In the Praise or Ex-Ale-tation of ALE.
Not drunken, nor sober, but neighbour to both,
I met with a Friend in Ales-bury Vale;
[...] saw by my Face, that I was in case
To speak no great harm of a Pot of good ALE.
[...]en did he me greet, and said, since we meet,
(And he put me in mind of the name of the Dale)
[...] Ales-bury's sake some pains I would take,
And not bury the praise of a Pot of good ALE.
[...]e more to procure me, then he did adjure me
[...]f the Ale I drank last were nappy and stale,
[...]do it its right, and stir up my sprite,
And fall to commend a pot, &c.
[...]oth I, to commend it I dare not begin,
[...]est therein my credit might happen to fail;
[...] many men now do count it a sin
[...]ut once to look toward a pot, &c.
I care not a pin, for I see no such sin,
[...]or any thing else my courage to quail:
[...] this we do find, that take it in kind,
[...]uch vertue there is in a pot, &c.
[...] I Mean not to tast, though thereby much grac'd,
[...]or the Merry-go-down without pull or hale,
[...]ming the throat, when the stomach's afloat
[...]ith the Fragrant sweet sent of a pot, &c.
[...] yet the delight that comes to the Sight
[...]o see how it flowers and mantles in grail,
[...]een as a Leeke, with a smile in the cheek,
[...]e true Orient colour of a pot, &c.
But I mean the Mind, and the good it doth find;
Not onely the Body so feeble and frail;
For, Body and Soul may bless the black bowle,
Since both are beholden to a Pot, &c.
For, when heaviness the mind doth oppress,
And sorrow and grief the heart do assail,
No remedy quicker then to take off your Liquor,
And to wash away cares with a Pot, &c.
The widow that buried her Husband of late,
Will soon have forgotten to weep and to wail;
And think every day twain, till she marry again,
If she reads the contents of a pot, &c.
It is like a belly-blast to a cold heart,
And warms and engenders the spirits vital;
To keep them from domage, all sp'rits owe their homage
To the Sp'rit of the buttery, a pot, &c.
And down to the legs the virtue doth go,
And to a bad Foot-man is as good as a sail;
When it fills the Veins, and makes light the Brains;
No Lackey so nimble as a pot, &c,
The naked complains not for want of a Coat,
Nor on the cold weather will once turn his tail;
All the way as he goes, he cuts the wind with his nose,
If he be but well wrapt in a pot, &c.
The hungry man takes no thought for his meat,
Though his stomach would brook a ten-peny nail;
He quite forgets hunger, thinks on it no longer,
If he touch but the sparks of a pot, &c.
The Poor man will praise it, so hath he good cause,
That all the year eats neither Partridge nor Quail,
But sets up his rest, and makes up his Feast
With a crust of brown-bread, and a pot, &c.
The Shepherd, the Sower, the Thresher, the Mower,
The one with his Scythe, the other with his Flail;
Take them out by the poll, on the peril of my soll,
All will hold up their hands to a pot, &c.
The Black-Smith, whose bellows all Summer do blow,
With the fire in his Face still, without e're a vail;
Though his throat be full dry, he will tell you no lye,
But where you may be sure of a pot, &c.
Who ever denies it, the Pris'ners will praise it,
That beg at Grate, and lye in the Goale:
For, even in their Fetters, they think themselves better,
May they get but a two-penny black pot of Ale.
The Begger, whose portion is alwayes his prayers,
Not having a tatter to hang on his tail,
Is as rich in his rags, as the Churle in his bags,
If he once but shakes hands with a pot, &c.
It drives his poverty clean out of mind,
Forgetting his brown-bread, his wallet and mail;
He walks in the house like a six-footed Louse,
If he once be inricht with a pot, &c.
And he that doth dig in the ditches all day,
And wearies himself quite at the plow-tail,
Will speak no less things then of Queens and Kings,
If he touch but the top of a pot, &c.
[...]Tis like a Whetstone to a blunt wit,
And makes a supply where Nature doth fail:
The dullest wit soon will look quite through the Moon,
If his temples be wet with a pot, &c.
Then DICK to his dearling, full boldly dares speak,
Though, before (silly fellow) his courage did quail,
[...]e gives her the smouch, with his hand on his pouch,
If he meet by the way with a pot, &c,
[...]nd it makes the Carter a Courtier straight-way,
VVith Rhetorical termes he will tell his tale;
VVith Courtesies great store, and his Cap up before,
Being school'd but a little with a pot, &c.
[...]he Old man, whose tongue wags faster than his teeth,
(For old-age by Nature doth drivel and drale)
Will frig and will fling, like a Dog in a string,
If he warm his cold blood with a pot, &c.
And the good Old Clerk, whose sight waxeth dark,
And ever he thinks the Print is too small,
He will see every Letter, and say Service better,
If he glaze but his eyes with a Pot, &c.
The Cheeks and the Jaws to commend it have cause;
For where they were late but even wan and pale,
They will get them a colour, no Crimson is fuller,
By the true die and tincture of a pot, &c.
Mark her Enemies, though they think themselves wise,
How meager they look, with how low a wail,
How their cheeks do fall, without sp'rits at all,
That alien their minds from a pot, &c.
And now that the grains do work in my brains,
Me thinks I were able to give by retail
Commodities store, a dozen and more,
That flow to Mankind from a pot, &c.
The MUSES would muse any should it misuse;
For it makes them to sing like a Nightingale,
With a lofty trim note, having washed their throat
With the Caballine Spring of a pot, &c.
And the Musician of any condition,
It will make hime reach to the top of his Scale:
It will clear his Pipes, and moisten his lights,
If he drink alternatim a pot, &c.
The Poet Divine, that cannot reach Wine,
Because that his mony doth many times fail,
VVill hit on the vein to make a good strain,
If he be but inspir'd with a pot, &c.
For ballads ELDERTON never had Peer,
How went his wit in them, with how merry a Gale;
And with all the Sails up, had been at the Cup,
And washed his beard with a pot, &c.
And the power of it showes, no whit less in Prose,
It will file one's Phrase, and set forth his Tale:
Fill him but a Bowl, it will make his tongue troul,
For flowing speech flows from a pot, &c.
And master Philosopher, if he drink his part,
Will not trifle his time in the husk or the shale,
But go to the kernel by the depth of his Art,
To be found in the bottom of a pot, &c.
Give a Scholar of OXFORD a pot of Sixteen,
And put him to prove that an Ape hath no tail,
And sixteen times better his wit will be seen,
If you fetch him from Botley a pot, &c.
Thus it helps Speech and Wit: and it hurts not a whit,
But rather doth further the Virtues Morale;
Then think it not much, if a little I touch
The good moral part of a pot, &c.
To the Church and Religion it is a good Friend,
Or else our Fore-Fathers their wisedome did fail,
That at every mile, next to the Church stile,
Set a Consecrate-house to a pot, &c.
But now, as they say, Beer bears it away;
The more is the pity, if right might prevail:
For with the same beer, came up Heresie here,
The old Catholick drink is a pot, &c.
The Churches much owe, as we all do know;
For when they be drooping and ready to fall,
[...]y a Whitson or Church-ale, up again they shall go,
And owe their repairing to a pot, &c.
[...]ruth will do it right, it brings Truth to light,
And many bad matters it helps to reveal:
[...]or, they that will drink, will speak what they think:
TOM tell-troth lies hid in a pot, &c.
[...]is Justices Friend, she will it commend,
For all is here served by measure and tale:
[...]ow, true-tale, and good measure are Justices treasure
And much to the praise of a pot, &c.
[...]nd next I alledge, it is Fortitudes edge
For a very Cow-head, that shrinks like a Snail,
[...]ill swear and will swagger, and out goes his Dagger,
If he be but arm'd with a pot, &c.
Yea, ALE hath her Knights and Squires of Degree,
That never wore Corslet, nor yet shirt of Maile,
But have fought their fights all 'twixt the pot and the wall
VVhen once they were [...]ub'd with a pot, &c.
And sure it will make a man suddenly wise,
E're-while was scarce able to tell a right tail:
It will open his jaw, he will tell you the Law,
As made a right Bencher of a pot, &c.
Or he that will make a bargain to gain,
In buying or setting his goods forth to sale,
Must not plod in the mire, but sit by the fire,
And seal up his Match with a pot, &c.
But for Soberness needs must I confess,
The matter goes hard; and few do prevail
Not to go too deep, but temper to keep,
Such is the Attractive of a pot, &c.
But here's an amends, which will make all Freinds,
And ever doth tend to the best avail;
If you take it too deep it will make you to sleep;
So comes no great harm of a pot, &c.
If (reeling) they happen to fall to the ground,
The fall is not great, they may hold by the Rail:
If into the water, they cannot be drown'd,
For that gift is given to a pot, &c.
If drinking about they chance to fall out,
Fear not that Alarm, though flesh be but frail,
It will prove but some blows, or at most a bloody Nose,
And Friends again straight with a pot, &c.
And Physick will favour ALE as it is bound,
And be against Beer both tooth and nail;
They send up and down all over the town
To get for their Patients a pot, &c.
Their Ale-berries, Cawdles and Possets each one,
And Sallabubs made at the Milking-pale,
Although they be many, Beer comes not in any,
But all are composed with a pot, &c.
And in very deed, the Hop's but a Weed,
Brought o're against Law, and here set to sale:
Would the Law were renew'd, and no more Beer brew'd,
But all men betake them to a pot, &c.
The Law that will take it under his wing,
For, at every Law-day, or Moot of the hale,
One is sworn to serve our Soveraign the KING,
In the ancient office of a CONNER of ALE.
There's never a Lord of Mannor or of a Town,
By strand or by land, by hill or by dale,
But thinks it a Franchise, and a Flow'r or the CROWN
To hold the Assize of a pot, &c.
And though there lie Writs, from the Courts Paramount
To stay the proceedings of the Courts Paravaile;
Law favours it so, you may come, you may go,
Their lyes no Prohibition to a pot, &c.
They talk much of State both early and late,
But if Gascoign and Spain their Wine should not fail,
No remedy then, with us English-Men,
But the State it must stand by a pot, &c.
And they that sit by it are good men and quiet,
No dangerous Plotters in the Common-weal
Of Treason and Murther: For they never go further
Than to call for, and pay for a pot, &c.
To the praise of GAMBRIVIUS that good Brittich King
That devis'd for his Native (by the Welshmen's tale)
Seventeen hundred years before CHRIST did spring,
The happy invension of a pot, &c.
The North they will praise it, and praise it with passion,
VVhere every River gives name to a Dale:
There men are yet living that are of th' old fashion,
No Nectar they know but a pot, &c.
The PICTS and the SCOTS for ALE were at lots,
So high was the skill, and so kept under Seal,
The PICTS were undone, slain each mothers son,
For not teaching the SCOTS to make Hether Eale.
But hither or thither, it skills not much whether,
For Drink must be had, men live not by Keal,
Not by Havor-bannocks, nor by Havor-jannocks,
The thing the SCOTS live on is a pot, &c.
Now, if you will say it, I will not denay it,
That many a man it brings to his bail:
Yet what fairer end can one wish to his Friend,
Than to dye by the part of a pot, &c.
Yet let not the innocent bear any blame,
It is their own doings to break or'e the pale:
And neither the Malt, nor the good wife in fault,
If any be potted with a pot, &c.
They tell whom it kills, but say not a word
How many a man liveth both sound and hale,
Though he drink no beer any day in the year,
By the Radical humour of a pot, &c.
But to speak of Killing, that am I not willing;
For that in a manner were but to rail:
But beer hath its name, cause it brings to the Biere,
Therefore well-fare say I to a pot, &c.
Too many (I wis) with their deaths proved this,
And therefore (if ancient Records do not fail)
He that first brew'd the Hop was rewarded with a Rope,
And found his beer far more bitter than ALE.
O ALE ab alendo, the Liquor of LIFE,
That I had but a mouth as big as a Whale!
For mine is too little to touch the least tittle,
That belongs to the praise of a pot, &c.
Thus (I trow) some Virtues I have mark'd you out,
And never a Vice in all this long trail,
But that after the pot there cometh a Shot,
And that's th' onely blot of a pot, &c.
VVith that my Friend said, that blot will I bear,
You have done very well, it is time to strike sail,
VVee'l have six pots more, though I dye on the score,
To make all this good of a pot of good ALE.
The Ballad Of Arthur of Bradley.
SEE you not Peirce the Piper,
His cheeks as big as a Miter,
Piping among the Swains
That danc't on yonder plains;
Where Tib and Tom do tread it,
And Youths their Horn-pipes lead it;
With every Man his carriage
To go to yonder Marriage,
Not one would stay behind
But go with Arthur a Bradley.
Oh fine Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine Arthur of Bradley,
Oh fine Arthur of Bradley, Oh, &c.
Arthur had got him a Lass,
A bonnier never was;
The Chief youths of the Parish
Came dancing of the Morris,
With Country Lasses trounsing,
And lusty Lads bounsing;
Dancing with Musick pride
And every one his Wench by his side,
They all were fine and gay
For the Honour of Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine Arthur of Bradley, Oh, &c.
But when that Arthur was Married,
And his Bride home had carryed;
The Youngsters they did wait
To help to carry up meat:
Francis Carried the Furmety,
Mihil carryed the Mince-Pye,
Bartholomew the Beef and the Mustard,
And Christopher carryed the Custard:
They every one went in this Ray
For the Honour of Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine
Arthur of Bradley, Oh, &c.
But when that Dinner was ended,
The Maidens they were befriended;
For outstept Dick the Draper,
And he bid pipe up scraper;
Better be dancing a little,
Then into the Town to tipple;
He bid play him a Horn-pipe
That goes fine on the Bag-pipe:
Then forward Piper and play,
For the Honour of Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine, &c.
Then Richard he did lead it,
And Margery she did tread it;
Francis followed then,
And after courteous Jane.
Thus every one after another
As if they had been sister and brother,
That't was a great joy to see
How well they did agree:
And then they all did say,
Hay for Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine Arthur of▪
Bradley, Oh, &c.
When all the Swains did see
This Mirth and merry Glee,
There was never a man did smutch her,
But every man kist his Wench.
But Giles was greedy of gain,
And he would needs kiss twain;
Her Lover seeing that
Did rap him one the Pate,
That he had not a word to say
For the Honour of Arthur of B [...]dley, Oh, fine
Arthur of Bradley, Oh, &c.
The Piper look'd aside,
And there he 'spide the Bride;
He thought it was a hard chance
That none would lead her a dance:
For never a man dirst touch her,
But onely Will the Butcher;
[...]e took her by the hand
And danc'd whilst he could stand:
[...]he Bride was fine and gay,
For the honhur of Arthur of bradley, Oh fine
Arthur of Bradley, Oh, &c.
Then out stept will the VVeaver,
And he swore he'd not leave her;
He hopt it all of a Leg,
For the honour of his Peg;
[...]ut Kester in Cambrick Ruffe,
He took that in snuffe;
For he against that day
Had made himself fine and gay,
His Ruff was whipt over with blew,
He cried a new dance, a new:
Then forward Piper and play,
For the honour of Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine, &c.
Then 'gan the Sun decline,
And every one thought it time
To go unto his home,
And leave the Bridegroom alone:
To't to't, quoth lusty Ned,
VVee'l see them both in bed;
For I will jeopard a joynt
But I will get his codpiece point:
Then strike up Piper and play,
For the honour of Arthur of bradley, Oh fine, &c.
And thus the day was spent,
And no man homeward went,
That there was such crowding and thrusting
That some were in danger of bursting,
To see them go to bed:
For all the Skill they had,
He was got to his Bride,
And laid him close by her side:
They got his Points and Garters,
And cut them in pieces like quarters;
And then they bid the Piper play
For the honour of Arthur of bradley, Oh fine &c.
Then will. and his Sweet-heart
Did call for Loth to Depart,
And then they did foot it and toss it
Till the Cook had brought up the posset,
The Bride pye was brought forth,
A thing of mickle worth;
And so all at the bed side
Took leave of Arthur and his Bride,
And so they went all away
From the wedding of Arthur of Bradley, Oh, &c.
A Ballad of the Gelding of the Devil.
NOw listen a while and I will you tell
Of the Gelding of the Devil of Hell;
And Dick the Baker of Mansfield Town,
To Manchester market he was bound,
And under a Grove of Willows clear,
This Baker rid on with a merty chear:
Beneath the Willows there was a Hill,
And there he met the Devil of Hell.
Baker, quoth the Devil, tell me that,
How came thy Horse so fair and fat?
In troth, quoth the Baker, and by my fay,
Because his stones were cut away.
For he that will have a Gelding free,
Both fair and lusty he must be:
Oh! quoth the Devil, and saist thou so,
Thou shalt geld me before thou do'st go.
Go tie thy Horse unto a tree,
And with thy knife come and geld me.
The Baker had a knife of Iron and Steel,
With which he gelded the Devil of Hell.
It was sharp pointed For the nonce
Fit for to cut any manner of ston [...]s.:
The Baker being lighted from his Horse,
Cut the Devils stones from his Arse.
[...]h! quoth the Devil beshrow thy heart,
Thou dost not feel how I do sinart;
[...]r gelding of me thou art not quit,
For I mean to geld thee this same day sevennight.
[...]he Baker hearing the words he said,
Within his heart was sore afraid,
[...]e hied him to the next market town
To sell his bread both white and brown.
[...]nd when the market was done that Day,
The Baker went home another way.
[...]nto his wife he did tell,
How he had gelded the Devil of Hell:
[...]ay, a wondrous word I heard him say,
He would geld me next market day;
[...]herefore wife I stand in doubt,
Ide rather, quoth she, thy Knaves Eyes were out.
[...]de rather thou should break thy Neck-bone,
Then for to Lose any manner of stone,
[...]or why 'twill be a Loathsome thing,
When every Woman shall call the Gelding.
[...]hus they continued both in fear
Untill the next market day drew near.
[...]ell quoth the good wife, well I wot,
Go fetch me thy Doublet and thy Coat.
[...]hy Hose thy Shoone and Cap also,
And I like a Man to the Market will go:
[...]hen up she got her all in hast,
With all her bread upon her beast;
[...]nd when she came to the Hill side,
There she saw two Devils abide,
[...] little Devil for and another,
Lay playing under the Hill side together.
Oh! quoth the Devil, without any fain
Yonder comes the Baker again;
[...]eest thou well Baker, or beest thou wo,
I mean to geld thee before thou dost go.
[...]hefe were the words the Woman did say,
Good Sir, I was gelded but yesterday;
Oh quoth the Devil that I will see,
And he pluckt her cloaths beneath her knee
And looking upward from the ground,
There he spied a grievous wound:
Oh (quoth the Devil) what might he be?
For he was not cunning that gelded thee,
For when he had cut away the stones clean,
He should have sowed up the hole again;
He call'd the little Devil to him anon
And bid him look to that same man.
Whilest he went into some private place
To fetch some salve in a little space,
The great Devil was gone but a little way,
But upon her belly there crept a flea;
The little Devil he soon spied that,
He up with his paw and gave her a pat:
VVith that the woman began to start,
And out she thrust a most horrible fart.
VVhoop whoop quoth the little Devil, come again I pray,
For her's another hole broke, be my fay;
The great Devil he came running in hast,
VVithin his heart was sore agast.
Fogh quoth the Devil thou art not sound,
Thou stinkest so sore above the ground;
Thy life dayes sure cannot be long,
Thy breath it fumes so wond'rous strong.
The hole is cut so near the bone,
There is no salve can stick thereon.
And therefore Baker I stand in doubt
That all thy bowels will fall out:
Therefore baker hie thee away,
And in this place no longer stay.
A Ballad call'd the Green-Gown.
An leave, piping, the gods have done feasting,
There's never a goddess a hunting to day,
[...]rtals marvel at Corridon's Jesting,
That gives the assistance to entertain May.
[...]e Lads, and the Lasses with scarves on their faces,
So lively as passes trip over the downs:
[...]ch mirth and sport they make, running at Barly-break;
Lord what hast they make for a Green-Gown!
[...]hn with Gillian, Harry with Francis,
Meg and Mary with Robin and Will,
[...]orge and Margery lead all the dances,
For they were reported to have the best skill:
[...]t Cicily and Nanny the fairest of many
That came last of any from out of the towns,
[...]ickly got in among the midst of all the throng
They so much did long for their Green-Gowns.
[...]anton Debora whispered with Dorothy,
That she would wink upon Richard and Sym,
[...]ncing Maudlin shew'd her authority,
And in the quarrel would venture a Limb.
[...]t Sibbel was sickly, and could not come quickly,
And therefore was likely to fall in a sown,
[...] would not tarry for Tom nor for Narry,
Lest Christian should carry away the Green-gown
[...]anch and bettrice both of a family,
Came very lazy lagging behind;
[...]nise and Amable noting their policie,
Cilpid is cunning although he be blind:
[...]t Winny the witty, that came from Citie,
VVith Parnel the pretty, and Besse the brown;
[...]em, Jone and Isabel, Su, Alice and Bonny Nell,
Travell'd excedingly for a Green-Gown.
Now the Youngsters had reach' d the green Medow
VVhere they intended to gather their May,
Some in the Sun-shine, some in the shadow,
Singled in couples, did fall to their play:
But constant Penelope, Faith, Hope, and Charity,
Lookt very modestly, yet they lay down;
And Prudence prevented what Rachel repented,
And Kate was contented to take a Green Grown.
Then they desired to know of a truth
If all their fellows were in the like case,
Nem call'd for Eede and Eede for Ruth,
Ruth for Marcy and Marcy for Grace;
But there was no speaking, they answer'd with squeaking,
The pretty Lass breaking the head of the Clown;
But some were a wooing while others were doing,
Yet all their going was for a Green-Gown.
Bright Apollo was all this while peeping
To see if his Daphne had been in the throng,
But missing her hastily, Downwards was creeping,
For Thetis imagin'd he tarried too long.
Then all the troop mourned and homeward returned,
For Cinthia scorned to smile or to frown:
Thus they did gather May all the long Summer day,
And at Night went away with a Green-Gown.
A Ballad of Sir Egle More.
SIr Egley More that valiant Knight,
with his fa, la, lanctre down dille,
[...]e fetcht his Sword and he went to fight,
with his fa, la, and his lanctre down dille;
she went over hill and dale,
[...]ll clothed in his Coat of Male,
With his fa, la, his fa, la, and his lanctre down dille,
[...] huge great Dragon leapt out of his Den,
with his fa, la, lanctre down dille,
Which had kill'd the Lord knows how many men,
with his fa, la, and his lanctre down dille;
[...]ut when he saw Sir Egley More,
[...]ood lack had you seen how this Dragon did rore!
with his fa, la, his fa, la, and his lanctre down dille.
[...]his Dragon he had on a Plaguy hide
with his fa, la, and his lanctre down dille,
[...]hich could both Sword and Spear abide,
with his fa, la, &c.
[...]e could not enter with hacks and cuts,
Which vext the Knight to the very heart blood and guts,
with his fa, la, &c.
[...]l the trees in the wood did shake,
with his fa, la, &c.
[...]ars did tremble, and man did quake,
with his fa, la, &c.
[...]t had you seen how the Birds lay peeping,
would have made a mans heart to fall a weeping,
with his fa, la, &c.
[...]t now is was too late to fear,
with his fa, la, &c,
[...]r now it was come to fight dog fight bear,
with his fa, la, &c.
[...]d as a yawning he did fall,
[...] thrust his Sword in hilts and all,
with his fa, la, &c.
But now as the Knight in choler did burn,
with his fa, la, &c.
He owed the Dragon a shrewd good turn,
with his fa, la, &c.
In at his mouth his Sword he bent,
The hilt appear'd at his Fundament,
with his fa, la, &c.
Then the Dragon like a Coward began to fly
with his fa, la, &c.
Unto his Den that was hard by,
with his fa, la, &c.
And there he laid him down and ror'd,
The Knight was vexed for his Sword,
with his fa, la, &c.
The Sword it was a right good Blade
with his fa, la, &c.
As ever Turk or Spaniard made,
with his fa, la, &c,
I for my part do forsake it,
And he that will fetch it, Let him take it,
with his fa, la, &c.
When all this was done, to the Ale-house he went,
with his fa, la, &c.
And by and by his two pence he spent,
with his fa, la, &c.
For he was so hot with tugging with the Dragon,
That nothing would quench him but a whole flagon,
with his fa, la, &c.
Now God preserve our King and Queen,
with his fa, la, &c.
And eke in London may be seen
with his fa, la, &c.
As many Knights, and as many more,
And all so good as Sir Egle More,
with his fa, la, his fa, la, lanctre down dille.
A Ballad call'd Blew-Cap for me.
COme hither thou merriest of all the Nine,
Come sit you down by me, and let us be jolly;
[...]nd with a full Cup of Apollo's VVine,
VVee'l dare our Enemy, mad Melancholy;
[...]d when we have done, wee'l between us devise
pleasant new Dity by Art to compose;
And of this new Dity the matter shall be,
ever I have a man, blew-cap for me.
There dwells a blith Lass in Falkland Town,
[...]d she hath Suiters I know not how many,
And her resolution she had fet down
[...]at she'l have a Blew-cap if ever she have any.
Englishman when our geod Knight was there,
me often unto her, and loved her dear;
Yet still she replied, Geod Sir la be,
ever I have a man, blew-cap for me.
[...]elshman that had a long Sword by his side,
Red Doublet, red Breech, and red Coat, and red Peard,
[...]s made a great shew of a great deal of pride,
Was tell her strange tales te like never heard;
[...]as recon her pedegree long pefore Prute,
body was near that could her Confute;
[...]ut still she reply'd, Geod Sir la be,
ever I have a man, blew-cap for me.
[...] Frenchman that largely was booted and spurr'd,
[...]g Lock with a ribbon, long Points and long Preeshes,
VVas ready to kiss her at every word,
[...] for the other exercises his fingers itches;
[...] be pretty wench a Metrel par ma Foy,
[...]r me do love you, be not so coy;
Yet still she reply'd, Geod Sir la be;
[...]ver I have a man, blew-cap for me.
An Irishman with a long Skeen in his Hose,
Did think to obtain her, it was no great matter,
Up stairs to the chamber so lightly he goes,
That she never heard him until he came at her.
Quoth he, I do love thee, by Fait and by Trot,
And if thou wilt know it, experience shall sho't,
Yet still she reply'd, Geod Sir, la be,
If ever I have a man, Blew-Cap for me.
A Netherland Mariner came there by chance,
Whose cheeks did resemble two rosting Pome-waters,
And to this Blith Lass this sute dit advance,
Experience had taught him to cog, lie and flatter:
Quoth he, I will make thee sole Lady of the Sea,
Both Spanyard and English man shall thee obey:
Yet still she reply'd, &c.
At last came a Scotchman with a Blew Cap,
And that was the man for whom she had tarried,
To get this Blyth Lass it was his giud hap,
They gan to Kirk and were presently married;
She car'd not whether he were Lord or Leard,
She call'd him sick a like name as I ne'r heard,
To get him from aw she did weell agree,
And still she cryed, Blew Cap thou art welcome to me.
The Ballad Of the CAPS
THe Wit hath long beholding been
Unto the Cap to keep it in,
But now the wits fly out amain
In praise to quit the Cap again;
The Cap that keeps the highest part
Obtains the place by due desert:
For any Cap, what ere it bee,
It still the sign of some degree,
[...]he Monmoth Cap, the Saylor thumbe,
And that wherein the Tradesman come,
[...]he Physick Cap, the Cap Divine,
And that which Crowns the Muses nine,
[...]he Cap that fools do Countenance,
The goodly Cap of Maintenance.
For any Cap, &c.
[...]he sickly Cap both plain and wrought,
The Fudling Cap how ever bought,
[...]he Woolsted, Furr'd, the Velvet, Sattin,
For which so many pates learn Latin;
[...]he Cruel Cap; the Fustian Pate,
The Perewig a Cap of Late:
For any Cap, &c.
[...]he Souldiers that the Monmoth wear,
On Castles-tops their Ensigns rear;
[...]he Sea-man with his Thrumb doth stand
On higher parts then all the land;
[...]he Tradesmans Cap aloft is born,
By vantage of a stately horn.
For any Cap, &c.
[...]he Physick Cap to dust can bring
Without controul the greatest King,
[...]he Lawyers Cap hath Heavenly might
To make a crooked action straight;
[...]nd if you'l line him in the fist,
The Cause he'l warrant as he list.
For any Cap, &c.
[...]th East and West, and North and South,
Where ere the Gospel hath a mouth,
[...]he Cap Divine doth thither look;
'Tis Square like Scholars and their Books:
[...]he rest are Round, but this is Square,
To shew their Wits more stable are:
For any Cap, &c.
[...]he Jester he a Cap doth wear,
Which makes him fellow for a Peer,
[...]nd 'tis no slender piece of Wit
To act the Fool, where great Men sit;
But O, the Cap of London Town,
I wis, 'tis li [...]e a goodly Crown.
For any Cap, &c.
The Sickly Cap though wrought with silk,
Is like repentance, white as milk;
VVhen Caps drop off at health apace,
The Cap doth then your head uncase.
The sick mans Cap (if wrought) can tell
Though he be sick, his Cap is well.
For any Cap, &c.
The Fudling Cap by Bacchus Might,
Turn's night to day, and day to night;
VVe know it makes proud heads to bend,
The Lowly feet for to Ascend;
It makes men richer then before,
By seeing doubly all their score.
For any Cay, &c.
The Furr'd and Quilted Cap of age▪
Can ma [...]e a mouldy proverb sage,
The Satin and the Velvet hive
Into a Bishoprick may thrive;
The Triple Cap may raise some hope,
If fortune serve, to be a Pope,
For any Cap, &c.
The Periwig, O, this declares
The rise of flesh, though fall of hairs,
And none but Gransiers can proceed
So far in sin, till they this need,
Before the King who covered are,
And onely to themselves stand bare.
For an, Cap, what ere it be,
Is still the sign of some degree.
A Ballad Of the NOSE.
THree merry Lads met at the Rose
To speak in the praises of the Nose:
[...]he Nose that stands in the midle place
Sets out the beauty of the Face,
[...]he Nose with which we have begun
VVill serve to make our verses run:
Invention often barren grows,
Yet still there's matter in the Nose.
[...]he Nose his end's so high a prize
That men prefer't before their eyes,
[...]nd no man counts him for his friend
That boldly takes his Nose by the end:
[...]he Nose that like Uripus flowes,
The Sea that did the wiseman pose,
Invention often, &c.
[...]he Nose is of as many kinds
As Mariners can reckon winds;
[...]he long, the short, the Nose displayd,
The great Nose, which did fright the Maid;
[...]he Nose through which the Brother-hood,
Do parly for their Sisters good,
Invention of ten, &c.
[...]he flat, the sharp, the Roman Snowt,
The Hawkes Nose circled round about,
[...]he Crooked Nose that stands awry,
The Ruby Nose of Scarlet dye,
[...]he brazen Nose without a Face
That doth the Learned Colledge grace,
Invention often, &c.
The long Nose when the teeth appear,
Shews what's a Clock if day be clear;
The broad Nose stands in Bucklers place,
And takes the blows for all the face;
The Nose being plain without a Ridge,
Will serve sometimes to make a Bridge,
Invention often, &c.
The short Nose is the Lovers blis [...],
Because it hinders not a kiss;
The toteing Nose, O monstrous thing!
That's he that did the bottle bring,
And he that brought the bottle hither
Will drink (O monstrous!) out of measure.
Invention often, &c.
The Firie Nose in Lanthorn stead
May light his Master home to bed,
And whosoever this Treasure owes
Grows poor in purse though Rich in Nose:
The Brazen Nose that's ore the gate
Maintains full many a Latin pate.
Invention often, &c.
If any Nose take this in snuff,
And think it more then enough;
VVe answer them, we did not fear
Nor think such Noses had been here:
But if there be, we need not care,
A Nose of VVax our Statutes are.
Invention now is barren grown,
The Matter's out, the Nose is blown.
A Ballad of the Black-Smith.
OF all the trades that ever I see,
There's none to a Black-smith compared may be,
With so many several tools works he,
Which no body can deny.
The first that ever Thunder-bolt made,
Was a Cyclops of the Black-smith trade,
As in a Learned Author is said,
Which no body can deny.
When Thundering-like we strike about,
The Fire like lightning flashes out,
Which suddenly with water we dout,
Which no body can deny.
The Fairest Goddess in the Skies,
To marry with Vulcan did advise,
And he was a Black-smith grave and wise,
Which no body can deny.
Vulcan He to do her right,
Did build her a town by Day and by Night,
And gave it a name which was Hamersmiths hight;
Which no body can deny.
Vulcan further did acquaint her,
That a pretty Estate he would appoint her,
And leave her Seacole-lane for a Joynter,
Which no body can deny.
And that no enemy might wrong her,
He built her a Fort you'd wish no stronger,
Which was in the lane of Ironmonger,
Which no body can deny.
Smithfield he did Clense from Dirt,
And sure there was great Reason for't,
For their he meant she should keep her Court,
Which no body can deny.
But after in a good time and tide,
It was by the Blacksmith rectifi'd,
To the honour of Edmond Iron-side;
Which no body can deny.
Vulcan after made a train
VVherein the God of War was tane,
VVhich ever since [...]hath been call'd Pauls-Chain;
Which no body can deny.
The Common Proverb as it is read,
That a man must hit the Nale on the head,
VVithout the Black-smith cannot be said;
Which no body can deny.
Another must not be forgot,
And fall's unto the Black-smiths lot,
That a man strike while the Iron is hot;
Which no body can deny,
Another comes in most proper and fit,
The Black-smiths Justice is seen in it,
VVhen you give a man rost and beat him with the spit;
Which no body can deny.
Another comes in our Black-smiths way,
VVhen thing are safe, as old wives say,
VVe have them under lock and key;
Which no body can deny,
Another that's in the Black-smiths books,
And onely to him for remedy looks,
Is when a man's quite off the hooks;
Which no body can deny
Another Proverb to him doth belong,
And therefore let's do the Black-smith no wrong,
VVhen a man's he [...]d hard to it buckle and thong;
Which no body can deny.
Another Proverb doth make me laugh,
VVherein the Black-smith may challenge half,
VVhen a Reasons as plain as a Pike-staff;
Which no body can deny,
Though your Lawyers travel both near and far,
And by long pleading, a good Cause may mar,
Yet your Black-smith takes more pains at the Bar;
Which no body can deny.
Though your Scrivener seek to crush and to kill
By his counterfeit deeds and thereby doth ill,
Yet your black-smith may Forge what he will;
Which no body can deny.
Though your bankrupt Citizens lurk in their holes,
And laugh at their creditors, and their catch-poles,
Yet your black-smith can fetch them over the coals,
Which no body can deny.
Though Jocky in the stable be never so neat
To look to his Nag, and prescribe him his meat,
Yet your black-smith knows better how to give him a heat;
Which no body can deny.
If any Taylor have the itch,
The black-smiths water as black as pitch,
VVill make his hands go thorough stitch;
Which no body can deny.
There's never a slut if filth o're smutch her,
But owes to the black-smith for her leacher,
For without a pair of tongs there's no man would touch her;
Which no body can deny.
Your Roring boys who ever one Quails,
Fights, domineers, swaggers and rails,
Could never yet make the Smith eat his Nails;
Which no body can deny.
If a Scholar be in doubt,
And cannot well bring his matter about,
The blacksmith he can Hammer it out;
Which no bady can deny.
Now if to know him you would desire,
You must not Scorn but rank him higher,
For what he gets, is out of the fire;
which no body can deny.
Now here's a good health to Black-smiths all,
And let it go round, as round as a ball;
Wee'l drink it all off, though it cost us a fall,
which no body can deny.
The BREWER. A Ballad made in the Year, 1657.
To the Tune of the Black-smith.
THere's many a Clinching verse is made
In honour of the Black-smiths trade,
But more of the Brewer may be said;
which no body can deny.
I need not much of this repeat,
The Black-smith cannot be compleat,
Unless the Brewer do give him a heat;
which no body can deny.
When Smoug unto the Forge doth come,
Unless the Brewer doth liquor him home,
He'l never strike, my pot, and thy pot, Tom;
which no bod can deny.
Of all professions in the town
The Brewers trade hath gain'd renown,
His liquor reacheth up to the Crown;
which no body can deny.
Many new Lord from him there did spring,
Of all the trades he still was their King,
For the Brewer had the world in a sling;
which no body can deny.
He scorneth all laws and Marshal stops,
But whips an Army as Round as tops;
And cuts off his foes as thick as hops;,
which no body can deny.
[...]e dives for Riches down to the bottom,
And cries, my Masters, when he hat got um,
[...]et every tub stand upon his own bottom;
which no body can deny.
[...]n warlike acts he scorns to stoop,
[...]or when his army begins to droop,
[...]e draws them up as round as a hoop;
which no body can deny.
The Jewish Scot that scorns to Eat
The flesh of Swine and Brewers beat,
Twas the sight of his Hogs-head made um retreat;
which no body can deny.
Poor Jocky and his basket hilt
[...]as beaten, and much blood was spilt,
And their bodyes like barrels did run a tilt;
which no body can deny.
Though Jemy gave the first assault,
The Brewer at last made him to halt,
And gave them what the Cat left in the Malt;
which no body can deny.
They cri'd that Antichrist came to settle
Religion in a Cooler and Kettle,
For his Nose and Copper were both of one mettle;
which no body can deny.
Some Christian Kings began to quake,
And said with the Brewer no quarrel wee'l make,
VVee'l let him alone, as he brews let him bake;
which no body can deny.
He hath a strong and very stout heart,
And thought to be made an Emperor for't,
But the Devil put a Spoke in his Cart;
which no body can deny.
If any intended to do him disgrace,
His fury would take off his head in the place,
He alway did carry his Furnace in his Face;
which no body can deny.
But yet by the way you must understand
He kept his Foes so under command,
That Pride could never get the upper hand;
Which no body can deny.
He was a stout Brewer of whom we may brag,
But now he is hurried away with a hag,
He brew's in a bottle and bak'd in a bag;
Which no body can deny.
And now may all stout Souldiers say,
Farewell the glory of the day,
For the Brewer himself is turn'd to clay;
Which no body can deny.
Thus fell the brave Brewer the bold son of slaughter,
We need not to fear, what shall follow after,
For he dealt all his life time, in fire and water.
Which no body can deny.
And if his successour had had but his might,
Then we had not bin in a pitiful plight,
But he was found many grains too light;
Which no body can deny.
Let's leave off singing, and drink of our bub,
Wee'l call up a Reck'ning, and every man club,
For I think I have told you a tale of a tub;
Which no body can deny.
A Ballad, or Parly, between two West-Countrymen on sight of a WEDDING.
I Tell thee Dick where I have been,
Where I the rarest things have seen;
Oh things beyond compare!
Such sights again cannot be found
In any place on English ground,
Be it at Wake or Fair.
At Charing Cross, hard by the way
Where we (thou know'st) do sell our Hay,
There is a House with stairs;
And there did I see coming down,
Such Volk as are not in our Town,
Vortie at least in pairs.
Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine,
(His beard no bigger though then thine)
Walkt on before the rest:
Our Landlord looks like nothing to him:
The King (God bless him) 'twould undo him
Should he go still so drest.
At Course-a-Park without all doubt,
He should have first been taken out
By all the maids i'th Town:
Though lusty Roger there had been,
Or little George upon the green,
Or Vincent of the Crown.
But wat you what; the youth was going
To make an end of all his woing;
The Parson for him staid:
Yet by his leave (for all his hast)
He did not so much wish all past
(Perchance) as did the Maid.
The Maid (and thereby hangs a tale)
For such a Maid to VVhitson-Ale
Could ever vet produce:
No grape that's kindly ripe, could be
So round, so plump, so soft as she,
Nor half so full of juyce.
Her finger was so small, the Ring
VVould not stay on which he did bring,
It was too wide a peck:
And to say truth (for out it must)
It lookt like the great Collar (Just)
About our young Colts neck.
Her feet beneath her peticoat,
Like little mice stole in and out,
As if they fear'd the light:
But Dick the dances such a way
No Sun upon an Ester day
Is half so fine a sight.
He would have kist her once or twice,
But she would not, she was so nice,
She would not do't in sight;
And then she lookt as who would say,
I will do what I list to day;
And you shall do't at night.
Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
No Dazy makes comparison
(VVho sees them is undone:)
For streaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Katherine Pear,
The side that's next the Sun.
Her lips were red, and one was thin
Compar'd to heat was next her Chin:
(Some Bee had stung it newly:)
But (Dick) her Eyes so guard her Face,
I durst no more upon them gaze,
Then on the Sun in July.
[...]er mouth so small when she does speak,
[...]hou'dst swear her teeth her words did break,
That they might passage get;
[...]ut she so handled still the matter,
[...]hey came as good as ours, or better,
And are not spent a whit.
[...] wishing should be any sin
[...]he Parson himself had guilty bin,
(She lookt that day so purely)
[...]nd did the youth so oft the feat
[...]t night, as some did in conceit,
It would have spoil'd him surely.
[...]assion, oh me! how I run on!
[...]here's that that would be thought upon
(I trow) besides the Bride.
[...]he business of the Kitchin's great,
[...]r it is fit that men should eat;
Nor was it there deny'd.
[...]st in the nick the Cook knockt thrice,
[...]nd all the VVaiters in a trice
His summons did obey,
[...]ch Serving man with dish in hand
[...]rcht boldly up like our Train-band,
Presented and away.
[...]hen all the meat was on the Table,
[...]hat man of knife or teeth was able
To stay to be intreated?
[...]d this the very reason was.
[...]ore the Parson could say Grace,
The company was seated.
[...]w hats fly off, and youths carouse;
[...]alths first go round, and then the House;
The Brides came thick and thick;
[...] when 'twas nam'd anothers health,
[...]haps he made it hers by stealth;
(And who could help it, Dick?)
O'th sudain up they rise and dance;
Then sit again, and figh, and glance:
Then dance again and kiss:
Thus sev'ral wayes the time did pass,
VVhil'st every woman wisht her place,
And every man wisht his.
By this time all were stoln aside,
To counsel and undress the Bride;
But that he must not know:
But 'twas thought he guest her mind,
And did not mean to stay behind,
Above an hour or so.
VVhen in he came (Dick) there she lay
Like now-faln snow melting away,
('Twas time I trow to part)
Kisses were now the onely stay,
VVhich soon she gave, as who would say,
God B'w'y'! with all my heart.
But just as Heavens would have to cross it,
In came the Bride-maids with the Posset:
The Bride-groom eat in spight;
For had he left the women to't,
It would have cost two hours to do't,
VVhich were too much that night.
At length the Candle's out and now,
All that they had not done they do:
VVhat that is, you can tell;
But I believe it was no more
Than thou and I have done before
VVith Bridget and with Nell.
The Ballad Of Saint GEORGE for England.
WHy should we boast of Arthur and his Knights?
Know how many men have perform'd fights;
[...]r why should we speak of Sir Lancelot du Lake,
[...]r Sir Trestram du Leon that fought for the Ladyes sake?
[...]ead old storyes, and there you'l see
[...]ow St. George, St. George, did make the Dragon flee:
St. George he was for England St. Denis, was for France,
Sing Honi soit qui Mal y pense.
[...] speak of the Monarchy, it were two long to tell;
[...]nd likewise of the Romans, how far they did excel,
[...]nuibal and Scipio, they many field did fight,
[...]ando Furioso he was a valiant Knight,
[...]mulus and Rhemus were those that Rome did build;
[...] St. George St. George the Dragon he hath kill'd:
St. George he was &c.
[...]phtha and Gidion they led their men to fight,
[...]e Gibionites and Amo [...]ites, they put them all to flight;
[...]cules Labour was in the Vale of Brass,
[...]d Sampson slew a thousand with the Jaw-bone of an Ass,
[...]d when he was blind, pull'd the Temple to the ground:
[...] St. Georges, St. George the Dragon did confound:
St. George he was, &c.
[...]entine and Orson they came of Pipin's blood,
[...]bred and Aldrecus they were brave Knights and good;
[...]e four sons of Amnon that fought with Charlemaine,
[...]Hugh de Burdeaux and G [...]dfry de Bolaigne,
[...]se were all French Knights the Pagans did Convert,
[...] St. George, St. George, pull'd forth the Dragons heart:
St. George he was, &c.
Henry the fifth he Conquered all France,
He quartered their Arms, his Honour to advance,
He razed their Walls, and pull'd their Cities down,
And garnished his Head with a double treble Crown;
He thumbed the French, and after home he came!
But St. George, St. George, he inade the Dragon tame:
St. George he was, &c.
St. David you know, loves Leeks and tosted Cheese,
And Jason was the Man brought home the Golden-Fleece;
St. Patrick you know he was St. Georges Boy,
Seven years he kept his Horse, and then stole him away;
For which Knavish act, a slave he doth remain;
But St. George St. George, he hath the Dragon slain:
St. George he was, &c.
Tamerlane the Emperour in Iron Cage did Crown,
With his bloody Flags dispay'd before the Town;
Scanderbag Magnanimous Mahomets Bashaw did dread,
Whose Victorious Bones were worn when he was dead;
His Bedlerbegs, his Corn like drags, George Castriot was he call'd,
But St. George, St. George, the Dragon he hath mauld:
St. George he was for England, St. Denis was for France,
Sing Hony soit qui mal y pense.
Ottoman the Tartar, Cham of Persia's race,
The great Mogul, with his Chests so full of all his Cloves and Mac [...]
The Grecian Youth Buchepalus he manly did bestride,
But those with all their Worthies Nine, St. George did them deride
Gustavus Adolphus was Swedelands VVarlike King,
But St. George, St. George, pull'd forth the Dragons sting:
St. George he was for England, St. Denis was for France,
Sing Hony soit qui mal y pense.
Pendragon and Cadwallader of Brittis [...] blood do boast,
Though John of Gant his foes did daunt, S. George shall rule the ro [...]
Agamemnon and Cleome [...]on and Macedon did feats,
But compared to our Champion, they were but merely cheats;
Brave Malta Knights in Turkish fights, their brandisht swords outd [...]
But St. George met the Dragon, and ran him through and through
St. George, he was, &c.
[...]dea the Amozon, Photius overthrew,
[...]s fierce as either Vandal, Goth, Saracen or Jew;
[...]he potent Holophernes, as he lay in his bed,
[...] came wise Judith and subtly stole his head;
[...]ave Cyclops stout, with Jove he fought, Although he showr'd down Thunder;
[...]ut St. George kill'd the Dragon, and was not that a wonder!
Saint George, He was, &c.
[...]ark Anthony, Ile warrant you Plaid feats with Egypts Queen,
[...] Egla More that valiant Knight, the like was never seen,
[...]rim Gorgons might was known in fight, old Bevis most men frighted.
[...]he Myrmidons and Presbyter John, why were not those men knighted?
[...]ave Spinola took-in Breda▪ Nasaw did it recover,
[...]ut St. George, St. George, he turn'd the Dragon over and over:
St. George he was for England, St. Denis was for France,
Sing Hony soil qui mal y pense.
The Ballad of The BULLS FEATHER
[...]T chanc'd not long ago, as I was walking,
An Eccho did bring me where two were a talking,
[...]was a man said to his wife, Dye I had rather,
Then to be Cornuted and wear the Bulls Feather.
[...]en presently she reply'd, Sweet art thou Jealous?
Thou can'st not play Vulcan before I play Venus;
[...]hy fancyes are Foolish, such follies together:
There's many an honest man has worn the Bulls Feather.
[...]hough it be invisible, let no man it scorn,
Though it be a new Feather made of an old horn;
[...]e that disdains it in heart or mind either:
May be the more subject to wear the Bulls feather.
[...]e that lives in discontent, or dispair,
And feareth false measure his wife's fair,
[...]is Thoughts are Inconstant, much like to winter weather:
Though one or two want it, he shall have a Feather.
Bulls Feathers are Common, as Ergo in Schools,
And onely contemned by those that are Fools;
Why should a Bulls Feather cause any unrest,
Since Neighbours Fare always is counted the best?
Those Women wh'are Farest, are likely to give it,
And Husbands that have them, are apt to believe it;
Some men though their Wives should seem for to Tedder,
They would play the Kind Neighbour, and give the Bulls Feath [...]
Why should we repine, that our Wives are so Kind,
Since we that are Husbands are of the same Mind;
Shall we give them Feathers, and think to go free,
Believe it, Believe it, that hardly will be.
For he that disdains my Bulls Feather to day,
May light of a Lass that will play him foul play;
There's never a Gallant that treads on Cows Leather,
But he may be Cornuted and wear the Bulls Feather.
Though Beer of that Brewing I never did drink,
Yet be not displeas'd if I speak what I think,
Scarce ten in a Hundred, believe it, believe it,
But either they'l have it, or else they will give it.
The let me advise all those that do Pine,
For fear that false Jealousie shorten their Time,
This disease will Torment them worse than a Feaver,
Then let all be contented to wear the Bulls feather.
A Ballad. Old England turn'd New.
YOu talk of New England, I truely believe [...]
Old England is grown New, and doth us deceive;
[...]'le ask you a Question or two, by your leave;
And is not old England grown new?
Where are you old Souldiers with Slashes and Scars,
That never us'd Drinking in no time of VVars,
Nor Shedding of Blood in Mad drunken Jars:
And is not old England, &c.
New Captains are made, that never did Fight,
But with Pots in the Day, and Punks in the Night,
And all their chief Care is to keep their Swords bright;
And is not old England, &c.
VVhere are your old Swords, your Bills, and your Bowes,
Your Bucklers and Targets that never fear'd Blowes?
They are turn'd to Stiletto's, with other fair Showes:
And is not old England, &c.
VVhere are your Old Courtiers, that used to Ride
VVith Forty Blew-coats and Foot-men beside?
They are turn'd to Six Horses a Coach with a guide:
And is not old England, &c.
And what is become of our old English Cloathes,
Your long sleev'd Doublet and your Trunk Hose?
They are turned to French Fashions and other gugaws:
And is not old England, &c.
Your Gallant and his Taylor some half a year together
To fit a new Sute to a new Hat and Feather,
Of Gold, or of Silver, Silk, Cloth, Stuff, or Leather:
And is not old England, &c.
We have New fashion'd Beards, and new fashion'd Locks,
And new fashion'd Hats, for your new pated Blocks,
And more New Diseases, besides then the French POX;
And is not old England, &c.
New Houses are built, and the old ones pulled down,
Until the new Houses sell all the old ground,
And then the House, stands like a horse in the Pound;
And is not old England, &c.
New fashions in Houses, new fashions at Table,
Old Servants discharg'd and new not so able,
And all good old Customes is now but a Fable;
And is not old England, &c.
New Trickings, new Goings new Measures, new Paces;
New Heads for men, for your women new Faces,
And twenty new tricks to mend their bad cases;
And is not old England, &c.
[...] tricks in the Law, new tricks in the Rouls,
[...]ew Bodies thy have, they look for new Souls,
When the money is paid for building old Pauls,
And is not old England, &c.
Then talk you no more of New England,
New England is where old England did stand,
New Furnish'd, new Fashion'd, new Woman'd, new Man'd:
And is not old England grown new?
The Ballad On the North-Countrymans Song on his View of London Sights.
WHen Ize came first to London-Town,
Ize wor a Noviz, as many mo men are;
Ize thought the King had live at the Crown,
And all the way to Heaven had been through the Star.
Ize set up my Horse, and Ize went to Powles,
[...]lds nigs, quoth I, what a Kirk bee'th hear,
Then Ize did swear by all Kurson souls,
[...]t wor a mile long or very near.
The top wor as high as any Hill,
A Hill quo, I, nay as a Mountain;
But Ize went up with very good will,
But gladder was I to come down again.
For as I went up my Head ga round;
Then be it known to all Kurson people,
A man is no little way fro the Ground;
When he's o'th the top of Pauls Steeple.
Ize lay down my Hat and Ize went to pray,
But wor not this a pitiful case?
A'vor Ize had done it wor stolen away;
VVho'd a thought Theeves had been in that place?
Now vor my Hot Ize made great moan,
A stander by then to me zaid,
Thou dost not observe the Scripture aright;
For thou mun a watcht, as well as pray'd.
From thence to Westminster Ize went,
VVhere many a brave Lawyer Ize did zee,
[...]ut zome there had a bad intent;
[...]'m zure my Purse was stoln from me.
[...]ow to zee the Tombs was my desire,
Ize went with many brave fellows store,
[...] gan them a Penny that was their hire,
And he's but a Fool that will give any more.
[...]hen through the Roomes the Fellow me led,
VVhere all the Zights wor to be zeen,
[...]nd snuffling told me through the Nose,
VVhat formerly the Names of those had been.
Iere Lyes, quoth he, Henry the Third,
Thou ly'st like a Knave, he zays never a word;
[...]nd here lyes Richard the Second Interr'd,
And hear stands good King Edward's Sword.
[...]nd under this Chair lyes Jacobs Stone,
The very same stone is now in the Chair:
[...]ery good jest, had Jacob but one?
How got he so many Sons without a pair?
[...]stai'd not there, but down with the Tide,
Iz' made great hast, and Iz' went my way,
[...] Iz' was to zee the Lions beside,
And the Paris-Garden all in a day.
VVhen Ize came there, I was in a Rage,
Ize rayl'd on him that kept the Bears,
Iustead of a stake, was suffered a stage,
And in Hunks his house a Crew of Players.
Then through the Bridge to the Tower Iz' went,
VVith much ado Ize ent'rd in,
And after a Penny that I had spent,
One with a loud voyce did thus begin!
This Lion's the Kings and that is the Queens,
And this is the Princes that stands here by,
[...]Vith that I went neer to look in the Den,
Cods body I quoth he, why come you so nigh?
[...] made great hast unto my Inn,
[...] Iz' Zupt, and Iz' went to bed betimes,
[...] Zlept, and Iz' Dream'd what I had Zeen,
And wak'd again by Cheap-side Chimes.
A Ballad News and no News.
WHite Bears are lately come to Town,
That's no News,
And Cuckolds Dogs shall pull them down,
That's no News,
Ten Dozen of Capons sold for a Crown,
Hey ho, that's News indeed.
A Jackanapes at a Merchants dore,
That's no News,
An Irishman in an Alehouse score,
That's no News,
And Gravesend Barge without a VVhore,
Hey ho, that's News indeed.
A Fizling Cur in a Ladyes lap,
That's no News,
And Feathers wagging in a Fools Cap,
That's no News,
A Lion caught in a Mouse-trap,
Hey ho, that's News indeed.
A Roring Gallant not to thrive,
That's no News,
A Drone to Rob the poor Bees Hive,
That's no News,
A Parsons VVife not apt to—
Hey ho, that's news indeed.
A Taylor brisk in gaudy Clothes,
That's no News,
A Frenchman stradling as he goes,
That's no News,
A Drunkard without a Copper-Nose,
Hey ho, that's News indeed.
A Sattin Suite without a Page,
That's no News;
A Rayling Poe [...]'e the stage,
That's no News:
A Rich man honest in this Age,
Hey ho, that's News indeed.
A Petty-fogger, brib'd with fees,
That's no News;
A Welshman Cram'd with toasted Cheese,
That's no News,
A Lad and a Lass in Bed to Freeze:
Hey ho, that's News indeed.
A Lawyer to turn Hypocrite,
That's no News;
A Baly to Arrest a Knight,
That's no News;
A Court without a Parasite:
Hey ho, that's News indeed.
Before my News be over slipt,
That's no News,
I wish all Knaves from London shipt,
That's no News;
And all the VVhores in Bridewel whipt:
Hey ho, 'Twere News indeed.
A Ballad: Or the Old Song of an Old Courtier and a New.
WIth an Old Song made by an Old Ancient pate,
Of an Old worshipful Gentelman who had a great Estate;
[...]ho kept an Old house at a bountiful rate,
And an Old Porter to relieve the Poor at his Gate,
Like an Old Courtier of the Queens.
[...]ith an Old Lady whose anger and good words asswages,
Who every quarter payes her old Servants their wages,
[...]ho never knew what belongs to Coachmen, Footmen and Pages;
But kept twenty or thirty old Fellows, with blew-coats and badges;
Like an old Courtier, &c.
[...]ith an old Study fill'd full of Learned books,
With an old Reverend Parson, you may judge him by his looks,
[...]ith an old Buttery hatch worn quite off the old hooks,
And an old Kitchin, which maintains half a dozen old cooks;
Like an old, &c.
[...]Vith an old Hall hung round about with Guns, Pikes and Bows,
With old swords & bucklers, which hath born many shrew'd blows,
[...]nd an old Frysadoe coat to cover his worships trunk hose,
And a cup of old Sherry to comfort his [Copper Nose;]
Like an old, &c.
[...]Vith an old Fashion when Christmas is come
To call in his Neighbours with Bag-pipe and Drum,
[...]nd good chear enough to furnish every old Room,
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and a wise man dum;
Like an old &c.
VVith an old Hunts-man, a Falkoner and a Kennel of Hounds,
VVhich never Hunted, nor Hawked, but in his own Grounds;
VVho like an old wise man kept himself within his own bounds,
And when he died gave every Child a thousand old pounds;
Like an old, &c.
But to his eldest Son, his house and land he assign'd,
Charging him in his VVill to keep the same bountiful mind,
To be good to his Servants, and to his Neighbours kind,
But in th' ensuing Ditty, you shall hear how he was enclin'd;
Like a young Courtier of the Kings.
Like a young Gallant newly come to his Land,
That keeps a Brace of Creatures at's one command,
And takes up a thousand pounds upon's own Band,
And lieth drunk in a new Tavern, till he can neither go not stand;
Like a young, &c.
VVith a neat Lady that is fresh and fair,
VVho never knew what belong'd to good house keeping or care,
But buyes several Fans to play with the wanton air,
And seventeen or eighteen dressings of other womens hair;
Like an young &c.
VVith a new Hall built where the old one stood,
VVherein is burned neither coal nor wood,
And a new Shuffle-board-table where never meat stood,
Hung Round with Pictures which doth the poor little good.
Like a young, &c.
VVith a new Study stuff't full of Pamphlets and Plays,
VVith a new Chaplin, that swears faster than he prays,
VVith a new Buttery Hatch that opens once in four or five days,
VVith a new French-Cook to make Kichshawes and Tayes;
Like a young, &c.
VVith a new Fashion when Christmas is come,
VVith a journey up to London we must be gone,
And leave no body at home but our new Porter John,
VVho relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a stone;
Like a young, &c.
[...]ith a Gentleman-Usher whose carriage is compleat,
With a Footman, a Coachman, a Page to carry meat,
[...]ith a waiting Gentlewoman, whofe dressing is very neat;
Who when the Master hath dyn'd gives the servants little meat;
Like a young, &c.
[...]ith a new honour bought with his Fathers Old Gold,
That many of his Fathers Old Manors hath sold,
[...]nd this is the occasion that most men do hold,
That good House-keeping is now a days grown so cold;
Like a young Courtier of the Kings.
A Ballad.
WIth a New Beard but latley trim'd,
VVith a new Love-Lock neatly Kemb'd,
VVith a new Favour snatcht or nim'd,
VVith a new Doublet French-like limb'd,
VVith a new gate as if he swim'd;
And a new Souldier of the Kings,
Oh the Kings new Souldier.
VVith a new Feather in his Cap,
VVith new white Boots without a strap,
And newly paid for, by great hap,
VVith a new Quean upon his lap,
VVhich was newly cur'd of a Clap;
And a new Souldier, &c.
VVith a new Hat without a Band,
With a new office without Land,
With all his Fingers on his Hand,
With a new Face at Plymouth Tan'd,
And a new Horse allready Pawn'd;
And a new Souldier, &c.
VVith a new Cassock lin'd with Cotten,
VVith Cardicues to call his pot in,
VVith a new Gun that near was shot in,
Under a new Captain very hot in,
A new Comand, and hardly gotten;
And a new Souldier, &c.
With a new Head-peece shot ne're, hit,
With a new head of greenish wit,
With new shirts without Louse or Nit,
With a new band not torn as yet,
With a new Spear, and very fit,
And a new Souldier, &c.
VVith a new Jacket made of buff.,
VVith new sleeves of Spanish stuff,
VVith a new Belt of Leather enuff,
VVith new Tobaco-pipes to puff,
And a Brasen face that will huff;
Like a new courtier, &c.
He's newly come to sixteen years,
And gon abroad with his Mothers tears,
With his Monmoth Cap about his ears,
With new Rantadoes void of fears:
And with new Oaths by which he swears,
To be a new Souldier, &c.
VVith a new Nose that ne're met foe,
VVith a new Sword that ne're struck blow,
VVith a new red Breech to make a show,
VVith a new Copper lace or two,
And new points on his wings also,
To a new Country he will go,
To drink old Sack, and do no mo:
Like a new Souldier of the Kings,
Oh the Kings new Souldier!
The Ballad of the Beard.
THe Beard thick or thin on the Lip or Chin,
Doth dwell so near the Tongue,
That her silence in the Beards defence
May do her Neighbour wrong.
Now a Beard is a thing that Commands in a King,
Be his Scepters ne'r so fair:
Where the Beard bears the sway the people obey,
And are subject to a hair.
[...]Tis a Princely sight, and a grave delight,
That adornes both young and old;
A well that'cht face is a comely grace,
And a shelter from the Cold.
When the piercing North comes blustering forth
Let a barren face beware;
[...]or a trick it will find, with a Razor of wind,
To shave the face that's bare.
[...]ut there's many a nice and strange device
That doth the Beard disgrace,
[...]ut he that is in such a foolish sin
Is a traitor to his Face.
[...]ow of the Beards there be such a company,
And fashions such a throng,
[...]hat it is very hard to handle a Beard;
Though it be ne'r so long.
[...]he Roman T, in its bravery,
Doth first it self disclose,
[...]ut so high it turn's, that oft it burns
With the flames of a Torrid Nose!
[...]he Stilletto Beard, oh! it makes me afeard,
It is so sharp beneath,
[...]r he that doth place a Dagger in's Face,
What wear's he in his sheath?
But me thinks I do Itch to go through stitch
The Needle Beard to amend,
Which without any wrong, I may call too long,
For a man can see no end.
The Souldiers Beard, doth march in shear'd;
In figure like a Spade,
With which he'l make his enemies quake,
And think their graves are made.
The grim Stubble eke on the Judges cheek,
Shall not my verse despise;
It is more fit for a Nutmeg, but yet,
It grates poor Prisoners eyes.
VVhat doth invest a Bishops breast;
But a Milk-white spreading hair?
VVhich an Emblem may be of Integritie,
Which doth inhabit there.
I have also seen on a womans Chin
A hair or two to grew,
But alass the Face, it is too cold a place!
Then look for a Beard below.
But oh! let us tarry for the Beard of King Harry,
That grows about the Chin,
With his bushy pride, and a grove on each side,
And a Champion ground between.
Last the Clown doth out rush, with his Beard like a bush,
VVhich may be well endur'd;
For though his face be in such a case,
His Land is well manur'd.
A Ballad In Praise of a Red Nose.
LEt him that undertook to praise
The French POX, and so many wayes
Did prove that it is now a dayes
Commodious:
I say, let him a while give place,
For I will prove a fiery Face
Is to the owner no disgrace,
Nor Odious.
Who hath a fiery Face, that man
Is said to have a rich Face, and
Rubies about his Nose, none can
Deny it.
And all men know as well as I,
That what is rich, most eagerly
We covet, and no cost deny
To buy it.
Some will sell their Clothes from their back,
And some their Lands, and some will lack
Meat, rather then good Sherry Sack,
And Claret:
And they swear (and swear truth) that those
Which drink small Beer, and wear good clothes,
Do offer wrong unto their Nose,
And mar it.
If in Romes Senate long-nos'd men
Were chose for wisest, tell me then
VVhy these should not be praised? when
All men know
A fiery Face ne'r is without
A rich Nose, and how far a snout
That's rich exceeds a long to doubt,
Or call men to
Dispute or to Capitulate,
This matter's not so intricate
But any may expostulate,
And judge it:
And if Judge truly, he'l confess
Fire-rich, exceeds long wise, I guess
No man that hath true worthiness
VVill grutch it.
Besides, the world knows this, that we
Affirm those gracious that we see
But Blush, and call it modesty
In People:
A Rich face alwayes blushes so
It doth all faces else out go
As far as St. Faiths is below
Pauls steeple.
The Ballad called The Parson of Rumford, Or the Merry Maying.
I Sing of no Ladyes who Dance in the Court,
Nor of the big Lords, so hugeonsly Gay,
[...]ut of Lads and of Lasses, who make as good sport;
Then away to Rumford, away, away.
[...]rom Burnt-wood, and Epping, from Bow, and Mile-end,
With Ribbons and Flowers, with Garlands for May,
[...]ine Girles and their Lovers did trip it an end;
And away to Rumford, away, away.
[...]he Streets with green Rushes and Bowers of Boughs,
To welcome these guests the Musick did play;
[...]he Houses as sweet as the Breaths of our Cows,
Come away to Rumford, away, away.
[...]hat tricking, what triming, what Puddings what Souse,
Nay mustard with Beef prepar'd for the day;
[...]nd Pigs that the Parson kept long in his house,
For this meting at Rumford, to day to day.
[...]ut oh! the brave Gamons with Pepper and Cloves,
And stinging good Ale, was there, be my fay,
[...]s Sweet and as hot as the Kiss of our Lovers,
Come away to Rumford, away away.
[...]he Cheese-cakes, with Currans so finely were set,
Your Ladyes black patch es not half so gay,
[...]tew'd-pruins in syrup as black as the jet;
Come away to Rumford, away away.
[...]his woundy great Feast the Parson did make
In his close-girt Coat, as pert as a Jay,
Could no more stand still then a Bear at a stake;
In the Town of Rumford, to day, to day.
For joy, he spurr'd us a question to Marry,
And told us the season was best in May;
Go to it, quoth he, for time will not tarry,
And welcome to Rumford I say, I say.
We look'd and we look'd on one another,
He formerly taught us our flesh was but Clay;
VVhy should we not joyn like Sister and Brother,
'Tis time at Rumford, to day, to day.
Then Rowland a Keeper in Epping Chase,
As bold as a Stag at his Rut, did say,
Fair Win now Ile Marry, not bating an Ace,
This day at Rumford, to day to day.
She blush'd, and she wish'd it were quietly done;
But said good Rowland, what hast is I pray?
Now you hold me so fast that I cannot run,
This Night then in Rumford Ile stay, Ile stay.
Now hey for Burnt-Wood, Tom Tanner did cry,
His Face shining yellow, his Hands brown bay,
He swor't he'd be coupled to Jenny or dye
In the Town of Rumford, to day to day.
Dick Butcher of Bow came in a great huff,
Swore Doll of the Dairy should lead the way,
Since both he and she handled much better stuff,
In the Town of Rumford then they, then they.
Little Robin a Glover of Mile-end Town,
With Mawd who dwelt at the Bottle of Hay;
Were clapt together with a hey derry down,
And all in Rumford to day, to day.
A dozen in couples, more the next Morn,
Went all to the Church to Marry, and Pray,
That every one might have a small pocket horn,
When they went from Rumford away a way.
Strike up Tom Piper and Kit with thy Fiddle,
Play Room for Cuckelds, 'tis almost day;
Go home with your Wives and play at down-diddle,
And a way from Rumford, away away.
A Ballad called, The Man in the Moon.
BRight Cynthia scorns alone to wear Horns,
To her Sexes grief and shame;
But swears in despight of the Worlds great light,
That men shall wear the same:
The man in the Moon to hear this in a swoun,
Quite out of his wits he fell,
And with this affront (quoth he) a pox on't,
My Forehead begins to swell.
A way straight he wood, in his Lunatick mood,
And from his Mistress would run;
And swore in his heart, though stew'd in his sweat,
He had rather go dwell in the Sun.
But he was appeas'd to see other men pleas'd,
And none that did murmur or mourn;
For without an affright, each man with delight
Did take to himself the Horn.
The Lord he will go, in his Park too and fro,
Persuing the Dear that is barren;
But whilst he's in's Park, his Steward or Clerk
May boldly go hunt in his Warren.
The Cittizen clown, in his foxfurr'd gown,
And his doublet fac'd with Ale,
Talks slow, and drinks quicker, till his wife like his liquor,
Leaves working, and rellisheth stale.
Lo! thus she behorn's him, and afterwards scorn's him,
Though he come to be chief of the Rout:
And thinks it no sin to be occupied within,
VVhile her Husband is busi'd without.
The Puritan will go ten Miles to and fro
To hear a Sanctifi'd brother;
But while his Zeal burns, his wife she up turns
The egs of her Eyes to another.
The Lawyer to succour u'm, with Parchment and Buckr'um,
To London the next way will strike;
But whil'st he opens his case to his Adversaries face
His wife to a friend may do the like.
The Physcian will ride to his Patient that dy'd
Of no disease, but that he did come;
But whilst abroad he doth Kill with Portion and Pill,
His Wife takes a Glister at home.
The Merchant o're run's the Sea with his Gun's,
His Marriners and their Mates;
But whilest he doth please himself on the Broad Seas,
Another may ride on his Streights:
The Souldier will go, like a man to his foe,
With brave resolution to fight;
Whilst his Wife with her friends, in her wanton armes spends
Time, And makes him a Beast by night.
And though that he be well Arm'd Cap a pe,
He must yield to a naked boys scorn,
And instead of bright Steel, and hard Iron, he'l
Be content with a hard piece of Horn.
Thus all men will love their Wives though they prove
Them false even in their own sight;
But yet they do well, for a Horn (you can tell)
Was alwayes a friend to the Night.
A Ballad Or Colins Adventure.
AS Colin went forth his sheep to unfold
In a Morning of April, as gray as 'twas cold,
In a Thicket he heard a Voyce itself spread;
Which was O, O, I am almost dead,
He peep't in the Bushes and spide where there lay
His Mistress, whose countenance made April May;
But yet in her looks some sadness was read,
Crying O, O, I am almost dead.
He rush't in to her, and cryed, what's the matter?
Ah! Colin, quoth she, why will you come at her?
Who by the false Swain hath often been mislead,
For which O, O, I am almost dead.
He turn'd her Milk-payl, and there he down sat,
His Hands strok't his Beard, on his Knee lay his Coat,
But, O, still Mopsa cry'd before ought was said,
Colin O, O, I am almost dead.
No more, quoth stought Colin! I ever was true,
Thou gav'st me a Handkercher all hem'd with Blew
A Pin-box I gave thee, and a Girdle so Red;
Yet still she Cry'd O, O, I am almost dead.
Delaying, quoth she, hath made me thus Ill,
For I never fear'd Sarah that dwelt at the Mill,
Since in the Evening late her Hogs thou hast fed;
For which O, O, I am almost dead.
Colin then Chuckt her under the Chin,
Cheer up, for to Love thee I never will lin,
Says, she I'le believe it when the I'arson has read,
Till then O, O, I am almost dead.
Ud's boars, quoth Colin, I'le new my Shoo'n,
And ere the week pass, by the Mass it shall be don:
You might have done this before, then she sed,
But now O, O, I am almost dead.
He gave her a twitch that quite turn'd her round,
And said I'm the truest that ere trod on ground;
Come settle thy Milk-pail fast on thy head,
No more O, O, I am almost dead.
VVhy then I percieve thou'lt not leave me in the lurch,
I'le don my best Clothes and straight to the Church:
Jog on, merry Colin, jog on before,
For Ifaith Ifaith, I'le die no more.
A Ballad. Of A Good Wife and a Bad.
To the Tune of When Fortune was so Kind.
SOme VVives are Good and some are Bad,
(Reply) Me thinks you touch them now,
And some will make their Husbands mad,
(Cho.) And so will my Wife too:
And my Wife and thy Wife,
And my Wife so will do.
Some VVomen love to breed discord,
Me thinks, &c.
And some will have the latter word,
(Cho.) And so will my Wife too:
And my Wife, &c.
Some VVomen will Spin, and some will Sow,
Me thinks &c.
And some will to the Tavern go,
(Cho.) And so will my Wife too:
And my Wife, &c.
Some women will say thei'r sick at Heart,
Me thinks, &c.
And some will let a rousing Fart,
(Cho.) And so will my Wife too:
And my, &c.
Some women will ban, and some will curse,
Me thinks, &c.
And some will pick their Husbands Purse,
(Cho.) And so will my Wife too:
And my, &c.
Some women will Brawle, and some will Scold,
Me thinks, &c.
And some will make their Husbands Cuckold,
(Cho.) And so will my wife too:
And my, &c.
Some women will drink, and some will not,
Me thinks, &c.
And some will take the to'ther Pot,
(Cho.) And so will my Wife too:
And my, &c.
Some women are sick, and some are sound,
Me thinks, &c.
And some will take it on the Ground,
(Cho.) And so will my wife too:
And my, &c.
Thus of my song Ile make an end,
Me thinks, &c.
Hoping all women will amend,
(Cho.) And so will my Wife too:
And my Wife, &c.
A Ballad Intituled the Faries Farewel.
FArewel Rewards and Faries,
Good Housewifes may say,
For now foul sluts in Daries,
Do fare as well as they:
And though they sweep their Hearths no less
Then Mayds were wont to do,
Yet who of late for Cleanliness
Finds Six-pence in her shooe?
Lament, Lament old Abbies,
The Faries lost Command;
They did but change Priests Babies,
But some have chang'd your Land:
And all your Children sprung from thence
Are now grown Puritans,
Who live as Changlings ever since,
For love of your Demeans.
At Morning and at Evening both
You Merry were and Glad;
So little care of Sleep or Sloth
These prettie Ladies had:
VVhen Tom came home from labour,
Or Ciss to Milking rose,
Then merryly, merryly went their Taber,
And Nimbly went their Toes.
VVitness those Rings and Round delayes
Of theirs which yet remain,
VVere footed in Queen Maries dayes
On many a Grassy Plain:
But since of late Elizabeth,
And later James came in,
They never danc'd on any Heath;
As when the time hath been.
By which we note the Faries
Were of the old Profession,
Their Songs were Ave Maryes
Their Dances were Procession:
But now alass they all are dead,
Or gone beyond the Seas,
Or farther for Religion fled:
Or else they take their ease.
A Tell-tale in their Company
They never could endure,
And who so kept not secretly
Their Mirth was punish't sure:
It was a just and Christian deed
To Pinch such black and blew,
But oh! the Common Wealth do want
Such Justices as you.
Now they have left our Quarters,
A Register they have,
VVho looketh to their Charters;
A man both wise and grave:
A Hundred of their merry Pranks
By one that I can name
Are kept in store, Con twenty thanks
To William for the same.
I marvel who his cloke would turn
VVhen Puck had led him round,
Or where those walking Fires would burn,
VVhere Cureton would be found?
How Broker would appear to be
For whom this Age doth Mourn?
But that their Spirits live in thee,
In thee, old William Chourne.
To William Chourne of Stafford-shire,
Give Laud and Praises due,
VVho every meal can mend your chear,
VVith talks both old and true.
To William all give audience,
And pray ye for his Noddle:
For all the Faries evidence
VVere lost, If that were Addle.
A Ballad of THE PIGG.
(1)
I Sing not Reader of the fight
'Twixt Bailiffs and that doughty Knight
Sir Ambrose, sung before:
Nor of that dismal Counter scuffle,
Nor vet of that Pantofle
They say the Virgin wore.
(2)
No Turkey-cock with Pigmyes fray,
Or whether then did get the day,
Nor yet Tom Coriots shooes;
Nor yet the swine-fac'd Maidens-head,
I'th' Netherlands they say was bred,
Is subject of my Muse.
(3)
But in Rhime Doggril I shall tell,
What danger to a Pig befell,
As I can well rehearse;
As true as if the Pig could speak
On Spit, in Prose would either squeak,
Or grunt it out in Verse.
(4)
A boysterous rout of armed Host,
Just as the Pig was ready rost,
Rusht in at doors, (God bless us!)
The Leader of this Warlike rout,
Strong men at armes, and stomach stout,
I ween, was Captain Bessus.
(5)
They lately had in Scotland been,
VVhere they such store of Sows had seen,
That garr'd them hate their Babbies:
And Bessus men neer Norton lay,
VVhere Pigs you know on Orgins play,
That once belong'd to Abbies.
(6)
It was a Tithe Pig, I confess,
And so the crime might be no less,
Then if't a Cassock wore;
But yet in Orders it was ne're,
Nor ever preacht, unless it were
Ith' tub the night before.
(7)
Nor was it Popishly inclin'd,
Although by Forrest law their kind
Are taught to use the Ring:
VVhat though it wore a Scarlet-Coat?
It ne're appear'd ith' Kirk to vote
For her Fine Baby King.
(8)
But right or wrong, such dainty Cates
VVere nere ordain'd for Reprobates,
The fat o'th earth is theirs;
The Saints by Faith and Plunder have
An heritage, and must inslave
Malignants, and the Heirs.
(9)
Fall on, fall on, they cry aloud,
This Pig's of Antichristian brood,
You'l find we are no dastards,
Their Teeth so sharp, their Stomachs keen
That Marriots you would them ween,
Or Wood of Kents own Bastards.
(10)
But now to tell how from the paws
Of th' unlickt VVhelps with greedy jawes
This Pig escap'd, hereafter;
[...]s then our bellyes gan to prank it,
(Thanks to Besse for that good banquet)
VVill fill your mouth with Laughter.
(11)
A sturdy Lass with courage bold,
On Pig, and Spit, and all, laid hold,
And swore she would it rescue;
For whether they their Teeth did set,
For anger, or for hunger whet,
She way'd not that a fescue.
(12)
This brave incounter had you seen,
You would have sworn she should be Queen
Of th' Amazons, or Fayries;
And if she make good the retreat,
Her sole protectress wee'l create
Of Milk-maids and their Daries.
(13)
Up stairs she marcheth in a trice,
And safely convey'd is the Greice
Into my Ladies chamber;
Such holy grounds not trod by those
VVhose arm-pits, and whose sockless toes
Are not so sweet as amber.
(14)
The Jewes ne're eat their Pascal Lamb
In half such hast, as we did cram
This Pig unto our dinners:
Like Presbyterians we did feed,
No grace that day our meat did need,
For that belongs to sinners.
(15)
And when the story of the Pig
VVas done; the Pettitoes a Jig
Came tripping in at Supper;
'Twas meat and drink to us to see
The souldiers by the Jade to be
Thus thrust besides the Crupper.
A new Ballad: Call'd the Tunbridge Doctors.
YOu Maydens and Wives,
And young Widowes rejoyce,
Declare your thanksgiving,
With Heart and with Voice;
Since Waters were Waters
I dare boldly say
There ne'r was such cause
Of a Thanksgiving day.
[...]or from London-Town
There's lately come down,
[...]our Able Physicians
That never wore Gown▪
Their Physick is Pleasant,
Their Dose is large,
And you may be Cur'd
Without Danger or Charge.
No Bolus nor Vomit,
No Poison nor Pill,
Which sometimes do Cure,
But ofner do Kill,
Your Tast nor your Stomach
Need ever displease,
If you'l be advised
By one of these.
For they've a new Drug
Which is call'd The close Hug,
Which will mend your Complexion,
And make you look smug;
A Soveraign Balsam
Which once well apply'd,
Though griev'd at the Heart
The Patient ne'r Dy'd.
In the Morning you need not
Be robb'd of your rest,
For in your warm Beds
Your physick works best;
And though in the taking
Some stirring's requir'd,
The motion's so pleasant
You cannot be tyr'd.
For on your Backs you must lye,
With your Body rais'd hie,
And one of these Doctors
Must alwayes be by,
Who still will be ready
To cover you warm,
For if you take cold
All Physick doth harm.
Before they do venture
To give their direction,
They alwayes consider
Their Patients complection,
If she have a moist Palm
Or a Red Head of Hair,
She requires more Physick
Than one man can spare.
If she have a long Nose,
The Doctors scarce knows
How many good handfuls
Must got to her Dose;
You Ladyes that have
Such ill symptomes as these,
Inreason of conscience
Should pay double fees.
But that we may give
To these Dostors due praise,
Who all sorts of people
Their favour conveys;
[...]n the ugly for pity sake
Skill shall be shown,
[...]nd as for the handsom,
They're Cur'd for their own.
[...]n the Silver or Gold
They never lay hold,
[...]or what comes so freely
They scorn should be sold:
[...]hen joyn with the Doctors,
And heartily pray,
[...]heir power of Healing
May never decay.
A Ballad Called the German Doctor, As it was Sung by his man Merry Andrew.
To the Tune of (Why should I pine away.)
IS any Deaf, is any Blind,
Is any bound or loose behind?
Is any Foul that would be Fair,
Would any Lady change her Hair;
Doe's any Dream, do's any Walk,
Or in their Sleep affrighted talk?
I come to Cure what ere you feel,
Within, without, from head to heel.
Be Drums or Rattles in thy head,
Are not thy Brains well tempered;
Doe's Eolus thy Stomach gnaw,
Or breed there Vermin in thy Maw;
Dost thou desire and cannot please,
Lo! here's the best Cantharides;
I came to Cure what, &c.
Even all Diseases that arise
From ill disposed Crudities,
From too much Study, too much Pain,
From Laziness, and from a strain;
From any humour doing harm,
Be it dry, or moyst, or cold or warm▪
I come to Cure what, &c.
Of Lazy Gout I Cure the Rich,
I rid the Begger of the Itch,
I Fleam do void, both thick and thin,
I dislocated jovnts put in,
I can old Age to Youth restore,
And do a thousand wonders more.
I come to Cure what ere you feel,
Within, without, from head to heel.
Second Part.
Mayds of the Chamber or of the Kitching,
If you be troubled with the Itching,
Come, give me but a Kiss or two,
And here is that shall cure you.
Nor Gallen nor Hipocrates,
Did ever do such Cures as these.
[...]rackt Maydens that cannot hold their Water,
Or use to break wind in your Laughter,
[...]r be you vext with Kybes, with Corns,
Ile cure, or Cuckolds of their Horns;
Nor Gallen nor, &c.
[...] lusty Sis, Mayd of the Dairy,
Chance to be Blew Nipt by the Farie,
[...]or making butter with her Tail,
Ile give her that shall never fail.
Nor Gallen nor, &c.
[...]r if some mischance betide her
Or that the Night-Mare over ride her,
[...]r if she tell all in a Dream,
I'le help her for a mess of Cream.
Nor Gallen nor Hipocrates
Did ever do such Cures as these.
Third Part.
Here's Water to quench Mayden fires,
Here's Spirits for old Occupiers,
Here's Powders to preserve youth long,
Here's Oyl to make weak Sinnews strong;
What is't you lack, what would you buy,
What is't that you do need?
Come to me Galants, Tast and try
Here's that will do the deed.
This Powder doth preserve from fate,
This cures the Meleficiate,
Lost Mayden-heads this doth restore,
And makes them Virgins as before;
What is't you lack, &c.
Here's Cure for Bone-ach, Feavers Lurdens,
Unlawful or untimely burthens,
Diseases of all Sex, all Ages,
This Medicine Cureth or asswages:
What is't you lack, &c.
I have Receipts to cure the Gout,
To keep Pox in, or put them out,
To cool hot Bloods, cool Bloods to warm,
Shall do you (if no good) no harm.
What is't you lack, what would you buy,
What is't that you do need?
Come Gallants, tast and try,
Here's that will do the deed.
A Ballad Called the Angler.
OF all the Recreations which
Attend to humane Nature,
There's nothing soars so high a pitch
Or is of such a stature,
As is the subtil Anglers life
In all mens approbation,
For Anglers tricks do daily mix
With every Corporation.
When Eve and Adam liv'd in Love
And had no cause of Jangling,
The Devil did the Waters move,
The Serpent went to Angling:
He baits his hook with god-like look,
Thought he this will intangle her,
The woman chops, and down she drops;
The Divel was first and Angler.
Physicians, Lawyers, and Divines
Are most Ingenions Janglers,
And he that tries shall find in fine
That all of them are Anglers;
Whilst grave Divines do fish for Souls,
Physicians (like Cormugeons)
Do bait with health, to fish for wealth,
And Lawyers fish for Gudgeons.
A Polititian too is one
Concern'd in Piscatory,
He writes, he fights, unites and slights
To purchase wealth and glory;
His Plummet sounds the Kingdoms bounds
To make the Fishes nibble,
His Ground-bait is a past of lies,
And he blinds them with th' Bible.
Upon the Exchange 'twixt twelve and one
Meets many a neat Intangler,
'Mongst Merchant-men not one in ten
But is a cunning Angler:
For like the Fishes in the Brook
Brother doth swallow Brother,
A Golden-bait hangs at the Hook,
And they fish for one another.
A Shop-keeper I next prefer
A formall man in black Sir,
He throws his Angle every where,
And cryes, what is't you lack Sir,
Fine Silks or Stuffs, or Hoods or Muffs?
But if a Courtier prove the Intangler,
My Cit i en must look to't then,
Or the Fish will catch the Angler.
A Lover is an Angler too,
And baits his Hooks with kisses,
He playes, he toyes, he fain would do,
But often times he misses;
He gives her Rings and such fine things
A Fan and Muff and Night-hood,
But if you cheat a City pate
You must bait your Hook with Knight-hood.
There is no Angler like a Wench
Stark-naked in the water,
She'l make you leave both Trout and Tench
And throw your self in after;
Your Hook and Line she will confine,
Then tangled is th' Inta [...]gler,
And this I fear hath spoyl'd the ware
Of many a Jov'al Angler.
But if you'l Trowl for a Scriv'ners soul
Cast in a Rich young Gallant,
To take a courtier by the pole,
Though in a Golden Tallent:
But yet I fear the draught will ne're
Compound for half the charge an't,
But if you'l catch the Divel at a snatch
You must bait him with a Sergeant.
Thus have I made my Anglers Trade
To stand above defiance,
For like the Mathematick Art,
It runs through every Science:
If with my Angling Song I can
To Mirth and pleasure seise you,
I'le bait my hook with Wit again,
And Angle still to please you.
The Ballad of the two Amorous Swains.
TOM and Will were Shepherds Swains
Who lov'd and lived together,
Till fair Pasto [...]a. grac'd the Plains,
A lass! why came she thither
Yet felt both one desire;
Pastoras Eyes and comely Locks
Set both their hearts on fire.
Tom came of a gentle race
By Father and by Mother,
Will was noble, but alass
He was a younger Brother!
Tom was toy-some, Will was sad,
No Hunts-man nor no Fowler,
Tom was held the properer Lad,
But Will the better Bowler.
Tom would drink her health and swear
The Nation could not want her,
Will would take her by the Eare
And with his Voyce Inchant her:
Tom kept always in her sight
And ne'r forgot his duty,
Will was witty and would write
Sweet Sonnets on her Beauty.
Yet which of them she loved best,
Or whether she lov'd either;
'Twas thought they found it to their cost
That she indeed lov'd neither:
Yet she was so sweet a she
So pleasing in behaviour,
That Tom thought he, and Will thought he
Was chiefest in her favour.
Pastora was a lovely Lass
And of a comely feature,
Divinely good and fair she was,
And kind to every Creature:
Of favour she was provident,
And yet not over-sparing,
She gave no loose encouragement,
Yet kept men from dispairing.
Whe Tatling fame had made report
Of fair Pastora's beauty,
Pastora's sent for to the Court
For to perform her duty;
And to the Court Pastora's gone,
It were no Court without her,
The Queen of all her Train had none
Was half so fair about her.
Tom hung his Dog, and flung away
His Ship-hook, and his Wallet;
Will broke his Pipes, and Curst the day
That ere he made a Ballet:
Their Nine-pins and their bowls they brake,
Their Tunes were turn'd to Tears;
'Tis time for me an end to make,
Let them go shake their Ears.
A Ballad called The Jovial Bear-ward.
THough it may seem rude
For me to intrude
With these my Bears by chance-a,
'Twere sport for a King
If they could sing
As well as they can dance-a.
Then to put you out
Of ear or doubt,
I came from St Katharine-a
These Dancing Three,
By the help of me,
Who am Keeper of the signe-a.
We sell good ware
And we need not care
Though Court and Country knew it,
Our Ale's o'th best,
And each good Quest
Prayes for their souls that Brew it.
For any Ale-house
We care not a Louse,
Nor Tavern in all the Town-a;
Nor the Vintry Cranes
Nor St. Clement Danes,
Nor the Divel can put us down-a
Who has once there been
Comes hither again,
The Liquor is so might;
Beer strong and stale,
And so is our Ale,
And it Burns like Aquavitae.
The Wives of Wapping
They trudge to our Tapping,
And still our Ale desire,
And there fit and drink
Till they spue and stink
And often piss out the fire.
From morning to night,
And about to day-light,
They sit and never grudge it;
Till the Fish-wives joyn,
Their single coyn,
And the Tinker pawns his budget.
If their brains be not well,
Or bladders do swell,
To ease them of their burden;
My Lady will come
VVith a Bowl and a Broom,
And her hand-maid with a Jourdan.
From Court we invite
Lord, Lady and Knight,
'Squire, Gentlemen, Yeomen and Groom;
And all our stiff Drinkers
Smiths, Porters and Tinkers,
And the Beggers shall give you room.
A Ballad Ʋpon the New Inn, with the Famous Signe-Post called the White-Heart at Skoal in Norfolk.
1.
DId none of you hear
Of a wonder last year,
Of an Inn and an Host,
With a Signe and a Post,
That might hold (Godbless us) the King.
2.
The building is great,
And very compleat,
But cannot be compar'd to the Signe;
But within dores I think
'S scarce a drop of good drink,
For Bacchus drinks all the best Wine.
3.
But here's the design,
VVhat's amiss in the Wine,
By Wenches shall be supply'd;
There's three on a row
Stands out for a show,
To draw in the Gallants that ride.
4.
The first of the three
Diana should be,
But she cuckolded poor Actaeon,
And his Head she adorns
With such visible horns,
That he's fir for his hounds for to prey on.
5.
'Tis unsafe we do find
To trust VVomen kind,
Since horning's a part of their trade;
Diana is patch't
As a Goddess that's chast,
Yet Actaeon a Monster she made.
6.
The next wench doth stand
VVith the Scales in her hand,
And is ready to come at your beck;
A new trick they've found,
To sell Sack by the pound,
But 'twere better they'd sell't by the peck.
7.
The last of the three
They say Prudence must be,
VVith the Serpent and Horn of plenty;
But Plenty and Wit
So seldom doth hit,
That they fall not to one in twenty.
8.
But above these things all
Stands a Fellow that's small,
VVith a Quadrant discerning the Wind,
And says he's a fool
That travels from Skoal,
And leaves his good liquor behind.
9.
Neer the top of the figne
Stands three on a line,
One is Temperance, still pouring out;
And Fortitude will
Drink what Temperance fill,
And fears not the stone or the gout.
10.
The next to these three,
You'l an Usurer see,
VVith a Prodigal child in his mouth;
'Tis Time (as some say)
And well so it may,
For they be devourers both.
11.
The last that you stare on,
Is old Father Charon,
VVho's wafting a wench o'r the ferry;
VVhere Cerberus do's stand,
To watch where they land,
And together they go to be merry.
12.
Now to see such a change
Is a thing that is strange,
That one, who as stories do tell us,
His money has lent
At fifty per cent
A Colledge should build for good fellows.
13.
But under this work
Does a mystery lurk,
That shews us a founders designe;
He has chalk'd out the way
For Gallants to stray,
That their lands may be his in fine.
14.
That's first an Ale-bench,
Next hounds, then a wench,
VVith these three to roar and to revel;
Brings the prodigals lands
To the Vsurers hands,
And his body and soul to the Devil.
15.
Now if you would know,
After all this adoe,
By what name this Sign should be known;
Some call't this, and some that,
And some I know not what;
But 'tis many signs in one.
16.
'Tis a sign that who built it,
Had more money then wit,
And more wealth then he got or can use;
'Tis a sign that all we
Have less wit then he,
That come thither to drink, and may chuse.
The Ballad Of Old Simon the King.
IN a humour I was late
As many good fellows be,
To think of no matters of State,
But to seek for good companie
That best contented me,
I travell'd up and down,
No company I could find
Till I came to the signe of the Crown;
My hostess was sick of the Mumps,
The Maid was ill at ease
The Tapster was drunk in his Dumps
They were all of one disease
Says Old Simon the King.
Considering in my mind,
And thus I began to think,
If a man be full to the Throat
And cannot take off his drink;
And if his drink will not down
He may hang himself for shame,
So may the Tapster at the Crown,
Where upon this reason I frame;
Drink will make a man Drunk,
And Drunk will make a man Dry;
Dry will make a man Sick,
And Sick will mak a man Dye
Says Old Simon the King.
[...]f a man should be drunk to night,
And laid in his Grave to morrow,
Will you or any man say
That he dyed of Care or Sorrow?
Then hang up sorrow and care,
'Tis able to Kill a Cat,
And he that will drink all night
Is never afraid of that!
For Drinking will make a man Quaff,
Quaffing will make a man Sing;
Singing will make a man Laugh,
And Laughing long life doth bring,
Says Old Simon the King.
If a Puritan Skinker cry
Dear brother, It is a Sin
To drink unless you be dry,
Then strait this tale I begin,
A Puritan left his Can
And took him to his Jug,
And there he play'd the man
As long as he could tug:
But when that he was spide,
What did he swear or rail?
No truly, Dear brother, he cry'd
Indeed all flesh is frail,
Says Old Simon the King.
So Fellows if you'l be Drunk,
Of frailtie it is a sin,
Or for to keep a Punk
Or play at In and In;
For Drink and Dice and Drabs
Are all of one condition,
And will breed want and Scabs
In spite of the Physician:
Who so fears every grass
Must never piss in a Meddow,
And he that loves a Pot and a Lass
Must never cry Oh my head, oh!
Says Old Simon the King.
The Ballad Of the Fryer and the Maid.
AS I lay musing all alone
A merry Tale I thought upon;
Now listen a while and I will you tell
Of a Fryer that lov'd a Bonny Lass well.
He came to her when she was going to bed
Desiring to have her Maiden-head;
But she denyed his desire,
And said that she did fear Hell-fire.
Tush, tush, quoth the Fryer, thou need'st not doubt,
If though wer't in Hell, I could sing the out:
Why then, quoth the Maid, thou shalt have thy request;
The Fryer was as glad as a Fox in his nest.
But one thing more I must request
More than to sing me out of Hell-fire,
That is for doing of the thing
An Angel of Mony you must me bring.
Tush, tush, quoth the Fryer, we two shall agree,
No Mony shall part thee and me;
Before thy company I will lack
Ile pawn the Gray-gown off my back.
This Maid bethought her on a Wile
How she might this Fryer beguile;
When he was gone, the truth to tell,
She hung a Cloth before a Well:
The Fryer came, as his bargin was,
VVith Mony unto his Bonny Lass;
Good morrow, Fair Maid, good morrow, quoth she;
Here is the Mony I promis'd thee.
She thank'd him, and she took the Mony;
Now let's go to't, my own sweet-Honey:
Nay, stay a while, some respite make,
If my Master should come, he would us take.
Alass! quoth the Maide, my Master doth come;
Alass! quoth the Frier, where shall I run?
Behind yon Cloth run thou, quoth she,
For there my Master cannot see.
Behind the Cloth the Fryer went,
And was in the Well incontinent:
Alass! quoth he, I'm in the Well;
No matter, quoth she, if thou wer't in Hell.
Thou said'st thou couldst sing me out of Hell,
I prethee sing thy self out of the Well;
Sing out, quoth she, with all thy might,
Or else thou'rt like to sing there all night.
The Fryar Sang out with a pittyful sound
Oh! help me out or I shall be Drownd:
She heard him make such pitiful moan,
She hope him out, and bid him go home.
Quoth the Fryer I never was serv'd so before;
Away, quoth the Wench, come here no more:
The Fryer he walked a long the street
As if it had been a new washed Sheep,
Sing hey down a derry; and let's be merry,
And from such sin ever to keep.
A Ballad Called the Politick Drinker.
MY Masters and Friends, whosoever intends
To trouble this Room with discourse;
You that do sit by, are as guilty as I,
Be your talk better or worse.
Now lest you should prate of Matters of State,
Or any thing else that might hurt us;
Rather let us drink off our Cups to the brink,
And then we shall speak to the purpose.
Suppose you speak clean, from the matter you mean,
That's not a pin here nor there;
Yet take this advice, Be merry and wise,
You know not what creatures be near:
Or suppose that some Sot should lurk in this Pot,
To scatter our words that might hurt us
To free that same doubt, we'l see the Pot out,
And then we shall speak to the purpose.
If any man here be in bodily fear
Of a Woolf, a wife, or a Tweak,
Here's Armour of proof shall keep her a loof,
This liquor will make a man speak:
Or if any enter to Chalenge his friend,
Or rail at a Lord that might hurt us,
Let him drink once or twice of this Helicon Juice,
And then he shall speak to the purpose.
He that rails at the Times in Prose or in Rhimes,
Doth bark like a Dog at the Moon,
[...]ing prophecies strange, and theatens some change,
And hang them upon the Queens Tomb:
He is but a Raylor, or a prophis'ing Taylor,
To scatter out words that might hurt us;
Let's talk of no matches, but drink and sing Catches,
And then we shall speak to the purpose
It is a mad zeal for a man to Reveal
His secret thoughts when he Bouzes,
And he's but a wigion that talks of Religion
In Taverns or Tipling houses.
It is not for us such things to discover,
Let's talk of nothing that might hurt us,
But let us begin a Health to our King,
And then we shall speak to the purpose.
A midst of our bliss it is not amiss
To talk of our going home late;
If a Constable Kite, or a Pispot at night
Should chance to douse on our pate,
It were all in vain to rage or complain,
Or scatter out words that might hurt us,
T'were better trudge home to honest kind Joan,
And then we shall speak to the purpose.
A Ballad. Or the Reformed Drinker.
COme, my Hearts of Gold,
Let us be merry and wise;
It is a proverb of old
Suspition hath double Eyes:
Whatsoever we say or do
Let's not Drink to disturb the brain,
Let's laugh for an hour or two
And ne're be drunk again.
A cup of old Sack is good
To drive the cold Winter away,
'Twill cherish and comfort the blood
Most when a man's Spirits decay;
But he that doth drink too much
Of his head he will complain;
Then let's have a gentle touch,
And ne're be drunk again.
Good Claret was made for man,
But man was not made for it;
Let's be merry as we can,
So we drink not away our wit:
Good Fellowship is a bus'd,
And Wine will infect the brain;
But we'l have't better us'd,
And ne're will be drunk again.
When with good fellows we meet,
A Quart among three or four
'Twill make us stand on our feet
While others lie Drunk on the Floore:
Then Drawer go fill a quart,
And let it be Claret in grain.
'Twill cherish and comfort the Heart,
But we'l ne'r be de drunk again.
Here's a Health to our Noble King,
And to the Queen of his Heart;
Lets laugh and merrily sing
And he's a Coward that will start.
Here's a Health to our General,
And to those that were in Spain,
And to our Colonel,
And we'l ne're be drunk again
Enough's as good as a Feast,
If a man did but measure know;
A Drunkard's worse thaa a Beast,
For he'l drink till he cannot go.
If a man could time recall
In a Tavern that's spent in vain,
We'd learn to be sober all,
And ne're be Drunk again.
A Ballad Of the Courtier, and the Country Clown.
YOu Courtiers scorn we Country Clowns,
We Country Clowns care not for Court;
But we'l be as merry upon the Downs
As you are at midnight with all your sport;
With a Fadding, &c.
You Hawk, you Hunt, you ly upon Pallets,
You Eat you drink the Lord knows how;
We sit upon Hillocks and pick up our Salets,
And drink up a Syllabub under a Cow;
With a Fadding, &c.
Your Masks are made for Knights, and Lords
And Ladyes that go fine and gay;
VVe dance to such Musick the Backpipe affords,
And trick up your Lasses as well as we may:
With a Fadding, &c.
Your Cloths are made of Silk and Satin,
And ours are made of good Sheeps gray;
You mix your discourses with peeces of Latin,
VVe speak our own English as well as we may:
With a Fadding, &c.
Your Chambers are hung with Cloth of Arras,
Our Meddows be deckt as fine as may be;
And from our sport you never shall bar us,
Since Joan in the Dark is as good as my Lady:
With a Fadding, &c.
You Courtiers clip and cull upon beds,
We Jumble our Lasses upon the Grass;
And when we have gotten their Mayden-heads
They serve to make a Courtiers Lass:
With a Fadding, &c.
You dance Corants and the French Braull,
We Jig the Morrice upon the Green;
And we make good sport in a Country Hall,
As you do before the King and the Queen:
With a Fadding, &c.
Then Ladyes do not us disdain
Although we wear no gaudie Cloaths,
You'l find as much pith in a Country Swain
When he plucks up your gay imbroydred Cloaths:
With a Fadding Fadding.
A Ballad Called, Cresadays Lamentation.
IN a green Meddow, a River running by,
I heard a prety Mayden Lament, Weep, Sigh and Cry;
The Tears fell from her Eyes as clear as any pearl,
And I much Lamented the mourning of this Girl:
She sighed and sobbed, and to her self she said,
A lass! what hap had I to live so long and die a Maid.
Now in this World no Charity is known,
And young men are hard-hearted, which makes me lie alone;
The day and time hath been, had I not been so nice,
I might enjoy'd my True-Love if I had been so wife:
But Sullenness, Coyness and Pevishness such store
Hath brought me to this pensiveness, and many Maidens more.
Some Dames that are so nice, that hear me thus complain,
Will think me fond and idle, and much my credit stain;
But let me answer them, the Case may be their own,
The wisest on the Earth may by love be overthrown:
For Cupid he is blind, and cometh in a Globe,
He aymeth at a Rag as well as at a Robe.
Venus she was Beautiful, and eke a godess born,
And yet to love poor Vulcan she took it not in scorn;
His Hammer hit so round, and had so sweet a touch,
She liked well the sound, oh it pleased her too much!
Her raging love rayned within her loving breast,
Till Mars came down in Armour to give Vulcan a Crest.
Since godesses come down to play with such a Boy,
Why may not pretty Maidens commit an idle toy?
For Hellen of Greece for Beauty was the rarest,
She was the wonder of the World and certainly the fairest;
Yet could she nor would she remain a Maiden still
The Town of Troy can witness, the breeder of their ill.
Virginity's a burden which few or none can carry,
And that is sure the reason why our Mothers all did Marry;
Then sith it is a pastime that hath been us'd before,
If bashfulness do wrong me, I'le deny no more:
Be it light, or be it dark, do ye look or wink,
You cannot miss the mark, if you have the wit to think.
Although some Maidens lightly den [...]y it when it's offer'd,
Yet I'de wish you wisely to take it when 'tis profer'd,
And be not like to Cresady, that scorns so true a friend,
Lest you be glad to take poor Charity in the end.
For time lost, and time past cannot be call'd again,
Therefore all Maidens make hast, lest with me you complain.
A Ballad Called a medly of Wooers.
I am a young Lass, my time it doth pass,
Of late I do long for to marry,
I have for my Dear five thousad a year,
And yet I love good Sir Harry.
I have with a Scot mickel matter I wot,
He struts with his Rapier and poinyard;
He hath an ill face, but he's lay'd on with lace,
I fear me he hath marri'd his whinyard.
There came a Frenchman that finely could Dance,
He's proper in every Joynt,
It seems once he had scaped the P:
So well he can cut the cross-point.
I lov'd the proud Scot, his Sute was too hot,
I took him to be but a bragger;
VVith that the Frenchman he missed his wench,
And Toby had lost his Dagger.
A Sennora-Spaniora is newly come over
And thinks that there's no man his fellow,
He hath gotten a strain is hot in the vain,
VVith danceing in a Bardella.
A Dutchman there came, that tossed the Can
Till his head was as light as a feather;
The Spaniard his Punck, and the Dutchman was Drunk,
And so they were both together.
An Italian came post, that finely could bost
Amongst the rest of his fellows;
If I were his VVife, I should have an ill life
The Fool he is so Jelous.
There came one from Rome, would needs be my groom,
He fasted three days in week;
If he chanced to come where he saw a fair Nun
Oh! his stomach was wonderous quick.
A Galant brave Dane came marching again
As proud as any of the rest;
He could not prevail, but he hoy'st up his sail;
His Nose could abide no jest's.
From Ireland we had a lively young Lad
Of Bony and Birth most mighty;
I am not sure, but I think he was poor,
He smelt so of Aquavitae.
A Shentle-man of Wales, was tell her fine tales
Her house was brave on a Hill;
Had Pig, and had Goat, Green-leek in her pot
Wase eat Cause-bubby her fill.
If her will have, her will keep her full brave,
Her will py her a Band and a Hat,
Fine Garters, Silk Hose fine Sharf and brave close;
Sweet-heart, how like her tat?
An Englishman came, but I know not his name,
That finely could quaff and could quarrel
He'l drink till he dye some say, but not I,
And sell all his land for apparel.
He swears by his life, if i'le be his wife
Er'e long he will make me a Lady;
He'l sell his old Mannors to buy him new Honors,
And that's but the trick of a Babey.
Your counsel I crave which of these I should have,
If there be any one here for to fit me;
The best I do take, the rest I forsake
If Cupid do chance for to hit me.
A Ballad Or The Welfhmans Praise of Wales.
I's not come here to tauke of Prut,
From whence the Welse dos take hur root;
Nor tell long Pedegree of Prince Camber,
Whose linage would fill full a Chamber;
Nor sing the deeds of our Saint Davie,
The Ursip of which would fill a Navie:
But hark you me now for a liddel tales
Shall make a great deal to the creddit of Wales,
For still he will twitch your ears,
With the praise of hur thirteen Seers;
And make hur as clad and merry
As fourteen pot of Perry,
'Tis true, was wear him Sherkin freize,
But what is that? we have store of seize,
And Got is plenty of Goats milk
That sell him well will boy him silk
Inough, to make him find to quarrel
At Herford Sizes in new apparel;
And get him as much green Melmet perhap,
Shall give it a face to his Monmouth Cap.
But then the ore of Lemster;
Py Cot is uver a Sempster;
That when he is spun, or did
Yet match him with hir thrid.
For still he will twitch, &c.
Aull this the backs, now let us tell ye
Of some provision for the belly:
As Kid and Goat, and greats Goats Mothor,
And Runt, and Cow, and good Cows uther,
And once but tast on the Welse Mutton;
Your Englis Seeps not worth a button.
And then for your Fisse, shall shoose it your disse,
Look but about, and there is a Trout,
A Salmon, Cot, or Chevin,
Will feed you six ot seven,
As taul man as ever swagger
With Welse Club, and long dagger.
For still hur will twitch, &c.
But aull this while, was never think
A word in praise of her Welse drink:
Yet for aull that, is a Cup of Braggat,
Aull England Seer may cast his Cap at.
And what her say to Ale of Webley,
Toudge him as well, you'll praise him trebly,
As well as Metheglin, or Sider, or Meath,
S'all sake her dagger quite out o'the seath.
And Oat-Cake of Guarthenion,
With a goodly Leek or Onion,
To give as sweet a rellis
As e're did Harper Ellis.
For still her will twitch, &c.
And yet is nothing now all this,
If of our Musicks we do miss;
Both Harps, and Pipes too, and the Crowd,
Must aull come in, and tauk aloud,
As lowd as Bangu, Davies Bell,
Of which is no doubt you have hear tell:
As well as our lowder Wrexam Organ,
And rumbling Rock in the Seer of Glamorgan,
VVhere look but in the ground there,
And you sall see a sound there;
That put her all to gedder,
Is sweet as measure pedder.
For still her will twitch your ear
With the praise of her thirteen Shire,
And make her so glad and merry,
As fourteen pot of Perry.
A Ballad Called Cooklorrel.
COOK-Lorrel, would needs have the Devil his Guest,
And bad him once into the Peake to dinner;
VVhere never the Feind had such a Feast
Provided him yet at the charge of a sinner
His stomach was queasie (for coming there Coacht)
The jogging had caused some Crudities rise,
To help it he call'd for a Puritan poacht
That used to turn up the Eggs of his Eyes.
And so recovered unto his Wish,
He sat him down, and he fell to eat;
Promooter in plum-broath was the first dish;
His own privy Kitching had no such meat.
Yet though with this he much were taken,
Upon a sudden he shifted his trencher;
As soon as he spide the bawd, and bacon,
By this you may note the Devil's a wencher.
Six pickled Taylors sliced and cut,
Sempsters, Tire-women, fit for his pallet,
With fether-men, and perfumers put,
Some twelve in a Charger to make a grand sallet.
A rich fat Usurer stew'd in his Marrow,
And by him a Lawyers head and Green-sawce;
Both which his belly took in like a barrow,
As if till then had never seen sawce.
Then carbonado'd, and cookt with pains,
Was brought up a cloven S [...]rjeants Face;
The sawce was made of the Yeomans brains,
That had been beaten out w [...]th his owne Mace.
Two rosted Sheriffes came whole to the board,
(The Feast had nothing been without um,
Both living and dead they were Fox't and Fur'd;
Their chains like Sawsages hung about um.
The very next dish was the Major of a Town,
With a pudding of maintenance thru in his belly
Like a Goose in the Feathers drest in his Gown,
And his couple of Hinch-boyes boyld to a jelly.
A London Cuckold hot from the spit,
And when the carver up had broke him;
The Devil chopt up his head at a bit,
But the horns were very near like to have choakt him.
The chine of a Lecher too there was rosted,
With a plump Harlots haunch and Garlike;
A pandors pettitoes that had boasted
Himself for a Captain, yet never was warlike.
A large fat Pasty of a Mid-wife hot,
And for cold bak'd meat into the story,
A reverend painted Lady was brought,
And coffin'd in crust, till now she was hoary.
To these, an over grown-Justice of the Peace
With a Clerk like a gizard thrust under each arm,
And warrants for sippets, laid in his own grease,
Set over a chafing-dish to be kept warm.
The Jowl of a Jaylor, served for Fish,
A Constable sous'd with Vinegar by,
Two Aldermen-Lobsters asleep in a dish,
A Deputy tart, a Church-warden pye.
All which devoured, he then for a close,
Did for a full draught of Darby call,
[...]e heav'd the huge Vessel up to his Nose,
And left not till he had drunk up all.
Then from the Table he gave a start,
Where banquet and wine were nothing scarce;
All which he started away with a Fart,
From whence it was called the Devils Arse.
And there he made such a breath with the wind,
The hole too standing open the while,
That the sent of the Vapour before and behind
Hath foully perfumed most part of the Isle.
And this was Tobacco the Learned suppose,
Which since in Country, Court and Town,
In the Devils Glister-pipe smoaks at the Nose
Of Polcat and Madam, of Galant and Clown.
From which wicked weed, with Swines flesh and Ling,
Or any thing else that's feast for the Feind;
Our Captain and we cry God save the King,
And send him good Meat, and Mirth without end.
The Song, of Tom a Bedlam.
To the Tune of Grays-Inn Mask.
FOrth from my sad and darksome Cell,
From the deep abiss of Hell,
Mad-Tom is come to view the world again,
To see if he can ease his distemper'd brain:
Fear and Dispair possess my Soul;
Hark how the angry Furies howl!
Pluto laughs, and Proserpine is glad
To see poor naked Tom of Bedlam mad.
Through the World I wander Night and Day
To find my troubled Senses;
At last Time I found Time
With his Pentatuch of Tenses.
When he me spies, away he flyes,
For Time will stay for no man;
[...] vain with cryes I rend the Skies,
For pity is not common.
[...]old and comfortless I lye,
Oh help, oh help or else I dye!
[...]ark I heat Apollo's Team,
The Carman 'gins to whistle;
[...]hast Diana bends her bow,
And the Bore begins to bristle.
[...]ome Vulcan with tools and with tackles.
And knock off my troublesome Shackles;
[...]d Charles make ready his Wain
To fetch my five Seuses again.
Last night I heard the Dog-Star bark
Mars met Venus in the dark;
Lymping Vulcan heat an Iron bar,
And furiously run at the god of War.
Mars with his weapon layd about,
Lvmping Vulcan had the gout,
For his broad Horns that hung so in his light
That he could not see to aym aright.
Mercury the nimble post Post of heaven
Stay'd to see the Quarrel,
Gorrel belly Bacchus giantly bestrid
A Strong-beer barrel:
To me he drunk, I did him thank,
But I could drink no Sider;
He drank whole Buts till he burst his guts,
But mine was ne're the wider.
Poor Tom is very dry,
A little drink for Charitie:
Hark! I hear Acteon's hounds,
The Hunts-man hoops and Hallows;
Ringwood, Rockwood, Jowler, Bowman,
All the Chace doth follow.
The man in the Moon drinks Clarret,
Eats powder'd Beef, Turnep and Carret:
But a Cup old Malligo Sack
Will fire the Bush at his back.
A LETANY.
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 yelipp'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, &c.
3.
From his Purges and Vomits, his Powders and Jellie,
Which more for'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 Physick before they be fick;
That they may with better mettal answer the (.)
Who copulates 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 Bysiness 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, cries, Your servant Sir,
That will challenge a Mastiff, and not fight with a Cur,
Good Mercury, &c.
10.
From an Hostess that reckons the same thing again,
And brings in the same Items to several men;
And from such that 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, &c.
13.
From uncivil Creditors that threaten to sue me;
Fram gaping after Wealth which will never come to me;
And from being a Poet, for that will undo me,
Good Mercuy defend me.
A Ballad Ʋpon the downfal of one part of the Mitre-Tavern in Cambridge, or the finking thereof into the Cellar.
LAment, Lament, you Scholars all,
Each wear his blackest gown;
The Mitre that held up your wits
Is now it self faln down:
The dismal Fire on London-Bridge
Could move no heart of mine,
For that but o're the water stood,
But this stood o're the Wine.
It needs must melt each Christian heart
That this sad news but hears,
To see how the poor Hogsheads wept
Good Sack and Claret Tears.
The Zealous students of that place
Change of Religion fear,
Lest this mischance may chance bring in
The herresie of Beer.
Unhappy Mitre I would know
The cause of thy sad hap;
Came it by making Legs to low
To Pembrook's Cardinal's Cap?
Hence [...] now thy self and cringe no more,
Since Popery went down,
That Cap should vail to thee, for now
The Mitre's next the Crown.
Or was't because our company
Did not frequent thy Cell,
As we were wont to drown those cares,
Thou fox'd thy self, and fell?
No sure the Devil was adry
And caus'd that fatal blow,
'Twas he that made the Cellar sink,
That he might drink below.
And some do say the Devil did it,
'Cause he would drink up all;
But I rather think the Pope was drunk
And let the Mitre fall.
But Rose now wither, Faulcon mew,
Whilst Sam enjoyes his wishes;
The Dolphin too must cast her Crown,
VVine was not made for Fishes.
That signe a Tavern best becomes,
That shews who loves wine best;
The Mitre's then the onely signe,
For 'tis the Scholars crest.
Then drink Sack Sam and cheer thy Heart,
Be not dismay'd at all;
For we will drink it up again,
Though our selves do catch a fall.
VVe'l be thy workmen day and night
In spite of Bugbear Proctors,
We drank like Freshmen all before,
But now we'l drink like Doctors.
Ʋpon the Virtue of SACK.
FEtch me Ben. Johnsons scull, and fill't with Sack
Rich as the same he drank▪ when the whole pack
Of jolly sisters pledg'd, and did agree
It was no sin to be as drunk as he:
If there be any weakness in the wine,
There's virtue in a Cup to mak't divine;
This muddy drench of Ale does tast too much
Of earth, the Mault retains a scurvy touch
Of the dull hand that sows it; and I fear
There's heresie in Hops; give Calvin Beer,
And his precise Disciples, such as think
There's Powder treason in all Spanish drink;
Call Sack an Idoll, nor will kiss the Cup,
For fear their Conventickle be blown up
VVith superstition: give to these Brew-house alms,
VVhose best mirth is Six shillings Beer, and Psalms:
Let me rejoyce in sprightly Sack, that can
Create a brain even in an empty pan.
Canary! it's thou that dost inspire
And actuate the soul with heavenly fire;
That thou sublim'st the Genius making wit,
Scorn earth, and such as love, or live by it;
Thou mak'st us Lords of Regions large and fair,
VVhil'st our conceits build Castles in the air:
Since fire, earth, air, thus thy inf [...]riours be,
Henceforth I'll know no Element but thee:
Thou precious Elixi [...] of all Grapes!
VVelcome by thee our Muse begins her scapes,
Such is the worth of Sack; I am (me thinks)
In the Exchequer now, hark now it chinks:
And do esteem my venerable self
As brave a fellow, as if all the pelf
Where sure mine own; and I have thought a way
Already how to spend it; I would pay
No debts, but fairly empty every trunk,
And charge the Gold for Sack to keep me drunk;
And so by consequence till rich Spains Wine
Being in my crown, the Indies too were mine:
And when my brains are once afoot (heaven bless us!)
I think my self a better man then Craesus.
And now I do conceit my self a Judge,
And coughing laugh to see my Clients trudge
After my Lordships Coach unto the Hall
For Justice, and am full of Law withal,
And do become the Bench as well as he
That fled long since for want of honestie:
But I'll be Judge no longer though in jest,
For fear I should be talk'd with like the rest
When I am sober; who can chuse but think
Me wise, that am so wary in my drink!
Oh admirable Sack! here's dainty sport,
I am come back from Westminster to Court;
And am grown young again; my Ptifick now
Hath left me, and my Judges graver brow
Is smooth'd, and I turn'd amorous as May,
When she invites young lovers forth to play
Upon her flowry bosome: I could win
A Vestal now, or tempt a Queen to sin.
Oh for a score of Queens! you'd laugh to see
How they would strive which first should ravish me,
Three Goddesses where nothing: Sack has tipt
My tongue with charms like those which Paris sipt
From Venus, when she taught him how to kiss
Fair Helen, and invite a fairer bliss:
Mine is Canary-Rhetorick, that alone
Would turn Diana to a burning stone:
Stone with amazement, burning with loves fire,
Hard, to the touch, but short in her desire.
Inestimable Sack! thou mak'st us rich,
Wise, amorous, any thing; I have an itch
To [...]'other cup, and that perchance will make
Me valiant too, and quarrel for thy sake
If I be once inflam'd against thy Nose
That could preach down thy worth in small-beer Prose,
I should do miracles as bad, or worse,
As he that gave the King an hundred Horse:
T'other odd Cup, and I shall be prepar'd
To snatch at Stars, and pluck down a reward
With mine one hands from Jove upon their backs
That are, or Charls his enemies, or Sacks:
Let it be full, if I do chance to spill
Ov'r my Standish by the way I will
Dipping in this diviner Ink, my pen,
Write my self sober, and fall to t [...]agen.
ON A Combat of Cocks, the Norfolk, and the Wisbish.
Go you tame Gallants, you that have the name,
And would accounted be Cocks of the Game,
That have brave spurs to shew for't and can crow,
And count all dung-hill breed that cannot shew
Such painted Plumes as yours; that think't no vice,
With Cock-like lust to tread your Cockatrice:
Though Peacocks, Wood-cocks, Weather-cocks you be,
If y' are no fighting-cocks, y' are not for me:
I of two feather'd Combatants will write;
He that to th' lise means to express the fight,
Must make his ink o'th' blood which they did spill,
And from their dying wings borrow his quill.
NO sooner were the doubtful people set,
The matches made, and all that would had bet,
But straight the skilful Judges of the Play,
Bring forth their sharp hee'ld VVarriours, and they
VVere both in linnen bags, as if 'twere meet,
Before they dy'd to have their winding-sheet.
VVith that in th' pit they are put, and when they were
Both on their feet, the Norfolk Chanticleere
Looks stoutly at his ne're-before seen foe,
And like a chalenger begins to crow,
And shakes his wings, as if he would display
His Warlike colours, which were black and gray:
Mean time the wary Wisbish walks and breaths
His active body, and in sury wreaths
His comely crest, and often looking down,
He whets his angry beak upon the ground:
With that they meet, not like that coward breed
Of Aesop, that can better fight than feed:
They scorn the dung-hill, 'tis their only prize,
To dig for Pearl within each others eyes:
They fight so long, that it was hard to know
To th' skilful, whether they did fight or no,
Had not the bloud which died the fatal floore
Born witness of it; yet they fight the more,
As if each wound were but a spur to prick
Their fury forward; lightuing's not more quick
Nor red then were their eyes: 'twas hard to know
Whether it was blood or anger made them so:
And sure they had been out, had they not stood
More safe by being fenced in by blood.
Yet still they fight, but now (alas!) at length,
Although their courage be full tryed, their strength
And blood began to ebbe; you that have seen
A water-combate on the Sea, between
Two roaring angry boyling billows, how
They march, and meet, and dash their curled browes,
Swelling like graves, as if they did intend
To intomb each other, ere the quarrel end:
But when the wind is down, and blustring weather,
They are made friends, and sweetly run together,
May think these Champions such; their combs grow low,
And they that leapt even now, now scarce can go:
Their wings which lately at each blow they clapt
(As if they did applaud themselves) now slapt;
And having lost the advantage of the heel;
Drunk with each others blood they only reel.
From either eyes such drops of blood did fall,
As if they wept them for their Funeral.
And yet they would fain fight, they came so near,
As if they meant into each others ear
To whisper death; and when they cannot rise,
They lie and look blowes in each others eyes.
But now the Tragick part after the fight,
When Norfolk Cock had got the best of it,
And Wisbich lay a dying, so that none,
Though sober, but might venture seven to one,
Contracting (like a dying Taper) all
His force, as meaning with that blow to fall;
He struggles up, and having taken wind,
Ventures a blow, and strikes the other blind.
And now poor Norfolk having lost his eyes,
Fights onely guided by the Antipathies:
With him (alas!) the Proverb holds not true,
The blows his eyes ne're see, his heart most rue.
At length by chance, he stumbling on his foe,
Not having any power to strike a blow,
He falls upon him with a wounded head,
And makes his conquered wings his Feather bed:
Where lying sick, his friends were very charie
Of him, and fetcht in hast an Apothecary;
But all in vain, his body did so blister,
That't was uncapable of any glister;
Wherefore at length, opening his fainting bill,
He call'd a Scrivener, and thus made his VVill.
INprimis, Let it never be forget,
My body freely I bequeath to th' p [...]t,
Decently to be bo [...]l'd, and for its tomb
Let it be buried in some bungry womb.
Item, Executors I will have none,
But he that on my side laid sever to one:
And like a Gentleman that he may live,
To him and to his heirs my comb I give
Together with my brains, that all may know,
That oftentimes his brains did use to crow.
Item, It is my will to the weaker ones,
Whose Wives complain of them I give my stones;
To him that's dull, I do my spur [...] impart;
And to the Coward, I bequeath my heart:
To Ladies that are light, it is my will,
My feathers should be given; and for my bill,
I'de give't a Taylor, but it is so short,
That I'm afraid hee'l rather curse me for' [...]:
[...]d s [...]r the Apothecaries fee, who meant
[...]give me a Glister, let my Rump be sent.
Lastly, because I feel my life decay,
I yield, and give to VVisbich Cock the day.
On a Fart in the Parliament-House.
DOwn came Grave Antient Sir John Crooke
And read his message in a book,
[...]ery well quoth Will. Norris, it is so,
[...]ut Mr. Pym's Tayl cry'd no.
[...]ye, quoth Alderman Atkins, I like not this passage
[...]o have a Fart intervoluntary in the midst of a message;
Then up starts one fuller of Devotion
Then Eloquence, and said, a very ill Motion:
[...]ot so neither quoth Sir Henry Jenking,
The motion was good but for the Stinking;
Quoth Sir Henry Poole 'twas an audacious trick
[...]o Fart in the Face of the Body Politick;
[...]ir Jerome in Folio swore by the Mass
This Fart was enough to have blown a Glass:
Quoth then Sir Jerome the lesser, such an abuse
VVas never offer'd in Poland nor Pruce.
Quoth Sir Richard Houghton, a Justice i'th Quorum,
VVould tak't in snuff to have a Fart let before him:
[...]f it would bear an Action quoth Sir Thomas Hol [...]craft,
[...] would make of this Fart a Bolt or a Shaft;
Then quoth Sir John Moor to his great commendation
[...] will speak to this House in my wonted Fashion,
[...]ow surely sayes he, For as much as how be it
This Fart to the Serjeant we must commit.
No quoth the Serjeant, low bending his knees
Farts oft will break Prisons but never pay Fees;
Besides this motion with small reason stands
To charge me with that I can't keep in my hands:
Quoth Sir Walter Cope, 'twas so readily let,
I would it were sweet enough for my Cabinet.
Why then Sir Walter (quoth Sir William Fleetwood)
Speak no more of it but bury it with sweetwood.
Grave Senate, quoth Duncombe, upon my salvation
This Fart stands in need of some great Reformation.
Quoth Mr. Cartwright, upon my conscience,
It would be reformed with a little Frankensence.
Quoth Sir Roger As [...]on It would much mend the matter
If this Fart were shaven, and washt with Rose-water.
Per verbum P [...]incipis, how dare I tell it,
A Fart by here-say, and not see it nor smell it.
I am glad quoth Sam. Lewknor we have found a thing,
That no tale-bearer can carry it the King.
Such a Fart as this was never seen
Quoth the learned Councel of the Queen.
Yet quoth Sir Hugh Beston the like hath been
Let in a Dance before the Queen.
Then said Mr. Peake I have a president in store,
His Father Farted last Sessions before.
A Bill must be drawn then quoth Sir John Bennet,
Or a selected committee quickly to pen it.
Why, quoth Dr. Crompton no man can draw
This Fart within the compass of the Civil Law.
Quoth Mr. Jones by the Law 't may be done,
Being a Fart Intay'ld from Father to Son;
In truth, quoth Mr. Brooke, this speech was no lye,
This Fart was one of your Post Nati:
Quoth Sir William Padd [...] he dare assure 'am
Though 'twere Contra modestum, 'tis not prater naturam.
Besides by the Aphorismes of my art
Had he not been deliver'd had been sick of a Fart.
Then quoth the Recorder, the mouth of the City,
To have smother'd that Fart had been great pity.
It is much certain, quoth Sir Humphry Bentwizle,
That a round Fart is better then a stinking Fiezle.
Have patience, Gentlemen, quoth Sir Francis Bacon,
There's none of us all but may be mistaken:
Why right, quoth the great Attorney, I confess
The Eccho of ones A— is remediless.
The Amorous Welshman to his Mistress.
A Modest Shentle when hir see
The creat laugh her make on me,
And fine wink that her send
To hir, to come see hir frend;
Hir could not chuse pi got aprove,
Put 'twas entangle in her Love.
A Hundred tymes hir was a pout
To speak to her to panish dout,
Put hir being a Welshman porn,
Was fer her think her wod hir scorn;
And therefore was think nothing petter
Then put her love into a letter.
Hoping her will no ceptions take
Unto hir love for Country sake;
For say h [...]r be Welshman, what tan;
Pi got they be all Shentlemen:
Was desended from Shoves nown lyne,
Part Humain, and part Divine.
And from far Fenu [...] that far gottess,
And twenty other shentle poddies:
[...]ector stout, and comely Paris,
Arthur Plutus King of Faries
Was hir own Cosen aull a Kin,
Au'l of the Powel's issue spring.
Was love compel hir write this Ryme
That never was wrytt before this time,
And if her will not pitty hir pain
Got sudge hir soul was never write again;
Put if her vouchsafe to pleasure me,
And for to come into her company
To drink a quart, or too of wine,
Pi got hir will say her fortunes fine;
And tell her something in her eare
Which her would not have aul to hear:
And pi the Saul of sweet St. Taffie
Or in kindness her would crave ye
For to wryte too word or three
VVhen and where our meet shall be,
For love is like an Acue fit,
VVas trive poor Welshman out of hir wit;
Till py her answer her do know
VVhether her do love her yea or noe.
Hir have not pin in England long
And hir cannot speak the English Tongue,
Put hir is her friend, and so hir will prove,
I pray send hir word if her can love.
Theise Verses I send
Peing rudly pend.
On the Choice of a WIFE.
Have past my maddest Age
Free from Cupid's foolish Rage,
[...]ree from sighings, free from tears;
[...]ree from hopes, and free from fears:
And yet I'le wed, if I can see
A Mistress that is meet for me.
[...]rst, I wo'd have her person such
[...]s deformity cannot touch;
[...]e she black, or brown, or fair
[...]f complexion, hue, or hair,;
[...] If my Mistress comely be,
[...] She'l prove fair enough for me.
[...]urtly carriage in these dayes
[...] but a suspicious praise;
[...]r my part I care not for't,
[...]ture is not made at Court:
Let a grave and vertuous Mother
Be my Wifes Court, and no other.
[...]ealth I wish she may have more
[...]en to keep her from being poor,
[...]at she need not love for need,
[...]r I wealth her love to feed:
If in mind or means she be
Rich, she's rich enough for me.
[...] be born of noble blood,
[...]o her that's good a good:
[...] to me it is no more
[...]an time past, or untry'd Ore:
Be she good, how ere she be
Born, she's nobly born to me.
True Religion will make
Any good for her own sake;
But, let vertue be the Teacher
Of my Wife, before the Preacher;
She's good that wo'd use me well,
Were there neither Heaven or Hell.
Who for beauty takes a VVife,
Chooseth by the sheath the Knife;
And, who takes her for Estate,
Or for person, hath ill fate:
These may perish, or decay
On, or ere her VVedding day.
VVealth is Fortunes and not mine,
Person owes decay to time:
Learning, Wit, and such like parts
Ravish mens, not womens hearts;
But a love, by true love bred,
Gives each night a maiden-head.
Wit and Eloquence of tongue,
Sho'd to me, not her, belong:
Sober silence in a maid
Sayes enough when nothing's said;
And a wife when she speaks least,
And that little well, speaks best.
VVhen I court her first she shall
Neither credit nought nor all,
But, when time my truth has prov'd,
A [...]d the finds she is belov'd
Let her then believe, and then
First begin to love agen.
Let her next be wise, and know
Love shall reap as Love shall sow.
Trying masteries in a wife,
Is the scab or bane of life:
And hath too oft had the fate,
To destroy a good Estate.
Children sho'd not be loves end,
But loves mend: if God them send,
She sho'd love them for no other
Cause, but for my VVife's their Mother:
If God send none I should be
Child to her, and she to me.
For man is the ball of fate,
[...]ost about from state to state;
Therefore God for one chief part
Give mine Fortitude of heart,
That so she may valiant prove,
And bear any loss but love.
Next I wish that my heart may
[...]ind her's made of VVax, not Clay:
[...]hat my love may make her's be
[...]ore saft, not more hard to me;
She's loves hangman, and his hell
In whom a proud heart does dwell.
VVhen the Priest has made us one,
[...]lesh of flesh and bone of bone;
VVe must wed our wills together,
[...]nd will one in both or neither:
By her tongue my heart must speak,
Hers by mine must silence break.
VVhere two hearts be thus indented
[...]hey live, for they live contented;
VVhere they differ, there they die,
[...]nd their Marriage-knot untie:
They and none but they are wed,
Whose hearts lodge both in one Bed.
[...]e that knows to spend or spare,
[...]s times and occasions are,
[...]ings a portion, bringing none,
[...], much better bringing one;
One may well call such a wife,
The life of her husbands life.
She her Husbands state and kie
Shakes her glass to dress her by:
She a neat and wholesom Diet
Makes the utmost of her Riot;
She, like a good snail, doth dwell
Most at home in her own shell.
Such a Wife as this would make
Monks their Cloysters to forsake,
Such a Wife would almost vex
Angels, that they want a sex;
Such a Wife I wish to nurse
Both my hody and my purse.
Thus i'th' Mine I'de choose my Gold,
And my Wife cast in a Mould;
Yet a Wonans son may vary,
But I mean, if e're I marry,
Either to have such an one,
Or a better, which is none.
A Ballad On the Decay of good HOSPITALITY.
GAllants, wil't please you to hear a plain Ditty,
That's non-sense, and yet sense; not foolish nor witty?
I tax no Commanders nor Magistrates Life,
Nor speak of the Marriage of Maid, Widow or Wife;
But I'le sing you a plain quoined song, a plain quoined song.
Good Hospitality now [...]are thee well,
For, where go thy Founders to Heaven or Hell?
A Question unanswered: The Papists approve it,
The Puritan hates it; there's few that love it:
The reason it was the old Fashion, the old Fashion.
The Divine is incensed, and straight he will tell ye,
The Scripture forbids him to make a god of his belly;
And yet to speak truly they are tall men at Trenchers,
[...]carse a fine bit can scape them, some say they are Wenchers:
It strengthens them in their Devotion, in their Devotion.
The Country Justice hath the Law on his [...]
For to cite Statutes, therewith to provide
That Beggars be punisht; and that's his protection,
They dare not come near him for fear of correction:
So he saves his Bread and his Beer, and his Beer.
The Clerk of the Kitchin is grown out of season,
And indeed for that Office I know not the reason,
For three Cooks are busied about one dish of Meat,
Whilst twenty stands gaping the same for to eat.
Oh this is a hungry Age! a hungry Age!
[...]
[...]
The Porter indeed is in best estimation,
To keep the Gates fast is a Noble-mans Fashion;
A man may as soon enter into Lustra Ferarum,
Especially if the master be Emptor terrarum:
Oh this is a fearful time, a fearful time.
Now where are those feastings and good Christmas keeping,
Alass! they that us'd it are in their Graves sleeping;
Your Baskets with New-year-gifts make you good chear,
But all the year after you shall not drink there:
'Tis a Fashion they learnt in the City, learnt in the City.
Now Noble-mens houses are nests for Jack-Daws,
And Gentle-mens houses, are guarded by Laws;
And Tennants are Rack't by there Land-lords so hie,
That the poor, some Hang, some Starve and some dye:
And all for want of good House-keeping, House-keeping.
Captain Squiers Lettany,
FRom Mahomet and Paganisme,
From Heriticks, from Sects and Schisme;
From Highway Raschals and Cut-purses,
From Carted Bawds and old dry Nurses,
From Glister-pipes and Doctors whistles,
From begging Scholars stale Epistles,
From Turn-stile boots and Long-la [...]e Beavers,
From Agues and from drunken Feavers,
Libera nos, &c.
From all several kinds of Itches,
From Pick-locks and Cloak-bag Breeches,
From Carbonado Sutes of Serges,
From a Barstard that's the Clerges,
From thread points and Caps of Cruel,
And from the danger of a Duel,
From a Tally full of Notches,
And two privey Seals of botches,
Libera nos, &c.
From a Whore that's never pleasant
But in lusty Wine and Pheasant,
From the watch at twelve a Clock,
And from Bess Broughtons button'd Smock,
From Hackney-Coaches, and from Panders
That do boast themselves Commanders,
From a tedious Taylors bill
And a Pilgrimage up Helbourn Hill,
Libera nos, &c.
From Damages and Restitutions,
From accursed Executions,
From all new found wayes of Sinning,
From the Scurf and Sable linnin,
From the Pox and the Physician
From the Spanish Inquisition,
From a wife that's wan and meager,
And from Lice and winter Leager,
Libera nos, &c.
From a gryping slavish Cullion,
From the Gout and the Strangullion,
From a Mount'bank with's Potions,
Fron his Serrenges and Lotions,
From the Buttock of Priscilla,
That diets with Sarsaparilla,
From a Pastor too too Zealous,
And from the Tub of old Cornelius.
Libera nos, &c.
From Bawdy Courts and Civil Doctors,
From Drunken Som'ners and their Proctors,
From occasion to Revel
VVith a Lawyer at the Divel,
From Serjeants, Yeomen, and their Maces,
From false Friends with double faces,
From an Enemy more Mightie
Than Usquebah or Aquavitae.
Libera nos, &c.
A York-shire TRIALOGUE IN York-shire Dialect, Between an Awde Wife, a Lasse, and a Butcher.
Awd Wife.
PRetha now Lass, gang into th'hurn
An fetch ma heame a Skeel o burn;
Na, pretha Barne mack heast and gang,
Ise marr me deaugh thou stayes sa lang.
Lass.
VVyah gom Ise gea, bad for me paines
Yeu's ge m' a frundell o yar graines.
Awd W.
My grains me Barne, marry not I,
Me draugh's for th' Gilts and Gauts ith' Sty:
Than preetha Luke ith' Garth an see
VVhat Owsen at the Stand-hecks be.
Lass.
Blukrins, the'l put, I dare not gang
Outcep y' al len ma th' great Lap-stang.
Awd.
Take th' Fruggan, or th' awde Maelyn shaft,
Cum tyte agaen and be nat daft.
Lass.
Gom th' great Bull segg he's brocken lowse,
And he he's hypt your brade-horn'd Owse:
And th' Owse is faln into the Swine trough,
I thinke hee's brocken his Camerill-hough.
Awd.
VVhaw whaw mi Lass, mack haest to th' Smedy,
Hee's nuded, for he rowts already;
Hee's bownd; O, how it boakes an stangs!
His Lisk e'en bumps and bobbs wi' pangs;
His VVeazen-pipe's as dry as dust,
His Dew-lapp's sweild, he cannot host;
He beales, tack th' Barwhams of oth' heames
An fetch sum Breckons fra the dames,
Fre th' bawkes, ga fetch ma a wayem-tow,
My Nowts een wreckend, hee'l not dow.
Een wellanerin for my Nowte,
For syke a Musan neer was wrought;
Put th' VVhyes a mel yon stirks an steers
Ith' Oumar, an Sneck the Lear deers;
See if Goff Hyldreth be gaen hand,
Thou Heltarfull, how dares ta sland?
Lass.
Hee'l come belive or eables tittar,
For wheyn a hard in what a twittar
Yar poor Owse lay, he tooke his Flayle
An hang't by th' Swypple on a Nayle,
Anteuke a Mell fra th' topp oth' VVharmes,
Answayr hee'd ding yar Owse ith' Harnes;
He stack his Shackfork up ith' Esins,
An tuke his Jerkin of oth' Gresins;
Than tuke his Mittans, reacht his Bill,
An of oth' Yune head tuke a Swill
Ta kepp th' Owse blude in; Luke his cum.
Awd.
Than reach a Thivel or a Strum
Ta stur his Blude; stand nat te tawke,
Hing th' Recans up oth' Rannel-bawke,
God ya god moar [...]e Goff. Is' een faine,
You▪l put me Owse out o' his pain.
Butch.
Hough band him; tack thur VVeevills hyne
Fra th' Reaps-end; this is not a Swyne
VVe kill; where ilk yean hauds a fuat?
Ise ready now, yelk ane luke tuit.
[Page 124]Than Beef a Gods nam, I now Cry,
Streach out his Legs, and let him lye
Till I cum stick 'im; whore's me swill?
Cum hither Lass; hawd, hawd, hawd-still.
L.
What mun I dua with' Blude? B. Thou Fule
Team't downe ith' gath, ith' Middin-pule.
Good Beef by th' Messe, and when 'tis hunge
Ise row [...]e it downe, with Teuth an Tongue,
And gobbl't down een till I wurrye,
And whan nest Mell wee mack a Lurrye;
A peece o' this fre th' Kymlyn brought
By th' Rude, 'twill be as good as ought.
A.
Mawte-hearted Fule, I een cud greet
Ta see me Owse dead at me Feet;
I thank ya Goff; Ise wype me Eene
And pleas ya tue. B. Wyah Gom Green.