Wit Restor'd (1658)

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WIT
RESTOR'D

In feverall Select

POEMS

Not formerly publifli't.

++++

###

♦

LONDON,

Printed for R. Pollard, N. Brooks, and T. Dring,
and are to be sold at the Old Exchange,
and in Fleets treet. 1658.

IMP

Wit R

ESTOR'D.

i

Mr. Smith, to Captain Mennis

then commanding a Troop of Horse in the North,

against the Scots.

WHy what (a good year) means my John ?
So staunch a Muse as thine ner'e won
The Grecian prize ; how did she earne ?
The bayes she brought from Epsom Fearne ?
There teem'd she freely as the hipps,
The Hermit kist with trembling lipps.
And can she be thus costive now
While things are carried (heaven knowes how)
While Church and State with fury parch,
Or zeal as mad as hare in March ?
While birds of Amsterdam do flutter
And stick as close as bread and butter :
As straw to Jett, or burre to squall,
Or something else unto a wall. {

Can such a dreadfull tempest be,
And yet not shake the North and thee ?

Wit Restord.

Where is thy sense, of publike feares ?

Wirt sit unmov'd as Roman Peeres,

Till some bold Gaule pluck thee by th^? beard,

Thou and thy Muse (I think) are sear'd,

As I have heard Divines to tell

The conscience is that's mark't for hell.

Ah Noble friend, this rough, harsh way

May pinch where I intended play.

But blame me not, the present times

So serious are, that even my Rymes

In the same hurry rapt, are so,

Indeed whether I will or no.

And otherwise my Numbers flie

Than meant, in spight of Drollerie :

Tis good to end when words do nipp

And thus out of their harnesse slipp.

Besides, the thing which men mispend

Call'd Time, as precious is as friend,

Tak't not unkindly, I professe

None loves you better then L S.

From London where the snow hath bin

As white as milke, and high as shin

From Viscount Conwaies house in street

Of woman Royall, where we meet:

The day too cold for wine and Burrage

The fourth precedent to Plum-porrage

December moneth, and yeare of grace

Sixteene hundred and forty to an Ace.

To friend of mine, Captaine J^okn Mennis

At town of York that now and then is_?

Wit Restord.

Or if you misse him there, go look
In company of Hunkes Sir Fook;
They two perhaps may have a pull
At Selbie, Beverley, or Hull,
Or else you'l finde him at his quarter,
Send it, and let him

Pay the Porter.

The same, To the same.

Y doubtie Squire of Kentissh crew
that ha'st read stories old and new
prick up thine eares unto a tale
that will un-nerve and make thee stale:
When thou shalt heare how manie pears,
The parliament hath had by th' eares.
Comming as close as shirt of JVessus,
To privie Councellors (god blesse us)
The Judges they are deep in bond,
And fart for fear they shall bee Connd,
The Ren of Elie, and the prelate
Of Bath and Wells have had a pellat
And they have plac't (his grace's) cod
Under the lash of MaxwoWs rod.
But I am told the Finch is warie
And fled after the Secretarie,

M

122

Wit Restord.

And all this is, that men may see

Others can runne as well as wee.

I hitherto have told, dear Captain,

Of prisons that our peeres are clapt in :

And all I wrote was like a groane

Sadd as the melanchollie droane.

Of Countrie baggpipe, now I sing

Matter as chearfull as the spring,

Of wine (deare freind) will make us wanton

Better nere drunck by John of Gaunt, one

That at third glasse did mount his Launce

And got a boy whose sonne got Fraunce :

Besides, the reckoning will bee more

(Humble I meane) then heretofore;

For now the Alderman hight A bell

Has given his parchment up with labell,

To no more purpose is his pattent

Then that the fool had shitt and sate in't:

Now may wee freely laugh, and drink,

And overcharg'd goe pisse i'th sinck

Then too't again, beginne a health

Of twelve goe-downes to th'Com-monwealth

Then mount a stall, and sleep, and when

Wee rise againe bee nere th' worse men :

This fitt's my freindshipp, but not mee,

I must bee sober as the Bee

That often sippes, yet doth not stray

But to his owne hive findes the way,

Soe shalt thou not blush to acknowledge

Him that was once of Zincolne-CoWedge,

Wit Restored.

123

But now of Bromely Hall neere Bow
Look, and you'l find his name below.

J. Smith.

From spatious lodgings of Lord mine
In street of female majesty, past nine;
The day whereon wee whett our knives
As men to eat even for their lives.
He that ha's none tis time to borrow,
For Christmas day is ee'ne to morrow.

/t&r 'tiRr 'tiKr "tiRr 'tiSr "tiBr "tiBr 'tiEr ""tifir Tifep Ti|jr *tJKr Tijir *tj|r 5ifc 5ifc 13IC T$Er tJ6q lie 5fe *5fe life

Z$£ same, to the same.

MY note which cost thee pennies Sixe
(It seeme's) still in thy stomack stick's

0 had'st thou but beheld how willing

1 was for thine to pay a shilling
(For footeman forth the money layd
Which must with interest bee defrayd)
Hereafter thou wouldst not bee nice
For everie note to part with sice.
Thy journey to the foe with Coyne
Would madded have a saint or twayne,
So sillie Bee with wearie thighes
Home to her master's storehouse hie's;
Whence (her rich fraught unladed) shee
Againe returned an emptie Bee.

Wit Restored.

I joy to heare thou raign'st in place
Of the defunct Arch bishop's grace,
For thou (I doubt not) wilt bee grea'st :
By freind for prebendry i th' fist:
Mee thinkes I fancie prester J^ames
In Cope envellop't without seames.
With silke and golde embroydred ore,
And brestplat like a belt before :
As Pedler ha's to bear his pack,
Or Creeple with a childe at's back.
Else when my Bettie dropp's away
(That fourteen yeares hath been my Toy)
Some one IPe marrie that's thy Neece
And Livings have with Bellie-peece,
This some call Symonie oth'smock,
Or Codpeece, that's against the Nock.
The health you meant mee in the Quart
I have, and partly thanke you for't,
But yet I muse (as well I may)
At pot so funish't, without pay,
For at that time wee were told here
You all were sixe weeks in arreare ;
Ha'st thou made merchandise, of Crop ?
Or solde some landes, left out oth' mapp ?
Or ha'st thou nimm'd from saddle bow
A pistoll through thy troope, or so ?
Leaveing halfe-naked horses Crest
Like Amazon with but one brest;
Well, lett it goe : I thinke this geare
Fitt to bee scann'd, but not too neare.

Wit Restord. 125

However, sure I should flnde John
Thriftie, but yet an honest man,
Yet tak heed in these pinching times
And age so catching after crimes,
It bee not given out how you quaf t
Sugar, and eggs, in morning's draught;
I grudge thee not; for if I met
Vulponis potion, or could get
Nectar, or else dissolv'd to dew
Th'Elixir, which the gods n'ere knew :
'Twere thine, yea I would save the dropps
For thee that fell besides thy chopps :
But yet the needy state (I feare)
May think much of thy costly cheare;
The best is, if they barre thy maw
From sodden drink, thou't have it raw;
And reason good, the heavens defend,
That thou should'st want, and I thy friend.

7.5.

From house of Viscount Conway^r, where
Kenelme hath food, and Down's Count Lare,
December moneth, day of St. John
That 'mongst th' Evangelists made one,
Forty, (besides the sixteen hundred)
We count yeares past since Fiend was foundred,
And this Bissextile, that, sans pumps,
Frisk's, and is calFd the yeare that Jum'ps.

26 Wit Restored.

The same, to the same.

I Must call from between thy thighs
Thy urine back into thine eyes,
And make thee when my tale thou hear'st
Channell thy cheekes with Launt rever'st;
Thy Landladie that made thee broth
When drugge made orifice to froath,
That every fortnight shifted sheet
To keep thy nest, and bodie sweet;
That heard thee knock at peepe of day
When boy snor'de that on pallat lay;
Rose in her smock, and gave thee counsell
To lift thy foot for feare of groundsell,
That often warnd thee of the quart
And praid (in vain) to turn thy heart,
This Landladie in grave is pent
Now shedd thy moysture, man of Kent:
Two rings shee left, for thee tone, to' ther
For Andrew that does call thee brother.
This dries thy teares that were a brewing;
Now li'st to newes of State ensuing.
Iudge Littleton is made Lord Keeper.
And feeds on chick and pigeon peeper,
The kings Attourney Sr John Bancks
Succeds him, but may spare his thankes.

Wit Restored.

Herbert is thought the meetest man
To fill the place of Bancks Sr John,
London-Recorder thence doth jogge,
In Herberts roome to trudge, and fogg :
And St Johns one that's sharp and wittie
Is made winde-instrument o'th'Citty.
Thus tis in towne, but in the Camp
There's one preferrd will make thee stamp,
For Sr Iohn Berklfs Sergeant Maior
To Willniott, let it not bread Jarre,
Nor can the Viscount whom Iohn putts
In trust, prevent it for his gutts
More shalt thou know when tis more fitt,
When thou and I in Tavern sitt;
Till when, and ever, heaven thee send
The wishes of thy constant freind,

/.

In street of Coleman from swanne Ally
Where while I stay in towne, I shall lye
In house of Mistresse Street, relict
Of Robert, whom for mate shee pickt:
And where, with eeles, and flounders fryde,
And tongve of Neat that never lyed
I filld my paunch, but when I belsh,
It utter's language worse than welsh.
Janus the moneth that holdes us tack,
One, with a face be hinde his back :
Full sixteene hundred yeares wee score
And fiftie, (bateing six, and fowr)

128

Wit Restord.

And this leape-yeare wee count to bee,
A yeare that come's but once in three.

The same, to the same.

THy wants wherewith thou long hast tug'd,
And been as sad as Bear that's lug'd,
Thou'lt laugh at, when thou hear'st how odly
Thy fellowes shift in Town ungodly.
Commodities we took on trust,
And promis'd Tradesmen payment just,
To be return'd from Northern part,
When treasure hence arriv'd in Cart.
And, but till now of late, they crep
From stair to stair, with trembling step;
So modest, that they blush'd to name,
For what they to our Chambers came.
Impatient now, both young and old,
Assault my fort with knuckle bold.
And as in bed perplex'd I lie,
I hear one say, The Cart's gone by.
With that they all attempt my dore,
With pulse more daring then before ;
And of their parcells make a dinne
Louder, then when they drew me in.
Rouz'd with this rudenesse, first, I chop
Upon some foreman of the shop;

Wit Restored.

129

Take him by'th'hand aside, and there
I tell him wonders in his ear.
So by degrees I send them jogging,
Suppled with Ale, and language cogging.
But newes of this makes Scrivener wary,
And eight i'th hundred Don look awry
That we do stoop to sums as small,
As children venture at Cock-all.
And lives we lead, (I cry heaven mercy)
Worse then a Troop that has the Farsie*
While man that keeps the Ordinary,
Will not believe, nor Landlord tarry,
O happy Captain, that may'st houze
In Quarter free, and uncheckt brouze
On teeming hedge, when purse is light,
Or on the wholsom Sallat bite :
While we have nought, when mony fails,
To bite upon, but our own nails;
And they so short with often tewing,
There's not much left to hold us chewing;
Or if there were, 'twould onely whet
Stomack, for what it could not get,
And make more keen the appetite,
Like tyring-bitt for Faulkner's Kyte.
To mend my commons, clad in jerkin,
On Friday last I rode to Berkin,
Where lowring heavens with welcom saucst us
As when the Fiends were sent for Faustus;
Such claps of thunder, and such rain,
That Poets will not stick to feign,
vol. 1. _K

130 Wit Restord.

The gods with too much Nectar sped,
Their truckles drew, and piss'd a bed,
And that they belsh'd from stomack musty
Vapour, that made the weather gusty.
Well, 'tis a sad condition, where
A man must fast, or feed in fear.
I lately thee from North did call,
Now stay, or else bring wherewithall,
Unlesse thy credit here prove better,
Than does thy friend's, that wrote this Letter.

/. £.
Day tenth thrice told, the morning fair,
The month still with a face to spare.

The same, to the same.

NO sooner I from supper rose,
But Letter came, though not in prose,
Which tells of fight, and Duell famous,
Perform'd between a man and a mouse.
An English Captain, and a Scot,
The one disarm'd, the other not
It speaks moreover of some stirring,
To make a Cov'nant new as Herring.
Carr, and Mbuntrosse, and eke Argile:
Well was that Nation term'd a Boyl,
In breach of England, that doth stick,
And vex the body Politick,

Wit Restord.

131

But (whatsoe're be the pretence)
Doubtlesse they strive about the pence;
While English Trooper, like a Gull,
Serves but to hold the Cow to th'Bull.
Pray tell me, John, did it not nettle
Thee, and thy Myrmidons of Mettle,
To see the boy with country-lash,
Drive on the jades that drew the cash ?
And by thy needy quarters go,
Asking the way to Camp of fo ?
So Tantalus with hungry maw,
And thirsty gullet, daily saw
Water and fruit swim by his chaps,
While he in vain at either snaps.
Or else as Phoebus, when full fraught,
And tipled with his mornings draught,
Reels like a drunken Jackanapes,
With bladder tight, o're soyl that gapes'*
And afterwards in corner odd,
Perhaps lesse thirsty, empties codd.
So fares it with my friends, (god wot)
Whom treasure skips t'enrich the Scot.
Leave then that wretched Climate, where
Thy wants have rid thee like the Mare;
And haste to Town, where thou shalt find
Thy friend, that now hath newly din'd.

I.S.

Day twenty sixt, and when John saies,
Faces about, the Month obays.

K 2

132 Wit Rest or d<

The same, to the same.

WHy how now friend, why eom'st not hither?
Hast thou not leave as light as feather ?
Here have I mark't a Butt of Sack
Whose maiden-head shall welcome Jack,
'Against which when drawer advanc'd gimlet,
I suffer'd him not, but did him let.
And yet thou comm'st not; Why dost pause,
And there continue, keeping Dawes ?
Does Hostesse stay thy steed perforce,
For that which was not fault of Horse ?
Thou haste command of more then one,
For, I have seen at tail of John>
Full Palfreys sixty in array,
(I mean upon the Muster-day)
Or art thou entertain'd to give
Physick to one, that else might live,
Some aged Sir, whose wife is bent
To change him for a Cock of Kent
Well, be it what it will, Fie swear,
There's something in't, that thou stay'st there.
Howe're, let businesse, wine, or friendship,
Draw thee from out that Northern endship.
If none of those provoke thy straddle,
Take pitty on my riming noddle,

Wit Restor d.

That restlesse runs with numbers fierce,

AncTs troubled with a flux of verse.

On that condition I'le relate,

Once more to Captain, newes of State :

Judge Bartlet sitting on his stall,

In Westminster, with's back to the wall,

Was there surpriz'd, and grip'd by th'wrist

By Maxwell, with his clouter fist;

Who trussed the Judge, and bore him hot,

To the Sheriff's house, but plum'd him not;

For there he set him down i'th Hall,

And left him to them, robes and all.

As when a pack of eager Hounds,

Hunting full cry along the grounds,

Take o're some common moor, that's fraught

With old cast Jades, and good for nought :

Who, conscious of their fates, do hale up

Their thin short tails, and try to gallop,

Get out o'th way for life and limme,

Each fearing they are come for him.

So far'd the Judges, such fears wrung 'em,

When Maxwell spent his mouth among 'em.

Then come away, man, places stoop,

Yet thou remainst in fortune's poop.

If thou wert set to ride the Circuit,

In Bartlefs room, how thou wouldst firk it

The art is, to forget acquaintance,

And break a jest in giving Sentence,

Which thou wilt learn, and then be quick

With Sherif s, and thou hast the trick.

134

Wit Restored.

These lessons con, and keep in store,
From S that hath an y before.

From Bromely, where I ghuess by th' Mill-Dike

That tis the Moneth sirnamed Fill-Dike

Which govern's now, and I beleeve

The day is Tom of Staffords Eve,

Full sixteen hundred yeares (I hold)

And fifty (bating five twice told)

Expired are since yeare of grace

Fth Almanack first shew'd his face :

Or (which is nearer to our trade)

Twelve score and two, since Guns were made.

^tMy* "My* *My* *My* 'My* *My* *My* *My* 'My *My* ^tMy* *My 'My* 'My* *My* *My*

The Gallants of the Times.

Supposed to be made by Mr. William Murrey of
His Majesties Bed-chamber.

COme hither the maddest of all the Land,
The Bear at the Bridge-foot this day must be baited
Gallants flock thither on every hand

Waggs wantonly minded, & merry conceited
Ther's Wentworth, and Willmott, and Weston and Cave,
If these are not mad boys, who the devill, would you
have,
To drink to Will Murray, they all doe agree
And every one crys, To mee, boys, to mee !

Wit Restored. 135

A great Burgandine for Will Murray's sake

George Symonds, he vows the first course to take :
When Stradling a Graecian dogg let fly,

Who took the Bear by the nose immediatly;
To see them so forward Hugh Pollard did smile

Who had an old Curr of Canary Oyl,
And held up his head that George Goring might see,

Who then cryed aloud, To niee, boys to mee J

Tis pleasure to drink among these men

For they have witt and valour good store,
They all can handle a sword and a pen

Can court a lady and tickle a whore,
And in the middle of all their wine,

Discourse of Plato_} and Arretine.
And when the health corns fall-down on their knees,

And hee that wants, cry, to me boys to mee

Comwallais was set in an upper room

With halfe a duzzen smal witts of his size :
He sent twice or thrice to have him come down,
But they would admitt him in no manner wise
Though, in a full bowle of Rhenish he swear,

Hee'd never tell more, when woemen were there,
But they all cry'd alou'd his tongue is too free
He is not company for such as wee.

136

Wit Restord.

The Answer,

By Mr Peter Aftsley.

TThough Murray be, undoubtedlie,
His countrey's cheifest wit;
And none but those converse with him

Are held companions fitt:
Yett I do know som Holland blades

Shall vie witth him for it, hey downe, ho downe
Hay downe downe deny dery downe !

Thinke not all praises due,
For some that buff do weare

Can whore and rore and sweare
And drink and talke and fight as well as you*

Your Wentworth and your Weston

Your Stradling and your Tred>
I know they are as joviall boys

As ever Taverne bred
And can somtimes like souldiers live

A weeke without a bedd, hey doune &c.

George Generall of Guenifrieds

He is a joviall Lad ;
Though his Heart and Fortunes disagree

Oft times to make him sad :
Yet give him but a flout or two

And strait you'l swear hees mad: Hey downe, &c.

Wit Restord.

137

There's Sydenham Crofts and Kelligrew
^v Must not be left behind
And that old smooth-fac'd Epicure

They call him Harry Wind
For if you do discourse with him
Such company you'l finde : hey downe, &c.

There's little Geofrey Peeters,

As good as any of those
If hee'd leave his preventing way

Of abusing his great nose
Hee's witt and Poett good enough

That hee can pawne his cloathes : hey downe, &c.

There is a joviall Parson

Who to these men doth preach :
On the week days he does learn of them,

And on Sundays does them teach.
Of books and of good company

Hee takes his share of each, hey down ho down,
Hey down down dery dery down !

Thinke not all prayses due
For if he did not weare

A gowne hee'd roare and sweare
And drink and talke and fight as well as you.

138 WitRestord.

*My* *My* ⁱ\d/* *\ty 'My* ^tMy* *uv* ^<vy* 'My* 'My* 'My* 'My* 'My* 'My* *My* 'My*

The Bursse of Reformation.

WE wil go no more to the old jExchang,
Theres no good ware at all:
Their bodkins and their thimbles too

Went long since to Guild-hall.
But we will to the new Exchange
Where all things are in fashion
And we will have it hence forth call'd
The Burse of reformation.

Come lads and lasses, what do you lack

Here is weare of all prizes
Here's long & short; heres wide & straight \
Here are things of all sizes.

Madam, you may fitt your selfe

With all sorts of good pinns,
Sirs, here is jett and here is hayre,

Gold and cornelian rings,
Here is an english conny furr,

Rushia hath no such stuff,
Which for to keep your fingers warme,

Excells your sables mufife.
come ladds, &c.

Wit Restord.

Pray you Madam sitt, ile shew good ware

For crowding nere fear that,
Against a stall or on a stool

Youl nere hurt a crevatt.
Heers childrens bawbles and mens too,

To play with for delight.
Heer's round-heads when turn'd every way

At length will stand upright.
Come ladds, &c.

Heer's dice, and boxes if you please

To play at in and inn,
Heers homes for brows, & browes for homes,

Which never will be seen.
Heer is a sett of kettle pinns

With bowle at them to rowle :
And if you like such trundling sport

Here is my ladyes hole.
Come ladds, &c.

Heer's shaddow ribbon'd of all sorts,

As various as your mind,
And heer's a Wind-mill like your selfe

Will turne with every wind.
And heer's a church of the same stuff

Cutt out in the new fashion,
Hard by's a priest stands twice a day

Will serve your congregation.
Come ladds, &c.

Wit Restord.

Heer are som presbyterian things,

Falne lately out of fashion,
Because we hear that Prester John

Doth circumcize his nation.
And heer are independant knacks,

Rais'd with his spirits humor.
And heer's cheap ware was sequestred,

For a malignant tumor. Come ladds, &c.

Heer patches are of every cut,

For pimples and for scarrs,
Here's all the wandring planett signes,

And som oth' fixed starrs,
Already gum'd to make them stick,

They need no other sky,
Nor starrs for Lilly for to vew

To tell your fortunes by,
Come ladds, &c.

To eject Powder in your hayre,

Here is a pritty puff;
Would for clister case serve too,

Were it fiTd with such stuffe.
Madam, here are Pistachie nutts,

Strengthening Oringo roots;
And heea's a preserved Apricock

With the stones pendant too't.
Com Lads, &c.

Wit Restord.

141

Here are Perriwiggs will fit all Hayres,

False beards for adisguise;
I can help lasses which are bare

In all parts, as their thighs.
If you'l engage well, here you may

Take up fine Holland Smocks.
We have all things that women want

Except Italian Locks.

Come Ladds, &c.

Here are hot Boyes have backs like bulls,

At first sight can leap lasses ;
And bearded Ladds hold out like goats :

And here are some like Asses.
Here are Gallants can out-do

Your Usher or your Page ;
You need not go to Ludgate more

Till threescore yeares of age.
Come Ladds, &c.

Madam, here is a Politicus

Was Pragmaticus of late,
And here is an Elentichus

That Fallacies doth prate :
Here is the Intelligencer too,

See how 'bout him they throng !
Whilst Melanchollicus a lone

Walks here to make this song.
Com Ladds, &c.

142

Wit Restord.

Then lett's no more to the Old Exchange

There's no good ware at all,
Their Bodkins, and their Thimbles too,

Went long since to Guild-Hall.
But we will to the New Exchange
Where all things are in Fashion,
And we will have it henceforth call'd,
The Burse of Reformation.

Come Ladds, and Lasses, what do you lack ?

Here is ware of all prizes ;
Here's long and short, here's wide and straight,
here are things of all sizes.

The Answer.

WE will go no more to the new Exchange
Their Credit's like to fall,
Their Money and their Loyalty
Is gone to Goldsmiths HalL
But we will keep our Old Exchange,
Where wealth is still in Fashion,
Gold Chaines and Ruffes shalt beare the Bell,
For all your Reformation.

Look on our Walls and Pillars too
You'l find us much the sounder:
Sir Thomas Gresham stands upright
But Crook-back was your founder.

Wit Restored.

There you have poynts and pinns and rings,

With such like toyes as those,
There Patches Gloves and Ribons gay,

And O our money goes.
But when a Fammily is sunck,

And Titles are a fading,
Some Merchant's daughter setts you up,

Thus great ones lives by trading.
Look, &c.

Marke the Nobility throughout,

Moderne and Antient too,
You'l see what power the Citty had

And how much it could do.
Not many houses you'l observe

Of honour true or seeming,
But have received from the Burse

Creation or redeeming.
Look, &c.

Our wonted meetings are at twelve.

Which all the world approves,
But you keep off till candle-time,

To make your secret Loves.
Then you come flocking in a maine

Like birds of the same feather,
Or beasts repayring to the Arke

Uncleane and cleane together.
Look, &c,

Wit Restor'd.

Wee strike a bargaine on the Exchange,

But make it good else where,
And your procedings are alike

Though not so good I fear.
For your commodities are naught,

How ever you may prize them,
Then corners and dark holes are sought,

The better to disguize them,
Looke, &c.

We walke ore cellars richly fill'd,

With spices of each kind,
You have a Taverne underneath,

And so you'r undermin'd.
If such a building long endure

All sober men may wonder,
When giddy and light heads prevaile,

Both above ground and under.
Look, &c.

Wee have an Office, to ensure

Our shipps and goods at sea :
No tempest, rock, or pyrat, can

Deprive us of that plea.
But if your Ladies spring a leake

Or boarded be and taken ;
Who shall secure your Capitoll

And save your heads from aking !
Look, &c.

WiS Rested. 14^

Then wee'l go no more to the new Eexchange

Their credit's like to fal^
Their money? and their loyalty,-
Is gone to Gold-smiths halk
But wee will keep our old *efcehange,

Where -wealth 'is < still in fashion,' >
Gold chaines and ruffs shall bear the bell,
For all your reformation;
Look on" our'walls and pillars "too,

You'l finde us much the sounder :
Sir Thomas Gresti&M' stands upright,
But Crook-back' w&s y6ur founder.

OnS. W. St. and£*P.

Shee that^dahires 1m^erVam^fcfce,
His stature, limbs, or haire,
Does not conceive the moderne waies
Of Ladies, wise and faire.
Hee's tmt short,
Care not fort,
There be tall ones enough,
Though his head
Bee all redd,
Let his coyne bee* so too.

What though his nose turne in and out

With passage wide and large,

Not much unlike a rairiy spout,

His humors to discharge,
^vol. 1. _L

I4&

Wit Restord.

Though his back,
Weare a pack
Tis a toy among friends,
So by hook,
Or by crook,
We may compasse our ends.

Tis not your witt nor language charme,

That takes a femall eare
A paire of pendants worth a farme
Are held more welcom there.
You abuse
Your poor muse,
When you write us fine fancies;
For no love
Can improve
Without suppers or daunces.

God dam-mee is a good conceit,
If they who sweare present us ;
For that's your only taking baite
Words nere can circumvent us.

There belongs

More then songs
To a necklace or gown,

When your plays

And essays
May be had for a crown.

n

Wit Restored. 147

#jtv* *jy* *wy* ^ny* *uv* 'vy* ♦'ytv* *My* 'My* *My* 'My* *My* 'My* ^lMy* *My* 'My*

The Tytre-Tues, or A Mock-Songe

to the tune of Chive-Chase.

By Mr George Chambers.

TWo madcaps were committed late,
For treason, as some say ;
It was the wisdom of the State,

Admire it all you may.
Brave Andrew Windsor was the prince

George Chambers favorite.
These two bred this unknowne offence
I wo'd they had bine be-------------

They call themselves the Tytere-tues

And wore a blew Rib------bin,

And when a drie, would not refuse,

To drink------O fearefull sinn !

The Councell, which is thought most wise,

Did sett so long upon't,
That they grew wearie, and did rise,

And could make nothing on't.

But still, the common people cri'd,

This must not be forgot;
Some had for smaller matters di'd

They'd don------wee know not what :

L 2

i^ WitsHestoxd^

Hanged, drawne, and quartered, must they be,

So Law doth sett it, down e,
It's punishment for papistrie

That are of high renowne.

My Lord of Canterburies grace

This treason brought to light
El's had it bin a pitipus ease

But that his power and might
Had queld their pride which swell'd to Jiigh ;

For which the child ungot
May with him live e'ne till hee die

As silie sheepe that rott,

Let Papist frowne what need wee care

Hee lives above their reach :
And will his silver Mitre weare

Though now forgot to preach.
If hee were but behind mee now,

And should this fcallad heare; _tSure he'd revenge with bended bow

And I ,die like f, De,ere.

A Northern. Ballet...

7"*Here. dwelt a manjjn_tfaire Westmerlanfl
lonne Armstrong men jiid. him call,
He had nither lands nor remits coming in„_fYet he kept eight score men in his* hall

Me had Horse and Harness for them all,
Goodly Steeds were'all milke white,

0 the golden band's ah about their necks;
And their weapon's they were'all alike.

Newes then was brought unto the King,
That there was sicke a won as hee,
That lived syke a bold out-Law
And robbed all the iitirth country.

The King he writt ana letter then
A letter which Was large and long,
He signed it with his bwne hand,
And he promised to dde him no wrong;

When this letter came lonm untill,

His heart it was as blyth as birds on the tree,

Never was I sent for before any King

My father, my Grandfather, rior none But mee.

And if wee goe the King before,

1 would we went most orderly,

Every man of you shall have his scarlet cloak
Laced with silver laces three.

Every won of you shall have his velvett coat
Laced with sillver lace so white,
O the golden bands an about your neck's
Black hatts, white feathers, all alyke.

Wit Restord.

By the morrow morning e at ten of the clock
Towards Edenburough gon was hee
And with him all his eight score men,
Good lord it was a goodly sight for to see,

When Ionne came befower the King
He fell downe on his knee,
O pardon my Soveraine Leige, he said
O pardon my eight score men and mee.

Thou shalt have no pardon, thou traytor strong
For thy eight score men nor thee
For to morrow morning by ten of the clock,
Both thou and them shall hang on the gallow tree,

But Ionne looke'd over his left shoulder
Good Lord what a grevious look looked hee;
Saying asking grace of a graceles face,
Why there is none for you nor me.

But Ionne had a bright sword by his side,
And it was made of the mettle so Free,
That had not the king stept his foot aside
He had smitten his head from his faire bodde.

Saying, fight on my merry. men all,

And see that none of you be taine,

For rather then men shall say we were hange'd

Let them report how we were slaine.

Wit Restord. 151

Then god wott faire Eddenburrough rose
And so besett poore lonne rounde
That fowerscore and tenn of Ionnes best men
Lay gasping all upon the ground.

Then like a mad man lonne laide about,
And like a mad man then fought hee,
Untill a fake Scot came lonne behinde,
And runn him through the faire boddee,

Saying, Fight on my merry men all,
And see that none of you be taine,
For I will stand by and bleed but a while,
And then will I come and fight againe.

Newes then was brought to young lonne Armestrong_f

As he stood by his nurses knee,

Who vowed if er'e he live'd for to be a man,

Oth' the treacherous Scots reveng'd hee'd be.

By Mr. Richard Barnslay.

FAme told mee, Lady, your fayr hands would make
A willow garland for me ; O forsake
That dismall office, it do's not agree
With those sweet looks, that fair aspect in thee.
Fayrest of women, canst thou bee my friend ?
And with thine owne hand hasten on my end ?

a 52 Wit Restord.

If I must loose thee, let mee loose thee so
As not to bee my utter overthrow.

Time lessons sorrow, we endure our crosses,
And happier fortunes may redeem our losses,
Jut if I wear one branch of that sad tree,
I shall remember it eternally,
What prize Host; and then in some sad grove
Of discontent, Where fearfull ghosts doe rove
Of the forsaken lovers, there Tie bee
And only they shall keep mee company.
Untill these eyes, in some unpollish'd cave
Running like fountaines, weare mee forth a grave,
And then I'le dye, yet first I will curse thee
Damned, unlucky, fruitlesse willow-tree
Still mayest thou withered stand, mayst nev'r bee seen
Clad in sweet summers pride, may'st nev'r grow greene;
May every bryer, and every bramble bee,
Like a full Cedar, or huge Oake to thee :
And when some cankerd axe shall hewe thee down,
Come never neerer citty, house or towne,
But bee thou burnd, yet never mayst thou bee
A Christmas block for joviall company.
But bee thou placed neare some ugly ditch
To burne some murderer, or damned witch.

Cast away Willow, Lady, then, and choose,
Dog-tree, or hemlock, or the mornfull yewes
Torne from some church-yard side, the cursed thorne
Or else the weed, which still before it's borne
Nine times the devill sees; if you command
He weare them all, eompos'd by your fayre hand

Wit Restored. 153

So that you'l grant mee, that I may goe free
From the sad branches of the willowe tree.

*Ad Joharmuelem Leporem,
Lepidissimum, Carmen Heroimm.

I Sing the furious battails of the Sphseres
Acted in eight and twenty fathom deep,
And from that (a) time, reckon so many yeares
You'l find (b) Endimion fell fast asleep.

{a) There began {he Vtopian accompt of years, Mor: 'Lib. I. "circa
finem.

{b) Endimion was a handsome young Welshman, whom one Luce
Moone lov'd for his sweet breath ; and would never hang off his lips :
but he not caring for her, eat a bundance of toasted cheese, purposely
to make his breath unsavory; upon which, she left him presently,
and ever since 'tis proverbially spoken [as inconstant as Luce Moone.\
The Vatican coppy of Hesiod, reades her name, Mohun, but contract-
edly it is Moone, Hesiod. lib. 4. torn. 3.

And now assist me O ye (c) Musiques nine
That tell the Orbs in -order as they fight,
And thou dread (d) Atlas with thine eyes so fine,
Smile on me now that first begin to write.

\c) For all the Orbes make Musick in their motion, Berbsus de
sph(zra. lib, 3.

{d) Atlas was a Porter in Mauritania, and because by reason of his
strength, he bore burthens of stupendious weight, the Poets fain'd,
that he carried the Heavens on his shoulders. Cicero, de nat. Deorum.
lib. 7.

154 Wit Restord.

(e) Pompey that once was Tapster of New-Inne,

And fought with (/) Ccesar on th' (g) sEmathian plaines,

First with his dreadfull (g) Myrmidons came in

And let them blood in the Hepatick veines.

(e) There were two others of these names, Aldermen of Rome. Tit!
Liu. hist. lib. 28.

{/) sE7nathia, is a very faire Common in Northamptonshire, Strabo.
lib. 321.

(g) These Myrmidons were Cornish-men, and sent by Bladud, some-
times King of this Realme, to ayd Pompey. Ccesar de bello. civili.
lib. 14.

But then an Antelope in Sable blew,
Clad like the (h) Prince of Aurange in his Cloke,
Studded with Satyres, on his Army drew,
And presently (1) Pheanders Army broke.

{h) It seemes not to be meant by Count Henry, but his brother
Maurice, by comparing his picture to the thing here spoken of. Jansen.
de prced. lib. 22.

{i) Pheander was so modest, that he was called the Maiden Knight;
and yet so valiant, that a French Cavaleer wrote his life, and called his
Book, Pheander the Maiden Knight. Hon. d⁷ Vrfee. Tom. 45.

(k) Philip, for hardiness sirnamed Chub,
In Beauty equall to fork-bearing (/) Bacchus,

(k) This seemes not to be that King, that was Son of Amintas, and
King of Macedon; but one who it seems was very lascivious : for I
suspect there is some obscsene conceit in that word Club in the third
verse following ; besides, marke his violence.

(/) Bacchus, was a drunken yeoman of the Guard to Queen Elizabeth,
and a great Archer; so that it seemes the Authour mistooke his halbert,
for a forke.

Wit Restor'd. 155

Made such a thrust at (m) Phcebe, with his Club,
That made the (n) Parthians cry, she will becack us.

(m) This was Long-Megg of Westminster, who after this conflict
with Phillip, followed him in all his warres. Justinian, lib. 35.

(n) These were Lancashire-men, and sent by King Gorbadug (for
this war seemes to have been in the time of the Heptarchy in England)
to the aide of Ccesar. Ccesar. lib. citat. propejinem.

Which heard, the Delphick Oracle drew nigh,
To wipe faire Phcebe, if ought were amiss,
But (0) Heliotrope, a little crafty spye,
Cry'd clouts were needless, for she did but piss

{0) And therefore, the herb into which he was turned, was called
Turnsole. Ovid. Metam. lib. 25.

A subtle Gloworme lying in a hedge
And heard the story of sweet cheek't (/) Appollo,
Snatch'd from bright (a) Styropes his Antick sledge
And to the butter'd Flownders cry'd out, (r) Holla.

{p) Appollo, was Ccesars Page, and a Monomatapan by birth, whose
name by inversion was Ollopa: which in the old language of that
Country, signifies as much as faire youth: but, Euphonies Gratia,
called Apollo, Gor. Bee. lib. 46.

{q) Styropes, was a lame Smiths-man dwelling in S. Johns-street;
but how he was called Bright, I know not, except it were by reason of
the Luster of his eyes.

{r) Holla, mistaken for Apollo.

Holla you pamper'd Jades, quoth he, look here,
And mounting straight upon a Lobsters thigh

^;i56

WttRestord.

An English man inflam'cl with (s) double Beere,
- Swore nev'r to (/) drink to Man, a Woman by.

(i) ^Cervisia (apud Medicos, vintim Hordeaceum) potus est Anglis long}
charissinius; Inventum Ferrarij Londinensis, Cui nomen Srriuggo.
Polyddr. Virgil, de Invent. ferUm. lib. 2.

(i)Impp. Geftfianicz, antiquitus solebant, siatis iemporibus, adire Ba-
singstochium; ubi, de more, Jusjm'dnclum sdlenne prcestab ant, de non
vi7-o propinando, prcesente muliere: Hie Mos, jamdudum apud Anglos,
pene vim legis obtinuit; quippe gens ilia, Iqnge humanissima^ morem
istum, in hodierfium usque diem, magna Curiosiiate, pari Comitate
conjuncta, usurpant. Pancirol—utriusque imperij. lib. 6. cap. 5.

By this time grew the conflict to be (u) hot,
Boots against boots 'gainst (x) Sandals, Sandals, fly.
Many poor thirsty men went to the pot,
Feathers lopt off, spurrs every where did lie.

Ccetera desiderantur.

(u) It seemes this was a great battail, both by the furie of it, & the
aydes of each side; but hereof read more, in Cornel. Tacit, lib. de
moribus German.

(x) This is ail imitation of Zucan—

------Signis Signa, &¹ pila-----&^c.

Pharsalia. lib. 1. in principio.

WitJ$?§to-r4.

IS?

BagnalVs Ballet\ supplied of whut was Jeff
out in Musarum Deliciae.

A Ballet, a ballet! let every Poet,
A ballett make with speed ;
And he that has wit, now let him shew it ;

For never was greater need :
And I that never made ballett beforej
Will make one now, though I never make more.
Oh Women,) monstrous womeny
What do you meane,to doe /₁

It is their pride and strange pttire^

Which binds me to this taske •>
Which King, and Cogrt^df^rnuch admire, ^

At the last Christmas maske, _fBut by yaur entertainment then,
You should have smal cause to cpme, t^re agen.
Oh Women. <5?^r.

You cannot bee cpnt^nte4t9, S9%_it

As did the wornen_vpf old_;;j
But you,are all for priji^.and,si^qw»v

As they were for weather and.cpjd,-,

0 Women^ wjomen./ fie^fie, fie*

1 wonder you are not ^,sha,rne4,

O Women, &*c*_u

Wit JRestor-'d.

Where is the decency becom,

Which your fore-mothers had ?
With Gowns of Cloth, and Ca,pps of Thrum,

They went full meanly cladd.
But you must jett it in silkes and gold;
Your pride, though in winter, is never a cold*
O Women, &*c.

Your faces trick'd and painted bee,

Your breasts all open bare :
So fair that a man may almost see

Unto your Lady ware :
And in the church, to tell yon true,
Men cannot serve God for looking on you.
0 Women, &*c.

And at the Devills shopps you. buy,

A dresse of powdered hayre,
On which your feathers flaunt and fly,

But i'de wish you have a care,
Lest Lucifer's selfe who is not prouder
Do one day dresse up your haire with a powder.
0 Women, &*c.

And many there are of those ttiat go

Attyr'd from head to heele,
That them from men you cannot know

Unlesse you do them feele,
But oh for shame though they liave none,
Tis better believe, and let them alone,
0 Women, &c.

Wit Res tor d. 159

Both round and short they cut their hayre

Whose length should women grace,
Loose like themselves, their hatts they weare.

And when they come in place,
Where courtshipp and complements must bee,
They do it like men with cappe and knee.
O Women, &c.

They at their sides against our laws,

With little punyards go,
Which surely is, (I thinke) because,

They love mens weapons so ;

Or else it is they'le stobb all men,

That do refuse to stabb them agen.

O Women, &c,

Doublets like to men they weare,

As if they ment to flout us,
Trust round with poynts and ribbons fayre,

But I pray letts look about us;
For since the doublett so well doth fitt 'urn,
They will have the breeches ; and if they can get ^Jum.
O Women, &c.

Nor do they care what a wise man saith,

Or preachers in their defame.
But jeer and hold him an asse ; but I faith

They'd blush if they had any shame :
For citty and countrey do both deride 'um
And our King, God blesse him, cannot abide 'um.
O Women, &c.

Wit Restored

And when the mask, was at ther court,,

Before the King to be showne,
They got.upon seats to see >the sport,.

But soon they were pulFd down-;
And many.were thrust out of dares?..
Their coats _t well cudgeFd, & they car!d whores.

O King, Relligious King_J/:God save thy Majestie.

And so with prayers to Gpdon higJv,

To grant his higrmesse {peace,.
Wee hope we shall fmde jreraedie.

To make this.mischiefe^cease:
Since he in Court has tane so^ good jorder, _%The citty leave to the Maior and Reorder,

O King) Relligious King,
God blesse thy niajestid

And women .all, wfeom this concejc&% ,

Though you offended^h%&4 i
And now in fbule, ,apd> rayling *eatm&*

Do swagger an$ scold at <mee *
I tell you, if you mend not yomxmss}
The devil will fetch you all, one of these days,

Oh Wbmen monstrous Women! *
What do you mean to do?

Wit Res ford. 161

Mr. Smith, to Sir John Mennis,

upon the stirrender of Conway Castle by the

Ar, B Y.

ANd how ? and how ? hast thou cry'd quittance
With Mountaine, Bishop, and his Brittaines
Who after all his changes, had
Yet one trick more, to make John mad ?
Hadst thou, for this, charge of the Keyes
Old as the Castle ? and the payes
Of Men unborne ? that never took
A name, but from thy Muster-Book ?
Hast thou been honour'd with the knee
Of the Time-aged-Porter ? Hee
Who after reverence, humbly sate
Below the Salt, and munch'd his Sprat,
And after all this to be vex't
Past sufferance, by a Man o'th Text I
Well! now thou'rt come in sight of Pauls,
Hast thou compounded for thy Coales
And swallowed glib in hope to thrive,
The Covenant, and Oath Negative
With hand lift up, like those that are
Indicted for less crimes at Barre ?
Beleeve me, friend, it Is a Burden
Worse then a close-stoole with a Turd in.
Yet if from Brittish rocks th' hast brought
A heard of Goats, or Runts, or ought
vol. i. m

Wit Restord.

That Country yeilds; Flannel, Carnoggins,
Store of Metheglin in thy waggons;
Less needst thou dwindle to appeare Man
At Goldsmiths-Mall'before the Chaire-man :
Or if th'ast plundered Pedlars-pack
And tmss'd it on thy knightly back,
Rich in Box-whistles, combs in cases,
Tape white and blue, points, inkle, laces,
*T may satisfye those hungry Kings;
They'l hang thee else in thine own strings.

And now I call to mind the tale,
How mounted in thy nights of ale
Thou rod'st home duely to thy Den
On back of resty Cittizen,
Still pressing as the cattle grew
Weary, at every stage, a new ;
Some thorough-pac'd, and sure of foot
Some tripping, with string-halt to boot,
Now 'tis their time, and thou art ore-
Ridden by them, thou roadst before.
So have I seen the flyes in Summer,
Yellow as was the neighbouring scummer,
"With shambling thighs, each other back
By turns, and traverse o're the rack
Ah ! worthy friend, it makes me mad
To count the dayes, that we have had;
When we might freely meet and drink
And each man speak what he did think.
Now every step we doubt, and word
As men to passe some unknown for'd.

Wit.Restored.

As Patridges devide their way
When stoop'd at by the Birds of prey,
And dare not from their coverts peep
Till night's come on, and all's asleep,
Then from their severall brakes they hast,
And call together to repast.
So frighted by these buzzards, flye
Our scattered friends, and sculking lye
Till covered in the night, they chant
And call each other to the hant,

Some trusty Taverne, where in bowles
They drown their feares, & chirp poore souls,
What sad plight are we in ? what pickles?
That we must drink in conventicles ?
Search all the Centuries, there's none
Like this fell Persecution;
But when Time sorts, do but but command,
At noon Pie meet thee, here's my hand.

■/..£.

Dated,
From house of Knight, in Nympton-Regls^
Where one drinks, and another pledges,
I meane at meales, the day is Jack,
The 15 of the month that's black,
Forty eight yeares, and sixteen hundred
Since that of Grace, away are squandred,
And since Parliament begon
(I hope you'l not forget tiaaxjohn)
Nothing remaines, but that I say,
Good morrow; that's the time o'th day.
M 2

164/ Wit Res tor¹ d.

An answer to a Letter from Sr. John

Mennis, wherein he jeeres him for

falling so quickly to the use of the

Directory.

FRiend, thou dost lash me with a story,
A long one too, of Directory;
When thou alone deserves the Birch
That broughtst the bondage on the Church.
Didst thou not treat for Bristow Citty
And yeld it up ? the more's the pitty.
And saw'st thou not, how right or wrong
The common prayer-book went along ?
Didst thou not scourse, as if inchanted,
For Articles Sir Thomas granted,
And barter, as an Author saith,
The Articles o'th' Christian faith ?
And now the Directory jostles
Christ out o'th* Church, and his Apostles;
And tears down the commnion-rayles
That Men may take it on their tayles.
Imagine freind, Bochus the King,
Engraven on Syllds Signet ring,
Delivering up into his hands
Fugurth, and with him all his Lands,
Whom Sylla tooke and sent to Rome
There to abide the Senate's doome,

; Wit Restored.

In the same posture, I suppose,
John standing in's doublet and hose,
Delivering up, amidst the throng,
The common-prayer and wisedom's song
To hands of Fairfax to be sent
A sacrifice to the Parliament:
Thou litle thoughtst what geare began
Wrap't In that Treaty, Busie John,
There lurk'd the fire, that turn'd to cinder
The Church ; her ornaments to tinder.
There bound up in that Treaty lyes
The fate of all our Christmas pyes,
Our holy-dayes there went to wrack
Our Wakes were layd upon their back ;
Our Gossips spoones away were lurched
Our feasts and fees for woemen church'd,
All this and more ascribe we might
To thee at Bristow, wretched knight,
Yet thou upbraidst, and raylst in rime
On me, for that, which was thy crime,
So froward Children in the Sun,
Amid' their sports some shrewd turne donne
The faulty youth begins to prate,
And layes it on his harmlesse mate,

Dated
From Nymfiton where the Cyder smiles
And lames has horse as lame as Gyles
The fourth of May; and dost thou heare,
'Tis as I .take it, the eighth yeare

166

Wit Restored.

Since Portugal! by Duke Braganza.
Was cut from Spaine without a hand-saw.

J.S.

*Mf 'tilr **fic *^%f ^,5jfc£ *?8C *^fe ^ifc 5ift£ «t^t t^r ^Jr i?fc '^Tfy *?8£ *titr ^jfc tfe* **y*» ^jfe* Tfir ^jf* ^8c

Mr. Smith's taking a Purge.

IN mome whenPhmbus peep't through crevis,
Bold as our Brittish Guy or Bevis
I powder took, and by his beams
Befreinded, made a draught for Jeames.
Long had it not in stomack been
But from each part, came powdring in
Of uricouth gear such pregnant store
That gutt *gan grumble, nock runne ore.
Have yee beheld with eager haste
The trewant Citts when scene is past,
(As if they meant their ribs to burst
While each beares up to get out first)
Cloy up the doore, till passage small
Into one body rammes 'em all,
And then in steed of men and witt
Delivers up a lumpe of citt
With no lesse furie in a throng
Away these tachie humors flung,.
And downwards in a rage they drew
To ramble, and bid nock adieut:
But when they came to portall nastie
Bumme was so straite, and they so hastie,

Wit Restored.

That many a worthy pellett must

Into one Booming shott bee thrust,

At rumbling noyse the mastive growles

The frighted mice forsake their holes,

And Souldiers to my window come

Invited thither by my drum,

Tire'd with this hideous coyle behinde

Nocke layd a bout him hard for winde,

Hee chafd, and fom'd, as buck embo'st,

And painted like a toad that's tost

At length he gaind a title tyme,

And cleard his Organ from the slime ;

Pale was his look, (for to be blunt),

Arse could not sett a good face on't.

But yet hee strove with visage wan

To vent himselfe ; and thus began.

Oh dismall Dose 1 oh cursed geere !

Will all thy body runne out here ?

Will vaynes, and sinnews, flesh, and bone

Be gadding, and leave nock alone ?

Is it decreed, oh crewell fates !

So Mindus at her citty gates

As was suspected there about

Some time or other might runne out,

A Divell sure bak't, and stale

Was grated in my posset-ale,

Or else 'twas powder of the bones

Of some foote souldier dead for the nonce,

For all the way he travailes North

Through stomack, belly, and so forth.

Wit Res tor d.

Some what he seizes in each towne,

And take's it with him as his owne ;

Well, what so ere thou wer't, be sure

Thy vengeance 'ile no more indure,

Nor shall the head or stomack put

More then is fitting into gutt.

Why could not nostrells, eyes, or eare,

By milde expences vent you there ?

Or vomitt, by a neerer way,

Discharge what in the stomak lay ?

Or i'st not justice they that pas'd

The pleasure, should the bitter taste ?

Can you accuse mee ? ever came

Ought in by me did body blame ?

Unlesse your keeping ope my doore

Drew wind, to make the fabrick roare ;

I was contented once a day

While you were temperate, to obay,

But he is cur'st that's forc't to stand

All the day long with hose in hand.

Nor was the spincter muscle put

At every turne to ope and shut,

But there to stand, and notice take

Who pass'd, and when, and for whose sake.

Therefore bee warn'd keepe better dyet

That all of us may live at quiett.

Or ile stopp up the abuse'd course

And send up fumes will make you worse

And you (as Mayerne doth) they say

Divert the vent another way,

Wit Restored. 169

Then spight of physick, in a word,
I'le make your palate tast a tourd,
And when you belch I'le turne the sent
To perfect smell of fundament.

«vy» *jy* «\ny» *)jy» «-^y» *jy* *\nj* <^y» *jy +\£y* *\ty* *\jy* ^r\jD/' *VJ/* *\i¥* *\itf*

The Miller and the King's Daughter,
By Mr. Smith.

THere were two Sisters they went a playing,
With a hie downe, downe, a downe-a-
To see their fathers ships come sayling in
With a hy downe, downe, a downe-o-

And when they came unto the sea-brym,

With, &*c,
The elder did push the younger in ;

With, &>c.

O Sister, O Sister, take me by the gowne,

With, 6%
And drawe me up upon the dry ground,

With, &>c.

O Sister, O Sister, that may not bee,

With, &>c.
Till salt and oatmeale grow both of a tree •

With, Grc.

Wit Restord.

Somtymes she sanke, Somtymes she swam,

With, &>c.
Untill she came unto the mil-dam;

With, &c.

The miller runne hastily downe the clifTe,

With &c,
And up he betook her withouten her life,

With, &*c.

What did he doe with her brest bone ?

With, &c.
He made him a viall to play thereupon,

With, &>c.

What did he doe with her fingers so small ?

With, &c.
He made him peggs to his Violl withall;

With, &>c.

What did he doe with her nose-ridge ?

With, &c.
Unto his Violl he made him a bridge,

With, &>c.

What did he do with her Veynes so blewe?

with, &*c.
He made him strings to his Viole thereto;

with, &*c.

Wit Restored.

What did he doe with her eyes so bright ?

with, &*c.
Upon his Violl he playd at first sight y

with, 6°£.

What did he doe with her tongue soe rough?

with, 6°a
Unto the viofr it spake enough;

withy &*c.

What did he doe with her two shinnes ?

with, &>c.
Unto the violl they danc't Moll Syms;

with, &c.

Then bespake the treble string,

with, &c.
O yonder is my father the King;

with, &c.

Then bespake the second string,

with &c
O yonder sitts my mother the Queen :

with, &c.

And then bespake the stringes all three;

with, &c.
O yonder is my sister that drowned mee

with, &c.

172 Wit Restored.

Now pay the miller for his payne,

with, &c.
And let him bee gone in the divels name.

withy &c.

Mr. Smith, to Tom Pollard, and
Mr. Mering.

MY hearty commendations first remembred
To Tom, & Robbin tall men, and well timberd
Hoping of both your welfares, and your blisse
Such as my selfe enjoy'd when I wrote this;
These are to let you understand and know,
That love will creepe there where it cannot go
And that each morning I doe drink your healths
After our Generalls, & the Commonwealths;
For nothing is more fatall then disorder
Especially now Leslfs on the Border;
That done we gather into Rankes and files,
That a farre off we look like greeat wood piles;
And then we practise over all our knacks
With as much ease as men make Almanacks,
Size all our bulletts to a dram, we hate
To kill a foe with waste unto the State,
And for our carriage heere, it hath been such
Declar't I cannot, but He give a touch:
Here is noe outrage done, not one that Robbs
Perhaps you think it strange Tom, so does Nobbs

Wit Restord. 173

But tis as true as Steele, for on my word ;

Their worst is drinking Ale, browne as their sword.

But harke Xhzfiendes are come close to Carlile,

Lidsdale is cope't with Rebell-Scotts the while

To us they send for helpe, the postboy skudds ;

And scoures his pallfrie in his propper Sudds,

More I could write deare friends, but bad's the weather

And time's as precious as you both to gether.

But take not this unkindely; I professe

There's no man more your servant then J S.

Newcastle where the drouth has been

That makes grasse short, and gelding thin :

July the fifth I wrote this letter

One thousand six hunderd, & somewhat better.

Vpon lohn Felton's hanging in Chctines at
Ports-mouth, for killing the
Duke of Buckingham.

HEre uninterd suspends (though not to save
Surviving friends the expences of a grave
Feltoris dead earth, which to the world must bee
His own sad monument, his Elegye
As large as fame, but whither bad or good
I say not, by himself 'twas writ in blood
For with his body thus entonriVd in ayre
Arclrt o're with Heaven, set with thousand faire

^r74

Wit Restored.

And glorious Diamond-starrs ; a Sepulcher
Which time can never ruinate, and where
Th'impartiall worme (which is not brib'd to spare
Princes when wrapt in Marble) cannot share
His flesh (which oft the charitable skyes
Embalme with teares doing those obsequies
Belong to men) shall last till pittying foul
Contend to reach his body to his Soule.

To Felton in the Tower.

ENjoy thy bondage, make thy prison know,
Thou hast a liberty thou canst not owe
To such base punishment; keep't intire, since
Nothing but guilt shackles they conscience.
I dare not tempt thy valiant blood to whey
In feebling it with pitty, nor dare pray
Thine act may mercy finde, lest thy great story
Lose something of its miracle and glory.
I wish thy merit studied cruelty,
Short vengance befreinds thy memory
For I would have posterity to heare
He that can bravely die can bravely beare.
Torture seemes great unto a' cowards eye
'Tis no great thing to suffer, less to dye.
Should all the clowds fall out, & in that strife
Lightning and thunder send to take my life,

Wit Restored.

175

I should applaud the wisedome of my fate

That knew to value me at such a rate

As at my fall to trouble all the skie,

Emptying it self upon me Joves full Armory ;

Thy soul before was straightned, thank thy doome

To show her vertue she hath larger Roome,

Yet sure if every artery were broke

Thou wouldst finde strength for such another stroke.

And now I leave thee unto death and fame

Which lives to shake ambition at thy name,

And (if it were no sin) the Court by it

Should hourely sweare before a favorite.

Farwell, for thy beame sake we shall not send

Henceforth Commanders that wil foes defend

Nor will it ever our just Monarch please

To keep an Admirall to loose the Seas.

Farwell, undaunted stand, and joy to be

Of publique sorrow the Epitome,

Let the Duke's name suffer, and crowne thy thrall

All we in him did suffer ; thou for all.

And I dare boldly write, as thou darst dye,
Stout Felt on) Englands ransome, here doth lye.

To the Duke of Buckingham.

THe king loves you, you him ; both love the same,
You love the King, he you, both Buck-in-game
Of sport the King loves game, of game the Buck
Of all men you, why you ? Why see your luck.

176 Wit Restored.

To the Same.

SOme say, the Duke was vertuous, gratious, good,
And Felton basely did, to spill his bloud.
If it be so, what did he then amiss,
In sending him the sooner to his bliss ?
All deaths seem pleasant to a good-man's Eye
And bad men onely are afraid to dye;
Changed he this Kingdome to possess a better,
Then is the Duke become John Felton's debter.

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The Lawyer.

LAwyers themselves up hold the Common weale,
They punish such as do offend and steale;
They free with subtill art the innocent,
From any danger, losse, or punishment,
They can, but will not, keep the world in awe
By mis-expounded and distorted la we ;
Alwayes they have great store of charity,
And love they want, not keeping amitye.

Wit Res tor d. 177

The Clients Transcription- of the same Copy,
having experienced the contrary.

LAwyers themselves ixj^riold the Common-weale
They punish sucli £ls do offend and steale.
They free with sub till art trie innocent,
From any danger, losse, or punishment;
They can, but will not keep, the world in awe
By mis-expounded and distorted lawe
Allwayes they have, great store of charity
And love they want, not keeping amitye.

The reverend d?cz?ivase.

SO lowd a lye on Sunday rung,
So thicke a troupe, so grave a thrung,
Assembled in a Church, to laugh,
At nothing ? pardon heavens ; when halfe
Had Gods marke on them ? none so good
To satisfle the hungry croud ;
With holsome doctrine ; none so hardy
With an howers talke to ojaitt the tardy ?
All silent brethren, and yet none
Can speake by inspiration ?

VOL. I. N

Wit Res ford.

Dares none so conscious of his merits

Or presuming on the sperit,

With an edifying greeting

Gratulate this zealous meeting ?

Is this a day or place (O sin 1)

For such to have a canvse in ?

Lord 1 how we sat like Qiieene Candac^s

Eunuch, reading each other faces i

Expecting when some Philips heire

Would come to ascend the sacred chaire.

Whilst cousnmg Miles the bell still knockt

T' increase the number of the mockt ?

But in conclusion all the cittie

Was bidden to a nunc dimitte,

And yet found no man to supply

The office of dumbe Zacharie

In our dismission, till wee tiring

The bell and pullpit both conspiring,

Deprived of sound, and vesture told us

The tenor onely preacht that calld us;

Wit Restord.

179

A non sequihtr, by Dr. CordetL

MArke how the Lanterns clowd mine eyes
See where a moone drake ginnes to rise
Saturne craules much like an Iron Catt,
To see the naked moone in a slippshott hatt,
Thunder thumping toad stooles crock the pots

To see the Meremaids tumble
Leather catt-a-mountaines shake their heeles
To heare the gosh-hawke grumble
The rustle threed,
Begins to bleed,
And cobwebs elbows itches
The putrid skyes
Eat mulsacke pies
Backed up in logicke brecehes
Munday trenchers make good hay
The Lobster weares no dagger
Meale-Mouth'd shee-peacockes powle the starres
And make the lowbell stagger

Blew Crocodiles foame in the toe
Blind meal-bagges do follow the doe
A ribb of apple braine spice
Will follow the Lancasheire dice
Harke how the chime of Plutoes pispot cracks,
To see the rainbowes wheele ganne, made of flax.

N 2

180 Wit Res tor d.

On Oxford Schollers going to Woodstock
to heare Dr. Corbet preach before the King.

THe King, and the Court
Desirous of sport,
At Woodstock six dayes did lye

Thither came the Doctors

With their velvet sleev'd Proctors,
And the rest of the learned frie.

Some faces did shine

More with ale then with wine ;
So that each man there was thought

And judged by theire hue

(As it was then true).
They were better fed then taught.

A number beside

With their wenches did ride
(For Schollers you know are kind)

And riding before

Leand back evermore
To kisse their wenches behind.

A number on foot

Without cloak, or boot
And yet to the Court they wou'd

Which was for to show

How farr they wou'd go
To doe his Majesty good.

Wit Restored,

181

The reverend Deane

With his ruff, starched clean
Did preach before the King

A Ring there was spide

In his band-string tyde
Was not this a pritty thing ?

The Ring without doubt

Was the thing put him out:
So oft hee forgot what was next

That all that were there

Did thinke, and dare sweare,
Hee handled it more then his Text

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Horat, 34. Carm, od. 10. ad, Ligurinm,

TIs true (proud boy) thy beauty may presume
Thank Venus for't but when thy cheekes shall plume,
When manly downe shall shade thy Childish pride
And when thy locks (which dangle on each side
Of thy white shoulders) shall no more remain ;
When thy vermilion cheeks (which do disdain,
The glorious colour of the purple rose)
Begin to fade, and Ligarinas loose
His lovely face, being rudely stuck with haires
(Hard hearted boy) then wilt thou say with teares
(When looking for thy faire self in a glass
Thou findest another there) Ah me ! alas !

182

Wit Restord.

What do I now perceive ? why had not I ?
These thoughts when I was lovely smooth ? or why ?
To these my thoughts which I now entertaine
Doe not my Cheeks grow slik & young again ?

To his Mistris.

I'le tell you whence the rose did first grow red .
And whence the lillie whitenesse borrowed
You blush't and then the rose with red was dight.
The lillie kist your hands and so came white
Before that time the rose was but a staine
The lillie nought but palenesse did containe
You have the native colour; these they die
And onely flourish in your livery.

Upon a Cobler.

COme hither, read (my gentle freind)
And here behold a Coblers End,
Long in length his life had gone
But that he had no Last so long.

O mighty death whose darts can kill.
The man that made him soules at will.

Wit Restord. 183

On the death of the Lord Treasurer.

IMmodest death, that would not once confer
Dispose or part with our Lord Treasurer !
Had he beene thee, or of thy fatall tribe,
He would have spar'd thy life, and tane a bribe,
He that so often had with gold and wit,
Perverted law and allmost conjur'd it.
He that could lengthen causes, and was able
To starve a suitor at the councill-table
At last not having Evidence to show
Was faine (perforce) to take a deadly blow.

The lover s Melancholy.

HEnce, hence, all you vaine delights
As short as are the nights

Wherin you spend your folly 1
Ther's nought in this life sweet,
If men were wise to see't

But only melancholly.
Wellcome folded armes, and fixed eyes,
A sight that pearcing mortifies,
A look that's fastened to the ground,
A tongue chain'd up without a sound,

Fountaines-heades and pathless groves

Pkces which pale passion loves.

184 Wit Restord.

Moone-light walkes when all the fowles
Are warmely hous'd, save Bats and owls ;
A midnight knell, a parting groane,
These are the sounds wee feed upon;
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley
Ther's nothing truly sweet, but melancholly ;

The answer, by Dr. Stroad.

REtume my joyes and hither bring
A tounge not made to spe&ke, but sing;
A jollye splene, an inward feast,
A causelesse laugh without a jest;
A face which gladnesse doth annoint,
An arme for joy flung out of joynt;
A spritefull gate that leaves no print,
And make a feather of a flint:
A heart that's lighter then the ayre
An eye still dancing in, its sphere.
Strong which mirth nothing shall controul
A body nimbler then a soul :
Free wandring thoughts not tied to muse
Which thinking all things, nothing chuse;
Which ere wee see them come, are gone,
These, life it selfe doth feed upon.

Then take no care but only to be jolly,
To be more wretched then we must, is folly.

Wit Restord. 185

A Bhtsh.

STay hasty blood ! where canst thou seek
So blest a place as in her cheek ?
How can'st thou from the place retire
Where beauty doth command desire ?
But if thou canst not stay, then show;
Downe to her painting papps below
Flow like a deluge from her breast
Where Venus Swannes have built their nest,
And so take glory to disteine
The azure of each swelling vaine;
Thence run thou boyling through each part
Till thou hast warm'd her frozen heart;
But if from love she would retire
Then martyr her with gentle fire
And having search't each secret place
Fly back againe into her face ;
Where blessed live in changing those
White lillyes to a Ruddy rose :

186

Wit Restord.

To his Mistris.

Last when I saw thee, thou didst sweetly play
The gentle theife, and stolst my heart away,
Render't again or else give me thine owne
In change, for two for thee (when I have none)
Too many are, else I must say, Thou art
A sweet facd creature with a double heart.

*Nfl/* *\&* *vy* *yy» *\£y *w* *jy *\jy* *vcy* *jy* ^f>jy* *w* *\&/* *\/y* ^rMy* *\&*

On Christ-church windowe, and
Magdalen Colledge wall.

YEe men of Galilee why gaze yee so
On Maudlins necessary print, as though
T'had bin enough for that pure virgin's sonne
That was incarnate, dyed, & rose, to have done
Those heavenly acts, that ransom'd al from hell
And yet no visible effigies tell
The eye, the manner how. Ye misconceive
Who think these sacred mysteryes must leave
Impression onely in the soul; how then
Shall those that bear more shape than mind of men,
(Unlesse their outward sense informe them) know
What accidents their Saviour long ago

Wit Restored. i

Sustain'd ? each wise man sees 'tis not the fate

Of every ideot to be literate.

And who can then forbid (ye Lay) to look

And read those things without or line or book.

Besides (if modestye may judge) what ist

But a supply to each Evangelist ?

Long may the learned study, peace and scratch

Before the forme of th' mainger or the cratch

Wherein Babe Christ was layd be understood.

Each bungling joyner now may ken what wood

The stall was made of where the long eared steed

And his associate Oxe did stand and feed.

Each practis'd oastler knowes their meat, can say

There is their provender, this is their hay.

Yee now may learne the naked shepherds hew

The stripling boy, and him if h cap of blew,

As perfectly as it had seene the clownes

Each day a sunning on the Jewish downes;

'Tis strange the dogg's not there, perhapps the Curr

Was left behind, for feare of noise or stirre :

But veiw the venerable face whereon

The home and candle cast reflection,

Observe it well if ere you chance to meet

In paradise, you'le know't as soon as see't,

Tis reverent Josephs portraiture, see how

The very image seemes to cringe and bow,

Marke well his beard, his eyes, his nose, if ought

Be mist, tis yours, and not the painters fault.

Then lead your eyes unto the beauteous one

Who nere knew man, yet mother to a sonne.

188

Wit Restord.

Doth not her face more fully speake her heart

And joy, than text or comment can impart?

But oh how little like her selfe when shee

Whose upcast, downe cast lookes, behold the tree ?

That fatall tree whereon the Lord of breath

Exposed himselfe to th' tyranny of death ;

Was ever sorow so set forth ? and yet

To make the quire of heavinesse compleat,

The lov'd disciple bears his part, and so

Doth that brave lasse.that clips the Crosse below.

Consult allauthors, English Greek & Lattin,

You nere saw truer greife or finer sattin.

Foule fall the bird whose undiscerning mute

Presumes to turpifye so rich a suite;

TVas very strange they durst so boldly greeve

When those untutor'd hacksters of the Shreeve

Close by sat armed Cap-a-pee with speares,

And swords, and glittering helmets, or'e their eares

Bestriding fiery steeds so markt so made

Bucephalus himselfe was but a jade

Compar'd to these, why ? who would be but vext

To see such palfryes here, and none it'h text ?

Next let your eyes and thoughts be fixt upon

The sad-sad story of the passion;

See how from side, from feet, from hands as yet

The crimson blood trills down, you'l sweare twere wet;

Were Thomas here himselfe, he would not linger

But sooner trust his eyes then erst his finger.

Mark how deaths sable cloud doth over-spread

His lips his cheeks, his eyes, his sacred head.

WitRestord. 189

Behold death drawn to th'life, as if that bee

Thus wrackt and stretch't upon th' accursed tree,

Had been of purpose nayld to th' crosse to try

The Painters cunning hand, more than to dye.

He left him dead, but twas not in the power

Of grave, or hell to keep him, there one houre

Beyond his own determination.

Three dayes are past, and Jonah!s type is done

He walkes, and in full glory leaps from tombe :

As Lazarus from th' earths insatiate wombe,

But not to dye againe : meane while the guard

Who vigilantly slept, soon as they heard

Deaths prisoner, and their's so strangely rise

Start up with frighted hearts and gastly eyes.

They stare and muse, and sweare, the heardsmen talke

Strange things, but nere till now saw dead men walke:

Do but take notice how the rascalls look

As if some prodigie had thunderstrook

The villaines hearts, or some strange power had showne

Medusae's head, and turnd them all to stone.

Sure small perswasion would have made .the Elves

For feare of further paines to hang themselves :

And blame them not, the Lord was now calcin'd

Bright as the Sun, his body so refin'd

That not the sawcinesse of mortall eye

Could stare upon such lustre and not dye.

His glorifi'd humanity can stay

No more on earth, heaven calls, he must away;

Yet ere he part hee'le take his leave, th'eleven,

Attend, and see him ravisht into heaven.

190

Wit Restord.

Their eyes (untill an interposing cloud

Did interdict accesse of sight, and shrowd

His godlike countenance from mortall ken)

Still waite upon th'ascending Lord; but when

Distance had snatcht him from their view, they lift

Their hands to th' skie, as if they made some shift

To draw him down againe, such was their love

Theile scarse assent to his ascent above.

Where once more, note, the text supplyed which tells

Th'Apostles were spectators and none else

But count byth' pole you'l find th' eleven increast

Their troops amount to five or sixe at least.

Were Luke alive, hee'd thank the painters wit,

Who saw his oversight and mended it.

Let's yeeld to reason then, let him that lists

Dispute the number of th' Evangelists ;

If Judgement ever please this thing to lift

Or Greenbury or none must be the fift

I Ve done, but first He pray, hayle holy cloth

And live in spight of rottennesse or moth.

Nor time nor vermine ere shall dare to be

Corruptors of so much Divinitie ;

But men of Galilee why do ye gaze,

On that which may delight, but not amaze ?

That's left for us \ let any wise man bend

His eyes towards our orientall end

Hee'le blesse himselfe indeed, grow wise ; withall

Approaching take the window for a wall

And then conclude that Wadehams perspective

Nor Lincolnes stately types can long survive;

Wit Restored. 191

They'le break for envie (spight of wise) to find
Us to transcend themselves so farre behind;
But He not prayse our own, 'tis far more fit
To leave the talke to some fine Maudlin wit,
Who may enroule in some well languish't staine
As we their walls, so they our lights againe
Only I feare they will, (least we surpasse)
Pull down their hall to build up Eastern glass.

An Elegie.

WHy faire vow-breaker, have thy sinnes thought fit
That I be curst example of thy wit
As well as scornes ? (bad womn) have not I
Deserv'd as much as quiet misery ?
Be wise and trouble not my suffering fit
For every sin I have repentance yet,
Except for loving thee; do not thou presse
My easie madnesse to a wickednesse
As high as that, least I be driven so
As far from heaven as thou art, which I know
Is not thy ayme, for thou hast sin'd to be
In place, as in affection, farre from me.
Am I thy freind or kinsman ? have I ought
That is familiar with thee bettring thought
A dreame and some few letters too, yet lye
Neglected records of my injury.

192

Wit Restored.

I know no itch my silent sorrowes moves :

To begg a bridall kisse or paire of gloves

These are the lighter dutyes which they seek

Whose sleepe is sound & constant as the week

Is in her nights, who never met the chaunce

Of love amisse, but in a dreameing traunce

And wak't to gladnesse; t^?is not so with me

My night and day are twins in misery.

These spend-thrift eyes have beene prepar'd with feares

To keep a solemne revelling in teares;

Hadst thou beene silent I had known the shame

Of that dayes union by my greife, not fame.

Private as sorrowes lodging had I dwelt

Follow'd with my dispaire and never felt

Anger except for livinge hadst thou bin

Content with my undoinge 'Tis a sinn

My love cannot forgive there to upbraid

A wretchednesse which thou thy selfe hast made

Heaven knowes I sufferd, and I sufferd so

That by me twas as infallible to know

How passive man is, fate knew not a curse

Except thy new contempt to make mee worse

And that thou gav'st when I so low was brought

I knew not if I liv'd but yet I thought,

And counted sighs and teares, as if to scann

The aire and water would make up a man.

Hadst thou not broake the peace of my decay

Ere this I thinke Fde wept some sinns away,

Being diseas'd, diseas/d past mine own cure

Thou wouldst needs kill which made mee to indure .

Wit Restored. 193

My patience : why (loyes murdresse) wouldst thou

prove
Whether that bee as passive as my love ?
Had woman such a way as shee can give
To man deniall, as of love to live ?
Why then th' abhored reason meets me; why
Successless lovers doe so quickly dye,
So be it with mee, but if any curse
First can be fastned on thee which is worse
Then thy unwept for vow-breach may it come
As my greife heayye ; may the tedious summe
Of thy great sinns stand sentinell to keep
Repentance from thy thoughts reach. May thy
Sleep Be broken as my hopes, 'bove all may he
Thou choosest husband ripe to jealousye.
And find it true, to tell thee; may the theames
On which thy sleepe doth paraphrase in dreames
Bee my sad wrongs : and when some other shall
(Whom chance hath made with mee apocryphall
In loveing storyes) search an instance forth
To curse his Mistris for her little worth,
May thy name meet him, under whom must be
The Common place of womans perjury.
May heaven make all this : and if thou pray
May heaven esteeme as that thou didst that day
Of thy last promises, I've said, be free
This pennance done, then my dayes destinye
By thee is antedated. But three sighs
Must first pay my admission to the skyes.

VOL. I. O

194 Wit Res tor d.

One for my madness, loving woman so
That I could think her true; the next ile throw
For wounded lovers, that i'le breath a new ;
The third shall pray my curses may prove true.

In imitation of Sir Philip Sydnies
Encomium of Afopsa.

A Ssist mee Love, and Lov's, great Queen of Paphos
Inspire my muse with straines more rich then Sqphosf\
Approach you Helicon an lasses, even
Chaste Erato, Thalie and th' other seaven.
Direct my quill whilst I her praises caroll out
Whose parallels not found in all the world about
In lovelinesse sh' excells (and 'tis no wonder)
Those brave Civilian, forgers of Joves thunder,
For chastity Im'e sure her equall none is
Not Venus selfe that^ lov'd the faire Adonis.
Medea*s not more mild, who as the talk is
Made fason steale the golden fleece from Cholchos.
For modest silence, I dare say shee'l fit ye
Wherein shee's not an ace behind Zantippe,
But Oh ! the comely graces of her feature
Great Plutoes Cour affords not such a creature,
Her golden tresses far surpasse Megcera's
In compassing her lofty forehead, whereas
No frown nor wrinckle ere appeares to fright ye
But still more calme than smooth fac'd Amphirite.

mmmmmmm

Wit Res tor d. 195

Beneath those vaulted cells are iixt those torches

From whence proceeds that flame so fiercely siorches.

Between both which her precious nose is placed,

With fairest pearles and rubies rich encased.

Next comes her heavenly mouth whose sweet composure

Falls not within expressions, limmits, no sure.

This even unto her precious eares doth guide us,

Which makes her full as faire as great King Mydas.

She's smooth as Pan, her skin (which you'le admire) is

Like purest gold, more glorious far then Iris,

And to close up this Magazin of pleasures

She most exactly treads god- T^ulcans measures

This is my Mistris Character, and if in

These lines her name you misse, 'tis faire Bess Griffin.

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A Scholler that so/d his Cussion.

TOm I commend thy care of all I know,
That souldst this Cushion for a pipe of To------

Now art thou like though not to studdy more
Yet ten times harder then trioix didst before.

#>

o 2

196 Wit Restored.

On the death of Cut Cobler. \

\

DEath and an honest Cobler fell at bate \

And finding him worne out, would needs translate j]
He was a trusty so'le, and time had bin |

He would well liquord go through thick and thin. $

Death put a trick upon him, and what was't ?
The Cobler call'd for All, death brought his last;
'Twas not uprightly done to cut his thread,
That mended more and more till he was dead:
But since hee's gone, 'tis all that can be said,
Honest Cut-Cobler here is underlayd.

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A Letter to Ben. Johnson.

Die yoh7tson, crosse not our Religion so
As to be thought immortall; let us know
Thou art no God ; thy works make us mistake
Thy person, and thy great creations make
Us Idoll thee, and cause we see thee do
Eternall things, think thee eternall too,
Restore us to our faith and dye; thy doome
Will do as much good as the fall of Rome:
'Twill crush an heresie, we ne're must hope
For truth till thou_be gon, thou and the Pope.

Wit Restord.

And though we may be certaine in thy fall

To lose both wit and judgement, braines and all,

Thou Sack_; nor Love, nor Time recover us

Better be fooles then superstitious.

Dye ! to what end should we thee now adore

There is not Scholarship to live to more,

Our language is refined : professors doubt

Their Greek and Hebrew both shall be put out

And we that Latin studied have so long

Shall now dispute & write in Johnsons tongue,

Nay, courtiers yeeld, & every beautious wench

Had rather speak thy English then her French.

But for thy matter fancy stands agast

Wondering to see her strength thus best at last.

Invention stops her course and bids the world

Look for no more ; she hath already hurld

Her treasure all on one, thou hast out-done

So much our wit and expectation,

That were it not for thee, we scarse had known

Nature her selfe could ere so farre have gon.

Dye ! seemes it not enough thy verse's date

Is endlesse ; but thine own prolonged fate

Must equall it; for shame engross not age

But now (the fith. act ended) leave the stage.

And let us clap, we know the Stars that do

Give others one life, give a laureat two.

But thou, if thus thy body long survives,

Hast two eternities, and not two lives.

Die for thine own sake, seest thou not thy praise

Is shortned onely by this length of daies.

198

Wit Restord.

Men may talk this, and that, to part the strife,

My tenet is, thou hast no fault but life.

Old Authors do speed best, me-thinks thy warm breath

Casts a thick mist betwixt thy worth, which death

Would quickly dissipate. If thou wouldst have

Thy Bayes to flourish, plant them on thy grave.

Gold now is drosse, and Oracles are stuffe

With us, for why ? Thou art not low enough.

We still look under thee. Stoop, and submit

Thy glory to the meanest of our wit.

The Rhodian Colossus, ere it fell,

Could not be scan'd and measured, half so well.

Lie levell to our view, so shall we see,

Our third and richest University.

Art's length, Art's heigh th, Art's depth, can ne're be found*

Till thou art prostrate, stretch'd upon the ground.

Learning no farther then thy life extends,

With thee began all Arts, with thee it ends.

On a young Lady, and her Knight.

AVertuous Lady sitting in a muse,
(As fair and vertuous, Ladies often use,)
With elbow leant upon one knee so hard,
The other distant from it half a yard.
Her Knight, to quip her by a secret tokenj
Said, Wife, arise, your Cabinet stands open.
She rising, blush'd, and smilingly did say,
Lock it then, if you please, you keep the key.

Wit Rest or d. 199

On a Welch-man s devotion.

THe way to make a Welch-man thirst for blisse,
And daily say his prayers on his knees,
Is, to perswade him, that most certain 'tis,
The Moon is made of nothing but green cheese :
Then he'l desire nought else, nor greater boon,
Then placed in heaven, to feed upon the Moon.

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On a Maid's Legge.

FAir JBetty us'd to tuck her coats up high,
That men her foot and leg might soon espy.
Thou hast a pretty legg, (saith one) fair Duck.
Yea, two, (saith she) or else I have ill luck.
They're two indeed, they're twins, I think, quoth he,
They are, and yet they are not, Sir, said she ;
They're birth was hoth at once, I dare be sworn
And yet between them both a man was born.

#

200 Wit Restord.

To his Sister.

T Oving sister, every line

J—' Of your last Letter, was so fine,

With the best mettall, that the grain,

Of Scriveners pin-dust had been vain.

The touch of gold did sure instill

Some vertue, more than did your quill

And since you write no cleanly hand,

Your tokens make me understand. ;

Mine eyes have here a remedy, I

Whereby to read more easily.

I do but jest; Your love alone, ;

Is my interpretation. '

My words I will recall, and swear,

I know your hand is wondrous fair.

On the death of Hobson, the
Cambridge- Carrier.

H

Ere Hobson lies, amongst his many betters,
■ A man not learned, yet of many Letters ;
The Schollers well can justifie as much,
Who have receiv'd them from his pregnant pouch.

Wit Restord.

201

His carriage is well known, oft hath he gone
An Bmbassie, 'twixt father and the son.
In Cambridge few (in good time be it spoken)
But will remember him by some good token.
From thence to London rode he day by day,
Till death benighting him, he lost his way.
Nor wonder is it, that he thus is gone,
Since most men know, he long was drawing on.
His Team was of the best, nor could he have
Them mir'd in any ground, but in the grave;
And there he sticks indeed, still like to stand,
Untill some Angell lend his helping hand.
So rests in peace the ever toiling Swain,
And supream Waggoner, next Charls his wain.

Another on the same.

HEre lieth one, who did most truely prove,
That he could never die, whilst he could move.
So hung his destiny, never to rot,
Whilst he could but jogg on, and keep his trot.
Made of Sphear mettall, never to decay,
Untill his resolution made of stay.
Time numbers motion, yet without a crime,
'Gainst old truth, motion numbered out his time.
And like some Engine mov'd, with wheeles and weight,
His principles once ceas'd, he ended streight.

202 Wit Restored.

Rest, that gives all men life, gave hini his death,
And too much breathing put him out of breath.
For had his doings lasted as they were
He had been an immortall Carrier.

Another.

HEre lies old Hobson ! Death hath his desire,
And here (alasse) hath left him in the mire;
Or else the waies being foul, twenty to one,
He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown.
'Twas such a shifter, that if truth were known,
Death was half glad that he had got him down.
For he hath any time this ten years full,
Dog'dd him 'twixt Cambridge and the London-Bull.
And surely death could never have prevaiPd,
Had not his weekly course of carriage fail'd.
But lately finding him so long at home,
And thinking now his journey's end was come;
And that he had tane up his latest Inne,
Death in the likenesse of a Chamberlin,
Shew'd him his room, where he must lodge that night,
Pull'd off his boots, and took away the light.
If any ask for him, it shall be sed,
Hobson has supt, and newly gon to bed.

m

Wit Restord. 203

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Fr. Clark, Porter of St. Johns,
To the President.

HElp Silvanus, help god J^an,
To shew my love to this kinde man,

Who out of s love and nature good,

Hath well encreas'd my store of wood.

And whilest he the same peruses,

Wood-Nymphs help instead of Muses.

Oh thou that sitst at St. fohns helm,

I humbly thank thee for my Elme ;

Or if it chance an Oak to prove,

With heart of Oak I thank your love.

This Tree (to leave all Ozszd's fables)

Shall be the Tree of Predicables.

Or if you like not that opinion,

The kindred Tree of great Justinia?i.

Thus finer Wits may run upon't,

But I do mean to make fire on't :

By which Fie sit and sing, in spight of wealth,
And drink in Lambs-wool to your Worship's health.

An Epitaph.

HEre underneath this stone doth lie,
That worthy Knight, brave Sir John Brie;
At whose funerall there was no weeping,
He dy'd before Ch?'istmas₇ to save house-keeping.

T

204 ^ Wit Restored.

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A Wife.

A Lusty young wife, that of late was sped,
With all the pleasures of a marriage-bed,
Oft a grave Doctor ask'd, whether's more right
For Venus sports, the morning or the night.
The good old man reply'd, as he thought meet,
The morn's more wholsom, but the night more sweet.
Nay then (said she) since we have time and leasure,
Wei to't each morn for health, each night for pleasure.

The constant man.

H

E that with frownes is not dejected,
Nor with soothing smiles erected;
Nor at the baits of pleasure biteth,
He whom no thoughts nor crosse affrighteth
I J But, center to himself, controleth,

Change and fortune when she rouleth.
Who when the silent night begins,
Makes even reckoning with his sinns :
Who not deferreth till to morrow,
To wipe out his black scores of sorrow.
Who sets hell-pains at six and seven,
And feareth not the fall of heaven.

Wit Restored. 205

But's full resolv'd without denyall,
To yield his life to any tryall;
Making his death his meditation,
And longing for his transmigration.
This is the constant man, who never
From himself, nor God doth sever.

To his Mistris*

COme let's hug and kisse each other,
Sacrificing to Love's mother:
These are duties which she loves,
More then thousand milky Doves
Fresh bleeding on her altars. We
Will not use our piety
In such slaughters. Cruelty
Is no devotion, nor can I
Believe, that she can pleasure take
In blood, unlesse for Mars his sake.
No : Let us to Cythera's Queen,
Burn for sacrifice our green,
And tender youth, with those divine
Flames, which thine eyes begot of mine.
And lest the while our zeal catch cold,
In warm embraces wel enfold
Each other, to produce a heat.
Thus pleasing her, we pleasure get.

Then let's kisse and hugg each other,

Sacrificing to Lov's mother.

2o6 IVit Reslord.

Swearing.

IN elder times, an antient custom was,
In weighty matters to swear by the Masse.
And when the Mass was down, as all men note,
Then swore they by the crosse of the grey Groat.
And when the crosse was likewise held in scorn,
Then faith and troth was all the oath was sworn.
But when they had out-worn both faith and troth,
Then, Dam my soul, became a common oath.
So custom kept decorum in gradation :
Mass, cross, faith, troth out-sworn, then came damnation.

On a good Legg and Foot.

IF Hercules tall stature might be guess'd
But by his thumb, the Index of the rest,
In due proportion, the best rule that I
Would chuse, to measure Venus beauty by,
Should be her leg and foot: Why gaze we so
On th'upper parts, as proud to look below,
(In chusing Wives) when 'tis too often known,
The colours of their face are not their own.
As for their legs, whether they mince or stride,
Those native compasses are seldom wide

Wit Restored. 20

Of telling truth. The round and slender foot,
Is a prov'd token of a secret note,
Of hidden parts, and well this way may lead,
Unto the closet of a mayden-head.
Here emblems of our youth, we Roses tie ;
And here the Garter, love's dear mystery.
For want of beauty here, the Peacock's pride,
Let's fall her train, and fearing to be spy'd,
Shuts up her painted witnesses, to let
Those eyes from view, which are but counterfeit.
Who looks not if this part be good or evill,
May meet with cloven feet, and match the devill.
For this did make the difference between
The more unhallowed creatures, and the clean.
Well may you judge her other parts are light,
Her thoughts are wry that doth not tread aright.
But then ther's true perfection, when we see,
Those parts more absolute which hidden be.
Nature ne're lent a fair foundation,
For an unworthy frame to rest thereon.
Let others view the top, and limbs throughout,
The deeper knowledge is to know the root.
In viewing of the face, the weakest know
What beauty is, the learned look more low:
And in the feet the other parts descry,
As in a pool the Moon we use to spy.
Pardon, sweet-heart, the pride of my desire,
If but to kisse your toe it should aspire.

208 Wit Restored.

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Vfton the view of his Mistresse face
in a Glasse.

AH cruel Glasse ! didst thou not see,
CMoris alone too hard for me?
Perceiv'dst thou not her charming sight,
Did ravish mine in cruell fight ?
But then another she must frame,
Whose single forces well might tame
A lovers heart; no humane one,
Is proof against her force alone.
Yet did I venture, though struck mute,
The beauteous vision to salute.
But that like aire in figur'd charms,
Deceiv'd the ambush of my arms.
'Twas some wise Angel her shape took,
That so he might more heavenly look.
I her old captive, now do yield
Her shaddowed self another field :
By such odds overcome, to die,
Is no dishonoured victory.

On Bond the Userer.

HEre lyes a Bond under this tombe,
Seald and deliver'd to, god knows whom.

Wit jRestord.

209

jTo the Dte&e of Bucking/tarn.

Hen I can pay my Parents, or my King,
For life, or peace, or any dearer thing,
Then, dearest Lord, expect my debt to you
Shall be as truly paid, as it is due.
But as no other price or recompence
Serves them, but love, and my obedience.
So nothing payes my Lord, but whats above
The reach of hands, his vertue, and my love.
For when as goodness doth so overflowe,
The conscience binds not to restore but owe,
Requitall were presumption, and you may,
Call mee ungratefull, when I strive to pay.
Nor with this morall lesson do I shift
Like one that meant to save a better guift.
Like very poor or connterfeit poor men,
Who to preserve their Turky or their hen
Do offer up themselves. No, I have sent
(A kind of guift, will Last by being spent)
Thanks-starling, farr ab>ove the bullion rate
Of horses, hangings, Jewells, coyne, or plate.
Oh you that should in choosing of your owne,
Know a true Diamond from a Bristow stone,
You that do know they are not all way es best
In their intent, that lowdest do portest
vol. r. i>

w

2io Wit Restored.

But that a prayer from the Convocation,
Is better than the Commons protestation,
Trust them that at your feet their lives will lay
And know no arts but to performe and pray
Whilst they that buy perferment without praying
Begin with bribes, and finish with betraying.

The Gentlemans verses before he Killed
himselfe.

HAst Night unto thy Center, are thy winges
Rul'd by the course of dull clockt plummetings ?
If so, mount on my thoughts, & wee'le exceed
All time that's past t'gain midnight with our speed
The day more favourable hasted on
And by its death sent mee instruction
To make thy darknesse tombe my life, let then
Thy wonted houres seize on the eyes of men
Make them imagine by their sleepe, what I
Must truly act, let each starr veyle his Eye
With masques of mourninge clowdes : methinkes the owles
Prodigious summons strike me, and she houles
My Epicedium, with whose tragick quill '
He pencill in this map my haplesse ill.
Caus'd first by her, whose fowle apostacy
In love for ever brand her; and when I

Wit Rest or d. 2*1

Am dead, deare paper (my minds heire) convey
This epitaph unto her veiwe, and pray
Her to inscribe it on my tombe.

Here lyes
One murthered by a womans perjuryes
Who from the time, she scorrid him, scorn*d to live
No rivall shall him of his death deprive.

^^35§5§5§&3535^5§S2B^§§^§5§B§B^^^5^5§5^

A Song in commendation of
Musicke.

Hen whispering straines doe softly steale

With creeping passion through the heart
And when at every touch wee feel
Our pulses beat and beare a part

When threads can make

A hart string quake

Philosophy

Can scarce denye
The soule consists of harmony.

When unto heavenly joyes we feigne

What ere the soul afTecteth most
Which only thus we can explaine

By musick of the winged host.
p 2

w

212

Wit Res tor d.

Whose layes wee thinke
Make starrs to winke
Philosophy
Cannot deny
Our soule consists of harmony.
O lull mee, lull mee, charminge »ayr

My .senses rockt with wonder isweet
Like snow on wooll, thy fallings ^re
Soft, like a spirit, are thy feet
Greife who need feare
That hath an eare
Downe let him lye
And slumbring dye
And change his soule for harm__ony.

A Dialogue betwixt Cupid czznd
a Country-Swaine.

AS Cupid tooke his bow and bo -It
Some birding-sport to find;
He lightt upon a shepheards swaines
That was some good mans hinde__

Swa. Well met faire Boy, what spoant abroad

It is a goodly day:
The birds will sitt this frosty niorne s

You cannot choose but slay. -■■

Wit Restord. 213

Gods-ouches look, your eyes are out

You will not bird I trow :
Alas goe home or else I thinke

The birds will laugh at you.
Cup. Why man thou dost deceave thy selfe

Or else my mother lyes
Who sayd that though that I were blind

My arrowes yet had eyes.
Swa. Why then thy mother is a voole

And thou art but an elfe,
To let thy arrowes to have eyes

And goe with out thy selfe,
Cup. Not, so Sir Swaine, but hold thy prate,

If I do take a shaft
He make thee know what I can do
(At this the young Swain laught:)
Then angry Cupid drew his bow
Swa. For Gods sake kill mee not
Cup. He make thy lither liver ake
Swa. Nay Ide be loth of that.
The singing arrow hit the marke

And pierc'd his silly soule
You might see by his hollow eyes

Where love had made a hole.
And so the Swain went bleeding home,

To stay it was no boot:
And found that he could see to hit,

That could not see to shoot.

214 Wit Restored.

Sighes.

OTell mee, tell, thou god of winde
In all thy cavernes canst thou find
A vapor, flame, a gale or blast
Like to a sigh which love doth cast ?
Can any whirle-wind in thy vault
Plough up Earths breath with like assault.

Goe Wind and blow then where thou please
Yea breathlesse leave mee to my ease.

If thou bee'st wind, O then refrain
From wracking me whilst I complain ;
If thou bee'st wind, then leight thou art
And yet how heavy is my heart ?
If thou bee'st wind, then purge thy way
Let care, that cloggs thy force, obey,
Goe wind and blowe, &>c.

These blasts of sighing raised are
By th'influence of my bright starre;
The ^Eolus from whence they came
Is love that straines to blow the same:
The angry Sway of whose behest
Makes hearth and bellowes of one brest
Go wi?id and blowe, &*c.

Wit Restord. 215

Know t'is a wind that longs to blow
Upon my Saint where ere she goe,
And stealing through her fanne it beares
Soft errands to her lipps and eares,
And then perhaps a passage makes
Downe to the heart when breath she takes.
Goe wind and blow, <$r*c.

Yea gentle gale, try it againe,
Oh do not passe from me in vaine ;
Go mingle with her soul divine
Engendring spirits like to mine :
Yea take my soul along with thee
To work a stronger Sympathy.
Goe wind and blow, &*c.

My soul before the grosser part
Thus to her heaven should depart,
And when my body cannot lie
On wings of wind, she soone shall flye ;
Though not one soul our bodies joyne,
Our bodies shall our soules combine.

Goe wind and blow thou where thou please.

Yea breathlesse leave me to my ease.

216 Wit Res tor d.

Weomen.

WEomen are borne in Wilsheire,
Brought up in Cumberland.
Lead their lives in Bedfordsheire
Bring their husbands to Buckingame

And dye in Shrewsbury.

)

On a dissembler.

COuld any show where Plinies people dwell
Whose head stand in their brests, who cannot tell,'
A smoothinge lye, because their open heart
And lipps are joyned so neere. I would depart
As quicke as thought, and there forget the wrongs
Which I have sufferd by deceitfull tongues.
I would depart, where soules departed bee
Which being freed from clowdy flesh, can see >

Each other so immediately, so cleare,
That none need tongues to speak nor eares to heare:
Were tongues intended to expresse the soul
And can wee better do with none at all ?
Where words first made our meanings to reveale ?
And as they us'd our meaning to conceale;

Wit Restord. 2l1

The ayre by which we breathe, will that turne fogg ?

Or breath turne mist; will that become a Clogg

Which should unload the mind ? fall wee upon

Another Babells Sub-confusion ?

And in the selfe same language must wee find,

A diverse faction of the wordes and mind ?

Dull as I am, that hug such empty aire,

And never markt the deeds, (a phrase more faire

More trusty and univocall) joyne well,

Three or foure actions wee may quickly spell

A hollow heart; if these no sight will lend,

Read the whole sentence and observe the end.

I wil not waite so long : the guilty man

(On whom I ground my speech) no longer can

Delude my sense, nor can the gracefull art

Of kind dissembling, button up his heart.

His well-spoke wrongs, are such as hurtfull words

Writ in a comely hand, or bloody swords,

Sheathd up in velvet, if he draw on mee

My armour proof is incredulity.

3*r <tifep tSBt nStr tJBr tS6t iltr oSt i&r tSfinXr *ti8r tSRr tSfer tSBr tSr tJSr titr tXr tJfa* tllr tSr tSr

To a Freind.

Like as the hand which hath bin usd to play
One lesson long, still runs the usuall way :
And waites not what the hearers bid it strike,
But doth presume by custome this will like.

218

Wit Restord.

So run my thoughts which are so perfect grown,

So well acquainted with my passion;

That now they do prevent mee with their haste

And ere I think to sigh, my sigh is past ;

Is past and flown to you, for you alone

Are all the object that I think upon;

And did not you supply my soul with thought

For want of action it to none were brought.

What though our absent armes may not enfold

Reall embraces; yet wee firmly hold

Each other in possession; thus wee see

The Lord enjoyes his Lands where e're he be.

If Knights possest no more then where they sate

What were they greater then a meaner state ?

This makes mee firmly yours, you firmly myne

That something more than bodies us combine.

A PoeticallPoem,iy Mr. Stephen Locket
to Mistrisse Bess Samey.

"~pO my Bess Sartiey, quintessence of beauty,

-*- I Steven Lo