to Church and sleep and home again Twice in a Sabbath and to break the rest With tedious repetions and molest The Servants memories with such pitteous stuff As wisemen think once said's more then enough Thus do we spend our time and meet with nothing But what creates our trouble and our loathing Come then away leave Butchers leave thy Lord Our Countrey here shall both or more afford Jack here 's a Lord a Prince nay more a friend He and his bottles make the Vulgar bend And if thou didst believe him or know me I am more Butcher then they two can be If all these things won't make thee come away I am resolv'd to thee-ward if thou 'lt stay Drink till I come that I may find thee mellow 'T is ten to one thou'lt meet or make thy fellow XV. To his Friend I. B. Upon his Tragedy In 1652. THou may'st well wonder and my self should be Dumb if I should be dumb in praising thee Since I 've occasion now to exercise Sublimest thoughts yet not hyperbolize But since we two are Brothers and subscribe Both Voluntiers to the Poetick Tribe I dare not do 't lest any Dulman sayes We by consent do one another praise Yet dare applaud thy work and thee in it So good in language plot and strength of wit That none but thou can equall't Not a line But 's thine ' cause good and good because 't is thine So that my duller sight can hardly see Whether thou mak'st it exc'lent or it thee Let those whose anvil-heads beat all delight Into a toil at every line they write Now vail to thee and fairly yield the bayes Since all their works compar'd with thine are playes So far I like thy worth that I should be Intic'd if possible to flatter thee XVI To a Potting Priest upon a Quarrel In 1643. I Cannot choose but wonder Mr. That we two wisemen had so little wit As without quarrel jealousies or fears Worse then the times we two should go by th' ears I marvel what inspir'd this valour in you Though you were weak you 'd something strong within you 'T was not your learning neither can I think That 't was your valour but John D strong drink Love and good liquor have a strong command T' make cowards fight longer then they can stand I need not ask your reason for 't was gone Nor had you sense enough to feel you 'd none Was it to shew your Mistress you could fight Living i' th woods you 'ld be an Errant Knight That Lady may have cause enough to rue That has no better Champion then you You might have sav'd that labour each man reads You 're a wilde man both in your looks and deeds By th' wonders of your drinking men may see You are a Hero without Chivalry You thought a duel would your Mrs. please But prov'd a Thraso not an Hercules I might have thought my self a Worthy too Because I tam'd a Monster that is you Your Zeal me thought was greatly kindled That went to make a Pulpit of my head Blame me not though I strook for I was vext To be so basely handled like your Text With subtil Sophistry that when you mist In words you would confute me with your fist But such weak Sillogisms from you ran As I could never read in Keckerman That brain-aspiring drink so much did dip us You mistook Aristotle for Aristippus Your head that should be King was now pull'd down While that rebellious Beer usurp'd your crown And your Mechannick heels gaz'd on the stars As if they went to turn Astronsmers Your legs were altogether for commanding And taught your foolish head more understanding Your body so revers'd did represent Being forked our bi-corned Government Your wits were banished and your brains were drown'd While your Calves-head lay center'd to the ground Thus being black without within a beast I took you for a Tinker not a Priest In your next Sermon let your audience hear How you can preach damnation to strong Beer I have return'd your knife at your demand But if I 've put a sword t' a mad mans hand Let me advise you when you fight again Fight with a worse or be a better man XVII To his Friend Mr. W. H. upon the death of his Hawk In 1643. WHat will you suffer thus your Hawk to dye And shan't her name live in an Elegy It shall not be nor shall the people think We 've so few Poets or so little drink And if there be no sober brain to do it I 'll wet my Muse and set my self unto it I have no Gods nor Muse to call upon Sir John's strong barrel is my Helicon From whence uncurbed streams of tears shall flow And verse shall run when I my self can't go Poor bird I pitty this thy strange disaster That thou should'st thus be murther'd by thy master Was it with Salt I 'm sure he was not fresh Or wa' st thy trusting to an arm of flesh Or ' cause 't was darksome did his eye-sight fail Meeting a Post he took it for a Rayle And yet I wonder how he mis'd his sight For though the night was dark his head was light And though he bore thee with a mighty hand Thou needs must fall when he himself can't stand 'T is but our common lot for we do all Sometimes for want of understanding fall But thou art serv'd aright for when th' hadst flown What e're thou took'st thou took'st to be thy own And 't is but Justice that each plundring knave That such a life doth lead such death should have Rejoyce you Partridge and be glad ye Rayles For the Hawks tallons are as short's your tayles If all the Kingdoms bloudy foes as she Would break their necks how joyful should we be Well at her burial thus much I will tell In spite of schism her bells shall ring a knell XVIII To his School-Master Mr. W. H. upon his Poem call'd Conscientiae accusatricis Hypotyposis In 1644. Sir WHen I read your work and thought upon How lively you had made description Of an accusing conscience and did see How well each limn did with th' Archtipe agree I wonder'd how you could lim't out so well Since you b'experience can't it's horrour tell Trust me I 'ld praise it but that I suppose My praise would make it more inglorious In love to th' work and work-man I thought meet To make your verses stand on English feet But whe'r well done or ill I here submit Unto your censure both my self and it I 'm man I 'm young unlearn'd and thereupon I know I cannot boast perfection In fetter'd tasks wherein the fancy's tide Do what one can the lustre won't abide No Ideoms kiss so well but that there is Between some phrases some Antithesis What e'r is good in each unpolish'd line I count as yours the faults alone are mine I wish each foot and line as strong and true As my desire to love and honour you XIX To
think weâ— He that thinks well does do well he that does well muâ—â— drink weâ—â— SONG XXII The safe Estate 1. HOw happy a man is he Whose soul is quiet and free And liveth content with his own That does not desire To swell nor aspire To the Coronet nor to the Crown He doth sit and devise Those Mushromes that rise But disturbs not his sleep At the quoil that they keep Both in Countrey and Town In the plain he sits safe And doth privately laugh At high thoughts that are tumbling down 2. His heart and his head are at rest And he sleeps with a sorrowless breast That aspires not to sit at the helm The desires of his mind To 's his estate are confin'd And he lets not his brains to o'r whelm He 's for innocent sport And keeps off from the Court And if sad thoughts arise He does only devise With Sack to repel ' um Though the times do turn round He doth still keep his ground Both in a Republique and Realm 3. He wears his own head and ears And he tipples in safety with 's peers And harmlesly passeth his time If he meet with a cross A full bowle he doth toss Nor his wealth nor his wit are his crime He doth privately sit With his friend clubbing wit And disburd'ning their breasts Of some innocent jests And not higher doth clime He smiles at the fate Of those Courtiers of State That fall down ' cause their thoughts are sublime 4. But Princes and Nobles are still Not tenants for life but at will And the giddy-brain'd rout is their Lord He that 's crowned to day A Scepter to sway And by all is obey'd and ador'd Both he and his Crown In a trice are thrown down For an Act just and good If mis-understood Or an ill-relish'd word While he that scorns pelf And enjoyes his own self Is secure from the Vote or the Sword SONG XXIII Th' Astrologers That trade in Starrs Tell me I have not long to live Yet do I cry Lo here am I Let fortune still Do what she will I 'll neither care nor grieve 2. Fortune I know Is still my foe And lets me not grow fat nor thrive But I I vow Will never bow Nor doat and be As blind as she But keep my self alive 3. This I do know We all must go Though some go sooner others later But why so fast There 's no such hast Some post are gone We 'l but jog on Bait first and then walk after 4. The clown and 's beast Make hast to rest But Lords and Courtiers sit up longer Before we part Fill t'other quart Wash t'other eye And then we 'l try Whe'r death or man be stronger 5. In th' interim Fill to the brim Travelling will make us weary Since th' journey's great And hurts our feet Bacchus shall be A horse for me He 's strong enough to carry SONG XXIV The Polititian Written in 1649. WHat madness is 't for him that 's wise To be so much self-hating Himself and his to sacrifice By medling still with things too high That don't concern but gratifie His letchery of prating What is 't to us who 's in the ruling power While they protect we 're bound to obey But longer not an hour 2. Nature made all alike at first But men that fram'd this fiddle Of government made best and worst And high and low like various strings Each man his several ditty sings To tune this state down diddle In this grand wheel the world we 're spokes made all But that it may still keep its round Some mount while others fall 3. The blinded Ruler that by night Sits with his host of Bill-men With their chalk'd weapons that affright The wondring clown that haps to view His Worship and his Gowned crew As if they sate to Kill men Speak him but fair he 'l let you freely go And those that on the high rope dance Will do the same trick too 4. I 'll ne'r admire That fatuous fire That is not what it seems For those that now to us seem higher Like painted bubbles blown i' th air By boyes seem glorious and fair 'T is but in boyes esteems Rule of its self 's a toyl and none would bear it But that 'twixt pride and avarice And close revenge they 'l share it 5. Since all the world is but a stage And every man a player They 're fools that lives or states engage Let 's act and juggle as others do Keep what 's our own get others to Play whiffler clown or Maior For he that sticks to what his heart calls just Becomes a sacrifice and prey To the prosperous whirlegigs lust 6. Each wise man first best loves himself Lives close thinks and obeys Makes not his soul a slave to 's pelf Nor idly squanders it away To cram their mawes that taxes lay On what he does or sayes For those grand cords that man to man do twist Now are not honesty and love But self and interest SONG XXV The Prisoners Written when O. C. attempted to be King COme a brimmer my bullies drink whole ones or nothing Now healths have been voted down 'T is Sack that can heat us we care not for cloathing A gallon's as warm as a gown ' Cause the Parliament sees Nor the former nor these Could engage us to drink their health They Vote that we shall Drink no healths at all Nor to King nor to Common-wealth So that now we must venture to drink 'um by stealth 2. But we 've found out a way that 's beyond all their thinking To keep up Good-fellowship still We 'l drink their destruction that would destroy drinking Let 'um Vote that a health if they will Those men that did fight And did pray day and night For the Parliament and its attendant Did make all that bussle The King out to justle And bring in the Independent But now we all clearly see what was the end on 't 3. Now their Idol's thrown down with their sooterkin also About which they did make such a pother And though their contrivance made one K. to fall so We have drunk our selves into another And now my Lads we May still Caveliers be In spite of Committees frown We will drink and we 'l sing And each health to our King Shall be Royally drunk in the Crown Which shall be the Standard in every Town 4. Those politick would-bees do but shew themselves asses That other mens calling invade We only converse with pots and with glasses Let the Rulers alone with their trade The Lyon of the Tower Their estates does devour Without shewing law for 't or reason Into prison we get For the crime called debt Where our bodies and brains we do season And that is ne'r taken for murther or treason 5. Where our ditties still be give 's more drink give 's more drink boyes Let those that are frugal take care Our Goalers and we will live by our chink boyes While our Creditors
do practice it Your subtler sex first ventred on the tree Where knowledg grew and pluck'd the fruit which we Did only tast and that at second hand Yet by that hand and taste we 're all trepâ—n'd And our posterity the doom endures You op'd our eyes as you know who did yours By your command this Song thus rudely pen'd To you I do commit though not commend To shew what duty I 'm arriv'd unto You cannot sooner bid then I can do Nor can your active soul command and sway With more delight and pride then mine obey I will not say this Poem's bad or good 'T is as 't is lik'd and as 't is understood A Poem's life and death dependeth still Not on the Poets wit but Readers will Should it in sence seem rascal low and dull Your eye can make it sprightly plump and full And if it should be lame I hope 't will be ' Cause somewhat like your self more pleasing t' ye If it should trip assist it with your hand You may lend feet for you can make things stand One touch of yours can cure its ev'l and then 'T is made by your fair hand not my blunt pen Useful for love or slighting you 'l it find For love before or for disdain behind Be 't as you please to more it can't aspire 'T is all it can deserve or I desire X. To his Friend C. S. Esquire INspir'd with plum-brâ—th and mine'd pies This Letter comes in humble wise To know how Su. and how you do Or whether you do do or no Whether you Christmas keep or not For here we such a Mayor have got That though our Taverns open stand Church doors are shut by his command He does as good as say we think Leave off this preaching and go drink But this I doubt's no news to you The Countrey 's Atheist part part Jew And care no more for Christ or 's Mass Then he for them So let 'um pass And could the Priests be sure of pay They 'ld down with that and t'other day Yet spite of all our May'r could say We would not fast though could not pray Here 's feasting still throughout the City And drinking much the more 's the pity And that 's the cause why all this time I did not answer your last Rhithme Nor did I know 'T is not my fashion In verse to make a disputation What ever Su. and you have writ Shews both your kindness and your wit But only I desire to know If you 're a Member made or no For here we have a great adoe About our choice whom how and who Elects or is Elected some To be made Members send and come While others of the wiser sort Sit still at home and care not for 't Richard 't is thought has no intent To have an endless Parliament Nor must they share his goods and lands For what he has he 'l keep in 's hands Much is not left to be divided The business has so well been guided Nay he himself I tell no lye Wants money more then you or I No reason therefore can I see Why you should bustle much to be A Senatour unless it were For honour yet that is but air And not the sweet'st or saf'st but still Depends on other peoples will But trust me Charles you have a vain That does more love and honour gain And longer keep 't then all the tricks Of those that study Politicks Protections needless for they say You owe no debts that you can pay To Nature one which during life You cannot pay nor that t' your Wife Yet I would have you come away That though the House don't meet we may When every one gets up and ride 'T is good to be o' th rising side For as i' th Church so 't is i' th State Who 's not Elect is Reprobate XI To C. S. Esquire Justice I 've waited long to find thee here Peep'd into th' house but could not see thee there I went to th' other House but they 're so new They no such name or person ever knew 'T was for this cause my pen has slept so long I hop'd to see thee in that learned throng And did believe some Borough would in pity Have sent thee up to dignifie our City But Corporations do not well discern What 's for their good and they 're too old to learn Had our whole Senate been such men as thou They 'd not been routed but sate still till now But they 'd be medling and to voting fall Against the sword and that out-votes them all Had they observ'd thy Councel they 'd been safe Stick to the strongest side and think and laugh What matter i' st what those in Office say When those that are in power do answer nay A Cutlers shop affords us stronger law Then Cook or Littleton e'r read or saw But be content let them do what they will Be thou a Justice I 'm Atturney still A poor Atturney is a safer thing Now then to be Protector or a King Our noble Sheriff's a dying and I fear Will never feast us more in Taunton-shire Pray tell your lovely Sue I love her still As Well's I dare let her not take it ill I write not to her I 've time enough 't is true But have not wit enough to deal with Sue XII To C. S. Esquire DEar Charles I 'm thus far come to see thy face Thy pretty face but this unhappy place Does not afford it and I 'm told by some That want of Tythes make thee thou can'st not come Why Charles art thou turn'd Priest and at this time When Priests themselves have made their coat a crime And tythes which make men Priests do so decay One other Schism will preach them quite away Thou 'lt ne'r become it well for I do find Wit in a Pulpit is quite out of kind Thou canst not stand long nor talk much and lowd Nor thrash nor couzen the admiring crowd And which is worse though th' hast a face and hand A diamond ring white glove and clean lawn band Able to tempt an Abbess yet I find Thou canst not satisfie the Ladies mind What ere the matter is But thou art wise And do'st best know thine own infirmities Let me advise thee Charles be as thou art A Poet so thou need'st not care a For all the turns of time who ere did know The Muses sequestred or who can shew That ever wit paid taxes or was rated Homer and Virgil ne'r were decimated Ovid indeed was banished but for that Which women say you ne'r were ex'lent at But Charles thou art unjusticed I 'm told By one who though not valiant yet is bold And that thou hast unfortunately met The blinded scourge o' th Western-Bajazet Thrown from the bench like Lucifer and are In a fair way to be brought to the bar I' th interim hang 'twixt both as law doth name us A billa-vera-man or Ignoramus But I can't learn wherefore it is nor how Though
I 've inquir'd of both perhaps nor thou Some say 't is for thy valour which our time In a wise Magistrate accounts a crime If it be true thou hast ill luck in this To have two virtues and both plac'd amiss To thwart each other when thou should'st have been A valiant Captain wisdome was thy sin And so uncaptain'd thee and now the time Calls for thy wisdome valour is thy crime And so unjustic'd thee unlucky wretch Two virtues want'st yet hast too much of each Who ere compos'd thy mind plaid Babel-tricks Brought lime and timber when he should bring bricks But we live in an age so full of lies I dare not trust my ears nor scarce my eyes I hope this is a lye too but if true 'T is an affliction Charles that 's justly due To thy desert Our State holds it unfit One man should be a Justice and a wit Go ask thy Lady if it were ever known A Man should be a Justice and do none Come be advis'd by me set out a book In English too where Justices may look And learn their trade let Presidents of all Warrants and Mittimuses great and small All Ale-heuse Licenses and other things Which to the Justices instruction brings Be there inserted that the age to come The children of such men as can get some May glorifie thy memory and be Thy praises trumpets to posterity As from one Looking-glass thrown on the ground In every piece a perfect face is found So from thy ruines all may plainly see Legions of Justices as wise as thee Now having taken all this pains to see Thy worship and can find nor it nor thee Pray come to T bring thy beloved Sue My Mat. and I will meet with her and you And though my Mat's no Poet you shall see She 'l sit and laugh with or at us that be I 'll make thy Lady merry and laugh until She break that belly which thou canst not fill Mean time pray give her one prolifick kiss Tell her it comes from me and if that miss Give her another and if both won't do Do that with three which can't be done by two If thou com'st not I shall have cause to curse Tythes like the laity and it may be worse My sufferings are more then theirs can be They 'l keep their tythes but tythes keep thee from me But if thou can'st not come be sure to write Don't rob at once my hearing and my sight If thou bring'st not thy body send thy wit For we must laugh with thee or else at it XIII To C. S. Esquire 1. SInce we met last my Brother dear We 've had such alterations here Such turnings in and out That I bâ—ing fat and breathless grown My side I meant to take was gone E'r I could turn about 2. First I was for the King and then He could not please the Parliament men And so they went by th' ears I was with other fools sent out And staid three daies but never fought ' Gainst King or Cavaliers 3. And Brother as I have been told You were for the Parliament of old And made a mighty dust And though perhaps you did not kill You prov'd your self as valiant still As ever they were just 4. You were ingaged in that war When C. R fought against C. R. By a distinction new You alwaies took that side that 's right But when Charles with himself did fight Pray of which side were you 5. Should I that am a man of law Make use of such a subtle claw In London or in Ex'ter And be of both sides as you were People would count me then I fear A Knavish Ambodexter 6. But since all sides so tottering be It puzzles wiser men then me Who would noâ— have it utter'd What side to take they cannot tell And I believe they know not well Which side their bread is butter'd 7. Here 's fore-side and here 's back-side too And two left sides for ought I know I can find ne'r a right I 've been for th' middle twenty years And will be still for there appears Most Safety and delight 8. But if the times think that too high By creeping lower I 'll comply And with their humour jump If love at th'belly may not enter In an Italian way I 'll venter To love the very Rump 9. So here 's t'you Charles a Rubber's too 't Here 's a Cast more if that won't do 't Here 's half a dozen more and To every feather here 's a glass Nay rather then I 'll let it pass Here 's a years healths before hand 10. If loving it and drinking to 't And making others drink to boot Don't shew my good affection I 'll sit down disaffected still And let them all do what they will Until our next Election 11. But I 'm concern'd me thinks to find Our Grandees turn with every wind Yet keep like Corks above They lived and dyed but two years since With Oliver their pious Prince Whom they did fear and love 12. As soon as Richard did but raign They liv'd and dy'd with him again And swore to serve him ever But when Sir Arthur came with 's men They liv'd and dy'd with him agen As if Dick had been never 13. And when Prince Lambert turn'd them out They liv'd and dy'd another bout and vilifi'd the Rump And now for them they live and dye But for the Devil by and by If he be turn'd up trump 14. Yet still they order us and ours And will be called Higher Powers But I will tell you what Either these slaves forswear and lye Or if they did so often dye They 've more lives then a Cat. 15. Let the times run and let men turn This is too wise an age to burn We 'l in our Judgment hover Till 't is agreed what we must be In the interim take this from me I 'm thy eternal Lover XIV To his Friend W. C. DEar Brother Will. thy dearer John and I Now happy in each others company Send thee this greeting and do wish that we By thy addition may be made up three Two make no sport they can but sit and sip Here 's t'you and you's no good fellowship We 're Melancholy ' cause we drink alone For John and I together spell but one Three is the perfect number that is able To difference a solitude from a rabble Here if we mix with company 't is such As can say nothing though they talk too much Here we learn Georgicks here the Bucolicks Which building 's cheapest timber stone or bricks Here 's Adams natural Sons all made of Earth Earth's their Religion their discourse their mirth But on the Sunday thou 'ldst admire to see How dirt is mingled with Divinity Such disputations writing singing praying So little doing good and so much saying It tires us weak lung'd Christians and I think So much the more ' cause there 's so little drink And that so bad that we with them are faign To go
tender years Without a tongue or wit but sighs and tears And Yet I come to offer what is mine An immolation to his honour'd shrine And retribute what he confer'd on me Either to 's person or his memory Rest pious soul and let that happy grave That is intrusted with thy Relicks have This just inscription That it holds the dust Of one that was Wise Learned Pious Just LX. An Epitaph IF beauty birth or friends or virtue cou'd Preserve from putrefaction flesh and bloud This Lady had still liv'd and had all those And all that Nature Art or Grace bestowes But death regards not bad or good All that 's mortal is his food Only here our comfort lyes Though death does all sorts confound Her better part surmounts the skies While her Body sleeps i' th ground Her soul returns to God from whom it came And her great virtues do embalm her name LXI An Epitaph upon Mrs. G. WHo ever knows or hears whose sacred bones Rest here within these monumental stones How â—ear a mother and how sweet a wife If he has bowels cannot for his life But on her ashes must some tears distill For if men will not weep this marble will EPIGRAMS Translated I. On Rome TRav'ller thou look'st for old Rome in the new And yet in Rome thou nought of Rome canst view Behold the frame of walls dis-joynted stone And the vast Theatre that 's overthrown Lo here 's Romes carkass still thou may'st behold How the new Rome is threatned by the old Learn hence the power of fate fix'd things decay But that that 's alwaies toss'd mov'd does stay II. On a Quarreller A Humorous fellow in a Tavern late Being drunk and valiant gets a broken pate The Surgeon with his instruments and skill Searcheâ— his skull deeper and deeper still To feel his brains and tries if those were sound And as he keeps â—dâ— about the wound The fellow cryes Good Surgeon spare the pains When I began this brawl I had no brains III. On a Lover WHat various griefs within my breast do grow I burn yet from my flames my tears do flow I 'm Nile and Aetna both together grown For the same grief does both enflame and drown O let my tears make my strong flames expire Or let my tears be drunk up by my fire IV. On Gold IN vain was Danae clos'd in brazen Tower No brazen fort keeps out a golden showre V. To a Friend THou sent'st me Wine I 'd too much Wine before Send thirst if thou would'st send to pleaâ—â— me more VI. On Alexander GRreat Alexander thought the World too smal Which he with 's warlike hand subdu'd and beat But did not he himself most little call He in a little World could not be great VII On a Bankrupt A Bankrupt heard a Thief enter by stealth His house by night and search about for 's wealth In vain quoth he thou look'st for goods by night For I my self can see none when 't is light VIII On a Priest and a Thief A Priest did with a thief together come To th' place where he was to receive his doom Said be not sad do but believe and thou Shalt be a guest to feast with Angels now He sigh'd and said if you 'll true comfort shew Go then and take my place I 'll stay below No quoth the Priest this day I keep a fast And cannot eat until this day be past IX On Love and Death LOve once and Death chang'd weapons Death took Loves fiery dart while Cupid got Death's hook Love at the body Death at th' mind lets fly This makes old men to love and young men dye X. On Women WOmen are pleasant evils and they have Two proper seasons when in bed or grave XI On the Wolf Sentenc'd THe Countrey people once a Wolf did take That of their Sheep Lambs did havock make Some voted that he should be crucifi'd Others would have him in the fire be fry'd Some to be hew'd in pieces with a sword And to be thrown to dogs to be devour'd Among the rest one whom unlucky fate Had doom'd to th' troubles of a married State The common lot of men oh Friends sayes he Lay by your forks and ropes that knotty be The sword the fire the guns the cross the whipâ— Are but slight tortures I have one out-strips All those if you would punish him to th' life Fit for his crimes then let him wed a wife XII On one more learned then others THou mak'st thy self more learned then thy betterâ— And brag'st thou know'st Greek Hebrew Latine letters Thou hast them in thy fore-head and thy hand As if th' hadst all the tongues at thy command For the executioner has made thee more Letter'd by far then thou wert e'r before XIII On Galla. BLame not fair Galla that she 'ld married be Though she be fair to one that could not see For in that thing in which she took delight And which he lov'd there is no need of sight XIV On one Lowsie and Poor A Lowsie fellow once was ask'd how he Having so many cattel poor could be He answered hence proceeds my poverty Though I 'ld sell all for nought yet none would buy XV. A happy Death LEarn to live well if thou 'ldst dye happily And that thou may'st live happy learn to dye XVI On Nero. WHen bloudy Nero his own mother slew He did not hurt her face or eyes 't is true But ripp'd her bowels up 't was justly done They'd guilt enough in breeding such a Son XVII On Love LOve is a Merchandize and Venus drove The first Monopoly Rich only Love What cannot fortune hire alas for gold When Gods themselves for this are bought and sold XVIII Rules of Drinking IF the Philosopher sayes true the first Draught ' is refeshment unto them that thirst The second mirth and wit doth still afford But perfect drunkenness issues from the third If to these rigid rules you 'l me confine Hence glasses I 'll in flagons drink my Wine XIX A vain Beastor THou need'st not boast cause thou afore does go If that be honour my dog does so too XX. To Momus THou call'st me begger Momus and dost tell I must not triumph so nor so much swell Because I have but little and yet that Is not my own but other Mens Estate Why shouldst thou thus upbraid me with my want Must I be blam'd because my fortunes scant I 'm honest still thou liv'st by theft alone Between us two the difference is none For both of us on others bread do dine Only thou steal'st thy meat I beg for mine XXI On Phillis Tears WHen Phillis comes t' her husbands grave she brings No garlands nor with Odorif'rous things Sprinkles the ground only her tears doth shed Upon the grave wherein her joy was laid The flowers do straight spring up as if she had power To ripen with her eyes and moysten with her showre XXII On a proud Foolâ— THou call'st me ignorant 't
Johnsons sociable rules for the Apollo LEt none but Guests or Clubbers hither come Let Dunces Fools sad sor did men keep home Let learned civil merry men b'invited And modest too nor the choice Ladies sleighted Let nothing in the treat offend the Guests More for delight then cost prepare the feasts The Cook and Purvey'r must our palats know And none contend who shall sit high or low Our waiters must quick-sighted be and dumb And let the drawers quickly hear and come Let not our wine be mixt but brisk and neat Or else the dinkers may the Vintners beat And let our only emulation be Not drinking much but talking wittily Let it be voted lawful to stir up Each other with a moderate chirping cup Let none of us be mute or talk too much On serious things or sacred let 's not touch With sated heads and bellies Neither may Fidlers unask'd obtrude themselves to play With laughing leaping dancing jests and songs And what ere else to grateful mirth belongs Let 's celebrate our feasts And let us see That all our jests without reflection be Insipid Poems let no man rehearse Nor any be compell'd to write a verse All noise of vain disputes must be for born And let the lover in a corner mourn To fight and brawl like Hectors let none dare Glasses or windows break or hangings tare Who ere shall publish what 's here done or said From our Society must be banished Let none by drinking do or suffer harm And while we stay let us be alwaies warm LIV. Cromwell's Panegyrick upon his riding in triumph over the baffled City of L. SHall Presbyterian bells ring Cromwel's praise While we stand still and do no Trophies raise Unto his lasting name Then may we be Hung up like bells for our malignity Well may his Nose that is dominical Take pepper in 't to see no Pen at all Stir to applaud his merits who hath lent Such valour to erect a monument of lasting praise whose name shall never dye While England has a Church or Monarchy He whom the laurell'd Army home did bring Riding Triumphant o'r his conquer'd King He is the Generals Cypher now and when He 's joyn'd to him he makes that one a Ten. The Kingdomes Saint England no more shall stir To cry St. Geooge but now St. Oliver He 's the Realms Ensign and who goes to wring His Nose is forc'd to cry God save the King He that can rout an Army with his name And take a City ere he views the same His Souldiers may want bread but ne'r shall fear While he 's their General the want of Beer No Wonder they wore Bayes his Brewing-fat Helicon-like makes Poets Laureat When Brains in those Castalian liquors swim We sing no Heathenisâ— Pean but an Hymn And that by th' Spirit too for who can chuse But sing Hosanna to his King of Jews Tremble you Scottish zealots you that han't Freed any Conscience from your Covenant That for those bald Appellatives of Cause Religion and the Fundamental Laws Have pull'd the old Episcopacy down And as the Miter so you 'll serve the Crown You that have made the Cap to th' Bonnet vail And make the Head a servant to the Tail And you curst spawn of Publicans that sit In every County as a plague to it That with your Yeomen Sequestrating Knaves Have made whole Counties beggarly and slaves You Synod that have sate so long to know Whether we must believe in God or no You that have torn the Church and sate t' impaire The Ten Commandements the Creed the Prayer And made your honours pull down heavens glory While you set up that Calf your Directory We shall no wicked Jews-ear'd Elders want This Army 's made of Churches Militant These are new Tribes of Levi for they be Clergy yet of no University Pull down your Crests for every bird shall gather From your usurping backs a stolen feather Your Great Lay-Levite P. whose Margent tires The patient Reader while he blots whole quires Nay reams with Treason and with Nonsence too To justifie what e'r you say or do Whose circumcised ears are hardly grown Ripe for another Persecution He must to Scotland for another pair For he will lose these if he tarry here Burges that Reverend Presby-dean of Pauls Must with his Poundage leave his Cure of Souls And into Scotland trot that he may pick Out of the Kirk and nick-nam'd Bishoprick And Will the Conquerour in a Scottish dance Must lead his running Army into France And that still-gaping Tophet Goldsmiths-Hall With all its Furies shall to ruine fall We 'll be no more gull'd by that Popish story But shall reach heav'n without that Purgatory What honour does he merit what renown By whom all these oppressions are pull'd down And such a Government is like to be In Church and State as eye did never see Magicians think he 'll set up Common-Prayer Looking in 's face they find the Rubrick there His Name shall never dye by fire nor floud But in Church-windows stand where pictures stood And if his soul loathing that house of clay Shall to another Kingdome march away Under some Barns-floor his bones shall lye Who Churches did and Monuments defie Where the rude Thrasher with much knocking on Shall wake him at the Resurrection And on his Grave since there must be no Stone Shall stand this Epitaph That he has none LV. A Record in Rhythme Being an Essay towards the Reformation of the Law offer'd to the Consideration of the Committee appointed for that purpose Written by some men of Law at a time when they had little else to do By A. B. London ss BE it remembred now that formerly To wit last Term o' th' holy Trinity Before the Keepers of the liberty Of England by the full authority Of the long Parliament at Westminster Priscilla Morecrave widow came by her Atturney M. B. and prefers I' th Court of Upper Bench a bill of hers Against one Roger Pricklove who doth lye A prisoner in the Marshalls Custody Et caetera and 't is upon a plea Of trespass on the Case Pledges there be To prosecute the suite to wit John Doe And Richard Roe And the said bill also Doth follow in these very words to wit In legal manner London Scilicet Declaration By M. B. Priscilla Morecrave Widow doth complain Of Roger Pricklove who doth now remain Prisoner to th' Marshal of the Marshalsie Of the said Keepers of the Liberty Of England by authority and power Of Parliament i' th' Bench superiour Before the same Keepers themselves that be For that to wit whereas the aforesaid she Priscilla Morecrave is a person just Honest and faithful one that never durst Give the least cause for to be thought unchast But hath liv'd ever modest and was grac't With godly education and demurely Behav'd her self and all her life most purely Hath with the zealous and precise consorted And free from all uncleanness was reported Who never was amongst the