Selected quad for the lemma: lord_n
Text snippets containing the quad
|
ID |
Title |
Author |
Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
STC |
Words |
Pages |
|
A66741
|
Wit and drollery joviall poems / corrected and much amended, with new additions, by Sir J.M. ... Sir W.D. ... and the most refined wits of the age.
|
Phillips, John, 1631-1706.; E. M.; J. M.
|
1661
(1661)
|
Wing W3132; ESTC R38723
|
98,574
|
304
|
frets Caron is glad to see poor Maudlin mad And away his boat he gets Through the Earth through the Sea through unknown iles Through the lofty skies Have I sought with sobs and cryes For my hungry mad Tom and my naked sad Tom Yet I know not whether he lives or dies My plaints makes Satyrs civil The Nimphs forget their singing The Fairies have left their gambal and their theft The plants and the trees their springing Mighty Leviathan took a Consumption Triton broke his Organ Neptune despis'd the Ocean Flouds did leave their flowing Churlish winds their blowing And all to see poor Maudlins action The Torrid Zone left burning The Deities stood a striving Despised Iove from Iuno took a glove And strook down Ran from whistling Mars for fear lay couching Apollo's cap was fir'd Poor Charles his wain was thrown into the main The nimble Post lay tir'd Saturn Damas Vulcan Venus All lay husht and drunk Hells fire through heaven was rim Fates and men remorseless Hated our grief and hoâ—â—sness And yet not one could tell of Tom. Now whiâ—her shall I wander Or whiâ—her shall I flye The heavens do weep the earth the air the deeps Are wearied with my cry Let me up and steal the Trumpet That summons all to doom At one poor blast the Elements shall cast All creatures from her womb Dyon with his Heptune Death with destruction Stormy clouds and weather Shall call all souls together Against I find my Tomkin I le provide a Pumkin And we will both be blithe together A Song SIR Egley More that valiant Knight With his fa-la lanctre down dille He fetcht his sword and he went to fight With his fa-la and his lanctre down dille As he went over hill and dale All clothed in his coat of male With his fa-la his fa-la and his lanctre down dilleâ— A huge great Draggon leaps out of his den With his Which had kill'd the Lord knows how many men With his But when he saw Sir Egley More Good lack had you seen how this Draggon did 〈◊〉 With his This Draggon he had on a plaguy hide With his Which could both sword and spear abide With his He could not enter with hacks and cuts VVhich vext the Knight to the heart bloud and guts VVith his All the trees in the wood did shake VVith his Stars did tremble and man did quake VVith his But had you seen how the birds lay peeping T' would have made a mans heart to a fallen a weeping VVith his c. But now it was too late to fear VVith his For now it was come to â—ight dog fight bear VVith his And as a yawning he did fall He thrust his sword in hilts and all VVith his But now as the Knight in choller did burn With his He ow'd the Dragon a shrew'd good turn With his In at his mouth his sword he bent The hilt appeared at his fundament VVith his Then the Dragon like a Coward began to fly VVith his Unto his Den that was hard by With his And there he laid him down and roar'd The Knight was vexed for his sword With his The Sword it was a right good blade With his As ever Turk or Spaniard made With his I for my part do forsake it And he that will fetch it let him take it With his c. When all this was done to the Ale-house he went With his And by and by his two pence he spent VVith his For he was so hot with tugging with the Dragon That nothing could quench him but a whole Flagon VVith his Now God preserve our King and Queen VVith his And eke in London may be seen VVith his As many Knights and as many more And all so good as Sir Eglemore VVith his c. Cupid and the Clown AS Cupid took his bow and bolt Some birding for to find He chanced on a Country Swain Which was some Yeomans hinde Clown VVell met fair boy what sport abroad It is a goodly day The birds will â—it this frosty morn You cannot chuse but sâ—ay Go haste why Sir your eyes be out You will not bird I trow Alas go home or else I think The birds will laugh at you Cupid VVhy man thou dost deceive thy self Or else my mother lyes VVho said although that I were blind My arrowes might have eyes Clown VVhy then thy mother is a Voole And thou art but an elfe To let thy arrowes to have eyes And go without thy self Cup. Not â—o Sir Swain but hold your peace If I do take a shaft I 'le make thee know what I can do VVith that the plough-man laught The angry Cupid drew his bow Clo. For God sake kill me not Cup. I 'le make thy Leather-head to crake Clo. Nay childe be loath of that The stinging arrow hot the mark And pierc'd the silly soul You might know by his hollow eyes VVhether love had made the hole And â—o the Clown went bleeding home To stay it was no boot And knew that he could see to hiâ— VVhich could not see to shoot A Song SIr Francis Sir Francis Sir Francis his son Sir Robert and eke Sir William did come And eke the good Earl of Southampton March't on his way most gallantly And then the Queen began to speak You are welcome home Sir Francis Drake Then came my Lord Chamberlain and with his white staffe And all people began for to laugh The Queens Speech Gallants all of British bloud VVhy do not ye saile on th' Ocean flood I protest ye are not all worth a Philberd Compared with Sir Humphrey Gilberd The Queens Reason For he walkt forth in a rainy day To the new-found Land he took his way With many a gallant fresh and green He never come home agen God bless the Queen A Song O Thou that sleep'st like Pig in straw Thou Lady dear Arise Arise Arise Hoping to keep thy son in awe Thy little twinkling eyes And having stretcht both leg and arme Put on thy whiter smock And for to keep thy body warm Thy Peticoat and Dock The shops were open'd long ago And youngest Prentise go ho hoes To lay at 's Mistress chamber door His masters shining shoes Arise arise why should you sleep Since you have slept enough Long since French boyes cry'd Chimny-sweep And Damsels Kitchin-stuff A Song NOne but my self my heart do keep Aâ— I on Cowslip bed did sleep Near to a pleasant boge Where thou my pretty â—ogue With Knuckles knocking at my breast Did ask for my three-corner'd guest And whisphering said as soft as voice might be Come forth thou little rogue to me A thousand thousand fiends as black as foot With all their dirty damms to boot Take thee O take thee every day For stealing I and my poor heart away This heart of mine for joy did leap And follow'd thee even step by step Till tired at the last 't was thick and plump and round before Weighing a full pound weight and more And now it 's sunk unto the
his ears With an old pair of boots drawn on without hose Stuft full of old linnen rags and broken out at toes It was c. VVith an old pasport that never was read VVhich in his great old travels had stood him in good stead VVith an old Quean to lie by his side VVhich in her time had been oldly Frenchified It was the Queens c. VVith an old shirt that is grown to wrack That with long-wearing it serves stinking old Jack VVith an old grown lowse with a black-list on his back That was able to carry an old pedler and his pack It was the Queens c. VVith an old snap-sack made of a good calves skin VVith an old Leathern skrip tyed fast with an old cloak-bag string VVith an old Cap with a hole i' th' Crown One side pind up and the other hanging down It was c. VVith an old greasie bufft Jerkin pointed down before That his old great grandfather at the siege at Bullin had wore VVith an old pair of breeches with a patch upon each knee VVith two over-worn old pockets that will hold no money It was the Queens c. VVith an old horse late come from St. Albons VVith I know not how many diseases most grievous ones VVith an old pair of rusty Iron spurs VVith an old beat-begger in his hand to keep off the Curs It was c. This souldier would ride post to Bohemia to his foes And swore by his valour e're he came again would get better cloaths Or else he would lose both fingers hands and toes But when he takes this journey there 's no man living knows It was c. Another IN Lancashire where I was born And many a Cuckold bred I had not been marryed a quarter of a year But the hornes grew out of my head With hey the Io bent with hey the toe bent Sir Percy is under the Line God save the good Earl of Shrewsbury For he is a good friend of mine Doncaster Mayor he sits in a chair His mills they merrily go His nose doth shine with drinking of wine The Gout is in his great toe He that will fish for a Lancashire lasse At any time or tyde Must bait his hook with a good egge pie And an apple with a red-side He that gallops his horse on Bletstone edge By chance may catch a fall My Lord Mount Eagles Bears be dead His Jack-an-Apes and all At Scripton in Craven there 's never a haven Yet many a time foul weather He that will not lie a fair woman by I wish he were hang'd in leather My Lady hath lost her left leg hose So hath She done both her shoone Shee 'l earn her break-fast before she do rise Shee 'l lie in bed else till it be noon Ioan Moultons crosse it makes no force Though many a Cuckold go by Let many a man do all that he can Yet a Cuckold he shall die The good wife of the Swan hath a leg like a man Full well it becomes her hose She jets it apace with a very good grace But falleth back at the first close The Prior of Courtree made a great pudding-pie His Monkes cryed meat for a King If the Abbot of Chester do die before Easter Then Banbury Bells must Ring He that will a welch-man catch Must watch when the wind is in the South And put in a net a good piece of roast-cheese And hang it close to his mouth And Lancashire if thou be true As ever thou hast been Go sell thy old whittel and by thee a new fiddle And sing God save the Queen Towl the Bell. TOwl towl gentle Bell for a soul Killing care doth controul and my mind so oppress That I fear I shall die for a glance of that eye That so lately did fly like a Comet from the skie Or some great Deity But my wish is in vain I shall ne're see 't again When I in the Temple did spie This Divine Purity on her knees to her Saint Oh she look't so divine all her beauties did shine Far more fairer then her shrine faith I wish she had been mine Where my heart could resign And would powerfully prove no Religion like love Fair fair and as chast as the aire Holy Nuns breathing prayer was this Votress divine From each eye dropt a tear like the Pearles Violets were When the spring doth appear for to usher in the year But I dare safely swear Those teares trickle down for no sins of her own But now increaseth my woe I by no means must know where this beauty doth dwell All her rites being done to her Lady and her Son I was left all alone and my Saint was from me gone And to heaven she is flown Which makes me to say I shall scarce live a day Now I will make haste and die And ascend to the skie where I know shee 's inthron'd All ye Ladies adieu be your loves false or true I am going to view one that far transcends all you One that I never knew But must sigh out my breath for acquaintance in death The Answer to Towl RIng Ring merry Bells while we sing Drinking healths to our King And our minds are advanc't Le ts never fear to die till we have drunk out each eye But let cash and cares fly free as hail-stones from the skie Baccus great Deity Let us never wish in vain fill the pots George again When we in the Tavern do see Such fare boon Company On their knees drinking healths O we look most divine when our noses did shine Well ballast with good wine faith I wish the cup were mine VVhich to thee I 'le resign And will palpable prove by the drinking to thy Love Free free as the air let us be VVee 'l respect no degree But our births all a like From no eye drop a tear least you Maudlin appear And next morning do fear to be Physick't with small Beer VVhich I dare boldly swear If tears trickle down 't is our loves to the Crown Now we must make haste and see How much money will free All our hands from the bar For a time boyes adien I am going for to view VVhat belongs to all you be the reckoning false or true Though it be more then dew Yet my breath will I spend and my purse for my friend The jolly Shepherd THe life of a Shepherd is void of all care-a With his bag and his bottle he maketh good fare-a He rusâ—les he shusfles in all extreme wind-a His flocks sometimes before him and sometimes behind-a He hath the green medows to walk at his will-a With a pair of fine bag-pipes upon the green hill-a Trang-dille trang-dille trang down a down dilla With a pair of fine bag-pipes upon a green hill-a His sheep round about him do seed on the dale-a His bag full of cake-bread his boâ—tle of ale-a A cantle of cheese that is good and old-a Because that he walketh all day in the cold-a VVith his cloak