ran about And suddenly put all the candles out Then every man laid hold upon a Nunne Which with consent did into corners runne But in this Night-prize one among the rest Applauds his fortune he had catcht the best But walking in the dark o' th' sudden mist her And when she spoke he knew it was his sister Then he cry'd out ho some one change with me I 've light upon my sister she will be For any but my selfe Sin all they did But Fame was mov'd and would not have it hid A shamefull visit hatefull love is showne Sin death and helldo ever loath their owne Societies of sin mask'd with a show Of strict devotion next to hell we know Do take their ranks for barren showes are curst A'nd hypocrites are of all people worst How hatefull's that profession that restraines Virgins from marriage when their swelling veines Breake into law lesse lusts their acts are vilde The father 's robb'd thus of his hopefull childe And Priories when they receiv'd their rent Engag'd the yeoman else they 'd have 'em shent To bring a virgin faire and in her prime That they might keepe her untill such a time Then turne her out with shame this they thought good 'T was not for lust ' was but to purge their blood They are the bane of people where they dwell They make such houses Nurseries for hell SECT 16. Of a Letcher and how the Devill assum'd the shape of a Malesactresse that had been hang'd and lay with him Dr. Stroza Cigognu nobilis Vinetinus Theologus Philosophus Lib. de magia omnifaria c. A Wanton man if I a man may call him Engag'd to lust shame did at last be fall him In whoredome drunkennesse he spent his time His lodging suted to his loathsome crime But walking all alone along the street Being very dark he did a woman meet And heard her mutt'ring as she went along Complaining of her husband and the wrong That she receiv'd how she was much abus'd Turn'd out of doores and how her friends were us'd This lustfull Ape thinks he has got a prey Pities her case and thus to her did say Faire mistresse walk with me and you shall have A lodging to your minde I only crave Your love for rent 't is cheape although't be best Accept this kindnesse you shall be my guest Small courtship serv'd away with him she went To what he did desire she gave consent And when he had beheld her in the light Found her exceeding faire oh how her sight Did ravish him both in a bed they lay Where they did spend some time but when the day Broke in upon them all delights were past He turn'd about for she had breath'd her last Her corps lay by him cold as any stone He felt her carkasse but her life was gone Then feare and shame possest his raving minde He call'd the Bawd nor he nor she can finde The cause of this her death they 're much dismay'd Nor can they hide what sin hath now bewray'd The neighbors heard it and came running in They knew her face she suffer'd for her sin The sentence of the Law death was her paine But yet the Devill took her up againe To do more work with policies to strive Al hough she serv'd him all her time alive But Succuba is gone left sin and shame Vpon the score to blast this villains name She 's buried once againe she 'll rise no more To case the Devill or to turne a whore But now this Letcher findes his fact is knowne His hope his name his credit 's overthrowne How Gentlemen his company did shun How every one that knew what he had done Abhorr'd his sight his friends as all amaz'd With feare and shame they strangely on him gaz'd And how the guilt did call upon his crime To make his name the by-word of the time Griefe seiz'd upon him shame did make him sad His lust was tam'd although his minde was mad In this forlorne estate he liv'd a space But dying still he striv'd to hide his face From all the world the place where he doth dwell Doth paint out flames and represent a hell The flesh that feedshim doth commence a suit Against him too eats like forbidden fruit What 's blest is curst to him he spies a fish And thinks he has a Scorpion in his dish H s drink doth change its nature by his fin 'T will not asswage his scalding heat within He hates his gold and envies his apparrell And every day he strives to pick a quarrell With what he doth possesse 't will help to burne him In his conceit nor can disswasions turne him I' th' night he thinks his bed-fellow doth drive The Furies cry Take him away alive He 's to himselfe and all things else a slave But suddenly he dropt downe to his grave All cry'd that saw him lying on the brim Let Incubus ne're enter into him His Epitaph THis man did live like a lascivious Ape Spending his strength in sensuall lust and pleasure The Devill did assume a fellowes shape To humour him and gives his lust full measure The grave 's his bawd the devill was his whore H' has now enough that nere was cloyd before SECT 17. Of a North-countrey mans meeting a trull and how they were drunk together his complaint WIthin the Northern parts near Neptun's plains Where Thetis us'd to feed her frisking trains Thin Boreas with his breath did charme the flood Envy'd the dwellers there and cool'd their blood The soile was barren too the men grew poore They wrought and eat to live but eat no more Than Nature crav'd withall 't was not so ill Some fill'd themselves some did their purses fill But one among them having store of gold Resolv'd to ride a journey from the cold And in the South awhile he did abide He had a feeling in the case beside And being there his blood began to thaw His lust arose and sought against the law He of his sinns did make himselfe a sword And judg'd the law to be an empty word He meets a whore she smil'd to him she spoke Then he reply'd and thus his mind he broke Kaind lovin mastresse Feath aies be tak-en wee thee vary face Gee mee thee hond aies kee'st o sick a grace Tha hast at eance ceame let mee clap mine arme About thee middell thare is mickle charme Geine from theene eyes in 't I con freelee ha Mine weell of thee an minit ist a da. Benison leeght on thee Iles gee thee wine Sa mack I love tha ceame troth thee beest mine Away they went together what they did 'Cause 't was a stranger let that fault be hid He having staid till midnight with that punk Then out they reel'd together both being drunk The watchmen found'em but the cunning whore Gave them the slip another watch before Perceiv'd a running post catcht her at last Put her in Bridewell there she 's bolted fast And for the countrey-man his
wit They' are taught by Nature to avoyd a pit Thou heardst that hell was in a place below Didst goe to see because thou didst not know That was a truth or whether it was deep Or what those vermine are that there do creep The Well was deepe but yet it had a ground And hatefull creepers were where thou wast drownd Poore foole alas didst not beleeve nor feare In hell was fire but no water there 'T is bottomlesse it had bin best for thee To have beleev'd it not to go and see But this I thinke thou couldst not judge but hell Was very large or larger than the Well Sure thou didst thinke 't was but the way into it Yet thou wast worse than mad when thou didst do it These silly creepers that have here abode The Frogs the Lizard or the loathsome Toade Are not so odious nor their shreeks nor cries Like them in hell nor of so large a size We 'll hasten now to bring her to her grave The Crowner cals a Iury found they have She onely guilty of this fact committed And suffer'd for 't yet she 's of no man pittied They parle and do condemne her for this cause A Crosse-way grave according to the lawes Is made for her and thither she is brought And tumbled in just like a thing of naught Being covered a stake is driven in Quite through her Corps to shew her hainous sin Her friends were sham'd if she had any left She through her vildenesse was of all bereft None durst be seene all diu so much abhor her For not one griev'd no shew of mourning for her All mouthes are open still to blaze her shame But eares disdaine to entertaine her name The fowles do cry and will not be at rest For being disappointed of their feast The wormes had had the best on 't when she sunke But could not once come neere her 'cause she stunke Muse leave her there still as a way-marke curse And wish all better but none ever worse But where 's mine Host so long he 's gone astray Or else to grasse to cast his hornes away But do's he not go rogueing up and downe And leave his children now to charge the towne Or is he so in debt that even the light Is hatefull to him so plaies least in sight Or has he not some Iaylor to attend him Or has he not the pox that soon will end him I le send no hue and cry 't is not my taske After this time I le never for him aske Her Epitaph HEre lies a whore that did exceed in evill She common was and had the pox 't was known She 'd more and more acquaintance with the devill At last she was by her own hand o'rethrown Let passers by take notice of this stake That they may fear and warning by her take SECT 20. Of a Childe borne full of the pox with a Satyre playing his part upon the Father A Female infant newly being come Into the world and living from the wombe Death soone did follow while she liv'd the fame Did every minute speak the fathers shame She as an Embleme and a type of death Did shew her selfe when she received breath She was inclosed with the fowle disease Though little time she liv'd she had lesse ease For why she had extremity of paine Till she return'd unto the dust againe Sh'was coffin'd up with scurfe and no y some sores Her father brought it from his rotten whores Vnto her mother so it was convey'd To her her mother had been else destroy'd Yet both undone and yet this rascall vile Being often shent he 'd jeare and laugh or smile Her griefe was much increased being poore Most that he got he spent upon some whore Or on the Surgeon being often cur'd But no whit better what he then endur'd Yo 'ld think might change his mind but he grew worse Nor is he mov'd with Gods eternall curse He runns in debt and scores up what he may 'T is known full well he doth not use to pay I know he borrow'd much his lusts to fit Some wisht him whipt he hath not paid them yet Nor never will which grieves them most of all He 's out of credit now nor ever shall Grow more in debt because no man will lend him Speak harsh he 's mad or faire it will not mend him He must be dieted at th' fall and spring He 'l no strong drink nor wine and thus he 'l sing A month together while the Surgeon 's by He 'l seeme to grieve being gone then presently He is the same no orders will he keep But drink and drab while civill men doe sleep If money last he will not look tow'rds home Had they but food they 'd rather have his roome Than 's company he 'l kick his wife about And pawne his goods he has not much I doubt In this distresse if she doth seek reliefe Amongst her friends if they but ease her griefe This monster 's wilde spits venom threats he 'l say See if they dare to keep his wife away If that prevailes not then he 'l sweare and lye He loves her so that he for her shall dye If she returnes not home Thus will he seek Till he attaines she being milde and meek Conceives the best he promising a change Goes home againe beleeve it 't is not strange He 's chang'd indeed but 't is from bad to worse She 's almost starv'd yet he hath no remorse Makes he much of her as he promis'd no He sells her clothes then hang her let her goe He never goes to Church but hates all such That would perswade him to 't thinks all too much That any doe for heaven calls them asses Especially amongst his bawdy lasses He 'l domineere when they upon him sawne I 'le judge the best his clothes are all at pawne Or else he 's loth to fright folk with his look Or else because the Broker has his book Or is he in some Celler under ground And drinking till he thinks the world goes round He hangs on others they must pay his score He has no coyne his hoste will trust no more As for the woman how to set her free Alas I know not except time agree To end her life some Hospitall may take him To try their skill and as a patterne make him No other way can I conceive to do it Vnlesse the Sessions do agree unto it That he may grieve his wife and friends no more To have him hang'd though he was burnt before Of all the hangman then would prove his friend He 'd never leave him till he saw his end But after all his friendship he 'd be mad When once he finds his clothes are all so bad Muse leave this goat for he defiles thy pen Ranck him with beasts but never more with men But this poore infant I have left too long We'd parle a little couldst thou use thy tongue thou 'dst teach my pen to write with blood or
call them blest And let them bee as patterns to the rest Thou need'st not doubt but divers in the City Will cloath thee in thy travels shew thee pity In thy distresse for thou to them shalt show Such things as one of many ne're did know They 'l nurse thee up and when they presse thee out They 'l spread thy name upon the posts about And if with Country gallants thou dost chuse To serve awhile because thou bring'st them newes They 'l bid thee welcome thou maist find some there Which thou didst in thy Night long search for here Salute the Poets kindly let them find Thou did'st not aime at them 't was not thy mind To staine their names but those who with their wils Are factors to advance lusts viler ils Never look thou for favour or releif From any Bawd Pimp Pander Whore or Theif They 'l hurt thee if they can but take no care The gallows or the whip will be their share When praise is thine their causes must be try'd Come never whimper law is on thy side Thou hast a guard of worthies none shall wrong Thy innocence feare nothing passe along When thou do'st meet with such who having spent Their time in sin yet hell-ward still are bent Strike home and spare not quickly settle to it And if they' are vext say thou art pre'st to do it If any change their minds their waies their ends Seeing the shame imbrace them and be friends I know this is thy aime thy mind is easd Though thou be angry thou 'lt be quickly pleas'd If thou canst keep back any from this vice Who els might have been lost they 'l raise thy price Above all expectation then thy fire Will shine as well as warme looke thou no higher So now thou hast thy Charge and we must part Farewell deare SMuse nor do's it grieve my heart To part upon these termes I know e're long Thou 'lt change thy Mourning to a plesant song Let all that heare or see thee passing by Wish thee all good successe and so wish I. FINIS To his worthy friend the Author of the Nights Search WHen I had found thy drift in this thy Night Which is to bring such vassals to the light As undermine the world how by thy pen The living dye the dead to live agen Thy various Searching and thy lofty straines Thy quaint expressions how thy knowing braines Set out their sins thy witty usefull parts Thy honest end how thou dost cast thy darts That Hell-hounds fall before thee how the times May see and hate the vilenesse of those crimes That are unmask'd by thee thy Muse went in Yet thou didst never know that cursed sin Complaints and griefe are kept alive so rare That I am forc'd to weep and beare a share I thought to praise thee but again thought I 'T will but disgrace thy worth and industry But with this reason did my thoughts agree 'T will be my honor if I write of thee 'T will be my pride if these low lines of mine May be thought worthy to be bound with thine Though I come late let me this favour find That I may wait upon thy Muse behind Thou hast not rob'd the dead nor dost thou strive To scrape a line from any man alive Invention's rich in thee for I find still Thy Genius is too nimble for thy quill Thou do'st not rub thy braines a day or two To hatch a fancy as some others do Nor blot out often what thou once do'st write 'T is worth the trusting what thou do'st indite I would have read thy searching Muse throughout Had it been meane but to resolve the doubt 'T is worthy to be studied every page May teach a lesson to this puny age So much I found as pleas'd me for the rest I 'le read and study it when once'tis prest Thy praise will live though pride and envy burst And all th' infernall troop that are accurst Spit fire at thee wisemen all know well They envy thee because thou do'st excell Tho Philips To the Author on his exact description of the Night-walkers of our time I Lately walk'd your round took full survey Of all all being worth notice in my way Observ'd the order of your scouts how fast The silly dotrels to their ruine haste How the delinquents met your lash and how Those that escap'd had in conceit enough Sense of your scourge which being so severe Made them lesse wicked not for love but feare Thus English Juvenal thy whip doth good Not gently laying on but fetching blood For our depraved times and manners too Wanted too long a Censor like to you Which can with your meere frowns make all men shun At once the sin and the temptation But how the Roysters of the time will rage When they shall see th' abuses of our age Reform'd and they for their supply must be Enforc'd to travell France and Italy To finde their overthrow when all they gaine Is but a sad experience of their paine Me thinks I see the mincing Dames approve Thy quaint description of their wicked love And with unusuall teares repent those times That wrong'd their husbands by their shamefull crimes The sharking Pander will deplore the state Of his lewd conversation and will hate His servile drudgerie and wish he were Againe some Serving-man to quasse and sweare Or what ills else to act which might obtaine His Mistris favour or his Masters gaine To wait upon some chamber-maid which hee Knowes well his Master keepes at liverie Which may ingratiate to his willing eare His service and for that esteeme him deare Sometimes he might content his Mistris too And for her sake more than his Master do And this were better far and lesser ill Than to be slave unto a Wantons will And after all to be reproach'd for 't thus For serving an incarnat Incubus The rampant Doxie now the twilight feares Nor as her usuall wont abroad appeares The plodding Cheat's reclaim'd and rather will Work hard all yeare than one weeke at the Mill. Thus in the worst of times 't is to be thought Thou hast a generall reformation wrought And yet if there be any dare persist In their lewd courses like the Sensualist They even they thy fancies will admire And praise the tartnesse of thy fiercer ire For if that any of their Order be By thy advice falne from the liverie Though they themselves do their lewd wayes retaine Yet with their praise will they applaud thy paine And as the Vsurer did the Preacher fee That none at length might use that trade but hee So will these Hackney Strumpets with their crue All that they can strive now to honour you How can this work of thine then chuse but sell When they 'gainst whom 't is writ say 't is done well What now shall I commend in thee let all Who view this coppy praise th' originall 'T would be absurd thy wit or Art to praise Or with our garlands to adorne thy Bayes Let thine ownelines and not some others bee The perspective by which we may ken thee And surely 't were but labour lost to write What thine owne works make publish to the sight Thy merits and thy praise let the world then Beleeve Fames trumpet is become thy pen. But yet behinde thy back I dare be bold Some secret truths concerning thee unfold And to acquaint the world there is in thee The choyser seeds of honour'd poesie Cleantbes-like each day thou do'st apply Thy selfe unto thy taske with industry And when the night drawes neare thy waking minde Doth something worthy of our wonder finde Whereon to contemplate how many now Dreame their whole time away and nothing doe They dare record yet at those houres when sleepe The most part of the world in rest doth keepe Thou art not idle but hast done far more By night than many all their dayes before Heaven gave thy soule wings that she still might be Soaring aloft unto her Hierarchie Not that with them thou should'st thy pillow stuffe And so give nature more than what 's enough Thou hast withdrawne times curtairs and hast shown Those hidden truths which he may blush to owne O how in everie page might learned men Descrie the rare conceits flow from thy pen I have perus'd it throughly and confesse I were quite stupid should I wonder lesse Go onwards worthy Sir and as 't is fit Make all the world to wonder at your wit That as you have this piece compos'd to please Your selfe let others it enjoy which ease And idle houres have foster'd that it may Remaine your monument at your dying day Haec quorsum premis ut percant quis talia condit Edere si non vis omnibus ede tibi C. G. Interioris Templi
my lands for you this cost of mine Ioyn'd with my love the highest place may crave It is my right and all I 'm like to have Be wise and silent put me still before Your hopes depend on me I 'le say no more Thiefe Ho ho ho ho ho ho ho. Me thinks I see as once at Sutors-hill A silly gull who having had his will To break o're hedges being took at last I robb'd him of his gold and bound him fast Although he made his moane away went I To free my selfe but there I let him lye This brainlesse asse that now relates a story Of what he has and seemes to raise his glory From what he has beslow'd upon a whore The bawdy-house doth gaine but he 's made poore When all is spent he hath no other way To help himself and yet forsooth he 'll say Precedency is his he do's beguile Himselfe with hopes I cannot choose but smile The day the place are mine and he shall finde That I must go before he come behinde When I am out of cash I scorn to borrow I have a trick to banish all my sorrow One happy night may blow me into stock Or with a Pistoll or a stab or knock I gaine a weighty Purse or if that misse I have another way as good as this I 'le cheat and steale and rob a house by night And having got my prey I take my flight I have a share from all that rob about Iway-lay some and others finde them out This foole that sold his land will nere beleeve How much I got upon one Christmas eve At Hide-parke-corner or at Bagshot Downes Another time among the countrey-clownes I cannot want unlesse that crooked tree Dos choake my hopes and prove a foe to me What can the whore the pander pimpe or bawd Do of themselves or he that does applaud His crazie humour onely in the spring He 'll chirp about and like a Cuckow sing ' But moult away in winter when my time And fortunes usher me into my prime I must relieve them all Iudge who is best Shall I not be preferr'd above the rest The case is plaine those that have eares and fight Will know I challenge nothing but my right As for the pleaders all their braines are weake I am content to let the Vmpire speak SECT 12. The Devil's Vmpire their causes the fearefull conclusion THey plead for place in sin they might as well Strive which shall have priority in hell The Devil's Vmpire to decide the case He comes in hellish-state to take his place And by degrees he strives to bring 'em in As fast unto their paines as to their sin Thus he begins ho can you not agree I 'le make you friends if you 'll be rul'd by me You 're all my servants why should you fall out Sith I am umpire to resolve this doubt I 'll do with judgement first the whore 's my childe Though yet she be not she may be as vilde As mistris Bawd I love to keepe her fine For I doe use her as a hooke and line To catch Iack-simple let her stay her time And she will be as perfect in her crime As any of the rest in act and tongue Alas you must consider she 's but young My pretty pimping Boy be of good cheere Thou com'st as bravely on as any here Being but lately enter'd this I finde Thy will is good that do's content my minde Observe and gaine experience from the rest There 's none too wise to learne thou maist be best Cheare up go bravely on and thou shalt have The chiefest place and what else thou wilt crave Ho! come my little Pander thou art he To whom I do commit much secrecie I ever found thee faithfull in thy place Thy minde is bent to honour praise and grace My kingdome here below the place is thine But make no wordson't for the gift is mine Go on my bully as thou hast begun I le pay thee bravely when thy worke is done Come come my old acquaintance gentle Bawd Thy constant service I must needs applaud The Queene of hell salutes thee Dost thou smile To think thou hast bin absent all this while Thou hast my love I 'le keep thee at my cost Now take my hand I think there 's no love lost Thou serv'd it me young when that way did not hold Thou did'st me better service being old In harboring those that have a minde to play Their lands their time their soules and all away I put much trust in thee and thou art true Still to my kingdome honour is thy due Preheminence is thine come downe to me Thou dost not know how welcome thou shalt be But hinder not thy bus'nesse let me know A day or two before but we below Are ne're unfurnish'd we can entertaine In hellish pompe thy selfe and all thy traine Thy house is like to mine but that 't is lesse Lightet and cooler too but thou maist guesse How well our guests doe sute untill thy tombe Doth close thee up take thou the chiefest roome My Spark of velvet I 'me glad to heare and see That thou reposest confidence in mee Thy will I do accept thou spend'st thy store To honor sin what can a man do more Thou shalt not want thou need'st not to repent I have more ways when all thy store is spent To raise thee up I make no doubt ere long Thou wilt be fit to grapple in the throng For this high place of honor then I will Praise thy endevors and applaud thy skill Persist sweet Honey-chops lay 't on and spare not Some few may envie us what 's that we care not What what my bonny Hackster thou com'st last Thou art my son this title was not past In vaine upon thee thou didst never give Occasion of disgrace but how to live In honor reputation 't was thy care To be a man of dread of courage rare Thou do'st affright the world such is thy state They value thee not at a common rate Th' art free to all my friends I 'le say to thee Thou steal'st from them who faine would steale from mee Nor art thou cowardly but bold and brave In all thine acts if some penurious slave Fals but into thy clutches thou wilt make Him leave his bags or thou his life wilt take Thou be ar'st my image I have robb'd the world Although I was into a prison hurl'd I venture still What 's murther but a crime Which I have made almost as old as time Spend upon whores and drink what thou do'st get Feare not the crooked tree why should'st thou set A doubt before thee try if thou canst win Thine Host to make a bawdy house of 's Inn That will promote thy Art For ought I see Prioritie of place belongs to thee Continue in thy course and let me heare Thy valor speake I 'le help thee never feare It grieves me thus to part but you all know My greatest bus'nesse lyes in hell below
please thee Speak pettish foole thy mind and that will ease thee Sister though I am poore I hold it no disgrace My honestie's my portion and my face Is not asham'd I dare to shew it where You cannot yours unlesse it be in feare With my condition I am well contented Though you are rais'd you are to be lamented My labour likes me but the world can tell You go the way which ends at last in hell What is your state for all your costly diet 'T is true content to have a conscience quiet What should I do if I commit such evill But give my soule and body to the Devill What you enjoy is all but painted glory The repetition makes a shamefull story Should I consent then all that did me meet Would blaze my shame along the open street What e're I got what would availe my store When all shall point and say There goes a whore And when I dye my sins would then out-live me Such gaine is losse and what the world can give me Can no whit coole the scalding heat of sin Nor bribe the conscience but it will bring in A sad relation to increase my smart Then pleasing sin will prove a mortall dart Pray urge me not the stones your words do heare They melt with passion and they quake with feare The rustling leaves do grumble at your talk The trees do threaten vengeance as we walk See how the grasse is now bedew'd with teares O're-spred with palenesse over-charg'd with feares The fish did spie us as they were at play And were asham'd and so they slunk away Bright Phoebus too is hid behind a clowd To blast your counsell being not allow'd The world affords no place for sin to dwell T'go out is worse for'tis to go to hell The truth ere long this sinfull world shall finde And have reward all suted in their kinde What growne precise what conscionable stuffe You trade in now I know you have enough Pray sell me some and I will pay you well But passe your word it shall me keepe from hell Conscience I think it is you prate about He 's hang'd long since to put you out of doubt You shew your wit is this for my reward To get you freed and giving you regard 'T was meerly love to you that did incite me To do you good but ill you do requite me You saucieslut is this the thanks I have To trick you up and make you fine and brave To censure me and slight me for my paines You 'll damne me for 't and curse me and my gaines Pray get you gone and if you cannot brooke it A better place let conscience go and seeke it I 'll heare no lectures nor be taught by you I know enough your counsellis so new 'T is not digested never see me more Nor call me sister be thou nere so poore I 'll never owne thee nor the least reliefe Will give to thee to qualifie thy griefe Your Maiden-head and honesty together Will feed you then and cloath you from the weather Conscience is but a Tyrant at the best And in distresse will never let thee rest The Law of Nature bids thus take delight And makes things meet to please our appetite It kindles love and breeds desire to it Who durst say 'T is not lawfull then to do it Some Bedlam Stoick did at first devise That wanted nature treason stuft with lies To mew us up The earth had too much treasure When all was free and all might take their pleasure Have birds free leave to change once every yeare And beasts in common ' gender free from feare Shall we that once were made to keepe them under Enjoy lesse sweet in being kept asunder A learned Poetsutes a Bedlams dreame And idle nurses to the conscience theame ' The lesse the better then whence this will fall 'T is to be perfect to have none at all 'T is not for youth but for declining age To act a winter Satyre on the stage Frost is till then prodigious we may do What lustfull youth and pleasure prompts us to What say'st to this thou froward silly girle Which wilt thou chuse the pibble or the pearle To live in credit or receive disgrace In some poore cottage still to hide thy face Do'st love the warmth or do'st affect the cold Gaine something young or beg when thou art old Come learne some wit my care of thee is such That joynes with love which makes me speak so much Feare thou not hell or ever to be cast From heaven why we may repent at last This silly virgin now is in distresse Faine would she speake but words cannot expresse Her troubled minde she slides downe silent teares Her face is wan within she 's full of feares She would deny but feares her sisters blame She would consent but that she feares the shame She viewes the state and has desire to it She now resolves and yet she will not do it She 'd faine be gone but that she knowes not whither She 'l stay then go and yet conclude of neither How is thy comely visage changed quite How is the Rose fell from the Lilly white That were compos'd so lovely in thy face They 're hid with teares and left thee in disgrace Alas thy griefe cannot be well expreft A world of care torments thy tender brest Thou want'st a friend oh that I had been by I 'd have theelive as one day thou would'st dye One graine of grace is better than the world Perfumes thy dust when in thy grave thou' rt hurl'd Where 's now thy courage think but how that gaine That 's got by sin will breed eternall paine Though time be short thou wilt out-live thy pleasure Then all thy gaine will prove but hell-bred treasure Why do'st thou sleepe thou registerst within What art thou birb'd that thou do'st wink at sin Or do'st thou wait till wrath shall cloud the weather For hungry death to sum up all together Yet she resolves to cast those dumps away Though not invited they conclude to stay To vex her more till at the last by sin She strives by force to let ill spirits in Now she 's possest Alas she is ensnar'd Forgets the curse that is in hell prepar'd For desp'rate sinners O! thou foole to sell Thy selfe and make an entrance into hell She 's confident and will no more be crost Her maiden-head is sweetest when 't is lost For gaine she trades she sels she hath such tricks Her maiden-head at least to five or six When she can hide no longer this device Then she grows common at a lower price He leave her here I have no hope to mend her I wish her turne againe or death to end her Now for the whore which was the cause of this She glories in 't there 's nothing done amisse In her conceit her heart is like a rock And she 's as shamelesse as a senslesse stock To this preferment hath she brought ther brother To make
his although there 's not his name But vertue in her beauty he hath knowne He makes all sure and takes her for his owne Then spreads her beauty that the world may see Shee 's lovely in herselfe and all may be Corivals in this match for she will do Favours to men and yet be modest too He is a maker not alone of verse But of the matter too he doth rehearse Much substance in a word he can compose His lofty fancies or in verse or prose But if in verse how smoothly doth it glide Into the heart the memory beside Retaines it best his raptures do translate The mindes of some into a happy state His numbers with his measures do agree The accents meet with such sweet harmony The emphasis is raised with such grace That all concurs to keep both time and place Good language in his lines he doth expresse His couplings joyne with sense he is no lesse Than heire to Parnassus h 'had such a draught At Helicon that he is rightly taught To speake the native tone of all the nine But courts Vrania 'cause she is divine What ere his measures are or short or long Lyricks or Saphicks if he frames his song Iambique like or if Pentameters Or double meeters or Hexameters Or if he pitch upon Heroick straines 'T will speak his praise because his season'd braines Cast out no drosse he 's modest in his line What ere his subject be his worth will shine True profit and delight do meet together In his conceits although the foole findes neither His lines are stor'd with witty usefull pleasure Though idiots sleight wise men will prize his treasure His company is sweet to those that know How to make use on 't but he 'll seldome throw His breath away upon a scornfull asse A brute he came and so he 'll let him passe He takes nor fables nor conceited dreams Nor idle fictions to make up his theames Yet he will use them onely to allude To good or ill to shame the multitude If melancholy then he 's wise and grave Griefe sorrow death are subjects he will have To work upon he gives his words by weight With vaine delights he 's quite out of conceit If he be pleasant all his writings tend To take men with delight he will commend A little good to make 'em love the rest He 's sad'mongst bad men merry with the best He 'll dash an evill out of favour then He 'll let it blood but comfort up the men He slights the world nor will he ever be A favorite to prodigalitie He 's free to all regarding not his store And that 's the reason he is often poore He hates lascivious rimes he 'll not applaud A faire fac'd whore nor yet the common bawd But whip 'em still for he will ever prie In secret places where most dangers lie He 's noble-minded not a sordid else He strives to know and to enjoy himselfe Nor will he flatter great ones for a fee Whose worth lies in their wealth for such as he Are able to discerne nor will he sawne Vpon his patrons laying truth to pawne In every line unlesse in him he finde An honest heart grac'd with a noble minde Not like a temporizer who will hold Pace with his vices onely for his gold Who seribles much and shamefull praise doth gaine T 'had better bin undone for time will staine His name for ever most men do detest All verses for his sake but yet the rest Are ne're the worse for such this time I borrow I have digress'd I le speak of him to morrow But this ingenious Poet doth rehearse Things as they are or should be and his verse Not stuft with clouded words or conjuring straines Nor thunder-claps which might distract the braines Of honest readers but in tearmes most fit T' expresse his matter and to teach them wit He doth refine conceits and raise them higher His musique's next unto the angels quire Nor doth he spin it thred-bare he 'll begin New fancies as he goes the spring within Runs alwayes fresh he doth not trade abroad With borrowed wit nor tread the beaten road His Genius works when other men do sleepe His aimes are heavenly and his judgements deepe He 's humble still you cannot make him know His owne desert he 's not a man for show He doth not search for praise he loaths all such He thinks he 's simple though he knows so much But yet to shew the vilenesse of that brood That doe prefer their humours hate all good Hee 'll baffle such men and he scorns the nest Of venom-coupledsots silence is best To answer such back-biters he will slight Detracting vassals that will vomit spight At what they know not and will look asquint On things of worth what ere has most worth in 't They slubber most with gall in all that 's evill They 'll goe as far and be as like the Devill As all their wit can make them oh but then They 'll fall with shame before the Poets pen. Though they like Xerxes whip the sea and send A challenge to the hils yet in the end The sea 's too strong the mountaines are too high For fooles to clamber so like fooles they die This honest Poet finds among the wise His due respect for they have learn'd to prize Persons and things of worth and still his bent Is how to shame the vile and give content To all the best Come take him as you find him Hee 'll think of you though you doe never mind him Turne all his verse to prose it beares the sense And lustre of a poem and from thence True worth doth spring The Poets first did teach Humanitie to men made up the breach That rudenesse made all usefull Arts were cloath'd VVith Poets wit why should it then be loath'd The learned'st in the languages rehearse Much of the sacred text was writ in verse As some of Moses law the Psalmes the Song Of Solomon the holy peoples wrong Vnder their foes by Ieremy related The booke of Iob and all the songs were stated In measur'd Meeters who would verse disdaine When Poets have such patterns for their straine He that 's Dramatick and doth purge the stage From scurrill drosse and shewes this simple age Their moulded trophies and doth always strive To keep both persons names and things alive His end is good but idiots learne by this How to contrive their ways to do amisse Some there conclude of late I heard one say I must go meet a whore at such a play What pity 't is such time with wit and cost Should be bestow'd and prove but labour lost This was invented chiefly to be us'd By Kings and Nobles not to be abus'd By hackney truls but now I must returne To lay my honest Poet in his urne For having spent his time well now h 'as past His life to death the hungry grave at last Is clos'd upon him there he must abide Vntill his just and
happy cause be try'd His Epitaph YOu sollid stones incite the gentle dust To guard this man of worth that 's buried here He is a jewell left unto your trust 'Till he in glory gloriously appeare Though saucie death hath laid him in this grave His name 's alive and living praise shall have SECT 2. Against lascivious Poets and poetry and of the ill that is occasioned by such meanes THou that art skill'd in poetry and wilt Abuse thy wit thy parts to mixe the guilt And filth of lust together answer here To what I charge thee with let shame and fear Possesse thy heart this first doth breed the odds Thou striv'st to make the names of heathen gods Both famous and immortall alwayes trying To paint them fresh and shew thy art in lying Is 't fit a Christian with his muse his pen Should strive to be an ape to heathen men Art thou so barren of invention made Is wit and fancy low that thou must trade Beyond-sea altogether fictions vaine Must stuffe thy verse and still direct thy straine Their feigned gods are guilty they confesse Of lust and rapes and of all filthinesse Those Poets with rich nature were endu'd Their witty fictions do so much delude Thee with conceit that thou hast nothing new They fram'd false gods and worship'd them as true Poore men they rov'd at randome in the dark Or natures light but never had a spark O' th light above yet better use they made Of that than he who makes his muse turne jade I say not but those fictions may be us'd To set forth Vertue not to be abus'd To trick up Folly vices may be showne In their owne colours and be better kowne If well applyed we may leave the drosse And take the rest then therein's gaine no losse But he that in lascivious straines doth glory And trims the ruines of a bawdy story Doth shame his Muse he strives ev'n to undoe her She proves a bawd his wit 's a pander to her Such poyson'd bayts trick'd up in gawdy rimes Doe cheat the simple and infect the times To sinne 's too much more to continue in 't 'T is worse to die and leave his sinns in print 'T is strange that men who having wit with Art Should be so mad to take the devills part Doth God give men their learning parts and wit To raise them up the devills size to fit Above the rest on such he sets a price That can with skill paint over his device And scribble out a black and hellish rowle 'T is Sathans will it traps the silly soule For any good he is a stranger to it Or plead for truth he hath no heart to doe it If things of worth doe glance but from his pen 'T is but by chance hee 'll wish 'em out agen If he but finde one bred of heavens race He strives his cause or person to disgrace And to discourage all that hold with them VVho tread the way tow'rds new Jerusalem But if a blade comes that 's to vice inclin'd Hee 'll hugg him 'cause he only suits his mind And he that can to his base humours bend Though nere so bad hee 'l choose him for his friend In hindring good preferring that that 's evill Is poetry to recompence the Devill VVill any man esteeme that Poet best VVho in his wanton wit exceeds the rest And smooths a path for whores and does applaud A shamelesse villaine and a rotten bawd His ulcer'd lines not savouring of the salt But rais'd from burning lust or wine or malt Doe vex the wise they only cheere all bad men Make work for Pimps and sport for fooles mad men A Poets pen should ever strike at vice And raise true vertue to a noble price And honour truth dash falshood out of favour Shame foolish Imps and praise a sweet behaviour Or else the Devill may a Poet prove To honour lust and give it termes of love Of him he borrowes what he doth indite He would doe more but that he may not write 'T is like great Pluto hath bespoke his quill If this be honour let him have it still He does bewitch the youth to bend his minde To vaine delights the sting that comes behinde The young man by 't is fondly drawn away The old man sees vice trimm'd then goes astray The modest Maid whose blushing shewes her grace She runs away the whore whose brazen face Is varnisht o're she can abide and cry Here 's wit at will 't is pitie he should die The baud she mouths it sitting on a bench A wittie Spark he loves a prettie wench Her windowes with such pamphlets furnisht be The Fiends they dopromote her bawderie The VVhiskin laughs untill his heart be full For with this bait he lately catcht a Gull VVho spent his time to learn this shamelesse wooing To sell himselfe for fooles must needs be dooing He 's like to thrive his trade comes on apace And all those imps that love the filthy race Like Sappho's birds may chatter out thy praise And sweare thy scull shall weare the wreath of bayes The fowle that 's newly caught will set thee forth And sing a catch oh here 's a man of worth Thy Art doth teach him to fulfill his lust Stirs up the fire then this vile heap of dust Much like an Ape does on the strumpet grin But she so crafty ere he can her win Must pay her well her smiles and curled locks Do draw him on 'till he hath got the pox Then like a woodcock taken in a snare His gold is gone his empty pare growes bare And all his feathers moulted clean away And when the Chirurgeon comes to seek his pay This light-brain'd foole is growne so light in purse Except his rot it is his greatest curse He payes no debts and keeps a hungry table Hee 'd run away but that he is not able His sin that promis'd him such sweet content Now stings his soule the whore when all is spent Forsakes him jearing at his curs'd estate Her love was false but perfect is her hate Then quickly he begins to stinke alive While with his gold the queane doth seeme to thrive He 'll curse the Poet raile against his whore And being growne so miserably poore Disease and want have quencht his lust full flame He dyes dispairing leaves a rotten name The heavens know if ever he repented 'Mongst men below his death is not lamented Excepting those that liv'd upon his losse And 's creditors that had so great a crosse Poore wretched man that hath so short a time He 's like a worme that creeps in dust and slime Yet spends himselfe sinne sucking out his marrow The world thogh wide doth seem for him too narrow His braines are nimble to contrive the ill To please his humours and his headstrong will Those Milldew'd pleasures that delight the sense He entertaines but for his recompence Death joynes with sinne to throw him in his grave Dust bars him up and keeps