such a constant lover But a pox upon 't no praise there is due at all to me Love with me had had no stay had it any been but she Had it any been but she and that very very face There had been long time e're this a dozen dozen in her place The Answer by the same Author SAy but did you love so long in sooth I needs must blame ye Passion did your judgement wrong and want of Reason shame ye Truth Times faire and witty Daughter quickly did discover You were a subject fit for laughter and more Fool then Lover Yet you needs must merit praise for your constant folly Since that you lov'd three whole dayes were you not melancholly She for whom you lov'd so true and that very very face Puts each minute such as you a dozen dozen to disgrace Upon an old Scold JOve lay thy Majesty aside and wonder so hear a voice in consort with thy Thunder Whilst thine with a shrill treble neatly graces The roaring clamour of her deep-mouth'd basis Yet in each point her nimble chops run on The lubrick touches of division And when her kindled thoughts her tongue inspire Instead of words like Etna she spits fire So in a word to her eternall fame Shee 'l exercise thy thunder and thy flame Old Time had pull'd her teeth out but they 'r sprung Again more sharp and active in her tongue In her Malignant Aspect doth appear The season of the Dog-dayes all the yeare With her sowre look she might convert the Sea And all the Elements to Curds and Whea On a deformed old Woman whorish whom one was pleased to call the Phoenix ARt thou the Phoenix I could rather swear Thou art Callisto chang'd into a Bear Or else thou then transformed but in part And so laid by halfe Bear halse Woman art Or art thou Io whom adulterate Jâ—ve Long since when thou wert beautifull did love And jealous Juno for thy crime hath now Chang'd thee into a foule mishapen Cow But thou the badge of thy disgrace now scornes And makes thy harmlesse Husband wear thy hornes He that can call thee Phoenix from his heart Must needs be such another as thou art Or he to sacred beauty had a spite Like those that use to paint the Devill white And calling thee the Phoenix hath out-gone All that revenge could e're think upon He had more truly spoke and might with lesse Despight have call d the Devill his Holinesse Should but thy picture be expos'd to sight And under it the name of Phoenix write wou'd They that ne'r knew what meant the Phoenix Strait swear by it the Devill was understood Upon Sir John Suckling 1. I 'Le tell thee Jack thou 'st given the King So rare a present that no thing Could welcomer have been An hundred horse beshrew my heart It was a Noble Gentile part The like will scarce be seen 2. Nay more then so thy selfe dost goe In person to affront thy foe And kill the Lord knows whom But faith were all men of thy minde I thinke thou hadst rather stay behinde 'T is safer being at home 3. And now methinkes I see thee charge Thy selfe with freedome to enlarge ' Gainst foes that make a salley Courage my heart courage my John I wish thou gost more boldly on Then in Black-Friers Alley 4. I would advise thee take this course Be sure to mount the speediest horse Of all the troop thou givest That when the Battailes once begun Thou swiftly then away maist run And shew us that thou livest 5. Thou shalt be entertained here By Ladies that doe hold thee deare By day and eke by night They 'l make thee doe as Love commands Pull Warres fierce Gantlets from those hands Were never made to fight 6. Since under Mars thou wert not borne To Venus fly and thinke no scorne Let it be my advice Leave Warres and thankfull be to Fate Recovered hath thy lost Estate By Carding and by Dice 7. And every Horse shall have on 's back A Man as valiant as Sir Jack Although not halfe so witty Yet I did hear the other day Three Tailors made seaven run away Good faith the more 's the pitty Sir John Suckling 's Answer 1. I 'Le tell thee foole who e're thou be That mad'st this fine song of me Thou art a riming Sot These very lines doe thee betray Their barren wit makes all men say 'T was some rebellious Scot. 2. But 't is no wonder if you sing Such songs of me that am no King When every Blow-cap swears Hee 'l not obey King James his barne That hugs a Bishop under his Arm And hangs him in his Ears 3. Had I been of your Covenant You d call me Son of John Agant And give me great renown But now I am John for the King You say I am a poor Suckling And thus you cry me down 4. Well 't is no matter what you say Of me or mine that ran away I hold it no good fashion A Loyall Subjects blood to spill When we have knaves enough to kill By force of Proclamation 5. Commend me unto Lashly stout And his fellow Pedlars round about Tell them without remorse That I will plunder all the packs Which they have got with stolne knick knacks With these my hundred horse 6. This holy Warre this zealous firk Against the Bishop and the Kirk Is a pretended bravery Religion all the world can tell Amongst Highlandlers ne'r did dwell It 's but to cloak their knavery 7. Such desperate gamesters as you be I cannot blame for tutoring me Since all you have is down And every boor forsakes his Plow And swears that heel turn gamester now To venture for a Crowne A Gentleman on his being trim'd by a Cobler MY haire grown rude and Gally's bridge broke down Which dam'd my passage to Carmarthen Town Trim'd was I I am sure but by what monster If I describe him you will hardly Conster 'T is one whose foot is in the stirrup still Yet never rides waxes each houre more ill Yet ever mends can make a bad Soul better Yet no Divine nor scarce doth know a letter He 's alwayes sowing yet ne'r useth needle Put folkes i' th stocks yet is no beggars beadle Mens legs he stretcheth often on a tree Yet free from th' Gallows and the Hangmans fee Let a Consumption some to skellitons waste He will be sure to ease'um at the last And yet is no Physitian he s still knocking Yet breaks no peace nor need his doors unlocking He alwayes sits yet Table wants and Carpet But looks like a scab'd Sheep tane from a Tar pit This lovely gallant with his well-pitcht thumbe And Leather Apron on my hide did thrumb And par'd my face 't were worth the sight to have bin To see his oilely joynts about my chin Carmarthen Barbers be not quite dismayed Though Kit the Cobler undertake your trade 'T was only done that his best friends might feel How perfect he is made from
Nero after paracidall guilt Brooks no delay till Lucan's blood be spilt Nor could his malice finde a second crime Unlesse he slew the Poet of the time But thanks to Hëllicon here are no blowes This Drone no more of sting then honey shewes His Verses shall be counted Censure when Cast Malefactors are made Jury-men Mean while rejoyce that so disgrac't a quill Tempted to wound that worth time cannot kill And thou that darest to blast Fame fully blown Lye buried in the ruines of thy owne Vexe not thine ashes open not the deep The Ghosts of thy slaine name had rather sleep On Luce Morgan a Common-Whore EPIGRAM HEre lies black Luce that Pick-hatch drab Who had a word for every stab Was leacherous as any Sparrow Her Quiver ope to every Arrow Wert long or short or black or white She would be sure to noch it right Wer 't Lords or Knights or Priests or Squires Of any sort except a Friers A Friers shast she lackt alone Because in England here was none At last some Vestall fire she stole Which never went out in her hole And with that zealous fire being burn'd Unto the Romish faith she turn'd And therein dy'd and was 't not fit For a poor whore to dye in it An Epitaph on a Whore IN this cold Monument lyes one Which I know who hath lain upon The happyer he whose sight might charm And touch might keep King David warme Lovely as is the dawning East Was this Marbles frozen guest As glorious and as bright as day As oderiferous as May. As straight and slender as the Crest Or Antler of the one beam'd Beast Whom I admired as soon as knew And now her memory pursue With such a superstitious Lust That I could fumble with her dust She all perfections had and more Tempting as if design'd an Whore For so she was and some there are Whores I could wish them all as faire Courteous she was and young and wise And in her calling so precise That industry had made her prove The sucking School-mistresse of Love But Death ambitious to become Her Pupill left his gastly home And seeing how we us'd her here The raw-bone Raskall ravish'd her Who pretty Soule resign'd her breath To practice Lechery with death A mock-song 1. OH Love whose power and might No Creature ere withstood Thou forcest me to write Come turne about Robin Hood 2. Sole Mistresse of my heart Let me thus farre presume To make this bold request A black patch for the Rhume 3. Grant pitty or I die Love so my heart bewitches With grief I houle and cry Oh how my Elbow Itches 4. Teares overflow my eyes With flouds of daily weeping That in the silent night I cannot rest for sleeping 5. What is' t I would not doe To purchase one sweet smile Bid me to China goe Faith I 'le sit still the while 6. Oh Women you will never But thinke men still will flatter I vow I love you ever But yet it is no matter 7. Cupid is blind they say But yet methinkes he seeth He struck my heart to day A Turd in Cupids teeth 8. Her Tresses that are wrought Much like the golden snare My loving heart hath caught As Mosse did catch his Mare 9. But since that all reliefe And comfort doe forsake me I 'le kill my selfe with grief Nay then the Devill take me 10. And since her gratefull merits My loving look must lack I 'le stop my vitall spirits With Claret and with Sack 12. Marke well my wofull hap Jove rector of the Thunder Send down thy thunder clap And rend her smock in sunder The Answer 1. YOur Letter I receiv'd Bedect with flourishing quarters Because you are deceiv'd Goe hang you in your Garters 2. My beauty which is none Yet such as you protest Doth make you sigh and groan Fie fie you doe but jest 3. I cannot chuse but pitty Your restlesse mournefull teares Because your plaints are witty You may goe shake your eares 4. To purchase your delight No labour you shall leese Your paines I will requite Maid fetch him Bread and Cheese 5. 'T is you I faine would see 'T is you I daily thinke on My looks as kinde shall be As the Devills over Lincoln 6. If ever I doe tame Great Jove of Lightnings flashes I l'e send my fiery flame And burne thee into ashes 7. I can by no meanes misse thee But needs must have thee one day I prethee come and kisse me Whereon I sat on Sunday In praise of his Mistrisses beauty 1. I Have the fairest non-perell The fairest that ever was seen And had not Venus been in the way She had been beauties Queen 2. Her lovely looks her comely grace I will describe at large God Cupid put her in his bookes And of this Jem took charge 3. The Graecian Hellen was a Moore Compar'd to my dear Saint And faire fac'd Hyrens beauty poor And yet she doth not paint 4. Andromeda whom Peseus lov'd Was foule were she in sight Her lineaments so well approv'd In praise of her I 'le write 5. Her haire not like the golden wire But black as any Crow Her browes so betl'd all admire Her forehead wondrous low 6. Her squinting stareing gogling eyes Poor children doe affright Her nose is of the Sarasens size Oh she 's a matchlesse wight 7. Her Oven mouth wide open stands And teeth like rotten pease Her Swan-like neck my heart commands And breasts all bit with Fleas 8. Her tawny dugs like too great hills Hang Sow-like to her waste Her body huge like two Wind-mills And yet shee 's wondrous chaste 9. Her shoulders of so large a breadth Shee 'd make an excellent Porter And yet her belly carries most If any man could sort her 10. No Shoulder of Mutton like her Hand For broadnesse thick and fat With a pocky Mange upon her Wrist Oh Jove how love I that 11. Her Belly Tun-like to behold Her bush doth all excell The thing that 's by all men extol'd Is wider then a Well 12. Her brawny buttocks plump and round Much like a Horse of Warre With speckled Thighs scan'd and scarce sound Her Knees like Bakers are 13. Her Legs are like the Elephants The Calfe and small both one Her Anckles they together meet And still knock bone to bone 14. Her pretty feet not 'bove fifteens So splay'd as never was An excellent Usher for a man That walkes the dewy grasse 15. Thus have you heard my Mistrisse prais'd And yet no flattery us'd Pray tell me is she not of worth Let her not be abus'd 16. If any to her have a minde He doth me wondrous wrong For as shee 's Beauteous so shee 's Chaft And thus conclude my Song A SONG 1. WHen young folkes first begin to love And undergoe that tedious taske It cut 's and scowres throughout the powers Much like a running glasse 2. It is so full of sodain joyes Proceeding from the Heart So many tricks and so many toyes And all
not worth a Fart 3. For Venus loved Vulcan Yet she would lye with Mars If these be honest tricks my love sweet love come kisse mine 4. If that which I have writ Be unmannerly in speech Yet when occasion serves to shire Will serve to wipe your breech 5. Thus kindly and in Courtesie These few lines I have written And now O love come kisse mine For I am all beshitten A Song of the Sea-Men and Land-soldiers 1. WE Sea-men are the bonny-boyes That feare no stormes nor Rocks a Whose Musick is the Canons noise Whose sporting is with knocks a. 2. Mars has no children of his owne But we that fight on Land a Land-soldiers Kingdomes up have blown Yet they unshaken stand a. 3. 'T is brave to see a tall Ship faile With all her trim gear on a As though the Devill were in her taile She fore the winde will run a. 4. Our maine battalia when it moves there 's no such glorious thing a Where leaders like so many Joves Abroad their thunder fling a. 5. Come let us reckon what Ships are ours The Gorgon and the Dragon The Lyon that in fight is bold The Bull with bloody flag on 6. Come let us reckon what Workes are ours Forts Bulwarks Barricadoes Mounts Gabions parrapits countermurs Casemates and Pallisadoes 7. The Bear the Dog the Fox the Kite That stood fast on the Rover They chas'd the Turk in a day and night From Scandaroon to Dover 8. Field-pieces Muskets Groves of Pikes Carbines and Canoneers a Squadrons half Moons with Rankes and Files And Fronts and Vans and Reers a. 9. A Health to brave Land-soldiers all Let Cans a piece goe round a Pell-mell let 's to the Battaile fall And lofty musick sound a. A Song MY dear and onely love take heed How thou thy selfe expose And let no longing Lovers feed On such like looks as those I 'le Marble wall thee round about Being built without a door But if my Love doth once break out I 'le never love thee more Nor let their Oaths by volleys shot Make any breach at all Nor smoothnesse of their language plot A way to scale the wall Nor balls of Wilde-fire Love consume The shrine that I adore For if such smoak about thee fume I 'le never love thee more Thy wishes are as yet too strong To suffer by surprize And victed with my Love so long Of force the siege must rife And leave thee in that strength of health And state thou wert before But if thou prove a Common-wealth I 'le never love thee more Or if by fraud or by consent My heart to ruine come I 'le ne'r sound Trumpet as I meant Nor march by beat of Drum But fould mine Armes like Ensignes up Thy falshood to deplore And after such a bitter cup I 'le never love thee more Then doe by thee as Nero did When Rome was set on fire Not onely all reliefe forbid But to a hill retire And scorne to shed a teare to save Such spirits grown so poore But laugh and sing thee to thy grave And never love thee more A Song 1. WHen Phoebus address'd his course to the West And took up his rest below And Cynthia agreed in a glittering weed Her light in his stead to bestow I travel d alone attended by none Till sodainly I heard one cry Oh doe not doe not kill me yet For I am not prepared to aye 2. With that I came neer to see and to hear And there did appeare a show The Moon was so bright I saw such a sight Not fit that each wight should know A Man and a Maid together were laid And ever she cry'd Oh fye Oh doe not doe not kill me yet For I am not prepared to dye 3. The young man was rough and he took up her stuffe And to blind man buffe he would go Yet still she did cry but still she did lye And put him but by with a no But she was so young and he was so strong Which made her still to cry Oh doe not doe not kill me For I am not prepared to dye 4. With that he gave o're and solemnly swore He would kill her no more that night He bid her adue for little he knew She would tempt him to more delight But being to depart it grieved her heart Which made her loud to cry Oh kill me kill me once againe For now I am prepared to dye A SONG I Courted a Lasse my folly was the cause of her disdaining I courted her thus what shall I sweet Dolly doe for thy dear loves obteining But another had dallied with this my Dolly that Dolly for all her faining Had got such a Mountain above her Valley that Dolly went home complaining Upon my Lord Majors day being put off by reason of the Plague IF you 'l but hear me I shall tell A sad mischance that late befell for which the dayes of old In all new Almanacks must mourne And Babes that never must be borne shall weep to hear it told For loe the sport of that great day In which the Major hath leave to play and with him all the town Hâ—s Flag and Drum and Fife releas'd And he forbid to goe a Feasting in his Scarlet Gowne No Fife must on the Thames be seen To fright the Major and please the Queen nor any wilde-fire tost Though he suppose the Fleet that late Invaded us in eighty eight o're matcht by his Gally foist The Pageants and the painted cost Bâ—stowed on them are all quite lost for now he must not ride Nor shall they sheare the Players tall Being mounted on some mighty Whale swims with him through Cheap-side Guild-hall now must not entertaine The Major who there would feast his brain with white-broth and with Hen Nor shall the Fencers act their Piggs Before the Hinch-boyes which are Giggs whipt out with all the men Nor must he goe in state to sweare As he was wont at Westminster no Trumpets at the Hall Their clamorous voices there would stretch As if the Lawyers they would teach in their owne Courts to baul But what in sooth is pitty most Is for their Daughters they have lost all joyes for which they pray Which scatter palmes on their cheeks Which they had prim'd at least three weeks before against the day And ' mongst themselves they much complain That this Lord Major in first of reigne should doe them so much wrong As to suppresse by message sad The feast for which they all have had their March-pane dream so long Thus for their beauteous sakes have I Describ'd the dayes large History 't is true although not witty Which is deny'd for I 'de be loath To cut my coat above my cloath my Subject is the City A Song by Sir John Suckling OUt upon it I have lov'd three whole dayes together And perchance might love three more if that it hold faire weather Time shall melt his wing away e're he can discover In the whole wide world againe