Chapter IV: Appendix: OF NOTES, &c., ARRANGED IN FOUR PARTS (2)

The Country Clowns when they repaire
Either to Market or to Faire,
No sooner get their pots,
But straight they swear the time is come
That England must be over-run
Betwixt the French and Scots.

6.

The Puritans that never fayle
’Gainst Kings and Magistrates to rayle,
With impudence aver,
That verily, and in good sooth,
Some Antichrist, or pretty youth,
Shall doubtlesse get of her.

7.

A holy Sister having hemm’d
And blown her nose, will say she dream’d,
Or else a Spirit told her,
That they and all these holy seed,
To Amsterdam must go to breed,
Ere they were twelve months older.

8.

And might but _Jack Alent_ advise,
Those dreams of theirs should not prove lies,
For as he greatly feares,
They will be prating night and day,
Till verily, by yea, and nay,
They set’s together by th’ ears.

9.

The Romish Catholiques proclaim,
That _Gundemore_, though he be lame,
Yet can he do some tricks;
At _Paris_, he the King shall show
A pre-contract made, as I know,
Five hundred twenty six.

10.

But sure the State of _France_ is wise,
And knowes that _Spain_ vents naught but lies,
For such is their Religion;
The Jesuits can with ease disgorge
From that their damn’d and hellish forge,
Foule falshood by the Legion.

11.

But be it so, we will admit,
The State of _Spain_ hath no more wit,
Then to invent such tales,
Yet as great _Alexander_ drew,
And cut the Gorgon Knot in two,
So shall the Prince of Wales.

12.

The reverend Bishops whisper too,
That now they shall have much adoe
With Friers and with Monks,
And eke their wives do greatly feare
Those bald pate knaves will mak’t appeare
They are Canonical punks.

13.

At _Cambridge_ and at _Oxford_ eke,
They of this match like Schollers speak
By figures and by tropes,
But as for the Supremacy,
The Body may King _James’s_ be,
But sure the Head’s the _Pope’s_.

14.

A Puritan stept up and cries,
That he the major part denies,
And though he Logick scorns,
Yet he by revelation knows
The Pope no part o’ th’ head-piece ows
Except it be the horns.

15.

The learned in Astrologie,
That wander up and down the sky,
And their discourse with stars, [there]
Foresee that some of this brave rout
That now goes faire and soundly out,
Shall back return with scars.

16.

Professors of Astronomy,
That all the world knows, dare not lie
With the Mathematicians,
Prognosticate this Somer shall
Bring with the pox the Devil and all,
To Surgeons and Physitians.

17.

The Civil Lawyer laughs in’s sleeve,
For he doth verily believe
That after all these sports,
The Cit[i]zens will horn and grow,
And their ill-gotten goods will throw
About their bawdy Courts.

18.

And those that do _Apollo_ court,
And with the wanton Muses sport,
Believe the time is come,
That Gallants will themselves addresse
To Masques & Playes, & Wantonnesse,
More than to fife and drum.

19.

Such as in musique spend their dayes,
And study Songs and Roundelayes,
Begin to cleare their throats,
For by some signes they do presage,
That this will prove a fidling age
Fit for men of their coats.

20.

But leaving Colleges and Schools,
To all those Clerks and learned Fools,
Lets through the city range,
For there are Sconces made of Horn,
Foresee things long ere they be born,
Which you’l perhaps think strange.

21.

The Major and Aldermen being met, [Mayor]
And at a Custard closely set
Each in their rank and order,
The Major a question doth propound,
And that unanswer’d must go round,
Till it comes to th’ Recorder.

22.

For he’s the Citys Oracle,
And which you’l think a Miracle,
He hath their brains in keeping,
For when a Cause should be decreed,
He cries the bench are all agreed,
When most of them are sleeping.

23.

A Sheriff at lower end o’ th’ board
Cries Masters all hear me a word,
A bolt Ile onely shoot,
We shall have Executions store
Against some gallants now gone o’re,
Wherefore good brethren look to’t.

24.

The rascall Sergeants fleering stand,
Wishing their Charter reacht the Strand,
That they might there intrude;
But since they are not yet content,
I wish that it to Tyburn went,
So they might there conclude.

25.

An Alderman both grave and wise
Cries brethren all let me advise,
Whilst wit is to be had,
That like good husbands we provide
Some speeches for the Lady bride,
Before all men go mad.

26.

For by my faith if we may guesse
Of greater mischiefs by the lesse,
I pray let this suffice,
If we but on men’s backs do look,
And look into each tradesmans book
You’l swear few men are wise.

27.

Some thred-bare Poet we will presse,
And for that day we will him dresse,
At least in beaten Sattin,
And he shall tell her from this bench,
That though we understand no French,
At _Pauls_ she may hear Lattin.

28.

But on this point they all demurre,
And each takes counsell of his furre
That smells of Fox and Cony,
At last a Mayor in high disdain,
Swears he much scorns that in his reign
Wit should be bought for mony.

29.

For by this Sack I mean to drink,
I would not have my Soveraign think
for twenty thousand Crownes,
That I his Lord Lieutenant here,
And you my brethren should appear
Such errant witlesse Clownes.

30.

No, no, I have it in my head,
Devises that shall strike it dead,
And make proud _Paris_ say
That little _London_ hath a Mayor
Can entertain their Lady faire,
As well as ere did they.

31.

S. _Georges_ Church shall be the place
Where first I mean to meet her grace,
And there St. George shall be
Mounted upon a dapple gray,
And gaping wide shall seem to say,
Welcome St. _Dennis_ to me.

32.

From thence in order two by two
As we to _Pauls_ are us’d to goe,
To th’ Bridge we will convey her,
And there upon the top o’ th’ gate,
Where now stands many a Rascal’s pate,
I mean to place a player.

33.

And to the Princess he shall cry,
May’t please your Grace, cast up your eye
And see these heads of Traytors;
Thus will the city serve all those
That to your Highnesse shall prove foes,
For they to Knaves are haters.

34.

Down Fishstreet hill a Whale shall shoot,
And meet her at the Bridges foot,
And forth of his mouth so wide a
Shall _Jonas_ peep, and say, for fish,
As good as your sweet-heart can wish,
You shall have hence each Friday.

35.

At Grace-church corner there shall stand
A troop of Graces hand in hand,
And they to her shall say,
Your Grace of _France_ is welcome hither,
’Tis merry when Graces meet together,
I pray keep on your way.

36.

At the Exchange shall placed be,
In ugly shapes those sisters three
That give to each their fate,
And _Spaine’s Infanta_ shall stand by
Wringing their hands, and thus shall cry,
I do repent too late.

37.

There we a paire of gloves will give,
And pray her Highnesse long may live
On her white hands to wear them;
And though they have a _Spanish_ scent,
The givers have no ill intent,
Wherefore she need not feare them.

38.

Nor shall the Conduits now run Claret,
Perhaps the _Frenchman_ cares not for it,
They have at home so much,
No, I will make the boy to pisse
No worse then purest Hypocris,
Her Grace ne’re tasted such.

39.

About the Standard I think fit
Your wives, my brethren, all should sit,
And eke our Lady Mayris,
Who shall present a cup of gold,
And say if we might be bold,
We’l drink to all in _Paris._

40.

In _Pauls_ Church-yard we breath may take,
For they such huge long speeches make,
Would tire any horse;
But there I’le put her grace in minde,
To cast her Princely head behind
And view S. _Paul’s_ Crosse.

41.

Our Sergeants they shall go their way,
And for us at the Devil stay,
I mean at Temple-barre,
And there of her we leave will take,
And say ’twas for King _Charls_ his sake
We went with her so farre.

42.

But fearing I have tir’d the eares,
Both of the Duke and all these Peeres,
Ile be no more uncivill,
Ile leave the Mayor with both the Sheriffs,
With Sergeants, hanging at their sleeves,
For this time at the Devill.

_A SONG._

A Story strange I will you tell,
But not so strange as true,
Of a woman that danc’d upon the ropes,
And so did her husband too.
_With a dildo, dildo, dildo,_
_With a dildo, dildo, dee,_
_Some say ’twas a man, but it was a woman_
_As plain report may see._

She first climb’d up the Ladder
For to deceive men’s hopes,
And with a long thing in her hand
She tickled it on the ropes.
_With a dildo, dildo, dildo,_
_With a dildo, dildo, dee,_
_And to her came Knights and Gentlemen_
_Of low and high degree._

She jerk’d them backward and foreward
With a long thing in her hand,
And all the people that were in the yard,
She made them for to stand.
_With a dildo, &c._

They cast up fleering eyes
All under-neath her cloaths,
But they could see no thing,
For she wore linnen hose.
_With a dildo, &c._

The Cuckold her husband caper’d
When his head in the sack was in,
But grant that we may never fall
When we dance in the sack of sin.
_With a dildo, &c._

And as they ever danc’t
In faire or rainy weather,
I wish they may be hang’d i’ th’ rope of Love,
And so be cut down together.
_With a dildo, &c._

_Upon a House of Office over a River, set on fire by a coale of TOBACCO._

Oh fire, fire, fire, where?
The usefull house o’re Water cleare,
The most convenient in a shire,
_Which no body can deny,_

The house of Office that old true blue
Sir-reverence so many knew[,]
You now may see turn’d fine new. [? fire]
_Which no body, &c._

And to our great astonishment
Though burnt, yet stands to represent
Both mourner and the monument,
_Which no body, &c._

_Ben Johnson’s_ Vulcan would doe well,
Or the merry Blades who knacks did tell,
At firing _London Bridge_ befell.
_Which no body, &c._

They’l say if I of thee should chant,
The matter smells, now out upon’t;
But they shall have a fit of fie on’t.
_Which no body_, &c.

And why not say a word or two
Of she that’s just? witness all who
Have ever been at thy Ho go,[6]
_Which no body_, &c.

Earth, Aire, and Water, she could not
Affront, till chollerick fire got
Predominant, then thou grew’st hot,
_Which no body_, &c.

The present cause of all our wo,
But from Tobacco ashes, oh!
’Twas s...n luck to perish so,
_Which no body_, &c.

’Tis fatall to be built on lakes,
As Sodom’s fall example makes;
But pity to the innocent jakes,
_Which no body_, &c.

Whose genius if I hit aright,
May be conceiv’d Hermophrodite,
To both sex common when they sh...
_Which no body_, &c.

Of severall uses it hath store,
As Midwifes some do it implore,
But the issue comes at Postern door:
_Which no body_, &c.

Retired mortalls out of feare,
Privily, even to a haire,
Did often do their business there,
_Which no body_, &c.

For mens and womens secrets fit
No tale-teller, though privy to it,
And yet they went to’t without feare or wit,
_Which no body_, &c.

A Privy Chamber or prison’d roome,
And all that ever therein come
Uncover must, or bide the doome,
_Which no body_, &c.

A Cabinet for richest geare
The choicest of the Ladys ware,
And pretious stones full many there.
_Which no body_, &c.

And where in State sits noble duck,
Many esteem that use of nock,
The highest pleasure next to oc-
_Which no body_, &c.

And yet the hose there down did goe,
The yielding smock came up also,
But still no Bawdy house I trow,
_Which no body_, &c.

There nicest maid with naked r...,
When straining hard had made her mump,
Did sit at ease and heare it p...,
_Which no body_, &c.

Like the Dutch Skipper now may skit,
When in his sleeve he did do it,
She may skit free, but now plimp niet,
_Which no body_, &c.

Those female folk that there did haunt,
To make their filled bellies gaunt,
And with that same the brook did launt,
_Which no body_, &c.

Are driven now to do’t on grasse,
And make a sallet for their A...
The world is come to a sweet passe,
_Which no body_, &c.

Now farewell friend we held so deare,
Although thou help’st away with our cheare,
An open house-keeper all the yeare,
_Which no body_, &c.

The Phœnix in her perfumed flame,
Was so consum’d, and thou the same,
But the Aromaticks were to blame,
_Which no body_, &c.

That Phœnix is but one thing twice,
Thy Patron nobler then may rise,
For who can tell what he’l devise?
_Which no body_, &c.

_Diana’s_ Temple was not free,
Nor that world _Rome_, her Majesty
Smelt of the smoke, as well as thee,
_Which no body_, &c.

And learned Clerks whom we admire,
Do say the world shall so expire,
Then when you sh... remember fire.
_Which no body_, &c.

Beware of fire when you scumber,
Though to sh... fire were a wonder,
Yet lightning oft succeeds the thunder,
_Which no body_, &c.

We must submit to what fate sends,
’Tis wholsome counsel to our friends,
Take heed of smoking at both ends,
_Which no body can deny._

_Upon the Spanish Invasion in Eighty eight._

1.

In _Eighty eight_, ere I was born,
As I do well remember a,
In _August_ was a Fleet prepar’d
The month before _September_ a.

2.

_Lisbone_, _Cales_ and _Portugall_ [_Cales_, i.e. _Cadiz_.]
_Toledo_ and _Grenada_;
They all did meet, & made a Fleet,
And call’d it their _Armada_.

3.

There dwelt a little man in _Spain_
That shot well in a gun a;
_Don Pedro_ hight, as black a wight
As the Knight of the Sun a.

4.

King _Philip_ made him Admirall,
And charg’d him not to stay a,
But to destroy both man and boy,
And then to come his way a.

5.

He had thirty thousand of his own,
But to do us more harm a,
He charg’d him not to fight alone,
But to joyn with the Prince of _Parma_.

6.

They say they brought provision much
As Biskets, Beans and Bacon,
Besides, two ships were laden with whips,
But I think they were mistaken.

7.

When they had sailed all along,
And anchored before _Dover_,
The English men did board them then,
And heav’d the Rascalls over.

8.

The queen she was at _Tilbury_,
What could you more desire a?
For whose sweet sake Sir _Francis Drake_
Did set the ships on fire a.

9.

Then let them neither brag nor boast,
For if they come again a,
Let them take heed they do not speed
As they did they know when a.

_Upon the Gun-powder Plot._

1.

And will this wicked world never prove good?
Will Priests and Catholiques never prove true?
Shall _Catesby_, _Piercy_ and _Rookwood_
Make all this famous Land to rue?
With putting us in such a feare,
_With huffing and snuffing and guni-powder,_
_With a Ohone hononoreera tarrareera, tarrareero hone._

2.

’Gainst the fifth of _November_, Tuesday by name,
_Peircy_ and _Catesby_ a Plot did frame,
_Anno_ one thousand six hundred and five,
In which long time no man alive
Did ever know, or heare the like,
Which to declare my heart growes sike.
_With a O hone_, &c.

3.

Under the Parliament-house men say
Great store of Powder they did lay,
Thirty six barrels, as is reported,
With many faggots ill consorted,
With barres of iron upon them all,
To bring us to a deadly fall.
_With a O hone_, &c.

4.

And then came forth Sir _Thomas Knyvet_,
You filthy Rogue come out o’ th’ doore,
Or else I sweare by Gods trivet
Ile lay thee flatlong on the floore,
For putting us all in such a feare,
_With huffing and snuffing_, &c.

5.

Then _Faux_ out of the vault was taken
And carried before Sir _Francis Bacon_,
And was examined of the Act,
And strongly did confesse the Fact,
And swore he would put us in such a feare.
_With huffing_, &c.

6.

Now see it is a miraculous thing,
To see how God hath preserv’d our King,
The Queen, the Prince, and his Sister dear,
And all the Lords, and every Peere,
And all the Land, and every shire,
_From huffing_, &c.

7.

Now God preserve the Council wise,
That first found out this enterprise;
Not they, but my Lord _Monteagle_,
His Lady and her little Beagle,
His Ape, his Ass, and his great Beare,
_From huffing, and snuffing, and gunni-powder._

[8.]

Other newes I heard moreover,
If all was true that’s told to me,
Three Spanish ships landed at _Dover_,
Where they made great melody,
But the Hollanders drove them here and there,
_With huffing_, &c.

_A CATCH._

Drink boyes, drink boyes, drink and doe not spare,
Troule away the bowl, and take no care.
So that we have meat and drink, and money and clothes
What care we, what care we how the world goes.

_A pitiful Lamentation._

My Mother hath sold away her Cock
And all her brood of Chickins,
And hath bought her a new canvasse smock
And righted up the Kitchin.
And has brought me a Lockeram bond
With a v’lopping paire of breeches,
Thinking that _Jone_ would have lov’d me alone,
But she hath serv’d me such yfiches.
Ise take a rope and drowne my selfe,
Ere Ist indure these losses:
Ise take a hatchet and hang my selfe
Ere Ist indure these crosses.
Or else Ile go to some beacon high,
Made of some good dry’d furzon[,]
And there Ile seeme in love to fry
Sing hoodle a doodle Cuddon.

_A Woman with Child that desired a Son, which might prove a Preacher._

A maiden of the _pure Society_,
Pray’d with a passing piety
That since a learned man had o’re-reacht her,
The child she went withall should prove [a] Preacher.
The time being come, and all the dangers past,
The Goodwife askt the Midwife
What God had sent at last.
Who answer’d her half in a laughter,
Quoth she the Son is prov’d a Daughter.
But be content, if God doth blesse the Baby,
She has a _Pulpit_ where a _Preacher_ may be.

_The Maid of ~Tottenham~._

1.

As I went to _Totnam_
Upon a Market-day,
There met I with a faire maid
Cloathed all in gray,
Her journey was to _London_
With Buttermilk and Whay,
_To fall down, down, derry down,_
_down, down, derry down,_
_derry, derry dina_.

2.

God speed faire maid, quoth one,
You are well over-took;
With that she cast her head aside,
And gave to him a look.
She was as full of Leachery
As letters in a book.
_To fall down_, &c.

3.

And as they walk’d together,
Even side by side,
The young man was aware
That her garter was unty’d,
For feare that she should lose it,
Aha, alack he cry’d,
Oh your garter that hangs down!
_Down, down, derry down_, &c.

4.

Quoth she[,] I do intreat you
For to take the pain
To do so much for me,
As to tye it up again.
That will I do sweet-heart, quoth he,
When I come on yonder plain.
_With a down, down, derry down_, &c.

5.

And when they came upon the plain
Upon a pleasant green,
The fair maid spread her l...s abroad,
The young man fell between,
Such tying of a Garter
I think was never seen.
_To fall down_, &c.

6.

When they had done their businesse,
And quickly done the deed,
He gave her kisses plenty,
And took her up with speed.
But what they did I know not,
But they were both agreed
_To fall down together, down_
_Down, down, derry down,_
_Down, down, derry dina_.

7.

She made to him low curtsies
And thankt him for his paine,
The young man is to High-gate gone[,]
The maid to _London_ came
To sell off her commodity
She thought it for no shame.
_To fall downe_, &c.

8.

When she had done her market,
And all her money told
To think upon the matter
It made her heart full cold[:]
But that which will away, quoth she,
Is very hard to hold.
_To fall down_, &c.

9.

This tying of the Garter
Cost her her Maidenhead,
Quoth she it is no matter,
It stood me in small stead,
But often times it troubled me
As I lay in my bed.
_To fall down_, &c.

_To the King on New-yeares day, 1638._

This day inlarges every narrow mind,
Makes the Poor bounteous, and the Miser kind;
Poets that have not wealth in wisht excesse,
I hope may give like Priests, which is to blesse.
And sure in elder times the Poets were
Those Priests that told men how to hope and feare,
Though they most sensually did write and live,
Yet taught those blessings, which the Gods did give,
But you (my King) have purify’d our flame,
Made wit our virtue which was once our shame;
For by your own quick fires you made ours last,
Reform’d our numbers till our songs grew chast.
Farre more thou fam’d _Augustus_ ere could doe
With’s wisdome, (though it long continued too)
You have perform’d even in your Moon of age;
Refin’d to Lectures, Playes, to Schooles a stage.
Such vertue got[,] why is your Poet lesse
A Priest then his who had a power to blesse?
So hopefull is my rage that I begin
To shew that feare which strives to keep it in:
And what was meant a blessing soars so high
That it is now become a Prophesie.
Your selfe (our _Plannet_ which renewes our year)
Shall so inlighten all, and every where,
That through the Mists of error men shall spy
In the dark North the way to Loyalty;
Whilst with your intellectuall beames, you show
The knowing what they are that seeme to know.
You like our Sacred and indulgent Lord,
When the too-stout Apostle drew his sword,
When he mistooke some secrets of the cause,
And in his furious zeale disdain’d the Lawes,
Forgetting true Religion doth lye
On prayers, not swords against authority.
You like our substitute of horrid fate
That are next him we most should imitate,
Shall like to him rebuke with wiser breath,
Such furious zeale, but not reveng’d with death.
Like him the wound that’s giv’n you strait shall heal,
Then calm by precept such mistaking zeal.

_In praise of a deformed woman._

1.

I love thee for thy curled haire,
As red as any Fox,
Our forefathers did still commend
The lovely golden locks.
_Venus her self might comelier be,_
_Yet hath no such variety._

2.

I love thee for thy squinting eyes,
It breeds no jealousie,
For when thou do’st on others look,
Methinks thou look’st on me,
_Venus her self_, &c.

3.

I love thee for thy copper nose,
Thy fortune’s ne’re the worse,
It shews the mettal in thy face
Thou should’st have in thy purse,
_Venus her self_, &c.

4.

I love thee for thy Chessenut skin,
Thy inside’s white to me,
That colour should be most approv’d,
That will least changed be.
_Venus her self_, &c.

5.

I love thee for thy splay mouth,
For on that amarous close
There’s room on either side to kisse,
And ne’re offend the nose.
_Venus her self_, &c.

6.

I love thee for thy rotten gummes,
In good time it may hap,
When other wives are costly fed,
Ile keep thy chaps on pap.
_Venus her self_, &c.

7.

I love thee for thy blobber lips,
Tis good thrift I suppose,
They’re dripping-pans unto thy eyes,
And save-alls to thy nose.
_Venus her self_, &c.

8.

I love thee for thy huncht back,
’Tis bow’d although not broken,
For I believe the Gods did send
Me to Thee for a Token.
_Venus her self_, &c.

9.

I love thee for thy pudding wast,
If a Taylor thou do’st lack,
Thou need’st not send to _France_ for one,
Ile fit thee with a sack.
_Venus her self_, &c.

10.

I love thee for thy lusty thighes
For tressels thou maist boast,
Sweet-heart thou hast a water-mill,
And these are the mill-posts.
_Venus her self_, &c.

[11.] 10.

I love thee for thy splay feet,
They’re fooles that thee deride,
Women are alwaies most esteem’d,
When their feet are most wide.
_Venus her self may comelier be_, &c.

_On a TINKER._

He that a Tinker, a Tinker, a Tinker will be,
Let him leave other Loves, and come follow me.
Though he travells all the day,
Yet he comes home still at night,
And dallies, dallies with his Doxie,
And dreames of delight.
His pot and his tost in the morning he takes,
And all the day long good musick he makes;
He wanders up and down to Wakes & to Fairs,
He casts his cap, and casts his cap at the Court and its cares;
And when to the town the Tinker doth come,
Oh, how the wanton wenches run,
Some bring him basons, and some bring him bowles,
All maids desire him to stop up their holes.
_Prinkum Prankum_ is a fine dance, strong Ale is good in the winter,
And he that thrumms a wench upon a brass pot,
The child may prove a Tinker.
With tink goes the hammer, the skellit and the scummer,
Come bring me thy copper kettle,
For the Tinker, the Tinker, the merry merry Tinker
Oh, he’s the man of mettle.

_Upon his Mistris’s black Eye-browes._

Hide, oh hide those lovely Browes,
_Cupid_ takes them for his bowes,
And from thence with winged dart
He lies pelting at my heart,
Nay, unheard-of wounds doth give,
Wounded in the heart I live;
From their colour I descry,
Loves bowes are made of Ebony;
Or their Sable seemes to say
They mourn for those their glances slay;
Or their blacknesse doth arise
From the Sun-beams of your eyes,
Where _Apollo_ seemes to sit,
As he’s God of Day and Wit;
Your piercing Rayes, so bright, and cleare,
Shewes his beamy Chariots there.
Then the black upon your brow,
Sayest wisdomes sable hue, [? sagest]
Tells to every obvious eye,
There’s his other Deity.
This too shewes him deeply wise,
To dwell there he left the skies;
So pure a black could _Phœbus_ burn,
He himself would _Negro_ turn,
And for such a dresse would slight
His gorgeous attire of light;
Eclipses he would count a blisse,
Were there such a black as this:
Were Night’s dusky mantle made
Of so glorious a shade,
The ruffling day she would out-vie
In costly dresse, and gallantry:
Were Hell’s darknesse such a black,
For it the Saints would Heaven forsake;
So pure a black, that white from hence
Loses its name of innocence;
And the most spotlesse Ivory is
A very stain and blot to this:
So pure a black, that hence I guesse,
Black first became a holy dresse.
The Gods foreseeing this, did make
Their Priests array themselves in Black.

_To my Lady of ~Carnarvon~, January 1._

Idol of our Sex! Envy of thine own!
Whom not t’ have seen, is never to have known,
What eyes are good for; to have seen, not lov’d,
Is to be more, or lesse then man, unmov’d;
Deigne to accept, what I i’ th’ name of all
Thy Servants pay to this dayes Festival,
Thanks for the old yeare, prayers for the new,
So may thy many dayes to come seeme few,
So may fresh springs in thy blew rivolets flow,
To make thy roses, and thy lillies grow.
So may all dressings still become thy face,
As if they grew there, or stole thence their grace.
So may thy bright eyes comfort with their rayes
Th’ humble, and dazle those that boldly gaze:
So may thy sprightly motion, beauties best part,
Shew there is stock enough of life at heart.
So may thy warm snow never grow more cold,
So may they live to be, but not seem old.
So may thy Lord pay all, yet rest thy debtor,
And love no other, till he sees a better:
So may the new year crown the old yeares joy,
By giving us a Girle unto our Boy;
I’ th’ one the Fathers wit, and in the other
Let us admire the beauty of the Mother,
That so we may their severall pictures see,
Which now in one fair Medall joyned be:
Till then grow thus together, and howe’re
You grow old in your selves, grow stil young here;
And let him, though he may resemble either,
Seem to be both in one, and singly neither.
Let Ladies wagers lay, whose chin is this,
Whose forehead that, whose lip, whose eye, then kiss
Away the difference, whilst he smiling lies,
To see his own shape dance in both your eyes.
Sweet Babe! my prayer shall end with thee,
(Oh may it prove a Prophecy!)
May all the channels in thy veynes
Expresse the severall noble straines,
From whence they flow; sweet _Sydney’s_ wit,
But not the sad, sweet fate of it;
The last great _Pembroke’s_ learning, sage
_Burleigh’s_ both wisdome and his age;
Thy Grandsires honest heart expresse
The _Veres_ untainted noblenesse.
To these (if any thing there lacks)
Adde _Dormer_ too, and _Molenax_.
Lastly, if for thee I can woo
Gods, and thy Godfathers grace too,
Together with thy Fathers Thrift:
Be thou thy Mothers New-years gift.

_The Western Husband-man’s Complaint in the late Wars._

Uds bodykins! Chill work no more:
Dost think chill labour to be poor?
No ich have more a do:
If of the world this be the trade,
That ich must break zo knaves be made,
Ich will a blundering too. [plundering]

Chill zel my cart and eke my plow,
And get a zword if ich know how,
For ich mean to be right:
Chill learn to zwear, and drink, and roar,
And (Gallant leek) chill keep a whore, [like]
No matter who can vight.

God bless us! What a world is here,
It can ne’re last another year,
Vor ich can’t be able to zoe:
Dost think that ever chad the art,
To plow the ground up with my cart,
My beasts be all a go.

But vurst a Warrant ich will get
From Master Captaine, that a vet
Chill make a shrewd a do:
Vor then chave power in any place,
To steal a Horse without disgrace,
And beat the owner too.

Ich had zix oxen tother day,
And them the Roundheads vetcht away,
A mischiefe be their speed:
And chad zix horses left me whole,
And them the Cabbaleroes stole:
Chee voor men be agreed.

Here ich doe labour, toyl and zweat,
And dure the cold, with dry and heat,
And what dost think ich get?
Vaith just my labour vor my pains,
The garrisons have all the gains,
Vor thither all’s avet.

There goes my corne and beanes, and pease,
Ich doe not dare them to displease,
They doe zo zwear and vapour:
When to the Governour ich doe come,
And pray him to discharge my zum,
Chave nothing but a paper.

U’ds nigs dost think that paper will
Keep warme my back and belly fill?
No, no, goe vange thy note:
If that another year my vield
No profit doe unto me yield,
Ich may goe cut my throat.

When any money chove in store,
Then straight a warrant comes therefore,
Or ich must blundred be:
And when chave shuffled out one pay,
Then comes another without delay,
Was ever the leek azee? [like]

If all this be not grief enow,
They have a thing cald quarter too,
O’ts a vengeance waster:
A pox upon’t they call it vree, [“free quarters”]
Cham zure they make us zlaves to be,
And every rogue our master.

_The High-way man’s Song._

I keep my Horse, I keep my Whore,
I take no Rents, yet am not poore,
I traverse all the land about,
And yet was born to never a foot;
With Partridge plump, and Woodcock fine,
I do at mid-night often dine;
And if my whore be not in case,
My Hostess daughter has her place.
The maids sit up, and watch their turnes,
If I stay long the Tapster mourns;
The Cook-maid has no mind to sin,
Though tempted by the Chamberlin;
But when I knock, O how they bustle;
The hostler yawns, the geldings justle;
If maid be sleep, oh how they curse her!
And all this comes of, _Deliver your purse sir_.

_Against Fruition_, &c.

There is not half so warme a fire
In the Fruition, as Desire.
When I have got the fruit of pain,
Possession makes me poore again,
Expected formes and shapes unknown,
Whet and make sharp tentation;
Sense is too niggardly for Bliss,
And payes me dully with what is;
But fancy’s liberall, and gives all
That can within her vastnesse fall;
Vaile therefore still, while I divine
The Treasure of this hidden Mine,
And make Imagination tell
What wonders doth in Beauty dwell.

_Upon Mr. ~Fullers~ Booke, called ~Pisgah-sight~._

Fuller of wish, than hope, methinks it is,
For me to expect a fuller work than this,
Fuller of matter, fuller of rich sense,
Fuller of Art[,] fuller of Eloquence;
Yet dare I not be bold, to intitle this
The fullest work; the Author fuller is,
Who, though he empty not himself, can fill
Another fuller, yet continue still
Fuller himself, and so the Reader be
Alwayes in hope a fuller work to see.

_On a Sheepherd that died for Love._

1.

_Cloris_, now thou art fled away,
_Aminta’s_ Sheep are gone astray,
And all the joyes he took to see
His pretty Lambs run after thee.
_Shee’s gone, shee’s gone, and he alway,_
_Sings nothing now but welladay._

2.

His Oaten pipe that in thy praise,
Was wont to play such roundelayes,
Is thrown away, and not a Swaine
Dares pipe or sing within this Plaine.
_’Tis death for any now to say_
_One word to him, but welladay._

3.

The May-pole where thy little feet
So roundly did in measure meet,
Is broken down, and no content
Came near _Amintas_ since you went.
_All that ere I heard him say,_
_Was ~Cloris~, ~Cloris~, welladay._

4.

Upon those banks you us’d to tread,
He ever since hath laid his head,
And whisper’d there such pining wo,
That not one blade of grasse will grow.
_Oh ~Cloris~, ~Cloris~, come away,_
_And hear ~Aminta’s~ welladay._

5.

The embroyder’d scrip he us’d to weare
Neglected hangs, so does his haire.
His Crook is broke, Dog pining lyes,
And he himself nought doth but cryes,
_Oh ~Cloris~, ~Cloris~, come away,_
_And hear_, &c.

6.

His gray coat, and his slops of green,
When worn by him, were comely seen,
His tar-box too is thrown away,
There’s no delight neer him must stay,
_But cries, oh ~Cloris~ come away,_
_~Aminta’s~ dying, welladay_.

_The Shepheards lamentation for the losse of his Love._

1.

Down lay the Shepheards Swain,
So sober and demure,
Wishing for his wench again,
So bonny and so pure.
With his head on hillock low,
And his armes on kembow;
And all for the losse of her Hy nonny nonny no.

2.

His teares fell as thin,
As water from a Still,
His haire upon his chin,
Grew like tyme upon a hill:
His cherry cheeks were pale as snow,
Testifying his mickle woe;
And all was for the loss of her hy nonny nonny no.

3.

Sweet she was, as fond of love,
As ever fettred Swaine;
Never such a bonny one
Shall I enjoy again.
Set ten thousand on a row,
Ile forbid that any show
Ever the like of her, hy nonny nonny no.

4.

Fac’d she was of Filbard hew,
And bosom’d like a Swanne:
Back’t she was of bended yew,
And wasted by a span.
Haire she had as black as Crow,
From the head unto the toe,
Down down, all over, hy nonny nonny no.

5.

With her Mantle tuck’t up high,
She foddered her Flocke,
So buckesome and alluringly,
Her knee upheld her smock;
So nimbly did she use to goe,
So smooth she danc’d on tip-toe,
That all men were fond of her, hy nonny nonny no.

6.

She simpred like a Holy-day,
And smiled like a Spring,
She pratled like a Popinjay,
And like a Swallow sing.
She tript it like a barren Doe,
And strutted like a Gar-crowe:
Which made me so fond of her, hy, &c.

7.

To trip it on the merry Down,
To dance the lively Hay,
To wrastle for a green Gown,
In heat of all the day,
Never would she say me no.
Yet me thought she had though
Never enough of her, hy, &c.

8.

But gone she is[,] the blithest Lasse
That ever trod on Plain.
What ever hath betided her,
Blame not the Shepheard Swain.
For why, she was her own foe,
And gave her selfe the overthrowe,
By being too franke of her hy nonny nonny no.

_A Ballad on Queen ~Elizabeth~; to the tune of Sallengers round._

I tell you all both great and small,
And I tell you it truely,
That we have a very great cause,
Both to lament and crie,
Oh fie, oh fie, oh fie, oh fie,
Oh fie on cruell death;
For he hath taken away from us
Our Queen _Elizabeth_.

He might have taken other folk,
That better might have been mist,
And let our gratious Queen alone,
That lov’d not a Popish Priest.
She rul’d this Land alone of her self,
And was beholding to no man.
She bare the waight of all affaires,
And yet she was but a woman.

A woman said I? nay that is more
Nor any man can tell,
So chaste she was, so pure she was,
That no man knew it well.
For whilst that she liv’d till cruel death
Exposed her to all.
Wherefore I say lament, lament,
Lament both great and small.

She never did any wicked thing,
Might make her conscience prick her,
And scorn’d for to submit her self to him
That calls himself Christ’s Vicker:
But rather chose couragiously
To fight under Christ’s Banner,
Gainst Turk and Pope, I and King of _Spain_,
And all that durst withstand her.

She was as Chaste and Beautifull,
And Faire as ere was any;
And had from forain Countreys sent
Her Suters very many.
Though _Mounsieur_ came himself from _France_,
A purpose for to woe her,
Yet still she liv’d and dy’d a Maid,
Doe what they could unto her.

And if that I had _Argus_ eyes,
They were too few to weep,
For our sweet Queen _Elizabeth_,
Who now doth lye asleep:
Asleep I say she now doth lye,
Untill the day of Doome:
But then shall awake unto the disgrace
Of the proud Pope of _Rome_.

_A Ballad on King ~James~; to the tune of When ~Arthur~ first in Court began._

When _James_ in _Scotland_ first began,
And there was crowned King,
He was not much more than a span,
All in his clouts swadling.

But when he waxed into yeares,
And grew to be somewhat tall,
And told his Lords, a Parliament
He purposed to call.

That’s over-much[,] quoth _Douglas_ though,
For thee to doe[,] I feare,
For I am Lord Protector yet,
And will be one halfe yeare.

It pleaseth me well, quoth the King,
What thou hast said to me,
But since thou standest on such tearmes,
Ile prove as strict to thee.

And well he rul’d and well he curb’d
Both _Douglas_ and the rest;
Till Heaven with better Fortune and Power,
Had him to _England_ blest.

Then into _England_ straight he came
As fast as he was able,
Where he made many a Carpet Knight,
Though none of the Round Table.

And when he entered _Barwicke_ Town,
Where all in peace he found:
But when that roaring Megge went off,
His Grace was like to swound.

Then up to _London_ straight he came,
Where he made no long stay,
But soon returned back again,
To meet his Queen by th’ way.

And when they met, such tilting was,
The like was never seen;
The Lords at each others did run,
And neer a tilt between.

Their Horses backs were under them,
And that was no great wonder,
The wonder was to see them run,
And break no Staves in sunder.

They ran full swift and coucht their Speares,
O ho quoth the Ladies then,
They run for shew, quoth the people though,
And not to hurt the men.

They smote full hard at Barriers too,
You might have heard the sound,
As far as any man can goe,
When both his legges are bound.

_Upon the death of a ~Chandler~._

The Chandler grew neer his end,
Pale Death would not stand his friend;
But tooke it in foul snuff,
As having tarryed long enough:
Yet left this not to be forgotten,
Death and the Chandler could not Cotton.

1.

Farre in the Forrest of _Arden_,
There dwelt a Knight hight _Cassimen_,
As bold as _Isenbras_:
Fell he was and eager bent
In battaile and in Turnament,
As was the good Sr. _Topas_.

2.

He had (as Antique stories tell)
A daughter cleped _Dowsabell_,
A Maiden faire and free,
Who, cause she was her fathers heire,
Full well she was y-tought the leire
Of mickle courtesie.

3.

The Silke well could she twist and twine,
And make the fine Marchpine,
And with the needle work.
And she could help the Priest to say
His Mattins on a Holy-day,
And sing a Psalme in Kirk.

4.

Her Frocke was of the frolique Green,
(Mought well become a Mayden Queen)
Which seemely was to see:
Her Hood to it was neat and fine,
In colour like the Columbine,
y-wrought full featuously.

5.

This Maiden in a morne betime,
Went forth when _May_ was in her prime,
To get sweet Scettuall,
The Honysuckle, the Horelock,
The Lilly, and the Ladies-Smock,
To dight her summer Hall.

6.

And as she romed here, and there,
Y-picking of the bloomed brier,
She chanced to espie
A Shepheard sitting on a bank,
Like Chanticleere—he crowed crank,
And piped with merry glee.

7.

He leerd his Sheep as he him list,
When he would whistle in his fist,
To feed about him round,
Whilst he full many a Caroll sung,
That all the fields, and meadowes rung,
And made the woods resound.

8.

In favour this same Shepheard Swaine
Was like the Bedlam Tamerlaine,
That kept proud Kings in awe.
But meek he was as meek mought be,
Yea like the gentle _Abell_, he
Whom his lewd brother slew.

9.

This Shepheard ware a freeze-gray Cloake,
The which was of the finest locke,
That could be cut with Sheere:
His Aule and Lingell in a Thong,
His Tar-box by a broad belt hung,
His Cap of Minivere.

10.

His Mittens were of Bausons skin,
His Cockers were of Cordowin,
His Breech of country blew:
All curle, and crisped were his Locks,
His brow more white then _Albion_ Rocks:
So like a Lover true.

11.

And piping he did spend the day,
As merry as a Popinjay,
Which lik’d faire _Dowsabell_,
That wod she ought, or wod she nought,
The Shepheard would not from her thought,
In love she longing fell:

12.

With that she tucked up her Frock,
(White as the Lilly was her Smock,)
And drew the Shepheard nigh,
But then the Shepheard pip’d a good,
That all his Sheep forsook their food,
To heare his melody.

13.

Thy Sheep (quoth she) cannot be lean,
That have so faire a Shepheard Swain,
That can his Pipe so well:
I but (quoth he) the Shepheard may,
If Piping thus he pine away,
For love of _Dowsabell_.

14.

Of love (fond boy) take thou no keep,
Look well (quoth she) unto thy Sheep;
Lest they should chance to stray.
So had I done (quoth he) full well,
Had I not seen faire _Dowsabell_,
Come forth to gather May.

15.

I cannot stay (quoth she) till night,
And leave my Summer Hall undight,
And all for love of men.
Yet are you, quoth he, too unkind,
If in your heart you cannot find,
To love us now and then.

16.

And I will be to thee as kind,
As _Collin_ was to _Rosalinde_,
Of courtesie the flower.
And I will be as true (quoth she)
As ever Lover yet mought be,
Unto her Paramour.

17.

With that the Maiden bent her knee,
Down by the Shepheard kneeled she,
And sweetly she him kist.
But then the Shepheard whoop’d for joy,
(Quoth he) was never Shepheards boy,
That ever was so blist.

_Upon the ~Scots~ being beaten at ~Muscleborough~ field._

On the twelfth day of _December_,
In the fourth year of King _Edwards_ reign[,]
Two mighty Hosts (as I remember)
At _Muscleborough_ did pitch on a Plain.
For a down, down, derry derry down, Hey down a,
Down, down, down a down derry.

All night our English men they lodged there,
So did the Scots both stout and stubborn,
But well-away was all their cheere,
For we have served them in their own turn.
For a downe, &c.

All night they carded for our _English_ mens Coats,
(They fished before their Nets were spun)
A white for Six-pence, a red for two Groats;
Wisdome would have stayd till they had been won.
For a down, &c.

On the twelfth day all in the morn,
They made a fere as if they would fight;
But many a proud _Scot_ that day was down born,
And many a rank Coward was put to his flight.
For a down, &c.

And the Lord _Huntley_, we hadden him there,
With him he brought ten thousand men:
But God be thanked, we gave him such a Banquet,
He carryed but few of them home agen.
For a down, &c.

For when he heard our great Guns crack,
Then did his heart fall untill his hose,
He threw down his Weapons, he turned his back,
He ran so fast that he fell on his nose.
For a down, &c.

We beat them back till _Edenbrough_,
(There’s men alive can witnesse this)
But when we lookt our English men through,
Two hundred good fellowes we did not misse.
For a down, &c.

Now God preserve _Edward_ our King,
With his two Nuncles and Nobles all,
And send us Heaven at our ending:
For we have given _Scots_ a lusty fall.
For a down, down, derry derry down, Hey,
Down a down down, down a down derry.

_Lipps and Eyes._

In _Celia_ a question did arise,
Which were more beautifull her Lippes or Eyes.
We, said the Eyes, send forth those pointed darts,
Which pierce the hardest Adamantine hearts.
From us, (reply’d the Lipps) proceed the blisses
Which Lovers reape by kind words and sweet kisses.
Then wept the Eyes, and from their Springs did powre
Of liquid Orientall Pearle a showre:
Whereat the Lippes mov’d with delight and pleasure,
Through a sweet smile unlockt their pearly Treasure:
And bad Love judge, whether did adde more grace,
Weeping or smiling Pearles in _Celia’s_ face.

_On black Eyes._

Black Eyes; in your dark Orbs do lye,
My ill or happy destiny,
If with cleer looks you me behold,
You give me Mines and Mounts of Gold;
If you dart forth disdainfull rayes,
To your own dy, you turn my dayes.
Black Eyes, in your dark Orbes by changes dwell.
My bane or blisse, my Paradise or Hell.

That Lamp which all the Starres doth blind,
Yeelds to your lustre in some kind,
Though you do weare, to make you bright,
No other dresse but that of night:
He glitters only in the day.
You in the dark your Beames display.
Black Eyes, &c.

The cunning Theif that lurkes for prize,
At some dark corner watching lyes;
So that heart-robbing God doth stand
In the dark Lobbies, shaft in hand,
To rifle me of what I hold
More pretious farre then _Indian_ Gold.
Black Eyes, &c.

Oh powerful Negromantick Eyes,
Who in your circles strictly pries,
Will find that _Cupid_ with his dart,
In you doth practice the blacke Art:
And by th’ Inchantment I’me possest,
Tryes his conclusion in my brest.
Black Eyes, &c.

Look on me though in frowning wise,
Some kind of frowns become black eyes,
As pointed Diamonds being set,
Cast greater lustre out of Jet.
Those pieces we esteem most rare,
Which in night shadowes postur’d are.
Darknesse in Churches congregates the sight,
Devotion strayes in glaring light.
Black Eyes, in your dark Orbs by changes dwell,
My bane, or blisse, my Paradise or Hell.

_CRVELTY._

We read of Kings, and Gods that kindly took
A Pitcher fill’d with Water from the Brook.
But I have dayly tendred without thanks,
Rivers of tears that overflow their banks.
A slaughtred Bull will appease angry Jove,
A Horse the Sun, a Lamb the God of Love.
But she disdains the spotlesse sacrifice
Of a pure heart that at her Altar lyes:
Vesta [i]’s not displeas’d if her chaste Urn
Doe with repaired fuell ever burn;
But my Saint frowns, though to her honoured name
I consecrate a never dying flame:
Th’ _Assyrian_ King did none i th’ furnace throw,
But those that to his Image did not bow:
With bended knees I dayly worship her,
Yet she consumes her own Idolater.
Of such a Goddesse no times leave record,
That burnt the Temple where she was ador’d.

_A Sonnet._

What ill luck had I, silly Maid that I am,
To be ty’d to a lasting vow;
Or ere to be laid by the side of a man,
That woo’d, and cannot tell how;
Down didle down, down didle me.
Oh that I had a Clown that he might down diddle me,
With a courage to take mine down.

What punishment is that man worthy to have,
That thus will presume to wedde,
He deserves to be layd alive in his grave,
That woo’d and cannot in bed;
Down didle down[,] down didle me.
Oh that I had a Lad that he might down didle me,
For I feare I shall run mad.

_The ~Doctors~ Touchstone._

I never did hold, all that glisters is Gold,
Unless by the Touch it be try’d;
Nor ever could find, that it was a true signe,
To judge a man by the outside.
A poor flash of wit, for a time may be fit
To wrangle a question in Schools.
Good dressing, fine cloathes, with other fine shews,
May serve to make painted fools.

That man will beguile, in your face that will smile,
And court you with Cap and with knee:
And while you’re in health, or swimming in wealth,
Will vow that your Servant hee’l be.
That man Ile commend, and would have to my friend
If I could tell where to choose him,
That wil help me at need, and stand me in stead,
When I have occasion to use him.

I doe not him fear, that wil swagger & sweare,
And draw upon every cross word,
And forthwith again if you be rough & plain,
Be contented to put up his sword.
Him valiant I deem, that patient can seem,
And fights not in every place,
But on good occasion, without seeking evasion[,]
Durst look his proud Foe in the face.

That Physician shal pass that is all for his glass
And no other sign can scan,
Who to practice did hop, from ‘Apothecaries’ shop,
Or some old Physitians man.
He Physick shal give to me whilst I live,
That hath more strings to his Bow,
Experience and learning, with due deserving,
And will talk on no more then he know.

That Lawyer I hate, that wil wrangle & prate,
In a matter not worth the hearing:
And if fees do not come, can be silent & dumb,
Though the cause deserves but the clearing.
That Lawyers for me, that’s not all for his fee,
But will do his utmost endeavour
To stand for the right, and tug against might,
And lift the truth as with a Leaver.

The Shark I do scorn, that’s only well born,
And brags of his antient house,
Yet his birth cannot fit, with money nor wit,
But feeds on his friends like a Louse,
That man I more prize, that by vertue doth rise
Unto some worthy degree,
That by breeding hath got, what by birth he had not,
A carriage that’s noble and free.

I care not for him, that in riches doth swimme,
And flants it in every fashion,
That brags of his Grounds and prates of his Hounds,
And his businesse is all recreation.
For him I will stand, that hath wit with his Land,
And will sweat for his Countreys good,
That will stick to the Lawes, and in a good cause
Will adventure to spend his heart-blood.