was made an universall Saviour and his particular Gospel the Catholick Religion though that Jesus and this Gospel did both take their rise from the holy City yet now no City is more unholy and infidel then that insomuch that there is at this day scarce any thing to be heard of a Christ at Jerusalem more then that such a one was sometimes there nor any thing to be seen of his Gospel more then a Sepulcher just so it is here with us where though both Religion and Learning do owe their growth as well as birth to those Nurseryes of both the Vniversityes yet since the Siens of those Nurseryes have been transplanted there 's little remaines in them now if they are not belyed either of the old Religion and Divinity more then its empty Chair Pulpit or of the antient Learning Arts except bare Schools and their gilded Superscriptions so far have we beggard our selves to enrich the whole world And thus Ingenuous Sir have I given you the State and Condition of this Poetick Miscellany as also of the Authors it being no more then some few Slips of the best Florists made up into a slender Garland to crown them in their Pilgrimage and refresh thee in thine if yet their very Pilgrimage be not its selfe a Crown equall to that of Confessors and their Academicall Dissolution a Resurrection to the greatest temporall glory when they shall be approved of by men and Angels for a chosen Generation a Royal Priesthood a peculiar People In the interim let this comfort be held out to you our secluded University-members by him that is none and therefore what hath been here spoken must not be interpreted as out of passion to my self but nicer zeal to my Mother that according to the generally received Principles and Axioms of Policy and the soundest Judgment of the most prudential States-men upon those Principles the daie of your sad Ostracisme is expiring and at an end but yet such an end as some of you will not embrace when it shall be offered but will chuse rather to continue Peripateticks through the whole world then to return and be so in your own Colledges For as that great Councell of Trent had a Form and Conclusion altogether contrary to the expectation and desires of them that procured it so our great Councels of England our late Parliaments will have such a result and Catastrophe as shall no ways answer the Fasts and Prayers the Humiliations and Thanks givings of their Plotters and Contrivers such a result I say that will strike a palsie through Mr. Pims ashes make his cold Marble sweat and put all those several Partyes and Actors that have as yet appeard upon our tragical bloudy Stage to an amazed stand and gaze when they shall confess themselves but too late to be those improvident axes and hammers in the hand of a subtle Workman whereby he was enabled to beat down and square out our Church and State into a Conformity with his own And then it will appeare that the great Worke and the holy Cause and the naked Arme so much talked of for these fifteen years were but the work and the cause and the arme of that Hand which hath all this while reached us over the Alpes dividing and composing winding us up and letting us down untill our very discords have set and tuned us to such notes both in our Ecclesiastical and Civill Government as may soonest conduce to that most necessary Catholick Vnison and Harmony which is an essential part of Christs Church here upon Earth and the very Church its selfe in Heaven And thus far Ingenuous Reader suffer him to be a Poet in his Prediction though not in his Verse who desires to be known so far to thee as that he is a friend to persecuted Truth and Peace and thy most affectionate Christian Servant Ab Wright Vniversity-Poems The Temper UPON Dr. JUXON Bishop of LONDON Great Sir ANd now more great then when you were o th' Cabinet to your King and Treasurer For then your acts were lock't from common view Your life as Counsell being all Closet too But now that Cabinet 's opened you doe passe To th' world for the chiefe Jewel of the case Each vertue shines a several glorious spark Which then were but one Diamond in the dark The Exchequer speaks your faith this you to be As true to the Counsell-board as Treasury Which care o th' civill good when they shall view The houses will repeal their act for you And in their graver policy debate The cloak lesse fit for the Church then th' gown for th' State Next to your place your low mind did accord So well you seem'd a Bishop and no Lord A Bishop such as even the Scots to make You theirs would arme and a new Covenant take Disband the Presbitery and henceforth Install you their sole Patriarch of the North Such power hath your soft Rhetorick such awe Your nod and even your silence is a law While others are not heard through their own noyse And by their speaking much have lost their voyce Thus those o th' starry Senate of the night Which slowest tread their Orbs shine till most bright And dart the strongest influx so conceal The flints cold veins a fire such is the zeal Of recluse Votaries piercing the aire And yet not heard and such the Anchorites prayer Not like our modern Zelots whose bare name In Greek and Welch joyns language for a flame Gun-powder souls whose Pulpit thoughts create A calenture and feaver in the State Whose plots and discipline are all fire and shine As hot as if contrived under the line Your tempers cool and Northern calculate For the Miridian of this clime and State And may be fitly stil'd the Courts pole-star Or honours best morall Philosopher So just your Sovereigne's t is a hard thing To say which was the Bishop which the King This Temper took our State by whom we see The order question'd yet the Bishop free So that of all their Acts this one 's most rare A Church-man scape and a Lord Treasurer A Poem Indefence of the decent Ornaments of Christ-Church Oxon occasioned by a Banbury brother who called them Idolatries YOu that prophane our windows with a tongue Set like some clock on purpose to go wrong Who when you were at Service sigh'd because You heard the Organs musick not the Dawes Pittying our solemn state shaking the head To see no ruines from the flore to the lead To whose pure nose our Cedar gave offence Crying it smelt of Papists frankincense Who walking on our Marbles scoffing said Whose bodies are under these Tombstones laid Counting our Tapers works of darknesse and Choosing to see Priests in blew-aprons stand Rather then in rich Coapes which shew the art Of Sisera's prey Imbrodred in each part Then when you saw the Altars Bason said Why 's not the Ewer on the Cubboards head Thinking our very Bibles too prophane Cause you nere bought such
next Bring better notes or chuse a fitter text On a Lady that dyed of the small pox O Thou deformed unwomanlike desease That plowest up flesh and blood and sowest there pease And leav'st such prints on beauty if thou come As clouted shoon doe in a floare of loame Thou that of faces honicombs dost make And of two breasts two cullinders forsake Thy deadly trade thou now art rich give ore And let our curses call thee forth no more Or if thou needs wilt magnifie thy power Goe where thou art invoked every hour Amongst the gamesters where they name thee thick At the last man or the last pocky nick Thou who hast such superfluous store of gaine Why strikst thou one whose ruine is thy shame O thou hast murdred where thou shouldst have kist And where thy shaft was needful there thou mist Thou shouldst have chosen out some homely face Where thy ill-favourd kindness might add grace That men might say how beautious once was she And what a curious piece was mard by thee Thou shouldst have wrought on some such Lady-mould That never loved her Lord nor ever could Untill she were deformed thy tyranny Were then within the rules of charity But upon one whose beauty was above All sorts of art whose love was more then love On her to fix thy ugly counterfeit Was to erect a Piramid of jet And put out fire to dig a turfe from Hell And place it where a gentle soule should dwell A soule which in the body would not stay When t was no more a body nor pure clay But a huge ulcer o thou heavenly race Thou soule that shunst the infection of thy case Thy house thy prison pure soule spotless faire Rest where no heat no cold no compounds are Rest in that country and enjoy that ease Which thy fraile flesh denied and thy disease Vpon the Kings Returne to the City of London when he came last thether from Scotland and was entertained there by the Lord Mayor SIng and be merry King Charles is come back Le ts drink round his health with Claret Sack The Scots are all quiet each man with his pack May cry now securely come see what you lack Sing and be merry boyes sing and be merry London's a fine Town so is London-Derry Great preparation in London is made To bid the King welcome each man gives his aide With thanksgiving cloths themselves they arrayd I should have said holy-day but I was afraid Sing c. They stood in a row for a congratulation Like a company of wild-geese in the old fashion Railes in the Church are abomination But Railes in the street are no innovation Sing c. My Lord Mayor himselfe on cock-horse did ride Not like a young Gallant with a sword by his side T was carried before him but there was espied The crosse-bar in the hilt by a Puritan eyed Sing c. Two dozen of Aldermen ride two by two Their Gowns were all scarlet but their noses were blew The Recorder made a speech if report it be true He promis'd more for them then ere they will do Sing c. They should be good subjects to the King and the State The Church they would love no Prelates would hate But methinks it was an ominous fate They brought not the King thorow Bishops-gate Sing c. The Citizens rod in their Golden Chaines Fetch'd from St. Martyns no region of Spaines It seems they were trobl'd with Gundamors pains Some held by their pummels and some by their manes Sing c. In Jackets of Velvet without Gown or Cloak Their faces were wainscot their harts were of oke No Trainbands were seen no drums beat a stroke Because City Captains of late have been broke Sing c. The King Queen and Prince the Palsgrave of Rhine With two branches more of the royal vine Rod to the Guild-Hall where they were to dine There could be no lack where the Conduits run wine Sing c. Nine hundred dishes in the bill of fare For the King and Nobles prepared there were There could be no lesse a man might well swear By the widgeons and woodcocks and geese that were there Sing c. Though the dinner were long yet the grace was but short It was said in the fashion of the English Court But one passage more I have to report Small thanks for my paines I look to have for t Sing c. Down went my Lord Mayor as low as his knee Then up went the white of an Aldermans eye We thought the Bishops grace enlarged should be Not the Arch-Bishops no such meanign had he Sing c. When 's Lordship kneeld down we lookd he should pray So he did heartily but in his own way The cup was his book the collect for the day Was a health to King Charles all out he did say Sing c. The forme of prayer my Lord did begin The rest of the Aldermen quickly were in One Warner they had of the greatnesse of the sin Without dispensation from Burton or Prin. Sing c. Before they had done it grew towards night I forget my Lord Mayor was made a Knight The Recorder too with another wight Whom I cannot relate for the torches are light Sing c. Up and away by St. Pauls they passe When a prickear'd brayd like a Puritan ass Some thought he had been scar'd with the painted glasse He swore not but cry'd high Popery by th' masse Sing c. The Quire with Musick on a Scaffold they see In Surplices all their Tapers burnt by An Anthem they sung most melodiously If this were Popery I confesse it was high Sing c. From thence to White Hall there was made no stay Where the King gave them thanks for their love that day Nothing was wanting if I could but say The House of Commons had met him half way Sing c. Vpon the Kings-Book bound up in a Cover coloured with His Blood LEt abler pens commend these leaves whose fame Spreads through all languages through time whose name Nor can those Tongues add glory to this book So great as they from the translation took Shine then rare piece in thine own Charls his ray Yet suffer me thy covering to display And tell the world that this plain sanguine vail A beauty far more glorious doth conceal Then masks of Ladies and although thou be A Book where every leafe's a Library Fil'd with choise Gems of th' Arts Law Gospel The chiefest Jewel is the Cabinet A shrine much holier then the Saint you may yet To this as harmelesse adoration pay As those that kneel to Martyrs tombs for know This sacred blood doth Rome a Relique show Richer then all her shrines and then all those More hallowed far far more miraculous Thus cloth'd go forth bless'd Book and yield to none But to the Gospel and Christs blood alone Thy Garments now like his so just the same As he from Bozra and the wine-presse came Both purpled with like
Quadrangle of St. Johns Colledge in Oxford built by the most Reverend Father in God the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury T Is done and now wheres he that cryed it down For the long tedious businesse of the Town Let him but see it thus and hee l contend How we could such a Quadrat so soon end Nay think 't was time little enough to frame The exact modell onely of the same T is finish'd then and so there 's not the eye Can blame it that 's best skilld in Symmetry You 'd think each stone were rais'd by Orpheus art There 's such sweet harmony in every part Thus they are one yet if you please to pry But farther in the quaint variety Of the choise workmen there will seem to be A disagreeing uniformity Here Angels stars there vertues arts are seen And in whom all these meet the King and Queen Next view the smoothfaced columns and each one Looks like a pile of well joynd Punice-stone Nor wonder for as smooth as cleare they are As is your Mistresse glasse or what shines there So that you 'd think at first sight at a blush The massy sollid earth Diaphanous But these are common would you see that thing In which our King delights which in our King Look up and then with reverence cast your eye Upon our Maryes comely Majesty T is she and yet had you her self ere seen You d swear but for the crown 't were not the Queen Nor i st the workmans fault for what can be I would faine know like to a Deity Unlesse her Charles yet hath his statue proved So like himselfe you 'd think it spoke and mov'd But that you plainely see t is brasse nay were The Guard but near they 'd cry the King be bare Rare forme and as rare matter that can give Oâ—r Charles after his reigne ages to live Not like your graver Citizens wise cost Who think they have King enough on a sign-post Where he may stand for all I see unknown But for the loving superscription No here he reigns in state to every eye So like himselfe in compleat Majesty That men shall cry viewing his limbs and face All fresh three ages hence long live his Grace Blest be that subject then which did foresee The Kings though he 's as God mortality And through a Princely care hath found the way To reinthrone his dust and crown his clay That so what strange events soere may fall Through peace or war antimonarchical Though these three Kingdoms should becom one flame And that consume us with our King and his name Yet here our gracious Charles whenever lent To his much honourd Marble and there spent To a dust's atome being then scarce a thing May still reigne on and long survive a King Fortunes Legacy BLind fortune if thou wants a guide I le shew thee how thou shalt divide Distribute unto each his due Justice is blind and so are you Toth' Userer this doom impart May Scriveners break and then his heart His debters all to beggery call Or what 's as bad turne Courtiers all Unto the tradesmen that sell dear A long Vacation all the year Revenge us too for their deceits By sending wives light as their weights But fortune how wilt recompence The Frenchmens daily insolence That they may know no greater paine May they returne to France againe To lovers that will not believe Their sweet mistakes thy blindnesse give And least the Players should grow poor Give them Aglaura's more and more To Phisitians if thou please Give them another new disease To Schollers give if thou canst doe 't A Benefice without a suit To court Lords grant monopolies And to their wives communities So fortune thou shalt please them all When Lords doe rise and Ladies fall Give to the Lawers I beseech As much for silence as for speech Give Ladies Ushers strength of back And unto me a cup of Sack Vpon a Gentlewomans entertainment of him WHether sweet Mistresse I should most Commend your Musick or your cost Your well spread table or the choise Banquet of your hand and voyce There 's none will doubt For can there be Twixt earth and Heaven analogy Or shall a trencher or dish stand In competition with your hand Your hand that turns men all to eare Your hand whose every joynts a sphear For certainly he that shall see The swiftnesse of your harmony Will streightwayes in amazement prove The spheares to you but slowly move And in that thought confesse that thus The Heavens are come down to us As he may well when he shall hear Such Aires as may be sung even there Your sacred Anthems strains that may Grace the eternall Quire to play And certainly they were prepar'd By Angells onely to be heard Then happy I that was so blest To be yours and your Musicks quest For which I de change all other chear Thinking the best though given to dear For yours are delicates that fill And filling leave us empty still Sweetmeats that surfet to delight Whose fullnesse is meere appetite Then farewell all our heavenly fare Those singing dainties of the aire For you to me doe seem as good As all the consorts of the wood And might I but enjoy my choice My Quire should be your onely voyce To a black Gentlewoman Mistresse A. H. GRieve not faire maid cause you are black so 's she That 's spouse to him who died upon the tree And so is every thing For to your thought If you but wink the worlds as dark as nought Or doe but look abroad and you shall meet In every hallowed Church in every street The fairest still in this who think they lack Of their perfections if not all in black Their gowns their veiles are so nay more their necks Their very beauties are foild off with specks Of the dark colour Whilst thus to her mate Each seems more faire Now they but personate What you are really Your fairest haire Shadows the Picture of your face more faire Your two black sphears are like two Globes beset With Ebony or ring'd about with Jet O how I now desire ene to depart From all the rest and study the Black art But since that 's not alowed me I will see How I may truely fairest study thee To the Memory of BEN JOHNSON AS when the vestall hearth went out no fire Lesse holy then the flame that did expire Could kindle it againe so at thy fall Our wit great Ben is too Apocriphall To celebrate the losse since t is too much To write thy Epitaph and not be such What thou wert like the hard Oracles of old Without an extasie cannot be told We must be ravisht first thou must infuse Thy selfe into us both the theam and muse Else though we all conspir'd to make thy herse Our work so that it had been but one great verse Though the Priest had translated for that time The Liturgy and buried thee in rime So that in meeter we had heard it
said Poetique dust is to Poetique laid And though that dust being Shakespears thou mighst have Not his room but the Poet for thy grave So that as thou didst Prince of numbers dye And live so now thou mighst in numbers lye T were fraile solemnity Verses on thee And not like thine would but kind libels be And we not speaking thy whole worth should raise Worse blots then they that envied thy praise Indeed thou needst not us since above all Invention thou wert thine own funerall Hereafter when time hath fed on thy Tomb The inscription worne out and the marble dumb So that 't would pose a Crittick to restore Halfe words and words expir'd so long before When thy maim'd statue hath a sentencd face And looks that are the horrour of the place That t will be learning and antiquity To ask a Selden to say this was thee Thou 'lt have a whole name still nor needst thou fear That will be ruind or loose nose or hair Let others write so thin that they can't be Authors till rotten no posterity Can add to thy works th' had their whole growth then When first borne and came aged from the pen Whilst living thou enjoyest the fame and sence And all that time gives but the reverence When tha 'rt of Homers years no man will say Thy Poems are lesse worthy but more gray T is bastard Poetry and of the false blood Which can't withot succession be good Things that will always last doe thus agree With things Eternall they at once perfect be Scorne then their censure who gave out thy wit As long about a Comedy did sit As Elephants bring forth and that thy blots And mendings took moretime then Fortune plots That such thy drought was and so great thy thirst That all thy Plays were drawn at the Mermaid first That the Kings yearly Butt wrote and his wine Had more right then thou to thy Cateline Let such men keep a diet let their wit Be rackt and while they write suffer a fit When they have felt tortures which outpaine the gouut Such as with lesse the State draws Treason out Though they should the length of consumption lie Sick of their Verse and of their Poem die T would not be thy worst Scene but would at last Confirme their boastings and shew 't made in hast He that writes well writes quick since the rules true Nothing is slowly done that 's always new So when thy Fox had ten times Acted been Each day was first but that t was cheaper seen And so thy Alchymist Played ore and ore Was new o th' stage when t was not at the door We like the Actors did repeat the pit The first time saw the next conceived thy wit Which was cast in those forms such rules such arts That but to some not halfe thy Acts were parts Since of some silken judgements we may say They fild a box two houres but saw no Play So that the unlearned lost their mony and Schollers saved onely that could understand Thy Scene was free from monsters no hard plot Calld down a God t' untie the unlikely knot The stage was still a stage two entrances Were not two parts of the world disjoynd by Seas Thine were land Tragedies no Prince was found To swim a whole Scene out then oth'stage drownd Pitcht fields and Red-Bul wars still felt thy doom Thou laidst no sieges to the Musick Room Nor wouldst alow to thy best Comedies Humors that should above the people rise Yet was thy language and thy stile so high Thy Sock to the ancle Buskin reachd toth' thigh And both so chast so 'bove dramatick clean That we both safely saw and lived thy Scene No foul loose line did prostitute thy wit Thou wrotst thy Comedies didst not commit We did the vice arraignd not tempting hear And were made judges not bad parts by the eare For thou even sin didst in such words array That some who came bad parts went out good Play Which ended not with th' Epilogue the age Still Acted and grew innocent from the stage T is true thou hadst some sharpnesse but thy salt Serv'd but with pleasure to reforme the fault Men were laught into vertue and none more Hated Face acted then were such before So did thy sting not blood but humors draw So much doth Satyre more correct then Law Which was not nature in thee as some call Thy teeth who say thy wit lay in thy gall That thou dist quarrel first and then in spight Didst 'gainst a person of such vices write And t was revenge not truth that on the stage Carlo was not presented but thy rage And that when thou in company wert met Thy meat took notes and thy discourse was net We know thy free vaine had this innocence To spare the party and to brand the offence And the just indignation thou wert in Did not expose Shift but his tricks and gin Thou mighst have us'd th' old comick freedome these Might have seen themselves played like Socrates Like Cleon Mammon might the Knight have been If as Greek Authors thou hadst turn'd Greek spleen And hadst not chosen rather to translate Their learning into English not their hate Indeed this last if thou hadst been bereft Of thy humanity might be called theft The other was not whatsoere was strange Or borrowed in thee did grow thine by th' change Who without Latine helps hadst been as rare As Beaument Fletcher or as Shakespeare were And like them from thy native stock couldst say Poets and Kings are not born every day An Answer to the Letter of the Cloake Mr. Roberts I Wonder that you should send for the Cloak I thought you scornd it should be spoke That once your promise should be broke If from your word you doe revoke I have wit enough to keep the Cloak You say you le make me smart for the Cloak I doe not care a fart for the Cloak Yet I will study the black art in the Cloak Rather then I will part with the Cloak You say you mean to try for the Cloak I scorne to tell a lye for the Cloak My word I le never deny for the Cloak Although I thought you f cry for the Cloak I doe protest most deep in the Cloak I did both mourne and weep in the Cloak And if I should not keep the Cloak I were a very sheep in the Cloak I took your Cloak to mourne in your Cloak My corps I did adorne in your Cloak And many a time have I sworn in your Cloak That I will never return in your Cloak Your father we did bury in the Cloak And after we were merry in the Cloak And then I told Mr. Perry of the Cloak And yet I am not weary of the Cloak Yet still I stand in fear of the Cloak That I shall be never the near for the Cloak I pray you good Sir forbear the Cloak I know that you can spare the Cloak It cost me many a tear in your
all the unlucky plot and doe displease As deep as Pericles Where yet there is not laid Before a chamber-maid Discourse so weak as might have serv'd of old For Schoolboys when they of love or valor told 4. Why rage then when the show Should judgement be and know That there are those in Plush that scorn to drudg For Stages yet can judge Not onely Poets looser laws but wits With all their perquisits A gift as rich and high As noble Poesy Which though in sport it be for Kings a play T is next Mechanick when it works for pay 6. Alcaeus Lute had none Nor loose Anacreon That taught so bold assuming of the baies When they deserv'd no praise To raile men into approbation T is new t is yours alone And prospers not For know Fame is as coy as you Can be disdainfull and who dares to prove A rape on her shall gaine her scorne not love 6. Leave then this humerous vaine And this more humerous straine Where selfe conceit and choler of the blood Eclips what else is good Then if you please those raptures high to touch Whereof you boast so much And but forbear the crown Till the world put it on No doubt from all you may amazement draw Since braver theam no Phoebus ever saw Vpon a Gentlewoman who broke her vow WHen first the Magick of thine eye Usurp'd upon my liberty Triumphing in my hearts spoile thou Didst lock up thine in such a vow When I prove false may the bright day Be governd by the Moons pale ray And I too well remember this Thou saidst and sealdst it with a kisse O heavens and could so soon that tie Relent in slack Apostasie Could all thy oaths and morgag'd trust Vanish like letters formâ—d in dust Which the next wind scatters take heed Take heed Revolter know this deed Hath wrongd the world which will fare worse By thy example then thy curse Hide that false brow in mists thy shame Nere see light more but the dim flame Of funerall lamps thus sit and moane And learn to keep thy guilt at home Give it no vent For if again Thy love or vowes betray more men At length I fear thy perjur'd breath Will blow out day and waken death A Song upon a Winepot ALl Poets Hippocrene admire And pray to water to inspire Their wit and muse with heavenly fire Had they this heavenly fountaine seen Sack both their muse and wit had been And this Pintepot their Hipocrene Had they truly discovered it They had like me thought it unfit To pray to water for their wit And had ador'd Sack as divine And made a Poet God of Wine And this Pintepot had bin the Shrine Sack unto them had bin instead Of Nectar and the heavenly bread And every a boy a Gannemed But had they made a God of it Or stiled it Patron of their wit This Pintepot had bin a Temple fit Well then companions i st not fit Since to this gem we owe our wit That we should praise the Cabinet And drink a health to this divine And bounteous palace of our Wine Die he with thirst that doth repine To one married to an old man SEeing thou wouldst bewitch'd by some ill Be buried in those monnmental arms charms All we can wish is may that earth be light Upon thy tender limbs and so good night A Song I Mean to sing of Englands fate God blesse in th' mean time the King and his Mate That 's rul'd by the Antipodian state Which no body can deny Had these seditious times been when We had the life of our wise Poet Ben Apprentices had not been Parliament men Which no body can deny But Puritans bear all the sway And they 'l have no Bishops as most of them say But God may have the better another day Which no body can deny Prin and Burton say women that are lewd and loose Shall wear Italian locks for their abuse They 'l onely have private keys for their own use Which no body can deny Zealous Prin hath threatned a shrewd downfall To cut off long locks both bushy and small But I hope he will not take eares and all Which no body can deny They 'l not alow of what pride in brings No favours in hats nor any such things They 'l convert all ribbands into Bible strings Which no body can deny God blesse the King and Queen also And all true Subjects from high to low The Roundheads can pray for themselves we know Which no body can deny Vpon the Times THe Parliament cries arme the King says no The new Lievtenants cry on le ts go The People all amaz'd ask where 's the foe The bugbear Scots behind the door cry boh Patience a while and time will plainly shew The King stands still faster then they can goe A double Chronogram the one in Latine the other in the English of that Latine upon the year 1642. TV DeVs IaM propItIVs sIs regI regnoqVe hVIC VnIVerso OgoD noVV sheVV faVoVr to the kIng anD thIs VVhoLe LanD On the Noble-mans Sons Cloak that refused to wear a Gown in Oxford SAw you the Cloak at Church to day The long-worne short Cloak lined with Say What had the Man no Gown to wear Or was this sent him from the Mayor Or i st the Cloak which Nixon brought To trim the Tub where Golledge taught Or can this best conceal his lips And shew Communion sitting hips Or was the Cloak St. Pauls if so With it he found the Parchments too Yes verily for he hath been With mine Host Gajus at the New-Inn A Gown God blesse us trailes o th' floore Like th' petticoat of the Scarlet Whore Whose large stiffe pleats he dares confide Are ribs from Antichrists own side A mourning Cope if 't looks to the East Is the black Surplisse of the Beast Stay read the Cards the Queens and Kings The best i th' Pack are Gouned things But shortcut Spade with t'other three Are dub'd i th Cloak of knavery Beside his Lordship cloak'd did stand When his Watch went false by slight of hand Then look for more such Cloaks as these From th' Court of Wards and Liveries On Alma's voyce WHat Magick art Compells my soule to fly away And leave desert My poor composed trunck of clay Strange violence thus pleasingly to teare The soule forth of the body by the eare When Alma sings The pretty Chanters of the skie Doe droop their wings As in disgrace they meant to die Because their tunes which were before so rare Compar'd to hers doe but distract the aire Each sensitive In emulation proudly stands Striving to thrive Under the blisse of her commands Whose charming voyce doth Bears and Tigers tame And teach the Sphears new melodies to frame The Angells all Astonisht at her heavenly aire Would sudden fall From cold amazement to dispaire But that by nimble theft they all conspire To steal her hence for to enrich their quire FINIS