With twelve Signs each mans body is govern'd,
And Aries of the Ram doth rule the Head;
Then are the Judgments foolish, fond and base,
That take the name of Ram-head in disgrace,
'Tis honour for the Head to have the name,
Derived from the Ram that rules the same;
And that the Ram doth rule the Head I know,
For ev'ry Almanack the same doth show.

From whence such men may gather this relief,
That though a Ram-head may be cause of grief,
Yet Nature hath this remedy found out,
They should have Lyons hearts to bear it out,
And to defend and keep the Head from harm,
The Anagram of Ram I find is arm;
Thus is a Ramhead arm'd against all fear;
He needs no Helmet, nor no Head-piece wear;
To speak more in the plural number Rams,
It yeelds significk war like Anagrams;
The Ram is Mars, Mars is the god of War;
And Ram is armes, armes wars munitions are,
And from the fierce encounters which they make,
Our tilts and turneys did beginning take;
For as the Rams retire, and meet with rage,
So men do in their warlike equipage;
And long ere pouder from hel's damn'd den,
Was monstrously produced to murther men,
The Ram, an Engine call'd a Ram did teach,
To batter down a Wall, or make a Breach,
And now some places of defence 'gainst shot,
Have from the Ram the name of Rampiers got,
First warlike Trumpets that I e're heard nam'd,
At Jericho were all of Ram-horns fram'd,
For at the Ram-horns Trumpets fearful blast,
Their curled Walls were suddenly down cast.
Thus is the Ram with many vertues stor'd,
And was in Ægypt for a god ador'd;
And like a Captain he the Flock doth lead,
As sits their General, their Prince and Head.
Thus have I prov'd a Sheep a Beast of price,
Clean and reputed fit for Sacrifice;
And sleeping, waking, early, or else late,
It still doth chew the cud and ruminat:
Of all beasts in the Worlds circumference,
For meekness, profit, and for innocence,
I have approv'd a Sheep most excellent,
That with least cost doth give most content;
There's such instinct of nature in the Lamb,
By bleating it 'mongst thousands knows the Dame,
For which the name of agnoscendo knowing,
Is given to a Lamb it's knowledge showing.
And now from solid prose I will abstain,
To pleasant Poetry, and Mirth again,
The Fables of the Golden Fleece began,
Because Sheep Wool yields store of gold to men;
For he that hath great store of Wooly Fleeces,
May when he please have store of Golden Pieces:
Thus many a poor man dieing hath left a Son,
That hath transform'd the Fleece to Gold like Jason.
And here's a Mystery profound and deep,
There's sundry sorts of Mutton are no Sheep,
Lac'd Mutton which let out themselves to hyre,
Like hackneys whill be fir'd before they tyre,
The man or men which for such Mutton hunger,
Are by their Corporations Mutton-mongers,
Which is a Brother-hood too large and great,
That if they had a Hall, I would entreat,
To be their Clerk, or keeper of accounts,
To shew them unto what their Charge amounts.
My brain in numbring then would grow so quick,
I should be Master of Arithmetick,
All States, Degrees, and Trades, both bad and good,
Afford some Members of this Brother-hood;
Great therefore then must be their multitude,
When every man may to the Trade intrude.
It is no freedom, yet these men are free;
No savers, but most liberal spenders be;
For this is one thing that doth them bewitch,
That by their Trading they wax seldom rich,
The value of this Mutton so set forth,
The Flesh doth cost more than the Broth is worth;
They all are Ews, yet are exceeding Ramish,
And will be dainty fed, who ever famish,
Nor are they marked for any man, or no man,
As mine, or thine, but every man is common,
Fine Heads, and Necks, and Breasts they yield some store,
But scarcely one good Liver in ninescore;
The Liver being bad, it's understood,
The Veins are fil'd with putrified blood,
Which makes them subject to the scab, and then
They prove most dangerous dyets unto men;
And then the Proverb proves no ly or mock,
One scabed Sheep's enough to spoil a Flock;
But yet for all this there's many a Gull,
Loves Mutton well, dips not his bread i'th' wool,
And were a man put to his choice to keep,
'Tis said a Shrew is better nor a Sheep;
But if a man be yoked with such an Ewe,
She may be both a Scabbed Sheep, and Shrew,
And he that is so matcht, his life may well,
Be compared unto an earthly hell;
But of my Theam which I wrot of before,
I at this Mutton must have one cut more;
These kind of Sheep have all the World o'regrown,
And seldom do wear Fleeces of their own;
For they from sundry men their pellets can pull,
Whereby they keep themselves as warm as wool;
Besides in Colours, and in Shapes they wear,
Quite from all profitable Sheep contrair;
White, black, green, tawny, purple, red, and blew,
Beyond the Rain-bow, for the change of hew;
Came soon like an alteration,
But that bare air they cannot live upon,
The Moons mutation not more manifold,
Silk, Velvet, Tissue, Cloath, and Cloath of Gold.
These are the Sheep that Golden-Fleeces wear,
Who rob themselves with others VVool or Hair,
And it may be 'twas such a Beast and Fleece,
Which Jason brought from Colchos into Greece.
Were it no more but so I dare be bold,
To think the Land doth many Jasons hold,
Who never durst to pass a dangerous wave,
Yet may with ease such Golden Fleeces have.
Too much of one thing is good for nothing, they say,
I'le therefore take this needless dish away;
For should I too much of Lac'd Mutton write,
I may ov'rcome my readers stomach quite.
Once more unto the good Sheep I'le retire,
And so my Book shall to it's end expire;
Although it be not found in antient writers,
I find all Mutton-eaters are Sheep-biters;
And in some places, I have heard and seen,
That Currish Sheep-biters they have hanged been;
If any kind of Tyke should snarle or whinne,
Or bite or worry this poor Sheep of mine,
Why? Let them bark, or bite, and spend their breath,
I'le never wish them a Sheep-biters death;
My Sheep should have them know their innocence,
Shall live in spight of their malevolence;
I wish them keep themselves, and me from pain,
And bite such Sheep, as cannot bite again,
For if they snap at mine, I have a tongue,
That like a trusty Dog shall bite again:
And in conclusion, this I humbly crave,
That every one the honesty may have,
That when our frail mortality is past,
We may be the good Shepherd's Sheep at last.
When all things were as wrapt in sable night,
And Ebeon'd darkness muffled up the night,
When neither Sun, nor Moon, nor Stars had shin'd
And when no fire, no water, earth nor wind,
No harvest, autumn, winter, nor no spring,
No bird, beast, fish, nor any creeping thing,
When there was neither time, nor place, nor space,
And silence did the Chaos round imbrace;
Then did the Arch-work-master of us all,
Creat this massie universal Ball,
And with his mighty word brought all to pass,
Saying but let there be, and done it was,
Let there be day, night, water, earth, herbs, trees,
Let there be sun, moon, stars, fish, fowl that flies,
Beast of the field; he said, let there be,
All things were created, as we may see,
Thus every sensible and sensless thing,
The high Creators VVord to pass did bring;
And as in viewing of his Works he stood,
He said that all things were exceeding good:
Thus having finish'd Seas, and Earth, and Skyes,
Aboundantly with all Varieties,
Like a magnificent and sumptuous Feast,
To th'intertainment of some welcome Guest,
When Beasts, and Birds, and every living Creature,
And the Earths fruits did multiply by Nature;
Then did the Eternal Trinity betake,
It self to council, and said, let us make,
Not let there be, as unto all things else;
But let us make man that the rest excells,
According to our Image let us make,
Man, and then the Almighty red earth did take,
With which he formed Adam every Limb,
And having made him, breathed life in him.
Lo thus the first man never was a Child,
No way with sin original defil'd;
But with high Super-natural understanding,
He over all the Word had sole commanding;
Yet though to him the Regency was given
As Earths Leivetennant to the God of Heaven,
Though he commanded all created things,
As Deputy under the King of kings,
Though he so highly here was dignified,
To humble him, not to be puft with pride;
He could not brag nor boast of high born birth,
For he was formed out of slime and earth;
No beast, fish, worm, fowl, herb, wood, stone, tree,
But are of a more antient house than he;
For they were made before him, which prove this,
That their Antiquity is more than his;
Thus both himself, and his beloved Spouse,
Are by creation of the younger house;
And whilst they liv'd in perfect holiness,
Their richest Garments were bare Nakedness,
True Innocence were their chiefest Weeds;
For Righteousness no Mask or Vizard needs;
The Royalist Robes that our first Parents had,
Was a free Conscience with uprightness clade;
They needed not to shift, the Cloaths they wore
Was Nakedness, and they desir'd no more,
Until at last, that Hell-polluting Sin,
With Disobedience sold their Soul within,
And having lost their Holiest perfection;
They held their nakedness in imperfection;
Then being both asham'd, they both did frame,
Garments as Weeds of their deserved shame:
Thus when as sin had brought Gods curse on Man,
Then shame to make Apparel first began;
E're men had said most plain it does appear,
He neither did, nor needed cause menswear;
For his Apparel did at first begin,
To be the Robs of pennance for his Sin;
Thus all the brood of Adam, and of Eve,
The true use of Apparel may perceive;
That they are Liveries, Badges unto all,
Of our Sins, and our Parents woful fall;
Then more than mad the Mad-brain'd people be,
Or else they see, and will not seem to see,
The same Robs of Pride that makes them swell,
Are tokens that our best deserts are Hell,
Much like unto a Traitor to his King,
Which would his Countrey into destruction bring,
Whose treacheries being prov'd apparently,
He by the Law is justly Judg'd to die;
And when the Books for his deserved Death,
A Pardon comes, and gives him longer Breath,
I think this man most madly would appear,
That would a Halter in a Glory wear,
Of Life to be quite dis-inherited;
But if he should vain gloriously persist,
To make a Rop of Silk, or Golden Twist,
And wear, it's a more honourable show
Of his Rebellion than course Hemp, or Tow;
Might not men justly say, he were an Ass,
Triumphing that he once a Villan was,
And that wears an halter for the nonce,
In pride that he deserv'd a hanging once.
Such with our Heavenly Father is the case,
Of our first Parents, and their fruitful Race,
Apparel is the miserable Sign,
That we are Traitors to our Lord Divine,
And we like Rebels still most pride do take,
In that which still most humble should us make,
Apparel is the Prison for our Sin,
Which most should shame, yet most we glory in,
Apparel is the sheet of shame as it were;
For man apparel never did receive;
Till he Eternal Death deserv'd to have:
How vain is it for Man, a clod of Earth,
To boast of his Progeny or Birth,
Because perhaps his Ancestors were good,
And sprung from Royal, or from Noble Blood,
Where Vertues worth did in their minds inherit,
They enjoy'd their Honour by Desert and Merit.
Great Alexander, King of Macedon,
Disdain'd to be his Father Philips Son,
But he from Jupiter would be descended,
And as a god be honour'd and attended;
Yet when at Babylon he prov'd but a Man,
His god head ended foolish as't began;
There was in Cicily a proud Physician,
Menecrates, and he through high ambition;
To be a god himself would needs prefer,
And would forsooth be deemed Jupiter;
King Dionysius making a great Feast,
The Fool god disguis'd to be a great Beast,
Who by himself was at a Table plac'd,
Because as god he should the more be grac'd;
The other Guests themselves did feed and fill,
He at an empty table still sat still;
At last with humble low Sir Reverence,
A fellow came with fire and frankincense;
And offered to his god-ship, saying then,
Perfumes were fit for gods, and meat for men;
The god in anger raise incontinent,
Who laughed, and in hunger homeward went.
The Roman Emperor Domitian
Would be a god, was murdered by a man.
Calligola would be a god of wonders,
And counterfit the Lightning and the thunders,
Yet every real heavenly thunder crack,
This cateif in such fear and terrour strake,
That he would quake, and shake, and hide his head,
In any hole, or underneath his bed;
And when this godless god had many slain,
A Preband dasht out his ungodly brain:
And thus the Almighty still against pride doth frown,
And casts ambition head-long tumbling down.
Great Pompey would be all the Worlds Superior,
And Cesar unto none would be Inferior;
But as they both did live ambitiously,
So both of them untimeous deaths did die:
The one in Ægypt had his final fall,
The other murdered in the Capital.
A number more examples are beside,
Which shows the miserable fall of Pride;
For Pride of State, Birth, Wisdom, Beauty, Strength,
And Pride in any thing will fall at length;
But to be proud of Garments that we wear,
Is the most foolish Pride a Heart can bear:
Know that of thine own thou doth possess,
Nothing but Sin and woful Wretchedness,
A Christian's Pride should only be in this,
When he can say, that God his Father is;
When Grace and Mercy well apply'd afford,
To make him Brother unto Christ his Lord;
When he unto the Holy Ghost can say,
Thou art my School-master whom I will obey.
When he can call the Saints his Fellows, and
Say to the Angels for my Guard you stand;
This is a laudable and Christian-Pride,
To know Christ, and to know him Crucified.
This is that meek Ambition, low Aspiring,
Which all Men should be earnest in desiring;
Thus to be proudly Humble is the thing,
Which will us to the state of Glory bring;
But yet beware of Pride Hypocritical,
For Pride in every thing will have a fall,
A lofty Mind with lowly Cap on Knee,
Is humble Pride and meek Hypocrisie,
As a great Ship ill suited with small sail,
A Judas mean'd all Mischief, cry'd all hail,
Like the Humility of Absalom,
That sort of Pride much Dangers waits upon;
They are the counterfeit, God save you, Sirs,
That have their Flatteries in particulars,
That courteously can hide their proud Intents,
Under varieties of Complements;
These Vipers bend the Knee, and kiss the Hand,
And swear, sweet Sir, I am at your Command;
And proudly make Humility a Screw,
To wring themselves into Opinions view:
Thus Pride is hateful, dangerous and vile,
And shall it self at last it self beguile:
Thus Pride is deadly Sin, and Sin brings Shame,
VVhich here I leave to Hell from whence it came.