Selected quad for the lemma: prince_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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ID |
Title |
Author |
Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
STC |
Words |
Pages |
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A58192
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Folly in print, or, A book of rymes
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Raymond, John, 17th cent.
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1667
(1667)
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Wing R418; ESTC R5763
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40,035
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143
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River-bank seeing her shadow in the water SAy fairest Nymph what wouldst thou see Another world inrich'd by thee Is 't not enough the Gods have giv'n thee more Of awful beauty and of charming grace Then ere was yet in any Face But thou wilt set those Elements at odds First reconciled by the Gods The liquid Nymphs came gliding by To wonder and to deifie Raising their seidgy heads to gaze did bow Since they had never seen amongst the train Of Huntresses the like again Then diving to their watry Caves below Ask'd of their gods what they did know The angry Queen of love did weep To see her Coppy in the deep Mounting her Dove-drawn-chariot hasts on high What Mortal saith she Father hast thou made That Heaven and Earth doth thus invade Since all mankind about where she doth dwell Adotes not us but her poor Cell Then mildly Jove do not despise The likeness of thine own bright eyes Shee worships us and is thy subject sworn For though thy Son could never find a dart To wound her 't is a yielded heart And on that bank she came to shed some tears Of Love and kindness mixt with fears Subscription to a Letter in verse EVil to the Evil thinker And good wine to the fair drinker The merry witty full of glee Are only company for me Where ere I find a narrow friend I leave him to his foolish end On a Scornful and Censorious Lady FIctitious beauties who presume Mens words which vented are as Rheume Are sires and for your sakes consume Know 't is self-love which you deceives And the false Opticks true believes Like Hocus-cheats in their own sleeves When your mock-Majesties we court As boys a ssault a paper for t 'T is not for glory but for sport So when we praise a colour'd face Such an uncomely comely-grace 'T is not for quarry but for chace D' ye think that man created Master Ought not to be his own Taster And call yee-comming to come faster If Soveraign man his vassall pledge Commands to bed to barn or hedge Ye are the blocks but he the wedge Then wretched women know your scorn Is treason 'gainst your Lord first born Ye are but weeds that grow i' th corn And when together ye are bound No other seed from you is found But what we bring to our own ground The Papist cannot take one oath The Puritan will swallow both 'T is drawing of a hollow tooth Which no body can deny The Papists swears he serv'd the King The Puritan sayes the same thing Swears Capons better much then Ling Which no body can deny Some say the Papist had a Plot To burn the Thames Why was it not It was discovered by a Scot Which no body can deny A Song set by Mr. Hill I Am no subject unto Fate That power assum'd I give to you Whither returning love or hate Which falls in storms or gentle dew It is my will which chooseth you Though Tyrant yet if I le obey Obedience is truly due To whom I give my self away I may be born under a throne A slave or Free without my voice But loving as Religion Solely depends on my own choice The worlds dimensions are wide My mind not Heaven can confâ—ne That outside worship is bely'd Which inward bowes to other shrine Force may be called victory Yet only those are overcome Who yield unto an enemy That is their certain fate and doom Thus fetter'd I freely love My choice doth make the conquest thine And 'T will thy power best improve That to thy subject thou incline Who wisely rules deserves command Keep then the loyal next thy heart Elective Monarchs cannot stand Nor love without an equal dart A CATCH To the Tune of New Oysters New Hangmen new Hangmen new Hangmen new Thrice what Puritans come ashore Have you any Hemp at Court Upon Prince Rupert his intended voyage to Guiny GOds Sacrament he comes no neer Might Devil hawl this Cavalier Giv 't here some Brande-wine make hast Let 's skinke apace 't will be our last These sober English shalums fight 'T is sport to them they take delight To see a head shot off and rowl Just as it were to throw a bowl And when the Scuppers run with bloud They cry good cheer for fish i' th floud Hark how the hound-foots shout and cry See their Red crosses topmast high And where that Devil Rupert stands Who those fierce English doggs command See mine Heer 's Howard Stanly Jarmin All to-mall about him swarming Saint George for England now they call H 'as kill'd of us the Devil and all Now they steer close and show a side The gates of Hell are not so wide Then lustick mates another dramm And let the Devil fire his Damme Our bellys full although we sink We shall the less salt water drink Now they spit fire at th' Admiral They board and Ruyter he doth fall And Rupert back to back makes twins Ten thousand Devil break his shins Though Monck did thump us to our shoars He sinks us all like Sonns of Whores These English Carls will sink our state To offer monys now too late Wee 'l make the Prince Van Orange King Coning Van France will no such thing Submit unto our Coning Spain Coning Van England rules the main Then cut our banks and drown our land Such foes such Fates who can withstand For if great York comes out to sea Our skins and countrey he will flea To my Lord Bellasyse then in Tangier I Am not poor though wanting still Our poverty is in our will The earth which of it self brings forth Is grateful though of little worth Nature in me declineth Art Shew me the means I le show my heart John Bellasyse Anagram I Bless an Holy I Bless an Holy ever bless The Holy sheapherd we confess The trine of God in Unity One only Holy Deity The Lord my Lord who rais'd your Fame Conserves his worship in your name To whom so much already 's given The next reserve I hope is Heaven The cross-way is the neerest hence To your Eternal Residence John Bellasyse Anagram His Noble Sayle TRue Anagram His Noble Sayle Fill'd with the blasts of worthy Fame Ore Fortunes worst doth now prevail And swells it to a noble name Through seas of bloud in civill warrs When the ship-Soveraign was lost This noble Sayle with honour'd scarrs Bore up through all though soundly tost In all the storm and darkest night Which sew out-liv'd who did not yield This noble sail appear'd in sight As if it self would keep the field Till the young Admiral was sound With whom the noble sayl did close To repossess and keep that ground Which the Ship-Soveraign did loose Now Europe cannot fill this sayle Those Rebel-winds are weaker-grown In Africa it finds a gale To move against Rebellion This noble sayl let honour steere Till crown'd with victories From hence translated to a sphere Where Honour and reward ne're dies John Bellasyse Anagram Bees is all