SONGS AND POEMS OF LOVE AND DROLLERY
By T. W.
Printed in the Year, 1654.
To my most obliging Friend E. M. Esquire.
SIR,
IT was not by my endeavor, but permittance only, that these trifles were preferred to the Press; nor had the perswasions used procured so much from me, but that upon strict Examination, I conceived them to be good for nothing, but to be printed. For since the late Deluge of Ignorance overflowed this Land, it fares with Books, as [Page] with Men; the light and frothy float and flourish, whilst the Grave and Solid sink and perish. Having thus abandoned them to the ignominy of an Impression, 'twould be absurd to beg from you a candid opinion of them, which hath been already denyed them by my self. And therefore I ask no pardon for the Errors of the Contents, but for the boldness I take to present you therewith, and to subscribe my self
(Sir)
Your most Faithfully Devoted Servant, T. W.
SONGS AND POEMS OF LOVE AND DROLLERY.
Song.
COme all you discontented souls,
And here lay down your Loads;
Drinksack w
ch want & wo controuls
And care it self corrodes.
The world is never bad,
Whilst good Wine may be had,
Nor can it much oppresse yee,
Though the Anger of al
Other gods on yee fall,
So
Bacchus onely blesse ye.
(Chor.)
Then to Bacchus, then to Bacchus
Let's be betake us,
Whose streams will dry
The weeping eye,
And make our griefs forsake us.
2.
Are you depriv'd of those you lov'd,
yet let your heart not sink;
Such crosses to the wise have prov'd
provocatives to drink:
He had a gallant Soul,
Who call'd for a full Boul,
When one of his Sons was slain;
And being told anone,
That another was gone,
He cry'd, Fill't up again.
(Chor.)
Then to Bacchus, then to Bacchus, &c.
3.
Did the successefull foe o'rethrow
In battell all your powers?
Drink sack, and you'le ne're feel the blow,
But count the next day your's;
When the Gyants by
Scalado
Storm'd heav'n in a bravado,
The trembling Gods were shrinking,
Till
Bachus in 'em works,
And makes 'em fight like Turks:
Heav'n was preserv'd by drinking.
(Chor.)
Then to Bacchus, then, &c.
4.
Is your just Cause batr'd of successe,
By the bribed Judges Art?
Drink Sack and it shall onely presse
His conscience, not your heart.
Doth the undeserved frown
Of your King keep you down
From power and dignity?
Then your cups freely take,
And your self they will make
A Prince as great as he.
(Chor.)
Then to Bacchus, then, &c.
5.
Mourn not, if she whom you adore
will not to grace admit yee;
Your tears will make her pride the more,
And laughter move, not pitie.
To pine and look pale,
Is no way to prevail,
But take this course that's better,
Drink Sack till your face
Hath a plump ruddie grace;
You'l get, or else forget her.
(Chor.)
Then to Bacchus, then, &c.
6.
Have plundring Rebels made you poor,
Then let them in no part
Enjoy your grief, as well as store,
But envy your light heart.
Drink about, and about,
Drink in season, and out;
Drink deep, and then confide you,
That the world well will go,
Or if it do, or no,
You'l care no more than I do.
(Chor.)
Then to Bacchus, then to Bacchus,
Let's betake us,
VVhose streams doth dry
The weeping eye,
And make our griefs forsake us.
SONG.
QUickly drawer bring us up,
More Wine yet, and a larger cup,
That of the same draught I may first,
Quench, and again renew my thirst;
With other sweets we soon are cloy'd;
Wine's more desir'd the more enjoy'd:
Were
Pallas here, who could endure
To hear her talk 'bove half an hour?
Appollo too with's golden Lyre,
Would with each strain waste your desire;
Venerian sports till morning please:
But then grow loath'd as the disease.
'Tis
Bacchus onely can delight,
And still preserve the Appetite;
Oft may he then my throat supply,
With constant floods to keep it dry.
SONG.
FAir
Cloris in a gentle slumber lay,
Sleep taking rest,
In her calm brest.
Whilst her vail'd eyes seem to eclipse the day.
The wanton Sun
Would court her fain,
Peep't here and there,
But all in vain.
The leafie bowes a guard had made,
Planting between their envious shade;
Whereat he chid his idle beams, that he
Should want an eye wherby himself might see.
A Song in Prison.
I Am no captive, I, I find,
My soul still free and unconfin'd;
And though my body have the doom,
To be cag'd up in a close room;
Yet since my minde is guiltlesse, this
No bondage, nor no thraldome is.
Let such for captives truely go,
Whose guilty souls do make them so;
When num'rous crimes link't and combin'd:
Like pondrous chains fetter the minde:
When thoughts are black and gloomy, this
True bondage, and true thraldome is.
But when a spotlesse Innocence
Shall witness that no foul offence,
But Loyalty unto my King
Caus'd my restraint; who will not bring
A testimony straight, that this
No bondage nor no thraldonme is.
SONG.
YOu silly mortals that addresse,
With more devotion then success,
Your wishes to some powerless gods,
To gain their love, or shun their rods,
Be rul'd by me, and I'le be bold,
To lay the Divell to a groat,
That you shall prosper in your vote,
Worship no god but gold.
(Chor.)
Gold, Gold, O behold,
Thou delight and the chear
Of the sight and the ear;
Wee'l thy power adore,
And thy favour implore;
Angels from thee have Wings to touch
The lofty stars, O grant us such,
That to Heaven we may sore;
Hell's onely for the poor.
2.
The power of
Jove that's held so big,
Compar'd to Gold's, not worth a fig;
His thundering godhead strength did lack
To lay weak
Danae on her back;
Shee against all assaults did hold,
Her Virgin fort, untill there came
A shower of gold to storm the same.
The God of Power is Gold:
(Chor.)
Gold, Gold, O behold, &c.
3.
Cupid, the Active god of Love,
Who oft hath triumph't over
Jove,
Could never yet subdue a hart,
But when he us'd a golden dart;
And Ladies now that seem most cold
When amorous youth for favour begs,
Ope a rich purse, will ope their legs.
The god of Love is Gold;
(Chor.)
Gold, Gold, O behold, &c.
4.
In vain for help the Souldier goes,
To blustring
Mars against his foes;
All he can do's not worth a doyt,
If Gold be not in the exployt.
'Twas by the Oracle once told,
He that his foe will overthrow,
With Gold not Steel, must strike the blow:
The god of War is Gold.
(Chor.)
Gold, Gold, O behold, &c.
5.
Kings that aw Nations with their frowns,
Are made so by their golden Crowns;
And subjects oft we see give o're
Their duty, when their Prince grow's poor;
The gods themselves we should behold,
If Gold enflame not Piety,
Would without Priests and Altars be,
A God of gods is Gold.
(Chor.)
Gold, Gold, O behold, &c.
6.
Would you be noble? Gold's the thing,
Can make you cozen to a King.
Or grave and wife? 'tis in its power
To make you privy Councellour,
All doubtfull strifes be can unfold;
And whither it the juster cause
Determined oftner then the Laws:
The God of Judgment's Gold,
(Chor.)
Gold, Gold, O behold, &c.
7.
'Tis want of Gold doth cause all ill,
And makes men steal, defraud and kill,
And th'costly sins they cannot Act
They envie, and more guilt contract:
But such as store of treasure hold,
Do eat and drink and play fine pranks,
They kiss their Wench, and give God thanks,
The God of vertue's Gold.
(Chor.)
Gold, Gold, O behold, &c.
8.
Then you that seek a pleasant life,
For Gold, make sale of Friend or wife;
Shift all Lands and Religions too,
Till Gold vouchsafe to dwell with you.
But if he still himself withhold,
And there remain no farther hope,
Betake your selves unto a rope,
Hang they can get no Gold.
(Chor.)
Gold, Gold, O behold,
Thou delight, and the chear,
Of the sight and the ear,
We'l thy power adore,
And thy favour implore,
Angels from thee have wings to touch
The lofty stars, O grant us such,
That to Heaven we may sore:
Hell's onely for the poor.
SONG.
NOw fie upon the Peevish Sect
Of vertuous handsome Women,
Who when they're woo'd to sport, object
Honour and Heaven unto men.
The Attributes of Chaste and Cold
Become the ugly and the old;
But shee whose face is fair, her minde
May best adorne, by being kinde.
The cruel Beauty doth prevent,
And frustrate Natures end;
Or is a loathed Instrument,
To plague men that offend.
All fruits, their sweetnesse have to feast
The tast; And when they do't, are blest:
But that's accurst, that doth invite
And Tantalize the Appetite.
Did the Celestial Lamps alone
Without an influence,
Appear but to be gaz'd upon,
They'd gain small honour thence;
They're nor ador'd for their bright show,
But 'cause they warm and mix below,
So heavenly Beauties both inspire
With wonder, and content desire.
And may (my
Sylvia) thine prove such,
Thus being admit'd by me;
Let me enjoy it now as much,
And I will worship thee.
Now quickly say, if I must be
Thy Martyr, or thy Votary:
For thou to me canst prove no lesse,
Then either Saint or Murderesse.
The Compounders Song.
1.
COme Drawers, some Wine,
Or we'l pull down your sign;
For we're all joval Compounders.
We'l make the house ring
VVith healths to the King,
And confusion unto his confounders.
2.
Since Goldsmiths Committee
Affords us no pittie,
Our sorrows in VVine we will steep 'm;
They forc'd us to take
Two Oaths, and we make
A third, that we ne're mean to keep 'm.
3.
And first, who e're see's,
VVe'l drink on our knees,
To th'King; may they choak that repine:
A fig for the Traitors
That look to his waters,
Th'ave nothing to do with our VVine.
4.
And next here's a Cup
To the Queen; fill it up,
Wer't poison we would make an end on't,
May
Charles and she meet,
And tread under feet
Both Anabaptist and Independent.
5.
To the Prince and all others
His Sisters and Brothers,
As low in condition as high-born;
We drink this and pray,
That shortly they may
See all those that wrong them at
Tyborn.
6.
And now here's three bowles,
To all gallant souls,
That for the King did, and will venture;
May they flourish when those
Who are his and their foes
Are dam'd and ram'd down to the Center.
7.
And last let a glasse
To our Undoers passe,
Attended with two or three curses;
May plagues sent from hell
Stuff their bodies as well
As Cavaliers Coyn doth their purses.
8.
May the Canibals of
Pym
Eat them up lymb by lymb,
Or a feaver scorch 'em to Embers;
Pox keep 'em in bed
Until they are dead,
Or compound for the losse of their members.
9.
And may they be found
In nought to abound,
But heavens and their Countries anger;
May they never want factions,
Doubts, fears and distractions,
Till the Gallow tree takes them from danger
Rotundos.
ONce I a curious eye did fix
to observe the tricks
Of the Schismaticks of the times,
To find out which of them
VVas the merriest theme,
And best would befit my rimes.
Arminians I found solid,
Socinians were not stolid;
Much learning for Papists did stickle:
But ah ha ha ha ha ha ha, Rotundos Rot.
ah, ha ha ha ha ha ha, Rotundos Rot.
'Tis you that my Spleen doth tickle.
And first, to tel must not be forgot
How I once did trot
With a great Zealot to a Lecture,
Where I a Tub did view,
Hung with apron blew,
'Twas the preachers as I conjecture:
His use and doctrine too,
VVere of no other hue,
Though he spake with a tone most mickle
But ah ha ha, &c.
He taught amongst other pretty things,
That the Book of
Kings
Small benefit brings to the godly,
Beside he had some grudges
At the book of
Judges,
And talk't of
Leviticus odly;
Wisodm most of all,
He declares Apocriphall,
Beat
Bell and the
Dragon, like
Michael.
But ab, ha ha, &c.
'Gainst humane Learning next he enveys,
And most boldy says,
'Tis that which destroyes Inspiration;
Let superstitious sense,
And wit be banisht hence.
With Popish premeditation;
Cut Bishops down in haste,
And Cathedralls as fast
As corn that's fit for the syckle.
But ah, ha, &c.
I heard one say, if her knee he did touch,
He could tell thus much,
If a sister did crouch at Communion,
Then thrusting up his hand,
He ne're made a stand,
Till he came where her fork had union;
But she without all terrour,
Beleiving 'twas an errour,
Did laugh while her tears down trickl'd.
But ah, ha, &c.
Oh then her Spleen he tickl'd.
Indeed quoth she with much modestie,
Good brother you be
Of a certainty much too high,
O, no, no, no, quoth he,
Is not thy knee
At the upper end of thy thigh?
And now I find by handing,
That thou wilt take it standing,
Of me thine own sweet mickle.
But ah, ha
O then her spleen he'd tickle.
Their teachers like to wild Asses wince,
At their Soveraign Prince;
And I heard (not long since) one demanding,
If there must needs be one,
Might not I fit a throne,
As well as the tub that I stand in;
And how well would a Crown
Sit on my head so rown,
But we'l have no man so mickle.
But ah, ha ha, &c.
If once they get a seditious hint,
It must out in Print,
Though there's matter in't to o'return all;
And if they write in meeter,
They think there's nothing sweeter,
Unlesse it be old
Tom Sternhold;
Their Papers will serve those
That have need to pick a rose,
Or else too good for the pickle.
But ah ha, &c.
Thus they will never leave off to palter,
Till at last a halter
Doth the case quite alter with such men;
They'l wish they'd ne're forgon
The old Religion,
And learn'd a new of the Dutchmen:
They'l surely constant be,
When to the triple-tree
They'r ty'd, be they now ne're so fickle.
But ah, ha, &c.
Oh then my Spleen you'l tickle.
God blesse the King, and Queen also,
And Yorks Duke too,
And the other three more, with the Captain,
May all their treacherous friends,
And their foes miss their ends,
And their own devices be trap't in:
And may our noble
Charles find
Rebels ne're more perillous
Then Herrings that lye in the pickle.
But ah ha &c.
O then my, &c.
ZEAL OVER-HEATED, Or A Relation of a lamentable fire which happened in Oxford, in a Religious Brothers Shop, who though he laboured in all mens vocations, yet were his trades fewer then his tricks to fetch over the wicked, that he might afford the godly a better pennyworth.
To the Tune of Chivey-Chase.
1.
ATtend ye Brethren every one,
And listen with a pair
Of swaggring ears that have out-grown
By many an inch the hair.
2.
Of Popish flames I will relate
To you a dismall story,
Which turn'd a Zealots Shop of late
Into a Purgatory.
3.
There dwels in
Oxford near the place
Where holy
Cornish teaches,
One that in all trades had such grace,
The wicked he over-reaches.
4.
This Brother first a stoick was,
Peripateticall;
For about the world as he did passe,
His wealth he carried all.
5.
But when his sin had made his pack
Too heavy for his Shoulder,
I'th'foresaid place he eas'd his back,
And turn'd a stay'd housholder.
6.
In all vocations by and by
He grew so great a meddler,
That though th'Exchange his Shop stood nigh'
You'd take him for no Pedler.
7.
By slight of tongue he could fetch o're
All sparks that came unto him,
Except those which two nights before
Christide were like to undoe him.
8.
When he to sleep himself had set,
And dream'd of no worse fires
Then those his zeal, and's little peat
Kindl'd in his desires.
9.
He heard some cry fire, fire, amain,
And say that he was slack;
Great
John of all trades would again
Be brought to his first Pack.
10.
Then hasting down to see what burn'd,
The smoak his breath did stop,
Alas, his new Exchange was turn'd
To a Tobacco shop.
11.
His wife came too at the report,
Her cloaths hung in such pickle,
As she had new come from the sport,
After a Conventickle.
The second part.
12.
And first in these sad flames she spy'd
A spruce
Geneva Bible,
With gilded leaves and strings beside,
That were not contemptible.
13.
But with lesse grief he could have seen't
(As he then said to some one)
Had but the Apocripha been in't,
And Prayers that we call common.
14.
The Practice there of Piety,
And good St.
Kathrine Stubs
Were Martyrs, which oft quoted he
Had heard in several tubbs.
15.
Then being of his
Dods bereft,
And
Cleavers all and some,
You may presume that there was left,
Of
Comforts never a
crum.
16.
A Chest of Cambrick and Holland
Was turn'd to a box of tinder,
His Virgin Tapers out were brand,
The Extinguishers could not hinder.
17.
They that his Taffaties did see
And various Ribbons, strait
Concluded that in burnt silk he
Was largely worth his waight.
18.
Of smoaking Canes there lay great store,
His eyes had soon espy'd them,
They ne're were truly fir'd befoe,
As he had oft bely'd them.
19.
His hobby horses erst so tame
Smal babes of grace might run
A race upon them, now became
Hot as the steeds i'th' Sun.
20.
Mirrours and perspectives then might
Be burning Glasses call'd;
The Feaver was so hot that night,
That Perriwiggs grew balde.
21.
Then moustraps, fly flaps, and whole shelves
Of whipps, with others some
Such fatal instruments, themselves
Suffr'd a Martyrdome.
22.
And to conclude, the flame being done,
Some that were there did swear,
Though Christmas was not yet begun,
That 'twas Ashwednesday there.
23.
Dear Brethren then be not so hot:
For if unto your harm,
Your zeal like this take fire, I wot,
You'l wish you were luke-warm.
24.
God blesse this Land, and keep it Aye
Against all that oppose:
And let the Supream head bear sway
in stead o'th' Supream nose.
Another. The price of Annarchie.
To the tune of Mad Tom.
ALL you that would no longer
To a Monarch be subjected,
Come away to
Guildhall,
And be there liberall,
Your wish shall be effected.
(Chor.)
Come, come away, bring your gold, bring your Jewels▪
Your silver shap't or molten;
If the King you'd have down,
And advance to the Crown
Five Members and Kimbolton.
2.
Regard no Proclamations,
They're subjects fit to jest on:
Harry Esling's farr
Better then
C. R.
Tis resolv'd upon the question.
(Chor.)
Come, come away, bring, &c.
3.
Ye Aldermen first send in
Your Chains upon these Summons,
To buy ropes ends
For all the Kings friends,
They are Traitors against the Commons.
(Chor.)
Come, come away, bring, &c.
4.
Your Basons large, and Ewres
Unto this use allot 'em;
If e're you mean
Your hands to wash clean
From the sins by which you got 'm.
(Chor.)
Come, come away, &c.
5.
Send in your Cann's and Goblets,
Ye Citizens confiding;
And think not scorn
To drink in a horn
Of your own wives providing.
(Chor.)
Come, come away, &c.
6.
Ye Brethren strong and lusty,
The Sisters exercise yee;
Get babes of grace,
And spoons apace,
Both Houses do advise yee.
(Chor.)
Come, come away, &c.
7.
Your Gold and Silver Bodkin,
The Parliament would ha'both;
Which oft doth make
A louse for to take
A journey upon the Sabboth.
(Chor.)
Come, come, &c.
8.
You that have store of money
Bring'thither, and be thrifty;
If the Parliament thrive,
'Twill so contrive,
You'll have back four of fifty.
(Chor.)
Come, come away, &c.
9.
Let the Religious Seamstresse
Her silver Thymble bring here;
'Twill be a fine thing
In deposing a King,
To say you had a finger.
(Chor.)
Come, come away, &c.
10.
Your Childs decay'd whistle
May here obtain admittance;
Nor shall that cost
Be utterly lost,
You'l have for't an Acquittance.
(Chor.)
Come, come away, &c.
11.
If when the bus'nesse endeth
Your Plate you would recover,
Be sure you may
The chief heads that day
On the Bridg or Tower discover.
(Chor.)
Come, come away, bring your gold, bring your jewels,
Your silver shap't or molten;
If the King you'd ha'down,
And advance to the Crown
Five Members and Kimbolton.
Another, In Defence of Women.
1.
FUll many a Ballad hath been made,
and railing Poeme writ
Against poor Women, as if they had
of goodnesse never a whit.
But I'le prove it in spight of any mans nose,
That e're writ against them in verse or in prose,
That some women are good: A hard task I have chose,
And will ask a great deal of wit.
2.
[...] young man once had got a fine lasse
he lov'd above all other,
Who for his sake did swear by the Masse,
she'd leave both father & mother.
But when sh'ad got Rings and Gloves many a pair,
She quarrelld and kick'd him down the stair;
[...] not this Girl good? To draw in an Heir
And make a younger Brother.
3.
There is a poor friend of mine that is wed
to one who every stitch
Cryes out she never had come to his bed,
had it not been for some witch:
She claw's his face like any wilde cat,
And his eyes till he see no more then a bat;
This Woman is excellent good (that's flat)
To cure a man of the Itch.
4.
Some Women there are who wil not, all night,
permit you to take any sleep,
To cure their itching appetite
will make you not able to Creep.
They'l rise about noon, put on their gay cloth
And away to a feast how e're the world goe
[...]
Such women are wondrous good (God know
[...]
To hang, but not to keep.
5.
A Woman I know that cannot endure
to eat unlesse by stealth;
Her self in her closet she will immure,
and say, 'Tis for her health.
The Plover and Partridge is all her dyet,
Her husband eats beef when he can come by
I'le maintain shee's good (who ever deny it
To none but to her self.
6.
Some are in Religion very profound,
and for the Gospel stickle;
They'l suddenly bring the Pope to the ground
though now he be ne're so mickle.
He'l as soon he laid on his back, they ne're fe
[...]
As themselves when the brothers are mov'd by the spirit;
They are heavenly good at the sport (I dare swear it)
After a Conventickle.
7.
There is a sort whose freedome's such,
you'l think y'ave got a treasure,
Their naked armes and brests you may touch,
and kisse them without measure.
But when to be at the main stake you put in,
They'l not do't to shame thēselvs & their Kin;
They're good—to draw on you the guilt of the sin,
And barr you of the pleasure.
8.
Some so affect so be in fame,
pure and immaculate,
That if they hear but
Cupid's name
they are displeas'd thereat.
If you touch but their hand, y'ave a pish & a fie,
But offer to kisse, and for help they will cry;
These Women are purely good, — say I,
The Lord he knows for what.
9.
The last I'l commend are high coming Lasses
that all subjection scorn;
If their husbands displease'em they are in sad cases
they'ad better lead on a forlorn;
But take a good cudgel to cure all this,
And apply't to their sides till you make them pi
[...]
You'l find that such Women are not much
[...]
To breath a man well in a morn.
10.
Now if any Poet can give more praise
then I have done to smocks,
With all my heart he shall wear the Bayes,
and I will sit in the stocks:
Or if there be any will yet be so stout,
As to say they are all nought, we will not f
[...] o
[...]
For to tell you the troth, I went about,
To maintain a Paradox.
A LETANY. Upon Occasion of a Journey to Bath.
1.
FRom going to
Bath with little money in my purse;
From staying there after all's spent, which is worse,
And from a drawers visit when I am ready to horse.
Good Mercury defend me.
2.
From an old German Quack yclipp'd Doctor
Bavie,
Whose skill is not half so much as his knavery,
And ten to one will rather kill'ee then save'ee,
Good Mercury defend me.
3.
From his Purges and Vomits, his Powders and Jellie,
With more fot's own good then yours he does sell'ee,
And from medling with the Tapsters wife with a great belly.
Good Mercury, &c.
4.
From Ladies that take Phisick before they be sick;
That they may with better mettal answer the (.),
Who copulate thrice a night, yet call 't a lewd trick,
Good Mercury, &c.
5.
From such as in
Bath use to sing a Hymn,
From a Barber that on Sunday mornings refuses to trim,
From living a Traitor, and dying like
Pym
Good Mercury, &c.
6.
From a Preacher that's as fat as the Bull
Basan,
And bellowes out such Doctrines as would amaze one,
From his Font of pewter, and his face that's brazen
Good Mercury, &c.
7.
From his thanks to God for saving in Child-bed pain,
A woman that's from a Church a mile off or twain,
And perhaps preparing for the same Business again,
Good Mercury, &c.
8.
From a Colonel that vapours as if he were
Mars,
Yet will take a blow on the face, and a kick on the arse,
And so suffers more in Peace then he did in the Wars
Good Mercury, &c.
9
From a Captain that keeps a horrible stir,
And when he's call'd Rascal, cryes, Your servant Sir,
That will challenge a Mastiff, and not fight with a Cur,
Good Mercury, &c.
10
From an Hostis that reckons the same thing again,
And brings in the same
Items to several men;
And from such as call to pay before it be ten
Good Mercury, &c.
11
From a rainy day when I have never a Cloak,
From foul wayes when I ride in boots that do soak,
And from a Town without drink when I am ready to choak
Good Mercury, &c.
12
From a stone horse that's right and sound limb and wind
Yet tires and leaves a fair Lady behind;
And from an Inn where I'm forc't to take such as I find,
Good Mercury defend me.
13.
From uncivil Creditors that threaten to sue me;
From gaping after Wealth which will never come to me;
And from being a Poet, for that will undo me,
Good Mercury defend me.
Cupidinis Cestrensis Calentura.
YOur pardon Cupid, I'l not love a jot,
This Climate is too hot;
Under Loves Equinoctial here we are
Just perpendicular,
Where flames in downright doing must be drench'd
Or they will n'ere be quench'd:
Talk of a Love that only mixes souls,
And the itch of flesh controuls,
That into hot imbraces loaths to melt.
The Ladies swear y'are gelt:
And vow had
Plato taught here, th'Eunuch then
Should have been ston'd again.
It is not a rich fancy, nor quick wit,
Nor Courtly phrase can fit;
From Lute and voice let skilful accents flow,
They'l call for
Bobbing-Jo.
But bring smooth faces and good promising backs,
The only modish knacks;
I'le warrant them your own without more stir,
Or if they do demur;
How you are yarded both in flesh and Land
Is all on which they stand.
Hence 'tis, that
Hymen's here so oft invok'd
That we are almost choak'd
With constellations of Links. Sure this
Town is no Gods but his;
Men that before had vow'd a Covenant
To
Mars, do here recant,
And sel the honour they might gain by fights
For soft and vain delights.
Our
Cyprian Ladies here do triumph still,
Conquer abroad who will.
The dearth of men dame
Shipton prophesi'd,
They safely may deride.
For sure I think they could (were all men gone)
Keep up the sport alone;
Just as among themselves when men they miss
They use to dance and kiss.
Let none misconster me, I tax not all,
A parcel's good, though smal;
There are some witty fair ones in the place,
Adorn'd with every Grace;
Such as conform to modest
Venus Lawes,
Worthy of all applause,
When I acknowledg this, who'l blame my muse,
And say she doth abuse?
For to her self who ever shall apply't,
Trust me, I'l not deny't.
But such as 'gainst my Verse complaints do make,
And cry my Ink's too black,
That coat of shame on their own persons draw,
Which I but stuft with straw.
To certain Prisoners, who had appointed a Drinking-Match.
BRavely resolv'd: you mean the world shall see
You have not yet lost all your liberty;
Y'are but restrain'd from Vertue, you have still
An unconfined freedome to do ill.
Can't you be mad by chance, but it must be
Consulted and resolv'd to a decree?
'Tis crime enough to be o'reta'ne with Wine,
But to be drunk with purpose and design
Admits no pardon: yet with such delight
And pomp you act it, as you'd merit by't.
Reclaim for Heavens sake, drink no longer then,
You may forget y'are prisoners, not men;
Know y'are amongst your foes, who'l joy to see
Your crimes as much as your captivity,
And thence become more confident and bold
Then from their Pulpets, Almanacks and Gold;
For 'tis too good a Logick which infers,
Slaves unto so much vice, must needs be theirs.
But (Sirs) I not admire your strange delight
To drink so much, as how you can come by't;
I know your pockets have a long time been
Empty, & free for th'Fiend to frisk therein,
And 'mongst your friends, though you are dry at th' heart
Your Credits would not pass for one poor quart:
Have foes more faith, or have you lighted on
A more confiding generation?
Make use on't; yet remember well this thing,
Though now you drink without a reckoning,
The time may come, when after there shall be
Exchanges to procure your liberty,
That you again may prisoners become
T'
imprimis, item, and the
total sum;
Take heed lest then with pensive hearts you pack
To the Brick-building; trust me there's no Sack.
But friends, I wish that what I've said unto ye
May a prevention prove, not Prophesie.
I'l visit you e're many Suns do shine,
And if i'th' num'rous Deluges of Wine
All Grace be not already wrack'd and sunk,
I'l work you sober, or my self well drunk.
To Sir E. L. at LONDON.
GOod Sir, to you for your kind Letter
I think my self much more a Debtor
Then you or I are to
Tom Dennis,
To whom we owe both Pounds and pennies,
For you therein much love express
Both in your Sack and soberness
When rich Canary warmes your blood,
And you begin to chew the cud
Of Loyalty, and boldly swear
You'l live and dye a Cavalier▪
When all sad thoughts as fast do quit'ee,
As poor Malignants do the City,
When some loud thundring Ordinance rings
From the first and second house of Kings.
When
Charles and
Mary have gone round,
And some great men who still prove sound;
And when to the three Country Lasses
Y'ave sacrific'd as many glasses,
Then you, I find, with Wine that sparkles
Much like a fire made of Char-coles,
Cry Sirs, a health, if such your leave is,
To honest
Dick; Let come, quoth
Bevis;
Quoth Uncle
Will, I'l not forgo it
For truly
Dick's a pretty Poet;
And yet me thinks, what er's the matter,
For's poverty he might be better.
True, (quoth my friend) but you know he
Has a worse fault then's Poetry,
Which makes his fortunes go awry all,
That is, he's honest still, and Loyal.
To this your Love (Sirs) I yeild store
Of thanks, but admiration more,
That Wine, which makes mens thoughts aspire
As high as
Phaetons, or higher,
Should give you such humility
As to descend to think of me.
But then (Sir) when y'are out of drink,
And call for paper, pen, and Ink,
And write to your own Lady
Nannie,
And the other two, who next of any
You best affect, and to Sir
Trevor,
That you should think of poor
Dick Lravor,
And send him too a large Epistle,
Believe me, Sir, it makes me bristle,
And fancy streight (or I'm a Varlet)
My old freiz Jump is Plush or Scarlet,
And that I am as spick and span
All o're as a Committee-man:
But I do fear I am too long,
And injure much the pressing throng
Of businesses, which will not leave you
To come and kiss, and play with Nephew.
Farewel then, only let me say o're
A word or two in form of Prayer:
God send you soon free from the thral
And tyranny of Goldsmiths Hall;
That Gulph of all the Kingdomes store,
That grave of Treasure, which is more
Insatiate then a Whore that's bold,
Or
Tophet that's ordain'd of old.
Where men must give more then the widow
(Prais'd in the Text for bounty) did do;
For she bestow'd there no more pelf.
Then what belong'd unto her self;
But here men are constrain'd t' undo
Themselves, their wives and children too;
Nay more, this place wants not a plot
To swallow Infants e're th'are got.
Now were some upright Judg found out
I'd wish him to decide this doubt
Of
Lunsford, and of Goldsmiths Hall,
Which was the greatest Cannibal;
For
Lunsford never, I'l be sworn,
Devoured a Child that was unborn.
Heaven, Sir, at length will set you free,
Mean time let this your comfort be,
That all men now must there be waiters,
But Loyal Beggars and false Traitors.
All that are here, wives, maids and men,
And Jack that snores from ten to ten,
Wish you as well as e're they can do,
And so does
Trig, and
Boy, and
Quando;
But none like him who will be ever
Sir, your true servant,
Richard Leavor.
Pray Sir, be so much my engager,
As to commend me to the Major,
My friend the Esquire, and all you see,
That love the King, and you, and me.
Sir
George, and
Jack who will not cog,
Your Uncle
Powel, and I quoth Dog,
Do oftimes drink your health in U'sk
Till heads grow light, and evenings dusk.
Upon the Shrewsbury Committie, canvass'd by Mitton, in Election of Knight of the Shire, An. 1646.
SHame to your Tribe, have you State Jesuits
Of the
Salopian Conclave lost your wits?
How comes it (Sirs) that one man, and he too
No fine Text-marring man o'th Law, like you,
Out-quirks your Honors thus? whom we look'd on
As
Machiavels of Reformation,
Whose close and intricate designs we doubt,
Heav'n, minded to prevent, could scarce track out;
And at whose counsels Satan standeth by,
Not to instruct in craft, but edifie.
You brag'd to come with such a blustering train,
Should make your
(Floud) out-noise the troubled main
And strike the emulous party deaf, as such
Who dwell where
Nilus Cat'racts roare so much:
Yet
Mitton, who was then indeed, as far
Short of your suffrages as your selves are
Of his smal merits, struck you all as mute
As
Charletons dearly loved fish, the
Trout:
And wrapping you like fools in Canvass thus,
Exposes you to Cavaliers, and us
A copious scene of mirth, such as this age
Nere saw o'th'Fortune, or the Red-Bull Stage▪
Some sowr fac'd Lecturer of more Zeal then sense,
Would raise this comfortable Doctrine hence.
"That
Mitton needs not fear the wiles and powers
"Of Pope nor Divel, since h'as conquer'd yours.
But why your Armed men? came they to see
That Votes in the Election might go free?
Faith, if they had, the work had been more short,
The Sheriff needed not to adjourn the Court;
For of the multitudes you brought, for one
Lov'd you, ten fear'd your Inquisition:
No, 'twas to keep that awe there, which your curst
Wild Bulls of Sequestration gain'd you first,
You brought'm not to fight, yet on my word,
Clive, till he broak it, was man o'th'sword,
And may, for an adventure done of late,
Be called the
Giganto-machist o'th'State;
Once he encountred with a Cavalier,
Big as a Mountain, or as his own fear,
Which all his faith could not remove, though th'man
Be known to be a
Solifidian:
Yet having pray'd, he nimbly charg'd his foe,
Nor gave him leisure to return one blow,
But hacks on, till the Gyant by some spell
Became a gate-post; was't not wondrous well?
Yet here he leaves him not, but hews a main,
Till his good sword at length broke short in twain.
But had it held, h'ad beat the post that day
Into a man again, and ran away.
Were you not all thus brave, when gallantly
You sang a hymn, and stormed
Oswaldstrey?
But why was not that desperate courage shown,
When the bold enemy was in the Town?
'Twas then, Go on brave
Mitton, fight for Christ
And's Gospel, our Devotion shall assist;
So by the assistance of the Heavenly Powers
He took't for Gods cause, now must leav't for yours.
So toiles the Badger till the hole be fit,
Then comes the Fox and stinks him out of it.
For these your high deserts let each man's wish
Be as he fancies: mine shal be but this,
That for your sakes both Houses would think fit
An Order pass to sequester the wit
Of that bold Satyrist, who so did knot
His Verse, to lash our honest brother Scot,
That now the smart of't puts him to a pawse
Whether or no he shall forsake the Cause.
When you have been so jerk't, I know you'l thence
Grow honest, and so poor by consequence.
A DIALOGUE Betwixt a CAVALIER and a LADY, Upon Occasion of a sudden Alarm in the night.
Lady.
DEar, prethy stay, why dost thou haste
As if this Trumpet were the last,
And calld thee from the grave: I doubt,
Ah me, it rather calls thee to't.
Cavalier
Fear not, sweet Nymph, it bids me go
And give that fate unto the foe,
And teach his insolence what 'tis
Thus to disturb a Lovers bliss.
Lady.
But see 'tis dark, and
Mars r'th'night,
Unless with
Venus, will not fight;
[Page 55]
Believe it. Dear, no enemy
So fit to combate now, as I,
Here strive till morne, and it shall be
Good omen, first to conquer me.
Cavalier.
No, I'l reserve that sweet Defeat
To crown, and make the rest compleat:
When I have spent much blood before,
Here 'twil refresh to spend yet more.
Lady.
Yet e're you go, dispatch my pain,
Leave not a Maiden-head half slain.
Dear make an other pass.
Cav.
No more:
The God which Souldiers most adore,
Great Honour, bids me use my might,
For Reputation first, and then delight.
(Chor.)
Tyranny Honor makes the brave
And noblest mind the greatest slave,
Where ever he commands, we go,
And leave our dearest friend to meet a foe.
To a Lady, who promis'd him a Winding-Sheet.
MAdam, I thank your bounty, which thinks fit
To send me in clean linnen to the pit.
Wel, when my brace of shirts are worn out, which
Can last but three months, though I scape the Itch,
And shift but once a fortnight: I'l no more
For Dowlass and course Holland run o'th' score,
They are no lasting Ware, for I do still
Give'em to th' Tinder-box or Paper-mill,
Or to my Landress, 'gainst her Cradle goes,
Long time e're I have paid for them (God knows:)
And what is worse, I do not know, I swear,
Whether my shirts or credit are more seare;
Oathes steep'd in Ale and Wine cannot invite
The stony-hearted Mercer now to write,
Though 'twere from lice to save me, and diseases,
Item, for six ells more—, even what he pleases:
No, my dear Madam, my recourse shall be
For linnen henceforth to your Charity,
Which I may easily gain, I need but dye,
And you will shirt me to eternity.
To Jean of Chippen-Norton.
TEll me no more that Chastity
'mongst Vestals did reside,
Or that in Cels or Cloysters shee
doth chiefly now abide:
Where Vowes make chast, it may be sed
An Oath is rather kept, then Maiden-head.
They that with bolted doors and spies,
from temptings are secur'd,
Or in their own deformities
more safely are immur'd:
Such Virgins rather may be sed
Not to have lost, then kept their Maiden-head.
Give me a Girle whom Gold doth wooe,
fit time and place allure,
That from her own warm temper too
Temptations doth endure;
If shee stand firm, it may be sed,
That she hath truly kept her Maiden-head.
The praise (sweet
Jean) to be thus chast
hath long been due to thee,
But what was Vertue yet at last
may prove necessity:
Resign it then e're it be sed
That thou hast too long kept thy Maiden-head.
On the ARCH-BISHOP of YORK'S Revolt.
SAy my young Sophister, what think'st of this
Chimera's real.
Ergo Fallaris.
The Lamb and Tyger, Fox and Goose agree,
And here concorporate in one prodigie.
Call an Aruspex quickly, let him get
Sulpher and Torches, and a Lawrel wet
To purifie the place, but sure the harmes
This Monster will produce, transcend his charmes:
'Tis Natures Master-piece of Error this,
And rescues whatsoe're she did amiss
Before; from wonder and reproach, this last
Legitimateth all her by-blowes past.
See a
Geneva Metrapolitan,
An arch Prelatick Presbyterian,
A fierce blue apron'd Priest, a lawn sleev'd brother,
One leg the Pulpit holds, a Tub the other;
Lets give him a fit name now if we can,
And make the apostate once more Christian:
Proteus we cannot call him, he put on
His change of shapes by a succession:
Nor the Welsh Weather-cock, for that we find
At once doth only wait upon one wind.
These speak him not, but if you'l name him right,
Call him
Religion's Hermophradite:
His head i'th'Sanctified mould is cast,
Yet sticks th' abominable Miter fast:
He still retains the Lordship and the Grace,
And yet h'as got a Reverend Elders place;
Such Arts must needs be his, who did devise
By crying Altars down, to sacrifice
To's private malice; where you might have seen
His conscience holocausted to his spleen.
Unhappy Church, the viper that did share
Thy chiefest Honors, helps to make thee bare,
And void of all thy dignity and store.
Alas, thine own Son proves the Forrest-Boar:
And like the dam-destroying Cuckoe, He
When the thick shel of's poor Welsh Pedigree,
By thy warm fostering bounty did divide,
And open, straight springs forth a
Parricide.
As if 't were just, vengeance should be dispatcht
On thee by th'Monster which thy self hadst hatcht.
Despair not though, in
Wales there may be got
As well as
Lincolnshire an Antidote
'Gainst the worst venom he can spit, though's head
Were chang'd from subtil grey, to pois'nous red.
Heav'n with propitious eyes will look upon
Our party, now the accursed Thing is gone,
And scourge the Rebels, who naught else did miss
To fill the measure of their sins, but His,
Whose foul unparallell'd Apostacy
Like to his Sacred Character, shall be
Indelible; and's Infamy, with late
And happier ages, when impartial fate
A period to his dayes and sins shall give,
By some such Epitapth as this shall live.
Lo, here Yorks
Metropolitan is laid,
Who Gods Annointed and the Church betrayd.
To the Isle of MAN. Upon Occasion of the Lord BYRON'S landing there.
HAil happy Ile, to whom the wind
And sea, are by their fury kind,
Whilst waves that threaten to turn o're
Invade not, but protect the shore:
Thou that of late didst only stand
As the Center of our Kings command,
But by hard fate art at this day
The whole circumference of his sway.
See a dear pledg of Loyalty,
The terror once of those whom he
Now shuns, brave
Byron doth repair
To pant in thy untaunted air.
Much has he toil'd to hurt the foes,
Much to help friends as bad as those,
But of his Labours no one more
Hath wearied him then giving o're;
Yet to thy shore no griefs he brings,
No sad complaints o'th'state of things.
On what is lost, he will not lose
One word or thought, but rather chuse
To search the means how to prevent
Our future hopes from like event:
His courage (though success withstood)
Like's cause, is stil the same, still good.
Receive him then, and let him be
Welcome to thy good Lord and thee.
So may thy fertile Land and Seas
Abound in all things that may please
Great
Derby and his highborn Spouse,
And make their loss lesse grievious,
Which only doth perplex their mind,
Because their bounties thence confin'd.
May they soon cross the Seas to take
Their own, and vengeance; may they make
Their enemies as highly sad
And miserable as th' are bad.
And may they come to thee (smal spot)
For Recreation henceforth, not
For refuge. May thy rule persever
In this Land long, in this line ever.
The Isle of MAN.
FRom
England, Scotland, Wales and
Ireland,
By equal Leagues divided there doth stand
An Isle in circuit not so great as fame,
To elder times known by
Eubonia's name.
The Soil is not luxuriant nor ingrate,
Being neither Natures fondness nor her hate:
The Sugar canes, the Vine and Fig-tree there
No Natives are, nor strangers; but what e're
To sport mans nicer appetite is scant,
Comes there the price of what he cannot want;
Few ages since he that chief Rule did hold,
Was thence a King: the same power, but less bold,
In Title, whilst twelve Monarchs raign'd,
Hath in the Noble
Stanlies blood remain'd.
But under none hath it enjoy'd a bliss
More eminent then it does under this,
Whose prudent care preserves it from the stain
Of foul Rebellion 'gainst its Soveraign.
And as in Swounings, life, when it is gone
From all parts else, stayes in the heart alone:
So in this place, which, if to our Kings sway
You'l Members give, for its fit site, best may
Express the heart; still breathing you may see
All that's alive of his great Monarchy.
And though this Isle appear but as a Star
Of the least magnitude 'mongst those that are
In
Charles his constellation, yet doth shee
Keep motion stil in due conformity
To th'
Primum Mobile, nor is at all
Seduc'd or forc'd by the Eccentrical
Circumvolutions of the rest, but now
Doth thence more regular and constant grow.
Just so a vigorous heat that closely is
Besieg'd by an
Antiparistasis
Of hostile cold, conformes not to the same,
But still growes more it self, and turnes to flame;
Nor hath the King alone his old and due
Observance here, but ev'n the Kings King too.
Religious duties; which in other Lands
Are cast by th' wanton strife of tongues and hands
In new prodigious moulds, do in this place
Retain their Prim'tive comeliness and Grace;
Temples are Houses here (and they alone)
Of publike Worship and Devotion,
And such at the Altar wait as are endu'd
With Science, and are call'd to't, not intrude.
So that sound Doctrine, clad in a rich sense
Flowes from their Pulpits, which with Reverence
The people heard, and to this giving due
Respect, a thousand blessings more ensue.
The Husbandman buryes his seed 'th'out fear
O'th'Sequestrators sickle, nor does e're
Doubt who shall share the Flock, or milk the Kine
He fosters, or shall eat the fruit of's Vine:
(For though that Plant springs not in this cold clay,
Yet where so fat a Peace dwels, we may say,
(With Reverence to the Sacred Page) that now
Grapes upon thornes, and figs on thistles grow.)
Wives moan not their fled Husbands, who t'eschew
Their enemies, forsake their best friends too:
Their pregnant wombs by Times due Midwifry,
Not by affrights or griefs, disburdned be,
And their maturer Issues there escape
The barbarous Souldiers sword and Lustfull rape.
But that which doth most happiness afford,
Is the lov'd presence of their noble Lord
And Lady, not more eminent in blood
Then Vertue, and their Pledges fair and good.
That spot, alas, is now their whole estate,
Which was but an Appendix to't of late;
Swelling great
Derby's Title, more then's Rent.
But 'twas by Providence that he was sent
From's Richer Territories, there to be
The refuge of distressed Loyalty,
Where now the good he doth with what remains,
Comforts th'unequal losses he sustains:
His sufferings he surveyes, as they express
His Loyalty, not his unhappiness.
And may not they nor th'time be long till's eyes
See his good deeds, his wrongs, and enemies
Fully requited; and in the intrim
May this small part of his Kings sway, by him
Be still preserv'd, as it is now, in fit
Obedience, till the rest conform to it.
AN EPITAPH ON Major OWEN And Captain EDWARD WYNNE.
REader, prepare thy eyes, I stand
Not to beg tears, but to command;
Which having read, if thou deny,
Thou art a verier stone then I.
Brothers by birth, and Twins since death,
At noon benighted, lodg beneath:
A Nobler pair no womb of clay
Shall bring forth at the last great day:
Their Linage of good note, before
Commended them, and they it more.
Nature was of her gifts profuse,
For which they thank'd her i'th'right use.
Souls sweetly temper'd; bodies meant
To shew mens shape most excellent;
Valor and Innoncence conjoyn'd,
Height and humility of mind.
Faith to the Cause they chose, and friends
Serv'd by them 'hout self-serving ends,
Indeer'd them to their Countries chief
Affection first, then to its geief.
Snatch'd hence in their most vigorous age,
By hostile sword and Feavers rage,
And then—. But Reader I'l give o're;
Thy tears will let thee read no more,
To Capt. Segkar at B. sick of a Feaver.
DEar
Segkar, thy Disease which I before
So much lamented, now I envy more,
And praise the blest distemper of thy bloud,
Which makes thee happier then thy healthier cou'd.
For say, who would not gladly entertain
A several Feaver into every vain,
And take all
Etna in his brest, might he
Be fair
Francisca's Patient, like thee?
Who'd not be rather laid in thy sick bed,
Which is by her so often visited,
Then the most soft and wanton Down invade,
Where some fair melting Bride doth lye displaid?
When she comes neer the Bed, say, Dost not find
More inward Joy and pleasure in thy mind
Then torment in thy sense? when she, to try
The dancing of thy pulses doth apply
Her curious hand to thine, dost not forget
(Inspir'd with happier flames) thy Feavers heat?
Complain not that thine eyes have lost the grace
Of motion, thou maist fix them on her face;
Nor that thy looks are pale and meager; she,
'Cause they are so, so oft doth look on thee.
The
Romans once a Feaver did adore,
Lest it should hurt them; oughtst not thou much more
To consecrate thy sickness, which to thee
Is Author of so much felicity?
I dare not wish thee health, for that I guess
Would be to deprecate thy happiness:
Nor do I think't a blessing now, for know
I'm sick my self, because I am not so.
On MAURICIA'S Wound which she received from a Round-head.
IT was when Traitors in the Text, did pass
For worthy Patriots in the Paraphrase,
And when 'twas voted Loyalty to fight
Against the King because he rul'd by right,
That lo a curst Rebellious crew, whose shame
Was lost with their allegiance; rudely came
And rob'd the fair
Mauricia and her mate,
Who doth upon the Sacred Altar wait.
Slaves, did you not Divinity espie
In his high function, and in her bright eye?
And could not this work on your stupid sense,
Nor that upon your feared conscience?
Me thinks the Holy and the fair might be
Secure from your State Licens'd Thievery.
Reformed Justice might pass such a pair
And their Malignant Innocency spare,
But'las, who can expect Mercy from such,
Whose own sins have transcended it so much?
Rapine is scarce a Crime to hands that dare
'Gainst Majesty advance the sword of War:
And now the villains here are bent upon
A fact, may vie guilt with Rebellion;
They make the naked Priest and woman feel
The sharp edge of the armed Souldiers steel:
Though Sex and Office render them unfit
To use the sword, they now must suffer it:
And had not some, who thirsted more for gain
Then blood, advis'd he should be Prisoner ta'ne,
And not be made their Murder but their prize,
The Priest himself had been a Sacrifice.
Mean time, some barbarous wretch, who surely had
First in his parents bowels sheath'd his blade,
And rip'd up pregnant wombs, thence to contract
A hellish courage to performe this fact,
Made on
Mauricia's head, through flesh and bone
With Warlike Weapon such incision,
That shapes without the 'ernal Organs aid
Might to her inward senses be convey'd:
A crimson torrent followed the stroke,
As water when the Prophet smote the Rock:
And that well tempered blood which oft times had
Her cheeks in sweet becoming blushes clad,
Now stayneth them, her Vestments, and the ground,
But most of all, his soul that gave the wound:
Then part of her fair blush was massacred,
Each hair of which was worth a Round-heads head
And twice six bones, with more then Child-bed pain
Were fet from the Iv'ry Cab'net of her brain.
Yet Heav'n so pleas'd, nothing did thence proceed
Mortal: But all mens hatred of the deed
For which Round-heads themselves curse and condemn
Th'Author, as much as honest men do them.
How had the Firmament been deck'd with these
I'th' ancient time of
Metamorphoses?
This lock had then aspir'd the keys, and wore
As many Stars as it did hearts before.
Bloud then as well as milk had there been spread
To mark a path out for the Gods to tread,
And teach the morn to blush; then had these bones
Cashier'd some monstruous constellations:
And for the Caytiffe there had fanci'd been
A plague in hell peculiar, as his sin.
But this high exemplary Loyalty
Shall in our Annals, not Romances be
Left for posterity to look upon,
Not for delight, but imitation;
And so secure Subjects allegiance more
Then the Evangelist sworn o're and o're.
And thus
Mauricia by indulgent fate,
Ev'n in her sufferings is made fortunate,
Succeeding Kings shall be her debtors hence,
And to her memory pay Reverence;
And present Majesty in its distress
May raise this comfort from her good success,
That though its wound be wide, and deep like hers,
And th'cure past good mens hopes and Rebels fears,
It may, like her too, at the length o'recome
The danger, and survive its Martyrdom.
MAURICIA to a Lock of that Hair, sent to a Lady who requested it.
KNow little Lock, first from my head,
Now from my Cab'net banished.
That thou enjoyest a glorious fate,
And that a greater fame doth wait
On thee, then all my hair beside:
Thou art their envy and their pride.
Thou fell'st not the approbrious sign
Of some disease or sin of mine,
Neither didst thou, not felt at all,
By the friendly hand of Cisers, fall,
Clipt for some amorous device,
An incruental Sacrifice:
No, thou maist boast that thy great doom
Did from the sword and Souldier come,
Which to my brain such passage made,
That if a second
Pallas had
Been there, she might have issued thence
Without more torment to my sense,
Whilst from my head a stream did flow
Red as his sin who gave the blow.
Thus didst thou fall (great little-Lock)
And thus thy Mistris stood the shock
Of savage Round-heads; which loath'd name,
Shall from this fact contract more shame.
This brands the Rebel Author more
Then all his Treasons done before:
By those the Subject only is
Cast oft, the very man by this,
Go then, and pray her, whose Divine
Hands must receive thee now from mine,
That she vouchsafe, when thou art come,
To consecrate thy Martyrdom
With kind respect, and place thee neer,
Though but a foil, to her own hair.
Then maist thou deem thy fate more high,
Then had
Jove call'd thee to the Skie,
And deck'd thee with more Stars, then all
The drops of blood lost at thy fall.
AN ACCOUNT OF AN IRISH QUARTER.
FRom
Carrick, where the noble
Ormond met
Kilkennyes Supream Councellors, to treat
For
Irelands peace; After I had let fly
At the Lean half-boyl'd-fresh-bief Ord'nary,
All my own shillings (and the truth to tell'ee)
One more I borrow'd of my friend,
Jack Belly:
'Twas time I thought to make a quick departure
With my Comrade
Ned Griffith, to free-Quarter
So calling
Ned, said I, He that long tarries
In this Town, will not find it like
Beau-Maryes,
Where, when we wanted 12
d, we could dine
Like Dukes, And only cry,
Peg, this makes nine;
Here no kind Tapwife, nor confiding Cook,
Will let you eat and drink, and smoak by th' book;
A just man (should we grant you of that sort)
Can't live by Faith here, though there's Scripture for't.
But when your pockets empty, faith Sir, you
Must look your belly should be ev'n so too.
To th' Country then, where we'l our Genius pamper
With Mustard and fat Bief, Mutton and Sampyer,
And yet no Trencher shall after a feast
Make us repent the fouling of the rest:
And reasons there are many to perswade one
That by our Landlord we shall be much made on,
For my Lord President has wrote a Letter
That he should treat us like our selves, or better.
And then for certain he's a man of Bounty,
For heark
Ned, he's High-Sheriff of the County:
Besides, he's of the
Poors, and so must be
By consequence of our own family;
They say that he keeps dogs too, and will course
The Hare most fiercely, but the Fox far worse:
And faith
Ned, thou'rt a lad, whom any right
Good fellow will bid welcom at first sight:
Thy countenance so rosie, straight inveagles,
And (to say truth) we both are pretty Beagles.
This pleas'd
Ned well, & straight we got two able
Horses, out of my Lord Lieutenants stable,
And to
Colefine, 'twixt dinner time and supper
We march'd with our Port-mantles at our crupper.
When we came there, we certain structures saw
All Perriwigg'd with rushes or with straw;
So ev'n and like,
Ned swore by his Creator
Some Leveller had been the Fabricator.
So that to us was not distinguishable
Which was the Mansion, which the Barn or stable.
Ned, he alights and leads (God bless us all)
His horse into his Worships very Hall,
And looking round about, cries in great anger,
Zowns, here's a Stable has no Rack nor Manger:
Peace
Ned (quoth I) prethe be not so hasty,
This room's no stable, though it be as nasty;
I see a Harp and chimney too, and dare
Say, there was fire in't before the war,
So this is no place for your horse, you see,
'Tis then for very Beasts I'm sure (quoth he;)
I wish'd him be advis'd what he spake there,
For should such words come to the Sheriffs ear,
'Twas Gold to Silver that he would be at us
E're we were ware, with's
Posse Comitatus:
Out
Ned went laughing; I (as 'tis my fashion)
Fell straight into this serious contemplation,
If the High-Sheriff such mean dwelling have,
O hone, O hone, what hath his Under knave?
But searching further, one whose unsoald shooes
Like fetter, hung about his feers came to's,
And for our horses said he'd shew a room.
I ask'd him if he were the Sheriffs Groom?
No Sir, quoth he, I'm his first-born, but can
For need, supply the office of his man.
I cry'd him mercy, wish'd him not be crost;
So off my hat went, off went his almost.
He bade us go to th' house; and so we took
Our way to th' place
Ned and his horse mistook:
And after we a little there had wander'd,
In came the man, who proud to be our Landlord,
Who for his face and garb might pret'ly well
Passe English muster for Head Constable.
I with fit ceremony tow'rds him went.
And gave him th' Letter from th' Lord President:
He took't and read it, and for ought I know,
We welcom were; but he ne're told us so.
Opening his mouth at length, he ask'd us how
Corn sold beyond sea; and if men did plow:
When, and for what occasion we came o're?
And if we ever had been there before?
I answ'red so as pleas'd him well, I think,
For straight he bade the Butler fil some drink.
But seeing him in's half pint dish of wood
Sip like a maid; thought I, this man's no good
Companion, or else his drink's but small:
Both which did prove too true. And this was all
My comfort now, I hop'd to find good fare,
And then for table-tipple, 'twas most rare.
And now for supper the round board being spred,
The Van a dish of coddled Onions led,
I'th' Body led a salted tail of Sammon,
And in the Rear some rank Potatoes came in.
To comfort
Ned, said I, a short repast
Must serve this wednesday night, 'cause tis a Fast;
But Master Sheriff the next meal wil mend it
To our content. Quoth
Ned, I pray God send it.
We sate, and soon had made of it, I trow,
A clean board, if our napkins had been so:
But opening one of them, (I tell ye truth)
My stomack was got full before my mouth.
Some houswifes would give groats apeece for these,
To have the washing of them for the grease.
At length, it came into my fancy, that
They might be Reliques, oyl'd with holy fat,
And that th' Apostles, when the Paschal Lamb
Was eaten, wip'd their fingers on the same.
My Land-lord fed well; and seeing us to eat
Nothing, he bade us welcome to his meat:
And having done, he cross'd himself all o're;
His Supper had done so for us before.
When bed time came, he bade one with a light
Conduct us where we were to lodg that night.
He had himself gone with us (I dare say)
But that his Chamber did not lie that way:
So to a room we came, of which 'tis all
I'l say, 'twas correspondent to the Hall.
Quoth
Ned, I'l not unsheath, thogh I am drowsie,
These sheets were us'd before, and may be lowsie.
What then, said I? dost thou not know, thou noddy,
Fresh linnen is unwholsome for the body?
And lice are here no more an infamy
Then red hair: th'are the Nation's lechery.
So down we lay, to sleep full wel inclin'd;
But through the gaping wall came such a wind,
That from my head my night-cap (this is true)
To th' farther side of all the room it blew:
And had there been in my fantastick pate
As many Wind-mils as I saw of late
Neer
Wexford, 'twould have whirl'd 'em all about:
And from my nose ere since, like a Still-snout,
Such distillations fall, you'd ghesse by this,
My head were what the Prophet wished his.
Now 'cause we could not sleep, we fell to pray,
More then we us'd, but 'twas for nought but day.
By th' Lord, quoth
Ned, the Sun, if he should sup
And lodg like us, at midnight would get up:
And I should tumble lesse, and sleep more, had I
In stead of thee (deer
Tom) some handsom
Lady.
But there's no night so long, but hath its morn,
And so had this; which if we had been born
Stark blind, we had not been so glad to see:
No alarm'd Souldier could more quick then we
Leap from his bed, and sooner dress himself:
So down we went, and plaid till hour the twelf;
Then was the table cover'd, but the same
Linnen I saw for fish and flesh meals came.
Dishes as formerly were brought in od,
Pork, Pork, and Pork; two boyled and one sod.
I'l hang for't, but he thought us Scots or Jewes,
And brought's meat not to eat, but to refuse.
But we fel on with all our main and might,
Urg'd by two reasons to't, hunger and spight.
His napkins fatnesse, leannesse of his meat,
Nor want of salt could hinder us to eat,
Nor henceforth shall; his Eves and Embers too
Shall save him nought, at one meal we'l eat two,
Devouring swines flesh, so that he shall dresse
Some better meats, in hopes we wil eat lesse;
And so live and endure, til we shall be
Releas'd next Gen'ral Gaol-delivery.
Mean time, if any man think I have told
More then the truth, let him come and behold
And finding things not thus, I shall desire
He'l call me (what I would I were) a Lyer.
And let that man that shall dislike my Rhimes,
Know that I have made better twenty times.
Nor was my Muse in fault now, but the Liquor;
Had this bin stronger, that had been much quicker.
Who drinks the like, I'l hold my ink and pen on't,
He'l write as bad.
God blesse my Lord Lieutenant.
A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.
Thirsis
DEar
Silvia, let thy
Thirsis know
What 'tis that makes those tears to flow
Is the kid that us'd to play
And skip so nimbly, gone astray?
Hath
Cloris flowers more fresh and green?
Or is some other Nymph made Queen?
Silvia.
Thirsis, dost thou think that I
Could grieve for these, when thou art by?
Thi.
What is it then?
Silv.
My father bids
That I no longer feed my kids
With thine, but
Corydons; and wear
None but his Garlands on my hair.
Thir.
Why so (my
Silvia) will he keep
Thy Lambs more safe whilst thou dost sleep?
Will the Nymphs envy more thy praise
When chaunted in his Roundelayes?
Silv.
No
Thirsis, I my Kids must joyn
With his, 'Cause they are more then thine.
(Chor.)
[Page 87]
Parents, cruel as the Rocks,
Joyn not their children, but their flocks.
And Hymen
's call'd to light his Torches there
Where Fortune's, not Affection's equal are.
To his RIVAL, Kissing a Glove which he had got from SYLVIA.
FOnd man! why dost thou now adore
What thou didst so much execrate before?
Whilst from thy wanton touch it did secure
Fair
Sylvia's hand; nor would
Permit the tender Lillies should
From any hot-breath'd kiss a blast procure.
Whilst to the Relick thou dost thus
Pay thy Devotion, thou art impious
Against the Saint. For that which thou didst hate
When it upon her hand
A consecrated Veil did stand,
Thou now ador'st, when it is reprobate.
Yet hugge that toy, had kiss it more
And nearer, then it did her hand before,
For 'tis the perfect embleme of thy fate.
Though thou like it do waste
Thy self in serving her, at last
Thou shalt like it too be a Reprobate.
To SYLVIA, On a Bracelet of her Hair.
KNow,
Sylvia, that your curious twist
Which charm's my heart, and deck's my wrist,
On which I gaze so oft, and pay
Thousands of kisses every day.
Is not so much my love and care,
'Cause 'tis composed of your hair,
And yet it truly may be sed
Sun-beams are wov'n of courser thred.
Nor do I therefore lik't so much,
Because I find the art is such,
That if
Arachne, when she strove
With
Pallas, the like Web had wove,
She had her skill and wrath o'recome,
And gain'd a Triumph, not a doom.
No,
Sylvia, I the truth will tell,
I do not therefore lik't so well
Because it is thy hair and Art,
But that it is thy gift (dear Heart.)
SYLVIA Singing.
TEll me no more to what rare sound
The Stars do dance their Round.
For did they hear the Musick of this voice.
They'd not forbear
To leap down from their Sphear,
And for this Harmony forsake that noise.
And tell not me with what sweet strain,
The dying Swan, in vain
Flatter's approaching death; for could she give
Such notes as these
Fates rigor to appease,
They'd prove not a Prediction, but Reprieve.
To him that heats this Countes-charm
No Syren can do harm.
Ʋlysses was not half so safe, when fear
Unto the Mast
With cords had bound him fast,
As had these accents held him by the ear.
A DIALOGUE.
Thir.
COme
Sylvia, freely let's enjoy
Loves chiefest sweets; for being coy,
We make those flames, which he hath sent
For our delight, our punishment.
Sylv.
What would my
Thirsis more then this,
Thus chastly to embrace and kiss?
Thir.
Alas, my
Sylvia, these are toyes
Which but prepare for after joyes.
Like to those meats we eat before
A feast, to make our hunger more.
[Page 91]
We mix moist lips to raise in two
Blouds, a desire to mingle too.
Sylv.
To joyn them so, is to commit
A kiss, and poison love with it;
Sacrificing chaste desires
In wanton and polluted fires.
Thir.
What can unchaste or wanton be
That's done in such obscurity?
Where there's no conscious eye nor ear,
Action's no more then wishes are.
Sylv.
I, but the Gods, who see our night,
And hear our silence, wil espy't,
And punish too.
Thir.
No,
Sylvia, this
Thou know'st their own example is:
'Tis safe to err with them.
Sylv.
The bold
Poets alone such fictions told.
Thir.
They rather feign'd, who made that sin,
The Gods so much delighted in.
Sylv.
Thirsis, I yeild, but fear I shall repent,
Thi.
Thou wilt, that thou no sooner didst consent
(Chor.)
What e're the rigid Sages of old time
Did love and practice most, they made a crime
To th' rude vulgar, and did thus devise,
That no man should be happy but the wise,
To SYLVIA, Going to an Enemies Quarters.
STay,
Sylvia, stay, and let thine eyes
From gloomy nights protect our Skies.
Let not their glorious beams convey,
To our Antipodes the day.
But if they are decreed to go
From our Horizon to the foe,
Cloud them with frowns, that through the world
A general darkness may be hurl'd,
So we the better shall sustain
A loss, which is to them no gain.
Or if thou wilt at full display
Every Beam and every Ray.
So shall those Suns, whilst men admire,
Consume, not warm them with their fire:
And by that glorious light of theirs
Make, and destroy Idolaters.
But stay not long (sweet Nymph) for so
May thy return procure our woe,
Whilst we, like men, who for long space,
Have been confin'd to some dark place,
Shall, being restored to that light
By which we see now, lose our sight.
To SYLVIA Frowning.
NO,
Sylvia, 'tis not your disdain,
Nor scorn, nor cruelty, nor hate
Shall make my sadder verse complain,
Or my well kindled flame abate.
Such goblins fright Love from a coward-heart:
But one resolv'd like mine, can make them start.
Contract thy brow, and let thine eye
Dart Thunderbolts of anger still,
Storm me with all th' Artillery
With which Love's Rebells use to kill:
I'l not retreat till I or Conqueror be,
Or Martyr of thy cruelty and thee.
Shoot,
Sylvia then, and spare not till
Thy Magazine of anger's spent,
If I survive and love thee still,
I know thou then must needs relent.
Patience in sufferings oft-times hath o'recome
A Tyrants rage, and made him change his doom.
But if I fall into thy hate
And stubborn scorn a Sacrifice,
I shall be happy in that fate
VVhilst with me all my torment dies
Thus shall my constancy for thy disdain
Either begin my bliss, or end my pain.
AN ELOGY On the Death of SYLVIA'S Beagle.
YE Ladies all, that feel remorse
VVhen with a cold your Patrat's hoarse,
And think you sin, if you are jolly,
When your poor Monkey's melancholly:
Come and assist the tender-hearted
Sylvia's grief for the Departed.
A Beagle of so neat a frame,
That
Venus gave her her own name,
And for her Chariot, sh'ad been snatch'd,
But that she could no where be match'd.
Her Pedigree was of good note,
For Or and Sables was her coat,
Wherein such smoothness did reside,
As made the very sight to glide.
Her body slender was, and such
Might well make
Sylvia's lap her couch:
And yet she was not small enough
To be convey'd away 'n a Muff.
She never lost the company's favour
Offending it with an ill savour;
And what a greater wonder is,
She ne're for th' Owner smelt amiss.
In such fit places still she eas'd
Her belly, that she ne're displeas'd
The Chamber-maid. Nor would she eat
At any time forbidden meat.
She lately had a safe Delivery
Gf young ones three, as smooth as Ivory;
But e're that they could look about'em,
She went to th' other world without'em;
And this she did, because she hop't
Her Mistress sure would them adopt.
Whose comfort now is, that the Bitch
Dy'd not o'th' Halter, Mange or Itch,
But what great men their lives have cost'em,
'Tis known she dy'd of an Aposteme.
To his FRIENDS, Comforting him after Sylvia 's Departure.
GOod Sirs forbear, who e're strives to beguile
Mee of my woe,
Or labors to betray me to a smile,
He's my cruel foe:
For all these tears you see, did I
Receive from my departing
Sylvia's eye.
When we incorporated in our last
Embraces, stood
Like
Janus head inverst from hers, she cast
Into mine eyes this stood,
And told me whilst it there did stay
That no new slames could enter in that way.
Safe then within these Cisterns let them lye,
That every tear
When next we meet may make my Loyalty
Clear, as it self appear.
Then shall those waters which she set
To guard my brest from flames, give hers new heat.
The three Incomparable Ladies at K. Castle.
HEnce, hence, unhallowed tongues, & move not here
Know this is not your Sphear;
This place, like th'
Irish Soil, allowes
Nothing that's venemous.
What e're is loosely done or spoke,
Doth wrath, not mirth provoke.
(Chor.)
For here the three chaste Sisters present be
Who constitute each room
Wherein they deign to come,
A Temple Sacred unto Modesty.
Who enters here, must speak, what e're he sayes,
With the same breath he prayes.
His guilt, whose language shall be found
To bear a looser sound,
Then at the Altar may be own'd
Shall not be there atton'd.
(Chor.)
For here the three chast, &c.
But he, who with a breath as cool and sweet
As
Zephyrus, doth greet
The tender flowers in
May, can chear
Not blast a modest ear,
May here be welcome, and find some
Taste of
Elizium.
(Chor.)
For here the three chaste Sisters present be,
Who constitute each room
Wherein they deign to come,
A Temple sacred unto Modesty.
A CAROL for Christmas Day.
COme, come Cavaliers,
Leave your doubts, leave your fears,
And grieve not at thought of old matters.
You owe to this Day
That which shall ne're be a prey
To the Traitors.
Then sing and rejoice,
Raise your heart, raise your voice;
Your joyes at this time do not smother.
Let all sorrow be wav'd
As you hope to be sav'd.
To sigh for one sin is another.
This Day there did come
From a pure Virgins womb
A Saviour your sins to attone,
Let the Parliament care
And Rebels despair,
That have none.
But with our best notes,
In spight of all Votes
His praise this Day shall be sounded,
Who left Heaven that he
Might render all free
From Hell, but the Divel and the Round-head.
An ANTHEME For Christmas Day.
HAil the most blessed of all Dayes,
By whose resplendent rayes,
He first begun
To see who made the Sun.
In Miracles, this one
Outvyes the six dayes of Creation.
Man to Gods image made, that time
Of wonders was the prime:
But here we can
See God unmade to th' shape of man.
Omnipotence is weak,
The Word it self knowes not to speak.
And what may yet
Far more astonishment beget,
Th' immortal God did this endure
That so he might procure
Unto himself a power to dye;
And to us mortal men,
Who were his Rebels then,
A power to live eternally,
For this high love, what thanks shal we returne?
What Incense burn?
All he requires is only this,
That we would make his sufferings our bliss.
That from the Manger where he lay
This Sacred Day,
We would permit that he may come
And in our hearts find nobler room.
But hearts are mangers too, whilst sin
Feeds there: Let's cast it out, & take him in.
A CAROL.
1.
BOldly, boldly, Christmas here
Still in thy own old shape appear;
And make no scruple to come forth
With all thy stratagems of mirth.
None here has a hand
I'th' great work of the Land:
But all are at leisure
With pastime and pleasure
To render due honour to Christmas.
2.
Endless toil and fruitless pains
To him that this great Feast profanes.
When he should sleep, let him contrive
A thousand projects, and none thrive.
Nor let his ghost have
Repose in the grave
But wander and fright
His brethren by night
Who give nor due honor to Christmas.
3.
But rejoice we, whom this Tide
With such a Jewel hath supply'd,
As no
Sabaeans lawless bands
Nor Feind shall wrest out of our hands.
A better world's ours,
Be this in the powers
O'th' Saints that are mortal,
And will be cut short all
For giving no honor to Christmas.
4.
Drown the thought in Wassal Bowles,
Of what we lost to save our souls.
The Thieves that snatcht our Goods away
But like hand-Cormorants did prey,
At length a Hemp-string
Their necks shall so wring,
That they will again
Disgorge all amain
Whilst we give due honor to Christmas.
5.
If the Mountain-Harp and Crowd
To harmless mirth may be allow'd
The Drum and Trumpet we'l be willing
To leave to such as live by killing.
Give us Beer and Wine,
We'l never repine
At those that will soak
In bloud, till they choak.
But render due honour to Christmas.
6.
In this humble Jollity
The Conquerors height and greatness we
Envy no more then that of's Nose,
Or of the Crimes by which he rose.
Let him on with his Work
To humble the Kirk,
And's Destiny follow
From thence to the Gallow,
Whilst we give due honour to Christmas.
Another Carol for Christmas Day,
LIft up your heads and hearts, all you that be
Opprest by prosp'rous villany.
And let your Countenance this time as clear
As is your conscience, appear.
That wretched eye profanes these Sacred Raies,
That is with tears possest
For any earthly interest,
And is not worthy to see better dayes.
2
That power by which the Air did first begin
Now borrowes it to breath therein:
He that like Rayment put on Light, doth dress
Himself in humane nakedness.
Thus he's our Representative, and thus
Th' Almighty's irony
Apply'd to him's a verity,
Behold God is become as one of us.
3.
Here then, ye loyal souls, come here and take
A cure for all that makes you ake.
This Day presents such suff'rings as wil drowne
The sad remembrance of your own.
Still let the Serpents of this age bite on,
Let them new poison brew,
'Tis lost all that they spit at you,
For loe, this Day holds forth the Brasen one.
4.
Are you in banishment? To salve your wo
Think that the King of Kings was so.
Or in restraint? Let all complain
[...]s be dumb,
God was once dungeon'd in a womb.
What though y'ave lost your store by th' licenc'd theft
O'th' bowelless Committee
And Sequestrators of less pity.
The Lord of All, was of himself bereft.
5.
All this, and death, he for your sake endures
In whom was found no guilt but yours:
And for his Cause wil not you suffer too,
As chearfully as he for you?
Th'Oppressor's glory, and your misery
Death quickly terminates,
And then shall you exchange Estates,
And have them setled to eternity.
A CAROL.
PReethy Round-head, now forbear,
Come not near,
Christmas here doth domineer.
Here are sports, and songs, and Musick,
Which perhaps,
Which perhaps, Sir, may make you sick.
2
'Twil perplex your holy eye
To espy
When we dance, though modestly.
And you'l hence be more offended;
With the light,
With the light all sport is ended.
3
And to grieve your godly ear,
Songs I fear,
Of our Saviours birth you'l hear.
Here his mother you'l find Sainted,
And your selves,
And your selves call'd Divels painted.
4.
If you love your nose, O fie,
Come not nigh,
All the house doth smel of Pye.
Nor would you the sent eschew, Sir,
Half so fain,
Half so fain as we would you, Sir.
5.
For the taste, indeed, here's great
Store of meat,
But your Saintship may not eat;
For the meat, which we provide all
Offered is,
Offered is unto this Idol.
6.
Venter then no farther on,
Get thee gone:
But least thou shouldst go alone,
Take for company I pre-thee
From this place,
From this place all sorrow with thee.
Thus Latin'd,
1.
FOres jam, Rotunde, has
Fugias,
Regnat hic Nativitas.
Lusus hic & cantilenae,
Tibi quae,
Tibi quae futurae poenae.
2.
Dolor erit oculis,
Videris,
Cum nos in tripudiis.
Et plus eris hinc confusus;
Desinit,
Desinit Cum luce lusus.
3.
Novè piis parcamus
Auribus,
Christum natum Canimus.
Mater hîc est Diva dicta,
Ipsi vos,
Ipsi vos Daemonia picta.
4.
Aedes (naso cave sis)
Epulis
Fragrant Natalitiis,
Nidor tibi nec infestus
Plus quam tu
Plus quam tu nobis molestus.
5.
Dapes ecce hîc lautas,
Sed ne has
Tangat vestra Sanctitas,
Quicquid est in mensâ situm,
Esse duc
Esse duc Idolothytum.
6
Ocyus ergo hinc jam Te
Proripe,
Sed ne careas comite,
Sume tibi in sodalem
Omne hac
Omne hac à domo malum.
On M rs. F. P. Discovered at her Devotion in Holywell
INto the Spring, whose copious flowings be
A Monument of Martyr'd Chastity,
The fair
Francisca, that she might commend
The Well to more Devotion, did descend,
With feature so Divine, that you would ghess
She rather were the Saint, then Votaress.
With swifter course the streams to court her glide
And murm'ring, seem the envious stones to chide,
Which stay their haste: And now they had possest
What ever was beneath her Ivory brests.
But these did yet appear above the same
Like the white Rocks, which gave this Isle a name.
At length she kneel'd, & then they reacht her lip,
Which they with smiling smoothness woo'd to sip:
The waters thirsting to be drank by her
More then for them the long choak'd Hart did e're.
But swelling to't, she rose, as if she thus
Meant to revenge the fate of
Tantalus.
An hour is well nigh spent, whilst with such heat
Of pure Devotion, she doth there repeat
Her powerful Orisons, that whilst she pray'th
The benumb'd Fountain proves a sweating Bath.
And now, her Rites perform'd, she takes her leave:
The waters striving to detain her, cleave
Fast to her Veil, but when alas, they found
'Twas vain, they sadly dropt in tears to th'ground.
Now if the stories I have read before,
Were Truth or Fable, I'l enquire no more.
For seeing
Francisca in it, I can tell,
That I discovered there a Miracle.
And thus much of it, henceforth I'l confess,
'Tis Sacred, though but from this Votaress.
A Hymne to S t Winifrid, sung by Her Priest whilst M s E. M. was at Her Devotion in Holywell.
BLest Saint, to whose renown this Well
Flowes a perpetual Miracle,
Be present now, and give success
To th'wishes of this Votaress.
Chorus.
Who comes not her own spots to cure,
But bathes to make thy Spring more pure.
'Tis neither her necessity
Nor sin, that brings her on her knee;
For pure and like thy self She's come
In all, but in thy Martyrdome.
Chor.
She comes not her own spots to cure,
But bathes to make thy Spring more pure.
It is to honour thee, and bring
More Votaries unto thy Spring,
That such as did blaspheme before,
By Her example may adore.
(Chor.)
But She that hath no spots to cure,
Doth bathe to make thy Spring more pure.
Then from the cold protect Her sense,
Let Her not go thy Martyr hence,
But strait conform with some warm beam,
To Hers, the temper of the stream.
(Chor.)
So She that hath no spots to cure.
Shall bathe and make thy Spring more pure.
On the Death of the Right Honourable the Lord BYRON, who died in France.
CAll'd from the wrath to come; to's Native Seat,
Byrons unspotted soul has made retreat.
See how Heaven welcomes Him! ye Blessed Powers,
We, to Your Joyes and His, would now add ours,
Did not our too-just Jealousies and Fears
Of plagues ensuing, call for sighs and tears.
Must not approaching Thunder needs dismay,
When the protecting Laurel's snatcht away?
The Wheat into the Barn being ta'ne, we know
What fate the Tares are doom'd to undergo.
Excuse our sorrow then; when such men steer
Into the Harbor, desperate stormes are neer.
And who can hope th'Incursion to escape
Of Vengeance, when a
Moses quits the gap?
That
Rome, when Pagan in the Head (like us)
And Christian in some limbs, was prosperous,
The Fathers of those ages attribute
To th' Prayers of them whom it did persecute.
And sure, his Intercession for his foes
Hath thus long kept us from deserved woes.
But since he lest to speak, no gracious voice
Remains to drown our sins obstreperous noise.
No spotless hands, like his, lift up to gain
Pardon for those, which bloud and rapine stain:
No heart 'powrs forth such true Devotion,
As may th' Hypocrisie of ours attone.
How to do well, we long since lost the skil,
And now the hopes of Grace, when we do ill.
And thus (bright Soul) thy putting off thy clay
Becomes our Funeral; but thine own Birth day:
Death hath performed a double Office here,
Of Midwife, and of Executioner.
Thou now begin'st to live, when thou giv'st o're,
And stoodst but candidate for life before.
'Twas but a borrow'd blast thou didst resign,
The lasting breath of Fame is now made Thine.
Heroes in their own time only be,
And truly flourish with Posterity:
Fruits of past years preserv'd, more precious grow,
And lov'd by those who loath'd 'em on the bough.
Nor is't a single birth, thou com'st forth Twins,
Born to live both with men and Cherubims;
In spight of thy Proscribers, th'art by fate
From exile call'd to triumph o're their hate.
Here shall thy mem'ry dwel, and thy great name
(Their terror once) shall now be more their shame,
Whilst thy Celestial Spirit to Heaven doth climb
There to be crown'd, for what was here thy crime.
And though thy fate were incruental, we
I'th' list of Loyal Martyrs will write thee.
For he who in a just Cause doth oppose
His life to dangers, and all else doth lose,
Not mov'd thereto by Av'rice, spleen, or pride,
But that the Righteous is the wronged side:
For's Courage, Cause, and Conscience sake must pass
Muster 'mongst Martyrs. And such
Byron was.
AN EPITAPH On the Right Honorable The LORD BYRON, Buried in France.
REader, A Stranger doth lye here,
No Native so well worth a tear;
'Tis
Byron, whose Progenitors
Seven Ages since were fam'd, and Ours
Transplanted hence to English ground
They flourish'd there, for faith renown'd.
In Honour and Possessions great,
In War and Wisdom most compleat;
Yet all the Vertues of His Race,
Nay, of Mankind, hold but the place
Of sev'ral
Items, which did come
United here i'th' total sum.
His Youth (smal portion of's short span)
Did soon give place unto the Man.
To grow and fade he lost no time,
All his ten Lustres were his prime.
The Academy, Court, and Camp
Mark'd him theirs, with their noblest Stamp.
The Arts and Tongues, pure and refin'd,
In him, like well set Jewels shin'd:
And though he us'd 'em not for fame,
Yet it, unsought for, greater came.
His Prince he follow'd in the height
Of Peace, when Ease and soft Delight
Eunuch a Court. But th' Warlike Pike
Requiring hands,
Achilles like,
He caught and us'd it in such wise,
That th'Courtier seem'd but his disguise.
With courage, calmness of the mind,
(The Lion with the Lamb) was joyn'd,
By Passion Reason was obey'd,
And Reason by Religion sway'd;
Which he with knowing Zeal profest
As Conscience mov'd, not Interest,
And argued for it, not with strife
Of words, but Sanctity of life.
And thus resolv'd and firm remains
In God's Cause and his Soveraigns,
Till by successful Treason thrown
Hither, (to make his worth more known)
He here exspiring, did intrust
This place with his Renowned dust.
And well it was that he did lay
His own conceal'd in Forraign clay.
For at home, so immoderate
Was good mens love, and bad mens hate,
That there his Relicks would the Object be
Both of Profaneness, and Idolatry.
An Epithalamium, Upon the late Nuptial ACT.
IO to
Hymen, who re-knits the hands
O'th' late Divorced pair in Nuptial bands;
No doubt the union wil last firm and long;
Bones broken (if well set) become more strong.
Justice and Priesthood by Supreme Decree,
For mutual helps sake must remarried be.
A fitter match was ne're made in this Land.
The one wants eyes, the other cannot stand.
But when the blind and lame do both unite
Into one Beggar, there are legs and sight.
Men can no longer say now, that our State
Their Clergy,
Jeroboam like, create
Out of the lowest of the people, when
They do ordain the Peace, and
Quorum-men.
Nor will the assertion hold good, though they say,
That these are form'd too of no better clay.
For as the Levite is commission'd
By th'Justice, so by th' Levite he's Sir
John'd.
Just thus, where red and white appear but single,
The cheek's deform'd, but Heav'nly where they mingle.
Now as in Buildings, so in Lawes 'tis found
What that man rais'd, this levels with the ground.
Our deceas'd Patriots were the Bishops bane,
These consecrate themselvs now, and ordain;
And 'tis most fit, that such as do possess
Their Lands, should execute their Offices.
'Twas well their Wisdomes they did not invade,
For then this worthy Act had ne're been made.
Nor must all holy Rites the honour have
To be performed by the Wise and Grave.
'Tis Matrimony only has this Grace,
Which though i'th' Sacraments it hath no place,
O're them and other Duties may insult:
High Priests do this, the rest
Quicunque vult.
But though in all Degrees Wedlock before
Was honourable, and will hence be more:
Yet wise men fear (our frailty's such) there will
Be Fornication found amongst us still.
Nay they'l be guilty (Casuists say) o'th'Fact
Who copulate by vertue of this Act,
And that (but I believe 'em not a word)
Their Issue will be Bastards on Record.
FINIS.