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 'T was 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 't is 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 Vpon the Virtue of SACK By Dr. Hen. Edwards 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 infâ—riours be Henceforth I 'll know no Element but thee Thou precious Elixiâ— 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 â—'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 tâ—agen ON A Combat of Cocks the Norfolk and the Wisbish By Mr. Tho. Randolph 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 't were 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
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 't was 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 hâ—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 Fenuâ— that far gottess And twenty other shentle poddies â—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 By Griffin ap Shones ap Morgan ap Owen ap Ryce ap Powell On the Choice of a WIFE Have past my maddest Age Free from Cupid's foolish Rage â—ree from sighings free from tears â—ree from hopes and free from fears And yet I 'le wed if I can see A Mistress that is meet for me â—â—rst I wo'd have her person such â—s deformity cannot touch â—e she black or brown or fair â—f complexion hue or hair 〈◊〉 If my Mistress comely be 〈◊〉 She 'l prove fair enough for me â—urtly carriage in these dayes â— but a suspicious praise â—r my part I care not for 't â—ture is not made at Court Let a grave and vertuous Mother Be my Wifes Court and no other â—ealth I wish she may have more â—en to keep her from being poor â—at she need not love for need â—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 â—o her that 's good a good â—â— to me it is no more â—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 Aâ—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 â—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 â—ind her 's made of VVax not Clay â—hat my love may make her's be â—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 â—lesh of flesh and bone of bone VVe must wed our wills together â—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 â—hey live for they live contented VVhere they differ there they die â—nd their Marriage-knot untie They and none but they are wed Whose hearts lodge both in one Bed â—e that knows to spend or spare â—s times and occasions are â—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 â—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 â—carse a fine bit can scape them some say they are Wenchers It strengthens
â—est therein my credit might happen to fail 〈◊〉 many men now do count it a sin â—ut once to look toward a pot c. I care not a pin for I see no such sin â—or any thing else my courage to quail 〈◊〉 this we do find that take it in kind â—uch vertue there is in a pot c. 〈◊〉 I Mean not to tast though thereby much grac'd â—or the Merry-go-down without pull or hale â—ming the throat when the stomach 's afloat â—ith the Fragrant sweet sent of a pot c. 〈◊〉 yet the delight that comes to the Sight â—o see how it flowers and mantles in grail â—een as a Leeke with a smile in the cheek â—â—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. â—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 â—e gives her the smouch with his hand on his pouch If he meet by the way with a pot c â—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. â—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
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 â—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 heâ—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 â—e dives for Riches down to the bottom And cries my Masters when he hat got um â—et every tub stand upon his own bottom which no body can deny â—n warlike acts he scorns to stoop â—or when his army begins to droop â—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 T was the sight of his Hogs-head made um retreat which no body can deny Poor Jocky and his basket hilt â—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
be deaf to my pitiful moan Then I must endure the smart still And tumble in straw alone Yet still I cry O turn Love And I prethee Love turn to me For thou art the man that alone art The cause of my miserie On a Cold Chyne of BEEF BRing out the Old Chyne the Cold Chyne to me And how I le charge him come and see Brawn tusked Brawn well sowst and fine VVith a precious cup of Muscadine Chorus How shall I sing how shall I look Chorus In honour of the Master-Cook The Pig shall turn round and answer me Canst thou spare me a shoulder a wy a wy The Duck Goose and Capon good fellows all three Shall dance thee an antick so shall the Turkey But O! the cold Chyne the cold Chyne for me Chorus How shall I sing how shall I look Chorus In honour of the Master-Cook VVith brewis I le noynt thee from head toth heel Shall make thee run nimble then the new oyl'd wheel With Pye-crust wee 'l make thee The eighth wise man to be But O! the cold Chyne the cold Chyne for me Chorus How shall I sing how shall I look Chorus In honour of the Master-Cook On a Chine of BEEF A Chine of Beef God save us all Far longer than the Butchers Stall And sturdier than the City wall For this held out untill the foe By dint of Blade and potent blow Fell in Pell-mell that did not so VVith Somachs sharper than their Knives They lay'd about them for their lives VVell East-Cheape men beware your VVives Inraged weapons storm'd it round Each wreaking from an open wound That in its own Gravy it seem'd drown'd Magnanimous Flesh that did not fall At first assault or second mall But a third time defaist them all VVhat strength may fates decrees revoke It was ordain'd this should be broke Alass in time the sturdy Oake VVhat goodly Ruines did appear VVhat Bulwarks Spondals are there here VVhat Palizado Ribs are there The bold monument stearn Death defies Inscribed thus to mirth here lies A Trophey and a Sacrifice Councel to a Batchellor HE that Marries a merry Lass He has most cause to be sad For let her go free in her merry tricks She 'l work his patience mad But he that Marries a Scold a Scold He has most cause to be merry For when she is in her fits he may cherrish his wits With Singing hey down a derry He that Weds a Roring Girle That will both scratch and fight Though he study all day to make her away Will be glad to please her at night But he that Marries a sullen wench Which scarce will speak at all Her doggedness more than a Scold or a Whore Will penetrate his Gall. He that Marries with a Turtle-Dove That has no spleen about her Shall wast so much life in love of his wife He had better be without her Advice to a Friend upon his Marriage TO Friend and to Foe to all that I know That to Marriage Estate do prepare Remember your dayes in several wayes Are troubled with sorrow and care For he that doth look in the Married mans book And read but his Items all over Shall find them to come at length to a sum Which shall empty Purse Pocket and Coffer In the pastimes of love when their labours do prove And the fruit beginneth to kick For this and for that and I know not for what The woman must have or be sick There 's Item set down for a loos-bodyed Gown In her longings you must not deceive her For a Bodkin a Ring or the other fine thing For a Whisk a Scarf or a Beaver Deliver'd and well who is' t cannot tell Thus while the Child lyes at Nipple There 's Item for Wine and Gossips so fine And Sugar to sweeten their Tipple There 's Item I hope for Water and Sope There 's Item for Fire and Candle For better for worse There 's Item for Nurse The Baby to dress and to dandle When swadled in lap There 's Item for Pap And Item for Pot Pan and Ladle A Courel with Bells which custom compels And Item ten Groats for a Cradle With twenty odd knacks which the little one lacks And thus doth thy pleasure bewray thee But this is the sport in Country and Court Then let not these pastimes betray thee The Married mans Diet. Twelve sorts of Meats my Wife provides And bates me not a Dish Of which Four Flesh Four Fruit there are The other Four of Fish For the first Course she serves me in Four Birds that dainties are The First a Quaile the next a Raile A Bittern and a Jar. My Appetite being cloy'd with these With Fish she makes it sharp And brings me next a Lump 2 Pout A Gudgeon 2nd a Carp The Second Course is of Fruit well serv'd Fitting well the Season A Medler and a Hartichoak A Crab and a small Reison What 's he that having such a Wife That on her would not doat Who daily does provide such Fare VVhich costs him ne're a Groat A Song Caelia's Complaint POor Caelia once was very fair A quick bewitching eye she had Most neatly look'd her brayded Hair Her dainty Cheeks would make you mad Upon her Lips did all the Graces play And on her Breast ten thousand Cupids lay Then many a doting Lover came From Seventeen till Twenty one Each told her of his mighty flame But she Forsooth affected none One was not Handsome th' other was not Fine This of Tobacco smelt and that of wine But t'ther day it was my fate To walk along that way alone I saw no Coaob before her Gate But at her Dore I heard her Moan She dropt a Tear and Sighing seem'd to say Young Ladies Marry Marry while you may A Song The Mad Lover HE that will court a wench that is Coy That is Proud that is Peevish and Antick Let him be as careless to sport and to toy And as wilde as she can be frantick Flatter her and slight her Laugh at her and spight her Rayl and commend her again 'T is the way to woe her If you mean to do her Such Girles love such men He that will court a wench that is milde And that is sweet of behaviour Lâ—t him gently woe her And not roughly come to her 'T is the way to win her Favour Give her Kisses plenty She 'l take them were they twenty Stroak her and Kiss her again 'T is the way to woe her If you mean to do her Soft Girles love milde men He that will court a wench that is mad That will squeak and cry out if you hand her Let him frisk and fling and make the house to ring 'T is the only way to command her Take her up and towze her Give her Kisses and rouse her Rayl and commend her again 'T is the way to woe her If you mean to do her Such Girles love wilde men A Song An Old Knight to a Young Ladâ— MAdam your Beauty I confess