Poems: Volume 1: The Poems and Volume 2: Notes and Commentary 9781442632523

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Songs and other Poems
Prefatory Letters and Poems
Section 1
Section 2
Section 3
Section 4
Section 5
Poems From Miscellaneous Sources
Section 6
Dubia
Alexander Broome on Mr Robt Napeir a lawyer's kissing of my Ld John Butler's breech for a Guiny, whom he beshit for his gains at Orchard. A° 1665.
The hue & Cry
Frontmatter
Contents
List of Sigla
References and Abbreviations
Textual Notes and Commentary
Index of First Lines

Citation preview

ALEXANDER BROME POEMS VOLUME 1

ALEXANDER BROME POEMS Roman R.Dubinski,editor VOLUME

1 Introduction Poems

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

University of Toronto Press 1982 Toronto Buffalo London Printed in Canada ISBN 0-8020-5535-4

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Brome, Alexander, 1620-1666. Poems Contents: v.l. Text. ISBN 0-8020-5535-4 (set) I. Dubinski, Roman R. (Roman Rudolph), 1936II. Title. PR3326.B36A17 1982 821/..4 C82-094646-X

This book has been published with the help of grants from the Canadian Federation for the Humanities, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, from the Publications Fund of the University of Toronto Press, and from the University of Waterloo Social Sciences and Humanities Grant Fund. The illustration in this volume is reproduced by permission of The Huntington Library, San Marino, California.

Contents

INTRODUCTION

3

SONGS AND OTHER POEMS Prefatory Letters and Poems (P) I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII

To the Honourable, Sir JOHN ROBINSON To the Reader To his honoured Friend Mr. ALEXANDER BROME, on the publishing his Poems (by R.B.) On my Friend Mr. ALEXANDER BROME (by Charles Cotton) On the Death of Mr. ALEXANDER BROME, who dyed the 30th. of June, 1666 (by Rich. Newcourt) On Mr. ALEXANDER BROME'S Poems (by R. Th. Jun.) To the Ingenious Authour Mr. Alexand. Brome (by W. Poulet) To the Ingenious Author Mr. A.B. (by Rob. Napeir) To my ingenious Friend Mr. Brome, on his various and excellent Poems: An humble Eglog (by Iz. Walton) To my worthy Friend Mr. Alex. Brome (by C.W.) To his dear Friend Mr. Alex. Brome, upon the publishing his Poems (by Cha. Steynings) To his Ingenious Friend Mr. A.B. upon his most excellent Poems (by Valentine Oldis) For his much honoured Friend Mr. Alexander Brome (by R.B.)

49 50 51 52 55 56 58 59 60 62 63 64 66

Section 1 I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX

Plain Dealing The Indifferent The Resolve The Wary Woer The Counsel To his Mistress To his Mistress The hard Heart Loves Anarchy

69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77

X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI XXII XXIII XXIV XXV XXVI XXVII XXVHI XXIX XXX XXXI XXXII XXXIII XXXIV XXXV XXXVI XXXVII XXXVIII XXXIX XL XLI XLII XLIII XLIV XLV

The Libertine The Contrary The Young Lover To his Mistress To a Widow To his Friend that had vow'd Small-Bear On Claret A Mock Song Reasons of Love Epithalamy An Ode of Anacreon paraphrased. Beauties force Love's without Reason The Damoisel A Dialogue To his Mistres affrighted in the wars Upon the Cavaleers departing out of London On the fall of the prices of wine The Old Mans delight (By R.B.). The Addition by A.B. A Dialogue translated Courtship. Out of Catullus The Attempt To a Lady that turned her Cheek Practick Love Translated out of French Translated out of French To a painted Lady To a coy Lady The Recovery Advice to Caelia The Mad Lover The Murmurer A Round The Cavalier A Wife On the Queens Arrival A Friend

78 79 80 82 82 83 84 85 86 88 89 90 91 93 94 95 96 97 99 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 109 110 111 112 113 114

Section 2 I II III IV

117 118 120 121

The Royalist The Commoners The Pastorall A Mock-song

vi

V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI XXII XXIII XXIV XXV XXVI XXVII XXVHI XXIX XXX XXXI XXXII XXXIII XXXIV XXXV XXXVI XXXVII XXXVIII XXXIX XL XLI XLII XLIII

The Trouper The Good-fellow. An Addition by M.C. Esquire The Answer (by T.J.) The Answer The Levellers rant The New-Courtier The Safety The Companion Copernicus The Painters entertainment The Cure of Care Content. Out of Anacreon Mirth. Out of Anacreon The Indépendants resolve On Canary The Leveller The Royalists Answer The safe Estate The fate The Polititian The Prisoners Satisfaction The Club The Prodigal The Antipolititian The New Gentry The Cheerful heart Made and Set Extempore The Answer to the Curse against Ale The Reformation For the Generalls entertainment On Sir G.B. his defeat Against Corrupted Sack The Lamentation The Riddle On the Kings returne A Catch For General Monk his entertainment at Cloath-worker s Hall The Advice

121 122 124 125 126 128 129 131 132 133 135 137 138 138 140 141 143 145 147 148 150 151 153 154 155 156 158 159 160 162 165 166 168 170 171 173 174 175 176

Section 3 I

179

The Satyr of Money

vu

II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII

Upon a Sign-Post, set up by one Mr. Pecke atSkoale in Norfolk 'A new Diurnal' On the demolishing the Forts The Clown On a Butchers Dog that bit a Commanders Mare that stood to be Knight of a Shire The New Knight Errant The New Mountebanck The Saints Encouragement 'Come let us be merry' The Scots Curanto 'Though Oxford be yielded' A New Ballad The Holy Pedler A Serious Ballade An Ode Palinode A Ballad

182 185 191 194 199 202 205 207 209 211 213 214 216 218 220 222 223

Section 4 I II HI IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX

To C.C. Esquire The Answer (by C. Cotton) To his University Friend The Answer To T.S. The Answer An Epistle from a Friend to the Author upbraiding him with his writing Songs (by I.E.) The Answer To a Lady desiring a copy of a Song To his Friend C.S. Esquire To C.S. Esquire To C.S. Esquire To C.S. Esquire To his Friend W.C. To his Friend I.E. Upon his Tragedy To a Potting Priest upon a quarrel To his Friend Mr. W.H. upon the death of his hawke To his School Master Mr. W.H. upon his Poem call'd Conscientiae accusatricis Hypotyposis To his Friend T.S. To the Meritoriously Honorable Lord Chiefe

viii

227 228 231 232 235 237 242 243 245 246 247 248 250 254 255 255 257 258 259

XXI XXII XXIII XXIV XXV XXVI XXVII XXVIII XXIX XXX XXXI XXXII XXXIII XXXIV XXXV XXXVI XXXVII XXXVIII XXXIX XL XLI XLII XLIII XLIV XLV XLVI XLVII XLVIII XLIX L LI LII LIII LIV LV LVI LVII

Justice of the Kings bench A new years gift presented to the same To his Honoured Friend R. Henley Esquire To his Friend J.H. Esquire To a Gentleman that fell sick of the small Pox. When he should be married To his Friend Mr. I.E. being at London in the Authors retirement An elegy on a Lady that dyed before her intended Nuptials On the great cryer at Westminster-Hall To the memory of that loyal patriot Sir I. Cordel Kt. To his Mistress lodging in a room where the Sky was painted A new years gift On the Queens going beyond Sea Upon his Mare stoln by a Trooper Upon riding on a tired horse To his Friend I.E. Translated out of Perseus Upon the miscarrier of Letters betwixt his Friend and him; An Execration To his Mistris To his Mistris married to another On the turn-coat Clergy To his Friend Mr. I.W. on his Translation of a Romance, call'd The innocent Impostor A Satyre on the Rebellion On a pair of Virginals On a Comedie called The passionate lovers To the high-Sheriff of S. To G.B. Esquire To his reverend Friend Dr. S. on his pious and learned book To Colonel Lovelace on his Poems To his Friend Thomas Stanley, Esquire, on his Odes Set and Published by Mr. John Gamble On the famous Romance, called The innocent Impostor On Dr. J. his divine Romant On the loss of a Garrison Upon the Kings imprisonment On the death of King CHARLES On the Kings death A funeral Elegy on Mr. Aubrey Upon the death of that Reverend and learned Divine, Mr. Josias Shute To the memory of Doctor Hearn, who dyed September 15. 1644

IX

260 261 263 264 265 267 269 270 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 211 277 279 280 281 282 283 285 285 286 286 287 289 290 290 291 292 293 294 296 298 299 302

LVIII LIX LX

An Elegy on the death of his Schoolmaster. Mr. W.H. An Epitaph An Epitaph upon Mrs. G.

304 306 306

Section 5 I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI XXII XXIII XXIV XXV XXVI XXVII XXVIII XXIX XXX XXXI XXXII XXXIII XXXIV XXXV XXXVI XXXVII

On Rome On a quareller On a lover On Gold To a Friend On Alexander On a Bankrupt On a Priest and a Theif On Love and Death On Women On a Wolfe sentenc'd On one more learned then others On Galla On one lowsie and poor A happy death On Nero On Love Rules of drinking A vain Boaster To Momus On Phillis tears On a proud fool On time On a blind, and lame begger On a Spartan Lady On Philip of Macedón The Answer Frugality On two wives On a Murtherer On a Fisherman On a burnt ship Aliter On a Covetous Man On Hermocrates On a poor and sick Man On a Hare

X

307 307 308 308 308 308 309 309 309 310 310 310 311 311 311 311 312 312 312 312 313 313 313 314 314 314 315 315 315 315 316 316 316 317 317 317 318

XXXVIII XXXIX XL XLI XLII XLIII XLIV XLV XLVI XLVII XLVIII XLIX L LI LU

LIII LIV LV LVI LVII LVIII

LIX LX LXI

On Balaams Ass Upon Democritus and Heraclitus Out of Catullus On an Astronomer that tryed by rules of Art to find whether he were a Cuckold On Geneva's armes To a sad Widow On a bribed Judge To a jealous Husband On proud Rome Against Mourning Epigramma in Juliam Translated An Essay of the Contempt of Greatnesse, being a Dialogue of Ludan made English A paraphrase upon the first Chap, of Ecclesiastes A speech made to the Lord General Monck, at Clotheworkers-Hall in London the 13. of March, 1659. at which time he was there entertained by that worthy Company. LEGES CONVIVALES. Quod faelix fastumque convivís in Apolline sit BEN. JOHNSONS Sociable rules for the Apollo To his Friend C.S. Esquire A Dialogue between Alexander, Calisthenes, and Statyra Cromwell's Panegyrick, upon his riding in triumph over the baffled City of London A Record in Rhythme, Being an Essay towards the Reformation of the Law, offer'd to the Consideration of the Committee appointed for that purpose. Written by some men of Law, at a time when they had little else to do On a Combat between a Roman Capon, ana a French Cock To the Kings most Sacred Majesty, on his miraculous and glorious return 29. May, 1660 On a Parson and a Lawyer

318 318 319 319 319 320 320 320 321 321 321 322 322 335

338 340 341 342 345 348

350 356 358 368

POEMS FROM MISCELLANEOUS SOURCES Section 6 I II

Upon the unparalelld Playes written by those Renowned Twinnes of Poetry BEAUMONT and FLETCHER To Mr. James Shirley, upon his English ana Latine Grammar

XI

371 372

III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII

Upon the unhappie Separation of those united Souls, The Honorable Henry Lord Hastings, And his beloved Parallel 373 Upon the Author's decease, and POEMS 375 Upon the AUTHOUR, and his Worke 376 To Master RICHARD BROME, upon his Comedie, called, A Joviall Crew: or, The merry Beggars 377 'Reader, lo heere thou wilt two faces finde' 378 TO THE READERS 378 To the Stationer, on the publishing Mr. Bromes Comedies 379 Upon the Ingenious Comedies of Mr. Richard Brome 380 To his ingenuous Friend Mr. IZAAK WALTON on his Complete Angler 381 On the Comoedies of the late facetious POET, Mr. Richard Brome Deceased 383 To his ingenious FRIEND Mr. Henry Bold on his Poems 385 DUBIA Alexander Broome on Mr Robt Napeir a lawyer's kissing of my Ld John Butler's breech for a Guiny, whom he beshit for his gains at Orchard. A° 1665.

389

The hue & Cry

392

Xll

Acknowledgments I am grateful to my colleagues Larry Cummings, George Hibbard and Alvin Dust for their generous assistance and comments at various stages in the preparation of this edition. Thanks are also due to my chairmen, Warren Ober and William Macnaughton, for their help in providing time and secretarial assistance, to Maxine Bechtel and Jean Spowart for careful typing, to Loella Eby, Philip Smith and the staff of the Arts Computing Office here at the University of Waterloo for an expert job in preparing the camera ready copy, and to Prudence Tracy and Jean Wilson of the University of Toronto Press, for their advice and patience. I wish to thank the staffs of the following libraries for their kind assistance: the British Library, the Bodleian Library, the Cambridge University Library, the library of Trinity College, Cambridge, the Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery, the Beinnecke Library at Yale, the Harvard Library, and the Folger Shakespeare Library. I owe my greatest debt, however, to my wife, Margaret, to our daughter Sandra and sons, David and John, and to my parents, Olga and Karl Semonuk. I deeply appreciate their unfailing support and patience. Research on the edition has been aided by the University of Waterloo, which granted me a sabbatical leave, and by the Canada Council, which awarded me a travel grant. Publication of the edition is made possible through subventions from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council, using funds supplied by the Canada Council, from the Publications Fund of the University of Toronto Press, and from the University of Waterloo Social Sciences and Humanities Grant Fund. The Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery has given permission to print photographic facsimiles of the portraits of Brome and of the title-page of the 1661 edition. Roman Dubinski University of Waterloo

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SONGS AND OTHER POEMS

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Introduction A BRIEF LIFE OF ALEXANDER BROME1

In itemizing bequests in his will,2 Brome reveals that he was born in the parish of Evershot and bred in West Milton, small rural hamlets in the county of Dorset, Evershot about twelve miles northwest and West Milton about twelve miles northeast of Dorchester. Brome's exact birth date is unknown, though we can infer the approximate year from the inscription on David Loggan's portrait engraved for the 1664 edition of the Songs And other Poems. The inscription reads ' Aetatis suae 44,' which would place Brome's birth date around 1620. Virtually nothing is known about Brome's parents. The bequest in the will of five pounds apiece to his father and mother if living at his decease suggests that both were still alive on 29 June 1666 when the will was executed. Brome's admission entry to Gray's Inn in 1648 identifies his father as 'John B., of Milton, Dorset, gent.'3 In the absence of corroborating evidence, it is impossible to state conclusively whether John Brome belonged to the gentry or not. Further research in the local records of Dorset county is needed to uncover more information about Brome's parents. From the will, we also learn that at the time of his death Brome had three brothers, John, Richard (not the dramatist),4 and Henry, and three sisters, Elizabeth, Isabell, and Julian.5 Henry, who published several of Alexander's works, was a bookseller in London from 1657 until his death in 1681.6 He was named as one of the overseers of his brother's will. Only scanty information is available about the others. Elizabeth was married on 17 August 1663 and John on 17 January 1666.7 Richard died in 1692.8 Nothing is known about the others. Of Brome's early life and education, the only fact we have is that he was bred at West Milton. Evershot, his birthplace, did not have a free grammar school until 1628, but the one at West Milton had been in existence since 1521.9 It seems likely, then, that if Brome received a grammar school education, he went to the free grammar school in West Milton. We find one scrap of evidence regarding Brome's aptitude for learning in Aubrey's marginal note opposite the life of Katherine Philips, which reads: 'H. Brome assured me that his brother Alexander was in his accedence at 4 yeares old and a quarter.'10 Though not conclusive, this allusion may indicate that Brome had a tutor, for students were normally not admitted to grammar school until they were eight or nine. Some evidence to support this conjecture is found in two poems Brome wrote to a Mr W.H., whom he identifies as his schoolmaster.11 For the period when Brome was likely to be a student at the grammar school at West Milton, there is no surviving record of a Mr W.H. as schoolmaster. After reviewing the evidence, J.L.Brooks plausibly suggests that Mr W.H. was either a private tutor or else taught Brome and other students outside the free grammar school. This last suggestion receives some

support from the elegy, where Brome notes that W.H.'s pupils received instruction in Greek and Hebrew, subjects normally not taught at the grammar school.12 In the absence of surviving evidence in the admissions registers at Cambridge and Oxford, we cannot be certain whether or not Brome attended either of the universities. No suggestion is made in his poems or in those written to him, in his will, or in the early biographical notices that Brome was a university man. It seems likely, then, that his formal education was limited to grammar school and probably instruction by a private tutor. Evidence for the surmise that Brome was in London at some point before 1639 comes from an edict issued by the Lord Chamberlain on 10 August 1639 protecting the rights of William Beeston's company to forty-five plays.13 One of the plays protected, The Cunning Lovers, was published in 1654 under Alexander Brome's name, and since he is not known to have denied authorship, we may safely assume that the play was his and that he wrote it some time before 10 August 1639.14 If Brome came up to London with the intention of becoming a playwright, he appears not to have remained in this profession for very long, for no record has been found of any other plays he may have written. Not enough evidence has been found to allow even speculation about Brome's motives for coming to London or his plans when he got there, but we do know that around 1640 he had made a start in the legal profession. In an epistle (4.XX) written shortly after Sir Robert Foster's appointment to the chief justiceship of the Court of King's Bench on 21 October 1660, Brome petitions Foster for liberty to enrol pleas in King's Bench in his own name, a petition which was subsequently granted.15 The petitioner supports his claim by declaring that he has been a servant to the legal profession for full twenty years, the last eight as a master. If we take the 'full twenty years' literally, then Brome must have begun his legal career around 1640, probably serving as a clerk or apprentice until 1652, when he claims he became a master. In his new year's epistle, 4.XXII 'To his Honoured Friend R. Henley Esquire,' probably written during the civil war, Brome refers to himself as a clerk of the addressee, who was Master of the Court of King's Bench from 1629 until his sequestration during the civil war.16 Brome's admission to Gray's Inn on 24 November 164817 may have been motivated by a desire to further his legal education, or, as he belonged to the legal bureaucracy, he may have found membership in one of the inns a professional convenience.18 It seems a reasonable conclusion, then, that Brome spent all or part of the 1640s serving as a clerk in King's Bench, and probably at the same time furthering his legal education with the aim of becoming an attorney. Though he appears to have lived in London all during the 1640s, there is no evidence that Brome took an active part in the civil war or its aftermath. In a humorous epistle (4. XIII) written to his friend Charles Steynings early in 1660, Brome hints that he may have been among the London citizens who marched to Turnham Green in November 1642 to discourage Charles from launching an assault on the city. That Brome was an unwilling participant seems evident from these lines:

4

I was with other fools sent out, And staid three day es, but. ne ver fought 'Gainst King or Cavaliers. But if Brome played no active role militarily, he did make a contribution to the Royalist propaganda effort. In a way that remains unknown, two of Brome's poems found their way to Oxford, where they were published anonymously in the spring of 1643 when the Royalist cause was in the ascendant. Both are lively burlesques satirizing Parliament and its leaders, one in Hudibrastic verse and the other parodying the form and content of the weekly newsbooks.19 Two other Brome poems appeared anonymously as broadsides a few years later, one a burlesque on the occasion of Cromwell's occupation of London in August 1647 and the other a purported monologue of Charles lamenting his imprisonment in 1648.20 Brome composed some twenty other political poems (mostly satires and burlesques) in the 1640s, but these remained in manuscript and were probably discreetly circulated among his Cavalier friends. Besides political poems, some seventy other poems can be dated with varying degrees of certainty in the 1640s. Of these, thirty-seven are love lyrics in the courtly love tradition, and eighteen are drinking songs (including two translations from Anacreon), which later earned Brome the title of the English Anacreon (see p 18). These remained in manuscript, with forty-two collected in Ash, which has been dated in the 1640s (see Textual Introduction p 38). The existence of this manuscript and others proves that Brome's poems were circulating, but the extent of the circulation is impossible to determine. Some evidence as to Brome's reputation as a poet, however, is afforded by the dedicatory poems he wrote during the 1640s. Though the Cavalier cause suffered an eclipse after 1646, one relatively safe way to proclaim one's sympathies publicly was to contribute dedicatory poems to books closely identified with Cavaliers and friends of Cavaliers. The publication of the Beaumont and Fletcher folio in 1647 had symbolic significance for Cavaliers, and the inclusion of a dedicatory poem was an honour much sought after.21 That Brome contributed a poem to the folio (6.1) indicates that by that date he had acquired some reputation as a poet of Cavalier sympathies. The roster of contributors reads as a who's who of the best-known Cavalier writers of the time and includes John Denham, Edmund Waller, Richard Lovelace, William Habington, Thomas Stanley, Jasper May ne, William Cartwright, Richard Corbet, Robert Herrick, John Berkenhead, and Richard Brome. In 1649, Brome contributed poems to three more Cavalier books, an elegy inLachrymae Musarum on the death of the young Lord Hastings (6.Ill) and dedicatory poems to James Shirley's Latin Grammar (6.II) and to Richard Lovelace's Lucasta (this poem, 4.XLVII, was not published until 1661). Though he always referred to himself and to his poetic talent in the most modest terms, the presence of Brome poems in these books shows that he was a poet of some repute and enjoyed the acquaintance if not the close friendship of many in the Cavalier community from the late

5

1640s on. 22 It seems evident, then, that in the turbulent decade of the 1640s, not only was Brome a young man pursuing a legal career, but his composition of a substantial number of poems, a few appearing in print and more circulating in mss, had earned him a modest reputation as a poet in Cavalier circles. At some date between 17 October 1649 and 2 January 1652 Brome married Martha Whitaker, widow of Thomas Whitaker, a bookseller who died on 17 October 1649.23 From an entry in the Stationers' Register dated 7 March 1653 we know that Brome and his wife had been granted an order on 2 January 1652 to transfer copyrights belonging to the late Thomas Whitaker to four other booksellers.24 Their marriage probably took place in 1650, if their statement in a Chancery case in 1660 that they were married almost ten years since is taken literally.25 His marriage to a widow of means not only enhanced Brome's financial situation, but also brought him three stepdaughters.26 A son, John, was born to the Bromes either in 1655 or earlier.27 At least four other children followed, only three of these surviving their father's death in 1666.28 Brome's legal career appears to have flourished in the 1650s. His comment that he became a master in his profession about 1652 has already been noted. Chancery records establish that Brome was involved in cases in Upper Bench (formerly King's Bench) by 21 March 1653 and that he had become an attorney of the Upper Bench before 30 October 1657.29 In 1657, Brome and two friends, M.B. and I.H., wrote a burlesque poem (5.LVIII) poking fun at the procedures used in cases before the Court of Upper Bench. The poem, purporting to be the authors' contribution to a committee considering the reformation of the law, shows that Brome and his friends were experienced attorneys familiar with the procedures of Upper Bench.30 Several allusions in the exchange of verse epistles between Brome and his friends in 1659 and early 1660 reveal that Brome was not only an attorney of the courts at Westminster, but also an attorney of the Lord Mayor's court at Guildhall.31 Brome's apparently flourishing legal career probably explains his admission to Lincoln's Inn on 25 January 1659.32 No reason for his dropping his connection with Gray's Inn has been found, but practising attorneys frequently sought admission to one of the inns as a means of advancing their incomes or social standing or both.33 Brome retained his connection with Lincoln's Inn for the rest of his life and even requested in his will to be buried under Lincoln's Inn Chapel if it could be done without much expense and inconvenience, but apparently this was not possible.34 Brome's practice as an attorney must have been lucrative, for he acquired considerable property in both his native Dorset and neighbouring Somerset. His will identifies certain lands situated in the parishes of Windford Eagle and Toller Fratrum near Dorchester as well as other unspecified lands in Dorset and Somerset. After the Restoration, he also obtained lands by grant from Charles II in Neroche Forest, a few miles south of Taunton in Somerset. Brome wrote several epistles from the country to friends in London, which suggest that in the intervals between law terms he maintained a residence or residences in the country.35 Though Brome was probably preoccupied with domestic and professional obliga-

6

tions during the 1650s, he still found time for his literary avocation. Like most Cavalier sympathizers, Brome avoided public notice during the Interregnum, for there is no evidence that he attracted the attention of the authorities. And though he continued to compose a few satires and burlesques attacking the Commonwealth, these remained in manuscript until 1661. Brome's friend, Charles Steynings, notes Brome's caution and discretion in his prefatory poem to the 1664 edition of Songs And other Poems (P.XI). Complaining that the King's exile made his friends and supporters slaves in England, Steynings adds that poets like Brome had to remain anonymous during the Interregnum: And so confin'd thy fancy, that thy Fame (Till his return was) kept without a Name. Nevertheless, all through the decade Brome was reinforcing the literary reputation he had acquired in the 1640s. As in the late 1640s, he continued to contribute dedications to books by members of the Cavalier community. In all he contributed seven dedications,36 including one for the collected works of William Cartwright in 1651 (6.IV), Richard Brome's A Joviall Crew in 1652 (6. VI), the second edition of Walton's The Compleat Angler in 1655 (6.XI), and John Gamble's setting of Thomas Stanley's odes in 1656 (4.XLVIII). More importantly, Brome published his own play, The Cunning Lovers, in 1654 and edited and published ten plays by Richard Brome, five in 1653 (RB53) and five in 1659 (RB59). Also in the 1650s a number of his poems composed in the 1640s found their way into several miscellanies and song books.37 Apart from the dedicatory poems noted above, Brome composed relatively few poems between 1650 and 1659, those few including a dozen or so political poems and half a dozen drinking songs probably composed during the Commonwealth period. But between 1658 and 1660, Brome wrote around fifteen verse epistles and nine political poems, most of the latter dealing with the impending Restoration and the Restoration itself. One of these, 5.LII, 'A speech made to the Lord General Monck, at Clotheworkers-Hall in London the 13. of March, 1659,' shows that Brome even made a small contribution to the process of the Restoration. To complete this summary of Brome's literary activity, we should note that at some undetermined date before 1661, but probably during the 1650s, he found time to produce a number of translations and paraphrases. These include translation of forty-eight epigrams (5.I-XLVIII), most derived from the Greek Anthology and from Neo-Latin epigrammatists, the lengthy Cynic dialogue of Lucian (5.L), the prologue to Perseus's satires (4.XXXV), Ben Jonson's Latin poem 'LEGES CONVIVALES' (5.LIV), and a paraphrase in verse of the first chapter of Ecclesiastes (5.LI). In 1660, four more Brome poems appeared in print, the speech to Monck referred to above, a lengthy congratulatory poem on Charles IPs restoration (5.LX), the burlesque on legal procedures (5.LVIII), and a new dedication to the second edition of Edward Sparke's Thysiasthrion vel Scintilla-Altaris (4.XLVI). At the same time, Brome was collecting and preparing his poems for publication (for details see Tex-

7

tuai Introduction). The publication of Songs And Other Poems in 1661 provided a fitting climax to Brome's work as a poet during the previous twenty years. Brome's poems must have found a ready market among long-suffering Cavaliers, and the taste for anti-Rump and pro-Cavalier satire and burlesque was further whetted by Henry Brome's publication in 1662 of the famous Rump collection of songs and satires from the previous twenty years.38 Alexander was the single most represented poet in the collection with nineteen poems, but appears not to have had any part in its compilation or publication (see Textual Introduction). Brome's composition of original poems comes virtually to an end with the publication of Songs And Other Poems. He brought out an enlarged and corrected edition in 1664 and was preparing a third edition just before his death. It was not published, however, until 1668. But in his letter 4To the Reader' in67 (P.II), Brome gave a hint about another literary project of some magnitude when he announced his plans to put his little Latin to better use in the future. Although he was probably referring to his intention to use Latin in his legal practice, he also may have been referring to a plan to collect and edit existing translations of Horace and to complete the edition by translating poems previously untranslated himself. These amounted to twentyfive poems, as it turned out. This plan came to fruition with the publication in 1666 of The Poems of Horace (licensed on 10 September 1665 by Roger L'Estrange), prefaced by Brome's letter of thanks to Sir William Backhouse for his patronage. Subsequent editions followed posthumously in 1671 and 1680. Other than his literary projects, Brome between 1660 and 1666 continued to prosper in his profession as attorney. We have already noticed that he was granted a petition to enrol his own cases in the Court of King's Bench, and a suit in Chancery and bequests in his will reveal that he had several clerks in his employ.39 The bequests in the will also establish clearly that Brome, by the time of his death, had accumulated from various sources a substantial estate in both money and land. His family was increasing during the 1660s, the parish register of St Stephens, Waibrook, Brome's place of residence from 1661 to 1666, recording the births of three daughters, one of whom died shortly after her birth. Brome was sufficiently well known in the 1660s to be mentioned three times by Pepys, who referred to him as a poet and great song-maker.40 Brome made his will on 29 June 1666 and died the following day. The cause of his death is unknown. Though in his will he requested burial under Lincoln's Inn Chapel, he was in fact buried in the churchyard at St Stephens, Walbrook. His death was noted by Pepys and by Richard Smyth,41 and elegies by Charles Cotton and Richard Newcourt appeared in the posthumous 1668 edition of Songs And other Poems. BROME'S POETRY

Critical opinions expressed in poems prefaced to Alexander Brome's collected editions and in verse epistles from his friends provide a perspective on his poems which

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helps us assess his place in English poetry of the mid-seventeenth century. The comments not only isolate Brome's most prominent themes and subjects, but also point to aspects of his style that show the changing literary tastes at mid-century. Brief consideration of the shift in literary sensibility that occurred during the second half of the century will permit a more precise understanding of the significance of these comments on Brome's style. Several recent studies, recognizing that the middle decades of the century (1640-60) were crucial to this shift in sensibility, have devoted more serious attention to important poets of this period, in particular Carew, Suckling, Lovelace, Herrick, Cowley, Cleveland, Denham, and Waller. Alexander Brome, who has remained on the periphery of critical interest, should be added to this list. The change in taste and sensibility has been defined in various ways, from the most general analysis of the major epistemological and metaphysical developments during the century with their consequences for the arts42 to more specific analyses of the effect of historical forces on literary theory and practice.43 There is no need here to review this familiar body of scholarship, which has added much to our conceptions about seventeenth-century literature and taste. What is worth stressing, however, is the way in which Brome's poetry, which belongs almost entirely to the years 1640-60, not only provides an index to Cavalier sensibility during these tempestuous decades, but mirrors many of the literary changes occurring between the first and second halves of the century. Without overestimating his importance in the history of English literature in the seventeenth century, we can claim that Brome's poetry shares fully in the transition from what is generally designated the metaphysical mode of the first half of the century to the neoclassical mode of the second half.44 Edward Tayler has provided a useful summary of the way key critical terms such as 'Nature,' 'Decorum,' and 'Wit' changed their meanings during the seventeenth century in response to shifting literary sensibilities.45 Most pertinent for our discussion here is the complex of terms including wit, fancy, and judgement. The history of the evolution in meaning of these terms furnishes a convenient index to the changing aesthetic sensibilities of the century. As Tayler points out, wit at the beginning of the century was the middle term between fancy and judgement, fancy referring to the synthetic or imaginative power of perceiving resemblances and judgement to the analytic power of discerning differences. Wit in literary discourse was a comprehensive designation for the poetic faculty and embraced a series of otherwise contrasting elements: Nature and Art, Fancy and Judgement, Invention and Disposition.46 For instance, when Thomas Carew in 'An Elégie upon the death of the Deane of Pauls' claimed that Donne ruled 'The univers all Monarchy of wit,'47 he was using the term 'wit' in its comprehensive sense. By mid-century wit came more and more to be used as a synonym for fancy, in the sense of the metaphorical ornaments of a poem as distinct from the judgement which comprised its strength and structure. Hobbes in his 'Answer' to Davenant's preface to Gondibert clearly showed the devaluation in a rationalistic age of both wit and its product, the

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fanciful ornaments written by those that observed unusual similitudes.48 In particular, Hobbes criticized a prominent characteristic of the metaphysical mode, its tendency to be difficult and obscure: To this palpable darknesse, I may also add the ambitious obscurity of expressing more then is perfectly conceived; or perfect conception in fewer words then it requires. Which Expressions, though they have had the honour to be called strong lines, are indeed no better then Riddles,and not onely to the Reader, but also (after a little time) to the Writer himself, dark and troublesome.49

George Williamson has shown that by 1650 critical opinion had definitely turned against 'strong lines,' the stylistic trait much admired by readers in the first part of the century. Williamson cites both Hobbes's 'Answer' and the many commendatory poems prefaced to the complete works of William Cartwright (1651) in support of the conclusion that 'depth or strength of wit and rugged verse [were] giving way to clear wit and smooth numbers as the desiderata of criticism.'50 Though by no means complete, these brief remarks on the nature of the shift in literary sensibility at mid-century will enable us to interpret critical comments on style expressed both by Brome in his own dedicatory poems and by those who commented on Brome's style. Brome clearly enunciates his stylistic preferences in dedicatory poems he wrote in the 1640s and 1650s. For instance, he describes the sermons of Josias Shute as 'neatly dress'd'51 and the wit of Richard Brome's^l Joviall Crew as 'neat and harmlesse.'52 The plays of Beaumont and Fletcher are a 'Magazine of purest sence,'53 those of Richard Brome reveal a 'clean, rich Fancie, in so pure a straine,'54 while Thomas Stanley's odes are written in 'pure Couplets.'55 Edward Sparke's verse is 'full of rhime and reason both,' 56 the style of Richard Brome's plays is 'so plaine' that it informs the understanding,57 and Stanley's odes are quick, lovely and 'full of Sence.'58 Sparke's prose is 'so sinewy, and yet so smooth,'59 while the words of Stanley's odes flow and sweetly chime.60 Finally, Richard Brome is praised for writing in a natural vein, avoiding bombast and immense lines.61 The stylistic qualities Brome praises - neatness, purity, smoothness, plainness, sweetness, avoidance of immense lines, and emphasis on sense and reason - all reveal preference for the neoclassical style in opposition to the characteristics of the metaphysical style. It is not surprising that Brome in epistle 4.V 'To T.S.' should refer to Denham as the 'Prince of Poets' (1 37) and to Coopers Hill as a poem 'all admir'd, for art and wit' (1 38) and later in the preface to his The Poems of Horace (1666) describe Denham and Waller as the 'Standard-bearers of Wit and Judgment' (Sig. A6v). There seems little doubt that Brome's stylistic tastes reflect the neoclassical criteria that were becoming predominant at mid-century. Those writing dedicatory poems to Brome notice qualities of his style that are markedly similar to the ones he praises in others. Some of the comments credit Brome with improving and reforming the poetic art in terms that many critics and readers used to praise the reforms of Denham and Waller and which precisely show the transition from metaphysical criteria of style to neoclassical. First, here are R.

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Th's remarks: Thou labour'st for no far-fetch't Metaphors, Nor does thy judgment stray, After Phantastick Meteors, Made to misguide the way. 62 C.W. also praises Brome for avoiding the characteristic features of the metaphysical mode: There strength of fancy, to it sweetness joynes, Unmixt with water, nor stum'd with strong lines.63 If R.Th. and C.W. praise Brome for what he avoids, others praise more positive aspects of his style. First, Richard Newcourt: How much thou hadst Improv'd Poetick Art; For that thy works (beyond Amendment) shew, Ages to come, as well as he, will know By them thy Lofty, yet familiar strain, So highly learned, yet so humbly plain.64 Next, Charles Cotton notes that Brome Writes in so pure, an unaffected strain, As shews wits ornament, is to be plain.65 And finally, R.Th. again: She [the Muse] most affectionately came, Shew'd thee her purest excellence Was not confín'd to words, but sence . . . Her Rules exactly thou dost imitate In every thing thou dost express. (11 23-5, 30-1) It seems evident that Brome's earliest readers responded to those elements of his style that reflected the transition in taste from the 'strong lines' of the metaphysical mode to the plain, unaffected strain of the neoclassical mode, in which strength of fancy was joined to sweetness and where matter or sense took precedence over words and far-fetched metaphors. Writers of prefatory poems to Brome's editions not only commented on his style, but also isolated and took note of the most prominent themes of his poems namely, love, praise of wine, and politics. Poems on these themes comprise well over half of Brome's original poems and are those on which his achievement as a poet must be based. Like most seventeenth-century poets, Brome wrote his share of occasional verse - funeral elegies, dedicatory poems, and familiar verse epistles and though these have historical and biographical interest, with few exceptions they do not contribute much to Brome's enduring literary reputation. Taking a lead from

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Brome's first readers, then, we may conveniently survey his poetic canon by focusing separately on his love poems, his wine-drinking songs, and his political satires. Love Poems Brome's love poems, amounting to some thirty-seven original poems and five translations, are most profitably studied in the context of the remarkable efflorescence of love poetry written and published by Cavaliers during the 1630s and 1640s. Though the decade of the 1640s was a time of civil war and turbulence in England, a time most poets thought unpropitious for the muses, the amount of love poetry published during these years is impressive. The following list includes only some of the poets published between 1640 and 1651, whose works contain a substantial body of love poetry: Thomas Carew (1640, 1642, 1651), Edmund Waller (1645), Sir John Suckling (1646), James Shirley (1646), Thomas Stanley (1647, 1651), Abraham Cowley (1647), John Cleveland (1647), Robert Herrick (1648), Richard Lovelace (1649), Robert Heath (1650), and William Cartwright (1651). Some of Brome's love lyrics appeared in miscellanies during the 1650s, but the complete collection was not published until 1661. However, both internal allusions and the presence of a large number of the love poems in a manuscript dated in the 1640s (Ash) provide clear evidence that they were composed in the 1640s and are thus properly studied in the context of the other love poems of these years. It has been observed that the publication of so many volumes of poetry in the 1640s as well as other Cavalier publishing ventures such as the Beaumont and Fletcher folio of 1647 had a veiled political purpose.66 It was one way for the Cavaliers to reassert and proclaim the values on which their threatened culture was based, especially so in the unhappy days after the defeat and then the execution of the King. AJ. Smith claims that the love poetry of the Cavaliers became a search for something to hold on to, some vestige of the order that underpropped the civil culture of the humanist Renaissance courts.67 The publication of the poems and plays of the court culture would serve as a reminder of the most cherished aesthetic, social, and moral values of the Cavaliers and as a beacon of civilization in the midst of the ignorance and darkness that seemed to have engulfed the land. Brome's observation in a prefatory poem he wrote for Lovelace's Lucasta (4.XLVII) is typical. He considers the publication of these poems a ray of light shining through the darkness and chaos, a chaos precipitated by the Puritan preachers who propagated sedition and disorder. As far as Brome and his fellow Cavaliers were concerned, their enemies were not only rebels, but also ignorant and illiterate. In contrast, Cavaliers believed that their literature embodied the highest values of civilization and compared their writers to Orpheus and Amphion in their power to instil these values. The social and political context of Cavalier love poetry is important and deserves more detailed analysis than can be provided here, but in turning to a more narrowly literary context, we discover that critical studies of Cavalier love poets have usually

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treated them as appendages of the towering figures of Donne and Jonson.68 But some recent studies, without denying the importance of the influence of Donne and Jonson, have focused more closely on the unique achievements of the Cavaliers and have provided illuminating new perspectives for continuing studies of Caroline court poetry and its transitional status between the earlier metaphysical and the emerging neoclassical mode.69 In A.J. Smith's words, Cavalier love poetry is not negligible, and this opinion is reflected in the increasing interest both in individual poets and in the Cavalier poets as a group.70 Brome and his fellow love poets start with the same stock of familiar themes and motifs of the courtly love tradition, but each in his own way provides fresh and original variations on the conventional situations. In fact, one of the remarkable characteristics of Cavalier love poets is their ability to elicit every shade of expressive potential from the common stock of conventions. Though the world of courtly love is a deliberately limited and restricted one, the poets explore with delight and creative energy every nook and cranny of this confined and miniature world. Chernaik's characterization of Cavalier love poetry as a running commentary on the moves and stances of the game of love seems an apt one,71 for even a cursory reading of the poems impresses one with the poets' detailed exploitation of every conceivable combination and variation of situations. The frequent occurrence of 'answers' or 'mock songs' further illustrates the poets' fondness for examining situations or motifs from opposing angles. Richmond observes that one gets a curiously contradictory impression from reading the works of one poet, for the writer seems to be running the whole gamut of attitudes in the course of a few love poems and consistency is only seen in the desire to vindicate the freedom of the human mind from the constraint of any single theory that will inhibit the most effective response to a given situation.72 These general observations about Cavalier love poetry apply quite well to Brome. Not only does he range widely over conventional situations, but like most of his fellow love poets he has the knack of giving an original twist or a fresh turn to a theme or motif. A brief survey will give some idea of Brome's range, while further analysis will attempt to take stock of the chief emphases of his collection as a whole. First, here briefly are some of the conventional motifs Brome explores: the lover overcome by the lady's beauty pleading for her favour (l.VI 'To his Mistress,' l.XXX The Attempt'); the lover persuading the lady to make love (1.XXXVIII 'Advice to Caelia')\ the poet advising his friend how to handle the frustrations of love (l.V 'The Counsel'); the lover arguing that expectation of love is more satisfying than fruition (l.XI 'The Contrary'); the lover contending that Platonic love is an illusion (l.XIX 'Epi thai amy'); the lover resolving to free himself from the tyranny of love (l.IX 'Loves Anarchy,' l.X 'The Libertine'); the lover defending his inconstancy (1. VII 'To his Mistress'); the lady arguing that an aged lover is preferable to a young one (l.XXII 'The Damoisel'); and the lady arguing in favour of making love when very young (l.XII 'The Young Lover'). As the notes show, one can find analogies and similarities in the poems of several of Brome's fellow love poets, and

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more detailed analysis than can be provided here would show the stylistic and tonal variety possible in the treatment of these motifs. Brome's similarity to his fellow poets can be readily demonstrated, but it is important also to stress the differences in emphasis that make Brome's collection unique and distinctive. We notice, first, that though Brome adopts the posture of the helpless lover irresistibly drawn to the beauty of a lady like a magnet to the north pole and reduced to humbly pleading for her grace, this posture is an infrequent one in the collection as a whole. We rarely find expressions such as the following: O let me not then cruel find You which are fair, and therefore should be kind. (l.XXX 'The Attempt') Instead, we notice two more prominent emphases in the collection: the lover's aggressive and impatient confrontation with the scornful or haughty mistress and his resolute and empirical search to discover the nature of love and its causes. Poems on these themes, making up the majority, seem the most energetic and most appealing in the collection. Faced with the traditional scornful mistress of the courtly love tradition, Brome refuses to pine away, but vigorously confronts her, argues with her, challenges her, cajoles her, intimidates her, or repudiates her. His favourite argument, found in several lyrics, concludes that the lady's beauty is a figment of the poet's fancy, and if she thinks it has any real power over him, then she is sadly deluded. As he declares in I.I 'Plain Dealing,' You are not beauteous of your self, but are made so by me. or in 1.XXXVI 'To a coy Lady': Though we say you're fair, you know, We your beauty do bestow, For our fancy makes you so. The argument of poems using this motif is designed to disabuse the lady of her power and in combination with considerations such as the ravages of time to make her more receptive. If the lady's beauty is an illusion and has no power over the lover, then she should recognize that he will be attracted to her only if she is responsive and reciprocates his love. That is, the basis for love becomes psychological rather than physical. As the speaker says in l.III 'The Resolve': But if that thou wilt have me love And it must be a she, The only argument can move Is, that she will love me. In 1 .II 'The Indifferent,' Brome carries his argument about the relativity of beauty to

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its ultimate conclusion. If beauty exists only in the eye of the beholder, then he will love all women, no matter how ugly they may seem. And he comes to the same conclusion as he did in l.III The Resolve': There are no rules for beauty, but Tis as our fancies make it: Be you but kind, I'll think you fair And all for truth shall take it. If the lady continues to be coy, the lover can paradoxically turn her reluctance against her by arguing that her very coyness will intensify his love, for expectation is more satisfying than fruition: This pretty niceness does invite me: Scorne me, and I'll love thee for it. (l.XI The Contrary') If the lady continues to be scornful, then the poet advises a friend to scorn her in return (l.V The Counsel'), or if this seems unsatisfying to seek alternate outlets for his love, such as friends, other mistresses, drinking, or even horses (I.I 'Plain Dealing'). He even argues that he will escape from the frustrations of love by either becoming a libertine or conjuring up an imaginary mistress who will satisfy all his desires (l.X The Libertine'). Finally, in 1.XXXII 'Practick Love,' the lover wants off the horns of a dilemma. Put bluntly, he tells the lady either to love him or to deny him, but not to lead him on: Either love or say you will not, For love or scorn's all one to me. . . O 'tis a Tyranny still to invite, The mind, and inrage it with faigned delight, To raise and then baffle the appetite. As part of his response to the scornful mistress, and assuming central thematic prominence in several lyrics, is the poet's wide-ranging and resolute search for the nature of love and its causes. As one reads through the lyrics, it becomes apparent that love is a protean passion, one that is extremely difficult to pin down and to define precisely and whose causes often seem complex and contradictory. The lady's beauty as a cause of love is raised in some poems (l.VI To his Mistress'), only to be energetically dismissed in others (I.I 'Plain Dealing'). Reciprocation of love is prominently featured in several poems (l.II The Indifferent,'l.III The Resolve'), but then contradicted by the argument that coyness is a greater provocation to love (l.XI The Contrary'). The claims for Platonic love are exploded (l.XIX 'Epithalamy') and countered by the argument that love of a woman is identical with physical love (1.XXXII Tractick Love'). In some poems, the assertion that money is

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a strong provocative to love (l.IV 'The Wary Woer') is advanced, and something even baser as temporary notoriety is put forth as a cause of love in 1 .XVIII 'Reasons of Love.' Ultimately, the poet, after canvassing a whole range of reasons of love, repudiates them all and comes to the conclusion that 'Love's without Reason' (l.XXI): Reason and Wisdom are to love high treason, Nor can he truly love, Whose flame's not farr above, And far beyond his wit or reason, Then ask no reason for my fires, For infinite are my desires. Something there is moves me to love, and I Do know I love, but know not how, nor why. In attempting to identify the distinctive character of Brome's love lyrics, we find that by far the largest number explore the poet's various and complicated psychological responses to the haughty mistress or his search for the elusive and often contradictory and surprising causes of love. As I have argued elsewhere,73 Brome is most characteristic in his vigorous and critical scrutiny of the conventions of courtly love. Being a heretic in love is itself a convention, but it seems to me that Brome goes beyond this. He seems to be consciously and deliberately concerned with examining and testing conventional and stereotyped views of the nature of love. Using what is analogous to a Baconian process of exclusion and rejection, Brome develops hypotheses about the nature of love that are more consonant with a growing awareness of the psychological complexity of the passion. Richmond and Miner argue quite convincingly that there was an increase in psychological awareness during the seventeenth century, an awareness that is distinctly characteristic of Cavalier love poetry.74 Smith offers the view that Cavalier love poets show a marked mental vivacity, an incessant play of wit which itself bespeaks intelligence and enacts a sceptical wariness of the prescribed professions of love. Their verse gets much of its life from the way it undermines the accepted categories of love.75 These acute observations seem to me an accurate description of the distinctive character of Brome's collection of love lyrics. To complete this brief sketch of Brome's love poems, it is in order to offer a few comments about their style. The general remarks about Brome's style noted by his earliest readers provide a suggestive starting point. As discussed above, the characteristics of Brome's style frequently mentioned include his avoidance of strong lines and far-fetched metaphors, and his use of a pure, unaffected, familiar, humble, plain style, with emphasis not on words and ornaments, but on sense. These comments can be verified quite readily by the reader of Brome's lyrics. One of the most appealing aspects of his style is his ability to convey a lively dramatic idiom. The large majority of his lyrics are dramatic monologues in mode, and nearly all open with provocative questions, impatient imperatives, or blunt resolutions. A few

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examples will illustrate this quality: Prethee, why dost thou love me so? (1.XVIII 'Reasons of Love') Nay fie, Platonicks, still adoring, The fond Chymaeras of your brain? (l.XIX 'Epithalamy') Tell me not of a face that's fair, Nor lip and cheek that's red. . . (l.III 'The Resolve') Perswade me not, I vow F le love no more, My heart has now ta'ne quarter. . .(l.X 'The Libertine') Nay prithee do, be coy and slight me, I must love, though thou abhor it. . . (l.XI 'The Contrary') Love, I must tell thee, I'l no longer be A Victime to thy beardless Deity. . . (l.IX 'Loves Anarchy') Brome's dramatic openings, generally sustained within the poem, create a convincing impression of an animated and lively confrontation. The brisk and colloquial idiom is suitably described as 'familiar' and 'unaffected,' and the adjective 'plain' denotes quite well the loose style of Brome's syntax. He avoids a contorted, ambiguous, and elliptical syntax (strong lines) and achieves a simple clarity through neat and brief parallelisms and antitheses. One stanza will demonstrate the typical accents of a Brome lyric: Expect no courtship more from me, Nor words, that you, and I May in our judgments plainly see, Make but a ranting lie: Leave these coy humours and be plain: Deny, or else be free, Look not for love, w'thout love again, I'le kiss, if you'l kiss me. (l.XXXI 'To a Lady that turned her Cheek') Adding to the 'plainness' of Brome's style is his conscientious avoidance not only of far-fetched metaphors or conceits, but of any metaphors at all. Brome seems to specialize in writing what Miner describes as the 'image-free' poem (so common in Suckling).76 This tendency seems directly related to a consistent theme in many of the lyrics - his distrust of artifice, affectation, and pretense. As noted above, Brome several times shows his distrust of the poet's fancy, especially its creation of metaphoric delusions and falsehoods about a lady's beauty and its presumed power. The falsehoods induced by hyperbolic and outlandish metaphors become equated in his mind with the falsehoods and affectations of women themselves. In both cases, poetic style and women, the opposite of artifice and falsehood is plainness and

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truth. In l.IV 'The Wary Woer' Brome declares: 'I hate your pictures and imagery,' and in l.XXXV 'To a painted Lady,' theme and style reflect each other: Leave these deluding tricks and showes, Be honest and down-right; What Nature did to view expose, Don't you keep out of sight. . . Nature her self, her own work does And hates all needless arts, And all your artificial showes Disgrace your Nat'ral parts. Here, very plainly and bluntly, Brome expresses his slant on the perennial NatureArt controversy. In both poetic style and feminine adornment, Brome prefers the natural, the plain, the 'honest and down-right' over 'needless arts' and 'artificial showes.' Many of Brome's fellow Cavaliers, for instance, Herrick, and earlier Jonson, were also keenly interested in the Nature-Art dichotomy, though they may not have expressed so unequivocal a preference for the natural over the artificial. The Nature-Art theme is too large for extended discussion here, but we can conclude that both in theme and style, Brome's love lyrics show a decided preference for the natural, the plain, the familiar, the unaffected and deliberately eschew the excessively artificial, the far-fetched, and the fanciful. In a word, Brome's lyrics avoid the extreme metaphoric and syntactical properties of the metaphysical style and strive for an idiom that is closer to natural, lively, spoken dialogue. Wine and the Happy Life The most frequent thematic allusions in the prefatory poems are to Brome as the poet of wine. R.B. (P.Ill) refers to Brome as Bacchus (Bromius was another name for Bacchus) and is most impressed with his poems in praise of wine. Both W. Paulet (P. VII) and C.W. (P.X) declare that a reader may enjoy the pleasures of wine drinking simply by reading Brome's poems. And both C.W. and Charles Cotton (P.IV) associate Brome with the classical poet best known as celebrator of the joys of wine drinking, Anacreon. Edward Phillips in Theatrum Poetarum declares that Brome writes in 'so Jovial a strain, that among the Sons of Mirth & Bacchus . . .his name cannot chuse but be immortal, and in this respect he may well be stil'd the English Anacreon.'11 Brome's canon includes three paraphrases from the Anacreontea,7* several poems echoing Anacreontic motifs, some twenty-five poems featuring wine as a central theme, and several poems where wine is an integral part of the Cavalier vision of the happy life. Paraphrases and imitations of the Anacreontea were popular with Cavalier poets in the 1640s and 1650s. In addition to about fifteen direct paraphrases, Robert Herrick wrote numerous other poems echoing Anacreontic themes and motifs. Abraham Cowley paraphrased eleven poems from the Ana-

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creontea, while Brome's friend, Thomas Stanley, who probably deserves the name English Anacreon as much as anyone, published a complete translation of theAnacreontea in 1651. Earl Miner has shown why poems from the Anacreontea were so popular among the Cavaliers, especially during what he calls the Cavalier winter.79 The Anacreontic celebration of the pleasures of love and wine formed an essential part of the Cavalier vision of the happy life, and as Miner emphasizes, never were the Cavaliers more in need of the consolations of love and wine than they were during the Interregnum. Though most Cavaliers were cut off from participation in the public life of the nation, and were forced to retreat to a private life in the country, it is not entirely accurate to interpret poetic celebration of the joys of a retired country life as merely making a virtue out of a necessity, for the happy life in the country with emphasis on love, friendship, wine, and poetry was a long-standing constant in the Cavalier ethos. As Miner puts it, the world of Cavalier poetry presents a vision of an England at peace, dedicated to ancient rights of king and subject, liberal to friends and dependents, given to love, drink, song, angling, and hunting, certain of the value of learning, and espoused to the Anglican via media.80 Though denied a part in public life, Cavaliers could still find refuge in the private aspects of their view of the happy life. Wine has multiple associations in Brome's poems and functions in a variety of contexts. It has close associations with love and poetry in a few poems and is credited with inspiring both passion and the imagination. In 1 .XV 'To his Friend that had vow'd Small-Bear,' Brome declares: No, 'tis Canary that inspires, 'Tis Sack, like Oyle, gives Flames to am'rous Fiers. And in 2.XXXVII 'Against Corrupted Sack,' the poet remembers what pure sack once meant to him: SACK! once my comfort and my dear delight, Dull mortals quickning spirit; Thou didst once give affections, wit, and might, Thou mad'st the Lover and the Wight, Thou mad'st one dye, and t'other fight, Thou mad'st the Poet, who made both, and thou Inspird'st our brains with genial fire till now Th'hast justly lost thy honour 'Cause th'hast lost thy power and merit. This combination of wine with wit, love, poetry, and geniality are essential elements of the Cavalier happy life, and in his representation Brome is reaffirming the values of his fellows. More frequently in Brome's poems, wine serves both as a somewhat desperate escape from the pains and sorrows of the Cavalier winter and also appears as part of a pleasanter vision of the happy retired life in the country.

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The former mood finds expression in songs such as 2.1 'The Royalist,' where Brome, echoing both Anacreon and Lovelace's famous 'To Althea,' combines stoic fortitude with an easy epicureanism, a disdain for worldly care with an active seeking out of care-destroying intoxication: Come, pass about the bowl to me, A health to our distressed King; Though we're in hold, let cups go free, Birds in a cage may freely sing. The ground does tipple healths apace, When stormes do fall, and shall not we? A sorrow dares not shew its face, When we are ships and sack's the sea. In 2.XXXI The Cheerful heart,' Brome, bolstered by a cup of sack, tries to maintain a brave front in the face of a hostile world: What though these ill times do go cross to our will? And fortune still frowns upon us? Our hearts are our own, and they shall be so still, A pin for the plagues they lay on us. Let us take t'other cup, To keep our hearts up, And let it be purest Canary, We'l ne're shrink or care, For the crosses we bear, Let 'um plague us untill they be weary. The tone becomes even more desperate in 2.V 'The Trouper': Come, come, let us drink, 'Tis in vain to think, Like fools on grief or sadness; Let our money fly And our sorrows die, All worldly care is madness; But sack and good cheer Will in spite of our fear, Inspire our souls with gladness. Other poems could be cited to show how frequently Brome seeks intoxication as an escape from the burdens of these ill times, and there can be little doubt that many unhappy Cavaliers could respond eagerly to these appeals. Intoxication, then, provided one kind of retreat for careworn Cavaliers, though the image represented in the above poems is not always an attractive one and may have contributed to the pejorative stereotype of the Cavalier as a swashbuckling

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drunk. Another type of retreat, away from the city and the turmoils of public life to a contented retired life in the country with wine and one's friends, was not only a necessity for many, but, according to Miner, enabled them during those wintry times to the discovery, or rather the immortalizing, of the joys of English country life and its convivialities in the strictest sense.81 The celebration of the happy country life had a social and political significance as well, for as Maren-Sofie Rôstvig has pointed out, the Cavalier image of the Happy Man (derived principally from Horace and Virgil) was directly antithetical to the Puritan archetype of the zealous hymn-singing Christian warrior.82 Cavaliers distrusted and feared the activism and fanaticism of the Puritan, for these inevitably led to social, political, and religious revolution and threatened to destroy everything they valued most in civilized life. The happy man archetype appeared in various forms during the seventeenth century, the figure of the 'Hortulan Saint' being especially prominent in the 1640's and 1650's. According to Rôstvig, the Hortulan Saint is an individual who seeks solitude and retirement not only to escape from a corrupt world, but as an opportunity to come into contact with a transcendent reality through the purification of the senses and a mystical contemplation of nature. The poetry of Marvell and Vaughan, argues Rôstvig, features this theme prominently and provides a vision of the religious life definitely opposed to the fanaticism and activism of the Puritan hero.83 Rôstvig's emphasis on the mystical poetry of the Interregnum should be supplemented by reference to more secular versions of the Happy Man motif which were also prominent in these years. She argues that it was not until the Restoration that the Hortulan Saint was replaced by a secular Happy Man, the Innocent Epicurean.84 But, in the poems of Brome, this archetype was already well developed before the Restoration. If the Anacreontea inspired Brome's celebration of wine as an escape from cares and sorrows, it was Horace who inspired Brome's praises of the retired country life. The opening line of 2.XXII 'The safe Estate' echoes the first line of Horace's Second Epode (beatus Ule qui), and the epistle 4.XXV 'To his Friend Mr. I.E. being at London in the Authors retirement' is a free imitation of Horace's Epistle I, 10. Brome's retirement poems condemn the folly of inordinate ambition and the danger of meddling in political affairs, advising instead a retreat to a peaceful private life in the country, away from the struggle for power and wealth, where one may pursue a leisurely and satisfying life attending to one's estate and enjoying the companionship of one's friends over a cup of wine. 'The safe Estate' develops these motifs to the full: How happy a man is he, Whose soul is quiet and free, And liveth content with his own! That does not desire To swell nor aspire, To the coronet nor to the crown.

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He doth sit and despise Those Mushromes that rise, But disturbs not his sleep, At the quoil that they keep, Both in Country and Town, In the plain he sits safe, And doth privately laugh, At high thoughts that are tumbling down. He wears his own head and ears, And he tipples in safety with's peers, And harmelesly passeth his time, If he meet with a crosse, A full bowle he doth toss, Nor his wealth, nor his wit are his crime. Here, Brome has naturalized the classical Happy Man, converting him into a Cavalier gentleman who has sought reftige on his country estate and quietly enjoys the serenity he finds there. Brome regularly advises retreat from a hostile, unstable, and chaotic political environment to the delights of a contented life in the country. Inner serenity, the companionship of friends, conviviality — these are constant motifs in Brome's retirement poems — as they are constants in the Cavalier vision of the happy life. In conclusion, the last part of Brome's epistle to his friend I.E. (4.XXV) seems to sum up quite well the values animating the Cavalier happy life: I can sit in my study soon, or late, And have no Troopers quarrel with my gate; Nor break the peace with it; whose innocence Stands only guarded in its own defence. No debts to sue for, and no coyn to lend, No cause to fear my foe, nor slight my friend. Yet there is one thing which me thinks I han't, And I have studyed to supply that want, Tis the Synopsis of all misery; 'Tis the tenth want (Dear Friend) the want of Thee. How great a joy 'twould be, how great a bliss, If we could have a Metampsycosis! May we once more enjoy ourselves, for neither Is truly blest, till we are blest together. Political Satire In the sense that they embody deeply-held Cavalier aesthetic, social, ethical, and cultural values, Brome's love poems and his poems celebrating the pleasures of

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wine and retirement may be considered political poems, especially in the context of the Interregnum. He also wrote a substantial number of poems during these years that are more overtly political and partisan - his political satires, where he (along with many of his fellow Cavaliers) exploited the multiple resources of satire to deride, scorn, and ridicule individuals and groups whose attitudes and actions were considered irrational, uncivilized, and destructive of the order of a good society. The subject of Cavalier political satire deserves more extended study then can be provided here, though we may venture a few generalizations as a context for Brome's satires. There is a high degree of uniformity in the perspective from which the Cavalier satirists attack their enemies. As we have noted, Cavaliers had a strong sense of class consciousness and the values that were identified with an orderly and civilized society. Because they wrote from a clear idea of what they considered the proper norms for society, any deviation from this norm became an easy target for satiric treatment. Ruth Nevo points out that Cavalier satirists were motivated not by righteous zeal for reform, but by the self-confident mockery of a conservative class consciousness. For instance, Cleveland, she argues, attacked Puritans from the standpoint of social and intellectual superiority.85 D.K. Cornelius concludes that political satirists of the Interregnum assumed that their victims had violated an order of rationality and had committed actions repugnant to the good sense of society.86 In a similar vein, P.W. Thomas explains that the political satire of John Berkenhead assumed in the reader a clear sense of what was proper conduct.87 Finally, in analysing the frequent use of scatology by Royalist poets, Joseph Frank suggests that the majority of the poets felt - or pretended to feel - that their opponents were beneath them, and in a position to be literally defecated upon.88 There is general agreement, then, that virtually all Cavalier satirists were conservatives with a strong attachment to the old and established hierarchical order of society. They looked with contempt and alarm on any manifestation of radicalism and fanaticism and had particular animosity towards the zealous Puritan inflamed with his private and eccentric visions. Nothing received so much abuse from the well-educated and socially conservative Cavalier as the pretensions of the ill-educated lower orders to equality with their betters. Cavaliers were extremely rankled by men of humble social background and little education who achieved prominent positions in the army, in the church, and in local government and who were in a position to dictate to their betters. This uniformity of perspective, a stance of social and intellectual superiority, helps to explain the satiric strategy of Cavalier political satires. Though the angry denunciation and bitter invective of earlier formal verse satire continued to be exploited, more frequently the satirists decided that exposing illiterate and vulgar fools to laughter and ridicule was a more suitable and more effective satiric strategy. Consequently, Cavalier political satirists used and developed the devices of comic deflation - low burlesque, caricature, parody, and irony - and extended the tone and forms of satire far beyond that of the formal verse satire and the epigram. As several critics have noted, the distinction between the sophisticated poets and popular bal-

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ladeers and hacks was blurred; in fact, many sophisticated Cavalier poets (including Denham, Berkenhead, and Brome) turned to popular forms such as the ballad and the song as a means of reaching a wider audience for their attacks.89 The most convenient source for a study of the range and dimensions of Cavalier political satire during the period 1640-60 remains the Rump collection, published in its final form in 1662.90 The single poet most represented in this anthology is Alexander Brome, with nineteen poems, fifteen of which are political satires. Brome's satires have not received as much critical attention as those of his contemporaries, especially Cleveland, but, as C.V. Wedgwood notes, his songs reflected most clearly from 1640 until after the Restoration the changing moods of the typical Cavalier.91 All through the civil war and Interregnum Brome was writing political satires, the earliest dated 1643 and the latest 1661. A few appeared in print anonymously in the 1640s, but the majority circulated in manuscript, some surviving in several versions. In his prefatory poem (P.VIII), Robert Napeir credits Brome's political poems with curing the Kingdom's wrong by hatching 'new loyalty with a song.' Valentine Oldis (P.XII) praises Brome's poems for reanimating the spirits of despairing Cavaliers in their darkest days. And Charles Steynings (P.XI) comments on Brome's discretion and prudence in evading detection while writing poems that were 'Libellish . . . Against the changing Powers.' These few remarks attest to the impact of Brome's political poems on his contemporaries, but Brome himself in his prefatory letter 'To the Reader' (P.II) and in the epigraph on the title page provides a suggestive critical perspective on his practice in satire. In the letter, he explains: But as to the men of a severer brow, who may be scandaliz'd at this free way of writing, I desire them to conceive those Odes which may seem wild and extravagant, not to be Ideas of my own mind, but characters of divers humours set out in their own persons. And what reflected on the Times, to be but expressions of what was thought and designed by the persons represented; there being no safe way to reprove vices then raging among us, but to lash them smilingly.

Several items are worth noting here. First, Brome points out that a prominent method of his satires involves exposure of what he calls 'characters of divers humours' by letting them speak for themselves. This is especially true of his mock monologues, where various speakers such as the Independent, the Leveller, and the Scot are allowed to condemn themselves in their own words. Second, by calling his poems 'Odes' Brome reveals that his favourite medium is the song satire, where he often uses intentional doggerel rhythms as a further dimension of satire. Last, the overriding tone of many of the satires, though not all, is revealed in his statement that he chose to reprove the vices then raging by lashing them smilingly. Brome frequently prefers the light touch, depending on humour, irony, and parody as instruments of satire. The epigraph from Horace, Satires I, 4 ('If in my words I am too free, perchance too light, this bit of liberty you will indulgently grant me') suggests that the spirit of Horace, the urbane, ironic mocker, informs the satires more than

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that of the hard railing of a Juvenal; though in satires written during the 1650s, Brome turns more and more to invective and indignation where the lash is applied without the smile. The style of the satires shows some of the same qualities noted above in the love poems — that is, Brome writes in a plain, familiar, and colloquial style. He avoids the crabbed and heavily conceited and allusive style used by Cleveland and his imitators as a vehicle of satire. Even in his formal verse satires, Brome avoids harshness of rhythm and obscurity of sense, and in this has modified the conventional traits of the earlier satirists. Instead, his couplets show the polish and clarity that we expect and identify with the neoclassical style. These general remarks can be substantiated by briefly considering the range and characteristics of Brome's political satires. A cursory examination reveals that over half are in the lyric form, using either popular song or ballad measures. Many of these are mock monologues where the satiric victim is allowed to expose himself and his views in his own words. Brome's colloquial style, with its comic rhymes and jaunty rhythms, seems a deliberate exploitation of doggerel for satiric purposes. The doggerel medium seems decorous for the victim and contributes to his ridicule. The satiric victims are various - the Scot, the Independent, the Leveller, the fanatic, the politique — but one of the most effective and most popular, 3.IX 'The Saints Encouragement,' will illustrate Brome's practice of the mock monologue. The speaker here is a Parliamentary colonel (identified as Colonel Venn in some versions) who ironically and unwittingly exposes the hypocrisy and sophistry of Parliamentary slogans and polemics as he tries to exhort his troops to go to battle against King and Cavaliers. Fight on brave Souldiers for the cause, Fear not the Caveleers; Their threatnings are as senselesse, as Our Jealousies and fears. 'Tis you must perfect this great work, And all Malignants slay, You must bring back the King again The clean contrary way. 'Tis for Religion that you fight, And for the Kingdomes good, By robbing Churches, plundring men, And shedding guiltlesse blood. Down with the Orthodoxal train, All Loyal Subjects slay; When these are gone we shall be blest The clean contrary way. Not only does Brome expose the hypocrisy of the speaker's slogans, but he does so

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in a tone of understated ironic deflation that makes the attack more effective than would more heavy-handed denunciation and invective. The same is true of 3.XI 4 The Scots Curanto,' where the jaunty doggerel rhythm seems just right as a medium to ridicule the hypocrisy and greed of the invading Scots: Long have we longed for the English Land, But we're hindred still by disasters; But now is their time, when they can't withstand, But are their own Countreys wasters. If we venter, We may enter By command, And at last we shall grow to be Masters. The spirit of ironic mockery, parody, and burlesque deflation runs high in Brome's mock monologues. This same spirit is found as well in other satires where the satirist speaks in his own voice. In one of these, 3.VIII 'The New Mountebanck,' written in Hudibrastics, the satirist ironically exposes the sophistries of Parliamentary polemics by setting profession against reality and implying that Parliament is in fact nothing but a fraudulent mountebank: Is any by religion bound, Or Law, and would be looser found? Here's a Glister which we call His priviledge o're-topping all. Is any money left, or plate, Or goods? bring't in at any rate: He'l melt three shillings into one, And in a minute leave you none. The burlesque spirit is even more prominent in Brome's parody of the weekly diurnals (3.Ill 'A new Diurnal') in which he not only mocks Parliamentary newsbooks, but converts Parliament into a house of fools and buffoons. The doggerel rhythm and the lampooning once again seem a perfectly suitable medium of ridicule. A few passages will demonstrate the burlesque tone: Two Members this day at a Conference sate, And one gives the other a knock on the pate. This set them a voting, and the upper house swore, 'Twas a breach of priviledge he gave him no more. The lower the breaking their Members head voted A breach of their priviledge; for it is to be noted, That Treason and Priviledge in it did grow, 'Twas a breach of his Crown and dignity too.

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This Day a great fart in the house they did hear, Which made all the members make buttons for fear; And one makes nine speeches while the business was hot, And spake through the nose that he smelt out the plot. He takes it to task, and the Articles draws, As a breach of their own Fundamental-lawes. Not all Brome's satires are in the mode of low burlesque, for in many, especially those written after the defeat of the King, the tone becomes more bitter and the spirit of urbane mockery gives way to invective and direct denunciation. On one or two occasions, as in 4.XLI 'A Satyre on the Rebellion,' Brome turns to the older formal verse satire to lament the chaos resulting from the civil war and to berate those responsible: Behold a self against it self doth fight, And the left hand prevails above the right. The grumbling guts, i'th' belly of the State, Unthankfull for the wholsom food they ate, Belch at their head, and do begin to slight The Cates, to which they had an appetite. Behold a lawfull Soveraign to whose mind Dishonesty's a stranger, now confind To the Anarchick pow'r of those whose reason Is flat rebellion, and their truth is Treason. Behold the loyal Subjects pill'd and poll'd, And from Algere to Tunis bought and sold. Their Goods sequestred by a legal stealth, The private robb'd t'uphold the Common-wealth, And those the only plunderers are grown Of others States, that had none of their own. The bitterness of tone becomes even more noticeable in the several satires Brome wrote during the Commonwealth period. Those who arouse Brome's ire the most are the political opportunists, the hypocritical and greedy careerists who used religious professions and idealism as a cover for their greed and ambition. He is particularly incensed by those he calls 'the new gentry,' men of humble origins and low education who have infiltrated the church, the law courts, the army and government, both at the national and local levels. In 3.1 'The Satyr of Money,' Brome paints an ugly picture of how 'th'irresistible power of Gold' proves the prime mover of the world. There is no place for principle and ideals in a world governed by the power of money:

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This purchaseth Kingdoms, Kings, Scepters, and Crowns, Wins Battles, and conquers the Conquerours bold; Takes Bulwarks, and Castles, and Armies, and Towns, Our prime Lawes are written in letters of Gold. 'Tis this that our Parliaments calls, and creates, Turns Kings into Keepers, and Kingdoms to States, And Peopledoms this into High-doms translates. Brome's contempt for the low-born who have enriched themselves is without restraint: This spawn'd the dunghil crew of Committes and 'Strators, Who lived by picking their Parliaments Gums, This made and then prospered Rebels and Traytors, And made Gentry of those that were the Nation's scums. 'Tis this that makes Earls, Lords, Knights, and Esquires, Without breeding, discent, wit, learning or merit; Makes Ropers and Ale-drapers Sheriffs of Shires, Whose trade's not so low nor so base as their spirit: This Justices makes, and wise ones we know, Furr'd Aldermen likewise, and Mayors also, Makes the old wife to trot, and makes the Mare go. And to show how deep the animus of dyed-in-the-wool Cavaliers was towards 'the new men,' an animus finding a focus in the small clique of Rumpers who tried to hang on to power no matter what, we may briefly cite Brome's poem written in celebration of the King's restoration (5.LX 'To the Kings most Sacred Majesty'). What is remarkable about this poem is its notable lack of the spirit of conciliation found in so many of the Restoration panegyrics. Brome unleashes a lengthy tirade against the new men in general and the Rumpers in particular which expresses forcefully the pent-up frustrations of so many of the hard-pressed Cavaliers. A few passages will show something of the virulence of Brome's attack: These first contriv'd, and then promoted all Those troubles, which upon your Realm did fall; Inflam'd three populous Nations, that they might Get better opportunity and light To steal and plunder, and our goods might have, By robbing those, whom they pretend to save. . . Crimes that are scandalous, and yield no gain, Revenge or pleasure, they perhaps refrain; But where a crime was gainful to commit,

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Or pleas'd their lust or malice, how they bit! These did invade the Pulpit, and the Throne, And first made them, then all that's ours, their own. Depos'd the Ministers and Magistrates, And in a godly way, seiz'd their estates. . . What Nobility Sprung in an instant, from all trades had we! Such t'other things, crept into t'other House, Whose Sires heel'd stockings, and whose Dams sold sowse. These were Protectors, but of such a crew, As people Newgate, not good men, and true: These were Lord Keepers, but of Cowes and Swine, Lord Coblers, and Lord Drawers, not of Wine. Fine Cockney-pageant Lords, and Lords Gee-hoo, Lords Butchers, and Lords Butlers, Dray-Lords too. And so Brome goes on, combining virulence and burlesque debasement and revealing an unforgiving and unconciliatory attitude towards those who had awakened deep and abiding resentment in the Cavaliers, a resentment that was to be further aggravated when many felt cheated by the Act of Pardon and Oblivion (29 August 1660). In l.XLII 'The Cavalier,' Brome versified the disappointment of the longsuffering Cavaliers, who expected greater restitution: We have fought, we have paid, We've been sold and betray'd, And tumbled from nation to nation, But now those are thrown down That usurped the Crown, Our hopes were that we All rewarded should be, But we're paid with a Proclamation. This brief review only touches on some important aspects of Brome's political satires. Though Cleveland has been more frequently dubbed the Cavalier satirist par excellence, one can argue that Brome's satires, in range, style, and objects of attack are more representative of Cavalier satire during the Interregnum and for this deserve to be studied more extensively. One has to agree with Wedgwood's comment cited above that Brome's poems better than anyone else's reflected the changing moods of the typical Cavalier from 1640 until after the Restoration. CONCLUSION If there is a note of apologia in this introduction to Brome's poetry, it is deliberate, for though I think we should avoid overestimating the significance of his work, I

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believe it is both interesting and attractive and deserves to be better known. In many ways, Brome seems to be a quintessential Cavalier, though it is noteworthy that he was not close to the court and did not take an active part in the fighting. But his poetry in its variety touches on much that is central to the Cavaliers. As a love poet, Brome writes sophisticated and lively lyrics that stand up well to comparison with the love poems of his better-known contemporaries. His poems celebrating wine and retirement reveal much that is attractive and constant in the Cavalier ethos, and at the same time show those values sustaining Cavaliers during their winter of discontent. And as political satirist, Brome not only exploits a wide range of satiric techniques, but his satires focus sharply on those forces and individuals that threatened and nearly did destroy a way of life and a traditional order deeply cherished by Cavaliers. Finally, in style Brome's poetry shows quite clearly the transition taking place from the metaphysical style of the earlier part of the century to the neoclassical style that was to displace it in the second half. In this respect, and for those mentioned above, Brome's poetry certainly deserves to be studied for the light it throws on those interesting middle decades of the seventeenth century. TEXTUAL INTRODUCTION Bibliographical Description of the Editions 1661

SONGS / AND OTHER / POEMS. / [rule] / BY / ALEX. BROME, I GENT./ [rule] I Dixero siquidjocosius, hoc mihi juris / Cum Venia dabis —Hor. I. Sat. 4. / [rule] / [orn. crown] / [rule] /LONDON, / Printed for Henry Brome, at the Gun / in Ivy-Lane. / 1661. HT] Sig. B [none: ornament] HT] Sig. D7 [none: ornament] HT] Sig. 15 [ornament] BALLADS, [rule] HT] Sig. L8 [ornament] EPISTLES, [rule] HT] Sig. S4 [ornament] EPIGRAMS. / Translated. RT] POEMS. 8°: 7T2, A-C8, d4, D-I8, K8, 2K8, L-U8 [Note: 7T2 consists of two unsigned leaves; the first has an engraved portrait of Brome by A. Hertock, the second is the title-page (blank verso).]

1664

SONGS / And other / POEMS / [rule] / By ALEX. BROME Gent. / [rule] / Dixero quid si forte jocosius, hoc mihi juris / Cum Venia dabis— Hor. I. Sat. 4. / [rule] / The second Edition Corrected and enlarged. / [rule] / [ornament] /LONDON, / Printed for Henry Brome, at the Gun in /Ivy Lane 1664. HT] B7 [ornament] POEMS, [rule] HT] F2 [ornament] PART. II. [rule] HT] K7 [ornament] BALLADS, [rule] HT] 02v [ornament] EPISTLES, [rule]

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HT] U4 [ornament] EPIGRAMS / Translated. / [rule] RT] POEMS. 8°: A-Z8, Aa8 1668

SONGS / And other / POEMS / [rule] / By ALEX. BROME Gent. / [rule] / Dixero quid si forte jocosius, hoc mihi juris I Cum Venia dabis —Hor. I. Sat. 4 / [rule] / The Third Edition enlarged. / [rule] / [ornament] / [rule] / LONDON, I Printed for Henry Brome, at the Star / in Little Brittain, 1668. HT] B6 POEMS, [rule] HT] E6v PART. II. [rule] HT] 18 BALLADS, [rule] HT] N2 [ornament] EPISTLES, [rule] HT] S8 [ornament] EPIGRAMS / Translated. / {rule] RT] POEMS. 8°: 7T4, a8, B-Y8, Z4 (Note; 7T4 consists of four unsigned leaves: (1) TT blank, TTV Portrait by Loggan, (2) 7r2 Title-page, ?r2v Imprimatur, (3) 7r3-7r4v The Epistle Dedicatory.) The Editions

1661 The 1661 edition of Songs And Other Poems, containing most of the poems Brome had written during the previous twenty years, represents a fitting climax to his poetic career. From comments in his prefatory letter 'To the Reader' (P.II), in Walton's prefatory poem (P.IX), in R.B.'s prefatory letter (P.Ill), and in verse epistles written in late 1659 and early 1660, it seems that Brome, a year or so before publication, was circulating one or more manuscript collections of his poems among his friends soliciting their comments. In the letter 'To the Reader,' Brome declares that he acquainted only a few of his friends with his intention of publishing his poems, and those few warned him about the embarrassment of exposing his work 'to the censure of the new Generation of JUDGE-WITS.' Later in his letter, however, he assures his readers that he has been told to his face that his poems were good, a remark strongly suggesting receipt of approving comments from his friends. Walton's prefatory poem refers to the existence of a 'Collection in this book,' probably indicating a manuscript collection rather than a printed one, for the date of Walton's poem is 29 May 1660. R.B., in his letter, apologizes for not returning Brome's manuscript sooner. The letter makes it clear that Brome had sent R.B. a manuscript copy of the poems, inviting comment and criticism. R.B. now encloses some comments with his letter and seems confident that Brome will seek out opinions from 'friends of more refined judgement.' He concludes his letter by urging Brome to publish his poems. In 4.XIX 'To his Friend T.S.,' written in the late fall of 1659, Brome asks for the return of the book he sent to his friend Tom. This probably refers to a manuscript of poems sent to T.S. for his opinion. Sometime in 1660, Brome

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wrote to Charles Cotton at his home at Beresford Hall (4.1 'To C.C. Esquire'), complimenting his friend for being both his patron and his muse. Later in the epistle, Brome asks Cotton to send him a copy of his poems, and in return Brome offers to send Cotton a copy of his own. He also invites Cotton to write 'one propitious line, / To dignifie these worthlesse toyes of mine' (11 55-6), which sounds very much like a request for a dedicatory poem. In his 'Answer' (4.II), Cotton acknowledges receipt of Brome's poems, though at first he did not recognize whose they were, offers some laudatory comments on his style, and claims that his friend's poems have inspired him to write. Though Cotton did not write a dedicatory poem for the 1661 edition, he did contribute an elegy for the posthumous 1668 edition. The evidence seems sufficient to warrant the conclusion that in the year or so before publication Brome was circulating one or more manuscript copies of his poems among his friends soliciting either their opinion or their favour. One of these manuscripts may be F27, which will be discussed in some detail below. Brome obviously was proud of his poems and derived pleasure in their writing, as he declared in his letter 'To the Reader,' and now he wanted to share them with readers at large and to insure immortality for his 'brat,' as he humorously called his poems. Henry, Alexander's brother, who had set up as a bookseller in 1657,92 had earlier published Alexander's edition of Five new Play es by Richard Brome in 1659 and his congratulatory poem on Charles IF s restoration in June 1660 (5.LX). It was natural, then, that he should undertake the publication of the collected edition of his brother's poems. No entry for this edition appears in the Stationers' Register, and apparently it was published without licence from John Berkenhead, the licencer appointed in October 1660. Though a cursory reader of Brome's poems, especially the political ones, would conclude that Brome was reflecting in his writing on men's conduct during the past twenty years, and thus was violating a clause in the 'Act of free and general pardon indemnity and oblivion,'93 apparently neither he nor his brother incurred any difficulties over the publication. 61 was prefaced by an engraved portrait of Alexander by A. Hertock. The titlepage contained an epigraph from Horace's Satires I, 4. The prefatory material included, in addition to Brome's letter 'To the Reader,' a dedicatory epistle to Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower of London, to whom Brome acknowledged certain obligations, and commendatory poems by W. Paulet and Robert Napeir of the Middle Temple, by Izaak Walton and C.W. (unidentified). That Brome compiled and carefully prepared an authorized manuscript for publication seems certain, but whether he had a direct hand in seeing the poems through the press cannot be finally determined. The existence in the edition of two inserts (d4 and K8) indicates that Brome brought new material to the printer well after the beginning of the printing.94 Collation of nine copies reveals at least fifty press corrections, sixteen of which were substantive.95 These corrections and the existence of an errata list pasted on the last leaf of some copies (after binding) seem to indicate that proofs were corrected against copy, but the retention of many typographical errors and the omission of lines from a few poems suggest that the proofing was not

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overly careful. 61 consists of two hundred and ten poems, grouped into five sections with serial numbering in each (but with some errors in the numbering). The first two sections are marked by similar ornamental headpieces but no head-titles, while the last three have both ornaments and head-titles. The first section, Sig. B-D7, (which includes the six poems in the d insert), comprises thirty-nine poems, mostly on the theme of love, but with a few political poems included in the d insert. Section 2 (Sig. D7-I4) consists of forty-two poems, many of them dated and nearly all on political themes. The third section (Sig. I5-L7v), entitled 'Ballads,' contains seventeen poems (including the three in the K insert), all on political themes and most in ballad form. Section 4 (Sig. L8-S3v), entitled 'Epistles,' is made up of a miscellaneous collection of sixty poems and includes familiar verse epistles, elegies, dedicatory poems, and occasional pieces. The last section (Sig. S4-U8v), entitled 'Epigrams. Translated,' consists of fifty-two poems: translations of forty-eight epigrams, one epigram in Latin, a translation of the Cynic dialogue of Lucian, a paraphrase of the first chapter of Ecclesiastes, and a speech in verse made to General Monck. The orderly arrangement of 61 most likely represents Brome's intentions, and though one could do some rearranging, the edition as it now stands has a fairly careful and rational organization. Of the two hundred and ten poems in 61, five had appeared earlier as anonymous broadsides, two were printed as dedicatory poems in other books, and twenty-five had appeared in a variety of miscellanies and song books up to and including 1661. Though the printing was somewhat careless, the text appears to have been set up from a copy carefully prepared by the author, thus providing a reliable and authoritative text for the poems contained in it. The 61 text will therefore be used as a copy-text for all the poems in it.96

1664 The 1664 edition of Songs And other Poems, also published by Henry Brome, was licensed for publication by John Berkenhead on 28 April 1663 (see Sig. A2v), but apparently did not appear until the following year. The title-page reads: 'The second Edition Corrected and enlarged.' Bibliographical evidence shows that the copy-text for 64, in keeping with seventeenth-century practice, was a revised and corrected copy of 67. The compositor of 64 modernized spelling and altered some punctuation, but he carelessly followed errors in 61 such as misnumbering of poems, wrong spacing, and some obviously inaccurate punctuation. A comparison of 64 with 61 establishes clearly that Brome corrected errors and made some revisions to 61. However, new errors were introduced into 64 by the compositor. The editorial problem, then, will be to determine whether instances where 64 varies from 61 result from corrections of errors in 61, authorial revisions of 61, or new compositorial errors in 64. Study of the two manuscripts to be considered below will, at times, aid editorial decisions.

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Collation of seven copies of 64 reveals that there were at least six press corrections, none of them substantive.97 Retention of typographical errors in 64 and the omission of lines from several poems indicate that the press corrections were likely done without consulting the printer's copy. To the prefatory material of 61 were added four poems: by R.B. (unidentified), Charles Steynings, Valentine Oldis, and H.T. (Ralph Bathurst). To the two hundred and ten poems of 61 were added thirteen new poems, plus one stanza by M.C. (unidentified) at the end of 2.VI 'The Good-fellow.' There was some rearrangement of poems in 64. 'A Dialogue translated' was moved from 4.XXIX in 61 to 1. XXVIII in 64, while 'LEGES CONVIVALES' and 'BEN. JOHNSONS sociable rules for the Apollo' were transferred from 1. XXVIII and 1. XXIX in 61 to 5.LIII and 5.LIV in64. The head-titles and number of poems in each section of 64 are as follows: Section 1 2 3 4 5

(Sig. B7-Fv) (Sig. F2-K6) (Sig. K7-02) (02v-U3v) (U4-Aa5v)

Head-title Poems Part II Ballads Epistles Epigrams Translated

No. of poems 45 43 18 60 57 223

Of the thirteen poems added to those in 61, four had appeared in print earlier: one was a dedicatory poem, one appeared with Brome's name in 1660, and two were printed anonymously, one in 1647 and the other in 1660. The remaining nine poems were printed for the first time in 64. The copy-text for these thirteen poems will be 64, and their position in the text will follow the revised 64 order.

1668 The 1668 edition of Songs And other Poems, once again published by Henry Brome, was licensed for publication by John Berkenhead on 28 April 1665 (see Sig.7r2v). Though Brome was probably involved in the plans to issue this 'Third Edition enlarged' of his poems, he never lived to see it through the press, for he died on 30 June 1666. Bibliographical evidence indicates that 68 was a new edition with 64 used as printer's copy. The compositor modernized the spelling and modified other accidentals, though he followed 64 in some of its errors. Brome may have made changes in 64, though analysis of variants between 68 and 64 provides little evidence of authorial revision in 68. The variants are either corrections of errors in 64 or inadvertent errors introduced by the compositor of 68. Collation of four copies of 68 reveals seventeen press corrections, only one of which is substantive.98 That this substantive reading occurs in one of the poems added in 68 shows in this case that the correction was made against copy, but not

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enough evidence exists to state that the full text of all poems was compared with printer's copy. Three poems were added to the prefatory material: elegies by Charles Cotton and Richard Newcourt, and a dedicatory poem by R.Th.Jun. Four new poems were added to the text at the end of Section 5 (nos LV, LVI, LIX, LXI). The head-titles of the five sections remained verbally the same as 64. The copy-text for these four poems will be 68, and their position in the present text will follow 68. The Manuscripts Folger Shakespeare Library, MS V.a.274 (F27) This manuscript, identified only as a 'Collection of poems and songs' in the Folger catalogue, consists of one hundred and sixty-five folio leaves containing seventyseven poems, the first seventy (ff. 1-154) in one hand, the last seven in various hands. The first leaf contains a table of contents for the first seventy poems in a hand different from the others in the manuscript. The first seventy poems are neatly transcribed on pages with ruled borders; each poem is headed by 'Song' and the number, followed by the title. A rule separates each poem from the following poem, and some catchwords are present. The last seven, added later, follow a similar format, but are not so neatly transcribed. The first seventy are clearly and legibly written and suggest a careful and scrupulous copyist. Of the first seventy poems, sixty-seven are certainly by Brome. One other, 'Song 31. The Advice,' has a close resemblance to 1. XXXVIII 'Advice to Cae lia' in 61 and may be an earlier version of it. 'Song 64. A Curse Against Ale made by I know not whome' was written by Thomas Bonham." 'Song 65' is Brome's answer to this poem. 'Song 35. The hue and Cry' does not appear in any of Brome's printed editions. In the notes toF27 at the Folger, Claude Simpson identifies the last seven poems and ascribes them all to the early eighteenth century. Excluding the added group of seven, F27 seems to be a carefully transcribed collection of Brome's poems, apparently copied over a short period of time and from a good copy. On the inside front cover is the name 'Will: Acton' in a hand similar to that of the table of contents. We can infer, then, that Will Acton was the owner of the manuscript and that he prepared the table of contents. Only one William Acton can be tenuously associated with Brome. This was the son and heir apparent of James Acton of the City of London. He matriculated at Christ Church College, Oxford, in November 1635 at the age of sixteen and was later called to the bar at Lincoln's Inn in July 1644.10° In January 1659, Brome himself was admitted to Lincoln's Inn. Brome had been practising law in London from early in the 1640s, having been admitted to Gray's Inn in November 1648. Since they belonged to the same profession, it is possible that Brome was acquainted with this William Acton and had presented him with a collection of his poems copied by a professional scribe or else Acton had acquired them from some other source.

35

Though this connection between Brome and William Acton must remain circumstantial, one thing is clear. The manuscript derives from a source different from that of the printed editions. A collation of F27 with 61 shows significant variants which would preclude it from being a copy of 61. For instance, 'Song 52. The Satisfaction' inF27 includes several stanzas not found in 61, six poems in the manuscript have other titles than those given to them in 61, and Stanza 4 of 'Song 2. The Commoners' is printed as a separate poem, 2.IV 'A Mock-song,' in 61. There are other significant variants in about twenty of the poems, but the similar physical arrangement of the poems on the page and the collation suggest that F27 and 61 derive from sources that are closely related. An analysis of the order of the poems in F27 and 61 also supports a close relationship. Of the sixty-seven poems inF27 definitely by Brome, twenty-nine appear in the first section of 67, thirty-five in the second, and three in the third. The poems from the three sections of 61 are mixed in F27, but if we separate the poems into these sections and examine the resulting sequences, we find that the poems inF27 follow the order of 67 very closely. Section 1, 67 I-XXIII / d insert / XXIV-XXIX F27 3-4 / 5 / 6 / 7, 1 / 2, 8-11 / 12-17 / 18 / 19-20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24-5 / 26 / 27 / 28-9 Section 2, 67 I-XXXIII, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XLII F27 1, 2(4), 3, 5 / 6-10 / 37 / 38 / 11 / 12 / 13-14 /15-18 / 19-23 / 24-5/ 26-7 / 28 / 29 / 3 0 / 4 2 / 3 1 / 32 / 33 Section 3, 67 I-II / K insert / III F27 1 / 2 / 3

With the exception of one and two in F27, the order of the first twenty-nine poems of Section 1 of 67 (excluding the d insert) andF27 are identical. F27 contains thirtyfive poems from Section 2 of 67, three of them (XXXVII, XXXVIII, XLII) interpolated at various places, but the other thirty-two follow the order of 67 almost exactly. The only exception is that 2.IV of 67 ('The Mock-song') is included as Stanza 4 of 'The Commoners' (number 2) inF27. The order of the three poems from Section 3 (excluding the K insert) is the same inF27 and 67. The inference I draw from this comparison of the order of poems inF27 and 67 is that the copyist forF27 either worked from another manuscript or more likely from single sheets or groups of sheets which mixed political and love poems. If this latter inference is accepted, then it would appear that when the manuscript copy for 67 was prepared, it generally preserved an order similar to F27, but the love poems were separated from the political poems, and each group was printed with added poems in separate sections. This evidence suggests that F27 was copied from a source closely related to the copy for 67, but preceding it in date. The date of the manuscript cannot be positively determined, but there is some evidence pointing to the late 1650s. The twenty-nine love poems cannot be dated definitely, though internal allusions suggest

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they were probably composed in the early 1640s. Many of the thirty-five political poems were dated by Brome in 67. The dates range from 1644 to 1649. From internal evidence the latest date for a poem in this group is 1653. The poem 'The Prisoners. Written when O. C. attempted to be King' (2.XXV inol) refers to the expulsion of the Rump in 1653. The three poems of the third section can be dated in the mid-1650s. In the second section of 61, six additional political poems were added to those appearing inF27, all dealing with events in late 1659 or early 1660, just before the Restoration. Their absence fromF27 would seem to suggest thatF27 was in existence before these poems were composed. All evidence points to a close relation between F27 and the copy for 61. The variants that exist in 61 post-date the text of F27 and probably represent Brome's final revisions before printing. But, F27 is important because it can serve as an independent check on 61 and likely provides accurate readings wherever 61 exhibits compositorial errors. Bodleian Library, Ashmole MS 47 (Ash) According to the catalogue at the Bodleian, this manuscript of one hundred and sixty-seven leaves is a miscellany by various authors of the seventeenth century. As far as f. 130, the manuscript is written in a coarse hand. The rest is in the hand of Elias Ashmole. The poems in the manuscript are numbered and on pages following f. 130 appear forty-two poems definitely by Brome: 195(f.l31v), 200-26(ff.l34-51v), 228-3l(ff.!52v-55), 233-42(ff.l56-62v). 'A Mock Song' appears twice (nos 223 and 240) with only slight variations. Stanza 4 of 'The Commoners' (201) is printed separately in 61 as 2.IV 'The Mock-song.' 'The Advice' (227) is similar to 1.XXXVIII 'Advice to Caelia1 and may represent an earlier version. 'The Huy & Cry' (232) does not appear in any of Brome's printed editions. A collation of Ash with 61 indicates that the manuscript was not copied from the edition, but is nevertheless closely related to it. It is even more closely related to F27. An analysis of the variants between the two manuscripts and between the manuscripts and 61 reveals that in the great majority of Greg's Type-2 variants101 (103 out of 107) the two manuscripts agree against 61. Further evidence that Ash andF27 descend from a common ancestor is the presence in both of 'The Advice' and 'The hue & Cry. ' They also both include 'The Mock-song' as Stanza 4 of 'The Commoners.' Only one poem in Ash varies significantly fromF27: 'The good Fellow' (195) is separated from the other Brome poems in Ash by four other poems, suggesting a different source. Additional evidence for the close relationship between Ash andF27 comes from an analysis of the order of the poems common to both manuscripts. Both manuscripts mix poems of the first two sections of 61. If the two sections are separated, the resulting sequence in the manuscripts is as follows: Section 1,67 I-XXI F27 3-4 / 5 / 6 / 7, 1 / 2, 8-11 / 12-17 / The Advice / 18 / The hue & Cry /

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19-20 / 21 Ash 3-4 / 5, 9 / 6 / 1 / 2, 8 / 10-11 / 7, 12, 17, 14-16 / The Advice / 18 / The Huy &Cry / 13, 19, 2 0 / 2 1 , 17 Section 2, 67 I-XX, XXXVII, XXXVIII F27 1, 2(4), 3, 5 / 6-10 / 37 / 38 / 11 / 12 / 13-14 / 15-18 / 19-20 Ash 6 / I , 2(4), 5 / 9, 7, 8 / 37 / 38 / 1 1 / 3 / 1 2 / 13, 18, 14 /15-17i / 20, 19 This comparison shows that the order of the poems in the two manuscripts is fairly close, but that when the different sections are separated, F27 follows the order of 61 more closely than Ash. The presence of blank half pages at the end of some poems in Ash suggests that at least this manuscript was copied from single sheets or groups of sheets. Brian Morris has suggested 1640-50 as the date when Ash was compiled.102 Examination of the Brome poems in As h seems to support this date. Brome's love poems, as noted above, were probably composed in the 1640s, and many of the political poems in the manuscript were dated by Brome in 61. The dates range from 1644 to 1649, and none of the undated poems seems to contradict these dates. Therefore it appears that Ash predates F27, which was probably copied in the late 1650s. The variants between F27 ana Ash suggest thatF27 was not a copy of Ash, but that both manuscripts represent independent descents from a source which is closely related to the copy for 61. We can conclude, then, that Ash andF27 are independent collateral witnesses and can serve as a check on 61, but that neither supersedes 61 in authority. Miscellaneous Printed and Manuscript Versions Versions of Brome's poems exist in at least fourteen miscellanies and song books (up to 1670) and in at least twenty-five manuscripts, excluding Ash andF27 considered above (see Sigla). None of these has any claim to authority. Some are reprints of one of the editions, while analysis of variants demonstrates that most of the others descend from sources different from the copy for the editions. Since Brome's poems had been composed over a twenty-year period before they were collected, the texts preserved in the miscellanies and manuscripts are either earlier or corrupt versions of the poems found in the editions. The nineteen Brome poems in the Rump collection deserve some comment. This important collection of political poems of the previous twenty years reached its final form of two hundred and eight poems in 1662. It was published by Henry Brome and H. Marsh.103 Catalogue entries (eg, in the Wing catalogue) have listed Alexander Brome as the editor of this collection. Though Brome is the single most often represented poet in the collection, it is unlikely that he was the editor. Since the first edition of Songs And Other Poems had been published by Henry Brome in the previous year, one would expect the version of Brome's poems in Rump to be reprints of 67, if Brome were the editor. But of the nineteen poems by Brome, only fourteen are reprints of 67. Of the remaining five poems, three are reprints of Brome poems

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found in Merry Drollery, 1661, one ('Cromwells Panegyrick') follows closely the 1647 version of this poem, which was revised and published by Brome in 64, and one poem ('Collonel Vennes Encouragement') descends from a source different from that of 61. That seems incompatible with the assumption that Brome was the editor of Rump, unless he is to be considered an extremely careless editor.104 Musical settings for at least sixteen poems by Brome are extant, almost all of which date from the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries.105 The witness of these settings, plus the versions extant in manuscripts and miscellanies, provides some indication of Brome's contemporary popularity. At least three of the dedicatory epistles [by Paulet (P. VII), Walton (P.IX), and Oldis (P.XII)] refer to the way Brome's songs had promoted loyalty to the King's cause and had sustained the spirit of the Cavaliers. Some evidence for these claims is present in the extant miscellanies and manuscripts of the period. Poems not Published in the Editions At least ten dedicatory poems, one elegy, one poem inscribed under a portrait, and one prose prefatory epistle were published during Brome's life time that were not included in any of the editions (these will be included in Section 6 of this edition). Five of these appeared as prefatory material to Brome's two editions of Richard Brome's plays (RB53 andRB59). Two other poems found in manuscripts cannot be definitely attributed to Brome. One is found in a commonplace book of the seventeenth century at present in the Osborn collection at Yale University (O52). This is a scatological poem in triplets, entitled 'Alexander Broome on Mr Robert Napeir a lawyer's kissing of my Ld John Butler's breech for a Guiny, whom he beshit for his gains at Orchard. A° 1665.' The Robert Napeir referred to in the title is probably the same one who wrote a dedicatory epistle for 61. Brome died in 1666 before his third edition appeared in 1668, and this probably explains why this poem (if it is by Brome), dated 1665, was not included in it. The second poem is only circumstantially connected to Brome. This is 'The hue & Cry' found in both Ash andF27 (with no significant variants). This poem, a blazon in the tradition of Carew's 'A Rapture,' is found in approximately the same place in two collections of poems otherwise by Brome. In the absence of corroborating evidence, I am reluctant to admit these two poems to the canon, but will include them in the dubia. The Present Edition The present text is based on 61 for the poems contained in it and on 64 and 68 for poems added to those editions. The copy-text for poems not in these editions will be the first edition from whatever source. The spelling of the copy-texts is followed, though printer's contractions like the ampersand have been silently emended, and the long V and all ligatures have been

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abandoned. Italics, except in the case of proper names and the like, have been silently omitted from the text. A few other silent emendations have been made. Obvious typographical errors such as turned letters, transposed letters, faulty inking, and improper spacing have been silently corrected. Apostrophes in words such as ' 'tis,' ' 'cause,' and ' o'th' ' are supplied when missing, misplaced apostrophes are corrected, and apostrophes are supplied where their absence would be misleading. Periods at end of titles have been eliminated. Stanza numbers have been supplied where these are missing or corrected when in error. Errors in numbering poems within each section are also silently corrected. Line spacing in individual poems has been modified to provide internal consistency. More significant punctuation than that mentioned above has been emended sparingly, and in most cases changes follow the subsequent editions. All departures from the copy-text are recorded in the apparatus. In the textual apparatus, the first text listed is the copy-text, and other versions are listed in the following order: (1) subsequent editions, (2) printed miscellanies in chronological order, (3) manuscripts in the order listed in the sigla. The purpose of the apparatus is to record all departures from the copy-text (except the silent emendations discussed above). In addition, all substantive variants between the three editions andF27 ana Ash are recorded since these are substantive texts. A full record of substantive variants from unauthoritative miscellanies and manuscripts is also provided for most poems, with obvious errors and trivial aberrations ignored. In the case of eleven poems, only a selected listing is provided because the number of variants is excessively large, and no real purpose will be served noting minor variants. All titles found in the variant texts are recorded. In recording variants, the spelling will be that of the first witness listed. NOTES 1

This brief life is indebted to the pioneering work of J.L Brooks in his unpublished Harvard dissertation of 1932, 'Alexander Brome: His Life and Works.' Though more information about Brome's life may exist in local records in Dorset (where he was born), in Somerset (where he owned property), and in records of Chancery cases he was involved in, Brooks has provided the main outline of Brome's life. I will follow his outline, though I will attempt to flesh it out contextually.

2

3

A copy of this will, which was executed on 29 June 1666, the day before Brome's death, is currently housed at the Public Records Office. Joseph Foster, éd., The Register of Admissions to Gray's Inn, 1521-1889 (London 1889) 284

4

In 6. XII, the prefatory poem to his edition of Five new Playes of Richard Brome (1659), Alexander

5

Brooks (pp 12-14) surveys the existing evidence and suggests the following order of birth for the

informs the reader that he is not related to Richard. Brome family: Alexander, Henry (d. 1681), Richard (d. 1692), John (b. 1631), Isabell and Julian 6

(in no determined order), Elizabeth (b. 1637). See Henry Plomer, A Dictionary of the Booksellers and Printers who were at work in England,

Scotland and Ireland from 1641 to 1667 (London 1907) 34 and A Dictionary of the Printers and

Booksellers who were at work in England, Scotland and Ireland from 1668 to 1725 (London 1925)

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7

8 9

10

11

12 13

14 15 16

17 18

19

20

21 22

23

51. Plomer is accurate when he says that Alexander was not related to Richard Brome the dramatist, but is wrong in stating that Henry Brome was not his brother. Alexander's will proves beyond a doubt that Henry was Alexander's brother. Allegations for Marriage Licenses Issued by the Vicar-General of the Archbishop of Canterbury 1660-68, Harleian Society 33 (1892) 99 and 160 respectively F.W. Weaver and C.H. Mayo, eds., Notes and Queries for Somerset and Dorset 5 (1897) 341 See Brooks (p 15) for discussion of evidence relating to grammar schools in Evershot and West Milton. In his will Brome left an annuity to be used to buy books for the poor scholars in the school at Evershot. Andrew Clark, ed., Brief Lives, Chiefly of Contemporaries, set down by John Aubrey, between the Years 1669 & 1696 (Oxford 1898) I, 126 The two poems are 4.XVIII 'To his School Master Mr. W.H. upon his Poem call'd Conscientiae accusatricis Hypotyposis' dated 1644, and 4.LVIII 'An Elegy on the death of his Schoolmaster. Mr. W.H.,' which first appeared in PC in 1658. Neither the original Latin poem referred to above nor Brome's translation have been found. Brooks, pp 16-18 See G.E. Bentley, The Jacobean and Caroline Stage (Oxford 1949) I, 330-1 and (Oxford 1956) III, 48-9. Though Bentley casts doubt on Brome's authorship of The Cunning Lovers, there is no evidence that Brome ever denied authorship. Brooks, pp 21-2 In 4.XXI 'A new years gift presented to the same' Brome thanks Foster for granting his petition. See G.E. Aylmer, The King's Servants (New York 1961) 305-8 for a brief review of the career of Robert Henley. See also G.E. Aylmer, The State's Servants (London 1973) 97-8 for Henley's sequestration. Foster, Register of Admissions to Gray's Inn, 1521-1887 284 For some background about the profession of attorneys and their connections with the legal bureaucracy and the Inns of Court, see W.R. Prest, The Inns of Court under Elizabeth I and the Early Stuarts 1590-1640 (Totowa, NJ 1972) 39-43 and W. Holds worth, A History of English Law (London 1966) VI, 431-43. See also Brooks, pp 24-8. The two poems are 3.VIII 'The New Mountebanck' and 3.Ill 'A new Diurnal.' P.W. Thomas, Sir John Berkenhead (Oxford 1969) claims that 'A new Diurnal' was written in support of Mercurius Aulicus and caricatured weekly London newsbooks, especially A Perfect Diurnall (p 255). Thomas does not realize that Brome is the author of the poem. The two poems are 5.LVII 'Cromwell's Panegyrick' dated by Thomason 22 September 1647 and 4.LII 'Upon the Kings imprisonment' dated by Thomason 29 September 1648. See Thomas, pp 133-4. Thomas (pp 136-45) provides an illuminating picture of Cavalier society in London during the late 1640s and 1650s. He is mainly concerned to show the circles Berkenhead moved in, but it is likely that Brome was acquainted with many in this circle as well. Indeed, Berkenhead may have known of Brome from the time two of Brome's poems were published at Oxford in 1643 when Berkenhead was editor of Mercurius Aulicus. For the date of Thomas Whitaker's death see The Obituary of Richard Smyth, ed. Sir Henry Ellis (London 1849) 28. See also Plomer, Booksellers 1641-47 xviii-xix and 192.

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24

25 26

27

28

See A Transcript of the Registers of the Worshipful Company of Stationers, from 1640-1708 A.D.(London 1913)1, 412. Brooks, p 43 In his will Brome made bequests of £10 to each of his three stepdaughters, Anne, Margery, and Mary Whitaker. The evidence for this date comes from a suit in Chancery in 1676 where John Brome was suing for his legacy (Brooks, p 46). In his will Brome left a dowry of £500 for each of his three daughters, Martha, Elizabeth, and Flower. For records of the birth of his daughters see W.B. Bannermart and Major W.B. Bannerman, eds., The Registers of St. Stephens, Walbrook and of St. Benet Sherehog, London (London 1919) pt I, 30, 31.

29 30

31

32

33 34 35

36

37

38

39 40

41

Brooks, p 48 The poem was first published anonymously in a separate edition in 1660 (RR). It was included in 64. There its full title is 'A Record in Rhythme, Being an Essay towards the Reformation of the Law, offer'd to the Consideration of the Committee appointed for that purpose. Written by some men of Law, at a time when they had little else to do.' See, for instance, 4.VI 'The Answer' by T.S., who refers to Brome's activity as an attorney at the Cockneys' Guildhall and at Westminster (11 1-18); 4.IV 'The Answer' by Captain S.P.D., who hopes that Brome will have many clients at the Guildhall (11 95-8). Smyth in his obituary notice (p 72) refers to Brome as an attorney of King's Bench, while Edward Phillips in Theatrum Poetarum (London 1675) 6 refers to Brome as 'an Atturny of the Mayors Court.' Joseph Foster, éd., The Records of the Honourable Society of Lincoln s Inn. Admissions from A.D.1420 to A.D.1799 (London 1896) I, 280 See Prest, p 39; Holdsworth, VI 441-2. Brooks, p 88 In 4.XIV To his Friend W.C.,' Brome complains about the dullness of the society in the country and comments wryly on the service in the country church. 4.XII To C.S. Esquire' was written to Brome's close friend and frequent correspondent Charles Steynings of Holnicot, Somerset expressing disappointment at not finding him at home during Brome's visit to Taunton and inviting Steynings and his wife Sue to visit the Brome's. In an epistle 4.XXV To his Friend Mr. I.B.,' Brome imitates Horace's Epistle I, 10 in writing about the joys and contentment of country life. The others were for Edward Sparke's Scintillula Aliaris in 1652 (6.V), James Wright's translation of the French romance Nature's Paradox: or, The Innocent Imposter in 1652 (4.XL and XLIX), and Lodowick Carlell's play, The Passionate Lover in 1655 (though this poem, 4.XLIII, was not published until 1661). Poems by Brome appeared in the following miscellanies and song-books: W155 (2), PB (1), SW (9), WD56 ( 1 ) , PC (2), WR (1), G (3), SAD (2). For a history of the Rump collection see H.F. Brooks, 'Rump Songs,' Proceedings and Papers of the Oxford Bibliographical Society 5, pt 4 (1939). Brooks, p 81 The Diary of Samuel Pepys, ed. R. Latham and W. Matthews (London 1970-2) IV, 100 (10 April 1663); VI, 12 (11 January 1666); VI, 193 (3 July 1666). Pepys Diary VI, 193 (3 July 1666); Obituary of Richard Smyth 72. (Smyth incorrectly dated

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Brome's death as 29 June 1666.) See, for example, Stanley Fish's provocative study of prose style S elf-Consuming Artifacts (Berkeley 1972). Not all important studies can be mentioned here, but a few stand out. All students of seventeenthcentury poetry are indebted to Earl Miner's trilogy The Metaphysical Mode from Donne to Cowley (Princeton 1969), The Cavalier Mode from Jonson to Cotton (Princeton 1971), ana The Restoration

Mode from Milton to Dry den (Princeton 1974). Also valuable are Paul J. Korshin, From Concord

to Dissent: Major Themes in English Poetic Theory 1640-1700 (Menston, Yorkshire 1973) and earlier studies by George Williamson, The Proper Wit of Poetry (Chicago 1961) and Seventeenth-Century Contexts (Chicago 1969), by R.L. Sharp, From Donne to Dryden (Chapel Hill, NC 1940), and by Geoffrey Walton, Metaphysical to Augustan (London 1955).

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45 46

Miner denominates the metaphysical mode as 'private' in opposition to the social mode of the Cavaliers and the public mode of the Restoration. I am using the term 'neoclassical' to include characteristics of both the social and public modes. Literary Criticism of Seventeenth-Century England (New York 1967) introduction, pp 3-32 Tayler, pp 24-6

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Carew, p 74

48

Tayler, p 30

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Tayler, p 287 'Strong Lines,' in Seventeenth-Century Contexts 126

50 51 52

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54 55

56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63

4.LVI 'Upon the death of that Reverend and learned Divine, Mr. Josias Shute, ' 1 45 6.VI 'To Master RICHARD BROME, upon his Comedie, called, A Joviall Crew: or, The merry Beg-

gars,' 1 21 6.1 'Upon the unparalelld Playes written by those Renowned Twinnes of Poetry BEAUMONT and FLETCHER,' 1 37 6.IX 'To the Stationer, on the publishing Mr. Bromes Comedies,' 1 16 4.XLVIII 'To his Friend Thomas Stanley, Esquire, on his Odes Set and Published by Mr. John Gamble,' 1 6 6.V 'Upon the AUTHOUR, and his Worke,' 1 26 6.IX 'To the Stationer. . .,'11 29-30 4.XLVIII 'To his Friend Thomas Stanley. . .,' 17 6.V 'Upon the AUTHOUR. . .,' 1 25

4.XLVIII To his Friend Thomas Stanley. . . , ' 1 5 6.IX To the Stationer. . .,' 1 27 P.VI 'On Mr. ALEXANDER BROME'S Poems,' 11 37-40. See also Sharp, p 160. P.X To my worthy Friend Mr. Alex. Brome,' 11 11-12

64

P.V 'On the Death of Mr. ALEXANDER BROME,' 11 12-16

65

4.H The Answer,' 11 19-20

66

See Thomas, pp 134ff.

67

'The Failure of Love: Love Lyrics after Donne,' in Metaphysical Poetry, ed. M. Bradbury and D. Palmer (London 1970) 62

68

Typical are the following: George Williamson, The Donne Tradition (Harvard 1930); A, Alvarez,

The School of Donne (New York 1967); Joseph Summers, The Heirs of Donne and Jonson (New

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69

70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78

79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89

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91 92 93 94

95

96 97

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York 1970). The most ambitious and most stimulating reassessment of Caroline love poetry is H.R. Richmond, The School of Love (Princeton 1964). Other important studies are those by Earl Miner, A.J. Smith, and Paul Korshin cited above, and Warren Chernaik, The Poetry of Limitation (Yale 1968). Smith, p 41 Chernaik, p 60 Richmond, p 222 The Scientific Element in Alexander Brome's Love Lyrics,' ESC 2 (1976) 8-26 Richmond, p 97; Miner, The Cavalier Mode 226 Smith, p 43 Miner, The Cavalier Mode 231 Theatrum Poetarum 6 l.XX 'An Ode of Anacreon paraphrased. Beauties force'; 2.XVI 'Content. Out of Anacreori; 2.XVII 'Mirth. Out of Anacreon' Miner, The Cavalier Mode 88-9, 108-11 Ibid, 84 Ibid. 187 The Happy Man (New York 1962) I, 48-9 Rôstvigl, 119-226 Ibid. 229-30 The Dial of Virtue (Princeton 1963) 52 'The Caustic Muse' (unpublished diss., Columbia 1956) 63 Thomas p 96 Hobbled Pegasus (Albuquerque 1968) 20 See C.V. Wedgwood, Poetry and Politics under the Stuarts (Cambridge, Eng. 1960) 72; Hyder Rollins, éd., Cavalier and Puritan (New York 1923) 14; Frank, Hobbled Pegasus 22. See H. F. Brooks, 'Rump Songs' for an analysis and indices to the Rump collection. Frank's bibliography of minor poetry published during the period 1640-60 (Hobbled Pegasus) is also valuable. Wedgwood, Poetry and Politics 86 See note 6 See Kenyon, pp 362 and 368. Analysis of the running titles reveals that the two inserts were run off after gathering O, which was fairly late in the printing of the book. The Harvard copy was used as a base against which to collate the other eight copies: British Library; Cambridge; Bodleian; Folger; Yale (2 copies); Huntington (2 copies). All substantive variants are recorded in the apparatus. One exception, 2.VII The Answer [by T.J.],' will be discussed in the notes. The Harvard copy was used as a base against which to collate the other six copies: Trinity College (Cambridge); British Library (2 copies); Bodleian; Yale (2 copies). No substantive variants were discovered. The Harvard copy was used as a base against which to collate the other three copies: British Library; Bodleian; Yale. All substantive variants are recorded in the apparatus. lnRP14 (ff. 153-4) there is another version of this poem entitled 'The dispraise of Ale.' The name

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100

101 102 103 104 105

'Thomas Bonham' is recorded at the end of the poem. See The Records of the Honourable Society of Lincoln's Inn. Admissions . . . I, 229 and The Records of the Honourable Society of Lincoln's Inn: The Black Books, éd. W.P. Baildon and R.F. Roxburgh (London 1897-1969) H, 363. See W.W. Greg, The Calculus of Variants (Oxford 1927) 18-20. See Cleveland, p lii. See H.F. Brooks, 'Rump Songs.' Thomas, Appendix VI, 263 suggests that John Berkenhead may have been the editor. See C.L. Day and E.B. Murrie, English Song-Books 1651-1702: A Bibliography (London 1940).

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SONGS AND OTHER POEMS

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PREFATORY LETTERS AND POEMS i

To the Honourable, Sir JOHN ROBINSON Knight and Baronet, his Majesties Lieutenant of the Tower of LONDON Sir, The many great obligations, which your nobleness hath from time to time laid upon me, do merit a more serious acknowledgement then this rude and toyish address can pretend to, whose design is only to beg pardon and protection, for that I being seduced to print these youthfull vanities, have thus audaciously shelter'd them under your celebrated name. I should not have done it, but that I well know the greatnesse of your soul, and the Kindness you have for me, are a sufficient screen to keep off any offence that I can commit against you; and I have considered also that there are four great things committed to your custody; the Souldiers, the Lyons, the Guns, and (which is more powerfull) the Mony. So that if any should have an itch to snarle at me, they will not dare to open their mouths, lest they should be thought to bark at you; In whose Regiment I desire to list this Volunteer, being encouraged by this consideration that together with those great and serious Emblems and instruments of power, with which you are entrusted, the Apes and Catamountains and other properties of diversion, do there find Safety and subsistence; That those priviledges may extend to this brat of mine, which is no less ridiculous, is the ambition of, Sir, Your gratefull Servant and great Honourer ALEX. BROME.

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II

To the Reader To the Collection of these papers two accidents have concur'd; a lazie disease, and a long vacation; the one inclining me to do nothing else, and the other affording me nothing else to do. To their publication I might alledge several reasons; namely, gratification of Friends, importunity, prevention of spurious impressions. But these are in print already in many grave Authors, with exact formulas to express the bashfulness of the Author, and the badness of the work, etc. There are another sort of reasons, not express'd but implied, as an ambition to be in print; to have a face cut in copper, with a lawrell about my head; a motto and verses underneath made by my self in my own commendation; and to be accompted a wit, and call'd a Poet. But, to say the truth, none of all these prevailed with me; for I made few of my Friends acquainted with the design; and those few told me I should expose my self to the censure of the new Generation of JUDGE-WITS, who, like Committee-Men or black-witches in Poetry, are created only to do mischief; nor did I fear any illegitimate impression hereof, conceiving that no body would be at the charge of it. And to gratifie friends this way, were instead of quitting old obligations, to create new. Now as to the honour of being in print, with its priviledges, 'tis much like being a Parliament-man; those that deserve it, need not court it, but will be so, whether they desire it or not; those that merit it not, may come in by purchase; such Authors, like Men that beget Daughters, must give portions to be rid of their issue. These reasons being laid aside, as deficient, it will be expected that I should present you with better; but indeed I have them not about me; and for that reason, I am bold to affirm that I am not bound in strictness to give any man any reason for doing this. For why I made these rambles, I can give no other accompt then a poor man does why he gets children; that is his pleasure, and this mine. And as with him in his case, 'tis with me in mine; having brought our brats into the World, 'tis our duty to provide for their preservation. I dare not say these poems are good, nor do I certainly know whether they be or not; for the wits are not yet agreed of a standard; nor shall I declare them bad, least others out of respect to me, should be of the same opinion. But this I assure you, that I have been told to my face, that they are good, and was such a fond fool to believe it; else you may be confident, they had ne're been exposed to view; for upon my credit, I have no ambition to be laught at. And 'twere a great disingenuity to offer that to my Friends, which I my self should dislike. All that is terrible in this case, is, that the Author may be laught at, and the

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Stationer begger'd by the Books invendibility. It concerns him to look to the one, I am provided against the other. For 'tis as unkind and unmanly to abuse me for being a bad poet, as it is to raile at a Dwarf e for being little and weak: it being my desire to be as good as any that can jeer me; and if I come short by the head, who can help it? yet I desire to be thus far ingenuous, to let the World know, though they may esteem or call me a Poet, by this they may see I am none, or at least so mean a one, that 'twere better I were none. To beg acceptance of this, upon the old promise of never writing more, were to make the publishing this a wilfull sin, which I shan't commit. And though at present I resolve against incumbring my thoughts with such unprofitable meditations; yet I will ne're abjure them; being no more able to perform vowes never to write again, then Widowes theirs never to marry again. And now, being taught by custome, to beg something of the Reader, it shall be this; that in reading and judging these poems he will consider his own frailty, and fallibility; and read with the same temper and apprehension as if himself had written, and I were to judge. And if he cannot find matter here to please himself and love me; let him pitty my disastrous fate, that threw me into this sad distemper of rythming. But as to the men of a severer brow, who may be scandaliz'd at this free way of writing, I desire them to conceive those Odes which may seem wild and extravagant, not to be Ideas of my own mind, but characters of divers humours set out in their own persons. And what reflected on the Times, to be but expressions of what was thought and designed by the persons represented; there being no safe way to reprove vices then raging among us, but to lash them smilingly. Perhaps it may be expected I should have interlarded this address with ends of Latine; to declare my self a Scholler. But the reason why I do not, is because by this late happy change I shall have occasion to employ that little Latine I have to a better use, and make it more advantageous to me. Farewell.

Ill

To his honoured Friend Mr. ALEXANDER BROME, on the publishing his Poems SIR, Your ingenuous Book you were pleased to trust with me, had before this time come to your hands, had I either sooner known of your return to London, or found

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an handsome opportunity of conveying it thither with safety. Though your modesty is pleased to invite Censure, I find it is more then your great felicity in this way of Poetry can be liable to: Nor should I have thought those two or three slight Animadversions here inclosed, to have been worth the mentioning, were it not that I would have you believe I use such freedome with you, as to have done more if I had found occasion: though I doubt not but you have or will communicate these Papers to some other friends of more refined judgement then I can pretend to. This I am sure, that by publishing of them you will oblige, not onely all Men, but some of the Gods; especially your Name-sake Bacchus (called alsoBromius) whose worth your wit hath so much advanced, that, though Excise should cease, we should in pure conscience think we could not purchase him at too dear a rate. Cupid himself, who hath hitherto exercised chief dominion in Poetry, now vails Bonnet to Him; were it not, that, whilst you so handsomely magnifie the power of Wine, your Readers are forced to fall in Love with your Muse: and, amongst them, none more affectionately, then

SIR, Your most obliged humble Servant R.B.

IV

On my Friend Mr. ALEXANDER BROME When a Republick looses in the Field A Captain, who, whilest living, was their shield; Or when, cut off by Age, within their walls Some prudent Senator, some good Patriot falls; The widdow'd State her mourning then puts on, As all her Counsels, and Defence were gone, And weeps, and mourns, as she foresaw she must Be subject to the first Invaders Lust, Despising all her off-spring that remain, That Citizen dead, and that old Souldier slain: But to advance their Names, no cost is spar'd, Medals are cast, and Obélisques are rear'd; The Marble Quarry is torn up, the Mine Is search't, and rob'd to make their Triumphs shine. But the neglected Poet when he dies,

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Or with obscure, or with no Obsequies Is lay'd aside; and though by living Verse, Strew'd on this Hero's and that Statesman's Hearse His Pen graves Characters, by which they live A longer life, than Brass or Marble give; Yet has this generous Poet no returne, None to weep ore his Urne, nay scarce an Urne. O undiscerning World! the Souldier's brave Either for what he wants, or thirsts to have, His breast opposing against fire, and Either for Riches, or a glorious name: Reward, and honour make the Souldiers trade, And if he either win, the man's well pay'd. The Statesman, on the other side, takes pains, To smooth that Warr to Peace, and works his brains, Or to appease an Enemy, or make Such Friends, as may at need make good the stake, Nor is his reverend care, when all is done, More for his Countrey's safety, than his own; And that which makes his Cities freedom dear, Is that himself, and his inhabit there. Whereas the Poet by more generous wayes, Distributes boughs of Oake, and shoots of Bayes, According to due merit, nor does take, Thought of Reward, but all for Vertues sake. It were in vain to write on other score, The Poet knows his lot is to be Poor: For whatsoer's well Done, well Writ, well Said, The Bard is ever the last man that's pay'd; The wary World has wisely taken time, Till the Greek Kalends do account for Rhythm. Nor do I here intend the Gold that's hurl'd Like flaming brands thorough the peaceful world, To make whole Kingdoms into Faction split, Should be suppos'd the recompence of wit: The Poet scorns that sordid seed of Earth, The World's alluring, but unhappy birth. All he desires, all that he would demand, Is only that some amicable hand, Would but irriguate his fading bayes With Due, and only with deserved Praise; Yet even this so modest a request, The Age denies. Alas! what interest,

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Has vertue upon Earth, when Brome could dye, And be lamented with no Elégie? No friendly hand t'enforme the Passenger, That gentle Brome, the Muses joy, lies here. More had not needed to have been express'!, Himself has made provision for the rest. Whilst Pindar's Bayes grows green amongst the dead, Whilst Hora ce, or Anacreon are read, My Brome shall live, and Travellers that come From distant shores, transport his Verses home. Nor needs he other, than his own great Name, To recommend him to immortal Fame; His merits lustre of it self will doo't, Shine to the Poles and put those sparklets out. And yet we had our gratitude express't, T'have given our Testimonies, at the least, Of his great worth, and publish't our esteem, That we all lov'd, and all lamented him: But men were strook at his untimely Fate, Which makes us pay our Fun'ral tears thus late. And, as a tender Mother when she hears, Her only Childe is lost, lets fall no tears, But at the horrour of the first sad sound, Falls, as if strook with Thunder in a swound, Till by the help of unkind remedies, To ease her soul, she opes her weeping eyes; So wit orecome, and cast into a trance, At this so unexpected a mischance, Must through that night of grief, and horror break, Before it could get article to speak; And this deferr'd these honours to his Tomb, They're little griefs that speak, deep sorrow's dumb. CHARLES COTTON.

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On the Death of Mr. ALEXANDER BROME, who dyed the 30th. of June, 1666 Pardon (dear Saint!) If (though so late) I mourn, And drop some Tears o're thy neglected Urne; For my sad Muse too long hath waiting been To see some solemn, but yet pompous Scene. Where those great wits, which thy Companions were, Might like themselves Mourning for thee appear, In Elegies worthy themselves and thee. A noble Task for them, too great for Me. I thought e're this t'have seen whole Volumes writ, In such a style as might become thy wit, Acquainting the dull world, not what thou wert, How much thou hadst Improv'd Poetick Art; For that thy works (beyond Amendment) shew, Ages to come, as well as he, will know By them thy Lofty, yet familiar strain, So highly learned, yet so humbly plain; But how much thou wert by the Muses lov'd, How much thy Death their wits and passions mov'd, That unborn Poets might in times to come, See how belov'd, and how bewail'd was Brome. But finding none of these that could to do Those friendly Rites to thee so justly due My Muse impatient grows by their delay, And can't but must thus her last duty pay. Which as she can, not would, she must express Adores thy Tomb, but can't adorn thy Hearse. RICH.NEWCOURT.

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VI

On Mr. ALEXANDER BROME'S Poems 1

How long had Poetry a captive been To such as basely made Their Jay lor-ship a Trade, That shew'd her with a cautious secrecy, Through mysterious vails Of dark Allegory, And most prodigious tales? (Which for the Layety to disbelieve was sin,) Till thou Defender of the Faith cam'st in?

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The knots, that they so cunningly had ty'de With superstitious Charms; Like Alexander thou cam'st to divide If not by Art, by Armes: In vain oppos'd the Legions of the Dead, The Roman Veterans, Alas! they long had been misled, Through politick Tradition; Now, as their Gods, amaz'd they fled, And left their ridling Fanes At the true Prophets mission.

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Thus freed, to thee, (as if to one Who had unty'de her Virgin Zone;) She most affectionately came, Shew'd thee her purest excellence Was not confin'd to words, but sence; And that so naturally free, As was the worlds first Infancy, When she was thought a Deity, Though now, she and her Art had lost a name.

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Her Rules exactly thou dost imitate In every thing thou dost express; Whether thou piously dost celebrate

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The Birth or Martyrdom of Kings, Or shew'st in subtle turns of State, The strange Vicissitude of things, How is it done without affectedness? Thou labour'st for no far-fetch't Metaphors, Nor does thy judgment stray, After Phantastick Meteors, Made to misguide the way; But by a certain calculation knows Wits lowest Ebbs and highest flows.

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Anacreon be thy Judge whose heats Divine, Thou dost not starve but feed, And as inspir'd with his own wine Aptly giv'st fuel when is need, Horace, Apoll's truest Son Shall vouch his Odes as sweetly run, As if they had been made all, atBlandusium. Thou never make'st his shortnesses obscure Nor cool'st the rigor of his Ire, But let'st his Satyrs fly with their own flame and fire: For which thy name shall as Mecaenas's indure. Lucretius should have witness'd too, how he Admir'd his Father Epicures' s Philosophy, Explaind by thy new Organum of Poetry: But Jealous Heav'n did grutch Th'ungrateful Earth should know too much; Least being so by thee displaid, Men might new Gods and other worlds have made.

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Alas! Why sillily do I pretend, Thus to describe the History That's better annaliz'd by thee, And shall outdare Eternity; to discommend Thy Book, now (Caesar like) thou'rt gone Into a Constellation; Like Caesar's shall be ever read, Till Earth and Seas gives up their Dead. Thy name, like his shall worship'd be; (although Thou hadst no Brutus here below.)

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Absolute Prince, thou keep'st competitors in Aw, In time of War, by Wit, in Peace, by Law. R.Th.Jun.

VII

To the Ingenious Authour Mr. Alexand. Brome Praise is the shade of Vertue, and ne're fell Into contempt, till Men ceas'd to do well. 'Twas profit spoyld the world. Till then (we know it,) The Usurer strook sayles unto the Poet. Kings envyed them their bayes; for though the Crown Had more of lustre, it had less renown. Then be thou Brome, my Subject; Thou whose mind Large, as the bounds of Nature, hath calcin'd Things high and low, and drawn conceptions thence, Which Adam scarcely knew in's innocence, T'adorne thy stile, and feed poetick fire, And make thy high-flown Raptures to fly higher: What can be thought or said to set thee forth? Or what Embellishment can guild thy worth? Great Merits (like good Claret) need no sign (Who ere proclaimed that the Sun did shine?) 'Tis easie to begin, and hard to end; When but to speak thy Name, is to commend. But leave I thee the Fountain; for the stream, Thy book, is now my more peculiar Theame, The Sceane of Wine and Women. Thy smart pen Refines our Loves, and liquors ore agen, And teaches us new lessons. Shall I whine To a coy Mistress, swear, and lye, and pine, And dye, and live again, and change more shapes, Then Prole us did, or four and fourty Apes, To win my loss of Liberty, when I, Enthron'd by fancy in true Soveraignty, Can out of nothing, whensoere I please, Create a million of such Mistresses? And write a Sonnet to my Aiery she, Or steal a better Sonnet (Brome) from Thee?

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No, No, for know my loves best bill of Dyet Is first free thoughts, the next is to be quiet. Hence too I'll quit the Tavernes, for I find No Wine is like the Nectar of the Mind. Conceit is a good Cellar; Here we may Drink without sin, and spend without Decay, And frolike and be merry; Or else we May read thy book, and tipple Poetry; And sing the prayses of the nobler Vine, And send a health to the great God of wine. This, This, is pleasure, and cheap too, that's better, For know the Muse is apt to be a debtor. All this we learn from thee; go on, and be A miracle in future History. Thou shew'st us mirth, and nobler wayes to wo; And Vindicatest thy profession too. If Law and Business can produce such strains, Wee'l owe no Wit to leasure but to Brains.

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W. Paulet E medio Templo.

VIII

To the Ingenious Author Mr. A.B. How! how! what miracles in print? A Poem with the Politicks in't? 'Tis strange, but I will not rehearse All the Probatums of thy verse. This only: when the nose and Bum Had frighted all our miseries dumb, When force hag-rid our Land and Seas, Had made lawes truths Antipodes; When treason, (like the blood) was found To circulate all England round; Thou Brome to cure the Kingdoms wrong Didst hatch new loyalty with a song. Musick (as once Sauls eldest Devil) Fetter'd Rebellions rampant evil; Rime oftimes over-reaches reason; A verse will counter-charme a treason.

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Had Cromwell learn't the grace to sing, H'had fled to Heaven for his King. Rob. NapeirEmedio Templo.

IX

To my ingenious Friend Mr. Brome, on his various and excellent Poems: An humble Eglog Daman andDorus Written the 29. of May, 1660 Daman Hail happy day! Dorus, sit down: Now let no sigh, nor let a frown Lodge near thy heart, or on thy brow. The King! the King's return'd! and now Let's banish all sad thoughts, and sing We have our lawes, and have our King. Dorus 'Tis true and I woo'd sing, but oh! These wars have sunk my heart so low 'Twill not be rais'd. Daman What not this day? Why 'tis the twenty ninth of May: Let Rebels spirits sink: let those That like the Goths and Vandals rose To ruine families, and bring Contempt upon our Church, our King, And all that's dear to us, be sad; But be not thou, let us be glad. Ana Dorus, to invite thee, look, Here's a Collection in this book Of all those chearfull songs, that we Have sung so oft and merilie As we have march'd to fight the cause

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Of Gods anoynted, and our lawes: Such songs as make not the least ods Betwixt us mortals and the Gods: Such songs as Virgins need not fear To sing, or a grave Matron hear. Here's love drest neat, and chast, and gay As gardens in the month of May; Here's harmony, and wit, and art, To raise thy thoughts, and chear thy heart.

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Dorus Written by whom? Daman A friend of mine, And one that's worthy to be thine: A Civil swain, that knowes his times For business, and that done, makes rimes; But not till then: my Friend's a man Lov'd by the Muses; dear to Pan', He blest him with a chearfull heart: And they with this sharp wit and art, Which he so tempers, as no Swain, That's loyal, does or shou'd complain.

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Dorus I woo'd fain see him: Daman Go with me, Dorus, to yonder broad beech tree, There we shall meet him and Phillis, Perrigot, and Amaryllis, Tyterus, and his dear Clora, Tom and Will, and their Pastora : There we'l dance, shake hands and sing, We have our Lawes, God bless the King. Iz. Walton.

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To my worthy Friend Mr. Alex. Brome Wine nere to run more clear through quill was made, Then through thine is the praise of it convey'd; And as by Xeuxis grapes so painted were, That even birds, to peck at them drew near; So, who thy lively Poems see, will think That as they read of the Grapes juice, they drink: Thou doest not treat us with short Epigrams, Like Usurers glasses, only holding drams But in thy Songs thy wit is copious found, As Wine in Conduits when a King is crown'd. There strength of fancy, to it sweetness joynes, Unmixt with water, nor stum'd with strong lines. The lover who in many a frosty night, Did Serenade his Mistress out of sight, And to his Gittar songs most doleful howle In consort with the Bellman and the Owle, Now takes his Brimmer off, and to her flyes, Singing thy Rhimes, and straight she is his prize. She doth no more her Red-nos'd lover scorn, But fairer thinks then blushes of the morn; And would have Hymens torches lighted be By th'nose, that's to linck-boy compared by thee. He tells her no part of a woman ought Unto Starrs, Sun, globes, roses like be thought; But that those names which raise so high a pride, Are but to Taverns fit to be applyed. A Country Parson i'in' Rumps reign did woe His auditory Honestly to do, And wear brave souls, which he enforc'd by those Thy songs only reform'd by him to prose, Which he had heard at market over night: Thus do thy fancies profit and delight. Carry the cause then for this man in black, That he may have from Vintners tithes of Sack; Wherein he will not crave so much, as did The Lévite who some of his Parish bid; That sail'd to Greenland that they should not fail Thence of their prey to bring him the tenth Whale. But to reward him higher, let him get

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Tithes of thy muse, and so be out of s debt. And now me thinks, while thou abroad dost shew Thy self in print to the Worlds open view, From all that wear brave souls no voice doth stir, But welcome Sir, y'are kindly welcome Sir. Yet if the envious at thee do repine, They shall be but like flies drown'd in thy Wine.

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XI

To his dear friend Mr. Alex. Brome, upon the publishing his Poems My kind Affections will shew forth thy wit, Although't be by a simple opposite; For thou preventest all Ingenuous proems, Ingrossing all the wit within thy Poems; But yet there's something left for me to do, Which would be folly if perform'd by you: And that's to praise both thee, and them, whose glory Shall reign with thy loyal Congratulatory And daring Speech, made in Clothworkers-Hall, Which overcame, and made the General, Who made us all, by making all his men, Rank as they were, to bring our Kings agen, By being subject to our Lawful Prince, Whose damned Exile, made us Slaves e're since: And so confin'd thy fancy, that thy Fame (Till his return was) kept without a Name. Though thou hast been Libellish all these times, Against the changing Powers; yet some Crimes Thou didst conceal, which did thy prudence shew, To keep their vices for their overthrow; Reserving still some strength as a redoubt, Fearing the Rumpish rear might face about; And made our Kings de facto, and of right In Charles the Second justly to unite; Who soon inlarg'd thy Muse, which free,

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Hath bound us to our Laws for liberty: To whom I do subscribe, (since our Commander, In name's as good as is Great Alexander). Cha.Steynings.

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To his Ingenious Friend Mr. A.B. upon his most excellent Poems i In our late Chaos, when the giddy world Was to th'Abysse of curs'd Rebellion hurl'd: And its distemper'd Pilots did advance Nothing but dull and sordid Ignorance; When to be either learn'd, or witty, gave Occasion to make this or t'other slave: Then Atlas -like thou didst that world sustain, Destin'd to thrive by thy Poetick-brain.

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Divinity we there saw stifled, and The Law was only practis'd under-hand: The Glory of our School eclips'd; a shade, No life, nor Beauty gave, but Horrour had All Modes and Methods Ravish'd from our eye, To cancel Name of King and Loyalty; For each of which, thou mad'st a fit supply, As some instruct their Boyes by Poésie.

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Nay Millions more had driven with that stream, Had not thy sense and light diverted them, Those who droop'd in despair, had drop'd away, But Thy Prophetick Numbers made them stay; And did re-animate their spirits here, Fore-telling them their Sun would once appear.

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Most of the younger Fry, that never saw A Crown or Gospel flourish with the Law, Had been deprav'd in soul, but that the Starre (Thy Lines put forth) directed how and where They ought to worship, so they were kept free From the Times guilt, others Apostacie.

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The puisne Law-wrights too may spare to look On this grave Sirs reports, or t'others Book For what's Authentique, but (at will) from thee, May freight their Skuls with Law's Epitomie: And henceforth we shall have them cease to Bawl Cook upon Littleton, but Brome on all.

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6 The Brethren of the Crowd throughout the Town, Who lost their time to keep't, were out of Tune More than their Instruments; as if their Arts Were meerly but to play, not play their parts, Till furnish'd with a Song or two from you; Then they grew proud upon't, and wealthy too; Nor was't ill husbandry, or cither's wrong, To give, or get their money for a Song.

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We find in every Science, Art, or Trade, Ambition some Competitors has made; But here THOU art particular, and like, For Poésie, as Painting was Vandyke. Such reputation hast thou gain'd, that when A piece of Wit has by some other Men Been richly cloath'd, and spoken; Hear their dooms, Upon our lives, 'Tis Alexander Brome s. But As Pictures by their foyles seem better drest, I can but be, Thy Blackamore at Best. Valentine Oldis.

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For his much honoured Friend Mr. Alexander Brome Honoured Sir, Your ingenious Letter which came to my hands long after its date, had sooner received an Answer, if my frequent absence, and many haesitations between Willingness and Inability to serve you, had not caused this respite. And now let me tell you my opinion; that, though Elogies upon Authors are at no time necessary, yet I think them never more superfluous, than when Verses are commended with more Verses; which if they be better, disparage their Friend; if worse Themselves. We know it is against a Rule of Art to lay Metal upon Metal, and that Cook who besprinkles the borders of his dish with the same meat which it contains, will be thought rather to dawb then garnish it. I am sure it will be so here, with your curious entertainment, unto which the Reader must needs come with such an eager Appetite, as to reproach, or at least neglect, all that stands in his way. And I should much wonder why you would be such a Mezentius to your self, as to bind my dead Muse to your own living one; but that I suppose, being secure of immortality, you are proof against all contagion. Had you laid this command upon me, when you favoured me with the perusal of your Book, those brisk and frolick airs might have so volatiliz'd my thoughts, that it had been as easie for me to write, as for the beasts to dance when they heard Orpheus' s Harp. But now you bid me be warm, when you have long since withdrawn the fire: and call me to a work unto which my pen is so much a stranger, that it is now many years since I made a verse in English. Believe it Sir, 'tis to me as great a Metamorphosis, as when a City was turn'd into a Bird, on a sudden, to lay by all that is solid and severe, and soar aloft in the airy waies of Fancy, led only by the tinkling of Rhymes, as Bees by the noy se of a Candlestick: At present, I am sure, whilest business is much upon me, I am charm'd against such transmutations. You that are a wonder your self in this kind, would be less so, if any were like you; that can reconcile Poetry with WestminsterHall, where nothing of a fine spinning (not so much as Cobwebs, they say) can have a place: that can swallow down the rank phrases of our Law, like so many heads of Garlick, next your heart in a morning; and before night breath forth soft and Jovial airs, surpassing the most captivated votaries of Love or Wine: these are toss'd about like the Sibylls prophetick leaves, and at length you find them crowning every Feast, and dancing on the lips of every Lady. But for mine own part, if perhaps I have been found of late amongst our Academical Versifyers, it was but as Cleaveland's Presbyterian danced, only in obdience to the Ordinance. For you must know, that Doctors appear in verse, as old men sometimes have done in Morris, not so much for ostentation of Ability, as for

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uncouthness of the sight, and to shew how ready they are to be laught at for his Majesties service. And I could tell some who would censure me for levity, should they see me play the Poet in such good company as yours, who yet call upon me to do the same here, where I am to be dull by my place. In short Sir, if it be necessary that such a Champion as you should not come forth into the field without your Dwarf, I heartily wish I were able to serve you in that condition: However, give me leave I pray you to remain in downright Prose

Sir, Your assured Friend and most humble Servant, R.B.

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SECTION 1

SONG I

Plain Dealing i Well well, 'tis true I am now falne in Love, And 'tis with You: And now I plainly see, While you're enthron'd by me above, You all your arts and pow'rs improve To Tyrant over me; And make my flames th'incentives of your scorn, While you rejoyce, and feast your eyes to see me thus forlorn.

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But yet be wise, And don't beleeve that I Did think your eyes More bright than Stars can be; Or that your face Angels outvyes In their Coelestial Liveries; 'Twas all but Poetrie. I could have said as much by any she, You are not beauteous of your self, but are made so by me.

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Though we, like Fools, Fathome the Earth and Sky, And drayne the Schools For names t'express you by: Out-rant the lowd'st Hyperboles To dub you Saints and Deities, By Cupids Heraldry. We know you're Flesh and Blood as well as men, And when we will can mortalize, and make you so agen.

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Yet since my Fate Has drawn me to this Sin Which I did hate, 30 I'll not my labour lose But will love on, as I begin, To th'purpose now my hand is in, Spite of those Arts you use. And let you know the World is not so bare, 35 There's things enough to love, besides such Toyes as Ladies are. 5

I'll love good Wine, I'll love my Book and Muse, Nay all the Nine, I'll Love my real Friend, 40 I'll Love my horse, and could I chuse One that would not my Love abuse, To her my heart should bend. I'll love all those that laugh, and those that sing, I'll love my Country, Prince and Laws, and those that love the King.

SONGE

The

Indifferent i

Mistake me not, I am not of that mind To hate all woman kind; Nor can you so my patience vex, To make my Muse blaspheme your sex, Nor with my Satyrs bite you; Though there are some in your free-State, Some things in you, who're Candidate, That he who is, or loves himself, must hate; Yet I'll not therefore slight you. For I'm a Schismatick in Love, And what makes most abhorr it, In me does more affection move, And I love the better for it.

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2 I vow, I am so fair from loving none, That I love every one; If fair I must, if brown she be, She's lovely, and for Sympathy, 'Cause we're alike, I love her; If tall, she's proper; and if short, She's humble and I love her for't; Small's pretty, fat is pleasant, every sort Some graceful good discover; If young, she's ply ant to the sport; And if her visage carry Gray hairs and wrinkles, yet I'll court, And so turn Antiquary.

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Be her hair red, be her lips gray or blew, Or any other hue, Or has she but the ruins of a nose, Or but eye-sockets, Fie love those; Though skales, not skin, does clothe her, Though from her lungs, the sent that comes Does rowt her teeth out of their gums; I'll count all these for high Encomiums, Nor will I therefore loath her. There are no rules for beauty, but 'Tis as our fancies make it: Be you but kind, I'll think you fair And all for truth shall take it.

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SONG III

The Resolve i Tell me not of a face that's fair, Nor lip and cheek that's red, Nor of the tresses of her hair, Nor curies in order laid; Nor of a rare seraphick voice,

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That like an Angel sings; Though if I were to take my choice, I would have all these things. But if that thou wilt have me love And it must be a she, The only argument can move Is, that she will love me.

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2 The glories of your Ladies be But Metaphors of things; And but resemble what we see Each common object brings. Roses out-red their lips and cheeks, Lillies their whitenesse stain: What fool is he that shadows seeks And may the substance gain? Then if thou'It have me love a Lass Let it be one that's kind, Else I'm a servant to the glass That's with Canary lin'd.

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SONG IV

The Wary Woer i Faith, you're mistaken, I'le not love That face that frowns on me, Though it be handsom, 't shall not move My center'd soul that's fair above The magick of a paint, That on a Devil writes a Saint: I hate your pictures and imagery. I'm no Iove-Sw0w, nor will tamely now Lie swadled in the trenches of your brow.

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2 Though you are witty what care I? My danger is the more; Nay should you boast of honesty

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Woman gives all those names the Lie: In all you hardly can Write after that fair copy, Man; And dable in the steps we've gone before. We you admire, as we do parots all, Not speaking well, but that they speak at all.

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3 That Lass mine armes desire t'enfold, Born in the golden age, Guarded with Angels, but of Gold; She that's in such a showre enroll'd May tempt a Jove to be Guilty of Loves Idolatry, And make a pleasure of an Hermitage; Though their teeth are not, if their necks wear pearl A Kichin wench is consort for an Earl.

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'Tis money makes the man, you say, 'T shall make the Woman too; When both are clad in like aray December rivals youthful May: This rules the World, and this Perfection of both sexes is; This Flora made a Goddess, so 'twill you: This makes us laugh, this makes us drink and sing; This makes the beggar trample o're his King.

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SONG V

The Counsel i Why's my friend so melancholy? Prethee why so sad, why so sad? Beauty's vain, and Love's a folly, Wealth and women make men mad. To him that has a heart that's jolly Nothing's grievous, Nothing's sad. Come, cheer up my Lad.

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2 Does thy mistresse seem to fly thee? Prethee don't repine, don't repine: If at first she does deny thee Of her love, deny her thine; She shews her coynesse but to try thee, And will triumph if thou pine. Drown thy thoughts in wine.

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Try again, and don't give over, Ply her, she's thine own, she's thine own; Cowardise undoes a Lover. They are Tyrants if you moan; If not thy self, nor love can move her, But she'l slight thee and be gone: Let her then alone.

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If thy courtship can't invite her, Nor to condescend, nor to bend; Thy only wisdom is to slight her, And her beauty discommend. Such a nicenesse will requite her; Yet if thy Love will not end, Love thy self and friend.

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SONG VI

To his Mistress i Lady you'l wonder when you see With those bright twins of eyes, These ragged lines that crawle from me, And note the contrarietie That both in them and in their Authour lyes.

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2 I that came hither with a breast Coated with Male about; Proof 'gainst your beauty, and the rest, And had no room for Love to nest, Where reason lodgd within, and love kept out.

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My thoughts turn'd, like the needle, about, Touch'd by Magnetick love: And fain would find some North-pole out, But waver'd 'twixt desire and doubt; Till now they're fixt, and point to you above.

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Lend me one ray, and do but shine Upon my verse, and me; Your beauty can enrich a line, And so you'l make 'um yours, not mine; Since ther's no Helicon like love and thee.

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SONG VII

To his Mistress 1 Why dost thou frown, my dear, on me? Come change that angry face. What though I kist that Prodigie, And did her ugly limbs embrace? 'Twas only 'cause thou wert in place.

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2 Had I suckd poyson from her breath, One kiss could set me free: Thy lip's an Antidote 'gainst Death; Nor would I ever wish to be Cur'd of a sickness but by thee.

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The little birds for dirt repair Down from the purer skie, And shall not I kiss foul and fair? Wilt thou give Birds more pow'r than I? Fye, 'tis a scrupulous nicety.

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When all the World I've rang'd about, All beauties else to spy, And, at the last, can find none out, Equal to thee in beauty; I Will make thee my sole Deity.

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SONG VIII

The hard Heart i Still so hard-hearted? what may be The sin thou hast committed? That now the angry Deity Has to a Rock congealed thee, And thus thy hardnesse fitted? To make one act both sin and curse, And plague thy hardness with a worse.

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Till thee there never was but one Was to a Rock translated, PoorNiobe that weeping stone: She ever did, thou ne're dost moan, Nor is thy scorn abated. The tears I send to thee are grown Of that same nature, and turn stone.

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3 Yet I, dear Rock, must worship thee, Love works this superstition, And justifies th'Idolatry

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That's shown to such a stone as thee, Where it foreruns fruition. Thou'it so magnetick, that I can No more leave thee than to be Man.

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But thou, I warrant thee, do'st suppose This new design will slay me, And ravel out my life with woes Till death, at last, mine eyes shall close; Then in thy breast thou'It lay me, That all may read, lo here I ly Tomb'd in thy heart, slain by thine eye.

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But I, I vow, will be more wise, And love with such discretion; When I read coynesse in thy eyes, I'll roab mine with like cruelties, And kill with prepossession. Then I'll turn stone, and so will be An endless monument to thee.

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SONG IX

Loves Anarchy i Love, I must tell thee, I'l no longer be A Victime to thy beardless Deity: Nor shall this heart of mine, Now 'tis return'd, Be offered at thy shrine, Or at thine Altar burn'd. Love, like Religion's made an aiery name, To awe those souls whom want of wit makes tame.

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2 There's no such thing as Quiver, Shafts or Bow, Nor does Love wound, but men imagine so. Or if it does perplex

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And grieve the mind, 'Tis the poor masculine sex: Women no sorrows find. 'Tis not our persons, nor our parts, can move 'um, Nor is't men's worth, but wealth, makes Ladies love 'um.

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Reason henceforth, not love, shall be my guide, My fellow-creatures shan't be Deified; Fie now a rebel be, And so pull down That Distaff-Monarchy, And Femáis fancy'd crown. In these unbridled times who would not strive To free his neck from all prerogative?

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SONGX

The Libertine i Perswade me not, I vow F le love no more, My heart has now ta'ne quarter; My fetters F11 no more adore, Nor madly run, as heretofore, To break my freedoms Charter: He, that once fails, may try again; But who so often fool'd has been, And still attempts, commits a triple sin: He's his own humours Martyr. I'll use my liberty to run Abroad, and still be choosing: Who would confine himself to one That has power of refusing?

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2 The unconfined Bee, we see, has power, To kiss and feel each Nor is his pleasure limited To th'ruines of one maidenhead, Nor ty'd to ones embraces:

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But having's will of one, he'l fly Tanother, and there load his thigh. Why should he have more priviledg than I? Since both our amorous cases Differ in this alone; his thighs, When he abroad doth rome, Loaden with spoyls return, but mine Come weak and empty home.

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The self same beauty that I've often sworn Dwelt only in my dearest, I see by other Ladies worn, Whom the same Graces do adorn: I like that face that's nearest. This I salute, and walk with that; With this I sing, with t'other chat, I've none to Catechize me where? or what? Nor will be ty'd t'a Querist. Thus out of all, Pigmalion like, My fancy limns a woman; To her I freely sacrifice, And rivald am by no man.

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SONG XI

The Contrary i Nay prithee do, be coy and slight me, I must love, though thou abhor it; This pretty niceness does invite me: S corne me, and I'll love thee for it. That World of beauty that is in you, I'll overcome like Alexander. In amorous flames I can continue Unsing'd, and prove a Salamander.

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Do not be won too soon I prethee, But let me woe, whilst thou dost fly me. Tis my delight to dally with thee, I'll court thee still if thou'It deny me; For there's no happiness but loving, Enjoyment makes our pleasures flat. Give me the heart that's alwayes moving, And's not confind t'oneyow know what.

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I've fresh supplies on all occasions, Of thoughts, as Various as your face is, No Directory for evasions, Nor will I court by common-places. My heart's with Antidotes provided, Nor will I dye 'cause you frown on me; I'm merry when I am derided, When you laugh at me or upon me.

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'Tis fancy that creates those pleasures That have no being but conceited; And when we come to dig those treasures, We see our selves our selves have cheated: But if th'art minded to destroy me, Then love me much, and love me ever, I'll love thee more, and that may slay me, So I thy Martyr am, or never.

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SONG XII

The Young Lover i Tush! never tell me, I'm too young For loving, or too Green, She stayes at least seven years too long That's wedded at fourteen. Age and Discretion fit

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Grave Matrons, whose desires and youths are past. Love needs not, nor has wit. They in whose youthful breast dwells nought but frost Can only mourn the dayes, and joyes, they've lost.

2 Lambs bring forth Lambs, and Doves bring Doves As soon as they'r begotten: Then why should Ladies linger loves, As if not ripe till rotten. 'Tis envious age perswades This tedious heresy for men to woe Stale Nimphs and Vestal maids, While they in modesty must answer No. Late Love, like late Repentance, seldom's true.

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Gray hairs are fitter for the Grave Than for the bridal bed; What pleasure can a lover have In a whither'd Maidenhead? Dry bones and rotten limbs Make Hymens Temple turn an Hospital: Age all our beauty dimms. Though Lands must not till one and twenty fall, The laws to love prescribe no time at all.

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Nature's exalted in our time; And what our Grandames then At four and twenty scarce could climbe, We can arrive at ten. Youth of it self doth bring us Provocatives within, and we do scorn Love-powders and Eringoes. Cupid himself s a child, and 'twill be sworn, Lovers like poets, are not made, but born.

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SONG XIII

To his Mistress i My Theodora, can those eyes From whence such glories shine Give light to every soul that pryes, And only be obscur'd to mine, Who willingly my heart resigne, Enflam'd by you, to be your sacrifice?

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Send out one beam t'enrich my soul, And chase this gloomy shade, That does in clouds about me roul, And in my breast a hell has made; Where fire still burns, still flames invade. And yet lights pow'r and comfort both controul.

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Then, out of gratitude, I'll send Some of my flames to thee, Thus lovingly our gifts we'll blend; And both in joyes shall wealthy be: And love, though blind, shall learn to see, Since you an eye to him and me can lend.

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SONG XIV

To a Widow i Nay, dry (for shame) those blubber'd eyes, And cease to sigh that breath away, Fates are not mov'd with tears and cryes, Nor formal sighs as vain as they. Joyes are not joyes, that alwaies stay, And constant pleasures don't delight but cloy.

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Though he be gone, that was your dear, Must you for ever mourne and pine? The Sun that's buried the last Year, Does now in newer glory shine. Your Nuptial joyes and pleasures be Not dead, but only inherited by me.

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Hymen s an Artist, and can do The next time better then before, Giants great heights can reach unto, But on their shoulders dwarfs reach more. Men more refin'd do dayly grow, The nearer to Divinity they go.

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Then don't (my dear) thy heart confine, To one whose being's past away, And make me with desires to pine, Whilst he must glut, that can't injoy. Love's stifled, when it is confind, To this or that; its object is mankind.

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SONG XV

To his Friend that had vow'd Small-Bear i Leave off fond Hermite, leave thy vow, And fall again to drinking That beautie that wont sack allow, Is hardly worth thy thinking, Dry love or small can never hold, And without Bacchus Venus soon grows cold. 2

Doest think by turning Anchorite, Or a dull small-Bear sinner, Thy cold embraces can invite,

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Or sprightless Courtship win her? No, 'tis Canary that inspires, 'Tis Sack, like Oyle, gives Flames to am'rous Fiers.

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3 This makes thee chant thy Mistresse name, And to the heav'ns to raise her; And range this universal frame For Epithets to praise her. Low liquours render brains unwitty, And ne're provoke to love, but move to pity.

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4 Then be thy self, and take thy Glasse, Leave off this dry Devotion, Thou must like Neptune court thy lass, Wallowing in Nectars Ocean, Let's offer at each Ladies shrine, A full crown'd bowl, first here's a health to thine.

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SONG XVI

On Claret i Within this bottle's to be seen, A scarlet liquor that has been Born of the royal vine; We but nick name it when we call It Gods drink, who drink none at all, No higher name then Wine.

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2 'Tis Ladies liquor: here one might Feast both his eye and appetite, With beauty and with tast, Cherries and Roses which you seek Upon your Mistress lip and cheek Are here together plac't.

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Physitians may prescribe their whey To purge our Reins and Brains away, And clarify the Blood; That cures one sicknesse with another, This routs by wholesale altogether, And drowns them in a flood.

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4 This Poets makes, else how could I, Thus ramble into Poetrie, Nay and write Sonnets too; If there's such pow'r in junior wines, To make one venture upon lines What could Canary do?

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5 Then squeze the vessels bowels out And deal it faithfully about, Crown each hand with a brimmer; Since we're to pass through this red sea, Our noses shall our Pilots be And every soul a swimmer.

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SONG XVII

A Mock Song i 'Tis true, I never was in love: But now I mean to be, For there's no art Can shield a heart From loves Supremacie. 2 Though in my nonage I have seen A world of taking faces; I had not age nor wit to ken There several hidden graces.

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3 Those vertues which though thinly set, In others are admired, In thee are altogether met, Which make thee so desired.

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4 That though I never was in Love Nor never meant to be, Thy self and parts Above my arts Have drawn my heart to thee.

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SONG XVIII

Reasons of Love i Prethee, why dost thou love me so? Or is it but in show? What is there that your thoughts can pick about me? If beauty in my face you view, 'Twas ne're writ there unlesse by you, I little find within, nor you without me.

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2 I han't the Rhetorick of the foot, Nor leane long leg to boot, Nor can I court with congees, trips, and dances; I seldom sing, or if I do, You'll scarce tell where I sing or no, I can't endure Love-stories and Romances.

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3 I neither know, nor love to play And fool my time away; Nor talk in Dialects to please your fancy: Nor carve the Capon or the Quaile But hew it through from head to tail, A complement to me is Negromancy.

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4 I boast not of a pedigree, That Lords or Lordlings be, Nor do I lace my name with Grandsires story, Nor will I take the pains to look For a fools-coat i'th' Heralds book, My fame's mine own, no monumental glory.

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5 I am not fashion'd of the mode, Nor rant i'th' Gallants rode, Nor in my habit do observe decorum; Perfumes shall not my breath bely, Nor clothes my body glorifie, They shall derive their honour, 'cause I wore 'um.

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6 No frizling nor scarce locks, and yet Perhaps more hair then wit: Nor shall Sweet-powders vanity delight you; Though my hair's little, F le not carry A wig for an Auxiliary. If my locks can't, anothers shant invite you.

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7 And which is worse, I cannot woe With Gold as others do, Nor bait your love with Lordships, Lands, and Towers; Just so much money I have by, As serves to spoil my poetry, Not to expose me to the higher powers.

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8 Nay you shan't make a fool of me, Though I no Statist be, Nor shall I be so valliant to fight for ye, I han't the patience to court, Nor did I e'er do't, but in sport; I wont run mad for love, nor yet go marry.

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And yet I know some cause does move, Though it be not pure love 'Tis for your honours sake that you affect me, For well you know, she that's my Lass, Is canoniz'd in every glass, And her health's drunk, by all that do respect me.

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Then love thou on, Tie tipple till Both of us have our fill, And so thy name shall never be forgotten; I'll make UieeHellens fame survive, Though she be dead and thou alive, For though thou'it not so old, thy heart's as rotten.

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SONG XIX

Epithalamy i Nay fie, Platonicks, still adoring, The fond Chymaeras of your brain? Still on that empty nothing poring? And only follow what you faigne? Live in your humour, 'tis a curse So bad, 'twere pity wish a worse. We'l banish such conceits as those, Since he that has enjoyment, knows More bliss then Plato could suppose.

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2

Cashiered woers, whose low merit Could ne're arrive at nuptial bliss, Turn schismaticks in love, whose spirit Would have none hit 'cause they do miss. But those reproaches that they vent Do only blaze their discontent; Condemn'd mens words no truth can show,

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And Hunters when they prove too slow Cry Hares are dry meat, let 'um go. 3

Th'inamour'd youth, whose flaming brest Makes Goddesses and Angels all, In's contemplation finds no rest, For all his joyes are scepticall. At his fruition flings away His Claris and his Welladay And gladly joynes to fill our Quire, Who to such happinesse aspire As all must envy or admire.

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SONG XX

An Ode of Anacreon paraphrased Beauties force i I wonder why dame Nature thus Her various gifts dispences; She every creature else but us With arms, or armour fences. The Bull with bended horns she arms, With hoofs she guards the horse, The hare can nimbly run from harms, All know the Lyons force.

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2

The Bird can danger fly on's wing, She Fish with fins adornes, The Cuckold too, that harmlesse thing, His patience guards, and's horns. And Men she valiant makes and wise, To shun or baffle harmes; But to poor Women she denies Armour to give, or arms.

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3 Instead of all, this she does do; Our Beauty she bestows, Which serves for arms and armour too, 'Gainst all our pow'rful Foes. And 'tis no matter, so she doth Still beautious faces yield Wee'l conquer sword and fire, for both To beauty leave the field.

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SONG XXI

Love s without Reason i 'Tis not my Ladies face that makes me love her, Though beauty there doth rest, Enough t'inflame the breast Of one, that never did discover The glories of a face before; But I that have seen thousands more See nought in hers, but what in others are, Only because I think she's fair, she's fair.

5

2 'Tis not her vertues, nor those vast perfections, That crowd together in her, Ingage my soul to win her, For those are only brief Collections, Of what's in man in folio writ; Which by their imitative wit Women like Apes and Children strive to do; But we that have the substance slight the show.

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3 'Tis not her birth, her friends, nor yet her treasure, My freeborn soul can hold; For chains are chains though gold; Nor do I court her for my pleasure, Nor for that old Moralitie

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Do I love her, 'cause she loves me; For that's no love, but gratitude, and all Loves that from fortunes rise, with fortunes fall. 4

If friends, or birth, created love within me, Then Princes I'Id adore, And only scorn the poor, If vertue or good parts could win me, Fid turne Platonick and ne're vex My soul with difference of sex, And he, that loves his Lady 'cause she's fair, Delights his eye, so loves himself, not her.

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5

Reason and Wisdom are to love high treason, Nor can he truly love, Whose flame's not fair above, And far beyond his wit or reason, Then ask no reason for my fires, For infinite are my desires. Something there is moves me to love, and I Do know I love, but know not how, nor why.

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SONG XXII

The Damoisel i Since Women are still, By pretenders to skill, Suppos'd to be sway'd by their will, And not by their judgment nor reason, Then it shall be mine, To uphold the design, In spite of the hits Of the fellows call'd Wits That jeere every thing that's in season.

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Though youthful I be, And buxome to see, And suppos'd to be frolick and free, And ripe for the thing you wot on, Fie not sacrifie'd be To the Gingerbread he Whose cloathes are in print And his hair has butter in't And his fancies and whimseys has got on.

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15

3 For the Youth in their bud, That do saile in th Of their active and flaming blood, Like furious undertakers, Are fiery at first, But have soon done their worst, Then they shrink their heads in And care not a pin For the sport, nor yet the sportmakers.

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4 But give me that he That is threescore and three And can neither hear, smell or see, He will serve well enough for a cover; He will tickle, and touch, Though his strength be not much, He can't do, but desire, And that kindles his fire, While he fathers the sports of a lover.

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5 0 the tooth without peers! And the silver hairs! And the gouts, and the coughs of old years! I would have such an one for the nones; 1 can Chronicles find, In his limbs, and his mind, While his face tells the story Of memento mori With an Almanack in his bones.

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SONG XXIII

A Dialogue i Amoret O for the balmy curral of a lip! Where I with kissing Chimistry may sip Castalian quaffs of Nectar to delight me, And every kiss may to a new invite me. Oenophil Give me a bowl wherein I'll tumble Bacchus, To bath our souls, we'l drink 'till sack doth crack us. Midas But let my chests groan with the gilded oar, Where having much is prologue unto more. Oenophil Who doats on beau tie, fancies but a toy. Midas Who Wine adores does overwhelme his joy. Oenophil And he that gapes for gaudy dirt or treasure, Still feels desires, but no content nor pleasure. Chorus Then let's unite our desires, but let reason be our guide, What in each is not found, in all swels like a tide.

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2 Ámoret A beautious face can a young fancy raise, And mirtle glorifies, as well as Bayes. Love, like the soul, informes the flesh that's stupid, Nor can Apollo more inspire then Cupid. Oenophil Where full-fraught cups, with sprightly liquors flow, it Unwraps your brain, and makes each wight a Poet. Midas Where boundless treasure raigns 'twil raise the soul, And wit and love both conquer and controul. Amoret Still give me love, give me my lovely lasse. Oenophil I'll court no other mistresse, but the glass.

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Midas But give me chink, nor love, nor wit shall plague us. For Poe and Hippocrene both vail to Tagus. Chorus Then let's unite our desires, but let reason be our guide, What in each is not found, in all swels like a tide.

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SONG XXIV

To his Mistres affrighted in the wars i Come sigh no more, but kiss again, These troubles shall never trouble me; Your sighs are but wind, and your sorrows vain; They'l never the sooner for us agree. Let Canons keep roaring And bullets still fly, While I am adoring Thee, my deity. Hang this wealth! let money flee, They cannot undo me, while I have thee.

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2 I'll be thy Champion to defend Thy person from all these dangers and harms; No Army's so sure as a real friend, Nor Castle defends like a lovers arms. But if I can't daunt 'um, By valour and might, Your face shall enchant 'um, For beauty can fight. There's no armour can men free From the naked pow'r of such beauties as thee.

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3 I Venus serve, a fig for Mars, Loves arrows may wound, but never kill me; Me thinks there's no pleasure in bloody wars, But I long to be wounded and taken by thee. When our bullets are kisses,

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And our field is a bed, And the top of our bliss is A pure maidenhead, Both will strive to lose the day, And both shall be conquer'd, yet not run away.

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SONG XXV

Upon the Cavaleers departing out of London

i Now fare thee well London, Thou next must be undone, 'Cause thou hast undone us before; This cause and this tyrant, Had never plaid this high rant Were't not for thy argent and Or.

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Now we must desert thee, With the lines that begirt thee, And the red-coated Saints domineer, Who with liberty fool thee, While a Monster doth rule thee, And thou feelst what before thou didst fear.

10

3 Now justice and freedom With the laws that did breed 'um, Are sent to Jamaca for gold, And those that upheld 'um, Have power but seldom, For justice is barter'd and sold.

15

4 Now the Christian Religion Must seek a new Region, And the old Saints give way to the new; And we that are loyal Vail to those that destroy all, When the Christian gives place to the Jew.

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5 But this is our glory In this wretched story, Calamities fall on the best; And those that destroy us Do better employ us, To sing till they are supprest.

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SONG XXVI

On the fall of the prices of wine i Now our thanks to our powers above us, And to him that above them doth sit, Who to shew how intirely they love us, Have found out the way To repair the decay Of the famished and foundered Wit, And new drench the Poetical Tit. Chorus Welcome desired August to us Thou Comfort and delight do'st give us, Twas November did undo us, But 'tis August does relieve us.

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2 Give's a rowsing bear glass of Canary, The half pint and thimble's our foe; We will be no more tributary To the Spaniards pride, Nor make Vintners ride, When we are not able to go, Or dare not our faces to show. Chorus, etc.

15

3 We defie now the Malter and Hopper, Whose Pride would have made us surmise, Our Helicon lay in his Copper;

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And He'l sell wit and art, At three half pence a quart; And with that he would make us so wise, Tobe able to cheat the excise. Chorus, etc.

25

4 Let us venture to take the Canaries, And then wee'11 make sack of our own; For he that those Islands carries, Wins the Indies to boot, And all Spain added to't; The Turk and the Pope wee'l not own, But rule the whole World alone. Chorus, etc.

30

5 'Tis the means and the end of our study, It does make our invention oreflow While the channel of ale makes it muddy. A Mayor or a Knight By bunches may write, If his theame be the grape, and by it Be esteem'd a Divine and a wit. Chorus, etc.

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SONG XXVH

The Old Mans delight By R.B.

1 Ho boy, hay boy, Come come away boy, And bring me my longing desire, A Lass that is neat, And can well do the feat, When lusty young blood is on fire.

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2 Let her body be tall, And her wast be small, And her age not above eighteen, Let her care for no bed, But here let her spread Her mantle upon the green.

10

3 Let her face be fare, And her brests be bare, And a voice let her have that can warble, Let her belly be soft, But to mount me aloft, Let her bounding butocks be marble.

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The Addition by A.B. 4 Let her have a cherry lip Where I Nectar may sip; Let her eyes be as black as a sloe; Dangling locks I do love, So that those hang above Are the same with what growes below.

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5 Oh such a bonny lass May bring wonders to pass, And make me grow younger and younger; And when ere we do part, She'l be mad at the heart That F m able to tarry no longer.

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SONG XXVIII

A Dialogue translated What made Venus strike her Son? 'Cause he lost his bow and quiver. Where is his bow and quiver gone? To my Mistress without doubt. Prithee how came that about? She did but ask, and he did give her; For being blind, he easly ers, And knew not his Mothers face from hers. Chorus Oh blame him not for what he did do; Which of us all would not err so too? Q. A. Q. A. Q. A.

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SONG XXIX

Courtship Out of Catullus i My Lesbia, let us live and love, Let crabbed Age talk what it will, The Sun when down returns above, But we, once dead, must be so still. 2

Kiss me a thousand times, and then Give me a hundred kisses more, Now kiss a thousand times agen, Then t'other hundred as before.

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3

Come a third thousand, and to those Another hundred kisses fix; That done, to make the sweeter close, Wee'l millions of kisses mix.

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And huddle them together so, That we our selves shan't know how many, And others can't their number know, If we should envy'd be by any.

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And then, when we have done all this, That our pleasures may remain, We'l continue on our bliss, By unkissing all again.

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Thus we'l love and thus we'l live, While our posting minutes fly, We'l have no time to vex or grieve, But kiss and unkiss till we die.

SONG XXX

The Attempt

i Why should I blush or be dismai'd, To tell you I adore you? Since Love's a pow'r, that can't be staid, But must by all be once obey'd, And you as well as those before you. Your beauty hath enchain'd my mind, O let me not then cruel find You which are fair, and therefore should be kind.

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2

Fair as the light, pure as the Ray, That in the gray-ey'd morning Leaps forth, and propagates a day, Those glories which in others stray Meet all in you for your adorning. Since nature built that goodly frame,

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And Virtue has inspir'd the same, Let love draw yours to meet my raging flame.

15

3 Joy of my soul, the only thing, That's my delight and glory, From you alone my love does spring, If one love may another bring, 'Twill crown our happy story. Those fires I burne withall are pure And Noble, yet too strong t'endure; 'Twas you did wound, 'tis you that ought to cure.

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SONG XXXI

To a Lady that turned her Cheek i And why this coyness, Lady mine? What needs all this ado? 'Tis but a swap, my lips for thine, A gentle touch and goe. Nay let such kisses still be kept, Let him that is deny'd Your lip, and will your cheek accept, Lye only by your side.

5

2 I hate to kiss your druggs and foiles, 'Tis flesh that I affect, And you whose art your nature spoils, I like not, but suspect. Pray why's your mouth more shy then mine? Am't I as sound as you're? My lips let in as much good wine, And send out words as pure. 3 Expect no courtship more from me, Nor words, that you, and I May in our judgments plainly see,

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Make but a ranting lie: Leave these coy humours and be plain: Deny, or else be free, Look not for love, w'thout love again, I'le kiss, if you'l kiss me.

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SONG XXXII

Practick Love i Prithee Caelia tell me, why Thou fool'st away thy precious howers, Beauty fades, and youth doth fly, There's no trust to futurity. Time present's only in our powers. She that her present joys doth defer, Would love at the last, when none will love her, And so proves her own Idolater.

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2

Either love or say you will not, For love or scorn's all one tome, Diversion's pleasant, though it fill not; Denialls vex us, but they kill not, We're murder'd by credulity, O 'tis a Tyranny still to invite, The mind, and inrage it with faigned delight, To raise and then baffle the appetite.

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3

If you'Id let me be but quiet, Not see your face, nor hear your name, Though I can't conquer love, I'Id fly it, For abscence, businesse, friends or dyet Would quench or else divert my flame. But you're so imperious grown, and so cruel, 'Cause you see that my heart is cumbustible you will Not put out the fire, but still put in fuell.

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4 'Twas not your face, nor yet my eye, That this devouring flame begot, If either did alone, pray why Did you not kill, and I not die Then when we knew each other not? 'Twas their constellation was my undoing, You by being beautious, and I by viewing Paid in contribution to my own ruine.

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5 Come then let's love now while we may, And let me know what I may trust to, Desires are murdred by delay, Our youth and marrow will decay, And Love, for want of use, will rust too. This kissing and courting not any thing spels, In spite of the stone the Platonist tells, If it were not in order to something else.

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SONG XXXIII

Translated out of French i Now I'm resolv'd to love no more, But sleep by Night, and drink by day: Your coynesse, Claris, pray give o're, And turn your tempting eyes away. From Ladies Fie withdraw my heart And fix it only on the Quart.

5

2 I'll place no happiness of mine A puling beauty still to court And say she's glorious and divine, The Vintner makes the better sport. And when I say my Dear, my Heart, I only mean it to the Quart.

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Love has no more prerogative, To make me desperate courses take, Nor me fan Hermitage shall drive, Fie all my vowes to th'gobblet make And if I wear a Capuchoone It shall a Tankard be or none.

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Added 4

'Tis Wine alone that cheers the soul, But love and Ladies make us sad; I'm merry when I court the bowl, While he that courts the Madam's mad, Then Ladies wonder not at me, For you are coy, but wine is free.

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SONG XXXIV

Translated out of French i Clymena still complains of me And I of her complain too; But would you know the cause, why we This quarrel did attain to? 'Tis 'cause I am not true saies she, And I say that again too.

5

2 I cannot choose but wonder why This lovely toy doth blame me, If my heart wears inconstancy; It is but what became me. Since she was fickle why not I? I'm but as she did frame me.

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Time was I thought our flames of love, Would burn for ever brighter; But when she did so faithless prove, I vow'd I would requite her, I quickly did my flames remove, And now for ever slight her.

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SONG XXXV

To a painted Lady i Leave these deluding tricks and showes, Be honest and down-right; What Nature did to view expose, Don't you keep out of sight. The novice youth may chance admire, Your dressings, paints and spells: But we that are expert desire Your sex for somewhat else.

5

2 In your adored face and hair, What vertue could you find, If Women were, like Angels fair And every man were blind? You need no pains or time to wast To set your beauties forth, With oyles, and paint and druggs, that cost More then the face is worth.

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3 Nature her self, her own work does And hates all needless arts, And all your artificial showes Disgrace your Nat'ral parts. You're flesh and blood and so are we, Let flesh and blood alone,

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To Love all compounds hateful be, Give me the pure or none.

SONG XXXVI

To a coy Lady

i I prithee leave this peevish fashion, Don't desire to be high-priz'd, Love's a Princely noble passion, And doth scorne to be despis'd. Though we say you're fair, you know, We your beauty do bestow, For our fancy makes you so.

5

2 Don't be proud 'cause we adore you, We do't only for our pleasure, And those parts in which you glory, We by fancy weigh and measure. When for Deities you go, For Angels, or for Queens, pray know, 'Tis our fancy makes you so.

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3 Don't suppose your Majesty By Tyrannie's best signified, And your Angellick natures be Distinguish'd only by your pride. Tyrants make Subjects rebells grow, And pride makes Angels Dev'ls below, And your pride may make you so.

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SONG XXXVII

The Recovery i How unconcerned I can now Behold that face of thine! The Graces and the dresses too Which both conspir'd to make thee shine, And made me think thou wert divine.

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2 And yet me thinks thou'rt wondrous fair, But I have no desires, Those Glories in thy face that are, Kindled not in my heart those fires, For that remains, though this expires.

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3 Nor was't my eyes that had such pow'r To burn my self and you, For then they'Id every thing devoure, But I do several others view, Unsing'd, and so don't think it true.

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4 Nay both together could not do't, Else we had dy'd e're this, Without some higher pow'r to boot, Which must rule both, if either miss, All t'other to no purpose is.

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5 It puzles my Phylosophy, To find wherein consists This pow'r of love, and tyranny, Or in a Lovers eye, or brest Be't where it will, there let it rest.

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SONG XXXVIII

Advice to Caelia i My lovely Caelia, while thou dost enjoy Beauty and youth, be sure to use 'um, And be not fickle, be not coy, Thy self or Lovers to destroy. Since all those Lillies and those Roses, Which Lovers find, or love supposes, To flourish in thy face, Will tarry but a little space; And youth and beauty are but only lent To you by nature, with this good intent You should enjoy, but not abuse 'um, And when enjoyments may be had, not fondly to refuse 'um.

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2 Let lovers flatt'ry ne're prevail with thee; Nor their oyl'd complements deceive thee, Their vows and protestations be 15 Too often meer Hypocrisie. And those high praises of the witty May all be costly, but not fit ye, Or if it true should be Now what thy lovers say of thee, 20 Sicknesse or age will quickly strip away Those fading glories of thy youthful May, And of thy graces all bereave thee, Then those that thee ador'd before will slight thee, and so leave thee.

3 Then while thou'rt fair and young, be kind but wise, Doat not, nor proudly use denying; That tempting toy thy beauty lies Not in thy face, but lovers eyes. And he that doats on thee may smother His love, i'th' beautie of another, Or flying at all game May quench, or else divert his flame. His reason too may chance to interpose, And love declines as fast as reason grows.

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There is a knack to find loves treasures; 35 Too young, too old, too nice, too free, too slow, destroy s your pleasures.

SONG XXXIX

The Mad Lover I have been in love, and in debt, and in drink This many and many a year; And those three are plagues enough one would think For one poor mortal to bear. Twas drink made me fall into Love, And Love made me run into debt, And though I have strugled and strugled and strove, I cannot get out of them yet. There's nothing but money can cure me, And rid me of all my pain. 'Twil pay all my debts, And remove all my lets, And my Mistris that cannot endure me, Will love me, and love me again, Then I'll fall to loving and drinking amain.

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SONG XL

The Murmurer i Let's lay aside plotting and thinking, And medling with matters of State, Since we have the freedome of drinking, 'Tis a folly to scribble or prate. The great ones have nothing to think on, But how to make fools of the small; We Cavaliers suffer and drink on, And care not a louse for 'um all.

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We thought it was matter of danger To be Rebels against our Prince; But he that is not a meer stranger, May see it is otherwise since. Tis only the petty Delinquent With whom the matter goes hard; Where ever much boldness and Chink went, There honour's bestow'd and reward.

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To keep up a turbulent nature, And fear neither God nor the King; To be a significant Tray tor, Is an advantageous thing. But since it has ever been so, And so it will ever be, Let it end as it did begin, so That it never do trouble me.

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SONG XLI

A Round Sit round, sit round, leave musing and thinking, Hang caring and working, let's fall to our drinking; The works of our hands Shall purchase no lands, But in spight of all care wee'l be frolick; He that does the glass skip, May he die of the pip, Or be lowsie that none shall endure him; Or be plagu'd with the stone or the cholick, And find ne'r a Surgeon to cure him.

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SONG XLII

The Cavalier i We have ventur'd our estates, And our liberties and lives, For our Master and his mates, And been toss'd by cruel fates, Where the rebellious Devil drives, So that not one of ten survives. We have laid all at stake For his Majesty's sake, We have fought, we have paid, We've been sold and betray'd, And tumbled from nation to nation, But now those are thrown down That usurped the Crown, Our hopes were that we All rewarded should be, But we're paid with a Proclamation.

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2 Now the times are turn'd about, And the Rebels race is run: That many headed beast, the Rout, Who did turn the Father out When they saw they were undon, Were for bringing in the Son. That phanatical crue Which made us all rue, Have got so much wealth, By their plunder and stealth, That they creep into profit and power: And so come what will, They'll be uppermost still; And we that are low, Shall still be kept so While those domineer and devour.

Ill

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3 Yet we will be loyal still, And serve without reward or hire, To be redeem'd from so much ill, May stay our stomacks, though not fill; And if our patience do not tire, We may in time have our desire.

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SONG XLIII

A Wife i Since thou'rt condemn'd to wed a thing, And that same thing must be a she; And that same she to thee must cling For term of life of her or thee; I'll tell thee what this thing shall bee.

5

2 I would not have her virtuous, For such a wife I ne'er did see; And 'tis a madness to suppose What never was, nor e'er shall bee; To seem so is enough to thee.

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3 Do not desire she should be wise, Yet let her have a waggish wit; No circumventing subtilties, But pretty slights to please and hit, And make us laugh at her, or it.

15

4 Nor must thou have one very just, Lest she repay thee in thy kind; And yet she must be true to trust; Or if to sport she has a mind, Let her be sure to keep thee blind.

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One part of valour let her have; Not to return but suffer ill, To her own passion be no slave But to thy laws obedient still, And unto thine submit her will.

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6

Be thou content she have a tongue, That's active so it be not lowd; And so she be straight-limb'd and young, Though not with beauty much endow'd, No matter, so she be but proud.

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7

Tir'd she should be, not satisfi'd, But alwaies tempting thee for more, So cunningly she been't espy'd. Let her act all parts like a whore, So she been't one, Fid ask no more.

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8

But above all things, let her be Short liv'd and rich, no strong-dock'á Jone, That dares to live till fifty-three, Find this wife, if thou must have one; But there's no wife so good as none.

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SONG XLIV

On the Queens Arrival i From the Lusitanian Shore, Our triumphing Ships are come Proudly with their royal lading, Which Britain, that now truly's great, enjoys at home, And needs no more abroad to rome, But may now give over trading.

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For we have that Jewel whose value is more, Then all one India's Spice, or t'other India's Ore. 2

Katharina Queen of love! England's joy and admiration! Fit to be made a Spouse to Jove, Spains terrour, yet their emulation; The Portuguez riches, their glory and pride, Who now are become but a rifled nation, Such a coelestial consort to bring To the embraces of Brittains King: The world yields not so glorious a Bride, Nor is there a Prince that merits the bliss Of so great beauty, but so good a King as this.

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3

Now let sea and land rejoyce, Tagus yields us golden sands; All that have feet, or hands, or voyce, In these two united lands, Lift them up, rejoyce and sing; Blessed Queen and happy King! Chorus Long live Charles and Katharina ! To testifie our joy, We sung Vive le Roy, But now wee'l sing Vive le Roy et la Regina.

SONG XLV

A Friend i Fain would I find out a friend that is true; That we may live freely together: But men are grown false, and friends are but few, And as fickle in mind as a feather.

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2

That man I suspect, who much zeal does pretend, And will not our frailties connive at, His looks and his words are both fram'd to his end, While some underhand-cheat he does drive at.

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3 He that still laughs in tune, and smiles in my face, And appears very courteous and civil; If I trust him but once, I shall find him as base And perfidious as the Devil.

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4 A man of a niggardly soul I despise, His Avarice makes him slavish; For he that his wealth more than honour doth prize, Will not only be sordid but knavish.

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5

He that soon grows rich from a beggerly life, Is not for my conversation; He's as proud as a Presbyter Parson's wife, Or a new made corporation. 6 But he that is generous, jolly and wise, Good natur'd and just to any one, Such person I love and extol to the skies; He shall be my friend and companion.

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SECTION 2

SONG I

The Royalist Written in 1646 1

Come, pass about the bowl to me, A health to our distressed King; Though we're in hold, let cups go free, Birds in a cage may freely sing. The ground does tipple healths apace, When stormes do fall, and shall not we? A sorrow dares not shew its face, When we are ships and sack's the sea.

5

2 Pox on this grief, hang wealth, let's sing, Shall's kill our selves for fear of death? We'l live by th'aire which songs doth bring, Our sighing does but wast our breath. Then let us not be discontent, Nor drink a glass the lesse of Wine; In vain they'l think their plagues are spent, When once they see we don't repine.

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3 We do not suffer here alone, Though we are beggar'd, so's the King, 'Tis sin t'have wealth, when he has none, Tush! poverty's a Royal thing! When we are larded well with drink, Our heads shall turn as round as theirs, Our feet shall rise, our bodies sink Clean down the wind, like Caveliers.

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Fill this unnatural quart with sack, Nature all vacuums doth decline, Our selves will be a Zodiack, And every mouth shall be a sign. Me thinks the Travels of the glasse, Are circular like Plato's year, Where every thing is as it was; Let's tipple round; and so 'tis here.

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SONG II

The Commoners Written in 1645. to the Club men 1

Come your wayes Bonny Boyes Of the Town, For now is your time or never, Shall your fears Or your cares Cast you down? Hang your wealth And your health, Get renown, We all are undone for ever. Now the King and the crown Are tumbling down, And the realm doth groan with disasters, And the scum of the land, Are the men that command, And our slaves are become our masters.

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Now our lives Children, wives And Estate, Are a prey to the lust and plunder, To the rage

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Of our age. And the fate Of our land Is at hand, Tis too late To tread these Usurpers under. First down goes the crown, Then follows the gown, Thus le veil 'd are we by the Roundhead, While Church and State must Feed their pride and their lust, And the Kingdom and King confounded.

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3 Shall we still Suffer ill And be dumb? And let every Varlet undo us? Shall we doubt Of each Lowt, That doth come, With a voice Like the noise Of a Drum, And a sword or a Buffe-coate to us? Shall we lose our estates By plunder and rates To bedeck those proud upstarts that swagger? Rather fight for your meat, Which these Locusts do eat, Now every man's a beggar.

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SONG III

The Pastorall On the Kings death. Written in 1648 1

Where England's Damon us'd to keep, In peace and awe, his flocks Who fed, not fed upon, his sheep, There Wolves and Tygres now do prey, There Sheep are slain, and Goats do sway, There raigns the subtle Fox While the poor Lamkins weep.

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The Laurell'd garland which before Circled his brows about, The spotlesse coat which once he wore, The sheep-hook which he us'd to sway, And pipe whereon he lov'd to play, Are seiz'd on by the rout, And must be us'd no more.

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Poor Swain how thou lament'st to see Thy flocks o're-rul'd by those That serve thy Cattle all like thee, Where hatefull vice usurps the Crown, And Loyalty is trodden down; Down skrip and sheephook goes, When Foxes Shepheards be.

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SONG IV

A Mock-song Hang up Mars And his wars, Give us drink, We'l tiple my Lads together; Those are slaves, Fools and knaves, That have chink, And must pay, For what they say, Do, or think, Good fellows accompt for neither; Be we round, be we square, We are happier than they're Whose dignity works their ruine, He that well the bowl rears, Can baffle his cares, And a fig for death, or undoing.

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SONG V

The Trouper i Come, come, let us drink, Tis in vain to think, Like fools on grief or sadness; Let our money fly And our sorrows die, All worldly care is madness; But sack and good cheer Will in spite of our fear, Inspire our souls with gladness.

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2 Let the greedy clowns That do live, like hounds, And know neither bound nor measure,

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Lament each loss, For their wealth is their cross, Whose delight is in their treasure, But we that have none, Will use theirs as our own, And spend it at our pleasure.

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3 Troul about the bowl, The delight of my soul, And to my hand commend it. A fig for chink 'Twas made to buy drink, Before that we go we'l end it; When we've spent our store, The land will yield us more, And jovially we will spend it.

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SONG VI

The Good-fellow

i Stay, stay, shut the gate, T'other quart, faith, it is not so late, As you're thinking, Those Stars which you see, In this hemisphere be But the studs in your cheeks by your drinking. The sun's gone to tipple all night in the sea boyes, Tomorrow he'l blush that he's paler then we boyes, Drink wine, give him water, 'tis sack makes us the boyes.

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2 Fill, fill up the glass, To the next merry Lad let it passe, Come away w'it; Come set foot to foot, And but give your mindes to't, 'Tis heretical six, that doth slay wit. No helicon like to the juce of the Vine is,

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ForPhaebus had never had wit, or diviness, Had his face not bin bow-dy'd as thine, his, and mine is. 3

Drink, drink off your bowls, We'l enrich both our heads and our soûles With Canary, A carbuncled face Saves a tedious race, For the Indies about us we carry. Then hang up good faces, we'l drink till our noses, Give freedom to speak what our fancy disposes; Beneath whose protection is under the Roses.

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This, this must go round, Off w'your hats, till the pavement be crown'd With yoor beavers. A red-coated face Frights a Sergeant at mace, And the Constable trembles to shivers. In state march our faces like those of the Quorum, When the wenches fall down and the vulgar adore 'um, And our noses, like Linkboyes, run shining before 'um.

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An Addition by M.C. Esquire 5

Call, call, honest Will, Hang a long and tedious bill, It disgraces; When our Rubies appear, We justly may swear, That the reckoning is true by our faces. Let the Bar-boy go sleep, and the drawers leave roaring, Our looks wil account without them, had we more in When each pimple that rises will save a quart scoring.

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SONG VII

The Answer By TJ. 1

Hold, Quaff no more, But restore (If ye can) what y'have lost by your Drinking, Three Kingdoms and Crowns With their Cities and Towns, Whilest a King and his Progenie's sinking; The Studs in your Cheeks have obscured his Star Boys, Your Drink and Miscarriages in the late War, Boys, Hath brought his Prerogative so to the Bar Boys.

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2 Throw down the Glass, He's an Ass That extracts all his worth from Canary, That Valour will shrink Which is onely good in Drink, 'Twas the Cup made the Camp to miscarry; You thought (in the World) there was no Power could tame ye, You tippl'd and whor'd till the Foe overcame ye, Cuds Nigs and Nere-stir-Sir, hath vanquish'd God Damme.

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3 Fly from the Coast, Or you are lost, And the Water will run where the Drink went; From hence ye must slink, If you swear and have no Chink, 'Tis the Curse of a royall Delinquent; You love to see Beer-bowls turn'd over the thumb well, You like three fair Gamesters, four Dice, and a Drum wel, But y'had as live see the Devil as Fairfax or Cromwel.

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4 Drink not the Round, You'll be drown'd In the source of your Sack and your Sonnets,

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Try once more your Fate, For the Kirk against the State, And go hartar your Beavers for Bonnets; You see how you are charm'd by your female Enchanters, And therefore Pack hence to Virginia for Planters, For an Act and two Red-Coats can rout all the Ranters.

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SONG VIII

The Answer i Stay, stay, prate no more, Least thy brain, like thy purse run o'th' score Though thou strain'st it, Those are Traytors in grain That of sack do complain, And rail by 'ts own power against it. Those Kingdoms and Crowns which your poetry pities, Are fain by the pride and hypocrisy of Cities, And not by those brains that love sack and good dities. The King and his progeny had kept 'um from sinking, Had they had no worse foes, then the Lads that love drinking, We that tipple ha'no leisure for plotting or thinking.

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2 He, he is an Asse That doth throw down himself with a glass Of Canary; He that's quiet will think Much the better of drink, 'Cause the cups made the camp to miscarry. You whore though we tipple, and there my friend you lie, Your sports did determine in the month before July, There's less fraud in plain dam me, then your sly by my truly, 'Tis sack makes our bloods both the purer and warmer, We need not your priest or the feminine charmer, For a bowl of Canary's a whole suite of armour.

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Hold, hold, not so fast, Tipple on, for there is no such hast To be going; We drowning may fear, But your end will be there Where there is neither swiming nor rowing. We were Gamsters alike, and our stakes were both down boyes, But Fortune did favour you being her own boyes, And who would not venture a cast for a crown boyes? Since we wear the right colours he the worst of our foes is, That goes to traduce us and fondly supposes That Cromwel is an enemy to sack and red noses.

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4 Then, then quaff it round, No deceit in a brimmer is found, Here's no swearing, Beer and Ale makes you prate Of the Kirk and the State Wanting other discourse worth the hearing. This strumpets your Muses, to ballad or flatter Or raile, and your betters with froth to bespatter, And your talk's all diurnals and Gunpowder matter: But we while old sack does divinely inspire us Are active to do what our Rulers require us, And attempt such exploits as the world shall admire us.

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SONG IX

The Levellers rant Written in 1648 1

To the Hall, to the/wz//, For justice we call, On the King and his pow'rful adherents and friends, Who still have endeavoured, but we work their ends. 'Tis we will pull down what e're is above us,

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And make them to fear us, that never did love us, We'l level the proud and make every degree, To our Royalty bow the knee, 'Tis no lesse then treason, 'Gainst freedom and Reason For our brethren to be higher then we.

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2 First the thing, call'd a King, To judgment we bring, And the spawn of the court, that were prouder then he, And next the two Houses united shall be, It does to the Romish religion enveagle, For the State to be twoheaded like the spread-eagle. We'l purge the superfluous members away, They are too many Kings to sway, And as we all teach, 'Tis our Liberties breach, For the Freeborn Saints to obey.

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3 Not a Claw, in the Law, Shall keep us in aw; We'l have no cushon-cuffers to tell us of hell, For we are all gifted to do it as well, 'Tis freedom that we do hold forth to the Nation To enjoy our fellow-creatures as at the creation; The Carnal mens wives are for men of the spirit, Their wealth is our own by merit, For we that have right, By the Law called Might, Are the Saints that must judge and inherit.

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SONGX

The New-Courtier Written in 1648 1

Since it must be so, Then so let it go, Let the Giddy-brain'd times turn round, Since we have no King, let the goblet be crown'd, Our Monarchy thus we'l recover; While the pottles are weeping, We'l drench our sad souls In big-bellyed bowles, Our sorrows in sack shall ly steeping, And we'l drink till our eyes do run over. And prove it by reason That it can be no Treason To drink and to sing A mournival of healths to our new-crown'd King.

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2 Let us all stand bare, In the presence we are, Let our noses like bonfires shine, Instead of the Conduits, let the pottles run wine, To perfect this new Coronation, And we that are loyal, In drink, shall be peers. While that face, that wears Pure Claret, lookes like the blood-royal And out-stares the Bores of the Nation, In sign of obedience, Our oathes of allegiance Beer-glasses shall be, And he that tipples ten 's of the Nobility.

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3 But if in this raign, The Halberted train Or the Constable should rebel, And should make their twybill'd militia to swell,

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And against the Kings party raise armes, Then the Drawers like Yeomen Of the Guard, with quart-pots, Shall fuddle the sotts, While we make 'um both cuckolds and freemen, And on their wives beat up alarums. Thus as each health passes, We'l tripple the glasses, And hold it no sin, To be loyal and drink in defence of our King.

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SONG XI

The Safety Written in 1648 1

Since it has been lately enacted high Treason, For a man to speak truth of the heads of the state, Let every wise man make use of his reason, See and hear what he can, but take heed what he prate. For the proverbs do learn us, He that stay es from the battait sleeps in a whole skin, And our words are our own, if we can keep 'um in, What fools are we then, that to prattle begin Of things that do not concern us?

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2 Let the three kingdoms fall to one of the prime ones, My mind is a Kingdom and shall be to me, I could make it appear, if I had but the time once, I'm as happy with one, as he can be with three, If I could but injoy it. He that's mounted on high, is a mark for the hate And the envy of every pragmatical pate, While he that creeps low, lives safe in his state, And greatness doth scorne to anoy it.

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3 I am never the better which side gets the battel, The Tubs or the Crosses what is it to me? They'l never increase my goods or my cattle, But a beggar's a beggar and so he shall be, Unless he turn Tray tor. Let Misers take courses to heap up their treasure, Whose lust has no limits, whose mind has no measure, Let me be but quiet and take a little pleasure, And little contents my nature.

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4 My petition shall be that Canary be cheaper, W'thout patent or custom or cursed excise; That the Wits may have leave to drink deeper and deeper And not be undone, while their heads they baptise And in liquor do drench 'um. If this were but granted, who would not desire, To dub himself one ofAppollo's own quire? n o We'l ring out the bells, when our noses are And the quarts shall be the buckets to quench 'um.

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5 I account him no wit, that is gifted at rayling, And flirting at those that above him do sit, While they do out wit him, with whipping and goaling, Then his purse and his person both pay for his wit; 'Tis better to be drinking. If sack were reform'd into Twelvepence a quart, Fid study for money to merchandize for't, And a friend that is true, we together will sport. Not a word, but we'l pay them with thinking.

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SONG XII

The Companion i What need we take care for Platonical rules? Or the precepts of Aristotle? They that think to find learning in books are but fools, True Philosophy lies in the bottle. And a mind That's confind To the mode of the schooles, Nere arrives at the height of a pottle. Let the sages Of our ages Keep a talking Of our walking, Demurely, while we that are wiser, Doe abhor all That's moral In Plato And Cato And Seneca talks like a Sizer. Chorus Then let full bow les on bowles be hurl'd, That our jollity may be compléter, For Man though he be but a very little world, Must be drown'd, as well as the greater.

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2 We'l drink till our cheeks are as starred as the skies, Let the pale-coulour'd students flowt us, And our noses, like Comets, set fire on our eyes, Till we bear the whole heavens about us. And if all Make us fall, Then our heels shall devise What the stars are a doing without us. Let Lilly Go tell you Of thunders And wonders, Let Astrologers all divine,

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And let Booker Be a looker Of our natures In our features, He'l find nothing but Claret in mine. Chorus Then let full bowles, etc.

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SONG XIII

Copernicus i Let the bowl pass free From him to thee As it first came to me, 'Tis pity that we should confine it, Having all either credit or coyn yet, Let it e'ne take its course, There's no stopping its force, He that shuffles must inter-line it.

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2 Lay aside your cares, Of Shops and Wares, And irrational fears, Let each breast be as thoughtless as his'n is, That from his bride newly ris'n is, We'l banish each soul, That comes here to condole, Or is troubled with love or businesse.

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3 The King we'l not name, Nor a Lady t'enflame, With desire to the game, And into a dumpishnesse drive all, Or make us run mad, and go wive all, We'l have this whole night Set apart for delight And our mirth shall have no corrival.

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4 Then see that the Glass Through its circuit do pass, Till it come where it was, And every nose has been within it, Till he end it that first did begin it, As Copernicus found, That the Earth did turn round, We will prove so does every thing in it.

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SONG XIV

The Painters entertainment i This is the time, and this is the day Design'd for mirth and sporting, We'l turn October into May, And make St. Lukes feast As pleasant and long as the rest, We'l in our own faces our colours display, And hallow our yearly resorting. Then let the bowles turn round round, While in them our colours we mingle To raise our dull souls from the ground, Our arts and our pains are thus crown'd, And happy are we That in unity be, 'Tis a hell upon earth to be single. Chorus 'Twas love at first that brought us hither, And love shall keep us here together.

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2 First to the Master of the feast, This health is consecrated, Thence to each sublimary guest, Whose soul doth desire, This Nectar to raise and inspire,

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Till he with Apelles himself doth contest, And his fancy is elevated. Then let the bowles, etc. Chorus 'Twas love, etc.

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3 Lo how the air the earth and the seas, Have all brought in their treasure, To feast each sence with rarities, Plump Bacchus brings wine, And Ceres her dainties doth joyne, The air with rare musick doth eccho and these All club to create us pleasure.

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Then let the bowles, etc. Chorus 'Twas love, etc.

4 Now in our fancies we will suppose The world in all its glory, Imagine all delight that growes, And pleasures that can Fill up the vast soul of a man, And glut the coy pallat, the eyes, ears and nose, By the fancy presented before you.

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Then let the bowles, etc. Chorus 'Twas love, etc.

5 We'l use no pencil now but the bowl, Let every artist know it, In sack we will pourtray each soul, Each health that is took Will give us the livelyer look, And who's he that dares our fancy controule, When each Painter is turned a poet? Then let the bowles, etc.

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Chorus 'Twas love, etc.

6 And though we cannot the day extend Beyond its proper measure; The night and it themselves shall blend, We care not for night, When our hearts and our heads are all light, Nor the time, nor the company shall have an end, Honest mirth of it self is a treasure. Then let the bowles, etc. Chorus 'Twas love, etc.

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SONG XV

The Cure of Care i Why should we not laugh and be jolly? Since now all the world is mad, All lul'd in a dull melancholly; He that wallows in store, Is still gaping for more; And that makes him as poor, As that wretch that never any thing had. How mad is the damn'd money-monger, That to purchase to him and his heirs, Growes shrivled with thirst and hunger? While we that are bonny, Buy sack for ready money, And ne're trouble Scriv'ners nor Lawyers.

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2 Those Gulls that by scraping and toyling, Have s well 'd their Revenues so vast, Get nothing by all their turmoyling, But are marks for each tax, While they load their own backs,

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With the heavier packs, And lie down gall'd and weary at last, While we that do trafick in Tipple, Can baffle the gown and the sword, Whose jawes are so hungry and gripple, We ne're trouble our heads, With indentures or deeds, But our Wills are compris'd in a word.

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3 Our money shall never endite us, Nor drag us to Goldsmiths-hall, Nor Pyrates nor storms can affright us, We that have no estates, Pay no taxes or rates, But can sleep with open gates, He that lies on the ground cannot fall, We laugh at those fools whose endeavours Do but fit 'um for prisons or While we that spend all are the savers, For if thieves do steal in, They go out empty agin, Nay the Plunderers lose their designes.

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4 Then let's not take care for to morrow, But tipple and laugh while we may, To wash from our hearts all sorrow; Those Cormorants which Are troubled with an itch, To be mighty and Do but toy le for the wealth which they borrow. The Mayor of the Town with his ruff on, What a pox is he better then we? He must vail to the men with the buff on; He Custard may eat, And such luberly meat, But we drink and are merrier then he.

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SONG XVI

Content Out of Anacreon i If wealth could keep a man alive, Fid only study how to thrive, That having got a mighty mass, I might bribe the fates to let me passe. But since we can't prolong our years, Why spend we time in needless sighs and tears? For since Destiny Has decreed us to die, And all must passe o're the old ferry, Hang riches and cares, Since we han't many years, We'l have a short life and a merry.

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2 Times keep their round, and destiny Observes not where we laugh or cry, And Fortune never does bestow, A look on what we do below: But men with equal swiftness run To prey on others, or be prey'd upon, Since we can take no course, To be better or worse, Let none be a melancholly thinker; Let the Times the round go, So the cups do so too, Ne're blush at the name of a Drinker.

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SONG XVII

Mirth Out of Anacreon When our brains well liquor'd are, Then we charm asleep our care, Then we accompt Machivile a fool with his plots, And cry there's no depth, but the bottom o'th' pots, Then Hector compar'd with us will be But a coward, and C raes us beggarly. Then with songs our voices we raise, And circle our Temples with bayes, Then Honour we account but a blast of Wind, And trample all things in our mind. The valiant at arms, That are led by fond charms Get their honour with harms While he that takes up A plentiful cup, To no danger is brought But of paying his groat. Then quickly come Lad and fill our cups full, For since down we must all be laid, 'Tis held a good rule In Bacchus free-schole 'Tis better lie drunk then dead.

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SONG XVIII

The Indépendants resolve Written in 1648 1

Come drawer and fill us about some wine, Let's merrily tipple the day's our own, We'l have our delights, let the country go pine, Let the King and his Kingdom groan. The Crown is our own and so shall continue,

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We'l Monarchy baffle quite, We'l drink off the Kingdomes revenue, And sacrifice all to delight. 'Tis power that brings Us all to be Kings And we'l be all crown'd by our might.

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2 A fig for divinity lectures and law, And all that to Loyalty do pretend, While we by the sword keep the Kingdom in awe, Our power shall never have end. The Church and the State we'l turn into liquor, And spend a whole Town in a day, We'l melt all their bodkins the quicker Into sack, and drink them away. We'l keep the demeans And turn Bishops and Deans, And over the Presbyter sway.

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3 The nimble St. Patrick is sunk in his boggs, And his Country men sadly cry O hone, O hone I St. Andrew and's Kirk-men are lost in the foggs, Now we are the Saints alone. Thus on our Supérieurs and Equalls we trample, And Jocky our stirrup shall hold, The Cittie's our Mule for example, That we may in plenty be roul'd. Each delicate dish, Shall but Eccho our wish And our drink shall be cordial gold.

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SONG XIX

On Canary i Of all the rare juces, That Bacchus or Caeres produces, There's none that I can, nor dare I Compare with the princely Canary. For this is the thing 5 That a fancy infuses, This first got a King, And next the nine Muses, 'Twas this made old Poets so sprightly to sing, And fill all the world with the glory and fame on't, 10 They Helicon call'd it and the Thespian spring, But this was the drink, though they knew not the name on't. 2 Our Sider and Perry, May make a man mad but not merry; It makes people windmill-pated, 15 And with crackers sophisticated, And your hopps, yest, and malt, When they're mingled together, Makes our fancies to halt, Or reel any whether. 20 It stuffs up our brains with froth and with yest, That if one would write but a verse for a Belman, He must study till Christmas for an eight shilling jest, These liquors won't raise, but drown, and o're-whelme man. 3 Our drousy Matheglin Was only ordain'd to enveigle in, The Novice that knowes not to drink yet, But is fudled before he can think it; And your Claret and White, Have a Gunpowder fury, They're of the French spright, But they wont long endure you. And your holiday Muscadine, Allegant and Tent, Have only this property and verrue that's fit in't;

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They'l make a man sleep till a preachment be spent, But we neither can warm our blood nor our wit in't.

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4 The Bagrag and Rhenish You must with ingredients replenish; 'Tis a wine to please Ladies and toyes with But not for a man to rejoyce with. 40 But 'tis Sack makes the sport, And who gains but that flavour, Though an Abbesse he court, In his highshoes he'l have her. 'Tis this that advances the drinker and drawer, 45 Though the father came to Town in his hobnails and leather, He turns it to velvet, and brings up an Heir, In the Town in his chain, in the field with his feather.

SONG XX

The Leveller i Nay prethee don't fly me, But sit thee down by me, I cannot endure A man that's demure. Go hang up your worships and Sirs, Your congies and trips, With your legs, and your lips, Your Madams and Lords, And such finikin words, With the complements you bring That do spell NO-THING, You may keep for the chains and the furs, For at the beginning was no Peasant or Prince, And 'twas policy made the distinction since.

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2 Those Titles of honours Do remain in the Donours, And not in that thing,

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To which they do cling, If his soul be too narrow to wear 'um; No delight can I see In that word call'd degree, Honest Dick sounds as well As a name of an ell, That with titles doth swell And sounds like a spell, To affright mortal ears that hear 'um. He that wears a brave soul, and dares gallantly do, May be his own herald and Godfather too.

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Why then should we doat on, One with a fools coat on? 30 Whose Coffers are cram'd, But yet he'l be dam'd Ere he'l do a good act or a wise one? What Reason has he To be ruler o're me? 35 That's a Lord in his chest, But in's head and his breast Is empty and bare, Or but puff'd up with air, And can neither assist nor advise one. 40 Honour's but air, and proud flesh but dust is, 'Tis we Commons make Lords, and the Clerk makes the Justice. 4

But since men must be Of a different degree, Because most do aspire, To be greater and higher, Then the rest of their fellows and brothers, He that has such a spirit, Let him gain it by's merit, Spend his brain, wealth, or blood For his Countries good, And make himself fit By his valour or wit, For things 'bove the reach of all others. For honour's a prize, and who wins it may wear it, If not, 'tis a badge and a burthen to bear it.

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5 For my part let me Be but quiet and free, Fie drink sack and obey, And let great ones sway, Who spend their whole time in thinking, F le ne 're busy my pate With secrets of State, The news books I'le burn all, And with the Diurnal Light Tobacco, and admit That they're so far fit, As they serve good company and drinking. All the name I desire is an honest Good-fellow, And that man has no worth that wont sometimes be mellow.

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SONG XXI

The Royalists Answer i I have reason to fly thee, And not sit down by thee; For I hate to behold, One so sawcy and bold, To deride and contemn his superiors; Our Madams and Lords And such mannerly words, With the gestures that be Fit for every degree, Are things that we and you Both claim as our due From all those that are our inférieurs. For from the beginning there were Princes we know, 'Tis you Levellers hate 'urn 'cause you can't be so.

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All titles of honours Were at first in the donours; But being granted away

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With the grantee stay Where he wear a small soul or a bigger. There's a necessitie That there should be degree. Where 'tis due we'l afford A Sir John, and my Lord, Though Dick, Tom and Jack, Will serve you and your pack, Honest Dick's name enough for a Digger. He that has a strong purse can all things be or do, He is valiant and wise and religious too.

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We have cause to adore, That man that has store, Though a Bore or a sot, There's something to be got, Though he be neither honest nor witty; Make him high, let him rule, He'l be playing the fool, And transgresse, then we'l squeze Him for fines and for fees. And so we shall gain, By the wants of his brain, 'Tis the fools-cap that maintains the Citty. If honour be air, 'tis in common, and as fit, For the fool and the clown, as for the champion or the wit.

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Then why mayn't we be Of different degree? And each man aspire To be greater and higher Then his wiser or honester brother, Since Fortune and Nature Their favours do scatter; This hath valour, that wit, T'other wealth, nor is't fit That one should have all, For then what would befall Him, that's born not to one nor to t'other? Though honour were a prize at first, now 'tis a chattle And as merchantable grown as your wares or your catle.

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5 Yet in this we agree, To live quiet and free, To drink sack and submit, And not shew our wit 60 By our prating, but silence, and thinking; Let the politick Jewes Read Diurnalls and Newes, And lard their discourse, With a Comment that's worse; 65 That which pleaseth me best Is a song or a Jest, And my obedience I'll shew by my drinking. He that drinks well, does sleep well, he that sleeps well doth think well, He that thinks well, does do well, he that does well, must drink well.

SONG XXII

The safe Estate i How happy a man is he, Whose soul is quiet and free, And liveth content with his own! That does not desire To swell nor aspire, To the coronet nor to the crown. He doth sit and despise Those Mushromes that rise, But disturbs not his sleep, At the quoil that they keep, Both in Country and Town, In the plain he sits safe, And doth privately laugh, At high thoughts that are tumbling down.

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2 His heart and his head are at rest, And he sleeps with a sorrowlesse brest, That aspires not to sit at the helme,

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The desires of his mind, To's estate are confin'd, And he lets not his brains to o'rewhelme. He's for innocent sport, And keeps off from the court, And if sad thoughts arise, He does only devise With sack to repel 'um. Though the times do turn round, He doth stil keep his ground, Both in a Republique and Realme.

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3 He wears his own head and ears, And he tipples in safety with's peers, And harmelesly passeth his time, If he meet with a crosse, A full bowle he doth toss, Nor his wealth, nor his wit are his crime. He doth privately sit With his friend clubbing wit, And disburdning their breasts Of some innocent jests And no higher doth clime. He smiles at the fate Of those Courtiers of state, That fall down 'cause their thoughts are sublime.

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4 But Princes and Nobles are still, Not tenants for life, but at will, And the giddy-brain'd rout is their Lord, He that's crowned to day, A scepter to sway, And by all is obey'd and ador'd, Both he and his crown In a trice are thrown down, For an Act just and good, If mis-understood Or an ill-relish'd word, While he that scorns pelf, And enjoyes his own self, Is secure from the Vote or the Sword.

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SONG XXIII

The fate i Th'Astrologers, That trade in Starrs, Tell me I have not long to live, Yet do I cry, Lo here am I Let fortune still Do what she will, I'll neither care nor grieve.

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2 Fortune I know, Is still my foe, And lets me not grow fat nor thrive, But I, I vow, Will never bow, Nor doat and be As blind as she, But keep my self alive.

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This I do know, We all must go, Though some go sooner, others later, But why so fast? There's no such hast Some post are gone, We'l but jogg on, Bait first, and then walk after.

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The clown and's beast Make hast to rest, But lords and courtiers sit up longer; Before we part Fill t'other quart, Wash t'other eye, And then we'1 try Where death or man be stronger.

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5 In th'enterim, Fill to the brim, Travelling will make us weary, Since th'journie's great, And hurts our feet, Bacchus shall be A horse for me, He's strong enough to carry.

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SONG XXIV

The Polititian Written in 1649 1

What madnesse is't for him that's wise To be so much self-hating? Himself and his to sacrifice, By medling still with things too high, That don't concern but gratifie, His letchery of prating. What is't to us who's in the ruling power? While they protect, we're bound t'obey, But longer not an hower.

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2 Nature made all alike at first, But men that fram'd this fidle Of government made best and worst And high and low, like various strings, Each man his several ditty sings, To tune this state down diddle. In this grand wheel the world we're spokes made all, But that it may still keep its round, Some mount while others fall.

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3 The blinded Ruler that by night, Sits with his host of Bill-men With their chalk'd weapons, that affright The wondring clown that haps to view His worship and his Gowned crew, As if they sate to Kill men; Speak him but fair; he'l let you freely go. And those that on the high rope dance, Will do the same trick too.

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4 I'll ne're admire that fatuous fire, That is not what it seems, For those, that now to us seem higher, 30 Like painted bubles blown i'th' air, By boyes seem glorious and fair, 'Tis but in boyes esteems. Rule of its self's a toyl and none would bear it But that 'twixt pride and avarice 35 And close revenge they'l share it.

5 Since all the world is but a stage, And every man a player, They're fools that lives or states engage, Let's act and juggle as others do, 40 Keep what's our own, get others too, Play whiffler clown or Maior. For he that sticks to what his heart calls just, Becomes a sacrifice and prey To the prosperous whirlegigs lust. 45

6 Each wise man first best loves himself, Lives close, thinks and obeyes, Makes not his soul a slave to's pelfe, Nor idly squanders it away, To cram their mawes that taxes lay, On what he does, or sayes, For those grand cords that man to man do twist Now are not honesty and love But self and interest.

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SONG XXV

The Prisoners Written when O.C. attempted to be King 1

Come a brimmer (my bullies) drink whole ones or nothing, Now healths have been voted down, Tis sack that can heat us, we care not for cloathing, A gallon's as warm as a gown, 'Cause the Parliament sees, Nor the former nor these, Could engage us to drink their health, They Vote that we shall Drink no healths at all Nor to King nor to Common-wealth, So that now we must venture to drink 'um by stealth.

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2 But we've found out a way that's beyond all their thinking, To keep up Good-fellowship still We'l drink their destruction that would destroy drinking, Let 'um Vote that a health if they will. Those men that did fight, And did pray day and night For the Parliament and its attendant, Did make all that busle, The King out to jusle, And bring in the Independent, But now we all clearly see what was the end on't.

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3 Now their Idol's thrown down with their sooterkin also, About which they did make such a puther, And though their contrivance made one King to fall so We have drunk our selves into another. And now (my Lads) we May still Caveliers be, In spite of Committes frown, We will drink, and wee'l sing, And each health to our King Shall be Royally drunk in the crown,

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Which shall be the Standard in every Town. 4

Those politick would-bees do but shew themselves asses, That other mens calling invade, We only converse with pots and with glasses, Let the Rulers alone with their trade. The Lyon of the Tower, Their estates does devour, Without shewing law for't or reason, Into prison we get, For the crime called debt, Where our Bodies and brains we do season, And that is ne're taken for murther or treason.

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Where our ditties still be give's more drink, give's more drink boyes, Let those that are frugal take care, Our Coalers and we will live by our chink boyes, While our Créditeurs live by the air. Here we lie at our ease, And get craft and grease, 50 Till we've merrily spent all our store, Then as drink brought us in, 'Twill redeem us agen, We got in because we were poor, And swear our selves out on the very same score. 55

SONG XXVI

Satisfaction

i I have often heard men say, That the Philosophers of old, Though they were good and grave and gray, Did various opinions hold, And with idolatry adore The Gods that themselves had made before, And we that are fools do do no more.

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Every man desires what's good; But wherein that good consists Is not by any understood. This sets on work both pens and fists, For this condemns what that approves, And this man doth hate, what that man loves, And that's the grand wheel that discord moves.

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This would valiant be, that wise, That's for th'sea, and this for land, All do judge upon surmise, None do rightly understand, These may be like, but are not that, Something there is that all drive at, But only they differ about the WHAT.

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And from all these several ends Springs diversity of action, For every man his studies bends, As opinion builds his faction. Each man's his own God-smith, what he Thinks good, is good to him, and we First make, and then adore our deity.

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A mind that's honest, pure and just, A sociable life and free, A friend that dares not break a trust, Yet dares die if occasion be, A heart that dictates to the tongue, A soul that's innocent and strong, That can, yet will not do any wrong: He that has such a soul and a mind, That is so blest and so inclind, What all these do seek for, he does find.

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SONG XXVII

The Club i Prithee ben't so sad and serious, Nothing's got by grief or care, Melancholy's too imperious, Where it comes 'twil domineer, If thou hast a cloudy breast, In which thy cares would build a nest, Then drink good sack, 'twill make thee rest, Where sorrows come not near. 2

Be it businesse, love, or sorrow, That possesses thus thy mind, Bid them come again to morrow, We are now to mirth inclin'd, Fill thy cup and drown them all, Sorrows still do for liquor call, We'l make this Bacchus festival And cast our cares behind.

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He that has a heart that's drowsy Shall be surely banished hence; We'l shun him as a man that's lowsy, He's of dangerous consequence, And he that's silent like a block, Deserves to be made a laughing stock, Let all good fellows shun that rock, For fear they forfeit sence.

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Still those clocks, let time attend us, We'l not be to howers confind, We'l banish all that may offend us, Or disturb our mirth design'd, Let the glasse still run its round And each good-fellow keep his ground And if there be any flincher found, We'l have his soul new coyn'd.

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SONG XXVIII

The Prodigal i Nay perswade not, I've swore We'l have one pottle more, Though we run on the score, And our credits do stretch for't, To what end does a father, Pine his body, or rather, Damne his soul for to gather Such store, but that he has this fetch for't, That we sons should be high boyes, And make it all fly boyes And when he does dye boyes Instead of a Sermon we'l sing him a catch for't.

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Then hang the Dull wit Of that white-liverd cit, That goodfellows does hit In teeth with a rednose, May his nose look blew Or any dreadfuller hue, That may speak him untrue, And disloyal unto the headnose, 'Tis the scarlet that graces, And sets out our faces, And that nature base is, That esteems not a Coppernose more then a leadnose.

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All the world keeps a round, First our fathers abound In wealth and buy ground, And then leave it behind 'um, We're straight put in black, Where we mourne and drink sack, And do t'other knack. While they sleep in their graves we ne're mind 'um, Thus we scatter the store, As they rack'd it before

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And as for the poor, We enrich them as fast as our fathers did grind 'urn.

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SONG XXIX

The Antipolititian i Come leave thy care and love thy friend, Live freely, don't dispair, Of getting money there's no end, And keeping it breeds care. If thou hast money at thy need Good Company and good wine, His life, whose joy es on wealth do feed, 's not half so sweet as thine.

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2 I can enjoy my self and friends, W'thout design or fear, Below their envy or base ends, That Polititians are. I neither toyle nor care nor grieve To gather keep or loose; With freedom and content I live, And what's my own I use.

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3 While men blown on with strong desires Of riches or renown, Though ne're so high, would still be higher, So tumble headlong down. For Princes smiles turne oft to frowns, And favours fade each hower, He that to day heaps Townes on Townes, To morrow's clap't i'th' Tower.

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4 All that we get by all our store, 's but honour or dominion, The one's but trouble varnishd o're

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And t'others but opinion. Fate rules the roast, Times alwayes change, 'Tis fancy builds all things, How madly then our minds do range, Since all we grasp hath wings.

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5 Those empty terms of rich and poor, Comparison hath fram'd, He hath not much that covets more, Want is but will nicknam'd. If I can safely think and live, And freely laugh or sing, My wealth I'll not for Craesus's give, Nor change lives with a King.

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SONG XXX

The New Gentry i Enough for shame! leave off this fooling, Prithee cring no more Nor admire the illgotten store Of the upstart Mushromes of our Nation With blind and groundlesse adoration, If thy nature still wants schooling, As thou dost grow old grow wise, For age can easily advise, And make thee know 'Tis only such as thou That bring and keep both fools and knaves in fashion.

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2 We make each other proud and knavish, For where ever we Great abundance chance to see, There we fling both power and honour As if wealth were the only donour, And our natures are so slavish, That we tamely will submit,

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All our reason strength and wit, And pay and pray Great men in power, that they Will take our Liberty and trample on her.

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3 What is't makes all men so much covet, Toy ling more and more, To increase a needless store, So violently tugg and hall for't Ventering body soul and all for't? The rich are flatter'd and they love it, We obey their shalls and musts, And to gratifie their lusts, We madly strive Who first our selves shall give And all that is ours to them, if they'l but call for't.

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4 If we did take no notice of them, Like not, nor applaud Their spoyles obtaind by force and fraud But would live content and jolly Laughing at their painful folly, And would neither fear nor love them, Underneath their loads, they'Id groan, Or with shame would throw them down, And live as free From needles se cares as we, Slight pompe and wealth, that makes men melancholly.

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5 Pray what are all these gaudy bubbles That so boast and rant, Of what they think they have, but han't? But men that had the luck of living, And made other's fall their thriving, Hailstones got in stormes of troubles, That for valour are as fit For Knights, as to be Squires for wit, Inspir'd with pride, Did what good men defi'd, Grown great by Protean turning and conniving.

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6 That man that would have me adore him With my heart, he must Be noble, pow'rful, wise and just, And improve his parts and power To support not to devour, Nor pride nor lust, must e're rule o're him. Th'bugbeare greatnesse without this An idle, empty pageant is, He that doth rise And is not good and wise, I honour not, but pity and deplore him.

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SONG XXXI

The Cheerful heart i What though these ill times do go cross to our will? And fortune still frowns upon us? Our hearts are our own, and they shall be so still, A pin for the plagues they lay on us. Let us take t'other cup, To keep our hearts up, And let it be purest Canary, We'l ne're shrink or care, For the crosses we bear, Let 'um plague us untill they be weary.

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2 What though we are made, both beggars and slaves, Let us stoutly endure it and drink on't. 'Tis our comfort we suffer, 'cause we will not be knaves, Our redemption will come e're we think on't. We must flatter and fear Those that over us are, And make 'um believe that we love 'um, When their tyrannie's past, We will serve them at last, As they serv'd those that have been above 'um.

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3 The Lévites do preach, for the goose and the pig, To drink wine but at Christmas and Easter, The Doctour doth labour our lives to new-trig, And makes nature to fast, but we feast her, The Lawyer doth bawle, Out his lungs and his gaule, For the Plantiff and for the Defendant; At books the Scholar lies Till by Flatus he dies, With the ugly hard word at the end on't.

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4 But here's to the man that delights in Sol fa, 'Tis sack is his only Rosin, A load of heigh ho's are not worth a ha, ha, He's the man for my money that draws in. Come a pin for this Muck, And a fig for ill Luck, Tis better be blyth and frolick, Then to sigh out our breath, And invite our own death By the Gout or the stone, and the cholick.

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SONG XXXII

Made and Set Extempore i When our glasses flow with Wine, And our souls with Sack are rais'd; When we're jeer'd we do not repine; Nor are proud when we are prais'd: Tis Sack alone can raise our souls, A pin for Christning drinking-bowles. 2 Let the Drawer raise our fancies, With his wit-refining drink; Hang your stories and Romances;

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Those are fit for them that think: Let him love that has a mind, We to drinking are inclin'd.

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3 Wit and love, are th'only things Which fill the thoughts of Kings and us; Imagination makes us Kings, And that's rais'd by doing thus. Drink your Sack, let wit alone, Wit by drinking best is shown.

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SONG XXXHI

The Answer to the Curse against Ale

i O gag for shame that strumpet muse! Let not her Spanish tongue abuse Our wholsome and Heroic English juice. 2 'Twas not this loyal liquor shut Our Gates against our Soveraign, but Strange drinks into one tub together put.

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3 When Ale was drink Canonical, There were no thieves, nor watch, nor wall, Men neither stole, nor lack'd, for Ale was all. 4 That Poet ought be dry or dumb, And to our brown-bowles never come, Who drinking Ale, vents only dregs and scum.

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5 Nor had that Souldier drunk enough, For Ale both valour gives and buffe, Makes men unkickable, and cudgel-proof.

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6 'Twas the meal not mealman was the cause, The mill fell down, for one small clause In one meal-act, hath overthrown our lawes. 7 The worth of Ale none can proclaim, But by th'assistance of the same, From it our Land derives its noblest name.

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8 With this men were inspir'd, but not As kickshaw brains are now (God wot) Inspir'd, that is, run mad, none knowes with what. 9

How did our stout forefathers make, All Antichristian Nations quake, When they their Nutbrown bowles and bills did take!

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What noble sparks old Ale did kindle! But now strange drinks do make men dwindle, And Pigmies get, scarce fit to sway a spindle.

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This liquor makes the drinkers fight Stoutly, while others stoutly write: This both creates the Poet and the Knight. 12

This makes the drawer in his Gown And chain to ride and rule the Town, Whose orient Nose exemplifies his frown. 13

How reverently the burly Host With basket hiked pot and tost, Commands the bak't meats, and then rules the rost.

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But oh the Brewer bears the bell! This makes him to such highnesse swell, As none but Ale-inspir'd can think or tell.

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Divert that curse then, or give o're, Don Phillip can hurt Ale no more, Then his Armado, England heretofore.

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SONG XXXIV

The Reformation

i Tell not me of Lords or La we s, Rules or Reformation, All that's done's not worth two strawes, To the welfare of the Nation. Men in power do rant it still, And give no reason but their will, For all their domination. Or if they do an act that's just, 'Tis not because they would, but must, To Gratifie some parties lust, Or meerly for a fashion.

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Our expence of blood and purse Has produc'd no profit. Men are still as bad or worse, And will be what e're comes of it. We've shuffled out, and shuffled in, The persons, but retain the sin, To make our game the surer, Yet spite of all our pains and skill, The knaves all in the pack are still, And ever were and ever will, Though something now demurer.

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3 And it cannot but be so, Since those toys in fashion, Are of souls so base and low, And mere Bigots of the Nation, Whose designs are power and wealth At which by rapines, fraud and stealth Audaciously they vent'r ye, They lay their consciences aside, And turn with every wind and tide, Puff'd on by Ignorance and pride, And all to look like Gentry.

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4 Crimes are not punish'd 'cause they're crimes But 'cause they'r low and little, Mean men for mean faults in these times Make satisfaction to a title; While those in office and in power, Boldly the underlings devour. Our Cobweb lawes can't hold 'um. They sell for many a Thousand crown, Things which were never yet their own, And this is law and custom grown, 'Cause those do judg that sold 'um.

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5 Brothers still with Brothers brawl, And for trifles sue 'um, For two pronouns that spoil all, Those contentious Meum, Tuum, The wary lawyer buyes and builds, While the Client sells his fields, To sacrifice to's fury; And when he thinks to obtain his right, He's baffled off, or beaten quite, By th'Judges will or Lawyers slight, Or ignorance of the Jury. 6

See the trades-man how he thrives With perpetual trouble, How he cheats, and how he strives

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His Estate t'enlarge and double, Extort, oppresse, grind and encroach, To be a Squire, and keep a coach, And to be one o'th' Quorum. Who may with's brother worships sit, And judge without law, fear or wit, Poor petty thieves that nothing get, And yet are brought before 'um.

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7 And his way to get all this Is mere dissimulation, No factious lecture does he miss, And scapes no schism that's in fashion. But with short hair and shining shoes, He with two pens, and's note-book goes, And winks and writes at randome; Thence with short meal and tedious Grace, In a loud tone and publick place, Sings Wisdoms hymns, that trot and pace, As if Goliah scand 'um.

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8 But when death begins his threats, And his Conscience struggles, To call to mind his former cheats, Then at heav'n he turns his juggles. And out of all's ill-gotten store, He gives a dribling to the poor, In a Hospital or a School-house, And the suborned Priest for's hire, Quite frees him from th'infernal fire And places him i'th' Angels quire, Thus these Jack-puddings fool us.

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9 All he gets by's pains i'th' close, Is that he dyed worth so much, Which he on's doubtful seed bestows, That neither care nor know much, Then fortunes favorite his heir, Bred base, and ignorant and bare, Is blown up like a bubble,

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Who wondring at's own suddain rise, By pride, simplicity and vice, Falls to three sports, drink, drab and dice, And makes all fly like stubble. 10

And the Church the other twin, Whose mad zeal enrag'd us, Is not purifi'd a pin, By all those broyles in which she engag'd us, We, our wives turn'd out of doors, And took in Concubines and whores, To make an alteration. Our Pulpiteers are proud and bold, They their own Wills and factions hold, And sell salvation still for Gold, And here's our Reformation.

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'Tis a madness then to make Thriving our employment, And lucre love, for Lucres sake, Since we've possession, not injoyment. Let the times run on their course, For opposition makes them worse, We ne're shall better find 'um, Let Grandees wealth and power engrosse, And honour too, while we sit close, And laugh and take our plenteous dose Of sack and never mind 'um.

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SONG XXXV

For the Generalls entertainment

i Farewell all cares and fears, let Gladnesse come, Let's all strive which shall most rejoyce, No more the Trumpet, or the Thundring Drum, Shall interrupt our peace with noise, But all their Offices shall be

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Inherited by sprightly melody. Th'inchanting Lute and the melodious Lyre, With well-tun'd souls does make A full harmonious Quire. 2 In vain do we our selves, our selves destroy, In vain do English, English beat, Contests are cruel, we must now wear joy, And all in love, each other greet. Our civil discords now shall cease, And lose themselves in a desired peace. All things by war are in a Chaos hurl'd, But love alone first made, And still preserves the World.

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3 The Trophies of the Conquerours of old, And all the spoils with which they'r crown'd, Were all but types of what we do behold, What they did seek for, we have found. Here peace and plenty sweetly kist, And both with loyalty and verrue twist, Then let our joy rise high that all may share it, Let wealth and honour meet desert, He that wins Gold may wear it.

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SONG XXXVI

On Sir G.B. his defeat i Pray why should any man complain, Or why disturb his brest or brain, At this new alteration? Since that which has been done's no more, Then what has oft been done before, And that which will be done agen, As long's there are ambitious men, That strive for domination.

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2 In this mad age there's nothing firm, All things have periods and their terme, Their Rise and Declinations, Those gaudy Nothings we admire, Which get above, and shine like fire, Are empty vapours, rais'd from th'ground, Whose mock-shine past, they quickly down Must fall like Exhalations.

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3 But still we Commons must be made A gald, a lame, thin, hackney jade, And all by turnes will ride us, This side and that, no matter which, For both do ride with spur and switch, Till we are tyr'd, and then at last, We stumble, and our riders cast, 'Cause they'Id not feed nor guide us.

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4 The insulting Clergy quite mistook, In thinking Kingdoms past by book, Or Crowns were got by prating; Tis not the blackcoat, but the red Has power to make, or be the head, Nor is it words, or oaths, or tears, But Muskets or full Bandoleers Have power of Legislating.

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5 The Lawyers must lay by their book, And study Lambert more then Cook, The sword's the learnedst pleader, Reports and judgments will not do't, But 'tis Dragoons, and Horse and foot, Words are but wind, but blowes come home, A stout tongu'd Lawyer's but a Mome, Compar'd to a stout File-leader.

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6 Luck, wit or valour, rule all things, They pull down and they set up Kings, All lawes are in their bosome; That side is always right that's strong, And that that's beaten must be wrong, And he that thinks it is not so, Unlesse he's sure to beat 'um too, Is but a fool t'oppose 'um.

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7 Let them impose taxes or rates, 'Tis but on those that have estates, Not such as I and thou are, But it concerns those worldlings, which Are left, or made, or else grow rich, Such as have studied all their dayes, The saving and the thriving wayes, To be the mules of power.

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8 If they reform the Church or State, We'l ne're be troubled much thereat, Let each man take's opinion, If we don't like the Church you know, Taverns are free and there we go, And if every one would be As cleerly unconcern'd as we, They'd ne're fight for Dominion.

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SONG XXXVII

Against Corrupted Sack

i SACK! once my comfort and my dear delight, Dull mortals quickning spirit; Thou didst once give affections, wit, and might, Thou mad'st the Lover and the Wight, Thou mad'st one dye, and t'other fight,

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Thou mad'st the Poet, who made both, and thou Inspird'st our brains with genial fire till now Th'hast justly lost thy honour 'Cause th'hast lost thy power and merit. 2 Now we depose thee from th'usurped throne, Since thou'rt degenerate and disloyall; Thou hast no proper father of thine own, But art a bastard got by th'Town By AEquivoke generation, Thy Bawds, the Vintners do compound thee more, Then F lav el or Bess e Beer ere drugg'd a whore, Nor canst thou now inspire nor feed, Nor cherish, but destroy all.

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3 Oh where's that sprightly Poetry and Wit, That should endure for ever? Had Homer drank thy mixture, he had writ Lines that would make the Reader spit, Nor beyond puns would Pindar get, Virgil ana Horace if inspir'd by thee, Had writ but leud and pagan poetry, Dull dropsy'd lines, or else as dry And raging as a fever.

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4 Treasons committed and contriv'd by thee, Kingdoms and Kings subverted, Tis thou makest Rulers fools and cowards bee, And such as ought to bend the Knee Madly invade the Soveraignty, Thou throwst us on all actions, vile and fell, First mak'st us do, and then thou mak'st us tell, And whom we swore to serve, By thee we basely have deserted.

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5 Thou plague of bodies and th'unnatural Nurse Of Sicknesse and Physitians, Ruine of wit, and strength, and fame, and purse, That hast destroy'd poor mortals worse

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Then the great plague, or Merosh curse. In fifty nine th'hast spilt more English blood Then e're in eighty eight the Spaniard could By his Armado, or can since destroy By's inquisitions.

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6 Hence from my veins, from my desires be gone, I loath thee and defie thee, I'le now find out a purer Helicon, Which wits may safely feast upon, And baffle thy hobgoblin Don. And live to see thee and thy mungrel race Contemn'd and rooted out of every place, And those thou'st fool'd and wrong'd like me, For ever ever fly thee.

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SONG XXXVIII

The Lamentation Written in 1648 1

Mourne, London, mourne, Bathe thy polluted soul in tears; Returne, returne, Thou hast more cause of grief, then th'hadst for fears, For the whole Kingdom now begins To feel thy sorrows as they saw thy sins, And now do no Compassion show Unto thy misery and wo, But slight thy sufferings as thou didst theirs.

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2 Pride, to wring pride, And boy ling lust, those fatal twins, Sit side by side, And are become plantations of sins. Hence thy Rebellions first did

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Both to the King above, and him below. And sordid sloth The Nurse of both, Have rais'd thy crimes to such a growth, That sorrow must conclude as sin begins.

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3 Fire, raging fire, Shall burn thy stately towers down, Yet not expire, Tygres and Wolves, or men more savage grown, Thy childrens brains, and thine shall dash, And in your blood their guilty talions wash, Thy Daughters must Allay their lust, Mischiefs will be on mischief thrust, Till thy Cap tumble as thou mad'st the Crown.

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4 Cry, London cry! Now now petition for redresse, Where canst thou fly? Thy emptyed chests augment thy heavinesse, The Gentry and the Commons loath, Th'adored Houses slight thee worse then both, The King poor saint, Would help but can't; To heav'n alone unfold thy want, Thence came thy plagues, thence only pity

SONG XXXIX

The Riddle Written in 1644 1

No more, no more, We are already pin'd, And sore and poor, In body and in mind.

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And yet our sufferings have been Les se then our sin. Come long-desired peace we thee implore, And let our pains be lesse, or power more.

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2 Lament, Lament, And let thy tears run down, To see the rent Between the Robe and Crown, Yet both do strive to make it more Then 'twas before, War like a serpent has its head got in, And will not end so soon as't did begin.

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3 One body Jars, And with its self does fight, War meets with warrs And might resisteth might. And both sides say they love the King, And peace will bring. Yet since these fatal civill broyls begun, Strange Riddle! both have conquer'd, neither won.

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4 One God, one King, One true Religion still, In every thing One Law both should fulfil, All these both sides does still pretend That they defend. Yet to encrease the King and Kingdoms woes, Which side soever wins, good subjects lose.

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5 The King doth swear, That he doth fight for them; And they declare, They do the like for him: Both say they wish and fight for peace, Yet wars increase.

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So between both, before our wars be gone, Our lives and goods are lost, and we're undone.

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6 Since 'tis our curse, To fight we know not why; Tis worse and worse The longer thus we ly. For war it self is but a Nurse To make us worse. Come blessed peace we once again implore, And let our pains be lesse, or power more.

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SONG XL

On the Kings returne i Long have we waited for a happy End Of all our miseries and strife; But still in vain; the Swordmen did intend, To make them hold for tearm of Life, That our distempers might be made, Their everlasting lively-hood and trade.

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2 They entayle their Swords and Guns, And pay, which wounded more, Upon their Daughters and their Sons, Thereby to keep us ever poor.

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3 And when the Civil wars were past They civil Government en vade, To make our taxes, and our slavery last, Both to their titles, and their trade. 4 But now we are redeem'd from all, By our Indulgent King;

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Whose coming does prevent our fall, With loyal and with joyful hearts we'l sing. Chorus Welcome, welcome royal May, Welcome long desired Spring, Many springs and Mays we've seen Have brought forth what's gay and green. But none is like this glorious day Which brings forth our Gracious King.

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SONG XLI

A Catch Let's leave off our labour, and now let's go play, For this is our time to be jolly; Our plagues and our plaguers are both fled away, To nourish our griefs is but folly. He that won't drink and sing, Is a Traytor to's King, And so's he that does not look twenty years younger; We'l look blith and trim, With rejoycing at him That is the restorer, and will be the Prolonger, Of all our felicity and health, The joy of our hearts, and increase of our wealth, 'Tis he brings our trading, our trading brings riches, Our riches brings honors, at which every mind itches, And our riches bring sack, and our sack brings us joy, And our joy makes us leap, and sing Vive le Roy.

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SONG XLII

For General Monk his entertainment at Cloath-workers Hall

i Ring Bells! and let bone-fiers out blaze the sun! Let ecchoes contribute their voice! Since now a happy settlement's begun, Let all things tell how all good men rejoyce. If these sad Lands by this Can but obtain the blisse Of their desired, though abused peace; We'l never never more Run mad as we have heretofore To buy our ruine; but all strife shall cease.

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2 The Cobler shall édifie us no more, Nor shall in divinity set any stiches, The women we will no more hear and adore That preach with their husbands for the breeches. The Fanatical tribe That will not subscribe, To the orders of Church and of State, Shall be smother'd with the zeal Of their new common-weale And no man will mind what they prate. Chorus We'l eat, and we'l drink, we'l dance and we'l sing, The Roundheads and Cave's no more shall be nam'd; But all joyn together to make up the ring, And rejoyce that the many-headed dragon is tam'd. 'Tis friendship and love, that can save us and arme us, And while we all agree, their is nothing can harme us.

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SONG XLIII

The Advice

i He that a happy life would lead, In these dayes of distraction, Let him listen to me, and I will read A lecture without faction. Let him want three things, Whence misery springs, All which do begin with a letter; Let him bound his desires, With what nature requires, And with reason his humours fetter.

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2 Let not his Wealth prodigious grow, For that breeds cares and dangers, Makes him hated above and envyed below, And a constant slave to strangers. He is happiest of all, Whose estate is but small, Yet enough to delight and maintain him. He may do, he may say, Having nothing to pay, It will not quit costs to arraign him.

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3 Nor must he be clogg'd with a Wife, For household cares incumber, And do to one place confine a mans life, 'Cause he cant remove his lumber. They're happiest by farr, Who unwedded are, And forrage on all in common, From all storms they can fly, And if they should dy, They ruine nor child nor woman.

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4 Nor let his brains o'reflow with Wit, That capers o're's discretion; Tis costly to keep, and 'tis hard to get And 'tis dangerous in the possession. They are happiest men Who can scarce tell ten, And beat not their brains about reason, They may speak what will serve, Themselves to preserve, And their words are ne're taken for treason.

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5 But of all fools there is none like the Wit, For he takes pains to shew it, When his pride, or his drink work him into a fit, Then straight he must be a Poet. Then his Jests he Both at States and at Kings, For Applause and for Bayes and Shadowes, Thinks a verse saves as well As a circle or a spell, 'Till he rithmes himself to the Barbadoes.

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6 He that within these bounds can live, May baffle all disasters, To Fortune and Fates commands he may give, Which worldlings make their masters. He may sing, he may laugh, He may dance, he may quaffe, May be mad, may be sad, may be jolly, He may sleep without care, And wake without fear And laugh at the whole world, and its folly.

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SECTION 3

1

The Satyr of Money i It is not the Silver or gold of its self, That makes men adore it; but 'tis for its power: For no man does dote upon pelf, because pelf, But all court the Lady in hopes of her Dower. The wonders that now in our day es we behold, Done by th'irresistible power of Gold, Our Love, and our Zeal, and Allegiance do mold.

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2 This purchaseth Kingdoms, Kings, Scepters, and Crowns, Wins Battles, and conquers the Conquerours bold; Takes Bulwarks, and Castles, and Armies, and Towns, Our prime Lawes are written in letters of Gold. 'Tis this that our Parliaments calls, and creates, Turns Kings into Keepers, and Kingdoms to States, And Peopledoms this into High-doms translates.

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3 This plots doth devise, then discovers what th'are, This makes the great felons the lesser condemn: Sets those on the bench that should stand at the bar, Who judge such as by right ought to execute them: Gives the boystrous Clown his unsufférable pride, Makes Beggars, and fools, and Usurpers to ride, While ruin'd proprietors run by their side.

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4 Stamp either the arms of the State, or the King, St. George or the breeches, C.R. or O.P. The Crosse and the fiddle 'tis all the same thing. This still is the Queen who e're the King be. This lines mens Religion, builds doctrines and truth,

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With zeal, and the spirit, the factious endew'th, To club with St. Katherine or sweet sister Ruth.

5 This made our black Senate to sit still so long, To make themselves rich by making us poor; This made our bold Army so daring, and strong, And that made them drive 'um like Geese out of door. 'Twas this made the Covenant-makers to make it, And this made our Lévites to make us to take it, And this made both makers and takers forsake it.

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6 This spawn'd the dunghil crew of Committes and 'Strators, Who lived by picking their Parliaments Gums, This made and then prospered Rebels and Traytors, And made Gentry of those that were the Nations scums. This Herald gives armes, not for merit but store, Gives Coates unto such, as did sell coates before, If their pockets be lin'd but with Argent and Oare.

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7 'Tis this makes the Lawyer give judgment and plead, On this side, or that side, on both sides or neither, This makes Yeomen Clerks, that can scarce write or read, And spawns arbitrary orders as various as the weather: This makes the blew-lecturer pray, preach, and prate Without reason or truth against King, church or State, To shew the thin lyning of his twice-cover'd pate.

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8 'Tis this that makes Earls, Lords, Knights, and Esquires, Without breeding, discent, wit, learning or merit; Makes Ropers and Ale-drapers Sheriffs of Shires, Whose trade's not so low nor so base as their spirit: This Justices makes, and wise ones we know, Furr'd Aldermen likewise, and Mayors also, Makes the old wife to trot, and makes the Mare go. 9 This makes the blew aprons write themselves worshipful, And for this we stand bare and before 'um do fall; They leave their young Heirs well fleeced with wool,

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Whom we're to call Squires, and they're to pay all, Who with beggarly souls, though their bodies are gawdy, Court the pale Chambermaid and nickname her a Lady, And for want of discourse they do swear and talk baudy.

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For money mens lives may be purchas'd and sold, 'Tis money breaks laws and that mends 'urn again; Men venture their quiet and safety for gold, When they wont stir a foot their rights to maintain. This Doctors createth of Dunces, and those, Commanders that use to pollute their hose, This buys the spruce gallant his verse and his prose.

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This marriages makes, 'tis the center of love, It drawes on the man and it pricks up the woman; Birth, virtue, and parts, no affection can move, While this makes Lords bow to the brat of a Broom-man. Gives verrue, and beauty to the lass that you woe, Makes women of all sorts and ages to do; 'Tis the soul of the world, and the worlding too.

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This horses procures you, and hawks, hounds and hares, 'Tis this keeps your Groom, and your Groom keeps your Gelding; It buys Citizens wives as well as their wares, 80 And makes your coy Ladies so coming and yielding; This buys us good sack, which revives like the spring, This gives the poetical fancies their wing, This makes you as merry as we that do sing.

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II

Upon a Sign-Post, set up by one Mr. Pecke at Skoale in Norfolk i Did none of you hear, Of a wonder last year, That through all Norfolk did ring? Of an Inn and an Host, With a Sign and a post That might hold (God bless us) the King?

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2 The building is great And very compleat, But can't be compard to the signe; But within doors, I think 's scarce a drop of good drink, For Bacchus drinks all the best wine.

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3 But here's the design, What's amisse in the Wine, By wenches shall be supply'd; There's three on a row Stands out for a show, To draw in the Gallants that ride.

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4 The first of the three, Diana should be, But she cuckolded poorActaeon, And his head she adorns, With such visible horns, That he's fit for his hounds for to prey on.

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5 'Tis unsafe we do find To trust Women kind, Since homing's a part of their trade; Diana is plac't

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As a Goddesse that's chast, YetActaeon a Monster she made.

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6 The next wench doth stand, With the scales in her hand And is ready to come at your beck; A new trick they've found, To sell sack by the pound, But 'twere better they'd sell't by the peck.

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7 The last of the three They say prudence must be With the serpent and horn of plenty; But plenty and wit So seldom doth hit, That they fall not to one in twenty.

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8 But above these things all, Stands a fellow that's small, With a Quadrant discerning the wind, And says hee's a fool That travells from Skoale, And leaves his good liquor behind.

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9 Nere the top of the sign, Stand three on a line, One is Temperance, still powring out; And Fortitude will Drink what Temperance fill, And fears not the stone or the gout.

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

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11 The last that you stare on Is old father Charon Who's wafting a wench o're the ferry, Where Cerberus do's stand To watch where they land, And together they go to be merry.

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

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But under this work Do's a mistery lurk, That shewes us the founders design, He has chalk'd out the way For Gallants to stray, That their lands may be his in fine.

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That's first an Ale-bench, Next hounds then a wench, With these three to roar and to revel; Brings the prodigals lands, To the Usurers hands And his body and soul to the Devil.

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

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'Tis a sign that who built it Had more money then wit, And more wealth then he got or can use, 'Tis a sign that all we Have lesse wit then he That go thither to drink and may chuse.

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A new Diurnal of passages more Exactly drawn up then heretofore. Printed and published, 'tis order'd to be By Henry Rising the Clerk of the P. I.June. 1643

Since many Diurnals (for which we are griev'd,) Are come from both Houses, and are not believ'd; The better to help them for running and flying, We have put them in Verse, to Authorize their lying. For it has been debated, and found to be true, That lying's a Parliament Priviledge too: And that they may the sooner our conquests reherse, We are minded to put them in Galloping verse; But so many Maim'd Souldiers from Reading there came, That in spite of the Surgeons, make our verses go lame. We have ever us'd Fictions, and now it is known, Our Poverty has made us Poetical grown.

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Munday On Munday both Houses fell into debate, And were likely to fall by the ears as they sate; Yet would they not have the business decided, That they (as the Kingdom is) might be divided. They had an intention to Prayers to go, But Extempore Prayers are now Common too. To Voting they fall; and the key of the work, Was the raising of mony for the State and the Kirke. 'Tis only Free-loan: yet this order they make,

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That what Men would not lend, they should Plunder and take. Upon this, the word Plunder came into their mind, And they all did labour a new one to find. They call'd it distraining: yet thought it no shame, To persist in the Act, which they blush't for to name. They Voted all Persons from Oxford that came, Should be apprehended: and after the same, With an Humble Petition, the King they request, Hee'd be pleas'd to return, and be serv'd like the rest. A message from Oxford conducing to peace, Came next to their hands, that Armes might cease. They Voted and Voted, and still they did vary, Till at last the whole sence of the House was contrary To reason; they knew by their Armes they might gain, What neither true reason, nor Law can maintain. Cessation was voted a dangerous plot; Because the King would have it, both Houses would not. But when they resolv'd it, abroad must be blown, (To baffle the World) that the King would have none. And carefully muzled the mouth of the press, Least the truth should peep through their jugling dress. For they knew a cessation would work them more harmes, Then Essex could do the Cavaliers with his armes. While they keep the Ships and the Forts in their hand, They may be Tray tors by Sea, as well as by Land. The Forts will preserve them as long as they stay, And the Ships carry them and their plunder away. They have therefore good reason to account war the better, For the Law will prove to them but a killing letter.

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Tuesday A Post from his Excellence came blowing his Horn, For mony to advance, and this spun out the Morn; And strait to the City some went for relief e, The rest made an Ordinance to carry Powder-Beefe. Thus up go the Round-Heads, and Essex advances, But only to lead his Souldiers new dances. To Reading he goes, for at Oxford (they say) His wife has made Bull works to keep him away. Prince Rupert, for fear that the name be confounded, Will saw off his horns, and make him a Round-head. The newes was returned with General fame, That Reading was taken ere ever he came.

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Then away Rode our Captains, and Souldiers did run, To shew themselves valiant, when the Battail was done, Preparing to plunder, but as soon as they came, They quickly perceived it was but a flam: An Ordinance of Parliament Essex brought down, But that would not serve him to batter the Town. More mony was rais'd, more Men and Ammunition, Carts loaded with Turnips, and other provision. His Excellence had Chines and Rams-heads for a present, And his Councel of War had Woodcock and Pheasant. But Ven had five thousand Calves heads all in carts, To nourish his Men and to chear up their hearts. This made them so valiant that that very day, They had taken the Town but for running away. 'Twas Ordered this day, that thanksgiving be made, To the Round-heads in Sermons, for their beefe and their bread.

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Wednesday Two Members this day at a Conference sate, And one gives the other a knock on the pate. This set them a voting, and the upper house swore, 'Twas a breach of priviledge he gave him no more. The lower the breaking their Members head voted A breach of their priviledge; for it is to be noted, That Treason and Priviledge in it did grow, 'Twas a breach of his Crown and dignity too. Then came in the Women with a long long petition, To settle Militia and damn the Commission. For if fighting continue, they say they did fear, That Men would be scarce, and Husbands be dear. So plainly the Speaker the business unties, That presently all the Members did rise. They had hardly the leisure all things to lay ope, But some felt in their Bellies if they had not a Pope. Some strictly stood to them, and others did fear, Each carried about them a fierce Cavalier. This business was handled by the Close-Committee, That privately met at a place in the City. So closely to voting the Members did fall, That the humble Sisters were overthrown all. But they and their helpers came short at the last, Till at length the whole work on Prince Griffith was cast. And he with his troup did handle the matter,

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He pleased every Woman, as soon as he came at her. The business had like to have gone on their side, Had not Pym perswaded them not to confide. For rather then peace, to fill the Common-Wealth, He said hee'd do ten every night himself.

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Thursday This Day a great fart in the house they did hear, Which made all the members make buttons for fear; And one makes nine speeches while the business was hot, And spake through the nose that he smelt out the plot. He takes it to task, and the Articles drawes, As a breach of their own Fundamental-lawes. Now Letters were read which did fully relate A victory against New-Castle of late; That hundreds were slain, and hundreds did run, And all this was got ere the battel begun. This then they resolved to make the best on; And next they resolved upon the question, That Bonfires and praises, the Pulpit and Steeple, Must all be suborned to couzen the People. But the policy was more mony to get, For the conquests dear bought and far enough fet, Such victories in Ireland, although it be known They strive to make that Land as bad as our own. No sooner the mony for this was brought hether, But a croud of true Letters came flocking together, How Hotham and's army and others were beaten. This made the blew Members to startle and threaten. And these by all means must be kept from the City, And only refered to the Privy-Committee. And they presently with an Extempore vote, Which they have used so long, that they learned by rote, They stil'd them malignant, and to lyes they did turn them, Then Corbet in stead of the Hangman, must burn them. And he after that an Ordinance drawes, That none should tell truth that disparag'd the cause. Then Pym like a Pegasus trots up and down, And takes up an Angel to throw down a crown. He stands like a Centaure and makes a long speech, That came from his mouth, and part from his breech. He moves for more Horse, that the Army may be Part Mans flesh and horse flesh, as well as he;

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And hee'l be a Colonel as well as another, But durst not ride a horse, 'cause a horse rode his Mother.

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Friday Sir Hugh Cholmley for being no longer a Traytor, Was accus'd of treason in the highest Nature; 'Cause he (as they bad him) his Souldiers did bring, To turn from Rebellion and fight for the King. They voted him out, but, nor they nor their men Could vote him into the house agen. Sir Davids Remonstrance next to them was read, From the Cities round body and Isaac s the head. 'Twas approv'd; but one cause produc'd a denial, That all Traytors be brought to a Legal trial. For 'tis against reason to vote or to do Against Traytors when they are no other but so. Because about nothing so long they sit still, They hold it convenient Diurnalls to fill. And therefore they gave their Chronographer charge To stuff it with Orders and Letters at large. The King by's Prerogative, nor by the Law, Can speak nor print nothing his people to draw. Yet Penny les Pamphletters they do maintain, Whose only Religion is Stipendary gain. Who Cum Privilegio, against King and the State, The treason that's taught them (like Parrats) they prate. These Hackneyes are licenc't what ever they do, As if they had Parliament priviledge too. Thus then they consult: so zealous they are, To settle the peace of the Kingdom by war. But against Civil-war their hatred is such, To prevent it they'l bring in the Scots and the Dutch. They had rather the Land be destroyd in a minute, Then abide any thing that has loyalty in it; And yet their rebellion so neatly they trim, They fight for the King, but they mean for King Pym. These all to fight for, and maintain are sent The Lawes of England: but New-England is meant. And though such disorders are broke in of late, They keep it the Anagram still of a State. For still they are plotting more riches to bring To make Charles a rich and glorious King. And by this rebellion this good they will do him,

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They'l forfeit all their Estates unto him. No Clergy must medie in Spirituall affairs, EutLayton nere heard of it, losing his ears, For that he might be deaf to the prisoners cries, To a spiritual Coalers place he must rise. The rest have good reason for what they shall do, For they are both Clergy and Laytie too. Or else at the best when the question is stated, They are but Mechanniks newly translated. They may be Committees to practise their bawling, For stealing of horse is a spirituall calling. The reason why people our Martyrs adore, 'Cause their ears being cut off their fame sounds the more. 'Twas ordered the Goods of Malignants and Lands, Shall be shar'd among them, and took into their hands. They send spirits for more malignants to come, That every one in the house may have some. Then down to Guild-Hall they return with their thanks, To the fools whom the Lottery has cheated with blancks.

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Satterday This day there came newes of the taking a Ship, (To see what strange wonders are wrought in the deep) That a troop of their horse ran into the Sea, And pull'd out a ship alive to the key. And after much prating and fighting they say, The ropes serv'd for traces to draw her away. Sure these were Sea-horses, or else by their lying They'd make them as famous for swimming as flying. The rest of the day they spent to bemoan Their Brother the Round-head that to Tyburn was gone. And could not but think it a barbarous thing, To hang him for killing a friend to the King. He was newly baptized, and held it was good To be washed, yet not in water, but blood. They ordered for his honour to cut off his ears, And make him a Martyr: but a Zelot appears, And affirm'd him a Martyr, for though 'twas his fate To be hang'd, yet he dy'd for the good of the State. Then all fell to plotting of matters so deep, That the silent Speaker fell down fast asleep. He recovers himself and rubs up his eyes, Then motions his house that 'twas time to rise.

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So home they went all, and their business referr'd To the Close-Committee by them to be heard; They took it upon them, but what they did do, Take notice that none but themselves must know.

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Postscript Thus far we have gone in Rythme to disclose, What never was utter'd by any in prose. If any be wanting, 'twas but a mishap, Because we forgot to weigh't by the map. For over the Kingdom their orders were spread, They have made the whole body as bad as the head. And now made such work that all they can do, Is but to read Letters and answer them too. We thought to make Finis the end of the story, But that we shall have more business for you. For (as their proceedings do) so shall our Pen, Run roundly from Munday to Munday agen. And since we have begun, our Muse doth intend, To have (like their votes) no beginning nor end.

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IV

On the demolishing the Forts

i Is this the end of all the toil, And labour of the Town? And did our Bulwarks rise so high, Thus low to tumble down?

2 All things go by contraries now, We fight to still the Nation, Build Forts to pull down popery, Pull down for Edification.

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3 These Independents tenets, and Their wayes so pleasing be,

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Our City won't be bound about, But stands for liberty. 4

The Popish doctrine shall no more Prevail within our Nation; For now we see that by our works, There's no Justification.

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What an Almighty army's this, How worthy of our praising, That with one vote can blow down that All we so long were raising!

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Yet let's not wonder at this change, For thus 'twill be withall; These works did lift themselvs too high, And pride must have a fall. 7

And when both houses vote agen, The Gavies to be gone, Nor dare to come within the lines, Of Communication:

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They must reserve the sence or else, Referr't to the Divines, And they had need sit seven years more Ere they can read those lines.

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They went to make a Gotham on't, For now they did begin To build these mighty banks about, To keep the Cuckoes in. 10

Alas what need they take such pains! For why a Cucko here

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Might find so many of his mates, Hee'l sing here all the year.

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Has Isaac our Lord Mayor, Lord Mayor, With Tradesmen and with wenches, Spent so much time, and cakes and beer, To édifie these trenches? 12

All trades did shew their skill in this, Each wife an Engineer: The Mairess took the tool in hand, The maids the stones did bear.

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These Bulwarks stood for Popery, And yet we never fear'd 'um, And now they worship and fall down, Before those calves that reard 'um.

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But though for superstition, The crosses have been down'd, Who'ld think these works would Popish turn, That ever have been round?

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This spoiles our Palmistry; for when Wee'l read the Cities fate, We find nor lines nor crosses now, As it hath had of late.

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No wonder that the Aldermen, Will no more mony lend, When they that in this seven years, Such learned works have pen'd. 17

Now to debase their lofty lines, In which the wits delighted,

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Tis thought they'l nere turn Poets more, Because their works are slighted. 18

These to a dolefull tune are set, For they that in the town Did every where cry Up go we, Now they must sing down down.

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But if that Tyburn do remain, When t'other slighted be, The Cits will thither flock and sing, Hay, hay, then up go we.

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The Clown i Ah surra, is't a come to this, That all our Weeze-men do zo miss? Esdid think zo much avore, Have we kept vighting here zo long, To zell our Kingdome vor a zong, O that ever chwor a bore!

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Echave a be a Cavaliero, Like most Weeze-men that escood hear,o, And shoor sdid wish 'um well, But within sdid zee how the did go To cheat the King and country too, Esbid 'um all vor well.

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Thoo whun the club men wor so thick, Esput my zive upon a stick, And about es went among 'um, And by my troth esdid suppose

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That they were honester then those That now do zwear they'l hang 'um. 4

Was't not enow to make men vite, When villains come by de and night, To plunder and undoe 'um, And Garrizons did vet all in, And steep the country to the skin, And we zet nothing to 'um?

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5 But we had zoon a scurvy pluck, The better Men the worser luck. We had knaves and vools among us; Zome turn'd, zome cowards run away, And left a vew behind to try, And bloody rogues to bang us.

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6 But now 'tis a come to a scurvy matter, Cham in the house of the Surgan strater, That have no grace, nor pitty, But here they peel, and pole, and squeeze; And when cha' paid them all their fees, They turn me to the mittee.

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7 Like furies they zit three and three, And all their plots to beggar we, Like Pilate and the Jewes; And zome do zee that both do know, Of thick above, and these below, 'Tis not a turd to chose.

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8 But tho Echood redeem my grown, Es went to London to compown, And ride through weene and weather, Estaid there eight and twonty week, And chwor at last zo much to zeek, As when Es vur'st come thither.

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There whun's zeed voke to Church repair, Espi'd about vor Common-Prayer, But no zuch thing scould zee. The zed the Common'st that was there, Was vrom a tub or a wicker chair, They cal'd \lstumpere.

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Es hurd 'um pray, and every word, As the wor sick, they cri'd O Lord. And thoo ston still agen, And vor my life escould not know, Whun they begun or had ado, But when they zed amen.

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They have a new word, 'tis not preach, Zdo think zome o'me did call it teach, A trick of their devizing, And there zo good a nap sdid vet, Till 'twas adoo, that's past sun-zet, As if twor but zun rising.

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At night zo zoon's chwar into bed, Sdid all my prayers without book read, My creed and Pater noster, Me think zet all their prayers to thick, And they do go no more aleek, Then an apple's like an oyster.

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Chad nead to watch zo well as pray, Whun chave to do with zuch as they, Or else Es may go zeek; They need not bid a monthy vast, Vor if zoo be these times do last, 'Twool come to zeav'n a weak.

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Es waited there a huges time, And brib'd thick men to know my crime, That esmed make my pease, At last esvown my purse was vat, And if chwould be reform'd of that, They wood give me a release.

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Esgid 'um bond vor neenscore pown, Bezides what chad a paid 'um down, And thoo they made me sweare, Whun chad a reckon'd what my cost are, Es s wear'd chood ene zit down aloster, Vor by my troth chawr weary.

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Thoo when scome home esbote some beass And chowr in hope we should ha' peace, 'Case here's no Cavaliers, But now they zed's a new quandary, 'Tween Pendents and Presbytary, Cham agast they'l go by the ears.

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Esbore in hon 'twould never last, The mittees did get wealth zo vast, And Gentlemen undoo, Uds wonderkins t'oold make one mad, That three or four livings had, Now can't tell whare to go.

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Cha zeed the time when escood gee, My dater more than zix of thee: But now by bribes and stortions, Zome at our wedden ha' bestow'd In gloves more then avore this wood A made three daters portions.

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One om ow'd me three hundred pown, Es zend vor zome, he paid it down; But within three dayes ater, Ech had a ticket to restore The same agen, and six times more, Isn't this a couzning matter!

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Whun chood not do't smot to black-rod, A place was nere a made by God, And there chowr vain to lye, Till chad a gidd'n up his bon, And paid a hundred more in hon, And thoo smed come awy.

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Nay now they have a good hon made, What if the Scots should play the jade, And keep awy our King? War they not mad in all these dangers, To go and trust the King with strangers? Was ever such a thing?

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We ha' nor scrip nor scrole to show, Whether it be our King or no, And if they should deny'n, They'l make us vight vor'n once more, As well's agenst'n heretovore, How can we else come by'n?

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We had been better paid 'um down Their vorty hundred thousand pown, And zo a zet 'um g wine, Vor cham agast avore thee go, The'11 hav' our grown and mony too, Cham sore afeard of mine.

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Another trick they do devize, The vive and twonty part and size, And there at every meeting, We pay vor wives and childrens pole More then they'l every yeild us whole, 'Tis abomination cheating.

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We can nor eat, nor drink, nor lye, We our own wives by and by; We pay to knaves that couzen; My dame and I ten children made, But now we do gee off the trade, Vor fear should be a douzen.

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Then let's to clubs agen and vight, Or let's take it all out right; Vor thus they mean to fare, All thick be right, they'l strip and use, And deal with them as bad as Jews, All custen voke beware.

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On a Butchers Dog that bit a Commanders Mare that stood to be Knight of a Shire 1 All you that for Parliament members do stand For County, Burrough or Cittie, Listen now to my song, which is doleful for and A lamentable ditty. 2 For you must take notice that there was a Dog, Nay a Mastiff dog (d'you see)

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And if this great dog were ty'd to a great clog, It had been full happy for we. 3 And eke there was a great Colonel stout, That had been in many a slaughter, But this Mastiff to eat him was going about, As you shall hear hereafter.

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4 You bloody Malignants why will you still plot? 'Twill bring you to hanging you know; For if this dog had done what he did not, How had he been us'd I trow!

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5 But happy was it for sweet Westminster When they went to make their choice; That this plot was found out, for why should this cur In Elections have any voice?

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6 For surely this Mastiff, though he was big, And had been lucky at fighting, Yet he was not qualifi'd worth a fig And therefore he fell a biting. 7 But whom do you think? A thing of great note, And a worthy Commanders Mare, O what a strange battel had there been fought, Had they gone to fight dog, fight bear.

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8 This dog was a Leveller in his heart, Or some Tub-preaching Cur, For honour or greatnesse he car'd not a fart, And lov'd neither Lord nor Sir. 9 For when the Commander was mounted on high, And got above many a brother,

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It angred this dog at the guts verily, To see one man above another.

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And therefore he run at him with open mouth, But it seems the dog was but dull, He had as good took a bear by the tooth, As mistook a horse for a bull.

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But this plot was discover'd in very good time, And strangely, as you may perceive, For the people saw him committing this crime; And made him his biting leave. 12

And so they were parted without any harm, That now any body seeth, For it seems this dog that made all this alarme, Did but only shew his teeth.

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So this Cavaleer cur was beaten full sore, And had many a knock on the pate, But they serv'd him aright if they had beat him more For medling with matters of State.

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Now heaven look down on our noble Protector, His Commanders and Members eke, And keep him from the teeth of every Elector, That is not able to speak.

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And hang all such dogs as their honours do hate, Let them clear themselves if they can, For if they be suffered to be in the State, They'l conspire against horse and man.

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VII

The New Knight Errant

i Of Gyants and Knights and their wonderful fights We have stories enough in Romances, But Tie tell you one new, that is strange and yet true, Though t'other are nothing but fancies. 2 A Knight lately made of the Governing trade, Whose name he'l not have to be known, Has been trucking with fame, to purchase a name, For 'tis said he had none of his own.

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3 He by Fortunes design, should have been a Divine, And a pillar no doubt of the Church; Whom a Sexton (God wot) in the bellfry begot, And his Mother did pig in the porch.

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4 And next for his breeding, 'twas learned hogfeeding, With which he so long did converse, That his manners and feature, was so like their nature You'Id scarce know his sweetness from theirs.

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5 But observe the device of this Noblemans rise, How he hurryed from trade, to trade, From the grains he'd aspire to the yest, and then higher, Till at length he a Drayman was made. 6 Then his dray-horse and he, in the streets we did see, With his hanger, his sling and his jacket; Long time he did watch, to meet with his match, For he'd ever a mind to the placket.

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7 At length he did find out a Trull to his mind, And Ursula was her name; Oh Ursly quoth he, and oh Tom then quoth she, And so they began their game.

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8 But as soon as they met, O such babes they did get, And blood-royal in 'um did place, From a swineheard they came, a she-bear was their Dam, They were suckled as Romulus was.

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9 At last when the rout, with their head did fall out, And the wars thereupon did fall in, He went to the field, with a sword, but no shield, Strong drink was his buckler within.

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But when he did spy, how they dropt down and die, And did hear the bullets to sing; His armes he flung down, and run fairly to town, And exchang'd his sword for his sling.

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Yet he claimed his share, in such honours as were Belonging to nobler spirits; That ventured their lives, while this Buff on survives To receive the reward of their merits. 12

When the wars were all done, he his fighting begun, And would rjeeds shew his valour in peace, Then his fury he flings, at poor conquer'd things, And frets like a hog in his grease.

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For his first feat of all, on a Wit he did fall, A wit as some say, and some not, Because he'd an art, to rime on the quart, But never did care for the pot.

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And next on the cocks, he fell like an Ox, And took them and their Masters together; But the combs and the spurs, kept himself and his Sirs, Who are to have both or neither.

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The cause of his spite, was because they would fight, And because he durst not he did take-on; And said they were fit, for the pot, not the spit, And would serve to be eaten with bacon.

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But flesh'd with these spoyles, the next of his toy les, Was to fall with wild-beasts by the ears, To the Bearward he goeth, and then opened his mouth; And said, oh! are you there with your bears? 17

Our stories are dull, of a cock and a bull, But such was his valour and care; Since he bears the bell, the tales that we tell, Must be of a cock and a bare.

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The crime of the bares was, they were Caveleers, And had formerly fought for the King; And pull'd by the Burrs, the roundheaded Curs, That they made both their ears to ring.

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Our successour of Kings, like blind fortune flings, Upon him both honour and store; Who has as much right, to make Tom a Knight, As Tom has desert, and no more.

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But Fortune that whore, still attended this Brewer, And did all his atchievements reward; And blindly did fling, on this lubberly thing, More honour, and made him a Lord.

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21 Now he walks with his spurs, and a couple of curs At his heels, which he calls Squires; So when honour is thrown, on the head of a clown, Tis by Parasites held up, and Lyars.

22 The rest of his pranks, will merit new thanks, With his death, if we did but know it; But we'l leave him and it, to a time and place fit, And Greg. shall be funeral Poet.

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vni

The New Mountebanck Written in 1643 If any body politick, Of plenty or ease be very sick, There's a Physitian come to Town, Of far fetcht fame and high renown: Though call'd a Mountebank, 'tis meant, Both words being French, a Parliament; Who from Geneva and Amsterdam, From Germany and Scotland came; Now lies in London, but the place, If men say true, is in his face. His scaffold stands on Tower hill, Where he on Strafford try'd his skill: Off went his head, you'l think him slain, But straight 'twas voted on again. Diurnals are his weekly bills, Which speak how many he cures or kills: But of the Errata we'l advise, For cure read kill, for truth read lies. If any Traytor be diseased With a sore neck, and would be eased; There is a pill, they call a Vote, Take it ex temp ore it shall do't. If any conscience be too strict,

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Here's several pills, from Lectures pickt, Which swallowed down will stretch it full, As far as 'tis from this to Hull. Is any by religion bound, Or Law, and would be looser found? Here's a Glister which we call His priviledge o're-topping all. Is any money left, or plate, Or goods? bring't in at any rate: He'l melt three shillings into one, And in a minute leave you none. Here's powder to inspire the lungs, Here's water that unties your tongues; Spight of the law, 'twill set you free, To speak treason only lispingly. Here's Leeches, which if well apply'd, And fed, will stick close to your side, Till your superfluous blood decay, Then they'l break and drop away. But here's a soveraign Antidote, Be sure our Soveraign never know't; Apply it as the Doctour pleases, 'Twill cure all wounds and all diseases. A drug none but himself e're saw, 'Tis call'd a Fundamental Law: Here's Glasses to delude your sight, Dark Lanthornes here, here bastard light. This if you conquer trebbles the men, If loose a hundred, seems but ten. Here's Opium to lull asleep, And here lie dangerous plots in steep. Here stands the safety of the Citty, There hangs the invisible Committee. Plundring's the new Philosophers stone, Turnes war to Gold, and Gold to none. And here's an Ordinance that shall, At one full shot enrich you all. He's skilled in the Mathmaticks, And in his circle can do tricks. By raising spirits that can smell Plots that are hatcht as deep as hell: Which ever to themselves are known, The Devil's ever kind to his own.

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All this he gratis doth, and saith, He'l only take the publick faith. Flock to him then, make no delay, The next fair wind he must away.

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IX

The Saints Encouragement Written in 1643 1

Fight on brave Souldiers for the cause, Fear not the Caveleers; Their threatnings are as senselesse, as Our Jealousies and fears. 'Tis you must perfect this great work, And all Malignants slay, You must bring back the King again The clean contrary way.

5

2 'Tis for Religion that you fight, And for the Kingdomes good, By robbing Churches, plundring men, And shedding guiltlesse blood. Down with the Orthodoxal train, All Loyal Subjects slay; When these are gone we shall be blest The clean contrary way.

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3 When Charles we've bankrupt made like us, Of Crown and power bereft him; And all his loyal subjects slain, And none but Rebels left him. When we've beggar'd all the Land, And sent our Truncks away, We'l make him then a glorious Prince, The clean contrary way.

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4 'Tis to preserve his Majesty, That we against him fight, Nor are we ever beaten back, Because our cause is right, If any make a scruple on't, Our Declarations say Who fight for us, fight for the King, The clean contrary way.

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5 AtKeynton, Branford, Plymmouth, York, And diverse places more; What victories we Saints obtain'd, The like ne're seen before. How often we Prince Rupert kill'd, And bravely won the day, The wicked Cavaleers did run The clean contrary way.

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6 The true Religion we maintain, The Kingdomes peace, and plenty; The priviledg of Parliament Not known to one of twenty: The antient Fundamental Laws; And teach men to obey Their Lawful Soveraign, and all these, The clean contrary way.

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7 We subjects Liberties preserve, By prisonment and plunder, And do inrich our selves and state By keeping the wicked under. We must preserve Mecannicks now, To Lecturize and pray; By them the Gospel is advanc'd, The clean contrary way.

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8 And though the King be much misled By that malignant crew; He'l find us honest, and at last, Give all of us our due. For we do wisely plot, and plot Rebellion to destroy, He sees we stand for peace and truth, The clean contrary way.

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9 The publick faith shall save our souls, And good out-works together, And ships shall save our lives that stay, Only for wind and weather. But when our faith and works fall down, And all our hopes decay, Our Acts will bear us up to heaven, The clean contrary way.

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x Written in 1648 1

Come let us be merry, Drink Claret and Sherry, And cast away care and sorrow; He's a fool that takes thought for to morrow. Why should we be droopers, To save it for Troopers. Let's spend our own, And when all is gone, That they can have none, Then the Roundheads and Caves agree.

2 Then fall to your drinking, And leave off this shrinking, Let Square-heads and Round-heads go quarrel, We have no other foe but the barrel,

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These cares and disasters, Shall ne're be our Masters, English ana Scot, Doth both love a pot, Though they say they do not, Here the Roundheads and Caves agree.

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3 A man that is armed With liquor is charmed, And proof e against strength and cunning, He scorns the base humour of running. Our brains are the quicker, When season'd with liquor, Let's drink and sing, Here's a health to our King, And I wish in this thing Both the Roundheads and Caves agree.

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4 A pox of this fighting! I take no delighting In killing of men and plunder, A Gun affrights me like a thunder. If we can Live quiet, With good drink and diet, We wont come nigh, Where the bullets do fly, In fearing to die, Both the Roundheads and Caves agree.

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5 'Twixt Square-head and Round-head The Land is confounded, They care not for fight or battle, But to plunder our goods and cattle. When e're they come to us, They come to undo us, Their chiefest hate Is at our Estate, And in sharing of that, Both the Roundheads and Caves agree.

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In swearing, and lying, In cowardly flying, In whoring, in cheating, in stealing, They agree; in all damnable dealing. He's a fool and a widgeon, That thinks they've Religion, For Law and right, Are o're rul'd by might, But when they should fight, Then the Roundheads and Caves agree.

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7 Then while we have treasure, Let's spare for no pleasure, He's a fool that has wealth and wont spend it, But keeps it for Troopers to end it. When we've nothing to leave 'um, Then we shall deceive 'um, If all would be Of such humours as we, We should suddainly see Both the Roundheads and Caves agree,

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XI

The Scots Curanto Written in 1645 1

Come, come away to the English wars, A fig for our Hills and Valleys, Twas we did begin, and will lengthen their jarrs, We'l gain by their loss and folleys; Let the Nations By invasions, Break through our barrs, They can get little good by their salleys.

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2 Though Irish and English entred be, The State is become our Debtor. Let them have our Land, if their own may be free And the Scot will at length be a getter. If they crave it Let them have it, What care we? We would fain change our Land for a better.

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3 Long have we longed for the English Land, But we're hindred still by disasters; But now is their time, when they can't withstand, But are their own Countreys wasters. If we venter, We may enter By command, And at last we shall grow to be Masters.

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4 When at the first we began to rebell, Though they did not before regard us, How the name of a Scot did the English quell, Which formerly have out-dar'd us. For our coming And returning, They pay'd us well, And royally did reward us.

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5 The better to bring our ends about, We must plead for a Reformation; And tickle the minds of the giddy-brain'd rout, With the hopes of an innovation. They will love us And approve us, Without doubt, If we bring in an alteration.

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6 Down with the Bishops and their train, The Surplice and Common prayers, Then will we not have a King remain, But we'l be the Realmes surveyers. So by little And a little We shall gain All the Kingdom without gain-sayers.

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7 And when at the last we have conquer'd the King, And beaten away the Caveleers, The Parliament next must the same ditty sing, And thus we will set the Realm by the ears. By their jarring And their warring We will bring, Their estates to be ours, which they think to be theirs.

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8 And thus when among us the Kingdom is shar'd, And the people are all made beggars like we; A Scot will be as good as an English Leard; O! what an unity this will be. As we gain it We'l retain it By the sweard And the English shall say, bonny blew cap for me.

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XII

Written in 1643 1

Though Oxford be yielded, and Reading be taken, I'll put in for quarter at thy Maiden-head, There while I'm insconsed, my Standard's unshaken, Lie thou in my arms, and I in thy bed. Let the young zelots march with their wenches, Mounting their tools to édifie trenches.

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While thou and I do make it our pleasure, To dig in thy Mine for the purest Treasure, Where no body else shall plunder but I.

2 And when we together in battail do joyne, We scorn to wear arms but what are our own, Strike thou at my body, and I'll thrust at thine, By nakednesse best the truth is made known. Cannons may roar, and bullets keep flying, While we are in Battail, we never fear dying. Isaac and's wenches are busy a digging, But all our delight is in japping and jigging, And no body else shall plunder but I.

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3 And when at the last our bodies are weary, We'l straight to the Taverns our strength to recruit, Where, when we've refresht our hearts with Canary, We shall be the fitter again to go to't. We'l tipple and drink untill we do stagger, For then is the time for Souldiers to swagger. Thus night and day we'l thump it and knock it, And when we've no mony then look to your pocket, For no body else shall plunder but I.

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XIII

A New Ballad i A Ballad, a Ballad, a new one and true, And such are seldom seen; He that wont write Ballads, and sing 'um too, Has neither Wit nor Spleen. For a man may be furnished with so much matter, That he need not lie, or rail, or flatter, 'Twill run from his tongue as easie as water, And as swiftly though not so clean.

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2 To see how the times are twirled about, Would make a dog laugh, 'tis true; But to see those turn with 'um, that had the Rump-gout, Would make a cat to spew. Those Knaves that have lived upon sequestration, And sucked the blood of the best of the Nation, Are all for the King by a new translation, He that wont believe't, is a Jew.

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3 The poor Caveliers, thought all was their own, And now was their time to sway, But friends they have few, and mony they've none, And so they mistook their way. When they seek for preferrments the Rebells do rout 'um And having no mony, they must go without 'um, The Courtiers do carry such stomacks about 'um, They speak no English but pay.

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4 And those verry rebells that hated the King, And no such office allow; By the help of their boldness, and one other thing, Are brought to the King to bow. And there both pardons, and honours they have, With which they think, they're secure and brave, But the title of Knight, on the back of a Knave, 's like a saddle upon a sow.

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5 Those men are but fools as matters now stand, That would not be Rebels and Tray tors, To grow rich and rant o're the best of the land, And tread on ihe poor Cinque Quaters. To do what they list, and none dare complain, To rise from a cart and drive Charles his waine, And for this be made Lords and Knights in grain, O 'tis sweet to ambitious natures.

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6 If the times turne about 'tis but to comply, And make a formal submission, And with every new power to live and die, Then they are in a safe condition. For none are condemned but those that are dead, Nor must be secur'd, but those that are fled, And none but the poor rogues sequestred, The great ones buy remission.

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7 The Fortieth part of their riches will Secure t'other thirty nine; And so they will keep above us still, But hang't, we'l ne're repine. The Devil does into their natures creep, That they can no more from their villany keep, Then a Wolfe broke loose, can from killing of sheep, Or a Poet refrain from wine.

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8 Now Heaven preserve our Merciful King, And continue his grace and pitty, And may his prosperity be like a spring, And stream from him to the City! May James and George those Dukes of renown, Be the two supporters of Englands Crown! And may all honest men injoy what's their own! And so I conclude my ditty.

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The Holy Pedler i From a Forraign shore I am not come to store, Your Shops with rare devices: No drugs do I bring From the Indian King,

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No Peacocks, Apes, nor Spices. Such wares I do show As in England do grow, And are for the good of the Nation, Let no body fear To deal in my ware, For Sacriledge now's in fashion.

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2 I the Pedler am, That came from Amsterdam With a pack of new Religions, I did every one fit, According to's wit, From the Tub to Mahomets pigeons. Great trading I found, For my spiritual ground, Wherein every man was a medler; I made people decline, The learned Divine, And then they bought Heaven of the Pedler.

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3 First Surplices I took, Next the Common-prayer book, And made all those Papists that us'd 'um; Then the Bishops and Deans, I strip'd of their means, And gave it to those that abus'd 'um. The Clergymen next, I withdrew from their Text, And set up the gifted brother; Thus Religion I made, But a matter of trade, And I car'd nor for one or t'other.

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4 Then Tythes I fell upon, And those I quickly won, 'Twas profane in the Clergy to take 'um. But they serv ' d for the Lay, Till I sold them away, And so did Religious make 'um.

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But now come away, To the Pedler, I pray, I scorn to rob or cozen; If Churches you lack, Come away to my pack, Here's thirteen to the dozen.

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5 Church Militants they be, For now we do see, They have fought so long with each other; The Rump's Churches threw down, Those that stood for the Crown, And sold them to one another. Then come you factious crue, Here's a bargain now for you, With the spoiles of the Church you may réveil; Now pull down the bells, And then hang up your selves, And so give his due to the Devil.

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XV

A Serious Ballade Written in 1645 1

I love my King and Country well, Religion and the Lawes, Which I'm mad at the heart that e're we did sell, To buy the good Old Cause. These unnatural warrs And brotherly jars, Are no delight or joy to me; But it is my desire, That the wars should expire, And the King and his Realms agree.

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2 I never yet did take up armes, And yet 1 dare to dye, But I'll not be seduc'd by fanatical charmes, Till I know a Reason why. Why the King and the State, Should fall to debate, I ne're could yet a reason see, But I find many one, Why the wars should be done, And the King and his Realmes agree.

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3 I love the King and the Parliament, But I love them both together; And when they by division asunder are rent, I know 'tis good for neither. Which so e're of those, Be victorious, I'm sure for us no good 'twill be, For our plagues will encrease, Unies se we have peace, And the King and his Realms agree.

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4 The King without them can't long stand, Nor they without the King, 'Tis they must advise, and 'tis he must command, For their power, from his must spring. 'Tis a comfortlesse sway, Where none will obey. If the King han't's right, which way shall we? They may Vote and make Lawes, But no good they will cause, Till the King and his Realms agree.

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5 A pure Religion I would have, Not mixt with humane wit; And I cannot endure that each ignorant knave, Should dare to meddle with it. The tricks of the law, I would faign withdraw,

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That it may be alike to each degree. And I faign would have such, As do medie so much, With the King and the Church agree.

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6 We have pray'd and pay'd that the wars might cease, And we be freemen made, I would fight, if my fighting would bring any peace, But war is become a trade. Our servants did With swords by their side, And made their Masters footmen be; But we will be no more slaves, To the beggars and knaves, Now the King and the Realmes do agree.

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An Ode Written in 1643 1

What's this that shrouds In these opacous clouds, The glorious face of heav'n, and dims our light? What must we ever lye, Mantled in dark stupidity? Still groveling in a daily night? And shall we have no more the sun allow'd? Why does the sun grow dim? or do the stars grow proud?

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2 Why should false zeal Thus scorch our common-weale, And make us slight bright Phebus purer fires? Why do these plannets run? They would, but cannot be the Sun, Yet every saucy flame aspires.

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Though they've no reason to affect the same, 15 Since they have nought of fire, but the meer rage and name. 3 Now since our Sun Has left this Horizon, Can all the stars though by united pow'r, Undark the night, Or equal him in light? And yet they blaze to make him lowre. That star that looks more red then others are, Is a prodigious Comet and a blazing star.

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4 The World's undone, When stars oppose the sun, And make him change his constant course to rest; His foaming Steeds, Flying those daring deeds, I'm' stables of the North or West, Whence we may fear he'l never more return, To light and warme us, with his rayes, but all to burn.

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5 Heav'n made them all, Yet not Anarchical, But in degrees and orders they are set; Should they all be In a grand Committee, In heavens painted chamber, yet Sol would out shine them: guide me Phoebus ray, And let those Lantherns keep their borrowed light away.

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Let's not admire This new phantastick fire; That our vain eyes deceives and us misleads, Those Bares we see That would our Lyons be, Want tailes, and will want heads. The world will soon into destruction run, When bold blind Phaetons guide the chariot of the sun.

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XVII

Palinode i No more, no more of this, I vow, Tis time to leave this fooling now, Which few but fools call Wit; There was a time when I begun, And now 'tis time I should have done, And medie no more with it. He Physicks use doth quite mistake, That Physick takes for Physicks sake.

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2 My heat of youth, and love and pride, Did swell me with their strong spring-tyde, Inspir'd my brain and blood, And made me then converse with toyes, Which are call'd Muses by the boyes, And dabble in their flood. I was perswaded in those dayes, There was no crown like love and bayes.

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3 But now my youth and pride are gone, And age and cares come creeping on, And businesse checks my love; What need I take a needlesse toy le, To spend my labour, time and oyle, Since no design can move. For now the cause is ta'ne away, What reason is't th'effect should stay?

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4 'Tis but a folly now for me, To spend my time and industry, About such uselesse wit; For when I think I have done well, I see men laugh, but cannot tell, Where't be at me, or it. Great madness 'tis to be a drudge, When those that cannot write dare judge.

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5 Besides the danger that ensue'th, To him that speaks, or writes the truth, The praemium is so small, To be called Poet and wear bayes, And Factor turne of Songs and Playes, This is no wit at all. Wit only good to sport and sing, 's a needlesse and an endlesse thing.

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6 Give me the Wit that can't speak sense, Nor read it, but in's own defense, Ne're learn'd but of his Grannum, He that can buy, and sell, and cheat, May quickly make a shift to get His thousand pound per annum. And purchase without much ado, The Poems and the Poet too.

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XVIII

A Ballad

i Old England is now a brave Barbary made, And every one has an ambition to ride her: King Charles was a horseman that long us'd the trade, But he rode in a snaffle, and that could not guide her. 2 Then the hungry Scot comes with spur and with switch, And would teach her to run a Geneva career; His Grooms were all Puritan, Traytor, and witch; But she soon threw them down, with their pedlery geer.

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3 The long Parliament next came all to the block, And they this untamable Palfry would ride;

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But she would not bear all that numerous flock; At which they were fain themselves to divide. 4 Jack Presbyter first gets the Steed by the head, While the reverend Bishops had hold of the bridle: Jack said through the nose, they their flocks did not feed, But sate still on the beast, and grew aged and idle:

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5 And then comes the Rout with broomsticks inspir'd, And pull'd down their Graces, their sleeves, and their train, And sets up sir Jack, who the beast quickly tyr'd, With a journey to Scotland, and thence back again.

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6 Jack rode in a dublet, with a yoke of prick-ears, A cursed splay-mouth, and a Covenant-spur, Rides switching and spurring with jealousies and fears, Till the poor famish'd beast was not able to stir. 7 Next came th'Indépendant a dev'lish designer, And got himself call'd by a holier name; Makes Jack to unhorse, for he was diviner, And would make her travel as far1 s Amsterdam:

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8 But Nol a rank rider gets first in the saddle, And made her show tricks, and cúrvate and rebound; She quickly perceiv'd that he rode widdle, waddle, And like his Coach-horses threw his Highness to ground.

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9 ThenD/cA;, being lame, rode holding by the pummel, Not having the wit to get hold of the rein; But the Jade did so snort at the sight of a Cromwel, That poor Dick and his kindred turn'd foot-men again. 10

Next Fleetwood and Vane, with their Rascally pack, Would every one put their feet in the stirrup;

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But they pull'd the saddle quite off of her back, And were all got under her before they were up. 11

At last the King mounts her, and then she stood still, As his Bucephalus, proud of this Rider; She cheerfully yields to his power and skill, Who is careful to feed her, and skilful to guide her.

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S E C T 1 O [-M

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To C.C. Esquii\ Inspired with love and kindled by the flame, Which from your eye and conversation came, Í proceed Versifier, and can't chu.se, Since you are both my Patron and my M'use. Whose fair example makes us know and do, You make us poets, and you feed us too. And though where ere you are is Helicon, Since all the Muses proudly wait upon Your parts and person too; while we sit. here And like Baals Priests our flesh do cut and tear, Yet, for our lives, can't make our baggage Muse Lend us a lift, or one rich thought infuse, Or be as much as midwife to a quibble, But leave us to our selves with pangs to scribble What, were we wise, we might well blush to view, While we're invoking them, they're courting you. Yet I conceive (and wont my notion smother) You and your house contribute to each other. Such hills, such dales, such plains, such rocks, such springs, And such a confluence of all such things As raise and gratifie the Muses so, That in one Night I was created PO-That's half a Poet, I cant reach to ET, Because F m not a perfect Poet yet, And I despair perfection to attain, Unlesse I'm sent to school to you again. Alas! Sir London is no place for verse, ingenious harmlesse thoughts, polite and terse, Our Age admits not, we are wrap'd in smoke; And Sin, and business, which the Muses choke. Those things in which true poésie takes pleasure, We here do want; tranquillity and leasure. Yet we have Wits, and some that for wits go,

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Some real ones, and some that would be so, But 'tis ill-natured wit, and such as still, To th'subject or the object worketh ill. A Wit to cheat, to ruine, to betray, Which renders uselesse, what we do or say. This wit will not bear verse, some things we have, Who in their out-side do seem briske and brave, And are as gaudy as old Kelles purse; But full as Empty too. And here's our curse, Few men discerne the difference 'twixt Wit That's sterling, and that's not, but looks like it. Inrich us with your presence, make us know How much the Nation does to Derby owe. But if your businesse will not be withstood, Do what you can, since you can't what you wou'd. Those lovely sportings of your frolick Muse, Wherewith you blest me, send me to peruse; And out of gratitude, I'll send you mine, They'l rub your vertues, and so make them shine. Your charity and patience will in them, Find work t'acquit, what justice must condemn. And if you please, send one propitious line, To dignifie these worthlesse toyes of mine. The Reader charm'd by yours, may be so bold To read o're mine, which else he'ld not behold. And then in Spite of envy, pride, or lying, Must say h'has met with something worth the buying.

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II

The Answer By C. Cotton When in this durty corner of the World, Where all the rubbish of the rest is hurl'd Both men, and manners; this abandon'd place, Where scarce the Sun dares shew his radient face, I met thy lines, they made me wondring stand, At thy unknown, and yet the friendly hand. Straight through the Air m'imagination flew

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To ev'ry Region I had seen, or knew; And kindly blest (at her returning home) My gready ear, with the glad name of Brome. Then I reproach't my self for my suspence, And mourn'd my own want of intelligence, That could not know thy celebrated Muse, (Though mask't with all the art, that art can use) At the first sight, which to the dullest eyes, No names conceal'd, nor habit can disguise. For who (ingenious friend) but only thee, (Who art the soul of wit, and courtesie) Writes in so pure, an unaffected strain, As shews wits ornament, is to be plain; Or would caresse a man condemn'd to lie Buryed from all humane society, 'Mongst brutes and bandogs in aLernean fen, Whose Natives have nor souls, nor shape of men? How could thy Muse, that in her noble flight, The boading Raven cuff t, and in his height Of untam'd power, and unbounded place, Durst mate the haughty Tyrant to his face, Deigne an inglorious stoop, and from the sky Fall down to prey on such a worme as I? Her seeing (sure) my state, made her relent, And try to charme me from my banishment; Nor has her charitable purpose faild, For when I first beheld her face unvail'd, I kiss't the paper, as an act of grace Sent to retrive me from this wretched place, And doubted not to go abroad agen To see the world, and to converse with men: But when I tast the dainties of the Flood (Ravish't fromNeptunes table for my food) TheLucrine Lakes plump Oysters I despise, With all the other Roman luxuries, And, wanton grown, contemn the famous breed Of Sheep and Oxen, which these mountains feed. Then as a Snake, benumn'd and fit t'expire, If laid before the comfortable fire Begins to stir, and feels her vitals beat Their healthful motion, at the quickning heat: So my poor muse, that was half starv'd before, On these bleak clifts; nor thought of writing more,

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Warm'd by thy bounty, now can hisse and spring, And ('tis believ'd by some) will shortly sting: So warm she's grown, and without things like these Minerva must, as well, as Venus freeze. Thus from a High-lander, I straight commence Poet, by vertue of thine influence, That with one Ray, can clods, and stones inspire, And make them pant, and breath poetick fire. And thus I am thy creature prov'd, who name, And fashion take from thy indulgent What should I send thee then, that may befit A greatfull heart, for such a benefit; Or how proclaime, with a poetick grace, What thou hast made me from the thing I was; When all I writ, is artless, forc't, and dull, And mine as empty as thy fancy full? All our conceipts, alas! are flat, and stale, And our inventions muddy, as our Ale. No friends, no visiters, no company, But such, as I still pray, I may not see Such craggy, rough-hewn rogues, as do not fit, Sharpen and set, but blunt the edge of wit; Any of which (and fear has a quick eye) If through a perspective I chance to spy Though a mile off, I take th'alarrne and run, As if I saw the Divel, or a Dunne. And in the Neighbouring rocks take sanctuary, Praying the Hills to fall, and cover me. So that my solace lies amongst my grounds, And my best companie's, my horse and hounds. Judge then (my friend) how far I am unfit To traffick with thee, in the trade of Wit, How Banck-rupt I am grown of all commerce, Who have all number lost, and air of verse. But if I could in living song set forth, Thy Muses glory, and thine own true worth, I then would sing an Ode, that should not shame, The writers purpose; nor the Subjects name. Yet, what a gratefull heart, and such a one, As (by thy vermes,) thou hast made thine own, Can poorly pay, accept for what is due, Which if it be not Rhythme, Tie swear 'tis true.

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To his University Friend Dear Captain. Want, the great Master of three greater things, Art, Strength, and boldness, gives this letter wings To kiss (that is salute) you and say A.B. To his renowned Captain S.P.D. And to request three greater things then those, Things that beget good verse, and Stubborn prose. The first is drink, which you did promise, would Inform the brain; as well as warm the blood, Drink that's as powerfull and strong as Hector, And as inspiring as the old Poets Nectar, That dares confront the legislative sack, And lends more greek then your grave patriarch. But you may see here's none, for if that I, Had been well wet, these had not been so dry. The next is mony; which you said should be Paid, and it may be 'twas, but not to me. Why (Friend) d'you think a man as big about As I, can live on promises, without Good drink or mony? how'11 good sack be had? And who can live without sack, or with bad? What e're your Accademicks talk or teach, Mind what they do, they mind not what they preach. In publick they may rail at Pope and Turk, And at the layeties avarice have a Firck, And say their aim is all to save the soul, But that Soul's mony, which does all controul. Which I do only by the want on't know, But when it comes thou'lt see 'twill wonders do. The third is wit, which you affirmed here, Was in your Mines, and digg'd up every where. Jests, Verses, Tales, Puns, Satyrs, Quibbles too, And certain Bris toll words that like wit show. But none on't comes as yet, and all I see, Is you've the wit to keep it all from me. 'Tis troublesome and costly to have much. And if you had it, you would never grutch Your needy Friend a little; prithee do Send me the last, and I'le get t'other two.

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IV

The Answer Your Letter found us at good Clarret, Such as you should be at, or are at. The lines were good; but that I wonder, As much as at a bladders thunder, That you who are not us'd to preach, That never to that art could reach, Your letter should so well divide, Into the first, third, second, head. Prithee tell me, just then came ye, Before you writ, from your C. Or hadst thou heard some Independent, First it, and thirdly it, till no end on't? Thirdly from you is as ill sounded, As Mass delivered by a roundhead. Or if your old Recorder should Try to speak Latine that is good. Drink the first head, you wisely laid, Drink alwayes gets into the head. Drink in plain silly troth you had, As strong as hop, or furnace made, Such as our Sophisters do take, When they old Latine jests would break. Such as if your Clients drink, Of law suites they would never think. Such as with Beef, and mutton were Enough to make you Knight o'th' shire. But that it comes not you may thank Your Thames which s well 'd above its bank. I think the London Brewers plot To encrease the Thames, that we should not, By our sublime and noble Beer, Shame all their puddle liquor there. So great the flood here, that the people Were woundrous fraid for your Pauls steeple. Least we should hear next Almanack, How London Bridge did fall or shake. Least it Westminster hall should drown, And then no place should there be found, Where men their gold and silver may

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Upon the Lawyers throw away. But stay, it may be all is lost, Broke by the ice, or stop'd by frost. Perchance the Boatmen let it run, Which either of us would have done. It may be they drew out the Vessel, To cheer themselves at merry Wassail. Perchance the Barrell in the way Did fall upon an holy day. Upon a Revell or a wedding, Or else, it may be, it call'd at Redding', Where the bold rout did rant of late, As if they drunk such beer as that. But if at last it there arrive, Drink it out while 'tis alive, Let not old Gossips of it tast, When they do praise their husbands last; When they tell stories, and do cry For their poor babe that last did dye. Nor it to Country Clients give, When thou dost fees from them receive. But make a fire and send about, For all thy Friends the merry rout. Fetch out the bowl and drink it up, And think on him that fill'd the cup. Your next is money, which I promise, Full fifty pounds alas the summe is, That too shall quickly follow, if It can be rais'd from Strong or Tiff e. Pray pray that each moneth we may choose New Members for the commons house. Pray that our Act may last all year, That we may sooner spend our Beer. Pray that the Schollars may drink faster, And larger cups then they did last year. Pray heav'n to take away th'Excise, Pray I say with weeping eyes: Pray our malt grow good and cheap, And then of mony expect an heap. For Poems; Tom desires me tell ye, He minds not now his feet, but belly. He must for Pulpit now prepare, Or make bills for Apothecar-

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Y'aud leave off these barren toyes Which feed not, only make a noyse. Yet he would faign from you receive, What your more happy Muse did give. Which made Protectors love to hear, Though themselves wounded by them were. Songs, which are play'd on every tongue, And make a Christmas when they're sung. Thus wishing you much mirth and wit, A,-* the Li/id Mayor doth speak and spit. Wishing and praying till F m weary, i iat v )u may drink the best Canary. -t^ü IP it yoi may have Clients many, * «! ! MIÍV m Guildhall wise as any, 1