AN ANTIDOTE Against MELANCHOLY Made up in PILLS. Compounded of Witty Ballads, Jovial Songs, and Merry Catches.  
Helicon  
Aristippus  
〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
●ondon, Printed for John Playford at his Shop in the Temple. 1669   

To the Reader.  

THere's no Purge 'gainst Melancholy,  
But with Bacchus to be jolly;  
●ll else are but Dregs of Folly.   

●aracelsus wanted skill,  
●hen he sought to cure that Ill;  
●o Pectorals like the Poet's Quill.   

●ere are Pills of every sort,  
●or the Country, City, Court,  
compounded and made up of sport.   

● 'gainst Sleep, and Fumes impure,  
●hou, thy Senses wouldst secure,  
●ake this, Coffee's not half so sure.   

●ant'st thou Stomach to thy Meat,  
●nd wouldst fain restore the heat?  
●his does it, more than Chocolet.   

●ures the Spleen, Revives the Blood,  
●uts thee in a merry Mood,  
●ho can deny such Physic good.   

●othing like to Harmless Mirth,  
●is a Cordial on earth,  
●hat gives Society a Birth.   

●hen be wise, and buy, not borrow,  
●eep an Ounce still for to Morrow,  
●etter than a pound of Sorrow.    

The Stationer to the Reader.  
HAving formerly published this Book of Merry Ballads and Songs, in fewer sheets, yet under this Title, the Impression (not being large)▪ was soon bought up: And since finding it much enquired for, I was willing (for two Reasons) to give it a Second Birth, which I hope (by my large Addition, and a more perfect Copy) will appear to the World much fairer. First some Covetous persons, who endeavouring to imitate that former Book, did publish things of that nature, and out of it stole here and there a Ballad and ● Song, and also out of my late Printed Music Book of Songs, and Catches, hoping thereby the rest of their Ridiculous stuff might vend the better But sure I am they have Printed most of my Song false, and some but in part and pieces. My second reason was to answer the desire of several Friends and most to vindicate my former Book, and 〈◊〉 make it now more complete; by endeavouring 〈◊〉 to publish true Copies, and those that were Inge●nious both for Wit and Fancy: And though som● object these are Old, to such who love New Win● there is enough abroad, but the Old agrees bes● with the Palet, and stomach of those who under s●and the difference.   

The Table of the Ballads, Poems, Songs and Catches in this Book.  

THe Exaletation or Praise of Ale. Pag. 1.  
The Ballad of Arthur of Bradley. Pag. 9  
The Ballad called the Gelding of the Devil. Pag. 12.  
The Ballad of the Green Gown. Pag. 15.  
The Ballad of Sir Egle-Moore. Pag. 17.  
The Ballad called Blue Cap for me. Pag. 19  
The Ballad in praise of the Caps. Pag. 20.  
The Ballad of the Nose. Pag. 23.  
The Ballad of the Blacksmith. Pag. 25.  
The Ballad of the Brewer. Pag. 28.  
The Ballad called the Wedding, by Sir John Sucklyn. Pag. 31.  
The Ballad of Saint George for England. Pag. 35.  
The Ballad called the Bull's Feather. Pag. 37.  
The Ballad called Old England turned New. Pag. 39  
The Ballad called a view of London Sights. Pag. 41.  
The Ballad Called News and no News. Pag. 43.  
The Ballad of the Old Courtier and the New. Pag. 45.  
The Ballad called the New Soldier. Pag. 47.  
The Ballad in Praise of the Beard. Pag. 49.  
The Ballad in Praise of a Red Nose. Pag. 51.  
The Ballad of the Maying at Rumford. Pag. 53.  
The Ballad called the Man in the Moon. Pag. 55.  
The Ballad called Colin's Adventure. Pag. 57  
The Ballad of the Good Wife and the Bad. Pag. 58.  
The Ballad called the Fairies Farewell by Dr. Corbet. Pag. 60.  
The Ballad of the Pig, by Dr. Corbet. Pag. 62.  
The Ballad called the Tunbridge Doctor. Pag. 65.  
The Ballad of the Germane Doctor. Pag. 68  
The Ballad called the Angler. Pag. 71.  
The Ballad on two Amorous Swains. Pag. 73.  
The Ballad called the Jovial Bearward. Pag. 75.  
The Ballad of the Famous Sign at Skoal in Norfolk. Pag. 77.  
The Ballad of Old Simon the King. Pag. 81.  
The Ballad of the Maid and the Friar. Pag. 83.  
The Ballad called the Politic Drinker. Pag. 8●.  
The Ballad called the Reformed Drinker. Pag. 87.  
The Ballad of a Courtier and a Country Clown. Pag. 89.  
The Ballad called Cresadas Lamentation. Pag. 9●.  
The Ballad called the Medley of Wooers. Pag. 9●.  
The Ballad or the Welshmans praise of Wales. Pag. 94.  
The Ballad of Cooklorrel by Ben. Johnson. Pag. 9●.  
The Ballad of Tom a Bedlam. Pag. 99  
A Litany. Pag. 101.  
On the Downfall of the Mitre-Tavern in Cambridge. Pag. 100L.  
On the Excellent virtue of Sack By Dr. Edward's. Pag. 100L.  
On the Combat of Cocks by Mr. Tho Randolph. Pag. 100L.  
On a Fart in the Parliament house by S. J. Sucklin. Pag. 111.  
The Amorous Welshmans Letter to his Mistress. Pag. 11●.  
On the Choice of a Wife. Pag. 11●.  
On the decay of good Hospitality. Pag. 11●.  
Captain Squire Litany. Pag. 12●.  
A Yorkshire Trialogue in Yorkshire Dialect. Pag. 12●.  
The Tobacco takers Song. Pag. 12●.  
The Merry Cobbler's Song. Pag. 12●.  
The Needy-mans' Song. Pag. 12●.  
The Pedlar's Song. Pag. 12●.  
The Cutpurse Song. Pag. 13●.  
The Haymakers Song. Pag. 13●.  
The Scholar's Song. Pag. 13●.  
●e Beggar's Song, Pag. 133.  
●e Tavern- Song. Pag. 134.  
Song called the Healths. Pag. 135.  
Glee to Bacchus, by Ben. Johnson. Pag. 136.  
●other Glee to Bacchus. Pag. 137.  
〈◊〉 a Pint of Sack, By Mr. Tho. Randolph. Pag. 138.  
Praise of Wine, By the Lord Broghill. Pag. 139.  
Glee in Praise of Sack. Pag. 140.  
〈◊〉 saken Philits Lamentation. Pag. 141.  
〈◊〉 a Cold Chine of Beef. Pag. 142.  
〈◊〉 a Roasted Chine of Beef. Pag. 143.  
auncel to Bachelors. Pag. 144.  
●vice to a friend upon his Marriage. Pag. 145.  
●e married man's Diet. Pag. 146.  
●lias Complaint. Pag. 147.  
●e Mad Lover. Pag. 148.  
〈◊〉 Old Knight to a Young Lady. Pag. 149.  
●ins and his Love. Pag. 150.  
● Coy Lady to a Young Courtier. Pag. 151.  
●e Bashful Lover. Pag. 152.  
leedom in Love. Pag. 153.  
●vice to Cloris. Pag. 154.  
auncel to a Maid. Pag. 155.  
●e Doubtful Lover Resolved. Pag. 156.  
uberty in Love. Pag. 158.  
● Clown to his Mistress. Pag. 159.  
〈◊〉 a Wife. Pag. 159.  
〈◊〉 Tobacco. Pag. 160.  
●on a Welshman. Pag. 160.  
●e Tinker's Song. Pag. 161.  
●e last part of this Book contains 49 ●merry Catches which begin Folio Pag. 162.    


In the Praise or Exaletation of ALE.  

Not drunken, nor sober, but neighbour to both,  
I met with a Friend in Alesbury Vale;  
〈◊〉 saw by my Face, that I was in case  
To speak no great harm of a Pot of good ALE.   

●en did he me greet, and said, since we meet,  
(And he put me in mind of the name of the Dale)  
〈◊〉 Alesbury's sake some pains I would take,  
And not bury the praise of a Pot of good ALE.   

●e more to procure me, than he did adjure me  
●f the Ale I drank last were nappy and stolen,  
●do it its right, and stir up my spirit,  
And fall to commend a pot, etc.   

●oth I, to commend it I dare not begin,  
●est therein my credit might happen to fail;  
〈◊〉 many men now do count it a sin  
●ut once to look toward a pot, etc.   

I care not a pin, for I see no such sin,  
●or any thing else my courage to quail:  
〈◊〉 this we do find, that take it in kind,  
●uch virtue there is in a pot, etc.   

〈◊〉 I Mean not to taste, though thereby much graced,  
●or the Merry-go-down without pull or hale,  
●ming the throat, when the stomach's afloat  
●ith the Fragrant sweet sent of a pot, etc.   

〈◊〉 yet the delight that comes to the Sight  
●o see how it flowers and mantles in grail,  
●een as a Leek, with a smile in the cheek,  
●●e true Orient colour of a pot, etc.   

But I mean the Mind, and the good it doth find;  
Not only the Body so feeble and frail;  
For, Body and Soul may bless the black bowl,  
Since both are beholden to a Pot, etc.   

For, when heaviness the mind doth oppress,  
And sorrow and grief the heart do assail,  
No remedy quicker than to take off your Liquor,  
And to wash away cares with a Pot, etc.   

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, etc.   

It is like a belly-blast to a cold heart,  
And warms and engenders the spirits vital;  
To keep them from damage, all spirits own their homage  
To the Spirit of the buttery, a pot, etc.   

And down to the legs the virtue doth go,  
And to a bad Footman 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 wrapped in a pot, etc.   

The hungry man takes no thought for his meat,  
Though his stomach would brook a tenpenny nail;  
He quite forgets hunger, thinks on it no longer,  
If he touch but the sparks of a pot, etc.   

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, etc.   

The Shepherd, the Sour, 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 sol,  
All will hold up their hands to a pot, etc.   

The Blacksmith, whose bellows all Summer do blow,  
With the fire in his Face still, without e'er a vail;  
Though his throat be full dry, he will tell you no lie,  
But where you may be sure of a pot, etc.   

Who ever denies it, the Prisoners will praise it,  
That beg at Grate, and lie in the Goal:  
For, even in their Fetters, they think themselves better,  
May they get but a twopenny black pot of Ale.   

The Beggar, whose portion is always his prayers,  
Not having a tatter to hang on his tail,  
Is as rich in his rags, as the Churl in his bags,  
If he once but shakes hands with a pot, etc.   

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 enriched with a pot, etc.   

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, etc.   

●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, etc.   

Then DICK to his darling, full boldly dares speak,  
Though, before (silly fellow) his courage did quail,  
●e gives her the smooch, with his hand on his pouch,  
If he meet by the way with a pot, &c,   

●nd it makes the Carter a Courtier straightway,  
With Rhetorical terms he will tell his tale;  
With Courtesies great store, and his Cap up before,  
Being schooled but a little with a pot, etc.   

●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, etc.   

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, etc.   

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, etc.   

Mark her Enemies, though they think themselves wise,  
How meager they look, with how low a wail,  
How their cheeks do fall, without spirits at all,  
That alien their minds from a pot, etc.   

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, etc.   

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, etc.   

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, etc.   

The Poet Divine, that cannot reach Wine,  
Because that his money doth many times fail,  
Will hit on the vein to make a good strain,  
If he be but inspired with a pot, etc.   

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, etc.   

And the power of it shows, 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, etc.   

And master Philosopher, if he drink his part,  
Will not trifle his time in the husk or the shalt,  
But go to the kernel by the depth of his Art,  
To be found in the bottom of a pot, etc.   

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, etc.   

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, etc.   

To the Church and Religion it is a good Friend,  
Or else our Forefathers their wisdom did fail,  
That at every mile, next to the Church stile,  
Set a Consecrate-house to a pot, etc.   

But now, as they say, Beer bears it away;  
The more is the pity, if right might prevail:  
For with the same beer, came up Heresy here,  
The old Catholic drink is a pot, etc.   

The Churches much own, as we all do know;  
For when they be drooping and ready to fall,  
●y a Whitsun or Church-ale, up again they shall go,  
And own their repairing to a pot, etc.   

●ruth will do it right, it brings Truth to light,  
And many bad matters it helps to reveal:  
●or, they that will drink, will speak what they think:  
TOM telltruth lies hid in a pot, etc.   

●is Justices Friend, she will it commend,  
For all is here served by measure and tale:  
●ow, true-tale, and good measure are Justice's treasure  
And much to the praise of a pot, etc.   

●nd next I allege, it is Fortitudes edge  
For a very Cow-head, that shrinks like a Snail,  
●ill swear and will swagger, and out goes his Dagger,  
If he be but armed with a pot, etc.   

Yea, ALE hath her Knights and Squires of Degree,  
That never wore Corslet, nor yet shirt of Mail,  
But have fought their fights all 'twixt the pot and the wall  
When once they were ●ub'd with a pot, etc.   

And sure it will make a man suddenly wise,  
Erewhile was scarce able to tell a right tail:  
It will open his jaw, he will tell you the Law,  
As made a right Bencher of a pot, etc.   

Or he that will make a bargain to gain,  
In buying or setting his goods forth to sale,  
Must not plod in the mire, but sit by the fire,  
And seal up his Match with a pot, etc.   

But for Soberness needs must I confess,  
The matter goes hard; and few do prevail  
Not to go too deep, but temper to keep,  
Such is the Attractive of a pot, etc.   

But here's an amends, which will make all Friends,  
And ever doth tend to the best avail;  
If you take it too deep it will make you to sleep;  
So comes no great harm of a pot, etc.   

If (reeling) they happen to fall to the ground,  
The fall is not great, they may hold by the Rail:  
If into the water, they cannot be drowned,  
For that gift is given to a pot, etc.   

If drinking about they chance to fall out,  
Fear not that Alarm, though flesh be but frail,  
It will prove but some blows, or at most a bloody Nose,  
And Friends again strait with a pot, etc.   

And Physic will favour ALE as it is bound,  
And be against Beer both tooth and nail;  
They send up and down all over the town  
To get for their Patients a pot, etc.   

Their Aleberries, Cawdles and Possets each one,  
And Sallabubs made at the Milking-pale,  
Although they be many, Beer comes not in any,  
But all are composed with a pot, etc.   

And in very deed, the Hop's but a Weed,  
Brought o'er against Law, and here set to sale:  
Would the Law were renewed, and no more Beer brewed,  
But all men betake them to a pot, etc.   

The Law that will take it under his wing,  
For, at every Law-day, or Moot of the hale,  
One is sworn to serve our Sovereign the KING,  
In the ancient office of a CONNER of ALE.   

There's never a Lord of Manor or of a Town,  
By strand or by land, by hill or by dale,  
But thinks it a Franchise, and a Flower or the CROWN  
To hold the Assize of a pot, etc.   

And though there lie Writs, from the Courts Paramount  
To stay the proceed of the Courts Paravaile;  
Law favours it so, you may come, you may go,  
Their lies no Prohibition to a pot, etc.   

They talk much of State both early and late,  
But if Gascoign and Spain their Wine should not fail,  
No remedy then, with us English-Men,  
But the State it must stand by a pot, etc.   

And they that sit by it are good men and quiet,  
No dangerous Plotters in the Common-weal  
Of Treason and Murder: For they never go further  
Than to call for, and pay for a pot, etc.   

To the praise of GAMBRIVIUS that good Brittich King  
That devised for his Native (by the Welshman's tale)  
Seventeen hundred years before CHRIST did spring,  
The happy invension of a pot, etc.   

The North they will praise it, and praise it with passion,  
Where every River gives name to a Dale:  
There men are yet living that are of th' old fashion,  
No Nectar they know but a pot, etc.   

The PICTS and the SCOTS for ALE were at lots,  
So high was the skill, and so kept under Seal,  
The PICTS were undone, slain each mother's son,  
For not teaching the SCOTS to make Hither Eale.   

But hither or thither, it skills not much whether,  
For Drink must be had, men live not by Keal,  
Not by Havor-bannocks, nor by Havor-jannocks,  
The thing the SCOTS live on is a pot, etc.   

Now, if you will say it, I will not denay it,  
That many a man it brings to his bail:  
Yet what fairer end can one wish to his Friend,  
Than to die by the part of a pot, etc.   

Yet let not the innocent bear any blame,  
It is their own do to break o'er the pale:  
And neither the Malt, nor the good wife in fault,  
If any be potted with a pot, etc.   

They tell whom it kills, but say not a word  
How many a man liveth both sound and hale,  
Though he drink no beer any day in the year,  
By the Radical humour of a pot, etc.   

But to speak of Killing, that am I not willing;  
For that in a manner were but to rail:  
But beer hath its name, cause it brings to the Bier,  
Therefore welfare say I to a pot, etc.   

Too many (I wis) with their deaths proved this,  
And therefore (if ancient Records do not fail)  
He that first brewed the Hop was rewarded with a Rope,  
And found his beer far more bitter than ALE.   

O ALE ab alendo, the Liquor of LIFE,  
That I had but a mouth as big as a Whale!  
For mine is too little to touch the least tittle,  
That belongs to the praise of a pot, etc.   

Thus (I trow) some Virtues I have marked you out,  
And never a Vice in all this long trail,  
But that after the pot there cometh a Shot,  
And that's th' only blot of a pot, etc.   

With that my Friend said, that blot will I bear,  
You have done very well, it is time to strike sail,  
we'll have six pots more, though I die on the score,  
To make all this good of a pot of good ALE.    

The Ballad Of Arthur of Bradley.  

SEE you not Pierce the Piper,  
His cheeks as big as a Mitre,  
Piping among the Swains  
That danced on yonder plains;  
Where Tib and Tom do tread it,  
And Youths their Horn-pipes lead it;  
With every Man his carriage  
To go to yonder Marriage,  
Not one would stay behind  
But go with Arthur a Bradley.  
Oh fine Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine Arthur of Bradley,  
Oh fine Arthur of Bradley, Oh, etc.   

Arthur had got him a Lass,  
A bonnier never was;  
The Chief youths of the Parish  
Came dancing of the Morris,  
With Country Lasses trounsing,  
And lusty Lads bouncing;  
Dancing with Music pride  
And every one his Wench by his side,  
They all were fine and gay  
For the Honour of Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine Arthur of Bradley, Oh, etc.   

But when that Arthur was Married,  
And his Bride home had carried;  
The Youngsters they did wait  
To help to carry up meat:  
Francis Carried the Furmety,  
Mihil carried the Mince-Pye,  
Bartholomew the Beef and the Mustard,  
And Christopher carried the Custard:  
They every one went in this Ray  
For the Honour of Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine  
Arthur of Bradley, Oh, etc.   

But when that Dinner was ended,  
The Maidens they were befriended;  
For outstept Dick the Draper,  
And he bid pipe up scraper;  
Better be dancing a little,  
Then into the Town to tipple;  
He bid play him a Hornpipe  
That goes fine on the Bagpipe:  
Then forward Piper and play,  
For the Honour of Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine, etc.   

Then Richard he did lead it,  
And Margery she did tread it;  
Francis followed then,  
And after courteous Jane.  
Thus every one after another  
As if they had been sister and brother,  
That't was a great joy to see  
How well they did agree:  
And then they all did say,  
Hay for Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine Arthur of▪  
Bradley, Oh, etc.   

When all the Swains did see  
This Mirth and merry Glee,  
There was never a man did smutch her,  
But every man kissed his Wench.  
But Giles was greedy of gain,  
And he would needs kiss twain;  
Her Lover seeing that  
Did rap him one the Pate,  
That he had not a word to say  
For the Honour of Arthur of B●●dley, Oh, fine  
Arthur of Bradley, Oh, etc.   

The Piper looked aside,  
And there he 'spide the Bride;  
He thought it was a hard chance  
That none would lead her a dance:  
For never a man dirst touch her,  
But only Will the Butcher;  
●e took her by the hand  
And danced whilst he could stand:  
●he Bride was fine and gay,  
For the honhur of Arthur of bradley, Oh fine  
Arthur of Bradley, Oh, etc.   

Then out stepped will the Weaver,  
And he swore he'd not leave her;  
He hoped it all of a Leg,  
For the honour of his Peg;  
●ut Kester in Cambric Ruff,  
He took that in snuff;  
For he against that day  
Had made himself fine and gay,  
His Ruff was whipped over with blue,  
He cried a new dance, a new:  
Then forward Piper and play,  
For the honour of Arthur of Bradley, Oh fine, etc.   

Then began the Sun decline,  
And every one thought it time  
To go unto his home,  
And leave the Bridegroom alone:  
To't to't, quoth lusty Ned,  
we'll see them both in bed;  
For I will jeopard a joint  
But I will get his codpiece point:  
Then strike up Piper and play,  
For the honour of Arthur of bradley, Oh fine, etc.   

And thus the day was spent,  
And no man homeward went,  
That there was such crowding and thrusting  
That some were in danger of bursting,  
To see them go to bed:  
For all the Skill they had,  
He was got to his Bride,  
And laid him close by her side:  
They got his Points and Garters,  
And cut them in pieces like quarters;  
And then they bid the Piper play  
For the honour of Arthur of bradley, Oh fine etc.   

Then will. and his Sweetheart  
Did call for Loath to Departed,  
And then they did foot it and toss it  
Till the Cook had brought up the posset,  
The Bride pie was brought forth,  
A thing of much worth;  
And so all at the bed side  
Took leave of Arthur and his Bride,  
And so they went all away  
From the wedding of Arthur of Bradley, Oh, etc.    

A Ballad of the Gelding of the Devil.  

NOw listen a while and I will you tell  
Of the Gelding of the Devil of Hell;  
And Dick the Baker of Mansfield Town,  
To Manchester market he was bound,  
And under a Grove of Willows clear,  
This Baker rid on with a merty cheer:  
Beneath the Willows there was a Hill,  
And there he met the Devil of Hell.  
Baker, quoth the Devil, tell me that,  
How came thy Horse so fair and fat?  
In troth, quoth the Baker, and by my faith,  
Because his stones were cut away.  
For he that will have a Gelding free,  
Both fair and lusty he must be:  
Oh! quoth the Devil, and sayest thou so,  
Thou shalt geld me before thou dost go.   

Go tie thy Horse unto a tree,  
And with thy knife come and geld me.  
The Baker had a knife of Iron and Steel,  
With which he gelded the Devil of Hell.  
It was sharp pointed For the nonce  
Fit for to cut any manner of ston●s.:  
The Baker being lighted from his Horse,  
Cut the Devils stones from his Arse.   

●h! quoth the Devil beshrew thy heart,  
Thou dost not feel how I do sinart;  
●r gelding of me thou art not quit,  
For I mean to geld thee this same day seven-night.  
●he Baker hearing the words he said,  
Within his heart was sore afraid,  
●e hied him to the next market town  
To sell his bread both white and brown.   

●nd when the market was done that Day,  
The Baker went home another way.  
●nto his wife he did tell,  
How he had gelded the Devil of Hell:  
●ay, a wondrous word I heard him say,  
He would geld me next market day;  
●herefore wife I stand in doubt,  
I'd rather, quoth she, thy Knaves Eyes were out.   

●de rather thou should break thy Neckbone,  
Then for to Lose any manner of stone,  
●or why 'twill be a Loathsome thing,  
When every Woman shall call the Gelding.  
●hus they continued both in fear  
Until the next market day drew near.  
●ell quoth the good wife, well I wots,  
Go fetch me thy Doublet and thy Coat.   

●hy Hose thy Shoes and Cap. also,  
And I like a Man to the Market will go:  
●hen up she got her all in haste,  
With all her bread upon her beast;  
●nd when she came to the Hill side,  
There she saw two Devils abide,  
〈◊〉 little Devil for and another,  
Lay playing under the Hill side together.   

Oh! quoth the Devil, without any fain  
Yonder comes the Baker again;  
●eest thou well Baker, or be'st thou woe,  
I mean to geld thee before thou dost go.  
●hefe were the words the Woman did say,  
Good Sir, I was gelded but yesterday;  
Oh quoth the Devil that I will see,  
And he plucked her  beneath her knee   

And looking upward from the ground,  
There he spied a grievous wound:  
Oh (quoth the Devil) what might he be?  
For he was not cunning that gelded thee,  
For when he had cut away the stones clean,  
He should have sowed up the hole again;  
He called the little Devil to him anon  
And bid him look to that same man.   

Whilst he went into some private place  
To fetch some salve in a little space,  
The great Devil was gone but a little way,  
But upon her belly there crept a flea;  
The little Devil he soon spied that,  
He up with his paw and gave her a pat:  
With that the woman began to start,  
And out she thrust a most horrible fart.   

Whoop whoop quoth the little Devil, come again I pray,  
For her's another hole broke, be my faith;  
The great Devil he came running in haste,  
Within his heart was sore aghast.  
Faugh quoth the Devil thou art not sound,  
Thou stinkest so sore above the ground;  
Thy life days sure cannot be long,  
Thy breath it fumes so wondrous strong.   

The hole is cut so near the bone,  
There is no salve can stick thereon.  
And therefore Baker I stand in doubt  
That all thy bowels will fall out:  
Therefore baker high thee away,  
And in this place no longer stay.    

A Ballad called the Green-Gown.  

An leave, piping, the gods have done feasting,  
There's never a goddess a hunting to day,  
●rtals marvel at Corridon's Jesting,  
That gives the assistance to entertain May.  
●e Lads, and the Lasses with scarves on their faces,  
So lively as passes trip over the downs:  
●ch mirth and sport they make, running at Barleybreak;  
Lord what hast they make for a Green-Gown!   

●hn with Gillian, Harry with Francis,  
Meg and Mary with Robin and Will,  
●orge and Margery lead all the dances,  
For they were reported to have the best skill:  
●t Sicily and Nanny the fairest of many  
That came last of any from out of the towns,  
●ickly got in among the midst of all the throng  
They so much did long for their Green-Gowns.   

●anton Deborah whispered with Dorothy,  
That she would wink upon Richard and Sym,  
●ncing Maudlin showed her authority,  
And in the quarrel would venture a Limb.  
●t Sibbel was sickly, and could not come quickly,  
And therefore was likely to fall in a swoon,  
● would not tarry for Tom nor for Narry,  
Lest Christian should carry away the Green-gown   

●anch and beatrice both of a family,  
Came very lazy lagging behind;  
anise and Amable noting their policy,  
Cilpid is cunning although he be blind:  
●t Winny the witty, that came from City,  
With Parnel the pretty, and Bess the brown;  
●em, Joan and Isabel, Su, Alice and Bonny Nell,  
Travelled exceedingly for a Green-Gown.   

Now the Youngsters had reach'd the green Meadow  
Where they intended to gather their May,  
Some in the Sunshine, some in the shadow,  
Singled in couples, did fall to their play:  
But constant Penelope, Faith, Hope, and Charity,  
Looked very modestly, yet they lay down;  
And Prudence prevented what Rachel repent,  
And Kate was contented to take a Green Grown.   

Then they desired to know of a truth  
If all their fellows were in the like case,  
Nem called for Eede and Eede for Ruth,  
Ruth for Marcy and Marcy for Grace;  
But there was no speaking, they answered with squeaking,  
The pretty Lass breaking the head of the Clown;  
But some were a wooing while others were doing,  
Yet all their going was for a Green-Gown.   

Bright Apollo was all this while peeping  
To see if his Daphne had been in the throng,  
But missing her hastily, Downwards was creeping,  
For Thetis imagined he tarried too long.  
Then all the troop mourned and homeward returned,  
For Cynthia scorned to smile or to frown:  
Thus they did gather May all the long Summer day,  
And at Night went away with a Green-Gown.    

A Ballad of Sir Egle More.  

SIr Egley More that valiant Knight,  
with his fa, lafoy, lanctre down dill,  
●e fetched his Sword and he went to fight,  
with his fa, lafoy, and his lanctre down dill;  
she went over hill and dale,  
●ll clothed in his Coat of Male,  
With his fa, lafoy, his fa, lafoy, and his lanctre down dill,   

● huge great Dragon leapt out of his Den,  
with his fa, lafoy, lanctre down dill,  
Which had killed the Lord knows how many men,  
with his fa, lafoy, and his lanctre down dill;  
●ut when he saw Sir Egley More,  
●ood lack had you seen how this Dragon did roar!  
with his fa, lafoy, his fa, lafoy, and his lanctre down dill.   

●his Dragon he had on a Plaguy hide  
with his fa, lafoy, and his lanctre down dill,  
●hich could both Sword and Spear abide,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.  
●e could not enter with hacks and cuts,  
Which vexed the Knight to the very heart blood and guts,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.   

●l the trees in the wood did shake,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.  
●ars did tremble, and man did quake,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.  
●t had you seen how the Birds lay peeping,  
would have made a man's heart to fall a weeping,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.   

●t now is was too late to fear,  
with his fa, lafoy, &c,  
●r now it was come to fight dog fight bear,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.  
●d as a yawning he did fall,  
● thrust his Sword in hilts and all,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.   

But now as the Knight in choler did burn,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.  
He owed the Dragon a shrewd good turn,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.  
In at his mouth his Sword he bent,  
The hilt appeared at his Fundament,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.   

Then the Dragon like a Coward began to fly  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.  
Unto his Den that was hard by,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.  
And there he laid him down and roared,  
The Knight was vexed for his Sword,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.   

The Sword it was a right good Blade  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.  
As ever Turk or Spaniard made,  
with his fa, lafoy, &c,  
I for my part do forsake it,  
And he that will fetch it, Let him take it,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.   

When all this was done, to the Alehouse he went,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.  
And by and by his two pence he spent,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.  
For he was so hot with tugging with the Dragon,  
That nothing would quench him but a whole flagon,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.   

Now God preserve our King and Queen,  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.  
And eke in London may be seen  
with his fa, lafoy, etc.  
As many Knights, and as many more,  
And all so good as Sir Egle More,  
with his fa, lafoy, his fa, lafoy, lanctre down dill.    

A Ballad called Blew-Cap for me.  

COme hither thou merriest of all the Nine,  
Come sit you down by me, and let us be jolly;  
●nd with a full Cup of Apollo's Wine,  
we'll dare our Enemy, mad Melancholy;  
●d when we have done, we'll between us devise  
pleasant new Ditty by Art to compose;  
And of this new Ditty the matter shall be,  
ever I have a man, blew-cap for me.   

There dwells a blithe Lass in Falkland Town,  
●d she hath Suitors I know not how many,  
And her resolution she had fet down  
●at she'll have a Blew-cap if ever she have any.  
Englishman when our geod Knight was there,  
me often unto her, and loved her dear;  
Yet still she replied, Geod Sir lafoy be,  
ever I have a man, blew-cap for me.   

welshmen that had a long Sword by his side,  
Red Doublet, red Breech, and red Coat, and red Peard,  
●s made a great show of a great deal of pride,  
Was tell her strange tales te like never heard;  
●as recon her pedigree long pefore Prute,  
body was near that could her Confute;  
●ut still she replied, Geod Sir lafoy be,  
ever I have a man, blew-cap for me.   

● Frenchman that largely was booted and spurred,  
●●g Lock with a ribbon, long Points and long Preeshes,  
Was ready to kiss her at every word,  
● for the other exercises his fingers itches;  
● be pretty wench a Metrel par ma Foy,  
●r me do love you, be not so coy;  
Yet still she replied, Geod Sir lafoy be;  
●ver I have a man, blew-cap for me.   

An Irishman with a long Skeen in his Hose,  
Did think to obtain her, it was no great matter,  
Up stairs to the chamber so lightly he goes,  
That she never heard him until he came at her.  
Quoth he, I do love thee, by Fait and by Trot,  
And if thou wilt know it, experience shall shoed,  
Yet still she replied, Geod Sir, lafoy be,  
If ever I have a man, Blew-Cap for me.   

A netherlands Mariner came there by chance,  
Whose cheeks did resemble two roasting Pome-waters,  
And to this Blithe Lass this suit dit advance,  
Experience had taught him to cog, lie and flatter:  
Quoth he, I will make thee sole Lady of the Sea,  
Both Spaniard and English man shall thee obey:  
Yet still she replied, etc.   

At last came a Scotchman with a Blue Cap,  
And that was the man for whom she had tarried,  
To get this Blyth Lass it was his giud hap,  
They 'gan to Kirk and were presently married;  
She cared not whether he were Lord or Leard,  
She called him sick a like name as I ne'er heard,  
To get him from awe she did we'll agree,  
And still she cried, Blew Cap thou art welcome to me.    

The Ballad Of the CAPS  

THe Wit hath long beholding been  
Unto the Cap to keep it in,  
But now the wits fly out amain  
In praise to quit the Cap again;  
The Cap that keeps the highest part  
Obtains the place by due desert:  
For any Cap, what ere it be,  
It still the sign of some degree,  
●he Monmoth Cap, the Sailor thumb,  
And that wherein the Tradesman come,  
●he Physic Cap, the Cap Divine,  
And that which Crowns the Muses nine,  
●he Cap that fools do Countenance,  
The goodly Cap of Maintenance.  
For any Cap, etc.   

●he sickly Cap both plain and wrought,  
The Fuddling Cap how ever bought,  
●he Woolsted, Furred, the Velvet, Satin,  
For which so many pates learn Latin;  
●he Cruel Cap; the Fustian Pate,  
The Periwig a Cap of Late:  
For any Cap, etc.   

●he Soldiers that the Monmoth wear,  
On Castles-tops their Ensigns rear;  
●he Seaman with his Thrum doth stand  
On higher parts than all the land;  
●he Tradesman's Cap aloft is born,  
By vantage of a stately horn.  
For any Cap, etc.   

●he Physic Cap to dust can bring  
Without control the greatest King,  
●he Lawyer's Cap hath Heavenly might  
To make a crooked action strait;  
●nd if you'll line him in the fist,  
The Cause he'll warrant as he list.  
For any Cap, etc.   

●●th East and West, and North and South,  
Where ere the Gospel hath a mouth,  
●he Cap Divine doth thither look;  
'Tis Square like Scholars and their Books:  
●he rest are Round, but this is Square,  
To show their Wits more stable are:  
For any Cap, etc.   

●he Jester he a Cap doth wear,  
Which makes him fellow for a Peer,  
●nd 'tis no slender piece of Wit  
To act the Fool, where great Men sit;  
But O, the Cap of London Town,  
I wis, 'tis li●e a goodly Crown.  
For any Cap, etc.   

The Sickly Cap though wrought with silk,  
Is like repentance, white as milk;  
When Caps drop off at health apace,  
The Cap doth then your head uncase.  
The sick man's Cap (if wrought) can tell  
Though he be sick, his Cap is well.  
For any Cap, etc.   

The Fuddling Cap by Bacchus Might,  
Turns night to day, and day to night;  
We know it makes proud heads to bend,  
The Lowly feet for to Ascend;  
It makes men richer than before,  
By seeing doubly all their score.  
For any Cay, etc.   

The Furred and Quilted Cap of age▪  
Can ma●e a mouldy proverb sage,  
The Satin and the Velvet hive  
Into a Bishopric may thrive;  
The Triple Cap may raise some hope,  
If fortune serve, to be a Pope,  
For any Cap, etc.   

The Periwig, O, this declares  
The rise of flesh, though fall of hairs,  
And none but Grandsire's can proceed  
So far in sin, till they this need,  
Before the King who covered are,  
And only to themselves stand bare.  
For an, Cap, what ere it be,  
Is still the sign of some degree.    

A Ballad Of the NOSE.  

THree merry Lads met at the Rose  
To speak in the praises of the Nose:  
●he Nose that stands in the middle place  
Sets out the beauty of the Face,  
●he Nose with which we have begun  
Will serve to make our verses run:  
Invention often barren grows,  
Yet still there's matter in the Nose.   

●he Nose his end's so high a prize  
That men prefer't before their eyes,  
●nd no man counts him for his friend  
That boldly takes his Nose by the end:  
●he Nose that like Uripus flows,  
The Sea that did the wiseman pose,  
Invention often, etc.   

●he Nose is of as many kinds  
As Mariners can reckon winds;  
●he long, the short, the Nose displayed,  
The great Nose, which did fright the Maid;  
●he Nose through which the Brotherhood,  
Do parley for their Sister's good,  
Invention of ten, etc.   

●he flat, the sharp, the Roman Snowt,  
The Hawks Nose circled round about,  
●he Crooked Nose that stands awry,  
The Ruby Nose of Scarlet dye,  
●he brazen Nose without a Face  
That doth the Learned College grace,  
Invention often, etc.   

The long Nose when the teeth appear,  
Shows what's a Clock if day be clear;  
The broad Nose stands in Bucklers place,  
And takes the blows for all the face;  
The Nose being plain without a Ridge,  
Will serve sometimes to make a Bridge,  
Invention often, etc.   

The short Nose is the Lover's blis●,  
Because it hinders not a kiss;  
The toteing Nose, O monstrous thing!  
That's he that did the bottle bring,  
And he that brought the bottle hither  
Will drink (O monstrous!) out of measure.  
Invention often, etc.   

The Fiery Nose in Lantern stead  
May light his Master home to bed,  
And whosoever this Treasure owes  
Grows poor in purse though Rich in Nose:  
The Brazen Nose that's o'er the gate  
Maintains full many a Latin pate.  
Invention often, etc.   

If any Nose take this in snuff,  
And think it more then enough;  
We answer them, we did not fear  
Nor think such Noses had been here:  
But if there be, we need not care,  
A Nose of Wax our Statutes are.  
Invention now is barren grown,  
The Matter's out, the Nose is blown.    

A Ballad of the Blacksmith.  

OF all the trades that ever I see,  
There's none to a Blacksmith compared may be,  
With so many several tools works he,  
Which no body can deny.   

The first that ever Thunderbolt made,  
Was a Cyclops of the Blacksmith 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 doubt,  
Which no body can deny.   

The Fairest Goddess in the Skies,  
To marry with Vulcan did advise,  
And he was a Blacksmith 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 height;  
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 Jointure,  
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 Cleanse 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 rectified,  
To the honour of Edmond Iron-side;  
Which no body can deny.   

Vulcan after made a train  
Wherein the God of War was ta'en,  
Which ever since ●hath been called Pauls-Chain;  
Which no body can deny.   

The Common Proverb as it is read,  
That a man must hit the Nale on the head,  
Without the Blacksmith cannot be said;  
Which no body can deny.   

Another must not be forgot,  
And falls 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,  
When you give a man roast and beat him with the spit;  
Which no body can deny.   

Another comes in our Black-smiths way,  
When thing are safe, as old wives say,  
We have them under lock and key;  
Which no body can deny,   

Another that's in the Black-smiths books,  
And only 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 Blacksmith no wrong,  
When a man's he●d hard to it buckle and thong;  
Which no body can deny.   

Another Proverb doth make me laugh,  
Wherein the Blacksmith may challenge half,  
When a Reasons as plain as a Pikestaff;  
Which no body can deny,   

Though your Lawyers travel both near and far,  
And by long pleading, a good Cause may mar,  
Yet your Blacksmith 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 blacksmith 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 catchpoles,  
Yet your blacksmith can fetch them over the coals,  
Which no body can deny.   

Though Jockey in the stable be never so neat  
To look to his Nag, and prescribe him his meat,  
Yet your blacksmith knows better how to give him a heat;  
Which no body can deny.   

If any Tailor have the itch,  
The black-smiths water as black as pitch,  
Will make his hands go through stitch;  
Which no body can deny.   

There's never a slut if filth o'er smutch her,  
But owes to the blacksmith for her lecher,  
For without a pair of tongs there's no man would touch her;  
Which no body can deny.   

Your Roaring boys who ever one Quails,  
Fights, domineers, swaggers and rails,  
Can 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;  
we'll 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 Blacksmith.  

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 Blacksmith cannot be complete,  
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'll never strike, my pot, and thy pot, Tom;  
which no bod can deny.   

Of all professions in the town  
The Brewer's trade hath gained 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.   

●e dives for Riches down to the bottom,  
And cries, my Masters, when he hat got 'em,  
●et every tub stand upon his own bottom;  
which no body can deny.   

●n warlike acts he scorns to stoop,  
●or when his army gins to droop,  
●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,  
'twas the sight of his Hogshead made 'em retreat;  
which no body can deny.   

Poor Jockey and his basket hilt  
●as beaten, and much blood was spilt,  
And their bodies 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 cried 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 we'll make,  
we'll 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 always 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 baked in a bag;  
Which no body can deny.   

And now may all stout Soldiers say,  
Farewell the glory of the day,  
For the Brewer himself is turned to clay;  
Which no body can deny.   

Thus fell the brave Brewer the bold son of slaughter,  
We need not to fear, what shall follow after,  
For he dealt all his life time, in fire and water.  
Which no body can deny.   

And if his successor had had but his might,  
Then we had not been in a pitiful plight,  
But he was found many grains too light;  
Which no body can deny.   

Let's leave off singing, and drink of our bub,  
we'll call up a Reckoning, and every man club,  
For I think I have told you a tale of a tub;  
Which no body can deny.    

A Ballad, or Parley, between two West-Countrymen on sight of a WEDDING.  

I Tell thee Dick where I have been,  
Where I the rarest things have seen;  
Oh things beyond compare!  
Such sights again cannot be found  
In any place on English ground,  
Be it at Wake or Fair.   

At Charing Cross, hard by the way  
Where we (thou knowst) do sell our Hay,  
There is a House with stairs;  
And there did I see coming down,  
Such Volk as are not in our Town,  
Forty at least in pairs.   

Amongst the rest, one pestilent fine,  
(His beard no bigger though than thine)  
Walked on before the rest:  
Our Landlord looks like nothing to him:  
The King (God bless him) 'twould undo him  
Should he go still so dressed.   

At Course-a-Park without all doubt,  
He should have first been taken out  
By all the maids i'th' Town:  
Though lusty Roger there had been,  
Or little George upon the green,  
Or Vincent of the Crown.   

But what you what; the youth was going  
To make an end of all his wooing;  
The Parson for him stayed:  
Yet by his leave (for all his haste)  
He did not so much wish all past  
(Perchance) as did the Maid.   

The Maid (and thereby hangs a tale)  
For such a Maid to Whitson-ale  
Can ever yet produce:  
No grape that's kindly ripe, could be  
So round, so plump, so soft as she,  
Nor half so full of juice.   

Her finger was so small, the Ring  
Would not stay on which he did bring,  
It was too wide a peck:  
And to say truth (for out it must)  
It looked like the great Collar (Just)  
About our young Colt's neck.   

Her feet beneath her petticoat,  
Like little mice stole in and out,  
As if they feared the light:  
But Dick the dances such a way  
No Sun upon an Ester day  
Is half so fine a sight.   

He would have kissed her once or twice,  
But she would not, she was so nice,  
She would not do't in sight;  
And then she looked as who would say,  
I will do what I list to day;  
And you shall do't at night.   

Her cheeks so rare a white was on,  
No Dazy makes comparison  
(Who sees them is undone:)  
For streaks of red were mingled there,  
Such as are on a Katherine Pear,  
The side that's next the Sun.   

Her lips were red, and one was thin  
Compared to heat was next her Chin:  
(Some Bee had stung it newly:)  
But (Dick) her Eyes so guard her Face,  
I durst no more upon them gaze,  
Then on the Sun in July.   

●er mouth so small when she does speak,  
●hou'dst swear her teeth her words did break,  
That they might passage get;  
●ut she so handled still the matter,  
●hey came as good as ours, or better,  
And are not spent a whit.   

〈◊〉 wishing should be any sin  
●he Parson himself had guilty been,  
(She looked that day so purely)  
●nd did the youth so oft the feat  
●t night, as some did in conceit,  
It would have spoiled him surely.   

●assion, oh me! how I run on!  
●here's that that would be thought upon  
(I trow) besides the Bride.  
●he business of the kitchen's great,  
●r it is fit that men should eat;  
Nor was it there denied.   

●st in the nick the Cook knocked thrice,  
●nd all the Waiters in a trice  
His summons did obey,  
●ch Serving man with dish in hand  
●●rcht boldly up like our Train-band,  
Presented and away.   

●hen all the meat was on the Table,  
●hat man of knife or teeth was able  
To stay to be entreated?  
●d this the very reason was.  
●ore the Parson could say Grace,  
The company was seated.   

●w hats fly off, and youths carouse;  
●alths first go round, and then the House;  
The Brides came thick and thick;  
〈◊〉 when 'twas named another's health,  
●haps he made it hers by stealth;  
(And who could help it, Dick?)   

O'th' sudden up they rise and dance;  
Then sit again, and fie, and glance:  
Then dance again and kiss:  
Thus several ways the time did pass,  
Whilst every woman wished her place,  
And every man wished his.   

By this time all were stolen aside,  
To counsel and undress the Bride;  
But that he must not know:  
But 'twas thought he guessed her mind,  
And did not mean to stay behind,  
Above an hour or so.   

When in he came (Dick) there she lay  
Like now-faln snow melting away,  
('Twas time I trow to part)  
Kisses were now the only stay,  
Which soon she gave, as who would say,  
God B'w'y '! with all my heart.   

But just as Heavens would have to cross it,  
In came the Bridemaids with the Posset:  
The Bridegroom eat in spite;  
For had he left the women to't,  
It would have cost two hours to do't,  
Which were too much that night.   

At length the Candle's out and now,  
All that they had not done they do:  
What that is, you can tell;  
But I believe it was no more  
Than thou and I have done before  
With Bridget and with Nell.    

The Ballad Of Saint GEORGE for England.  

WHy should we boast of Arthur and his Knights?  
Know how many men have performed fights;  
●r why should we speak of Sir Lancelot du Lake,  
●r Sir Trestram du Leon that fought for the Lady's sake?  
●ead old stories, and there you'll see  
●ow St. George, St. George, did make the Dragon flee:  
St. George he was for England St. Denis, was for France,  
Sing Honi soit qui Mal y pense.   

〈◊〉 speak of the Monarchy, it were two long to tell;  
●nd likewise of the Romans, how far they did excel,  
●nuibal and Scipio, they many field did fight,  
●ando Furioso he was a valiant Knight,  
●mulus and Rhemus were those that Rome did build;  
〈◊〉 St. George St. George the Dragon he hath killed:  
St. George he was etc.   

●phtha and Gidion they led their men to fight,  
●e Gibionites and Amo●ites, they put them all to flight;  
●cules Labour was in the Vale of Brass,  
●d Samson slew a thousand with the Jawbone of an Ass,  
●●d when he was blind, pulled the Temple to the ground:  
〈◊〉 St. George's, St. George the Dragon did confound:  
St. George he was, etc.   

●entine and Orson they came of Pipin's blood,  
●bred and Aldrecus they were brave Knights and good;  
●e four sons of Amnon that fought with Charlemagne,  
●Hugh de Bordeaux and G●dfry de Bolaigne,  
●se were all French Knights the Pagans did Convert,  
〈◊〉 St. George, St. George, pulled forth the Dragon's heart:  
St. George he was, etc.   

Henry the fifth he Conquered all France,  
He quartered their Arms, his Honour to advance,  
He razed their Walls, and pulled their Cities down,  
And garnished his Head with a double triple Crown;  
He thumbed the French, and after home he came!  
But St. George, St. George, he inade the Dragon tame:  
St. George he was, etc.   

St. David you know, loves Leeks and toasted Cheese,  
And Jason was the Man brought home the Golden-Fleece;  
St. Patrick you know he was St. George's Boy,  
Seven years he kept his Horse, and then stole him away;  
For which Knavish act, a slave he doth remain;  
But St. George St. George, he hath the Dragon slain:  
St. George he was, etc.   

Tamerlane the Emperor in Iron Cage did Crown,  
With his bloody Flags dispayed before the Town;  
Scanderbag Magnanimous Mahomet's Bashaw did dread,  
Whose Victorious Bones were worn when he was dead;  
His Bedlerbegs, his Corn like drags, George Castriot was he called,  
But St. George, St. George, the Dragon he hath mauled:  
St. George he was for England, St. Denis was for France,  
Sing Hony soit qui mal y pense.   

Ottoman the Tartar, I'm of Persia's race,  
The great Mogul, with his Chests so full of all his Cloves and Mac●●  
The Grecian Youth Buchepalus he manly did bestride,  
But those with all their Worthies Nine, St. George did them deride  
Gustavus Adolphus was Swedelands' Warlike King,  
But St. George, St. George, pulled forth the Dragon's sting:  
St. George he was for England, St. Denis was for France,  
Sing Hony soit qui mal y pense.   

Pendragon and Cadwallader of British blood do boast,  
Though John of Gant his foes did daunt, S. George shall rule the ro●●  
Agamemnon and Cleome●on and Macedon did feats,  
But compared to our Champion, they were but merely cheats;  
Brave Malta Knights in Turkish fights, their brandished swords outd●●●  
But St. George met the Dragon, and ran him through and through  
St. George, he was, etc.  
●dea the Amozon, Photius overthrew,  
●s fierce as either Vandal, Goth, Saracen or Jew;  
●he potent Holophernes, as he lay in his bed,  
〈◊〉 came wise Judith and subtly stole his head;  
●●ave Cyclops stout, with Jove he fought, Although he showered down Thunder;  
●ut St. George killed the Dragon, and was not that a wonder!  
Saint George, He was, etc.   

●ark Anthony, I'll warrant you Played feats with Egypt's Queen,  
〈◊〉 Egla More that valiant Knight, the like was never seen,  
●rim Gorgon's might was known in fight, old Bevis most men frighted.  
●he Myrmydons and Presbyter John, why were not those men knighted?  
●ave Spinola took-in Breda▪ Nasaw did it recover,  
●ut St. George, St. George, he turned the Dragon over and over:  
St. George he was for England, St. Denis was for France,  
Sing Honey soil qui mal y pense.    

The Ballad of The BULL'S FEATHER  

●T chanced not long ago, as I was walking,  
An Echo did bring me where two were a talking,  
●was a man said to his wife, Dye I had rather,  
Then to be Cornuted and wear the Bull's Feather.   

●●en presently she replied, Sweet art thou Jealous?  
Thou canst not play Vulcan before I play Venus;  
●hy fancies are Foolish, such follies together:  
There's many an honest man has worn the Bull's Feather.   

●hough it be invisible, let no man it scorn,  
Though it be a new Feather made of an old horn;  
●e that disdains it in heart or mind either:  
May be the more subject to wear the Bull's feather.   

●e that lives in discontent, or despair,  
And feareth false measure his wife's fair,  
●is Thoughts are Inconstant, much like to winter weather:  
Though one or two want it, he shall have a Feather.   

Bull's Feathers are Common, as Ergo in Schools,  
And only contemned by those that are Fools;  
Why should a Bull's Feather cause any unrest,  
Since Neighbours Far always is counted the best?   

Those Women wh''re Farest, are likely to give it,  
And Husbands that have them, are apt to believe it;  
Some men though their Wives should seem for to Tedder,  
They would play the Kind Neighbour, and give the Bulls Feath●   

Why should we repine, that our Wives are so Kind,  
Since we that are Husbands are of the same Mind;  
Shall we give them Feathers, and think to go free,  
Believe it, Believe it, that hardly will be.   

For he that disdains my Bull's Feather to day,  
May light of a Lass that will play him foul play;  
There's never a Gallant that treads on Cow's Leather,  
But he may be Cornuted and wear the Bull's Feather.   

Though Beer of that Brewing I never did drink,  
Yet be not displeased if I speak what I think,  
Scarce ten in a Hundred, believe it, believe it,  
But either they'll have it, or else they will give it.   

The let me advise all those that do Pine,  
For fear that false Jealousy shorten their Time,  
This disease will Torment them worse than a Fever,  
Then let all be contented to wear the Bull's feather.    

A Ballad. Old England turned New.  

YOu talk of New England, I truly believe●  
Old England is grown New, and doth us deceive;  
●'le ask you a Question or two, by your leave;  
And is not old England grown new?   

Where are you old Soldiers with Slashes and Scars,  
That never used Drinking in no time of Wars,  
Nor Shedding of Blood in Mad drunken Jars:  
And is not old England, etc.   

New Captains are made, that never did Fight,  
But with Pots in the Day, and Punks in the Night,  
And all their chief Care is to keep their Swords bright;  
And is not old England, etc.   

Where are your old Swords, your Bills, and your Bows,  
Your Bucklers and Targets that never feared Blows?  
They are turned to Stilettoes, with other fair Shows:  
And is not old England, etc.   

Where are your Old Courtiers, that used to Ride  
With Forty Blue-coats and Footmen beside?  
They are turned to Six Horses a Coach with a guide:  
And is not old England, etc.   

And what is become of our old English ,  
Your long sleeved Doublet and your Trunk Hose?  
They are turned to French Fashions and other gugaws:  
And is not old England, etc.   

Your Gallant and his Tailor some half a year together  
To fit a new Suit to a new Hat and Feather,  
Of Gold, or of Silver, Silk, Cloth, Stuff, or Leather:  
And is not old England, etc.   

We have New fashioned Beards, and new fashioned Locks,  
And new fashioned Hats, for your new pated Blocks,  
And more New Diseases, besides then the French POX;  
And is not old England, etc.   

New Houses are built, and the old ones pulled down,  
Until the new Houses sell all the old ground,  
And then the House, stands like a horse in the Pound;  
And is not old England, etc.   

New fashions in Houses, new fashions at Table,  
Old Servants discharged and new not so able,  
And all good old Customs is now but a Fable;  
And is not old England, etc.   

New Trickings, new Go new Measures, new Paces;  
New Heads for men, for your women new Faces,  
And twenty new tricks to mend their bad cases;  
And is not old England, etc.   

〈◊〉 tricks in the Law, new tricks in the Rolls,  
●ew Bodies thy have, they look for new Souls,  
When the money is paid for building old Paul's,  
And is not old England, etc.   

Then talk you no more of New England,  
New England is where old England did stand,  
New Furnished, new Fashioned, new Womaned, new Man'd:  
And is not old England grown new?    

The Ballad On the North-countrymen Song on his View of London Sights.  

WHen Ize came first to London-Town,  
I'll wor a Noviz, as many more men are;  
I'll thought the King had live at the Crown,  
And all the way to Heaven had been through the Star.   

I'll set up my Horse, and Ize went to Paul's,  
olds nigs, quoth I, what a Kirk bee'th hear,  
Then Ize did swear by all Kurson souls,  
●t wor a mile long or very near.   

The top wor as high as any Hill,  
A Hill quo, I, nay as a Mountain;  
But I'll went up with very good will,  
But gladder was I to come down again.   

For as I went up my Head ga' round;  
Then be it known to all Kurson people,  
A man is no little way from the Ground;  
When he's o'th' the top of Paul's Steeple.   

I'll lay down my Hat and Ize went to prey,  
But wor not this a pitiful case?  
A'vor Ize had done it wor stolen away;  
Vvho'd a thought Thiefs had been in that place?   

Now warrant my Hot Ize made great moan,  
A slander by then to me zaid,  
Thou dost not observe the Scripture aright;  
For thou must a watched, as well as prayed.   

From thence to Westminster Ize went,  
Where many a brave Lawyer Ize did see,  
●ut zome there had a bad intent;  
●'m zure my Purse was stolen from me.   

●ow to see the Tombs was my desire,  
Ize went with many brave fellows store,  
●● 'gan them a Penny that was their hire,  
And he's but a Fool that will give any more.   

●hen through the Rooms the Fellow me led,  
Where all the Zights' wor to be zeen,  
●nd snuffling told me through the Nose,  
What formerly the Names of those had been.   

jere Lies, quoth he, Henry the Third,  
Thou liest like a Knave, he zays never a word;  
●nd here lies Richard the Second Interred,  
And hear stands good King Edward's Sword.   

●nd under this Chair lies jacob's Stone,  
The very same stone is now in the Chair:  
●●ery good jest, had Jacob but one?  
How got he so many Sons without a pair?   

●stai'd not there, but down with the Tide,  
Iz ' made great haste, and Iz ' went my way,  
〈◊〉 Iz ' was to see the Lions beside,  
And the Paris-Garden all in a day.   

When Ize came there, I was in a Rage,  
Ize railed on him that kept the Bears,  
justead of a stake, was suffered a stage,  
And in Hunks his house a Crew of Players.   

Then through the Bridge to the Tower Iz ' went,  
With much ado Ize ent'rd in,  
And after a Penny that I had spent,  
One with a loud voice did thus begin!   

This Lion's the Kings and that is the Queens,  
And this is the Princes that stands here by,  
with that I went near to look in the Den,  
Cod's body I quoth he, why come you so nigh?   

● made great haste unto my Inn,  
〈◊〉 Iz ' Zupt, and Iz ' went to bed betimes,  
〈◊〉 Zlept, and Iz ' Dreamed what I had Zeen,  
And waked again by Cheapside Chimes.    

A Ballad News and no News.  

WHite Bears are lately come to Town,  
That's no News,  
And Cuckolds Dogs shall pull them down,  
That's no News,  
Ten Dozen of Capons sold for a Crown,  
hay ho, that's News indeed.   

A Jackanapes at a Merchant's door,  
That's no News,  
An Irishman in an Alehouse score,  
That's no News,  
And Gravesend Barge without a Whore,  
hay ho, that's News indeed.   

A Fizling Cur in a Lady's lap,  
That's no News,  
And Feathers wagging in a Fool's Cap,  
That's no News,  
A Lion caught in a Mousetrap,  
hay ho, that's News indeed.   

A Roaring Gallant not to thrive,  
That's no News,  
A Drone to Rob the poor Bees Hive,  
That's no News,  
A Parson's Wife not apt to—  
hay ho, that's news indeed.   

A Tailor brisk in gaudy Clothes,  
That's no News,  
A Frenchman straddling as he goes,  
That's no News,  
A Drunkard without a Coppernose,  
hay ho, that's News indeed.   

A Satin Suit without a Page,  
That's no News;  
A Railing Poe●●●'e the stage,  
That's no News:  
A Rich man honest in this Age,  
hay ho, that's News indeed.   

A Pettifogger, bribed with fees,  
That's no News;  
A Welshman Crammed with toasted Cheese,  
That's no News,  
A Lad and a Lass in Bed to Frieze:  
hay ho, that's News indeed.   

A Lawyer to turn Hypocrite,  
That's no News;  
A Baly to Arrest a Knight,  
That's no News;  
A Court without a Parasite:  
hay ho, that's News indeed.   

Before my News be over slipped,  
That's no News,  
I wish all Knaves from London shipped,  
That's no News;  
And all the Whores in Bridewell whipped:  
hay ho, 'Twere News indeed.    

A Ballad: Or the Old Song of an Old Courtier and a New.  

WIth an Old Song made by an Old Ancient pate,  
Of an Old worshipful Gentleman who had a great Estate;  
●ho kept an Old house at a bountiful rate,  
And an Old Porter to relieve the Poor at his Gate,  
Like an Old Courtier of the Queens.   

●ith an Old Lady whose anger and good words assuages,  
Who every quarter pays her old Servants their wages,  
●ho never knew what belongs to Coachmen, Footmen and Pages;  
But kept twenty or thirty old Fellows, with blue-coats and badges;  
Like an old Courtier, etc.   

●ith an old Study filled full of Learned books,  
With an old Reverend Parson, you may judge him by his looks,  
●ith an old Buttery hatch worn quite off the old hooks,  
And an old Kitchen, which maintains half a dozen old cooks;  
Like an old, etc.   

with an old Hall hung round about with Guns, Pikes and Bows,  
With old swords & bucklers, which hath born many shrewd blows,  
●nd an old Frysadoe coat to cover his worship's trunk hose,  
And a cup of old Sherry to comfort his [Copper Nose;]  
Like an old, etc.   

with an old Fashion when Christmas is come  
To call in his Neighbours with Bagpipe and Drum,  
●nd good cheer enough to furnish every old Room,  
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and a wise man dumb;  
Like an old etc.   

With an old Huntsman, a Falconer and a Kennel of Hounds,  
Which never Hunted, nor Hawked, but in his own Grounds;  
Who like an old wise man kept himself within his own bounds,  
And when he died gave every Child a thousand old pounds;  
Like an old, etc.   

But to his eldest Son, his house and land he assigned,  
Charging him in his Will to keep the same bountiful mind,  
To be good to his Servants, and to his Neighbour's kind,  
But in th' ensuing Ditty, you shall hear how he was inclined;  
Like a young Courtier of the Kings.   

Like a young Gallant newly come to his Land,  
That keeps a Brace of Creatures at's one command,  
And takes up a thousand pounds upon's own Band,  
And lieth drunk in a new Tavern, till he can neither go not stand;  
Like a young, etc.   

With a neat Lady that is fresh and fair,  
Who never knew what belonged to good house keeping or care,  
But buys several Fans to play with the wanton air,  
And seventeen or eighteen dress of other women's hair;  
Like an young etc.   

With a new Hall built where the old one stood,  
Wherein is burned neither coal nor wood,  
And a new Shuffle-board-table where never meat stood,  
Hung Round with Pictures which doth the poor little good.  
Like a young, etc.   

With a new Study stuffed full of Pamphlets and Plays,  
With a new Chaplin, that swears faster than he prays,  
With a new Buttery Hatch that opens once in four or five days,  
With a new French-Cook to make Kichshawes and Tayes;  
Like a young, etc.   

With a new Fashion when Christmas is come,  
With a journey up to London we must be gone,  
And leave no body at home but our new Porter John,  
Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a stone;  
Like a young, etc.   

●ith a Gentleman-Usher whose carriage is complete,  
With a Footman, a Coachman, a Page to carry meat,  
●ith a waiting Gentlewoman, whofe dressing is very neat;  
Who when the Master hath dined gives the servants little meat;  
Like a young, etc.   

●ith a new honour bought with his Father's Old Gold,  
That many of his Father's Old Manors hath sold,  
●nd this is the occasion that most men do hold,  
That good House-keeping is now a days grown so cold;  
Like a young Courtier of the Kings.    

A Ballad.  

WIth a New Beard but latley trimmed,  
With a new Love-Lock neatly Combed,  
With a new Favour snatched or nimed,  
With a new Doublet French-like limbed,  
With a new gate as if he swim'd;  
And a new Soldier of the Kings,  
Oh the King's new Soldier.   

With a new Feather in his Cap,  
With new white Boots without a strap,  
And newly paid for, by great hap,  
With a new Quean upon his lap,  
Which was newly cured of a Clap;  
And a new Soldier, etc.   

With a new Hat without a Band,  
With a new office without Land,  
With all his Fingers on his Hand,  
With a new Face at Plymouth Tanned,  
And a new Horse already Pawned;  
And a new Soldier, etc.   

With a new Cassock lined with Cotten,  
With Cardicues to call his pot in,  
With a new Gun that near was shot in,  
Under a new Captain very hot in,  
A new Command, and hardly gotten;  
And a new Soldier, etc.   

With a new Head-piece shot ne'er, hit,  
With a new head of greenish wit,  
With new shirts without Louse or Nit,  
With a new band not torn as yet,  
With a new Spear, and very fit,  
And a new Soldier, etc.   

With a new Jacket made of buff.,  
With new sleeves of Spanish stuff,  
With a new Belt of Leather enuff,  
With new Tobaco-pipes to puff,  
And a Brazen face that will huff;  
Like a new courtier, etc.   

He's newly come to sixteen years,  
And gone abroad with his Mother's tears,  
With his Monmoth Cap about his ears,  
With new Rantadoes void of fears:  
And with new Oaths by which he swears,  
To be a new Soldier, etc.   

With a new Nose that ne'er met foe,  
With a new Sword that ne'er struck blow,  
With a new red Breech to make a show,  
With a new Copper lace or two,  
And new points on his wings also,  
To a new Country he will go,  
To drink old Sack, and do no more:  
Like a new Soldier of the Kings,  
Oh the King's new Soldier!    

The Ballad of the Beard.  

THe Beard thick or thin on the Lip or Chin,  
Doth dwell so near the Tongue,  
That her silence in the Beards defence  
May do her Neighbour wrong.   

Now a Beard is a thing that Commands in a King,  
Be his Sceptres ne'er so fair:  
Where the Beard bears the sway the people obey,  
And are subject to a hair.   

●Tis a Princely sight, and a grave delight,  
That adorns both young and old;  
A well that'cht face is a comely grace,  
And a shelter from the Cold.   

When the piercing North comes blustering forth  
Let a barren face beware;  
●or a trick it will find, with a Razor of wind,  
To shave the face that's bare.   

●ut there's many a nice and strange device  
That doth the Beard disgrace,  
●ut he that is in such a foolish sin  
Is a traitor to his Face.   

●ow of the Beards there be such a company,  
And fashions such a throng,  
●hat it is very hard to handle a Beard;  
Though it be ne'er so long.   

●he Roman T, in its bravery,  
Doth first itself disclose,  
●ut so high it turns, that oft it burns  
With the flames of a Torrid Nose!   

●he Stiletto Beard, oh! it makes me afeard,  
It is so sharp beneath,  
●●r he that doth place a Dagger in's Face,  
What wears he in his sheath?   

But me thinks I do Itch to go through stitch  
The Needle Beard to amend,  
Which without any wrong, I may call too long,  
For a man can see no end.   

The Soldier's Beard, doth march in sheared;  
In figure like a Spade,  
With which he'll make his enemies quake,  
And think their graves are made.   

The grim Stubble eke on the Judge's cheek,  
Shall not my verse despise;  
It is more fit for a Nutmeg, but yet,  
It grates poor Prisoners eyes.   

What doth invest a Bishop's breast;  
But a Milk-white spreading hair?  
Which an Emblem may be of Integrity,  
Which doth inhabit there.   

I have also seen on a woman's Chin  
A hair or two to grew,  
But alas the Face, it is too cold a place!  
Then look for a Beard below.   

But oh! let us tarry for the Beard of King Harry,  
That grows about the Chin,  
With his bushy pride, and a grove on each side,  
And a Champion ground between.   

Last the Clown doth out rush, with his Beard like a bush,  
Which may be well endured;  
For though his face be in such a case,  
His Land is well manured.    

A Ballad In Praise of a Red Nose.  

LEt him that undertook to praise  
The French POX, and so many ways  
Did prove that it is now a days  
Commodious:  
I say, let him a while give place,  
For I will prove a fiery Face  
Is to the owner no disgrace,  
Nor Odious.   

Who hath a fiery Face, that man  
Is said to have a rich Face, and  
Rubies about his Nose, none can  
Deny it.  
And all men know as well as I,  
That what is rich, most eagerly  
We covet, and no cost deny  
To buy it.   

Some will sell their Clothes from their back,  
And some their Lands, and some will lack  
Meat, rather than good Sherry Sack,  
And Claret:  
And they swear (and swear truth) that those  
Which drink small Beer, and wear good clothes,  
Do offer wrong unto their Nose,  
And mar it.   

If in Rome's Senate long-nosed men  
Were chose for wisest, tell me then  
Why these should not be praised? when  
All men know  
A fiery Face ne'er is without  
A rich Nose, and how far a snout  
That's rich exceeds a long to doubt,  
Or call men to   

Dispute or to Capitulate,  
This matter's not so intricate  
But any may expostulate,  
And judge it:  
And if Judge truly, he'll confess  
Fire-rich, exceeds long wise, I guess  
No man that hath true worthiness  
Will grudge it.   

Besides, the world knows this, that we  
Affirm those gracious that we see  
But Blush, and call it modesty  
In People:  
A Rich face always blushes so  
It doth all faces else out go  
As far as St. Faiths is below  
Paul's steeple.    

The Ballad called The Parson of Rumford, Or the Merry Maying.  

I Sing of no Ladies who Dance in the Court,  
Nor of the big Lords, so hugeonsly Gay,  
●ut of Lads and of Lasses, who make as good sport;  
Then away to Rumford, away, away.   

●rom Burnt-wood, and Epping, from Bow, and Mile-end,  
With Ribbons and Flowers, with Garlands for May,  
●ine Girls and their Lovers did trip it an end;  
And away to Rumford, away, away.   

●he Streets with green Rushes and Bowers of Boughs,  
To welcome these guests the Music did play;  
●he Houses as sweet as the Breathes of our Cows,  
Come away to Rumford, away, away.   

●hat tricking, what triming, what Puddings what Souse,  
Nay mustard with Beef prepared for the day;  
●nd Pigs that the Parson kept long in his house,  
For this meeting at Rumford, to day to day.   

●ut oh! the brave gamon's with Pepper and Cloves,  
And stinging good Ale, was there, be my fay,  
●s Sweet and as hot as the Kiss of our Lovers,  
Come away to Rumford, away away.   

●he Cheesecakes, with Currans so finely were set,  
Your Lady's black patch es not half so gay,  
●tew'd-pruins in syrup as black as the jet;  
Come away to Rumford, away away.   

●his woundy great Feast the Parson did make  
In his close-girt Coat, as pert as a Jay,  
Can no more stand still then a Bear at a stake;  
In the Town of Rumford, to day, to day.   

For joy, he spurred us a question to Marry,  
And told us the season was best in May;  
Go to it, quoth he, for time will not tarry,  
And welcome to Rumford I say, I say.   

We looked and we looked on one another,  
He formerly taught us our flesh was but Clay;  
Why should we not join like Sister and Brother,  
'Tis time at Rumford, to day, to day.   

Then Rowland a Keeper in Epping Chase,  
As bold as a Stag at his Rutilio, did say,  
Fair Winifrid now I'll Marry, not bating an Ace,  
This day at Rumford, to day to day.   

She blushed, and she wished it were quietly done;  
But said good Rowland, what haste is I pray?  
Now you hold me so fast that I cannot run,  
This Night then in Rumford I'll stay, I'll stay.   

Now hay for Burnt-Wood, Tom Tanner did cry,  
His Face shining yellow, his Hands brown bay,  
He swore't he'd be coupled to Jenny or die  
In the Town of Rumford, to day to day.   

Dick Butcher of Bow came in a great huff,  
Swore Doll of the Dairy should lead the way,  
Since both he and she handled much better stuff,  
In the Town of Rumford than they, than they.   

Little Robin a Glover of Mile-end Town,  
With Maud who dwelled at the Bottle of Hay;  
Were clapped together with a hay derry down,  
And all in Rumford to day, to day.   

A dozen in couples, more the next Morn,  
Went all to the Church to Marry, and Pray,  
That every one might have a small pocket horn,  
When they went from Rumford away a way.   

Strike up Tom Piper and Kit with thy Fiddle,  
Play Room for Cuckelds, 'tis almost day;  
Go home with your Wives and play at down-diddle,  
And a way from Rumford, away away.    

A Ballad called, The Man in the Moon.  

BRight Cynthia scorns alone to wear Horns,  
To her Sex's grief and shame;  
But swears in despite of the World's great light,  
That men shall wear the same:  
The man in the Moon to hear this in a swoon,  
Quite out of his wits he fell,  
And with this affront (quoth he) a pox on't,  
My Forehead gins to swell.   

A way strait he would, in his Lunatic mood,  
And from his Mistress would run;  
And swore in his heart, though stewed in his sweat,  
He had rather go dwell in the Sun.  
But he was appeased to see other men pleased,  
And none that did murmur or mourn;  
For without an affright, each man with delight  
Did take to himself the Horn.   

The Lord he will go, in his Park too and fro,  
Pursuing the Dear that is barren;  
But whilst he's in's Park, his Steward or Clerk  
May boldly go hunt in his Warren.  
The Citizen clown, in his foxfurred gown,  
And his doublet faced with Ale,  
Talks slow, and drinks quicker, till his wife like his liquor,  
Leaves working, and relisheth stolen.   

Lo! thus she behorn's him, and afterwards scorns him,  
Though he come to be chief of the Rout:  
And thinks it no sin to be occupied within,  
While her Husband is busied without.  
The Puritan will go ten Miles to and fro  
To hear a Sanctifi'd brother;  
But while his Zeal burns, his wife she up turns  
The eggs of her Eyes to another.   

The Lawyer to secure 'em, with Parchment and Buckr'um,  
To London the next way will strike;  
But whilst he opens his case to his Adversaries face  
His wife to a friend may do the like.  
The Physcian will ride to his Patient that died  
Of no disease, but that he did come;  
But whilst abroad he doth Kill with Portion and Pill,  
His Wife takes a Glister at home.   

The Merchant o'er runs the Sea with his Gun's,  
His Mariners and their Mates;  
But whilst he doth please himself on the Broad Seas,  
Another may ride on his straits:  
The Soldier will go, like a man to his foe,  
With brave resolution to fight;  
Whilst his Wife with her friends, in her wanton arms spends  
Time, And makes him a Beast by night.   

And though that he be well Armed Cap a pe,  
He must yield to a naked boys scorn,  
And instead of bright Steel, and hard Iron, he'll  
Be content with a hard piece of Horn.  
Thus all men will love their Wives though they prove  
Them false even in their own sight;  
But yet they do well, for a Horn (you can tell)  
Was always a friend to the Night.    

A Ballad Or Colin's Adventure.  

AS Colin went forth his sheep to unfold  
In a Morning of April, as grey as 'twas cold,  
In a Thicket he heard a Voice itself spread;  
Which was O, O, I am almost dead,   

He peeped in the Bushes and spied where there lay  
His Mistress, whose countenance made April May;  
But yet in her looks some sadness was read,  
Crying O, O, I am almost dead.   

He rushed in to her, and cried, what's the matter?  
Ah! Colin, quoth she, why will you come at her?  
Who by the false Swain hath often been misled,  
For which O, O, I am almost dead.   

He turned her Milk-payl, and there he down sat,  
His Hands stroked his Beard, on his Knee lay his Coat,  
But, O, still Mopsa cried before aught was said,  
Colin O, O, I am almost dead.   

No more, quoth stought Colin! I ever was true,  
Thou gav'st me a Handkerchief all hemmed with Blue  
A Pinbox I gave thee, and a Girdle so Red;  
Yet still she Cried O, O, I am almost dead.   

Delaying, quoth she, hath made me thus Ill,  
For I never feared Sarah that dwelled at the Mill,  
Since in the Evening late her Hogs thou hast fed;  
For which O, O, I am almost dead.   

Colin then Chuckt her under the Chin,  
Cheer up, for to Love thee I never will lin,  
Says, she I'll believe it when the I'arson has read,  
Till then O, O, I am almost dead.   

Ud's boars, quoth Colin, I'll new my Shoo'n,  
And ere the week pass, by the Mass it shall be done:  
You might have done this before, than she said,  
But now O, O, I am almost dead.   

He gave her a twitch that quite turned her round,  
And said I'm the truest that ere trod on ground;  
Come settle thy Milk-pail fast on thy head,  
No more O, O, I am almost dead.   

Why then I perceive thou'lt not leave me in the lurch,  
I'll don my best Clothes and strait to the Church:  
Jog on, merry Colin, jog on before,  
For I'faith I'faith, I'll die no more.    

A Ballad. Of A Good Wife and a Bad.  
To the Tune of When Fortune was so Kind.  

SOme Wives are Good and some are Bad,  
(Reply) Me thinks you touch them now,  
And some will make their Husbands mad,  
(Cho.) And so will my Wife too:  
And my Wife and thy Wife,  
And my Wife so will do.   

Some Women love to breed discord,  
Me thinks, etc.  
And some will have the latter word,  
(Cho.) And so will my Wife too:  
And my Wife, etc.   

Some Women will Spin, and some will Sow,  
Me thinks etc.  
And some will to the Tavern go,  
(Cho.) And so will my Wife too:  
And my Wife, etc.   

Some women will say they're sick at Heart,  
Me thinks, etc.  
And some will let a rousing Fart,  
(Cho.) And so will my Wife too:  
And my, etc.   

Some women will ban, and some will curse,  
Me thinks, etc.  
And some will pick their Husband's Purse,  
(Cho.) And so will my Wife too:  
And my, etc.   

Some women will Brawl, and some will Scold,  
Me thinks, etc.  
And some will make their Husband's Cuckold,  
(Cho.) And so will my wife too:  
And my, etc.   

Some women will drink, and some will not,  
Me thinks, etc.  
And some will take the tother Pot,  
(Cho.) And so will my Wife too:  
And my, etc.   

Some women are sick, and some are sound,  
Me thinks, etc.  
And some will take it on the Ground,  
(Cho.) And so will my wife too:  
And my, etc.   

Thus of my song I'll make an end,  
Me thinks, etc.  
Hoping all women will amend,  
(Cho.) And so will my Wife too:  
And my Wife, etc.    

A Ballad Entitled the Fairies Farewell.  

FArewel Rewards and Fairies,  
Good Housewives may say,  
For now foul sluts in Daries,  
Do fare as well as they:  
And though they sweep their Hearths no less  
Than Maids were wont to do,  
Yet who of late for Cleanliness  
Finds  in her shoe?   

Lament, Lament old Abbeys,  
The Fairies lost Command;  
They did but change Priests Babies,  
But some have changed your Land:  
And all your Children sprung from thence  
Are now grown Puritans,  
Who live as Changelings ever since,  
For love of your Demeans.   

At Morning and at Evening both  
You Merry were and Glad;  
So little care of Sleep or Sloth  
These pretty Ladies had:  
When Tom came home from labour,  
Or Ciss to Milking rose,  
Then merryly, merryly went their Taber,  
And Nimbly went their Toes.   

Witness those Rings and Round delays  
Of theirs which yet remain,  
Were footed in Queen Mary's days  
On many a Grassy Plain:  
But since of late Elizabeth,  
And later James came in,  
They never danced on any Heath;  
As when the time hath been.   

By which we note the Fairies  
Were of the old Profession,  
Their Songs were Ave mary's  
Their Dances were Procession:  
But now alas they all are dead,  
Or gone beyond the Seas,  
Or farther for Religion fled:  
Or else they take their ease.   

A Tell-tale in their Company  
They never could endure,  
And who so kept not secretly  
Their Mirth was punished sure:  
It was a just and Christian deed  
To Pinch such black and blue,  
But oh! the Common Wealth do want  
Such Justices as you.   

Now they have left our Quarters,  
A Register they have,  
Who looketh to their Charters;  
A man both wise and grave:  
A Hundred of their merry Pranks  
By one that I can name  
Are kept in store, Con twenty thanks  
To William for the same.   

I marvel who his cloak would turn  
When Puck had led him round,  
Or where those walking Fires would burn,  
Where Cureton would be found?  
How Broker would appear to be  
For whom this Age doth Mourn?  
But that their Spirits live in thee,  
In thee, old William Chourne.   

To William Chourne of Stafford-shire,  
Give Laud and Praises due,  
Who every meal can mend your cheer,  
With talks both old and true.  
To William all give audience,  
And pray ye for his Noddle:  
For all the Fairies evidence  
Were lost, If that were Addle.    

A Ballad of THE PIGG.  

(1)  
I Sing not Reader of the fight  
'Twixt Bailiffs and that doughty Knight  
Sir Ambrose, sung before:  
Nor of that dismal Counter scuffle,  
Nor yet of that Pantofle  
They say the Virgin wore.   

(2)  
No Turkeycock with Pigmies fray,  
Or whether then did get the day,  
Nor yet Tom Coriots shoes;  
Nor yet the swine-faced Maidens-head,  
I'th' Netherlands they say was bred,  
Is subject of my Muse.   

(3)  
But in Rhyme Doggril I shall tell,  
What danger to a Pig befell,  
As I can well rehearse;  
As true as if the Pig could speak  
On Spit, in Prose would either squeak,  
Or grunt it out in Verse.   

(4)  
A boisterous rout of armed Host,  
Just as the Pig was ready roast,  
Rushed in at doors, (God bless us!)  
The Leader of this Warlike rout,  
Strong men at arms, and stomach stout,  
I ween, was Captain Bessus.   

(5)  
They lately had in Scotland been,  
Where they such store of Sows had seen,  
That garred them hate their Babbies:  
And Bessus men near Norton lay,  
Where Pigs you know on Orgins' play,  
That once belonged to Abbeys.   

(6)  
It was a Tithe Pig, I confess,  
And so the crime might be no less,  
Then if't a Cassock wore;  
But yet in Orders it was ne'er,  
Nor ever preached, unless it were  
Ith' tub the night before.   

(7)  
Nor was it Popishly inclined,  
Although by Forest law their kind  
Are taught to use the Ring:  
What though it wore a Scarlet-Coat?  
It ne'er appeared i'th' Kirk to vote  
For her Fine Baby King.   

(8)  
But right or wrong, such dainty Cates  
Were ne'er ordained for Reprobates,  
The fat o'th' earth is theirs;  
The Saints by Faith and Plunder have  
An heritage, and must enslave  
Malignants, and the Heirs.   

(9)  
Fall on, fall on, they cry aloud,  
This Pig's of Antichristian brood,  
You'll find we are no dastards,  
Their Teeth so sharp, their Stomaches keen  
That Marriots you would them ween,  
Or Wood of Kent's own Bastards.   

(10)  
But now to tell how from the paws  
Of th' unlicked Whelps with greedy jaws  
This Pig escaped, hereafter;  
●s than our bellies 'gan to prank it,  
(Thanks to Bess for that good banquet)  
Will fill your mouth with Laughter.   

(11)  
A sturdy Lass with courage bold,  
On Pig, and Spit, and all, laid hold,  
And swore she would it rescue;  
For whether they their Teeth did set,  
For anger, or for hunger whet,  
She weighed not that a fescue.   

(12)  
This brave encounter had you seen,  
You would have sworn she should be Queen  
Of th' Amazons, or Fairies;  
And if she make good the retreat,  
Her sole protectress we'll create  
Of Milkmaids and their Daries.   

(13)  
Up stairs she marcheth in a trice,  
And safely conveyed is the Greice  
Into my Lady's chamber;  
Such holy grounds not trod by those  
Whose armpits, and whose sockless toes  
Are not so sweet as amber.   

(14)  
The Jews ne'er eat their Pascal Lamb  
In half such haste, as we did cram  
This Pig unto our dinners:  
Like Presbyterians we did feed,  
No grace that day our meat did need,  
For that belongs to sinners.   

(15)  
And when the story of the Pig  
Was done; the Pettitoes a Jig  
Came tripping in at Supper;  
'Twas meat and drink to us to see  
The soldiers by the Jade to be  
Thus thrust besides the Crupper.    

A new Ballad: Called the Tunbridge Doctors.  

YOu Maidens and Wives,  
And young Widows rejoice,  
Declare your thanksgiving,  
With Heart and with Voice;  
Since Waters were Waters  
I dare boldly say  
There ne'er was such cause  
Of a Thanksgiving day.   

●or from London-Town  
There's lately come down,  
●our Able Physicians  
That never wore Gown▪  
Their Physic is Pleasant,  
Their Doses is large,  
And you may be Cured  
Without Danger or Charge.   

No Bolus nor Vomit,  
No Poison nor Pill,  
Which sometimes do Cure,  
But ofner do Kill,  
Your Taste nor your Stomach  
Need ever displease,  
If you'll be advised  
By one of these.   

For 've a new Drug  
Which is called The close Hug,  
Which will mend your Complexion,  
And make you look smug;  
A Sovereign Balsam  
Which once well applied,  
Though grieved at the Heart  
The Patient ne'er Died.   

In the Morning you need not  
Be robbed of your rest,  
For in your warm Beds  
Your physic works best;  
And though in the taking  
Some stirring's required,  
The motion's so pleasant  
You cannot be tired.   

For on your Backs you must lie,  
With your Body raised high,  
And one of these Doctors  
Must always be by,  
Who still will be ready  
To cover you warm,  
For if you take cold  
All Physic doth harm.   

Before they do venture  
To give their direction,  
They always consider  
Their Patient's complexion,  
If she have a moist Palm  
Or a Red Head of Hair,  
She requires more Physic  
Than one man can spare.   

If she have a long Nose,  
The Doctors scarce knows  
How many good handfuls  
Must got to her Dose;  
You Ladies that have  
Such ill symptoms as these,  
Inreason of conscience  
Should pay double fees.   

But that we may give  
To these Dostors due praise,  
Who all sorts of people  
Their favour conveys;  
●n the ugly for pity sake  
Skill shall be shown,  
●nd as for the handsome,  
They're Cured for their own.   

●n the Silver or Gold  
They never lay hold,  
●or what comes so freely  
They scorn should be sold:  
●hen join with the Doctors,  
And hearty pray,  
●heir power of Healing  
May never decay.    

A Ballad Called the Germane Doctor, As it was Sung by his man Merry Andrew.  
To the Tune of (Why should I pine away.)  


IS any Deaf, is any Blind,  
Is any bound or lose behind?  
Is any Foul that would be Fair,  
Would any Lady change her Hair;  
Does any Dream, does any Walk,  
Or in their Sleep affrighted talk?  
I come to Cure what ere you feel,  
Within, without, from head to heel.   

Be Drums or Rattles in thy head,  
Are not thy Brains well tempered;  
Does Aeolus thy Stomach gnaw,  
Or breed there Vermin in thy Maw;  
Dost thou desire and cannot please,  
Lo! here's the best Cantharideses;  
I came to Cure what, etc.   

Even all Diseases that arise  
From ill disposed Crudities,  
From too much Study, too much Pain,  
From Laziness, and from a strain;  
From any humour doing harm,  
Be it dry, or moist, or cold or warm▪  
I come to Cure what, etc.   

Of Lazy Gout I Cure the Rich,  
I rid the Beggar of the Itch,  
I Fleam do void, both thick and thin,  
I dislocated jounts' put in,  
I can old Age to Youth restore,  
And do a thousand wonders more.  
I come to Cure what ere you feel,  
Within, without, from head to heel.    

Second Part.  

Maids of the Chamber or of the Kitchen,  
If you be troubled with the Itching,  
Come, give me but a Kiss or two,  
And here is that shall cure you.  
Nor Galen nor Hipocrates,  
Did ever do such Cures as these.   

cracked Maidens that cannot hold their Water,  
Or use to break wind in your Laughter,  
●r be you vexed with Kybes, with Corns,  
I'll cure, or Cuckolds of their Horns;  
Nor Galen nor, etc.   

〈◊〉 lusty Sister, Maid of the Dairy,  
Chance to be Blew Nipped by the Fairy,  
●or making butter with her Tail,  
I'll give her that shall never fail.  
Nor Galen nor, etc.   

●r if some mischance betid her  
Or that the Nightmare over ride her,  
●r if she tell all in a Dream,  
I'll help her for a mess of Cream.  
Nor Galen nor Hipocrates  
Did ever do such Cures as these.    

Third Part.  

Here's Water to quench Maiden fires,  
Here's Spirits for old Occupiers,  
Here's Powders to preserve youth long,  
Here's Oil to make weak Sinews strong;  
What is't you lack, what would you buy,  
What is't that you do need?  
Come to me Gallants, Taste and try  
Here's that will do the deed.   

This Powder doth preserve from fate,  
This cures the Meleficiate,  
Lost Maidenheads this doth restore,  
And makes them Virgins as before;  
What is't you lack, etc.   

Here's Cure for Bone-ache, Fever's Lurdens,  
Unlawful or untimely burdens,  
Diseases of all Sex, all Ages,  
This Medicine Cureth or assuages:  
What is't you lack, etc.   

I have Receipts to cure the Gout,  
To keep Pox in, or put them out,  
To cool hot Bloods, cool Bloods to warm,  
Shall do you (if no good) no harm.  
What is't you lack, what would you buy,  
What is't that you do need?  
Come Gallants, taste and try,  
Here's that will do the deed.     

A Ballad Called the Angler.  

OF all the Recreations which  
Attend to humane Nature,  
There's nothing soars so high a pitch  
Or is of such a stature,  
As is the subtle Anglers life  
In all men's approbation,  
For Anglers tricks do daily mix  
With every Corporation.   

When Eve and Adam lived in Love  
And had no cause of Jangling,  
The Devil did the Waters move,  
The Serpent went to Angling:  
He baits his hook with godlike look,  
Thought he this will entangle her,  
The woman chaps, and down she drops;  
The Devil was first and Angler.   

Physicians, Lawyers, and Divines  
Are most Ingenious Janglers,  
And he that tries shall find in fine  
That all of them are Anglers;  
Whilst grave Divines do fish for Souls,  
Physicians (like Cormugeons)  
Do bait with health, to fish for wealth,  
And Lawyer's fish for Gudgeons.   

A Politician too is one  
Concerned in Piscatory,  
He writes, he fights, unites and slights  
To purchase wealth and glory;  
His Plummet sounds the Kingdoms bounds  
To make the Fishes nibble,  
His Ground-bait is a past of lies,  
And he blinds them with th' Bible.   

Upon the Exchange 'twixt twelve and one  
Meets many a neat Intangler,  
'Mongst Merchantmen not one in ten  
But is a cunning Angler:  
For like the Fishes in the Brook  
Brother doth swallow Brother,  
A Golden-bait hangs at the Hook,  
And they fish for one another.   

A Shopkeeper I next prefer  
A formal man in black Sir,  
He throws his Angle every where,  
And cries, what is't you lack Sir,  
Fine Silks or Stuffs, or Hoods or Muffs?  
But if a Courtier prove the Intangler,  
My Cit. i en must look to't then,  
Or the Fish will catch the Angler.   

A Lover is an Angler too,  
And baits his Hooks with kisses,  
He plays, he toys, he fain would do,  
But often times he misses;  
He gives her Rings and such fine things  
A Fan and Muff and Night-hood,  
But if you cheat a City pate  
You must bait your Hook with Knighthood.   

There is no Angler like a Wench  
Starknaked in the water,  
She'll make you leave both Trout and Tench  
And throw yourself in after;  
Your Hook and Line she will confine,  
Then tangled is th' Inta●gler,  
And this I fear hath spoiled the ware  
Of many a Jov'al Angler.   

But if you'll Trowel for a Scriv'ners' soul  
Cast in a Rich young Gallant,  
To take a courtier by the pole,  
Though in a Golden Talent:  
But yet I fear the draught will ne'er  
Compound for half the charge an't,  
But if you'll catch the Devil at a snatch  
You must bait him with a Sergeant.   

Thus have I made my Anglers Trade  
To stand above defiance,  
For like the Mathematic Art,  
It runs through every Science:  
If with my Angling Song I can  
To Mirth and pleasure seize you,  
I'll bait my hook with Wit again,  
And Angle still to please you.    

The Ballad of the two Amorous Swains.  

TOM and Will were Shepherd's Swains  
Who loved and lived together,  
Till fair Pasto●a. graced the Plains,  
A lass! why came she thither  
Yet felt both one desire;  
Pastoras' Eyes and comely Locks  
Set both their hearts on fire.   

Tom came of a gentle race  
By Father and by Mother,  
Will was noble, but alas  
He was a younger Brother!  
Tom was toy-some, Will was sad,  
No Huntsman nor no Fowler,  
Tom was held the properer Lad,  
But Will the better Bowler.   

Tom would drink her health and swear  
The Nation could not want her,  
Will would take her by the Ear  
And with his Voice Enchant her:  
Tom kept always in her sight  
And ne'er forgot his duty,  
Will was witty and would write  
Sweet Sonnets on her Beauty.   

Yet which of them she loved best,  
Or whether she loved either;  
'Twas thought they found it to their cost  
That she indeed loved neither:  
Yet she was so sweet a she  
So pleasing in behaviour,  
That Tom thought he, and Will thought he  
Was chiefest in her favour.   

Pastora was a lovely Lass  
And of a comely feature,  
Divinely good and fair she was,  
And kind to every Creature:  
Of favour she was provident,  
And yet not over-sparing,  
She gave no lose encouragement,  
Yet kept men from despairing.   

When Tattling fame had made report  
Of fair Pastora's beauty,  
Pastora's sent for to the Court  
For to perform her duty;  
And to the Court Pastora's gone,  
It were no Court without her,  
The Queen of all her Train had none  
Was half so fair about her.   

Tom hung his Dog, and fling away  
His Ship-hook, and his Wallet;  
Will broke his Pipes, and Cursed the day  
That ere he made a Ballet:  
Their Ninepins and their bowls they broke,  
Their Tunes were turned to Tears;  
'Tis time for me an end to make,  
Let them go shake their Ears.    

A Ballad called The Jovial Bearward.  

THough it may seem rude  
For me to intrude  
With these my Bears by chance-a,  
'Twere sport for a King  
If they could sing  
As well as they can dance-a.   

Then to put you out  
Of ear or doubt,  
I came from St Katharine-a  
These Dancing Three,  
By the help of me,  
Who am Keeper of the signe-a.   

We sell good ware  
And we need not care  
Though Court and Country knew it,  
Our Ale's o'th' best,  
And each good Quest  
Prays for their souls that Brew it.   

For any Alehouse  
We care not a Louse,  
Nor Tavern in all the Towna;  
Nor the Vintry Cranes  
Nor St. Clement Danes,  
Nor the Devil can put us downa   

Who has once there been  
Comes hither again,  
The Liquor is so might;  
Beer strong and stolen,  
And so is our Ale,  
And it Burns like Aquavitae.   

The Wives of Wapping  
They trudge to our Tapping,  
And still our Ale desire,  
And there fit and drink  
Till they spew and stink  
And often piss out the fire.   

From morning to night,  
And about to daylight,  
They sit and never grudge it;  
Till the Fishwives join,  
Their single coin,  
And the Tinker pawns his budget.   

If their brains be not well,  
Or bladders do swell,  
To ease them of their burden;  
My Lady will come  
With a Bowl and a Broom,  
And her handmaid with a Jourdan.   

From Court we invite  
Lord, Lady and Knight,  
'Squire, gentlemans, Yeomen and Groom;  
And all our stiff Drinkers  
Smiths, Porters and Tinkers,  
And the Beggars shall give you room.    

A Ballad Upon the New Inn, with the Famous Signpost called the Whiteheart at Skoal in Norfolk.  

1.  
DId none of you hear  
Of a wonder last year,  
Of an Inn and an Host,  
With a Sign and a Post,  
That might hold (Godbless us) the King.   

2.  
The building is great,  
And very complete,  
But cannot be compared to the Sign;  
But within doors I think  
'S scarce a drop of good drink,  
For Bacchus drinks all the best Wine.   

3.  
But here's the design,  
what's amiss in the Wine,  
By Wenches shall be supplied;  
There's three on a row  
Stands out for a show,  
To draw in the Gallants that ride.   

4.  
The first of the three  
Diana should be,  
But she cuckolded poor Actaeon,  
And his Head she adorns  
With such visible horns,  
That he's fir for his hounds for to pray on.   

5.  
'Tis unsafe we do find  
To trust Women kind,  
Since horning's a part of their trade;  
Diana is patched  
As a Goddess that's chaste,  
Yet Actaeon a Monster she made.   

6.  
The next wench doth stand  
With the Scales in her hand,  
And is ready to come at your beck;  
A new trick 've found,  
To sell Sack by the pound,  
But 'twere better they'd selled by the peck.   

7.  
The last of the three  
They say Prudence must be,  
With the Serpent and Horn of plenty;  
But Plenty and Wit  
So seldom doth hit,  
That they fall not to one in twenty.   

8.  
But above these things all  
Stands a Fellow that's small,  
With a Quadrant discerning the Wind,  
And says he's a fool  
That travels from Skoal,  
And leaves his good liquor behind.   

9  
Near the top of the signe  
Stands three on a line,  
One is Temperance, still pouring out;  
And Fortitude will  
Drink what Temperance fill,  
And fears not the stone or the gout.   

10.  
The next to these three,  
You'll an Usurer see,  
With a Prodigal child in his mouth;  
'Tis Time (as some say)  
And well so it may,  
For they be devourers both.   

11.  
The last that you stare on,  
Is old Father Charon,  
who's wafting a wench o'er the ferry;  
Where Cerberus does stand,  
To watch where they land,  
And together they go to be merry.   

12.  
Now to see such a change  
Is a thing that is strange,  
That one, who as stories do tell us,  
His money has lent  
At fifty per cent  
A College should build for good fellows.   

13.  
But under this work  
Does a mystery lurk,  
That shows us a founder's design;  
He has chalked out the way  
For Gallants to stray,  
That their lands may be his in fine.   

14.  
That's first an Alebench,  
Next hounds, than a wench,  
With these three to roar and to revel;  
Brings the prodigals lands  
To the Usurer's hands,  
And his body and soul to the Devil.   

15.  
Now if you would know,  
After all this ado,  
By what name this Sign should be known;  
Some call't this, and some that,  
And some I know not what;  
But 'tis many signs in one.   

16.  
'Tis a sign that who built it,  
Had more money than wit,  
And more wealth than he got or can use;  
'Tis a sign that all we  
Have less wit than he,  
That come thither to drink, and may choose.    

The Ballad Of Old Simon the King.  

IN a humour I was late  
As many good fellows be,  
To think of no matters of State,  
But to seek for good company  
That best contented me,  
I travelled up and down,  
No company I could find  
Till I came to the sign of the Crown;  
My hostess was sick of the Mumps,  
The Maid was ill at ease  
The Tapster was drunk in his Dumps  
They were all of one disease  
Says Old Simon the King.   

Considering in my mind,  
And thus I began to think,  
If a man be full to the Throat  
And cannot take off his drink;  
And if his drink will not down  
He may hang himself for shame,  
So may the Tapster at the Crown,  
Where upon this reason I frame;  
Drink will make a man Drunk,  
And Drunk will make a man Dry;  
Dry will make a man Sick,  
And Sick will make a man Dye  
Says Old Simon the King.   

●f a man should be drunk to night,  
And laid in his Grave to morrow,  
Will you or any man say  
That he died of Care or Sorrow?   

Then hang up sorrow and care,  
'Tis able to Kill a Cat,  
And he that will drink all night  
Is never afraid of that!  
For Drinking will make a man Quaff,  
Quaffing will make a man Sing;  
sing will make a man Laugh,  
And Laughing long life doth bring,  
Says Old Simon the King.   

If a Puritan Skinker cry  
Dear brother, It is a Sin  
To drink unless you be dry,  
Then straight this tale I begin,  
A Puritan left his Can  
And took him to his Jug,  
And there he played the man  
As long as he could tug:  
But when that he was spied,  
What did he swear or rail?  
No truly, Dear brother, he cried  
Indeed all flesh is frail,  
Says Old Simon the King.   

So Fellows if you'll be Drunk,  
Of frailty it is a sin,  
Or for to keep a Punk  
Or play at In and In;  
For Drink and Dice and Drabs  
Are all of one condition,  
And will breed want and Scabs  
In spite of the Physician:  
Who so fears every grass  
Must never piss in a Meadow,  
And he that loves a Pot and a Lass  
Must never cry Oh my head, oh!  
Says Old Simon the King.    

The Ballad Of the Friar and the Maid.  

AS I lay musing all alone  
A merry Tale I thought upon;  
Now listen a while and I will you tell  
Of a Friar that loved a Bonny Lass well.   

He came to her when she was going to bed  
Desiring to have her Maidenhead;  
But she denied his desire,  
And said that she did fear Hell-fire.   

Tush, tush, quoth the Friar, thou needest not doubt,  
If though were't in Hell, I could sing the out:  
Why then, quoth the Maid, thou shalt have thy request;  
The Friar was as glad as a Fox in his nest.   

But one thing more I must request  
More than to sing me out of Hell-fire,  
That is for doing of the thing  
An Angel of Money you must me bring.   

Tush, tush, quoth the Friar, we two shall agree,  
No Money shall part thee and me;  
Before thy company I will lack  
I'll pawn the Gray-gown off my back.   

This Maid bethought her on a Wile  
How she might this Friar beguile;  
When he was gone, the truth to tell,  
She hung a Cloth before a Well:   

The Friar came, as his bargin was,  
With Money unto his Bonny Lass;  
Good morrow, Fair Maid, good morrow, quoth she;  
Here is the Money I promised thee.   

She thanked him, and she took the Money;  
Now let's go to't, my own sweet-Honey:  
Nay, stay a while, some respite make,  
If my Master should come, he would us take.   

Alas! quoth the Maid, my Master doth come;  
Alas! quoth the Friar, where shall I run?  
Behind yond Cloth run thou, quoth she,  
For there my Master cannot see.   

Behind the Cloth the Friar went,  
And was in the Well incontinent:  
Alas! quoth he, I'm in the Well;  
No matter, quoth she, if thou were't in Hell.   

Thou saidst thou couldst sing me out of Hell,  
I prithee sing thyself out of the Well;  
Sing out, quoth she, with all thy might,  
Or else thou'rt like to sing there all night.   

The Friar Sang out with a pitiful sound  
Oh! help me out or I shall be Drowned:  
She heard him make such pitiful moan,  
She hope him out, and bid him go home.   

Quoth the Friar I never was served so before;  
Away, quoth the Wench, come here no more:  
The Friar he walked a long the street  
As if it had been a new washed Sheep,  
Sing hay down a derry; and let's be merry,  
And from such sin ever to keep.    

A Ballad Called the Politic Drinker.  

MY Masters and Friends, whosoever intends  
To trouble this Room with discourse;  
You that do sit by, are as guilty as I,  
Be your talk better or worse.  
Now lest you should prate of Matters of State,  
Or any thing else that might hurt us;  
Rather let us drink off our Cups to the brink,  
And then we shall speak to the purpose.   

Suppose you speak clean, from the matter you mean,  
That's not a pin here nor there;  
Yet take this advice, Be merry and wise,  
You know not what creatures be near:  
Or suppose that some Sot should lurk in this Pot,  
To scatter our words that might hurt us  
To free that same doubt, we'll see the Pot out,  
And then we shall speak to the purpose.   

If any man here be in bodily fear  
Of a Wolf, a wife, or a Tweak,  
Here's Armour of proof shall keep her a loof,  
This liquor will make a man speak:  
Or if any enter to Challenge his friend,  
Or rail at a Lord that might hurt us,  
Let him drink once or twice of this Helicon Juice,  
And then he shall speak to the purpose.   

He that rails at the Times in Prose or in Rhimes,  
Doth bark like a Dog at the Moon,  
●ing prophecies strange, and theatens some change,  
And hang them upon the Queen's Tomb:   

He is but a Railer, or a prophis'ing Tailor,  
To scatter out words that might hurt us;  
Let's talk of no matches, but drink and sing Catches,  
And then we shall speak to the purpose   

It is a mad zeal for a man to Reveal  
His secret thoughts when he Bouzes,  
And he's but a widgeon that talks of Religion  
In Taverns or Tippling houses.  
It is not for us such things to discover,  
Let's talk of nothing that might hurt us,  
But let us begin a Health to our King,  
And then we shall speak to the purpose.   

A midst of our bliss it is not amiss  
To talk of our going home late;  
If a Constable Kite, or a Pisspot at night  
Should chance to douse on our pate,  
It were all in vain to rage or complain,  
Or scatter out words that might hurt us,  
'Twere better trudge home to honest kind Joan,  
And then we shall speak to the purpose.    

A Ballad. Or the Reformed Drinker.  

COme, my Hearts of Gold,  
Let us be merry and wise;  
It is a proverb of old  
Suspicion hath double Eyes:  
Whatsoever we say or do  
Let's not Drink to disturb the brain,  
Let's laugh for an hour or two  
And ne'er be drunk again.   

A cup of old Sack is good  
To drive the cold Winter away,  
'Twill cherish and comfort the blood  
Most when a man's Spirits decay;  
But he that doth drink too much  
Of his head he will complain;  
Then let's have a gentle touch,  
And ne'er be drunk again.   

Good Claret was made for man,  
But man was not made for it;  
Let's be merry as we can,  
So we drink not away our wit:  
Good Fellowship is a bused,  
And Wine will infect the brain;  
But we'll have't better used,  
And ne'er will be drunk again.   

When with good fellows we meet,  
A Quart among three or four  
'Twill make us stand on our feet  
While others lie Drunk on the Floor:   

Then Drawer go fill a quart,  
And let it be Claret in grain.  
'Twill cherish and comfort the Heart,  
But we'll ne'er be the drunk again.   

Here's a Health to our Noble King,  
And to the Queen of his Heart;  
Let's laugh and merrily sing  
And he's a Coward that will start.  
Here's a Health to our General,  
And to those that were in Spain,  
And to our Colonel,  
And we'll ne'er be drunk again   

Enough's as good as a Feast,  
If a man did but measure know;  
A Drunkard's worse thaa a Beast,  
For he'll drink till he cannot go.  
If a man could time recall  
In a Tavern that's spent in vain,  
We'd learn to be sober all,  
And ne'er be Drunk again.    

A Ballad Of the Courtier, and the Country Clown.  

YOu Courtiers scorn we Country Clowns,  
We Country Clowns care not for Court;  
But we'll be as merry upon the Downs  
As you are at midnight with all your sport;  
With a Fadding, etc.   

You Hawk, you Hunt, you lie upon Pallets,  
You Eat you drink the Lord knows how;  
We sit upon Hillocks and pick up our Salads,  
And drink up a Syllabub under a Cow;  
With a Fadding, etc.   

Your Masks are made for Knights, and Lords  
And Ladies that go fine and gay;  
We dance to such Music the Backpipe affords,  
And trick up your Lasses as well as we may:  
With a Fadding, etc.   

Your  are made of Silk and Satin,  
And ours are made of good Sheep's grey;  
You mix your discourses with pieces of Latin,  
We speak our own English as well as we may:  
With a Fadding, etc.   

Your Chambers are hung with Cloth of Arras,  
Our Meadows be decked as fine as may be;  
And from our sport you never shall bar us,  
Since Joan in the Dark is as good as my Lady:  
With a Fadding, etc.   

You Courtiers clip and cull upon beds,  
We Jumble our Lasses upon the Grass;  
And when we have gotten their Maidenheads  
They serve to make a Courtier's Lass:  
With a Fadding, etc.   

You dance Corants and the French Brawl,  
We Jig the Morris upon the Green;  
And we make good sport in a Country Hall,  
As you do before the King and the Queen:  
With a Fadding, etc.   

Then Ladies do not us disdain  
Although we wear no gaudy ,  
You'll find as much pith in a Country Swain  
When he plucks up your gay embroidered :  
With a Fadding Fadding.    

A Ballad Called, Cresadays Lamentation.  

IN a green Meadow, a River running by,  
I heard a pretty Maiden Lament, Weep, Sigh and Cry;  
The Tears fell from her Eyes as clear as any pearl,  
And I much Lamented the mourning of this Girl:  
She sighed and sobbed, and to herself she said,  
A lass! what hap had I to live so long and die a Maid.   

Now in this World no Charity is known,  
And young men are hardhearted, which makes me lie alone;  
The day and time hath been, had I not been so nice,  
I might enjoyed my True-Love if I had been so wife:  
But Sullenness, Coyness and Pevishness such store  
Hath brought me to this pensiveness, and many Maidens more.   

Some Dames that are so nice, that hear me thus complain,  
Will think me fond and idle, and much my credit stain;  
But let me answer them, the Case may be their own,  
The wisest on the Earth may by love be overthrown:  
For Cupid he is blind, and cometh in a Globe,  
He aimeth at a Rag as well as at a Robe.   

Venus she was Beautiful, and eke a goddess born,  
And yet to love poor Vulcan she took it not in scorn;  
His Hammer hit so round, and had so sweet a touch,  
She liked well the sound, oh it pleased her too much!  
Her raging love rained within her loving breast,  
Till Mars came down in Armour to give Vulcan a Crest.   

Since goddesses come down to play with such a Boy,  
Why may not pretty Maidens commit an idle toy?  
For Helen of Greece for Beauty was the rarest,  
She was the wonder of the World and certainly the fairest;  
Yet could she nor would she remain a Maiden still  
The Town of Troy can witness, the breeder of their ill.   

Virginity's a burden which few or none can carry,  
And that is sure the reason why our Mothers all did Marry;  
Then sigh it is a pastime that hath been used before,  
If bashfulness do wrong me, I'll deny no more:  
Be it light, or be it dark, do ye look or wink,  
You cannot miss the mark, if you have the wit to think.   

Although some Maidens lightly den●y it when it's offered,  
Yet I'd wish you wisely to take it when 'tis proffered,  
And be not like to Cresady, that scorns so true a friend,  
Lest you be glad to take poor Charity in the end.  
For time lost, and time passed cannot be called again,  
Therefore all Maidens make haste, lest with me you complain.    

A Ballad Called a medley of Wooers.  

I am a young Lass, my time it doth pass,  
Of late I do long for to marry,  
I have for my Dear five thousand a year,  
And yet I love good Sir Harry.   

I have with a Scot mickel matter I wots,  
He struts with his Rapier and poniard;  
He hath an ill face, but he's laid on with lace,  
I fear me he hath married his whinyard.   

There came a Frenchman that finely could Dance,  
He's proper in every Joint,  
It seems once he had scaped the P:  
So well he can cut the cross-point.   

I loved the proud Scot, his Suit was too hot,  
I took him to be but a bragger;  
With that the Frenchman he miss his wench,  
And Toby had lost his Dagger.   

A Sennora-Spaniora is newly come over  
And thinks that there's no man his fellow,  
He hath gotten a strain is hot in the vain,  
With danceing in a Bardella.   

A Dutchman there came, that tossed the Can  
Till his head was as light as a feather;  
The Spaniard his Punk, and the Dutchman was Drunk,  
And so they were both together.   

An Italian came post, that finely could boast  
Amongst the rest of his fellows;  
If I were his Wife, I should have an ill life  
The Fool he is so Jealous.   

There came one from Rome, would needs be my groom,  
He fasted three days in week;  
If he chanced to come where he saw a fair Nun  
Oh! his stomach was wondrous quick.   

A Gallant brave Dane came marching again  
As proud as any of the rest;  
He could not prevail, but he hoy'st up his sail;  
His Nose could abide no jest.   

From Ireland we had a lively young Lad  
Of Bony and Birth most mighty;  
I am not sure, but I think he was poor,  
He smelled so of Aquavitae.   

A Gentleman of Wales, was tell her fine tales  
Her house was brave on a Hill;  
Had Pig, and had Goat, Green-leek in her pot  
Wase eat Cause-bubby her fill.   

If her will have, her will keep her full brave,  
Her will by her a Band and a Hat,  
Fine Garters, Silk Hose fine Sharf and brave close;  
Sweetheart, how like her tat?   

An Englishman came, but I know not his name,  
That finely could quaff and could quarrel  
He'll drink till he die some say, but not I,  
And sell all his land for apparel.   

He swears by his life, if i'll be his wife  
Ere long he will make me a Lady;  
He'll sell his old Manors to buy him new Honours,  
And that's but the trick of a Babey.   

Your counsel I crave which of these I should have,  
If there be any one here for to fit me;  
The best I do take, the rest I forsake  
If Cupid do chance for to hit me.    

A Ballad Or The Welfhmans' Praise of Wales.  

I's not come here to talk of Prut,  
From whence the Welsh does take her root;  
Nor tell long Pedigree of Prince Camber,  
Whose lineage would fill full a Chamber;  
Nor sing the deeds of our Saint Davie,  
The Ursip of which would fill a Navy:  
But hark you me now for a liddel tales  
Shall make a great deal to the credit of Wales,  
For still he will twitch your ears,  
With the praise of her thirteen Seers;  
And make her as clad and merry  
As fourteen pot of Perry,   

'Tis true, was wear him Jerkin freeze,  
But what is that? we have store of seize,  
And Got is plenty of Goat's milk  
That sell him well will boy him silk  
Enough, to make him find to quarrel  
At Herford Sizes in new apparel;  
And get him as much green Melmet perhaps,  
Shall give it a face to his Monmouth Cap.  
But then the ore of Lemster;  
Py Cot is uver a Sempster;  
That when he is spun, or did  
Yet match him with her third.  
For still he will twitch, etc.   

Aull this the backs, now let us tell ye  
Of some provision for the belly:  
As Kid and Goat, and greats Goat's Mothor,  
And Runt, and Cow, and good Cow's uther,  
And once but taste on the Welsh Mutton;  
Your Englis Seeps not worth a button.   

And then for your Fisse, shall shoose it your disse,  
Look but about, and there is a Trout,  
A Salmon, Cot, or Chevin,  
Will feed you six ot seven,  
As taul man as ever swagger  
With Welsh Club, and long dagger.  
For still her will twitch, etc.   

But aull this while, was never think  
A word in praise of her Welsh drink:  
Yet for aull that, is a Cup of Bragget,  
Aull England Seer may cast his Cap at.  
And what her say to Ale of Webley,  
Toudge him as well, you'll praise him trebly,  
As well as Metheglin, or Cider, or Meath,  
S'all sake her dagger quite out o'the seath.  
And Oat-Cake of Guarthenion,  
With a goodly Leek or Onion,  
To give as sweet a relliss  
As e'er did Harper Ellis.  
For still her will twitch, etc.   

And yet is nothing now all this,  
If of our Musics we do miss;  
Both Harps, and Pipes too, and the Crowd,  
Must aull come in, and tauk aloud,  
As loud as Bangu, Davies Bell,  
Of which is no doubt you have hear tell:  
As well as our louder Wrexam Organ,  
And rumbling Rock in the Seer of Glamorgan,  
Where look but in the ground there,  
And you shall see a sound there;  
That put her all to gedder,  
Is sweet as measure pedder.  
For still her will twitch your ear  
With the praise of her thirteen Shire,  
And make her so glad and merry,  
As fourteen pot of Perry.    

A Ballad Called Cooklorrel.  By Mr. Ben. Johnson. 

Cooklorrel, would needs have the Devil his Guest,  
And bade him once into the Peake to dinner;  
Where never the Fiend had such a Feast  
Provided him yet at the charge of a sinner   

His stomach was queasy (for coming there Coached)  
The jogging had caused some Crudities rise,  
To help it he called for a Puritan poached  
That used to turn up the Eggs of his Eyes.   

And so recovered unto his Wish,  
He sat him down, and he fell to eat;  
Promoter in plum-broath was the first dish;  
His own privy Kitchen had no such meat.   

Yet though with this he much were taken,  
Upon a sudden he shifted his trencher;  
As soon as he spied the bawd, and bacon,  
By this you may note the Devil's a wencher.   

Six pickled Tailors sliced and cut,  
Sempsters, Tire-women, fit for his pallet,  
With feathermen, and perfumers put,  
Some twelve in a Charger to make a grand salad.   

A rich fat Usurer stewed in his Marrow,  
And by him a Lawyer's head and Green-sawce;  
Both which his belly took in like a barrow,  
As if till then had never seen sauce.   

Then carbonadoed, and cooked with pains,  
Was brought up a cloven S●rjeants Face;  
The sauce was made of the Yeoman's brains,  
That had been beaten out w●th his own Mace.   

Two roasted Sheriffs came whole to the board,  
(The Feast had nothing been without 'em,  
Both living and dead they were Foxed and Fur'd;  
Their chains like Sausages hung about 'em.   

The very next dish was the Major of a Town,  
With a pudding of maintenance thru in his belly  
Like a Goose in the Feathers dressed in his Gown,  
And his couple of Hinch-boyes boiled to a jelly.   

A London Cuckold hot from the spit,  
And when the carver up had broke him;  
The Devil chopped up his head at a bit,  
But the horns were very near like to have choked him.   

The chine of a Lecher too there was roasted,  
With a plump Harlot's haunch and Garlic;  
A panders pettitoes that had boasted  
Himself for a Captain, yet never was warlike.   

A large fat Pastry of a Midwife hot,  
And for cold baked meat into the story,  
A reverend painted Lady was brought,  
And coffined in crust, till now she was hoary.   

To these, a over grown-Justice of the Peace  
With a Clerk like a gizzard thrust under each arm,  
And warrants for sippets, laid in his own grease,  
Set over a chafing-dish to be kept warm.   

The Jowl of a Jailor, served for Fish,  
A Constable soused with Vinegar by,  
Two Aldermen-Lobsters asleep in a dish,  
A Deputy tart, a Churchwarden pie.   

All which devoured, he then for a close,  
Did for a full draught of Derby call,  
●e heaved the huge Vessel up to his Nose,  
And left not till he had drunk up all.   

Then from the Table he gave a start,  
Where banquet and wine were nothing scarce;  
All which he started away with a Fart,  
From whence it was called the Devil's Arse.   

And there he made such a breath with the wind,  
The hole too standing open the while,  
That the sent of the Vapour before and behind  
Hath foully perfumed most part of the Isle.   

And this was Tobacco the Learned suppose,  
Which since in Country, Court and Town,  
In the Devil's Glister-pipe smokes at the Nose  
Of Polecat and Madam, of Gallant and Clown.   

From which wicked weed, with Swine's flesh and Ling,  
Or any thing else that's feast for the Fiend;  
Our Captain and we cry God save the King,  
And send him good Meat, and Mirth without end.    

The Song, of Tom a Bedlam.  
To the Tune of Grays-Inn Mask.  

FOrth from my sad and darksome Cell,  
From the deep abiss of Hell,  
Mad-Tom is come to view the world again,  
To see if he can ease his distempered brain:  
Fear and Dispair possess my Soul;  
Hark how the angry Furies howl!  
Pluto laughs, and Proserpina is glad  
To see poor naked Tom of Bedlam mad.   

Through the World I wander Night and Day  
To find my troubled Senses;  
At last Time I found Time  
With his Pentatuch of Tenses.   

When he me spies, away he flies,  
For Time will stay for no man;  
〈◊〉 vain with cries I rend the Skies,  
For pity is not common.   

●old and comfortless I lie,  
Oh help, oh help or else I die!  
●ark I heat Apollo's Team,  
The Carman begins to whistle;  
●hast Diana bends her bow,  
And the Boar gins to bristle.   

●ome Vulcan with tools and with tackles.  
And knock off my troublesome Shackles;  
●●d Charles make ready his Wain  
To fetch my five Seuses again.   

Last night I heard the Dog-Star bark  
Mars met Venus in the dark;  
Limping Vulcan heat an Iron bar,  
And furiously run at the god of War.   

Mars with his weapon laid about,  
Lumping Vulcan had the gout,  
For his broad Horns that hung so in his light  
That he could not see to aim aright.   

Mercury the nimble post Post of heaven  
Stayed to see the Quarrel,  
Gorrel belly Bacchus giantly bestrid  
A Strong-beer barrel:   

To me he drunk, I did him thank,  
But I could drink no Cider;  
He drank whole Butts till he burst his guts,  
But mine was ne'er the wider.   

Poor Tom is very dry,  
A little drink for Charity:  
Hark! I hear Acteon's hounds,  
The Huntsman hoops and Hallows;  
Ringwood, Rockwood, Jowler, Bowman,  
All the Chase doth follow.   

The man in the Moon drinks Claret,  
Eats powdered Beef, Turnip and Carrot:  
But a Cup old Malligo Sack  
Will fire the Bush at his back.    

A LITANY.  

1.  
FRom going to Bath with little money in my purse;  
From staying there after all's spent, which is worse,  
And from a drawers visit when I am ready to horse.  
Good Mercury defend me.   

2.  
From an old Germane Quack yelipped Doctor Bavie,  
Whose skill is not half so much as his knavery,  
And ten to one will rather kill'ee then save'ee,  
Good Mercury, etc.   

3.  
From his Purges and Vomits, his Powders and Jelly,  
Which more for's own good than yours he does sell'ee,  
And from meddling with the Tapster's wife with a great belly.  
Good Mercury, etc.   

4.  
From Ladies that take Physic before they be sick;  
That they may with better metal answer the (.)  
Who copulates thrice a night, yet call't a lewd trick,  
Good Mercury, etc.   

5.  
From such as in Bath use to sing a Hymn,  
From a Barber that on Sunday mornings refuses to trim,  
From living a Traitor, and dying like Pym,  
Good Mercury, etc.   

6.  
From a Preacher that's as fat as the Bull Basan,  
And bellows out such Doctrines as would amaze one,  
From his Font of Pewter, and his face that's brazen,  
Good Mercury, etc.   

7.  
From his thanks to God for saving in Childbed pain  
A woman that's from a Church a mile off or twain,  
And perhaps preparing for the same Bysiness again,  
Good Mercury, etc.   

8.  
From a Colonel that vapours as if he were Mars,  
Yet will take a blow on the face and a kick on the arse,  
And so suffers more in Peace than he did in the Wars,  
Good Mercury, etc.   

9  
From a Captain that keeps a horrible stir,  
And when he's called Rascal, cries, Your servant Sir,  
That will challenge a Mastiff, and not fight with a Cur,  
Good Mercury, etc.   

10.  
From an Hostess that reckons the same thing again,  
And brings in the same Items to several men;  
And from such that call to pay before it be ten,  
Good Mercury, etc.   

11.  
From a rainy day when I have never a Cloak,  
From foul ways when I ride in boots that do soak,  
And from a Town without drink when I am ready to choke,  
Good Mercury, etc.   

12.  
From a Stone-horse that's right and sound limb and wind,  
Yet tires and leaves a fair Lady behind;  
And from an Inn where I'm forced to take such as I find,  
Good Mercury, etc.   

13.  
From uncivil Creditors that threaten to sue me;  
Fram gaping after Wealth which will never come to me;  
And from being a Poet, for that will undo me,  
Good Mercuy defend me.    

A Ballad Upon the downfall of one part of the Mitre-Tavern in Cambridge, or the finking thereof into the Cellar.  By Mr. Tho. Randolph. 

LAment, Lament, you Scholars all,  
Each wear his blackest gown;  
The Mitre that held up your wits  
Is now itself fallen down:  
The dismal Fire on London-Bridge  
Can move no heart of mine,  
For that but o'er the water stood,  
But this stood o'er 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 heresy 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 thyself and cringe no more,  
Since Popery went down,  
That Cap should veil 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 foxed thyself, and fell?  
No sure the Devil was adry  
And caused that fatal blow,  
'Twas 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 whither, Falcon mew,  
Whilst Sam enjoys his wishes;  
The Dolphin too must cast her Crown,  
Wine was not made for Fishes.   

That sign a Tavern best becomes,  
That shows who loves wine best;  
The Mitre's then the only sign,  
For 'tis the Scholar's crest.  
Then drink Sack Sam and cheer thy Heart,  
Be not dismayed at all;  
For we will drink it up again,  
Though ourselves do catch a fall.   

we'll be thy workmen day and night  
In spite of Bugbear Proctors,  
We drank like Freshmen all before,  
But now we'll drink like Doctors.    

Upon the Virtue of SACK.  By Dr. Hen. Edward's. 

FEtch me Ben. Jonson's scull, and filled with Sack  
Rich as the same he drank▪ when the whole pack  
Of jolly sisters pledged, 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 make't divine;  
This muddy drench of Ale does taste too much  
Of earth, the Malt retains a scurvy touch  
Of the dull hand that sows it; and I fear  
There's heresy in Hops; give Calvin Beer,  
And his precise Disciples, such as think  
There's Powder treason in all Spanish drink;  
Call Sack an Idol, nor will kiss the Cup,  
For fear their Conventickle be blown up  
With superstition: give to these Brewhouse alms,  
Whose best mirth is Six shillings Beer, and Psalms:  
Let me rejoice 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 makest us Lords of Regions large and fair,  
Whilst our conceits build Castles in the air:  
Since fire, earth, air, thus thy inferiors be,  
Henceforth I'll know no Element but thee:  
Thou precious Elixir of all Grapes!  
Welcome by thee our Muse gins 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 Spain's Wine  
Being in my crown, the Indies too were mine:  
And when my brains are once afoot (heaven bless us!)  
I think myself a better man than Croesus.  
And now I do conceit myself a Judge,  
And coughing laugh to see my Clients trudge  
After my Lordship's 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 honesty:  
But I'll be Judge no longer though in jest,  
For fear I should be talked with like the rest  
When I am sober; who can choose 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 smoothed, and I turned amorous as May,  
When she invites young lovers forth to play  
Upon her flowery bosom: 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 tipped  
My tongue with charms like those which Paris sipped  
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 love's fire,  
Hard, to the touch, but short in her desire.  
Inestimable Sack! thou makest us rich,  
Wise, amorous, any thing; I have an itch  
To tother cup, and that perchance will make  
Me valiant too, and quarrel for thy sake  
If I be once inflamed against thy Nose  
That could preach down thy worth in smallbeer Prose,  
I should do miracles as bad, or worse,  
As he that gave the King an hundred Horse:  
Tother odd Cup, and I shall be prepared  
To snatch at Stars, and pluck down a reward  
With mine one hands from Jove upon their backs  
That are, or Charles his enemies, or Sacks:  
Let it be full, if I do chance to spill  
O'er my Standish by the way I will  
Dipping in this diviner Ink, my pen,  
Writ myself sober, and fall to t●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 show for't and can crow,  
And count all dunghill breed that cannot show  
Such painted Plumes as yours; that think't no vice,  
With Cock-like lust to tread your Cockatrice:  
Though Peacocks, Woodcocks, Weathercocks you be,  
If ye are no fighting-cocks, ye are not for me:  
I of two feathered 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 strait the skilful Judges of the Play,  
Bring forth their sharp he'd Warriors, and they  
Were both in linen bags, as if 'twere meet,  
Before they died to have their winding-sheet.  
With that in th' pit they are put, and when they were  
Both on their feet, the Norfolk Chanticleer  
Looks stoutly at his ne're-before seen foe,  
And like a challenger gins to crow,  
And shakes his wings, as if he would display  
His Warlike colours, which were black and grey:  
Mean time the wary Wisbish walks and breathes  
His active body, and in sury wreaths  
His comely crest, and often looking down,  
He whets his angry beak upon the ground:  
With that they meet, not like that coward breed  
Of Aesop, that can better fight than feed:  
They scorn the dunghill, 'tis their only prize,  
To dig for Pearl within each others eyes:  
They fight so long, that it was hard to know  
To th' skilful, whether they did fight or no,  
Had not the blood which died the fatal floor  
Born witness of it; yet they fight the more,  
As if each wound were but a spur to prick  
Their fury forward; lightuings not more quick  
Nor red then were their eyes: 'twas hard to know  
Whether it was blood or anger made them so:  
And sure they had been out, had they not stood  
More safe by being fenced in by blood.  
Yet still they fight, but now (alas!) at length,  
Although their courage be full tried, their strength  
And blood began to ebb; you that have seen  
A water-combate on the Sea, between  
Two roaring angry boiling billows, how  
They march, and meet, and dash their curled brows,  
Swelling like graves, as if they did intent  
To entomb each other, ere the quarrel end:  
But when the wind is down, and blustering weather,  
They are made friends, and sweetly run together,  
May think these Champions such; their combs grow low,  
And they that leapt even now, now scarce can go:  
Their wings which lately at each blow they clapped  
(As if they did applaud themselves) now slapt;  
And having lost the advantage of the heel;  
Drunk with each others blood they only reel.  
From either eyes such drops of blood did fall,  
As if they wept them for their Funeral.  
And yet they would fain fight, they came so near,  
As if they meant into each others ear  
To whisper death; and when they cannot rise,  
They lie and look blows in each others eyes.   

But now the Tragic part after the fight,  
When Norfolk Cock had got the best of it,  
And Wisbich lay a dying, so that none,  
Though sober, but might venture seven to one,  
Contracting (like a dying Taper) all  
His force, as meaning with that blow to fall;  
He struggles up, and having taken wind,  
Ventures a blow, and strikes the other blind.  
And now poor Norfolk having lost his eyes,  
Fights only guided by the Antipathies:  
With him (alas!) the Proverb holds not true,  
The blows his eyes ne'er see, his heart most rue.  
At length by chance, he stumbling on his foe,  
Not having any power to strike a blow,  
He falls upon him with a wounded head,  
And makes his conquered wings his Feather bed:  
Where lying sick, his friends were very chary  
Of him, and fetched in haste an Apothecary;  
But all in vain, his body did so blister,  
That't was uncapable of any glister;  
Wherefore at length, opening his fainting bill,  
He called a Scrivener, and thus made his William.   

INprimis, Let it never be forget,  
My body freely I bequeath to th' p●t,  
Decently to be bo●l'd, and for its tomb  
Let it be buried in some bungry womb.  
Item, Executors I will have none,  
But he that on my side laid sever to one:  
And like a Gentleman that he may live,  
To him and to his heirs my comb I give  
Together with my brains, that all may know,  
That oftentimes his brains did use to crow.  
Item, It is my will to the weaker ones,  
Whose Wives complain of them I give my stones;  
To him that's dull, I do my spur● impart;  
And to the Coward, I bequeath my heart:  
To Ladies that are light, it is my will,  
My feathers should be given; and for my bill,  
I'd give't a Tailor, but it is so short,  
That I'm afraid he'll rather curse me for'●:  
●●d s●r the Apothecary's fee, who meant  
ogive me a Glister, let my Rump be sent.  
Lastly, because I feel my life decay,  
I yield, and give to Wisbich Cock the day.    

On a Fart in the .  By Sir John Sucklin. 

DOwn came Grave Ancient Sir John Crook  
And read his message in a book,  
●ery well quoth Will. Norris, it is so,  
●ut Mr. Pym's Tail cried no.  
●ye, quoth Alderman Atkins, I like not this passage  
●o have a Fart intervoluntary in the midst of a message;  
Then up starts one fuller of Devotion  
Then Eloquence, and said, a very ill Motion:  
●ot so neither quoth Sir Henry Jenking,  
The motion was good but for the Stinking;  
Quoth Sir Henry Poole 'twas an audacious trick  
●o Fart in the Face of the Body Politic;  
●ir Jerome in Folio swore by the Mass  
This Fart was enough to have blown a Glass:  
Quoth then Sir Jerome the lesser, such an abuse  
Was never offered in Poland nor Pruce.  
Quoth Sir Richard Houghton, a Justice i'th' Quorum,  
Would take't in snuff to have a Fart let before him:  
●f it would bear an Action quoth Sir Thomas Hol●craft,  
● would make of this Fart a Bolt or a Shaft;  
Then quoth Sir John Moor to his great commendation  
● will speak to this House in my wont Fashion,  
●ow surely says he, For as much as how be it  
This Fart to the Sergeant we must commit.   

No quoth the Sergeant, low bending his knees  
Farts oft will break Prisons but never pay Fees;  
Besides this motion with small reason stands  
To charge me with that I can't keep in my hands:  
Quoth Sir Walter Cope, 'twas so readily let,  
I would it were sweet enough for my Cabinet.  
Why then Sir Walter (quoth Sir William Fleetwood)  
Speak no more of it but bury it with sweetwood.  
Grave Senate, quoth Duncombe, upon my salvation  
This Fart stands in need of some great Reformation.  
Quoth Mr. Cartwright, upon my conscience,  
It would be reform with a little Frankincense.  
Quoth Sir Roger As●on It would much mend the matter  
If this Fart were shaved, and washed with Rose-water.  
Per verbum P●incipis, how dare I tell it,  
A Fart by here-say, and not see it nor smell it.  
I am glad quoth Sam. Lewknor we have found a thing,  
That no tale-bearer can carry it the King.  
Such a Fart as this was never seen  
Quoth the learned Council of the Queen.  
Yet quoth Sir Hugh Beston the like hath been  
Let in a Dance before the Queen.  
Then said Mr. Peake I have a precedent in store,  
His Father Farted last Sessions before.  
A Bill must be drawn then quoth Sir John Bennet,  
Or a selected committee quickly to pen it.  
Why, quoth Dr. Crompton no man can draw  
This Fart within the compass of the Civil Law.  
Quoth Mr. Jones by the Law it may be done,  
Being a Fart Intay'ld from Father to Son;  
In truth, quoth Mr. Brooke, this speech was no lie,  
This Fart was one of your Post Nati:  
Quoth Sir William Padd● he dare assure ' am  
Though 'twere Contra modestum, 'tis not prater naturam.  
Besides by the Aphorisms of my art  
Had he not been delivered had been sick of a Fart.  
Then quoth the Recorder, the mouth of the City,  
To have smothered that Fart had been great pity.  
It is much certain, quoth Sir Humphrey Bentwizle,  
That a round Fart is better than a stinking Fiezle.   

Have patience, Gentlemen, quoth Sir Francis Bacon,  
There's none of us all but may be mistaken:  
Why right, quoth the great Attorney, I confess  
The Echo of ones A— is remediless.    

The Amorous Welshman to his Mistress.  

A Modest Shentle when her see  
The create laugh her make on me,  
And fine wink that her send  
To her, to come see her friend;  
Hircius could not choose pi got approve,  
Put 'twas entangle in her Love.   

A Hundred times her was a pout  
To speak to her to panish doubt,  
Put her being a Welshman born,  
Was for her think her would her scorn;  
And therefore was think nothing better  
Than put her love into a letter.   

Hoping her will no ceptions take  
Unto her love for Country sake;  
For say h●r be Welshman, what tan;  
Pi got they be all Shentlemen:  
Was descended from Shoves noun line,  
Part Human, and part Divine.   

And from far Fenu● that far gottess,  
And twenty other shentle poddies:  
●ector stout, and comely Paris,  
Arthur Plutus King of Faries  
Was her own Cousin aull a Kin,  
Au'l of the Powel's issue spring.   

Was love compel her write this Rhyme  
That never was writ before this time,  
And if her will not pity her pain  
Got sudge her 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 her will say her fortunes fine;  
And tell her something in her ear  
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 write too word or three  
When and where our meet shall be,  
For love is like an Acue fit,  
Was trive poor Welshman out of her wit;  
Till by her answer her do know  
Whether her do love her yea or Noah.   

Hircius have not pin in England long  
And her cannot speak the English Tongue,  
Put her is her friend, and so her will prove,  
I pray send her word if her can love.   

These Verses I send  
Peing rudly penned.   By Griffin ap Shones ap Morgan ap Owen ap Ryce ap powel.  

On the Choice of a WIFE.  

Have past my maddest Age  
Free from Cupid's foolish Rage,  
●ree from sigh, free from tears;  
●ree from hopes, and free from fears:  
And yet I'll wed, if I can see  
A Mistress that is meet for me.   

●●rst, I would have her person such  
●s deformity cannot touch;  
●e she black, or brown, or fair  
●f complexion, hue, or hair,;  
〈◊〉 If my Mistress comely be,  
〈◊〉 She'll prove fair enough for me.   

curtly carriage in these days  
● but a suspicious praise;  
●r my part I care not for't,  
stir is not made at Court:  
Let a grave and virtuous Mother  
Be my Wife's Court, and no other.   

●ealth I wish she may have more  
●en to keep her from being poor,  
●at she need not love for need,  
●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,  
●o her that's good a good:  
●● to me it is no more  
●an time past, or untried 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 virtue be the Teacher  
Of my Wife, before the Preacher;  
She's good that would use me well,  
Were there neither Heaven or Hell.   

Who for beauty takes a Wife,  
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 Wedding day.   

Wealth is Fortunes and not mine,  
Person owes decay to time:  
Learning, Wit, and such like parts  
Ravish men's, not women's hearts;  
But a love, by true love bred,  
Gives each night a maidenhead.   

Wit and Eloquence of tongue,  
Should to me, not her, belong:  
Sober silence in a maid  
Says enough when nothing's said;  
And a wife when she speaks least,  
And that little well, speaks best.   

When I court her first she shall  
Neither credit nought nor all,  
But, when time my truth has proved,  
A●d the finds she is beloved  
Let her then believe, and then  
First begin to love again.   

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 should not be loves end,  
But loves mend: if God them send,  
She should love them for no other  
Cause, but for my Vvifes their Mother:  
If God send none I should be  
Child to her, and she to me.   

For man is the ball of fate,  
●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  
●ind her's made of Wax, not Clay:  
●hat my love may make here's be  
●ore saft, not more hard to me;  
She's loves hangman, and his hell  
In whom a proud heart does dwell.   

When the Priest has made us one,  
●lesh of flesh and bone of bone;  
We must wed our wills together,  
●nd will one in both or neither:  
By her tongue my heart must speak,  
Hers by mine must silence break.   

Where two hearts be thus indented  
●hey live, for they live contented;  
Where they differ, there they die,  
●nd their Marriage-knot untie:  
They and none but they are wed,  
Whose hearts lodge both in one Bed.   

●e that knows to spend or spare,  
●s times and occasions are,  
●ings a portion, bringing none,  
〈◊〉, much better bringing one;  
One may well call such a wife,  
The life of her husband's life.   

She her Husband's state and kie  
Shakes her glass to dress her by:  
She a neat and wholesome 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 Cloisters to forsake,  
Such a Wife would almost vex  
Angels, that they want a sex;  
Such a Wife I wish to nurse  
Both my body and my purse.   

Thus i'th' Mine I'd choose my Gold,  
And my Wife cast in a Mould;  
Yet a Wonans son may vary,  
But I mean, if e'er I marry,  
Either to have such an one,  
Or a better, which is none.    

A Ballad On the Decay of good HOSPITALITY.  

GAllants, wilt please you to hear a plain Ditty,  
That's nonsense, 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'll sing you a plain quoined song, a plain quoined song.   

Good Hospitality now ●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 strait 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,  
scarce a fine bit can scape them, some say they are Wenchers:  
It strengthens them in their Devotion, in their Devotion.   

The Country Justice hath the Law on his 〈◊〉  
For to cite Statutes, therewith to provide  
That Beggars be punished; and that's his protection,  
They dare not come near him for fear of correction:  
So he saves his Bread and his Beer, and his Beer.   

The Clerk of the Kitchen is grown out of season,  
And indeed for that Office I know not the reason,  
For three Cooks are busied about one dish of Meat,  
Whilst twenty stands gaping the same for to eat.  
Oh this is a hungry Age! a hungry Age!   

The Porter indeed is in best estimation,  
To keep the Gates fast is a Nobleman's Fashion;  
A man may as soon enter into Lustra Ferarum,  
Especially if the master be Emptor terrarum:  
Oh this is a fearful time, a fearful time.   

Now where are those feast and good Christmas keeping,  
Alas! they that used it are in their Graves sleeping;  
Your Baskets with New-year-gifts make you good cheer,  
But all the year after you shall not drink there:  
'Tis a Fashion they learned in the City, learned in the City.   

Now Nobleman's houses are nests for Jackdaws,  
And Gentlemen's houses, are guarded by Laws;  
And Tenants are Racked by there Landlords so high,  
That the poor, some Hang, some Starve and some dye:  
And all for want of good House-keeping, House-keeping.    

Captain Squire Lettany,  

FRom Mahomet and Paganism,  
From Heriticks, from Sects and Schism;  
From Highway Raschals and Cutpurses,  
From Carted Bawds and old dry Nurses,  
From Clyster-pipes and Doctors whistels,  
From begging Scholars stolen Epistles,  
From Turnstile boots and Long-lane Beavers,  
From Agues and from drunken Fevers,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From all several kinds of Itches,  
From Picklocks and Cloak-bag Breeches,  
From Carbonado Suits of Serges,  
From a Barstard that's the Clerges,  
From thread points and Caps of Cruel,  
And from the danger of a Duel,  
From a Tally full of Notches,  
And two privey Seals of botches,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From a Whore that's never pleasant  
But in lusty Wine and Pheasant,  
From the watch at twelve a Clock,  
And from Bess broughton's buttoned Smock,  
From Hackney-Coaches, and from Panders  
That do boast themselves Commanders,  
From a tedious Tailor's bill  
And a Pilgrimage up Helbourn Hill,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From Damages and Restitutions,  
From accursed Executions,  
From all new found ways of Sinning,  
From the Scurf and Sable linen,  
From the Pox and the Physician  
From the Spanish Inquisition,  
From a wife that's wan and meager,  
And from Lice and winter Leaguer,  
Libera nos, etc.   

From a groping slavish Cullion,  
From the Gout and the Strangullion,  
From a Mount'bank with's Potions,  
Fron his Serrenges and Lotions,  
From the Buttock of Priscilla,  
That diets with Sarsaparilla,  
From a Pastor too too Zealous,  
And from the Tub of old Cornelius.  
Libera nos, etc.   

From Bawdy Courts and Civil Doctors,  
From Drunken Som'ners and their Proctors,  
From occasion to Revel  
With a Lawyer at the Devil,  
From Sergeants, Yeomen, and their Maces,  
From false Friends with double faces,  
From an Enemy more Mighty  
Than Usquebah or Aquavitae.  
Libera nos, etc.    

A Yorkshire TRIALOGUE IN Yorkshire Dialect, Between an Awed Wife, a Lass, and a Butcher.  Awed Wife. 
PRetha now Lass, gang into th'hurn  
An fetch ma home a Skeel o burn;  
nam, pretha Barn mack hest and gang,  
Ise mar me deaugh thou stays sa long.  Lass. 
Wyah gom Ice gea, bad for me pains  
Yeu's ge m' a frundell oh you're grains.  Awed W. 
My grains me Barn, marry not I,  
Me draugh's for th' Guilts and Gauts i'th' Sty:  
Than preetha Luke i'th' Garth an see  
What Owsen at the Stand-hecks be.  Lass. 
Blukrins, they'll put, I dare not gang  
Outcep ye all len ma th' great Lap-stang.  Awed. 
Take th' Fruggan, or th' awed Maelyn shaft,  
Come tyte again and be nat daft.  Lass. 
Gom th' great Bull segg he's brocken louse,  
And he he's hypt your brade-horned Owse:  
And th' Owse is fallen into the Swine trough,  
I think he's brocken his Camerill-hough.  Awed. 
Whaw whaw mi Lass, mack haste to th' Smedy,  
he's nuded, for he routs already;  
he's bound; O, how it boakes an stangs!  
His Lisk even bumps and bobbs wi' pangs;  
His VVeazen-pipe's as dry as dust,  
His Dew-lapp's sweild, he cannot host;  
He beales, tack th' Barwhams of o'th' heames  
An fetch sum Breckons fra the dames,  
F th' bawkes, ga' fetch ma a wayem-tow,  
My Nowts e'en wreckend, he'll not dow.  
E'en wellanerin for my Nowte,  
For sick a Musan near was wrought;  
Put th' Whies a mel yond stirks an steers  
Ith' Oumar, an Sneck the Lear deres;  
See if Goff Hyldreth be gaen hand,  
Thou Heltarfull, how dares ta sland?  Lass. 
he'll come belive or eables tittar,  
For wheyn a hard in what a twittar  
you're poor Owse lay, he took his Flail  
An hang't by th' Swypple on a Nail,  
Anteuke a Mell fra th' top o'th' Wharmes,  
Answayr he'd ding you're Owse i'th' Harness;  
He stack his Shackfork up i'th' Esins,  
An took his Jerkin of o'th' Gresins;  
Than took his Mittans', reached his Bill,  
An of o'th' Yune head took a Swill  
Ta kepp th' Owse blood in; Luke his cum.  Awed. 
Than reach a Thivel or a Strum  
Ta stir his Blood; stand nat te tawke,  
Hang th' Recans up o'th' Rannel-bawke,  
God ya god moar●e Goff. Is ' e'en feign,  
You▪ l put me Owse out o' his pain.  Butch. 
Hough band him; tack thur Weevills hyne  
Fra th' Reaps-end; this is not a Swine  
We kill; where ilk yean hauds a fuat?  
Ise ready now, yelk ane luke tuit.  
Than Beef a Gods nam, I now Cry,  
Stretch out his Legs, and let him lie  
Till I come stick 'im; whore's me swill?  
Cum hither Lass; hawd, hawd, hawd-still.  L. 
What must I dua with ' Blood? B. Thou Fool  
Teamed down i'th' gath, i'th' Middin-pule.  
Good Beef by th' Mess, and when 'tis hung  
Ise row●e it down, with Teuth an Tongue,  
And gobbled down e'en till I wurrye,  
And when nest Mell we mack a Lurrye;  
A piece o' this free th' Kymlyn brought  
By th' Rude, 'twill be as good as aught.  A. 
Mawte-hearted Fool, I e'en cud greet  
Ta see me Owse dead at me Feet;  
I thank ya Goff; Ise wipe me E'en  
And pleas ya tue. B. Wyah Gom Green.    

The SECOND PART. Here followeth Merry SONGS and CATCHES.  

The Tobacco-Takers Song.  

TObacco is my Music,  
From ●idlers I absent me,  
For I have a Case that yields a brace  
Of Pipes that do content me.  
Still do I cry, Fill a Pipe,  
Fill a Pipe of the best Boy,  
Fill Boy never fail me;  
With Fire and Smoak,  
Still do I choke  
The Man that sits near me.   

If any bids me leave it,  
Or wish me to forsake it,  
Tell him from me, what e'er he be,  
That in snuff I do take it.  
Still do I cry, Fill, etc.   

We need not the Physician,  
We scorn your Medicine-makers',  
We hate your Pills for no poison kills  
The true Tobacco-Takers.  
Still do I cry, Fill, etc.   

My wife I fear is angry,  
I shall be shent if Nell come;  
Boy what's to pay? for I must away.  
Ten Pipes Sir, and you're welcome.  
Still damn I cry, Fill, etc.   

Tobacco makes me Valiant,  
From this our wives would wean us,  
But 'tis not she shall conquer me,  
For Mars did conquer Venus.  
Still do I cry, Fill a Pipe,  
Fill a Pipe of the best Boy,  
Fill Boy, never fail me;  
With Fire and Smoak  
Still do I Choke  
The Man that sits near me.    

The Cobbler's Song.  

OH the Jovial Cobblers! who lives merry lives,  
They have all things at command except it be our wives;  
How so ere we use the Body,  
Yet still we mend the Soul,  
And sing and drink and merrily trowel the Bowl.   

There's ne'er a Trade in Europe that can without us stand,  
For we repair and set upright all things we take in hand;  
We help all women's tripping,  
And such as tread awry,  
And sing and drink, and still we are a dry.   

We brissel with the proudest, be all in all with friends;  
No Lawyer in this Kingdom brings things to shorter ends:  
Although we are all in Pitch,  
At night we make all well,  
And sing and drink and merry Tales we tell.   

There was many Lords and Princes, the Gentle-craft did use,  
Who with content there time they spent in making Ladies shoes;  
Yet they themselves translated were,  
When to that Trade they fell,  
To sing and drink and trowel the Pitcher well.   

There's not a better Crafts-man in all the Common wealth,  
For though our Fingers be all Pitch we never live by stealth;  
But what we get all day, boys,  
At night we freely-spend,  
And sing and drink, and make a Jovial end.    

The Needy-man's Song.  

A Way with this Cash, 'twill make us all mad,  
The happiest are they that ne'er money had;  
The Pocket that's full proves the owner a Gull,  
No Niggard so great, or apt to cheat,  
A Fob that is lank makes the owner Frank,  
I tell thee, my Friend, his loves without end.  
(Cho.) Oh he never can be  
Too Frolic and Free,  
No sweeter Estate  
Than the Needy man's fate.   

When money's a stranger, the man's cut of danger,  
From whores and from wine he's kept within line,  
He smells to no Barrels, nor broaches no Quarrels,  
From Millions of Mocks and as many knocks,  
He saveth himself, by scorning of pelf;  
He wears out no shoes in hunting for News.  
(Cho) Oh he never can be  
Too Frolic, etc.   

He cheateth no Heirs, nor Shoulder-men fears,  
Takes care for no Rent, forgets what was lent,  
Remembers not what this toy cost or that,  
He Signeth no Bill nor maketh no will;  
Away all is hurled, he treads down the World,  
And all that has sums, he counts them b●t scums.  
(Cho.) Oh he never can be  
Too Frolic and Free,  
No sweeter Estate  
Than the Needy man's fate.    

The Pedlar's Song.  

FRom the fair Lavinion Shore  
I your Markets come to store,  
Muse not though so far I dwell  
And my wares come here to sell:  
Such is the secret hunger of Gold,  
Then come to my Pack,  
While I cry, What d'ye lack,  
What d, ye buy? for here it is to be sold.   

I have Beauty, Honour, Grace,  
Fortune Favour, Time and Place;  
And what else thou wouldst request,  
Even the thing thou likest best:  
First let me have but a touch of thy Gold,  
Then come to me Lad  
Thou shalt have what thy Dad  
Never gave; for here it is to be sold.   

Madam, come see what you lack,  
Here's Complexion in my pack;  
White and Red you may have in this place  
To hid your old ill wrinkled face.  
First let me have but a touch of thy Gold,  
Then thou shalt seem  
Like a Wench of fifteen,  
Although you be Threescore year old.    

The Cutpurse Song.  

I Keep my Horse, I keep my Whore,  
I take no Rent, yet am not poor;  
I travel all the Land about,  
And yet was born to ne'er a foot.   

With Partridge plump and Woodcock fine  
I often do at midnight Dine;  
And if my Whore be not in case,  
My Hostess Daughter takes her place.   

The Maids sit up and take their turns,  
If I stay long the Tapster mourns;  
The Cook maid has no mind to sin,  
Though tempted by the Chamberlain.   

But if I knock, O how they brussel!  
The Ostler yawns, the Geldings' gusses;  
If the Maid but sleep, O how they Curse her!  
And all this comes, of Deliver your Purse; Sir.    

The Haymakers Song.  

THe Morning doth waste,  
To the Meadows let's hast,  
For the Sun doth with Glory shine on them;  
The Maidens must Rake  
Whilst the Haycocks we make,  
Then merrily Tumble upon them.   

The envy of Court  
ne'er aims at our sport,  
For we live both honestly and meanly;  
Their Ladies are Fine  
But to Venus incline,  
And our Lasses are harmless and cleanly,   

Then let us advance  
Ourselves in a Dance,  
And afterwards fall to our labour;  
No Measure so meet,  
Nor Music so Sweet  
To us, as a Pipe and a Tabor.    

The Scholar's Song,  

WHat Creatures on Earth  
Can boast freer Mirth,  
Less envied and loved than we;  
Though Learning grow poor,  
We scorn to implore  
A Gift but what's noble and free.   

Our freedom of mind  
Cannot be confined,  
With Riches we're inwardly blest;  
Nor Death, nor the Grave  
Our worths can deprave,  
Nor malice our Ashes molest.   

When such Moles as you  
Your own Earth shall move,  
And Worms shall your memory eat;  
Our names being read  
Shall strike envy dead,  
And Ages our Worths shall repeat.    

The Beggar's Song.  


CAst your Caps and cares away  
This is the Beggars Holy day;  
At the Crowning of our King  
Thus we ever Dance and Sing.   

In the world look out and see  
Where is so happy a King as he;  
where's those people live so free,  
And so merry as do we?   

Be it peace or be it war,  
Here at Liberty we are,  
And enjoy our ease and rest,  
To the Field we are not pressed.   

Nor are called into the Town  
To be troubled with a Gown,  
Hang all Offices we cry  
And your Magistrate defy.   

When the Subsides are increased  
We are not a Penny ceased,  
Nor will any go to Law  
With a Beggar for a straw.  
All which happiness be brags  
He doth owe unto his Rags.    

Second Part.  

From hunger and cold who liveth more free,  
And who so richly clothed as we;  
Our Bellies are full and our flesh it is warm,  
And against Pride our Rags is a charm.  
Enough is a Feast and for to Morrow,  
●et Rich-men take Care, we feel no Sorrow,     

The Tavern Song  

THe Gentry to the Kings-head,  
The Nobles to the Crown,  
The Knight unto the Golden-Fleece,  
And at the Blow the Clown.   

The Churchman to the Mitre,  
The Shepherd to the Star,  
The subtle Gardner to the Rose,  
And at th' Drum the man of War.   

To the Feathers Ladies go, the Globe  
The Seaman do not scorn,  
The Usurer to the Devil,  
And the Citizen to the Horn.   

The Huntsman to the White-hart,  
To the Ship the Merchants go;  
But those that do the Muse's love,  
To the Swan called River Poe.   

The Bankrupt to the World's end,  
The Fool to the Fortune high,  
Unto the Mouth the Oyster wife,  
The Fiddler to the Pye.   

The Punk unto the Cockatrice,  
The Drunkard to the Vine,  
The Beggar to the Bush,  
And with Duke Humphrey to Dine.    

The Healths.  

HEre's a Health to the merry old Sinner  
In a glass of strong Aquavitae,  
That for a Crown and a Dinner  
Will get you a wench will delight you.   

Because that you are not for Ale,  
Here's a Health to a Girl in strong Beer,  
Although she (like it) be stolen,  
She may happen to cost you dear.   

Here's a Health in Ale to our Dear  
That latley hath served in the Kitchen,  
A bouncing Wastcoateer,  
A remedy for the Itching.   

Here's a Health to the Earls fine Daughter  
In Rhenish with Lemon and Sugar  
Who (with this well balanced) will after  
Give liberty to you for to hug her.   

Un●o the Green sickness Maid  
Here's a Health in sparkling white,  
Though yet she be never stayed,  
She may alter her mind  night.   

Unto the new married wife  
Here's a Health in neat Claret,  
Though her Spouse lead a jealous life,  
And her tongue out prattles a Parrot.   

To the Jovial Widow at last  
A Health we'll drink in Sack,  
Her constitutions in haste,  
You may quickly guests what she does lack.   

Now you have so freely drank  
Their Healths and merrily round,  
Each of you may go to his Punk,  
They are yours a Mite to a pound.   

But now I've thought better on't,  
you'd best to leave Drinking and Whoring,  
For virtue hereafter will vaunt,  
When vice shall receive a great scoring.    

A Glee to Bacchus.  

Bacchus' I, acchus fill our brains  
As well as Bowls with sprightly strains.   

Let Soldiers fight for pay and praise,  
And money be the Miser's wish,  
Poor Scholars study all their daves,  
And Gluttons glory in their dish.  
'Tis Wine, pure Wine, revives sad souls,  
Therefore give me the cheering bowls.   

Let Minion marshal in their hair,  
And in a Lovers Lock delight,  
And artificial Colours were,  
We have the Native red and white.  
'Tis Wine, pure Wine, etc.   

Your Pheasant pout, and culver Salmon,  
And how to please your pallets think,  
Give us a salt West Phala-Gamon,  
Not meat to eat, but meat to drink.  
'Tis Wine, pure Wine, etc.   

It makes the backward spirits brave,  
That Lively, that before was dull;  
Those grow good Fellows that are grave,  
And kindness flows from cups brim full.  
'Tis Wine, pure Wine, etc.   

Some have the Phthisic, some have Rheum,  
Some have the Palsy, some the Gout;  
Some swell with fat, and some consume,  
But they are found that drink all out.  
'Tis Wine, pure Wine, etc.   

Some men want Youth, and some want health,  
Some want a Wife, and some a Punk;  
Some men want wit, and some want wealth,  
But he wants nothing that is drunk.  
'Tis Wine, pure Wine, etc.   

Bacchus I, acchus fill our Brains  
As well as Bowls with sprightly strains.    

A Glee to Bacchus.  

TO Bacchus we to Bacchus sing,  
With Wine and Mirth we'll conjure him.   

By his Mother's Eye,  
And her Father's Thigh,  
By his God brought to Light,  
And his too glorious Sight,  
By Juno's deceit,  
And by thy sad retreat,  
Appear appear appear in Bottles here.   

By Ariadne's wrongs,  
And the false youngs harms,  
By the Rock in his breast,  
And her tears sore oppressed,  
By the Beauty she fled,  
And the pleasures of a bed,  
Appear appear appear in Bottles here.   

By this purple wine  
Thus poured on thy shrine,  
And by this Beer Glass,  
To the next kind Lass,  
By a Girl twice nine  
That will clasp like a Vine.  
Appear appear appear in Bottles here.   

By the men thou hast won,  
And the women undone,  
By the Friendship thou hast made,  
And the Secrets betrayed,  
By the power over sorrow,  
Thus charmed till to morrow,  
Appear appear appear in Bottles here.    

ON A Pint of SACK.  

OLd Poets H'pocrin admire,  
And pray to water to inspire  
Their wit and Muse with heavenly fire;  
Had they this Heavenly Fountain seen,  
Sack both their Well and Muse had been,  
And this Pint-Pot their Hipocrin.   

Had they truly discovered it  
They had (like me) thought it unfit  
To pray to water for their wit;  
And had adored Sack as divine,  
And made a Poet God of Wine,  
And this Pint-pot had been a shrine.   

Sack unto them had been in stead  
Of Nectar, and their heavenly bread,  
And every Boy a Ganymede;  
Or had they made a God of it,  
Or styled it patron of their wit,  
The Pot had been a Temple fit.   

Well then Companions is't not fit  
Since to this Gem we own 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.    

In the Praise of WINE.  

'tIs Wine that inspires,  
And quencheth Love's fires,  
Teaches fools how to rule a State;  
Maids ne'er did approve it,  
Because those that do love it,  
Despise and laugh at their hate.   

The drinkers of beer  
Did ne'er yet appear  
In matters of any weight;  
'Tis he whose design  
Is quickened by wine  
That raises things to their height.   

We than should it prise  
For never black eyes  
Made wounds which this could not heal;  
Who then doth refuse  
To drink of this Juice,  
Is a foe to the Common-weal.    

A Glee in praise of Sack.  

Verse.  
SAck is the Prince of Wines,  
The Quintessence of Liquor,  
The Brain it Purges and Refines,  
And makes the Wit the quicker.   

Chorus.  
Then let us laugh, let us sing and quaff,  
Let us toss the Pot and be merry;  
Let us all bear a part, to drink quart after quart  
Of this same delicate Sherry.   

Verse.  
Should Jove come down to men  
And taste this Sack, he'd think,  
Nay swear by Styx 'twere better than  
The Wine the Gods do drink.   

Chorus.  
Then let us laugh, let us sing and quaff,  
Let us toss the Pot and be merry;  
Let us all bare a part, to drink quart after quart  
Of this same delicate Sherry.   

Verse.  
If a man have but this,  
He shall no Music lack;  
No Music to a Sack But is,  
Or to a But of Sack.   

Chorus.  
Then let us laugh, let us sing and quaff,  
Let us toss the Pot and be merry;  
Let us all bear a part, to drink quart after quart  
Of this same delicate Sherry.    

A Song, Forsaken Phillis, her Lamentation.  
To a choice New Tune.  

MY Lodging is on the cold Ground,  
And very hard is my Fare;  
But that which troubles me most is  
The unkindness of my Dear:  
Yet still I cry O turn Love,  
And I prithee Love turn to me;  
For thou art the man that I long for,  
And alack what remedy!   

I'll Crown thee with Garlands of Straw then,  
And I'll Marry thee with a Rush Ring;  
My frozen hopes shall thaw then,  
And merrily we will sing,  
O turn to me my dear Love,  
And I prithee Love turn to me;  
For thou art the man that alone canst  
Procure my liberty.   

But if thou wilt harden thy Heart still,  
And 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 prithee Love turn to me;  
For thou art the man that alone art  
The cause of my misery.    

On a Cold Chine of BEEF.  

BRing out the Old Chine, the Cold Chine to me  
And how I'll charge him come and see:  
Brawn tusked, Brawn well soused and fine  
With 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 why, a why;  
The Duck, Goose and Capon, good fellows all three  
Shall dance thee an antic so shall the Turkey:  
But O! the cold Chine, the cold Chine for me▪  
Chorus How shall I sing, how shall I look,  
Chorus In honour of the Master-Cook.   

With brewis I'll anoint thee from head tooth heel  
Shall make thee run nimble than the new oiled wheel,  
With Piecrust we'll make thee  
The eighth wise man to be;  
But O! the cold Chine, the cold Chine 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 Butcher's Stall,  
And sturdier than the City wall;  
For this held out until the foe  
By dint of Blade, and potent blow  
Fell in Pell-mell, that did not so.   

With Somaches sharper than their Knives  
They laid about them for their lives;  
Well Eastcheap men beware your Wives:  
Enraged weapons stormed it round  
Each wreaking from an open wound,  
That in its own Gravy it seemed drowned.   

Magnanimous Flesh! that did not fall  
At first assault or second mall,  
But a third time defaist them all;  
What strength may fates decrees revoke?  
It was ordained this should be broke,  
Alas! in time the sturdy Oak.   

What goodly Ruins did appear,  
What Bulwarks, Spondals are there here,  
What Palizado Ribs are there;  
The bold monument stern Death defies,  
Inscribed thus to mirth, here lies  
A Trophy, and a Sacrifice.    

Council to a Bachelor.  

HE that Marries a merry Lass  
He has most cause to be sad,  
For let her go free in her merry tricks,  
She'll 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 cherish his wits  
With Singing hay down a derry.   

He that Weds a Roaring Girl  
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 waste 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 days in several ways  
Are troubled with sorrow and care:  
For he that doth look in the Married man's 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 long you must not deceive her;  
For a Bodkin a Ring, or the other fine thing,  
For a Whisk, a Scarf or a Beaver.   

Delivered and well, who is't cannot tell  
Thus while the Child lies 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 Soap,  
There's Item for Fire and Candle,  
For better for worse, There's Item for Nurse  
The Baby to dress and to dandle.   

When swaddled 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 man's Diet.  

Twelve sorts of Meats my Wife provides,  
And bats 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 Quail, the next a Rail,  
A Bittern, and a Jar.   

My Appetite being cloyed 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 served,  
Fitting well the Season,  
A Meddler, and a Hartichoak,  
A Crab, and a small Reison.   

What's he that having such a Wife  
That on her would not dote,  
Who daily does provide such Fare  
Which costs him ne'er a Groat?    

A Song, Caelia's Complaint.  

POor Caelia once was very fair,  
A quick bewitching eye she had;  
Most neatly looked her braided Hair,  
Her dainty Cheeks would make you mad:  
Upon her Lips did all the Grace's 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 smelled and that of wine.   

But tother day it was my fate  
To walk along that way alone,  
I saw no Coaob before her Gate,  
But at her Door I heard her Moan;  
She dropped a Tear, and Sighing seemed 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 Antic;  
Let him be as careless to sport and to toy,  
And as wild as she can be frantic:  
Flatter her and slight her,  
Laugh at her and spite her,  
Rail and commend her again;  
'Tis the way to woe her,  
If you mean to do her;  
Such Girls love such men.   

He that will court a wench that is mild,  
And that is sweet of behaviour,  
L●t him gently woe her,  
And not roughly come to her,  
'Tis the way to win her Favour:  
Give her Kisses plenty,  
She'll take them were they twenty,  
Stroke her and Kiss her again;  
'Tis the way to woe her,  
If you mean to do her,  
Soft Girls love mild 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,  
'Tis the only way to command her:  
Take her up and touse her,  
Give her Kisses and rouse her,  
Rail and commend her again,  
'Tis the way to woe her,  
If you mean to do her,  
Such Girls love wild men.    

A Song, An Old Knight to a Young Lad●  

MAdam, your Beauty (I confess)  
May our young Gallants wound or bless,  
But cannot warm my frozen Heart,  
Not capable of Joy or smart:  
Cause neither Wit, nor Looks, nor Kindness can  
Make young a Super-annu-ated man.   

Those sparks that every Minute fly  
From your bright Eyes, do falling dye;  
Not kindle flames as heretofore,  
Because old I can Love no more:  
Beauty on withered hearts no Trophy gains,  
For Tinder over-used, no fire retains.   

If you'll endure to be admired  
By an Old Dotard new Inspired,  
You may enjoy the Quinteslence  
Of my past loves without Expense:  
For I can wait, and prate, I thank my Fate  
I can do all, but no new Fire Create.    

A Song, Colin and his Love.  

MOst early in a Morning fair  
A Shepherd Sang this Solemn Air,  
Where his Dear Love did use to lie,  
And thus Lamenting he did Cry!   

Was ever one in love as I,  
That am so Sick yet cannot die?  
My Heart is broke, my delight is gone,  
Yet I'll have my Love, or I'll have none.   

My Father hath done me much wrong  
To keep me from my Love so long,  
But unto him I'll have it known  
That I'll hav● my Love, or I'll have none.   

To some far Country I will go,  
Confine myself to care and woe;  
And there I'll sit and make my moan,  
For I'll have my Love, or I'll have none,   

Set Forty Thousand on a row  
My love will make the fairest show;  
And though from me she's fled and gone,  
Yet I'll have my Love, or I'll have none.   

I gave my Love a pair of Shoes  
As black as Jet, her shoestrings blue;  
She put 'em on and away she's Flown,  
Yet I'll have my Love, or I'll have none.    

A Song, A Lady to a young Courtier.  

LOve thee, Good sooth, not I;  
I've some what else to do:  
Alas! you must go learn to talk,  
Before you learn to Woe;  
Nay fie, stand off, go to go too.   

Before you're in the Fashion,  
And newly come to Court,  
D'ye think your  are Orators  
T' invite us to the sport,  
Ha' ha'! who will not jeer you for't?   

ne'er look so sweetly, Youth,  
Nor Fiddle with your Band,  
We know you trim your borrowed Curls  
To show your pretty Hand,  
But 'tis too young for to command.   

Go practice how to Jeer,  
And think each word a Jest;  
That's the Court's wit, Alas! you are out  
To think when finely dressed  
You please me, or the Lady's best.   

And why so confident,  
Because that lately we  
Have brought another lofty word  
Unto our Pedigree;  
Your inside seems the worse to me.   

Mark how Sir Whacham Fools,  
I marry there's a wit?  
Who cares not what he says or swears,  
So Ladies laugh at it:  
Who can deny such Blades a bit.    

The Bashful Lover. A Song in the Play of the Mock ginger.  

CAlm was the Evening and clear was the sky,  
And the sweet budding flowers did spring,  
When all alone went Amintor and I  
To hear the sweet Nightingale sing:  
I sat and he laid him down by me,  
And scarely his breath he could draw,  
But when with a fear he began to come near,  
He was dashed with a ha' ha' ha' ba ha' ha', etc.   

He blushed to himself, and laid still a while,  
'Twas his modesty curbed his desire;  
But straight I convinced all his fears with a smile,  
And added new flames to his fire:  
Ah! Silvia, said, he your are cruel  
To keep your poor lover in awe,  
Then once more he pressed with his hand to my breast,  
But wast dashed with a ha' ha' ha' ha' ha' ha', etc.   

I knew 'twas his passion that caused his fear,  
And therefore I pitied his case;  
I whispered him softly, there's no body near,  
And laid my Cheek close to his Face:  
But as he grew bolder and bolder  
A Shepherd came by us and saw,  
And straight as our bliss, we began with a Kiss,  
He laughs out with a ha' ha' ha' ha' ha' ha', etc.    

A Song, Freedom's in Love.  

PLeasure, Beauty, Youth attend ve,  
Love and melting thoughts befriend ye;  
While the spring of Nature lasteth  
Use your time  Winter hasteth.   

Active blood and free delight  
Place and privacy invite,  
Oh be kind as you are fair!  
Lose no advantage got for Air.   

She is cruel that denies it,  
Stealth of sport in love supplies it;  
Bounty best appears in granting,  
Else the ears of love are wanting.   

There's the sweet exchange of bliss,  
Where ache whisper proves a Kiss;  
In the gains are felt no pains,  
For still in all the loser gains.    

A Song, Advice to Cloris.  

CLoris forbear a while, do not o'er Joy me,  
Urge not another Smile, lest you destroy me;  
That Beauty pleaseth most, and is best taken,  
Which soon is won, soon lost, Kind, yet forsaken:  
I love a coming Lady, 'tis true I do,  
But now and then I'd have her scornful too.   

O'recloud those eyes of thine, bopeep thy Features,  
Warm with an April shine, scorch not thy Creatures;  
Still to display thy ware, still to be fooling,  
Argues how rude you are in Cupid's schooling:  
Disdain begets a smile, scorn draws us nigh,  
'Tis cause I would and cannot, makes me try.   

Cloris I'd have thee wise, when Gallants view thee,  
And Court, do thou despise, fly those pursue thee;  
Fasts move an Appetite, makes hunger greater,  
Whose stinted of delight falls to't the better:  
Be coy and kind by turns, be smooth and rough,  
And buckle now and then, and that's enough.    

A Song, Counsel to a Maid.  

CLoris when e'er you do intent  
To venture on a bosom Friend,  
Be sure you know your servant well,  
Before your liberty you sell.   

For Loves a Fever in young and old,  
That's sometimes hot and sometimes cold;  
And men you know when  they please  
Can soon be sick of this disease.   

Then wisely choose a friend that may  
Last for an Age, not for a day;  
Who loves thee not for Lip or Eye,  
But from a Mutual Sympathy.   

To such a friend thy Heart engage,  
For he will court thee in old Age;  
And kiss thy shallow wrinkled brow  
With as much joy as he doth now.    

A Song, The doubtful lover Resolved.  

Feign would I love but that I fear,  
I quickly should the willow wear;  
Feign would I marry, but men say  
When love is tried he will away:  
Then tell me Love what I shall do  
To cure these fears when  I woe.   

The fair one she's a mark to all,  
The Brown one each doth lovely call,  
The Black a Pearl in fair-mens' eyes,  
The rest will stoop to any prize:  
Then tell me Love what I shall do  
To cure these fears when  I woe.   

Reply.  
Go Lover, know it is not I  
That wound with fear or jealousy;  
Nor do men feel those smarts  
Until they have confined their hearts:  
Then if you'll cure your fears, you shall  
Love neither Fair, Black, Brown, but All.    

A Song, The Merry Lover.  

I Love thee for thy Fickleness  
And great inconstancy;  
For hadst thou been a constant Lass,  
Then thou hadst ne'er loved me.   

I love thee for thy Wantonness  
And for thy drollery;  
For if thou hadst not loved to sport,  
Then thou hadst ne'er loved me.   

I Love thee for thy Poverty  
And for thy want of Coin;  
For if thou hadst been worth a groat  
Than thou hadst ne'er been mine.   

I Love thee for thy Uglyness  
And for thy Foolery,  
For if thou hadst been fair or wise  
Then thou hadst ne'er loved me.   

Then let me have thy Heart a while,  
And thou shalt have my Money,  
I'll part with all the wealth I have  
T' enjoy a lass so Bonny.    

A Song, Liberty in Love.  

HOw happy art thou and I  
That never knew how to love,  
There's no such blessings here beneath,  
What e'er there is above:  
'Tis liberty, 'tis liberty  
That every wiseman loves.   

Out out upon those Eyes  
That think to Murder me,  
And he's an ass believes her fair  
That is not kind and free:  
There's nothing sweet, there's nothing sweet  
To man but Liberty.   

I'll tie my Heart to none,  
Nor yet confine mine eyes,  
But I will play my game so well  
I'll never want a prize:  
'Tis liberty, 'tis liberty  
Has made me now thus wise.    

A Song, A Clown to his Mistress.  

EXcellent Mistress! fairer than the Moon,  
Then scoured Peter or the silver Spoon;  
Brighter than Venus, or the Morning Star,  
Dainty fine Mistress by my troth you are.  
Far excelling all other Nymphs,  
As Lobsters, Crawfish or Crawfish Shrimps.  
The Glow-worm is most bright,  
Your Eyes do shine more clearly,  
As I hope to be Knighted  
I love thee most dearly.    

On a Wife.  

HEr for a Mistress fain would I enjoy  
Who hangs the Lip, and pouts at every toy;  
Speaks like a wag, is bold, dare boldly stand,  
And bare Love's Sceptre in a constant hand;  
Laughs loud, and for one blow will give me three,  
And when she's stabbed will fall a kissing me:  
If she be Modest Wise, and chaste of Life,  
Hang her, she's good for nought but for a Wife.    

On Tobacco.  

MUch Meat do serve the Glutton  
To feed upon like Swine,  
But he's a happy man indeed  
That on an Herb can Dine:  
His Trencher needs no Napkin  
His Fingers for to wipe;  
He keeps a Kitchen in his box,  
His roast-meat in a Pipe.    

Upon a Welshman.  

A Man of Wales a little before ●aster  
Ran on his Hostess score for Cheese a Taster.  
His Hostess chalked it up behind the door,  
And said, for Cheese (good Sir) Come pay the score:  
Cod's Pluternails (quoth he) what meaneth these?  
What dost thou think her knows not Chalk from Cheese?    

A Song, The Jovial Tinker.  

HE that a Tinker, a Tinker will be,  
Let him leave other Loves and come listen to me,  
Though he Travels all the Day  
Yet he comes home still at Night,  
And dallies with his Doxy,  
And dreams of Delight.   

His Pot and his Tost in the morning he takes,  
And all the day long good music he makes;  
He wanders up and down to Wakes and to Fairs,  
And casts his Cap at the Court, and its cares:  
When to the Town the Tinker doth come,  
Oh how the wanton wenches run!   

Some bring him Basins, some bring him Bowls,  
All wenches pray him to stop up their holes;  
Think goes the Hammer, the Skellet and the Skummer:  
Come bring me the Copper Kettle  
For the Tinker the Tinker, the merry merry Tinker,  
Oh he is the man of mettle!   

Ho Maids, Fair maids, sweet wenches come away,  
Let me here no longer stay,  
But bring me the Kettle, the Trug and the Trey,  
For here comes the Tinker with his Tools:  
This Trade was never taught in Schools,  
No nor his Art, as you may see,  
The Cobbler mends not more than he.    

CATCHES.  


NOw that the Spring hath filled our Veins  
With kind and active fire,  
And made green Liveries for the Plains,  
And every Grove a Quire.   

Sing we this Song with mirth and merry glee,  
And Bacchus crown the Bowl,  
And here's to thee, and thou to me,  
And every thirsty soul.   

Shear sheep that have them, cry we still  
But see that none escape  
To take of his Sherry, that makes us so merry  
And plump as the lusty Grape.    

2 Catch.  

Your merry Peets old Boys  
Of Aganippe's Well,  
Full many tales have told Boys,  
Whose liquor doth excel,  
And how that place was haunted  
By those that love good Wine;  
Who tippled there and chanted  
Among the Muses Nine.  
Where still they cried Drink clear Boys,  
And you shall quickly know it,  
That 'tis not lousy Beer Boys  
But Wine that makes a Poet.    

3 Catch.  

Call George again boy, call George again,  
And for the love of Bacchus call George again.  
George is a good boy, and draws us good wine,  
Or fill us more Claret our wit to refine;  
George is a brave Lad, and an honest man,  
If you will him know, he dwells at the Swan,    

4 Catch.  

'Mongst all the precious Juices  
Afforded for our uses,  
There's none to be compared with Sack;  
For the body or the mind  
No such Physic you shall find,  
Therefore boy see we do not lack.   

Wouldst thou hit a lofty strain,  
With this Liquor warm thy brain,  
And thou Swain shalt sing as sweet as Sidney;  
Or wouldst thou laugh and be fat,  
There's not any like to that  
To make Jack Sprat a man of Kidney.   

It is the Soul of mirth  
To poor Mortals upon Earth,  
It would make a coward bold as Hector,  
Nay I wager durst a Piece,  
That those merry Gods of Greece  
Drank old Sack and Nectar.    

5 Catch.  

Come come away to the Tavern I say,  
For now at home 'tis washing day;  
Leave your prittle prattle, and fill us a pottle,  
You are not so wise as Aristotle:  
Drawer come away, let's make it Holiday,  
Anon, Anon, Anon Sir, what is't you say.    

6 Catch.  

There was an old man at Waltham cross,  
Who merrily sung when he lived by the loss;  
hay tro-ly loly loly lo.   

He never was heard to sigh a hay ho,  
But he sent it out with a hay troly loly lo.   

He cheered up his heart  
When his goods went to wrack  
With a hem, boy, Him!  
And a cup of old Sack;  
Sing hay troly loly lo.    

7 Catch.  

Come let us cast Dice who shall drink,  
Mine is twelve and his fice sink,  
Six and Four is thine, and he threw Nine,  
Come away Sink trey, Size ace fair play;  
Quator duce is your throw Sir,  
Quator ace, they run low Sir;  
Two Deuces I see, Deuce ace is but three:  
Oh were is the wine, come fill up his glass,  
For here is the man has thrown Am's ace.    

8 Catch.  

She that will eat her breakfast in her bed,  
And spend the morn in dressing of her head,  
And sit at dinner like a Maiden-Bride,  
And nothing do all day, but talk of pride;  
Jove of his mercy may do much to save her,  
But what a case is he in that shall have her!    

9 Catch.  

Never let a man take heavily the clamour of his wife,  
But be ruled by me, and lead a merry life;  
But let her have her will in every thing,  
If she scolds then laugh and sing,  
hay derry derry ding.    

10 Catch.  

Let's cast away care and merrily sing,  
There is a time for every thing;  
He that plays at work, and works at his play,  
Neither keeps Working, nor yet Holiday:  
Set business aside, and let us be merry,  
And drown our dull thoughts in Canary and Sherry.    

11 Catch.  

Hang sorrow and cast away care,  
And let us drink up our Sack;  
They say 'tis good to cherish the blood,  
And for to strengthen the back:  
'Tis Wine that makes the thoughts aspire,  
And fills the body with heat;  
Besides 'tis good, if well understood  
To sit a man for the feat:  
Then call, and drink up all,  
The drawer is ready to fill;  
Pox take care, what need we to spare,  
My Father has made his Will.    

12 Catch.  

The Wisemen were but seven, ne'er more shall be for me;  
The Muses were but nine, The worthies three times three;  
And three merry Boys, and three merry Boys are we.   

The Virtues were but seven, and three the greater be;  
The Caesars they were twelve, and the fatal Sisters three;  
And three merry Girls, and three merry Girls are we.    

13 Catch.  

Show a Room, show a Room, show a Room,  
Here's a knot of Good Fellows are come  
That mean for to be merry  
With Claret and with Sherry;  
Each man to mirth himself disposes,  
And for the reckoning tell Noses:  
Give the Red-Nose some White,  
And the Pale-Nose some Claret,  
But the Nose that looks Blue,  
Give him a Cup of Sack 'twill mend his hue.    

14 Catch.  

O the wily wily Fox, with his many wily mocks!  
We'll Earth him, if you'll but follow,  
And now that we have done't, to conclude this merry hunt,  
Let us roundly whoop and hollow:  
Prithee drink, prithee drink, prethee-prethee drink,  
That the hunters may follow.    

15 Cath.  

My Lady and her Maid upon a merry pin,  
They made a match at Farting, who should the Wager win,  
Joan lights three Candles then, and sets them bolt upright,  
With the first fart she blew them out,  
With the next she gave them light:  
In comes my Lady then, with all her might and main,  
And blew them out, and in and out, and out and in again.    

16 Catch.  

Now I am married, Sir John I'll not curse,  
He joins us together for better, for worse;  
But if I were single I tell you plain,  
I would be advised  I married again.    

17 Catch.  

An old house end, an old house end,  
And many a good fellow wants money to spend,  
If thou wilt borrow  
Come hither to morrow,  
I dare not part so soon with my friend,  
But let us be merry, and drink off our Sherry,  
But to part with my money I do not Intent;  
Then a turd in thy Teeth, and an old house end.    

18 Catch.  

Thou sittest too long at the Pot Tom  
Thou sittest too long at the Pot Tom,  
Here's thy Pot and my Pot,  
And my Pot and thy Pot,  
Then hold thy Nose to the Pot Tom.   

Thou studiest Philosophy Tom,  
And some time Astrologey Tom;  
Let's have our Liquor about us  
Both within and without us;  
Then hold thy Nose to the Pot Tom.   

What humour hath crossed the now Tom,  
What humour hath crossed the now Tom?  
What  doth fright thee  
From that that delights thee?  
Then hold thy Nose to the Pot Tom.   

What Lawyer is like to thee Tom,  
Or for to plead against the Pot Tom?  
A fig for his reading,  
Except that his pleading  
Is for to maintain the Pot Tom.   

The Pot is the Peacemaker Tom,  
And the righter of every man's wrong Tom;  
For when the Law cannot mend it,  
The Pot it will end it,  
Then hold thy Nose to the Pot Tom.   

Then hold thy Nose to the Pot Tom,  
And do thyself not so much wrong Tom,  
C●t not that behind thee,  
Which Bacchus designed thee;  
Then hold thy Nose to the Pot Tom,   

For Malt that's good for the Maw Tom,  
It will cure the body in Autumn;  
The felix quem faciunt  
I pray thee be patiented,  
Aliena pericula Cautum.   

Then hold thy Nose to the Pot Tom,  
And do thyself not so much wrong Tom;  
Neither Parson nor Vicar  
But will take off his Liquor,  
Then hold thy Nose to the Pot Tom.    

19 Catch.  

Drink, drink, all you that think  
To cure your souls of sadness;  
Take up your Sack, 'tis all you lack,  
All worldly care is madness.  
Let Lawyers plead, and and Scholars read,  
And Sectaries still conjecture,  
Yet we can be as merry as they  
With a Cup of Apolle's Nectar.   

Let Gluttons feed and Soldiers bleed,  
And fight for reputation;  
Physicians are fools, to fill up close stools,  
And cure men by purgation.  
Yet we have a way far better than they,  
Which Galen could never conjecture,  
To cure the head, nay quicken the dead,  
With a cup of Apolle's Nectar.   

We do forget we are in debt  
When we with liquor are warmed;  
We dare outface the Sergeant's Mace  
And Martial Troops through armed.  
The Swedish King much Honour did win,  
And valiant was as Hector;  
Yet we can be as valiant as he,  
With a cup of Apollo's Nectar.   

Let the world's slave his comfort have  
And hug his hoards of treasure,  
Till he and his wish meet both in a dish;  
So dies a Miser in pleasure.  
'Tis not a fat farm our wishes can charm,  
We scorn this greedy conjecture;  
'Tis a health to our friend, to whom we commend  
This cup of Apollo's Nectar.   

The Pipe and the Pot, are our common shot,  
Wherewith we keep a quarter;  
Enough for to choke with fire and smoak  
The great Turk and the Tartar.  
Our faces red, our Ensigns spread,  
Apollo is our Protector;  
To rear up the Scout, to run in and out,  
And drink up this cup of Nectar.    

20 Catch.  

There was three Cooks in Colebrook  
And they fell out with our Cook,  
And all was for a pudding he took,  
And from the Cook of Colebrook.  
There was swash cook, and slash cook,  
And thy Nose in my Arse Cook,  
And all was for a pudding he took,  
And from the cook of Colebrook.  
Then they fell all upon our Cook,  
And mumbled him so, that he did look  
As black as the pudding which that he took,  
And from the Cook of Colebrook.    

21 Catch.  

Wilt thou lend my thy Mare to ride a mile?  
No, she's lame going over a stile:  
But if thou wilt her to me spare  
Thou shalt have money for thy Mare:  
Oh! say you so, say you so,  
Money will make my Mare to go.    

22 The Answer.  

Your Mare is lame she halts down right,  
Then shall we not get to London to night:  
You cried ho, ho, money made her go,  
But now I well perceive it is not so;  
You must spur her up and put her to't  
Though money will not make her go, your spurs will do't.    

23 Catch.  

If any so wise is, that Sack he despises,  
Let him drink his small beer and be sober,  
Whilst we drink Sack and sing, as if it were spring,  
He shall droop like the Trees in October.  
But be sure over night, if this dog do you by't,  
You take it henceforth for a warning,  
Soon as out of your bed, to settle your head  
Take a hair of his tail in the Morning:  
And be not so silly, to follow old Lily,  
For there's nothing but Sack that can tune us,  
Le his Ne-assuescas be put in his cap-case  
And sing bibito vinum Jejunus.    

24 Catch.  

Good Simon how comes it your Nose looks so red,  
And your Cheeks and lips look so pale,  
Sure the heat of the Tost, your Nose did so roast,  
When they were both soused in Ale.  
It shows like the Spire of Paul's steeple on fire,  
Each Ruby darts forth (such lightning) Flashes  
While your face looks as dead, as if it were Led,  
And covered all over with ashes.   

Now to heighten his colour, yet fill his pot fuller  
And neck it not so with froth,  
Gra-mercy mine Host, it shall save thee a Toast,  
Sup Simon, for here is good broth.    

25 Catch.  

Wilt thou be Fat? I'll tell thee how  
Thou shalt quickly do the Feat;  
And that so plump a thing as thou  
Was never yet made up of meat:  
Drink off thy Sack, 'twas only that  
Made Bacchus and Jack Falstafe, Fat, Fat.   

Now every Fat man I advise  
That scarce can peep out of his eyes,  
Which being set can hardly rise;  
Drink of● his Sack and freely quaff,  
'Twill make him lean, but me to laugh  
To tell him how— 'tis on a staff.    

26 Catch.  

Of all the brave Birds that ever I see  
The Owl is the fairest in her degree,  
For all the day long she sits in a tree,  
And when the night comes away flies she;  
To whit, to who, to whom drinkst thou?  
Sir Knave to thou;  
This song is well sung, I make you a vow,  
And he is a knave that drinketh now.  
Nose, Nose, Nose, and who gave thee that jolly red Nose?  
Nutmegs and Cloves, and that gave thee thy jolly red Nose.    

27 Catch.  

This Ale, my bonny Lads, is as brown as a berry,  
Then let us be merry here an hour;  
And drink it e'er it's sour:  
Here's to thee lad,  
Come to me lad;  
Let it come Boy, to my Thumb Boy.  
Drink it off Sir, 'Tis enough Sir;  
Fill mine Host Tom's Pot and Toast.    

28 Catch.  

What are we met? come let's see  
If here's enough to sing this Glee;  
Look about, count your number,  
Singing will keep us from crazy slumber;  
1, 2, and 3, so many there be that can sing,  
The rest for wine may ring:  
Here is Tom, Jack and Harry,  
Sing away and do not tarry,  
Merrily now let's sing, carouse and tipple,  
Here's Bristol Milk, come suck this nipple,  
There's a fault Sir, never halt Sir, before a cripple.    

29 Catch.  

Jog on, jog on, the Foot pathway,  
And merrily hent the stile;  
Your merry heart goes all the day,  
Your sad tires in a mile.  
Your paltry money bags of Gold,  
What need have we to stare for,  
When little or nothing soon is told,  
And we have the less to care-for:  
Cast care away, let sorrow cease,  
A Fig for Melancholy;  
Let's laugh and sing, or if you please  
we'll frolic with sweet Dolly.    

30 Catch.  

What fortune had I poor Maid as I am  
To be bound in eternal vow,  
For ever to lie by the side of a Man  
That would, but knows not how:  
Oh can there no pity  
Be in such a City,  
Where Lads anough are to be had!   

Unfortunate Girl, that art wed to such woe,  
Go seek thee a lively Lad,  
And let the poor that hath nothing to show  
Go seek for another as bad:  
Then call for no pity  
Thou dwelled in a City,  
Where Lads enough were to be had.    

31 Catch.  

Fly Boy, Fly Boy, to the Cellars bottom,  
View well you Quills and bung Sir,  
Draw wine to preserve the Lungs Sir,  
Not rascally wine to Rot 'em:  
If the Quill runs foul,  
Be a trusty soul, and can it;  
For the Health is such  
An ill drop will much profane it.    

32 Catch.  

Diogenes was merry in his Tub.  
And so let us be at our Club;  
'Tis mirth that fills the veins with blood,  
More than either wine, sleep, or Food.   

Let each man keep his Heart at ease,  
No man e'er died of that disease;  
'Twill always keep thy body in health,  
Then value it above thy wealth.   

'Tis sadness and grief that doth bring  
Diseases in Autumn and Spring;  
Then welcome harmless mirth I say,  
The more we laugh the more we may.    

33 Catch.  

What if we drink, let no man think  
There's Treason in the Cup,  
'Gainst the King it is not any thing, 'tis a plot  
To blow our sorrow up.   

ne'er charge pure wine with such design,  
'Tis too noble, fill the Glass,  
Let's be free without fear, Loyalty liveth hear.  
In vino verita●.    

34 Catch.  

A Fig for care, why should we spare  
The Parish is bound to find us,  
For thou and I and all must die,  
And leave the world behind us.   

The Clerk shall Sing, the Bells shall Ring  
And the Old Wives wind us;  
Sir John shall lay our Boves in Clay,  
Where no body means to find us.    

35 Catch.  

Had the not care enough, care enough,  
Care enough of the old man?  
She wed him, she fed him,  
And to the bed she led him;  
For seven long winters she lifted him on:  
But oh how she negled him, negled him,  
Oh how she negled him all the night long!    

36 Catch.  

Here's Health unto his Majesty with 2 Fa lafoy lafoy, etc.  
Conversion to his Enemies with a Fa lafoy lafoy, etc.  
And he that will not pledge this Health,  
I wish him neither wit nor wealth,  
Nor yet a Rope to hang himself with a Fa lafoy lafoy, etc.    

37. Catch.  

Tom Sanders is he that draws us good Wine,  
At Edmonton Town there hangs out his Sign;  
He carries the Bell for Sack and Terse Claret,  
Jack knows it well and Paul will aver it:  
For Matthew and will with the rest of the Voken,  
There's much might be said,  
But then more must be spoken.    

38 Catch.  

ne'er trouble thyself at the times nor their turn,  
Afflictions run circular and wheel about;  
Away with thy murmuring and thy heart burn,  
With the Juice of the Grape we'll quench the fire out.   

ne'er chain nor imprison thy soul up in sorrow,  
What fails us to day, may be friend us to morrow;  
Let us scorn our content from others to borrow.   

The thirsty Earth Drinks up the Rain,  
And Drinks and gapes for Drink again;  
The Plants suck in the Earth, and are  
With constant drinking fresh and fair;  
The Sea itself, which one would think  
Should have but little need of drink,  
Drinks ten Thousand Rivers up,  
So filled that they o'erflow the Cup.   

The busy Sun, and one would guests,  
By's Drunken fiery Face no less,  
Drinks up the Sea, and when that's done,  
The Moon and Stars Drink up the Sun;  
They Drink and Dance by their one light,  
They Drink and Revel all the night;  
Nothing in Nature's sober found,  
But an eternal health goes round.   

(Cho.) Fill up the Bowl and fill it high,  
Fill all the Glasses here, for why  
Should every Creature Drink but I?  
Why man of Morals, tell me why! Mr. A. Cowley.    

40 Catch.  

Good Susan be as secret as you can,  
You know your Master is a jealous man;  
Though thou and I do mean no hurt or Ill,  
Yet Men take Women in the worse sens● still;  
And fear of Horns more grief in hearts hath bred,  
Then wearing Horns doth hurt a Cuckold's head.    

41 Catch.  

Sweet Jane, sweet Jane,  
I love thee wondrous well;  
But I'm afraid, thou'lt die a Maid,  
And so lead Apes in Hell.   

For why my Dear,  
'Tis pity it should be so,  
Thou'dst better then to take a man  
And keep thee from the foe.   

Thou art so pretty and fine,  
And wondrous handsome too;  
Then be not coy, let's get a boy,  
Alas! what should we do.   

I see thy Brow, and I know  
What colour it is below;  
Then do not Jest, but smile the rest,  
I faith I know, what I know.    

42 Catch.  

If wealth could keep a man alive,  
I'd only study how to thrive;  
That having got a mighty Mass  
‛ Might bribe the fates to let me pass.   

But since we can't prolong our years,  
Why spend we time in needless grief and fears;  
For since Dest'nie has decreed us to die,  
And all must pass over the Ferry:  
Hang Riches and Cares,  
Since we han't many Years,  
Let's have a short life and a merry.    

43 Catch.  

Times are changed from bad to worse,  
Knavery thrives and sills a pace the Purse  
It was a goodly Golden Age of Old,  
But now the Age is mad for Gold;  
Youth and Beauty play at wasters,  
Is not this a mad world, my Masters?   

Cozenage is the praise of wit,  
Lechery but a merry merry fit,  
Pride a compliment and grace,  
Beauty an Adul'trate Face;  
Drunkards now are called Boon Wasters,  
Is not this a mad world, my Masters?    

44 Catch.  

Bess black as a Charcoal,  
Was found in a dark hole,  
With Kit, at the Cat and the Fiddle;  
But what they did there,  
None safely can swear,  
Yet Gentlemen Riddle my Riddle.   

'Troth I would be loath,  
Were I put to my oath,  
To swear Kit with Bess did engender;  
Yet it would tempt a man,  
Bridle all he can,  
His present wishes to tender.   

But it was found at last,  
 twelvemonth's was passed,  
That Christopher Bess had o'er mastered,  
For betwixt either Thigh  
He quartered so nigh,  
She brought him a Jolly brown Bastard.    

45 Catch.  

A Woman's rule should be in such a fashion,  
Only to guide her household, and her passion;  
And her obedience never out of season,  
So long as either Husbands lasts or Reason.   

Ill fares that hapless Family that shows,  
A Cock that's silent and a Hen that Crows;  
I know not which live most unnatural lives,  
Obedient Husbands, or Commanding Wives.    

46 Catch.  

When Wives do hate their Husband's friends,  
As jealous of some fearless ends,  
And still and angry look she settles,  
As if of late she'ad pissed on Nettles.  
Ware ho, ware ho, for then of force  
The Mare will prove the better Horse.   

When Women will ever be nice,  
Foolish, Proud and manly wise;  
And their wanton humour Itches,  
To were their Husband's widest Breeches.  
Ware ho, ware ho, for then of force  
The Mare will prove the better Horse.    

47 Catch.  

Then let us be friends, and most friendly agree,  
The Pimp, the Punk and the Doctor are three;  
That cannot but thrive when united they be.   

The Pimp brings in custom, the Punk she gets treasure,  
Of which the Physician is sure of his measure,  
For work that she makes him in sale of her pleasure.   

●r which when she wears by Diseases or Pain,  
●e Doctor new Vamps, or Upsets her again;  
●e Doctor new Vamps or upsets her again.    

48 Catch.  

A Pox on the Jailor and on his fat Jowl,  
There's liberty lies in the bottom of th' Bowl,  
A fig for what ever the Rascal can do,  
Our Dungeon is deep, but out Cups are so too;  
Then Drink we round in despite of our foes,  
And make our hard Irons cry clink in the close:  
Now laugh we and quaff we, until our rich Noses  
Grow red, and contest with our chapplets of Roses.    

49 Out of Anacreon.  

When I taste my Goblet deep,  
All my cares are rocked asleep;  
Then I am Croesus Lord of th' Earth,  
Singing Odes of Wit and Mirth:  
And with Ivy Garlands Crowned,  
I can kick the Globe round, round.  
Others Fight, but let me Drink,  
Boy, my Goblet fill to th' Brink;  
For when I lay down my Head,  
Better be Drunk, Dead-drunk, then dead.     
FINIS.   

Although some of these merry Poems Do seem to Halt on Crutches, Yet I doubt not, but they'll please you, For your charge, which not much is.   

Advertisement.  
Those who for their Curiosity, and the more completement of these Ballads, Songs, or Catches, do desire the Tune to any of them, if they please to call at John Playford's shop in the Temple; he will accommodate them with the most of the said Tunes.   

Books newly printed for John Playford at his Shop in the Temple.  
1. Three Books of Airs and Dialogues to sing to the Theorbo Lute or Viol., Composed by Mr. Henry Laws and others, all bound in one Volume in Folio, the price 10 s.  
2. The Musical Companion containing Catches, Airs and Songs of 2, 3 and 4 Voices, bound in one Volume in 4ᵒ the price 3 s. 6 d.  
3. A new Collection of Lessons for the Lyra Viol in 4ᵒ Entitled Musics Recreation on the Lyra Viol., fitted for young beginners, the price 2 s.  
4. the Introduction to the skill of Music both Vocal and Instrumental by John Playford in 8ᵒ the price bound up 2 s.  
5. Music's Handmaid, a Book engraven on Copper Plates in 4ᵒ Containing 40 easy and pleasant Lessons for the Virginals the price 2 s.  
6. Music's Delight, containing new and pleasant Lessons on the Cithrens, with Instructions for beginners, bound in 8ᵒ the price 18 d.