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book_n	know_v	name_n	write_v	5,306	5	5.6704	4	true

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ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A61840	Joanereidos, or, Feminine valour eminently discovered in western women, at the seige of Lyme, as well by defying the merciless enemy at the face abroad, as by fighting against them in Garrison towns, sometimes carrying stones, anon tumbling of stones over the works on the enemy, when they have been scaling them, some carrying powder, other charging of pieces to ease the souldiers, constantly resolved for generality, not to think any ones life dear, to maintain that Christian quarrel for the long Parliament : whereby, as they deserve commendations in themselves so they are proposed as example unto others : with marginal notes on the work, and several copies of verses by a club of gentlemen on this authors year and half work / by James Strong ...	Strong, James, 1618 or 19-1694.	1674 (1674)	Wing S5991; ESTC R20044	25,745	55

nurtur'd up in good and savoury literature Sage words of wise he understood and put all eke in ure To argumentate he was taught Syllogistically First to divisionating brought to define by and by But why alas nay why alas should I by a gradation Think to declare how he did pass all men in disputation Or in mysterious Sciences As in M●ll-stones pellucid Saw quiddities and entities and all that Art produced Much less how he with sweat and pain drudged in Poetry And Mid-wiv'd gravitated brain Swoln big with rapsody Taking Occasions fore-top then eft soons his mind he bent To write with paper ink and pen wars most sanguinolent With pulchritude of sense and rhyme he strait charactered West womens valour stout what time in Towns they were besieged And eke also what time in field at face of Foe they vaunted Whilst monstrous stones they nimbly wield and the fierce Souldiers daunted O man of worth memento now in height of glory whence By dotes transfunded your scull through your learnt skilful-loquence And in requital of the same on Bodley's Library Bestow this Book of greater fame than ever Groat did buy This was composed by A.B. quondam Student of Oxenford To the Author on this never-enough praised Poem EVen as the Sun and eke the Wind With laughter fils the Elephant So do I thus to please my mind thy praise O Author loudly chaunt And as the Moon and eke the Sky are nearer unto Heaven than Earth So also do I versifie being far from grief and full of mirth Or as a man and eke a woman is neither Horse nor Dog nor Cat So do I write enforc'd by no man I know not nor I care not what Or lastly as a Harry Groat being gray is worth four single pence So is he worthy a fools Coat that writes to thee in rhyme or sense On the Lurned labour of this VVorshipful good Power ICh pray you Readers have you no dizdain 'Cause I an ing-rant and unletterd zwayn ' Mungst lurned Glarks do zomething notivy Good will unto the thang cleppt powetry Cham zore abasht with this rudeness to haundle The point or zhow forth with an hauf-penny caundle His worth to the world varr off and at haund 'Mongst those houge bon-vires which before this book staund And make zike a cracklin blaze that ich ween My greazed Bul-rush will scauntly be zeen Yet ich do well ken that moany a mon Will pook out my intendiments better thon Moony tales and names in thuck lurned Powet Who ich do believe himselve did not know it But writ it that we with wonderment mought Think him in schollardzhip marlous ztout C ham not zo well liked with his cunning wit As c ham with the wonches he talks of in it Zike bounsing Lasses would hould a mon tack Though he had my tough gray vour horses back My teeth do water to wrestle a vall Though it were with the zdurdiest wench an um all Chave known the time when Maudlin and Joan And two ztouter girls the west hath not known Have vallen down vlat and not stood upright When I gan ta buckle my tools to the vight And with my implement and but twa stones Have clawd um zoundly both twice and once But vor thy meed Sir John if thou comst ere Toward my zimple cottage ich'le make thee good cheer Of Uurmenty White-pot vat Bacon and Cale And vill thy skin with March Beer and Ale Uor the zweet sport chave had and tickling lafter That ich shall be merry vor ever hereafter When I think in my mind that moony a parson Poor Uicar and Reader and Bell-fray whorson Durst never in verson zo doughty and bold Zince the cunning Bards and the Monks of old Zet vorth the valourous deeds of women That have gen the voyl to moony ztout yeomen And dare in their zmocks without coat of Mayl Incounter the ztrongest hind with his vlayl Go vorward Sir John and tell of the boys That are got on these girls in this time of noyse Will not do exbloyts vit vor thy high verze With bellowing zound zweetly to reherze Uor wich hereafter 't will of thee be zeed Sir John the Powet had a harey head B. A. A Sang made to gang to the Balliballeer to the tune of the Authors praise by B. A. of Aberdeen O Doughty Sankster thy luggs sa lang Thy loins sa stark thy wit sa strang Makes me agast with brussels upright As if I kend some uncouth wight How mought I than with dread beheld Thy gude-wives drill in martial fleld And heave sike miccle stanes as I ween In Albion Clyffs man never did ken But what recks that these willy coats gay Those fause lowns did well beat by my say Mare sare then unwhile in Muscleborough-field When the stern so pour Scots-men queld Ide lever have a gripp of anes crage And with twa stanes her bonny wem invade Then fra their weildy fists ha ane At the fair mark of my noddle thrane Thus ta conclude my trim Scotch-hops now Mare prayses to thee I must allow Then to Rhymer Lord Sterline and Mis-Davee Linfy And all they leave an um in Poyets frensy An Hymn for to declare the Authors praise withal WHen sculs of men are sorely bent to learned Poetry Then deeds of arms are sung in tent full lofty-loftily Lo in tall Verse the Authors self with Pen in ear so thick Doth brandish rhyme from Western clime of dead and eke of quick Of Gyants thumbs and Saracens ears he nill no care to take Of Ladies fell and Damsels keen his Poem is y make Whose brawny arms full delicate distilling amber sweat Through trusty nose of Poet good inspire no vulgar heat Tough quil in hand is hent most sure which goose so gray did bear In wrathful wise he to the skyes stern chivalry doth clare With phane and sacred history y granished all o're The Maiden Fame is stretched out from West all eke to Nor'e No more in dirty socks no more shall Poet stride the plains Nor under fustian cap shall work those bay-deserving brains On Sconce of hill bold squire of art hath shook the Laurel tree His gols been washt in Pegase Fount by Ladies three times three Moreo're his face is Mouse-trap true o're done with bacon rinde To snap your Critick black or blue where ere so them he find O soul of man to glory bent may that day never come When Custard fond or Tart more gay thy leaves to pavement doom Performed by one of the Wisdoms To the Renowned Author Master IAMES STRONG WHen first thy parts and person I did view I mean thy outward lineaments and hue Thy vaster bulk thy grave and wise aspect And all with equal guise and beauty deckt I much admir'd and to my self concluded And well I ween'd I could not be deluded Within that cask and right it was defined Some nobler spirit sure must be inshrined Thus wondring as I stood straight to mine eye Were brought thy rarest Rhymes

thy verse How dare I hope a death in mine Aim'd for so just so jump like thine Richard Ionson Salamanca A Character of the Author ME thynk it Sirs accordaunt to reason To tell you now all the condycion Of thilke on so as it semed me And what hem were and of what degre And eke in what aray that he were in And all for forward by Saint Runnyon A Clerke of Oxenford he was tho That unto Logicke h●d long ygoe Of his complexion nothing sangyne He is but all swa sw●rt and of Latyne A few termes hath he two or thre That he han learned out of som degre His face is bald and shines as any glas His mouth as great as is a furnas With scaled browes blacke and pylled berde Of his visage children are sore afferde His voyce as smale as is a Gotes fare I trow he be a Geldyng or a Mare His here is by his eeres round yshorne His top is docked like a Priest beforne He is short sholdered a thicke gnarre There nis no doore but he wol hede the bar Or breke it at a renning with his heed Dares none ones wyle him but he wol be deed Aye by his belt he bares a longe Pavade And of a sword full trenchaunt is the blade To rage as t were a whelpe he is sayde Yet of his porte as meke as is a Mayde Full longe he lokes and thereto soberly Full thred-bare is his over Court py For he han yet getten him no benefice Ne is nought worthy to have none office And yet Saynt Iulyan is in 's countre And the best begger of his house truly Full longe are his legges and full l●ne I lyke a staffe there is no calfe ysene Of yedding he bares utterly the price Well loveth he garlike onyons and eke likes He holden a syde wemme for the none Full oft tyme he han the bourde begon No Crysten man soe oft in his degree And in Lyme at the siege had he be But soth to say he is somwhat squaimus Of far●yng and of speche dangerous Now is it not of God a sul fayre grace That such a lewde mans wit shal pace The wisdome of an heape of lerned men But I must sayne as that I farther twyn I weene he fares as doth an open●●rs That ylke frute is ever lenger the w●rs Til it be rotten in molloke or in ●●re And so God save us al that here be J. Chaucer junior PROLOGUE GEntlemen in the Authors phrase I come to chatter My mind unto you and think not I should flatter At all our Penman for believe me he Will hardly read or hear me willingly But some there be I know will ask why here In Satans name a Prologue should appear Since they Drammatike Ushers still were known And this the world will for an Epic own I answer sure our Author meant to raise The first best instituted form of plays To its prime height were one Narration took The fore-top and the toe of the whole Book One more Objection there will be which is Why to so scarrifi'd a piece as this A merry Prologue and a laughing name Are tender'd Ye fine Coxcombs fye for shame Know ye not yet t' what sage Mimnermus stood That but what pleasant was nothing was good Our Authors of his mind and no man grieves So far but that he may laugh in his sleeves Think then you hear him now and think anon How that you hear the swelling Lycophron Chaunt how the Trojan women stirr'd their bones To tumble down their walls huge massie stones For ours did so yet wiser far then those These to repel those to let in their foes Oh would himself now but his face make shine With daubing plaister and the Lees of wine Ascend a Cart as was the mode of old And through the streets himself this Poem trol'd Youl l think if not Apollo fresh and young Because his hair is short his ears are long Because Don Phoebus robes do loosly float And he alas has but a petti-coat Yet since he had paper got by teaching School He had been sworn you 'd swear Groom of his stool And this same Poem here which now you view Part of the excrements from thence which flew A year and half box'd up this is sad mirth From whence like to an Elephantine birth Is dropt this wonder Sirs pray hold your noses Or hold some of my friends wits here for poses I doubt you 'l snuff else and like him to whom Admetus shew'd the Verse for his own tomb Admire the strangeness of it but yet say You wish that you had seen it yesterday Richard Ionson Si non dant Proceres dabit Histrio Feminine Valour OR THE Western Women COme Reader wilt thou see how Grace Through Sable veil shews comeliest face Womens vertues in the West Like Grapes ne'r drop till they were prest One rib of Adam there is grown Like Cadmus teeth when they were sown Almost an Army they have spent Prayers and praise for Parliament Could'st thou the parts of Devon trace No via lactea but thy race Of blood would be there see the field Maintain'd by Women tho men yield Look round about and see who can But wonder if he see a man But stand and wonder more at this To see a Metampsukesis Mens spirits lost have reinformed Womens bodies both's reformed Who could see the sword not daunting A Womans heart but stand still vaunting A Garrison in part defended By Women till the Quarrels ended And worn out men to be supply'd By second strength of Women try'd And not acknowledge that 't is true I give West Women what is due Ia. St. WHat former Age did ever want a Quill Drencht with the dew of high Parnassus hill Those Bastard gifts of nature to record But ah cannot our ill taught times afford One to give vertue juster praise Ye Nine Have ye no quicker fancy now then mine To limn the praises of that weaker Sex Exactly as beseems an Artisex Where 's now that nimble tongue Apollos vein Or had we one could match blind Homers strein Or but that wanton Poet who to flatter One Lalage sweet Poems once did chatter Here 's now a subject worth his pains who sings Had need carouse of all the Muses springs A saint-like sort of Females as before Earths broad Horrison till now ne're bore From heaven are fallen O let 's not be dull To write their worth whereof the West is full New natur'd are they and their grace divine Come let 's embalm their faces and eke enshrine Their worth with honour which doth claim the bays And round their heads let 's deck the Daphnean bays If constancy that golden garland wreath'd Which mortals none yet wore that ever breath'd In sun-burnt times of danger but he lost This sacred jem wherewith this crown 's imbost Sometime or other O what cause had we To spread the