Selected quad for the lemma: master_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A96732
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VVit and drollery, joviall poems. Never before printed. / By Sir J.M. Ja:S. Sir W.D. J.D. and other admirable wits.
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W. D.; J. P.; J. M.; J. D.
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1656
(1656)
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Wing W3131; Thomason E1617_1; ESTC R209633
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63,334
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212
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him and his heirs Growes shriviled with thirst and hunger While we that are bonny Buy Sack with ready money And nere trouble the scriveners nor Lawyers Those guts that by scraping and toiling Do swell their revenues so vast Get nothing by all their turmoiling But are markes of each Taxe While they load their own backs With the heavier packs And lie down gall'd and weary at last While we that doe traffick in tipple Can baffle the Gowne and the Sword Whose jawes are so hungry and gripple We nere trouble our heads With Indentures or Deeds And our wills are compos'd in a word Our money shall nere indite us Nor drag us to Goldsmiths Hall No Pirates nor wracks can affright us We that have no estates Feare no plunder nor rates We can sleep with open gates He that lies on the ground cannot fall We laught at those fooles whose endeavours Do but fit them for Prisons and Fines When we that spend all are the savers For if Theeves doe breake in They goe out empty agin Nay the plunderers loose their designes Then let us not think on to morrow But tipple and laugh while we may To wash from our hearts all sorrow Those Cormorants which Are troubled with an itch To be mighty and rich Doe but toile for the wealth which they borrow The Maior of our Towne with his ruffe on What a pox is he better then we He must vale to the men with the buffe on Though he Custard may eat And such lubbardly meat Yet our Sack makes us merrier then he The hornes a Song BRight Cynthia scornes alone to weare hornes Unto her great griefe and shame And sweares by the light and the worlds despite That men shall weare the same The man in the Moon to hear this in a swoun And quite out of his wits fell And feeling his front quoth he a pox on 't My forehead begins to swell Away straight he rod in a lunaticke mood And from his Mistriss would run And swore in his hâ—at though he stood in a sweat He had rather go live in the sun But he was well appeased that it other men pleased For no man did mutter or mourn But without all affright and a great delight Did take to themselves the horne The Lord he will go in his woods too fro Pursuing a Doe that is barren But while he 's in his Parke another in the dark May safely go hunt in his warren The Citizen clown in his furr-faced Gowne And his dublet faced with Ale Talkes short but drinks thicker while his wife like his liquor Leaves working and relish th' stale Lo thus she behornes him afterward scorns him Though he coms to be Maior of the rout And holds it no fin to be occupied within Whiles her husband is bufied without The Physitian will ride to his patient that dy'd Of no sicknesse but that did come But whilst abroad he doth kill with portion â—ill His wife takes a glister at home The Lawyer to succour him with parchment and bucâ—â—â—m To London the next terme will ride To open his case in his adversaries face While his wife to his friend doth the like Seven miles too an fro the professor will go To heare a sanctifi'd brother But while his zeal burnes his wife she up turns The whites of her eyes to another The Merchant he runs o're Seas with his guns His Mariners and his Mates But whilst he doth please himself on the seas Another may ride in his straights The Souldier will go like a man too and fro With a full resolution to fight While his wife with her friend in her wanton arms pend Doth make a boone boy before night And although that he be well arm'd cap ape He must yeild to a naked boyes scorne Or instead of bright Steel or Iron on his heel Be content with a Helmet of horâ—… Thus each their wives love still though they do prove Them to be false in their own sight But indeed you do well the horne you can tell Was never a friend to the light A Beggar got a baliff A baliff got a yeoman A yeoman got a prentise A pretise got a freeman A freeman got a master And he begot a Tease And so become a Gentleman Then a Justice of Peace This Justice got a daughter And she is come to light She stept to the Court And there she got a Knight A Knight got a Lord A Lord an Earle begot An Earle got a Duke This Duke he was a Scot. This Duke a Prince begot A Prince of royal hope He begot the Emperour Tâ—â— Emperour got the Pope The Pope got a bastard He was a noble sparke He lay with a Nun and so begot a Clark A clark got a sexston A sexston got a viccar A viccar got a parson A parson got a viccar And they were all made prebends And so they got a Deane A deane got a Bishop A Bishop got a queane A queane got five shillings Five shillings got a smock That got a scotch prick And there he got a pock A Merchant got the pock And set it in a Ring And gave it to a Lady That laid it to her thing That gave it to her page That gave it to his master That sent for the Surgeon And laid to it a plaister The plaister was too hot It bred to him much paine A nach was in his And so this man To his Mistrisse denying him to lie with her HAte me deare soule and say no more you love If I must onely know what is above To kisse your lips hands these be but toys And torments to a Lover and not joyes I hate the wanton folly of a kisse If not a passage to a further blisse Men do seeke Mines in women and if so You must give leave to them to dig below The barren face of earth since natures arts Hath hid such treasures in the lower parts Why you so coy you 'ld faine be married Before that you would lose your maidenhead Then may I claime it as my right and due The Law doth give it me it is not you If you would have your kindnesse to be shone Bestow it freely while it is your own Vpon a Christmas Dinner in a Prison HOld hoopes and hinges burst not I beseech Your ribs with laughing at my hungry speech Hold fast be sure with both your hands for feare Your sides should burst and spoile your hungry cheere Listen you Plum-broth Bolchins to the fate Of a distressed prisoner you that sate And lade your gorgeous mawes with stately chines And lusty gamones while poor virtue pines Feeding on nothing but thin contemplation And barren thoughts pitty the sad relation Of the cold feast I kept on Christmas last More justly may I call 't a solemne fast When all your mouths in an united motion At meat walk'd faster then at your devotion Of morning prayers I unthought of lay In a darke sullen Chamber where the day Seem'd but