Musarum Deliciae (1656)

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Musarum Delicice:
OR,
The MUSES
RECREATION.

Conteining severall select
Pieces of Poetique Wit.

The Second Edition,

By S^r	y.	M.	and Ja.	•S.
			ng

LONDON,

Printed by J.G.for Henry Herringman, and are
to be sold at his Shop, at the Signe of the
Anchor in the New Exchange, 1656.

^AmM^uMim^s^mmimmmmm

The

STATIONER

TO The

CANDID AND COURTEOUS READER.

The following lines once more present themselves
unto your view, being confident in their owne ingenuity
and innocence: That kinde reception which they generally
found in their first impression, is incouragement enough to
put them upon this second adventure: To your hands
may this finde an easie and'a welcome accesse. The worke
speakes its owne worth, and stands in need of no enco-
miums : That it may prove an addition to your content-
ment, is the ambition and designe of

H.H.

VOL. I.

MUSARUM DeLiCI^E:

OR,

"The Muses Recreation.

To Parson Weeks. An Invitation
to London.

HOw now, my John, what, is't the care
Of thy small Flock, that keeps thee there ?
Or hath the Bishop, in a rage,
Forbid thy coming on our Stage ?
Or want'st thou Coyn ? or want'st thou Steed ?
These are impediments indeed :
But for thy Flock, thy Sexton may
In due time ring, and let xhempray.
A Bishop, with an Offering,
May be brought unto any thing.
For want of Steed, I oft see Vic
Trudge up to Town with hazle stick;
For Coyn, two Sermons by the way.
Will Host, Hostesse, and Tapster pay.
A willing minde pawns Wedding-ring,
Wife, Gown, Books, Children, any thing,
c 2

Musarum Delicm: Or,

No way neglected, nought too deare

To see such friends, as thou hast here.

I met a Parson on the way,

Came in a Wagon t'other day,

Who told me, that he ventur'd forth

With one Tythe Pig, of little worth ;

With which, and saying grace at food,

And praying for Lord Carryers good :

He had arrived at's Journeys end,

Without a penny, or a friend.

And what great businesse doe you think ?

Onely to see a friend, and drink.

One friend ? why thou hast thousands here

Will strive to make thee better chear.

Ships lately from the islands came

With Wines, thou never heardst their name.

Montefiasco, Frontiniac,

Viatico, and that old Sack

Young Herric took to entertaine

The Muses in a sprightly vein.

Come then, and from thy muddy Ale,
(Which serves but for an old wife's-Tale :
Or, now and then, to break a jest,
At some poor silly neighbour's Feast)
Rouze up, and use the meanes, to see
Those friends expect thy wit, and thee.
And though you cannot come in state,
On Camels back, like Cory at:
Imagine that a pack horse be
The Camell in his book you see.

The Muses Recreation. 21

I know you have a fancy, can
Conceive your guide a Caravan.
Rather than faile, speak Treason there,
And come on charges of the Shire;
A London Goal, with friends and drink,
Is worth your Vicaridge, I think,

But if besotted with that one
Thou hast, of ten, stay there alone;
And all too late lament and cry,
Th'hast lost thy friends, among them, I.

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To a friend upon a journey to Epsam WelL

SIR, though our flight deserves no care
Of your enquiry, where we are;
Yet for to put you out of doubt,
Read but these Lines, you'l smell us out.
We having at the Mazard din'd,
Where Veal and Mutton open chin'd,
Hang on the Shambles ; thence we pace
To Putney's Ferry : Coomes old Chase
We next pass'd o're, then to the town
Which name of King doth much renowne ;
Where having supp'd we went to bed,
Our selves and Cattell wearied.
Next morning e're the sun appear'd,
Our horses and our selves well chear'd ;

Musarum Delicti: Or,

To Epsam Well we asked the way,

Of young and old, of poor and gay :

Where, after five or six mistakes,

We found the Spring, neer hid with brakes.

These waters cleer, two Hermits keep,

Who alwaies either wake, or sleep ;

And by alternate courses, wait

On Man or Beast, if here you bait.

'Tis here the people farre and neer,

Bring their diseases and go clear,

Some drink of it, and in an houre,

Their Stomach, Guts, and Kidneys scower:

Others doe Bathe, and Ulcers cure,

Dry Itch, and Leprosie impure;

And what in Lords you call the Gout_y

In poor the Pox, this drives all out.

Close by the Well, you may discerne

Small shrubs of Eglantin and Fern,

Which shew the businesse of the place ;

For here old Ops her upper face

Is yellow, not with heat of summer,

But safroniz'd with mortall scumber.

But then the pity to behold

Those antient Authors, which of old

Wrote down for us, Philosophy,

Physick, Music, and Poetry,

Now to no other purpose tend,

But to defend the fingers end.

Here lies Romes Naso torn and rent,

Now reeking from the fundament;

The Muses Recreation.

Galens old rules could not suffice,

Nor yet Hippocrates the wise.

Not teaching, how to dense, can doe,

Themselves must come and wipe it too.

Here did lye Virgil, there lay Horace,

Which newly had wip'd his, or her Arse.

Anacreon reeled too and fro,

Vex'd, that they us'd his papers so.

And Tully with his Offices,

Was forc'd to do such works as these.

Here lies the Letter of a Lover,

Which piece-meale did the thing discover.

Sonnets halfe written would not stay,

But must necessity obey.

This made us for a while to think,

The Muses here did seldome drink :

But hap what would, we light from stirrup,

And streight descend to drinke the syrrup.

The good old Father takes a cup,

When five times wash'd, he fills it up

With this priz'd Liquor, then doth tell

The strange effects of this new Well.

Quoth he, my friends, though I be plaine,

I have seen here many a goodly train

Of Lords and Ladies, richly clad,

With Aches more then ere I had :

These having drunk a week, or so,

Away with health most jocund go :

Meanwhile the Father thus did prate,

We still were drinking as we sat \

24 Musarum Delicia: Or,

Till Gut by rumbling, us beseeches,
My boyes, beware, you'l wrong your Breeches
Ah, doth it worke ? the old man cryes,
Yonder are brakes to hide your thighes.
Where, though 'twere near we hardly came,
Ere one of us had been to blame.

Here no Olympick games they use,
No wrestling here, Limbs to abuse,.
But be that gains the glory here
Must scumber furthest, shite most clear.
And, for to make us emulate,
The good old Father doth relate
The vigour of our Ancestors,
Whose shiting far exceeded ours.
Quoth he, doe you see that below ?
I doe, quoth I, his head's now low,
But here have 1 seen old John Jones,
From this hill, shite to yonder stones.
But him Heaven rest, the man is dead_rThis speech of his me netled ;
With that my head I straightway put
Between my knees, and mounting scut_rAt chiefest randome, forty five,
With Lyon's face, dung forth I drive,
The ayre's divided, and it flies,
Like Draco volans to the skies.
Or who had seen a Conduit break,
And at the hole with fury reak :
Had he but hither took the paine
To come, had seen it once againe.

The Muses Recreation.

Here Colon play'd his part indeed,

And over-shit the stones a reed.

Whereat the Father, all amaz'd,

Limps to the place, where having gaz'd

With heav'd up hands, and fixed eyes,

Quoth he ; Dear, let me kisse those thighs,

That prop the taile will carry hence

Our glory and magnificence.

His suit being granted, home he walkes,

And to himselfe of wonders talkes ;

From whence he brings a painted stake,

High to be seen, above the Brake:

And having ask'd my name, he writ

In yellow letters, who 'twas shit,

Which still stands as a Monument,

Call'd Long-taile, from the man of Kent.

This being all the first day did,

We home retir'd, where we lay hid

In Alehouse, till another day

Shall prompt my Muse; then more I'le say.

Till when, take this, to make an end,

I rest your servant, and your friend.

26 Musarum Delicice: Or,

To a friend upon his Marriage.

Since last I writ, I heare dear honey,
Thou hast committed Matrimony;
And soberly both Morn and Even,
Dost take up smock in fear of Heaven.
Alas poor soul, thy marriage vow
Is as the Rites, unhallowed now:
Sleighted by Man, ordain'd by Bishop,
Not one, whom zeal hath scar'd from his shop.
The Ring prophane, and Surplice foule,
No better than a Friers Cowl,
With Poesie vile, and at thy Table
Fidlers, that were abhominable,
Who sung, perhaps, a song of Hymen,
And not a Psalm to edifie men.
It is th' opinion of this place,
Thou canst not get a Babe of Grace.
This story is sad; to make amends,
Fie tell thee news, to tell thy friends.
You heard of late, what Chevaliers
(Who durst not tarry for their eares)
Prescribed were, for such a plot
As might have ruin'd Heaven knows what:
Suspected for the same's Will D^yavenant^
Whether he have been in% or have not,

The Muses Recreation,

He is committed, and, like Sloven,

Lolls on his bed, in garden Coven ;

He had been rack'd, as I am told,

But that his body would not hold.

Soon as in Kent they saw the Bard,

(As to say truth, it is not hard,

For Will has in his face, the flawes

Of wounds received in Countreys cause :)

They flew on him, like Lions passant,

And tore his Nose, as much as was on't;

They calFd him Superstitious Groom,

And Popish Dog, and Curre of Rome;

But this I'm sure, was the first time,

That Wills Religion was a crime.

What ere he is in's outward part,

He is sure a Poet in his heart.

But 'tis enough, he is thy friend,

And so am I, and there's an end.

From London, where we sit and muse,
And pay Debts when we cannot chuse;
The day that Bishops, Deans and Prebends,
And all their friends, wear mourning Ribbands
If this day smile, they'l ride in Coaches,
And, if it frown, then Bonas Noches,

28 Musarum Delicice: Or,

tSIt t*t t5Kr tdlr tXr tJRr tJfer titr tSr tJKt tXr tJtr iJfcp tXr tJKt t*t tJEr tjKt titr tJPr tXr tXr ito

/« answer to certaine Letters\ which he received
from London, whilst he was engaged to fol«
low the Camp.

WHat, Letters two, on New-years-day ?
Tis signe, thy Muse hath leave to play,
And swelling grape distills his Liquor,
Which makes thy pulse and muse flow quicker.
Alas poor Soules ! in Mud we travell,
And each day vex'd with Martch and Gravel;
And when at night we come to quarter,
Drink, what thou wouldst not give to Porter.
From Northern soyl, I lately came,
With Horses two of mine, one Lame ;
But when I came to house of state,
Where quondam fled his grace in plate;
Expecting after journey scurvey,
Solace, I found all topsie turvy.
New Orders bid me thence away,
The people grumble, they want pay;
And now, like wandring Knights we wend
Without a penny, or a friend :
Our score grows great, from whence we goe,
And every Alehouse turn'd a foe.
These give their friends intelligence
That we are coming, without pence ;
And those we feare, will shut the door
At wandring Prince, when known so poor.

The Muses Recreation. 2 9

However, we march on to morrow,

And here, and there, small summes we borrow.

Judge, if thy Muse could soar so high,
When pinion's clip'd, what Bird can fly ?
No, no, good Wine and ease I'm bar'd of,
Which makes my Muse to come so hard off;
And hearing fellowes nine in London,
Get cash, carouse, while I am undon :
While not one Captaine here will tarry
But John, with horse of Commissary ;
And here he spends his time and pence,
Without a hope of recompense,
And scarce sees friends, but such as grutch hirn,
If he have coyn, they none, they catch him
With that old beaten trodden way,
Jack, canst thou lend, till next pay-day ?
Till now, at length my pocket's grown
Like Nest defil'd, when Bird is flown.

Judge, from such stories, if you can
Expect a Muse from any man.
Yet have I still respects from them,
Who weekly think upon J. M.

To noble Kettelni, say, I drink,

And unto Lord of Downe, I thinke

The day, when Janus, with face double,

Looks on the pass'd and coming trouble.

The first day ever rich or poor,

Wrote forty yeares, and one before.

The House, the Talbot, Corney host,

My liquor now, but ale and tost.

30 Musarum Delicicz: Or,

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7%£ Answer.

WHy seeks my friend so vain excuse,
For the long silence of his Muse;
As if her faculty were worse,
Because joyn'd with an empty purse ?
Lines may accrew, although the pence
That use to purchase Influence
From constellation of Corney,
Be fewer, then will fee Attorney.
Thou knowst that Vacuus cantabit,
(Ther's Latin for thee, though but a bit)
Sing then, and let's be free from blame,
Thy Verse is fat, though horse be lame.
Seest thou not, Ovid, Homer, Virgil,
With Muse more needy, John, then your Gill,
Indite things high, and rest the Ivie,
From wealthy Tacitus and Livie:
From Cicero, (that wrote in Prose)
So calPd, from Rouncival on's nose ?
For, though 'twas hid, till now of late,
Yet 'tis a truth, as firme as fate,
That Poets, when their Money scants,
Are oft inspired by their wants.
Want makes them rage, and rage Poetick
Makes Muse, and Muse makes work for Critick.

The Muses Recreation.

As for thy pocket, which thou say'st,

Is like to a defiled Nest,

A Nest, that is of all bereft,

Save what the Cat in Maulthouse left;

There is a Proverb to thy comfort,

Known as the ready way to Rumford,

That, when the pot ore fire you heat,

A Lowse is better than no meat;

So, in your pocket by your favour,

Something you know, will have some savour.

But soft, the word is now come forth,

We all must pack into the North;

When minde of Man was set to play,

And riding Boot lay out o'th' way;

We were commanded in a Minute,

To journey base, the Devil's in it;

For now I have no more minde to't,

Then is an Apple like a Nut:

Yet look I must for riding tackle,

In corners of my Tabernacle ;

And look, as men for slanders heark,

Or one that gropes in privy darke,

So must I search with fear of minde,

And seek for what I would not finde.

Had I two faces, like to yanus,

(A month that now hath overtane us.)

With one of them Tie smile in Town,

While tother ⁷mong my foes did frown.

But wishes help not, nor can with-

Hold, from embracing thee, yames Smith,

32 Musarum DelicicB: Or,

Long Aker, from the Angel Tavern,
Two hundred miles from head of Severn.
Where, for my shillings twain, I dine,
With Tongue of Neat, far worse then mine :
The tenth of January day durty,
One thousand, hundreds six, and forty.

w* *My *My *My *My 'My *My "My *My *w* 'My* 'My *My 'My *My ''My

Description of three Beauties.

PHiloclea and Pamela sweet, .
By chance in one great house did meet,
And meeting did so joyne in heart,
That t'one from t'other could not part.
And who, indeed, not made of Stones,
W^ould separate such lovely ones?
The one is beautifull, and faire,
As Lillies and white Roses are ;
And sweet, as after gentle showers,
The breath is of ten thousand flowers.
From due proportion, a sweet aire
Circles the other, not so faire ;
Which so her Brown doth beautifie,
That it inchants the wisest eye.
Have you not seen, on some bright day,
Two goodly Horses, White, and Bay,
Which were so beauteous in their pride,
You knew not which to chuse, or ride ?

The Muses Recreation.

Such are these two, you scarce can tell,

Which is the daintier Bonny bell ?

And they are such, as, by my troth,

I had been dead in love with both,

And might have sadly said, goodnight

Discretion, and good fortune quite,

But that God Cupid, my old Master,

Presented me a Soveraigne plaister:

Mopsa, even Mopsa, prety Mouse,

Best piece of Wainscot in the House;

Whose Saffron Teeth, and Lips of Leeks,

Whose Corall Nose, and Parchment Cheeks;

Whose Past-board forehead, eyes of Ferret,

Breast of brown Paper, Neck of Caret;

And other parts, not evident,

For which dame nature should be shent,

Are Spells and Charms of great renown,

Concupiscence to conjure downe.

Plow oft have I been reft of sence,

By gazing on their excellence,

Till meeting Mopsa in my way,

And looking on her face of Clay,

I soon was cur'd and made as sound,

As though I never had a wound.

And when, in Tables of my heart,

Love with such things as bred my smart *

My Mopsa, with her face of Clout,

Would in an instant wipe them out:

And when their faces made me sick,

Mopsa would come with hers of Brick,

I. D

34 Musarum Delicice : Or,

A little heated by the fire,

And break the neck of my desire.

Now from their face I turne mine eyes,

But (cruel Panthers) they surprize

Me with their breath, that incense sweet,

Which onely for the gods is meet;

And jointly from them doth respire

Like both the Indies set on fire,

Which so orecomes mans ravish'd sence,

That Soules to follow it, fly hence.

Nor such like smell you, as you range

By th'Stocks, or Old, or New Exchange.

Then stood I still as any Stock,

Till Mopsa with her puddle Dock,

Her Compound or Electuary,

Made of old Ling, or Caviary,

Bloat Herring, Cheese, or voided Physick,

(Being sometimes troubled with the Tysick)

Did Cough, and fetch a sigh so deep,

As did her very bottom sweep;

Whereby to all she did impart,

How Love lay rankling at her heart;

Which when I smelt, desire was slaine,

And they breath forthe perfumes in vaine.

Their Angels voice surpriz'd me now,

But Mqpsa's shrill; To whit to whoo

Descending through her hollow Nose,

Did that distemper soon compose.

And therefore, Oh thou vertuous Owle,

The wise Minerva's onely fowle :

The Muses Recreation.

What at thy shrine shall I devise
To offer up for Sacrifice ?
Hang JEsculapius, and Apollo,
Hang Ovid with his precepts shallow :
With patience who will now indure
Your slow and most uncertaine cure,
Seeing Mbpsa's found, for Man and Beast,
To be the sure probatum est f
Oh thou, Loves chiefest Medicine,
True water to Dame Venus wine,
Best Cordiall, soundest Antidote,
To conquer Love, and cut his throat ;
Be but my second, and stand by,
And I their beauties both defie,
And all else of those Faery races,
That wear infection in their faces ;
For Fie come safe out of the Field
With this thy face, Medusa's shield.

,jw* *&r w *w» w w *yy* w «&* W» w* yy *W* *&r %w ^

A journey into France.

T Went from England into France,

X. Neither to learn to sing, nor dance,

To ride, nor yet to Fence :
Nor did I goe like one of those
That doe returne with halfe the nose

They carried from hence.
D 2

Musarum Delicice: Or,

But I to Paris rid along

Much like John Dory in the song,

Upon a holy Tide :
I on an ambling Nag did get,
I thinke he is not paid for yet,

And spurred him on each side.

And to S. Denis first we came,
To see the sights at Nos'tredatne,

The man that she we s them snuffles ;
Where who is apt for to believe,
May see our Ladies right arme sleeve,

And eke her old Pantofle.

Her Breasts, her Milk, her very Gown,
Which she did weare in Bethlem town,

When in the Inne she lay;
Yet all the world knowes, that's a fable,
For so good Cloaths ne'r lay in stable,

Upon a lock of Hay.

No Carpenter could by his Trade
Gaine so much Coyn, as to have made

A Gowne of so rich Stuffe ;
Yet they (poor fools) thinke for their credit,
They must believe old Joseph did it,

Cause she deserv'd enough.

There is one of the Crosses Nailes,
Which who so sees, his Bonnet vailes;
And, if he will, may kneel:

The Muses Recreation.

Some say, 'tis false, 'twas never so,
Yet, feeling it, thus much I know,
It is as true as Steel.

There is a Lanthorne which the Jewes,
When Judas led them forth did use;

It weighed my weight down right:
But to believe it, you must think
The Jewes did put a Candle in't,

And then 'twas wondrous light.

There's one Saint that hath lost his Nose,
Another's head, but not his Toes,

His Elbow, and his Thumb ;
But when w'had seen the holy rags,
We went to thTnne, and took our Nags,

And so away did come.

We came to Paris, on the Seyn,

'Tis wondrous faire, but nothing clean,

^;Tis Europes greatest town ;
How strong it is, I need not tell it,
For any man may easily smell it,

That walkes it up and down.

There many strange things you may see,
The Palace, the great Gallery,

Place royal, doth excell:
The New Bridge, and the Statue's there,
At Nostredatne, Saint Christopher•,

The Steeple beares the Bell.

38 Musarum Delicicz: Or,

For Learning, th'University,
And for old Clothes, the Frippery,

The house the Queen did build.
Saint Innocents, whose earth devoures
Dead Corps, in foure and twenty houres,

And there the * King was kilVd*

The Bastile and St. Denis street,
The Chastelet, just like London Fleet,

The Arsenal, no Toy;
But if you'l see the prettiest thing,
Goe to the Court, and view the King,

Oh 'tis a hopefull Boy.

Of all his Nobles, Dukes and Peers,
He's reverenced for his wit and years.

Nor must you thinke it much :
For he with little switch can play,
And can make fine Dirt-pies of Clay,

Oh never King made such.

A Bird that doth but kill a Flye,
Or prates, doth please his Majesty,

'Tis known to every one;
The Duke of Guise gave him a Parrel*
And he had twenty Cannons for it,

For his new Galleon.

* Ben. the Great, by Raviliac.

The Muses Recreation.

Oh that I e're might have the hap
To get the Bird, that, in the Map,

Is called the Indian Ruck;
I'le give it him, and hope to be
As great as Guise or Luyne_}

Or else I had ill luck.

Birds round about his Table stand,
And he them feeds with his owne hand,

^;Tis his humility;
And if they doe want any thing,
They need but chirp for their kind King,

And he comes presently.

And now, for those rare parts he must
Entituled be, Lewis the Just,

Great Henries lawfull heire ;
When to his style, to adde more words,
Th'ad better call him King of Birds,

Then King of lost Navarre.

He hath besides a pretty firk,
Taught him by nature how to worke,

In Iron, with much ease;
Sometimes into the Forge he goes,
And there he knocks, & there he blows*

And makes both Locks and Keyes.

Which moves a doubt in every one

Whether he's Mars or Vulcans Son,

Some few believe his Mother;

40 Mtisarunt Delicice: Or,

But let them all say what they will,
I am resolv'd and doe think still,
As much the one as th'other.

The people doe dislike the youth,
Alledging reason, for, in truth,

Mothers should honoured be;
Yet others say, he loves her rather;
As well as ere she lov'd his Father;

That's a notorious lye.

His Queen's a little pretty Wench,
Was born in Spain, speaks little French^

Not like to be a Mother :
For her incestuous house would not
Have any Children, but begot

By Unkle, or by Brother.

Now why should Lewis, being so just,
Content himselfe to take his Lust

With his lascivious Mate,
And suffer his little pretty Queen,
From all her race, that e're hath been,

Once to degenerate ?

Twere Charity for to be known
Love others Children, as his owne,

And why ? it is no shame :
Unlesse that he would greater be
Than was his father Henery,

Who (men thought) did the same.

The Muses Recreation. 41

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Hankins Heigh-ho.

NOrth Britain loved Sculler of our times,
That twy-beat'st this way, that way going Thames ;
Divine Aquarius of all fluent rimes,

Such as describe Lepantds bloudy streames.
Lend me my Scull, full oiPyerian sweat

My sorrowes to repeat;
And in each Pye> He bake up every she,

Big as thy Boat for thee.

Thrice had all New-years Guests their yewl guts fill'd

With embalmed Veal, buried in Christmas Past,
Thrice had they Ivy herby wreath, well pill'd ;
Crane slept at Totnam first, at Chelsey last ?
Since first my heart was broach'd on Cupids spit,

Roasting bit after bit,
In her loves flames, who casts it now behinde,

And blow'st away with winde.

When I had built with practick Architecture

Newcastle Mine, refin'd to such a frame
Proportionable, as might deserve a Lecture,

And that the Mast staid onely for a flame ;
Her love alone, without or Match or Tinder,

New styFd this new built Cinder \
And so an Embleme of our love we beeted,

The word black, but love lighted.

₄2

Musarum Delicicz: Or,

Oft have I perboyPd been with blubbering grief,
Seasoned and sows'd with brine of bitter tears,
With Salads sliced, and Lettuc'd up with Beef,
With Vinegar and Sugar, hopes and feares.
Undone like Oysters, pepper'd with despair,

All for this Laundres fair,
Who now she thinkes, a bitter bit had got
To furnish her flesh-pot.

My Kitchen dore, like Pluto's gates still ope,

Down corns this beauteous Queen, like Prosperpin,
I smear'd with soot, and she with suds of Sope,

Was ever match more necessary seen ?
And faith we swore, I by my Oven and Peel;

She by her Starch and Steel;
WTiich sacred Oath I kept, but she hers broke,
And turned into smoak.

Hartford, now Hatesford, which my Heartsford was,

Be ever ruinous, as thou art this day,
Because thou bredst this well-wash'd Laundry Lass,

Let Ware beguile thee of thy rich road way ;
And may thy Craifish River fall from thee

As she forsaketh me :
But he that hath her I doe wish no worse,
Then a true Sedgely curse.

You Chargers from my hands that lustre drew,
To brighten you to Starres, but spotless faire ;

Your twinkling Sawcers, Constellations new,
And glazing Platters, which like Comets are,

The Muses Recreation. 43

Be ever dark, let neither Chalk nor Sand,
Nor the Oily circling hand

For evermore re-kindle you againe,

But mourn you for my pain.

Draw me the bravest Spit that e're was bent

With massy Member of laborious beast;
Drill me from Mouth to Taile incontinent,

Dresse nie and dish me at the Nuptiall Feast,
Thus for her Love and losse ; poor Hankin dyes,

His amorous Soule down flies
To th'bottome of the Cellar, there to dwell;
Susan, farewell, farewell.

*&* *jy* *\ty* *jy* *w* *so/* *\fy ^t^jy* *\jy* *w* ^<w* *\iy *w *\ty* **jy* ^f\JV*

Some Gentlemen shut out of their seats in Pauls,
while they went to drinke.

NOwnes, Gentlemen, how now ? shut out?
Must we, mix'd with the zealous rout,
Stand hoofeing on the vulgar stone,
To hear the Cheuri-illeson ?
First, Let the Organs, one by one,
Treble their Lamentation;
And the Quyries sing, till they
For want of moisture fall to play,
Ere it shall be said, that I
Let my choice devotions fly

44 Musarum Dehcice: Or,

Up from hence, in th'foul-mouth'd peal
Of Prentice Orisons, where my zeal
Shall stand cheap-rated, faith, for why ?
The best seat's shut, and we put by.
We did but step aside awhile
With juyce of Grapes our Lamps to oyl;
Where staying long, we came too late,
And shar'd the foolish Virgins fate.
Yet saw I two or three within,
Faire Virgins, such as had no sin :
Or if they had, their worths high rate
Might it soon transubstantiate
Into a Vertue, whose least share,
A branch of holy Saints might wear.
Should great Saint Peter me deny
Passage, t'enjoy such company,
We should fall foule, unlesse that he
Put me to them, or them to me.

t$r tSKr tXr tSEt i&* tffir tXt tJtf tifer «tiRr tXp tXr tXr tSIt t!6r tXp t!tr tXr tSr i9r tXr

Upon a lame tired Horse.

A Bout the time----------------
Aurora in her Mantle wrapp'd the clime,
When the bright Day, and thirsty Sun had quaft
A thousand Flagons, for his mornings draught,

The Muses Recreation.

Brim full with Pearly dew; I got me up,

And tasted freely of a liberall cup;

Pursu'd my journey, on a Horse as poor

As is a sterved Beggar at the door,

Or Pharaoh's leanest Cow; there was as much

Flesh on his back, as an old mans Crutch.

Now men observing, that I was so fat,

And durst ride on a Horse so lean as that,

Did scoff and jeer me, as I pass'd the way,

And, as I thought did one to th'other say,

The horse has strip'd his flesh, and on his back

Does carry it, as Pedlers doe a Pack.

For I have often seen upon my troth,

Poor ragged Pedlers carry packs of Cloth,

Another swore, that I was some Saint Paul_y

Because my Horse was so spirituall.

A Clown unto his fellowes cryes, God soes,

I think this Horse has Corns upon his Toes.

Another swore, that I no more did ride,

Then Children, that a Hobby-horse bestride;

Another said, my horse did sure intend

To tell each step unto his journeyes end.

But, e're I got out of a Lane to th'Heath,

lie take my oath, they jeer'd my Horse to death.

46 Musarum Delicice: Or,

iyjvt »yy» *yy% f^y» »yyi t^fu* iyy* *yy» »yy» «yv-» *\JV» •"\A^» «VV» *\JV* *\jyi »uy»

6^0/z # Surfeit caught by drinking bad Sack₉at the George Tavern in Southwark.

WHo thought that such a storm, Ned, when our Souls,
From the Calme Harbour of Domestick Bowles,
Would needs abord the George, t'embark our brain,
To the Cantabrian Calenture of Spain ?
Oh hadst thou seen, (and happy are thy eyes
That did not see) that Fridayes Crudities,
Such Hecatombs of indigested Sack
Retreated up my throat, oh what a wrack
'Twas, to a thick-brain'd paper Boat of wit,
In a Canary voyage to be split ?
We drank old Lees, gave our heads a fraught,
Of that Don Pedro left in Eighty Eight:
A bawdy-house would scorne it, 'twas too poor
For those that play at Noddy on the score.
Felt-makers had refus'd it; Nay, I think
The Devill would abhorre such posset-drink,
Bacchus, I'm sure detests it, 'tis too bad
For Hereticks, a Friar would be mad
To blesse such vile unconsecrable stuffe,
And Brownists would conclude it good enough
For such a Sacrifice : I'ld wish no worse
A draught unto the Ignorant, nor curse
My foes beyond it. Not a Beads-man sure
At a Town Funerall would it endure,

The Muses Recreation. 47

Much lesse a Man of sence ; 'twere an affront,

To put an understanding Fur upon't,

Or Burgo-Mistris: It is such a thing

Would dam a Vintner at a Christening.

Yet we must quaff these dregs, and be constraint

To what the Laety, seven years since disdain'd.

Oh would I might turne Poet for an houre,

To Satyrize with a vindictive power

Against the Drawer : or I could desire

Old Johnsons head had scalded in this fire;

How would he rage, and bring Apollo down

To scold with Bacchus, and depose the Clown,

For his ill government, and so confute

Our Poet Apes, that doe so much impute

Unto the grapes inspirement ! Let them sit,

And from the winepresse, squeeze a bastard wit,

But I, while Severn, and old Avon can

Afford a draught; while there's a Cider-Man,

Or a Metheglenist, while there's a Cup

Of Beer or Ale, I do forswear to sup

Of wicked Sack: Thus Solemn I come from it,

No dog would e're return to such a vomit.

₄8

Musarum Delicice: Or,

*vy* *\q/* %y» ^ms£/* *w *w *yv» *\jy* *&* *\jy* *\fly* *\iy* •vy* "vy* vy* ofl/* •

7%^ Lowses Peregrination.

Discoveries of late have been made by adventure,
Where many a pate hath been set on the Tenter,
And many a Tale hath been told more then true is,
How Whales have been serv'd whole, to Saylors in Brewis.
But here's a poor lowse, by these presents defies
The Catalogue of old Mandevils Lyes :
And this I report of a certaine.

My Father and Mother, when first they join'd paunches,
Begot me between an old Pedlers haunches;
Where grown to a Creeper, I know how a pox I
Got to suck by chance of the bloud of his doxie.

Where finding the sweetnesse of this my new pasture,

I left the bones of my pockified Master,
And there I struck in for a fortune.

A Lord of this Land that lov'd a Bum well,

Did lie with this Mort one night in the Strummel,

I cling'd me fast to him, and left my companions,

I scorn'd to converse more with Tatterdemalians;

But sued to Sir Giles, to promise in a Patent,

That my Heires might enjoy clean Linnen and Sattin ;

But the Parliament cross'd my Intention.

This Lord that I followed delighted in Tennis,
He sweat out my fat with going to Venice,

The Muses Recreation.

Where with a brave Donna, in single Duello,

He left me behind him within the Burdello ;

Where leacherous passages I did discover,

Betwixt Bona Roba, and Diego her Lover,

Youl'd wonder to heare the discourse oft.

The use of the Dildo they had without measure,
Behind and before, they have it at pleasure;
All Aretines wayes, they practice with labour,
An Eunuch they hate like Beihlem Gabor,
Counting the English man but as a Stallion,
Leaving the Goat unto the Italian :
And this is the truth that I tell you.

Thus living with wonder, escaping the talent,
Of Citizen, Clown, Whore, Lawyer, and Gallant,
At last came a Soldier, I nimbly did ferk him,
Up the greazy skirts of s robustuous Buff Jerkin ;
Where finding companions, without any harm I
Was brought before Breda, to Spinolds army:
And there I remaine of a certain.

King Oberon's Apparell.

WHen the Monthly horned Queen
Grew jealous, that the Stars had seen
Her rising from Endymions armes,
In rage, she throws her misty charmes
vol. i. E

Musarum Delicicz: Or,

Into the bosome of the night,
To dim their curious prying light
Then did the dwarfish Faery Elves
(Having first attir'd themselves)
Prepare to dresse their Oberon King
In highest robes, for revelling.
In a Cobweb shirt, more thin
Then ever Spider since could spin,
Bleach'd by the whitenesse of the Snow_yAs the stormy windes did blow
It in the vast and freezing aire;
No shirt halfe so fine, so faire.

A rich Waistcoat they did bring
Made of the Trout flies gilded wing,
At that his Elveship, 'gan to fret,
Swearing it would make him sweat,
Even with its weight, and needs would wear
His Waistcoat wove of downy haire,
New shaven from an Eunuch's chin ;
That pleas'd him well, 'twas wondrous thin.
The out-side of his Doublet was
Made of the four4eav'd true love grasse,
On which was set so fine a glosse,
By the oyle of crispy mosse ;
That through a mist, and starry light,
It made a Rainbow every night.
On every Seam, there was a Lace
Drawn by the unctuous Snails slow trace ;
To it, the purest Silver thread
Compar'd, did look like dull pale Lead.

The Muses Recreation. 51

Each Button was a sparkling eye
T'ane from the speckled Adders Frye,
Which in a gloomy night, and dark,
Twinckled like a fiery spark :
And, for coolnesse, next his skin,
'Twas with white Poppy lin'd within.

His Breeches of that Fleece were wrought,
Which from Colchos Jason brought;
Spun into so fine a Yarne,
That mortals might it not discerne;
Wove by Arachne, in her Loom,
Just before she had her doom;
Dy'd crimson with a Maidens blush,
And lyn'd with Dandelyon Plush.

A rich mantle he did wear
Made of Tinsel Gossamer_yBestarred over with a few
Dyamond drops of morning dew.

His Cap was all of Ladies love,
So passing light, that it did move,
If any humming Gnat or Fly
But buzz'd the ayre, in passing by;
About it was a wreath of Pearle,
Drop'd from the eyes of some poor girle
Pinch'd, because she had forgot
To leave faire water in the pot.
And for Feather, he did weare
Old Nisus fatall purple haire.

The sword they girded on his Thigh,
Was smallest blade of finest Rye.
e 2

52 Musarum Delicice: Or,

A paire of Buskins they did bring
Of the Cow Ladye's Corall wing;
Powder'd o're with spots of Jet,
And lin'd with purple-Violet.

His Belt was made of mirtle leaves_?Plaited in small curious threaves,
Beset with Amber Cowslip studds,
And fring'd about with Daizy Budds.
In which his Bugle home was hung,
Made of the babbling Eccho's tongue ;
Which set unto his Moon-burn'd lip,
He windes, and then his Faeries skip :
At that, the lazy dawn 'gan sound,
And each did trip a Faery round.

*w •w* 'w* *w *w* *w* *yy* *w *w* *w* "wv* *w '^A^ *w "wv *w*

A Poets farewell to his thred bare Cloak.

CLoak (if I so may call thee) though thou art
My old acquaintance, prithee now let's part ;
Thou wer't my equall friend in thirty one,
But now thou look'st like a meer hanger-on,
And art so uselesse to me, I scarce know
Sometimes whether I have thee on or no.
But this I needs must say, when thou go'st from me,
These ten years thou hast been no burden to me :
Yet that's thy accusation; for if I
Divorce thee from me, 'tis for Levity.

The Muses Recreation.

Thou hast abus'd my Bed, that is, thou hast

Not kept me warme, when thou wer't over-cast

Transparent garment, proof against all weather,

Men wonder by what art thou hang'st together;

Nor can the eyes of the best reason pry

Into this new Occult Geometry.

A fellow t'other day but cast his eye on,

And swore I was mantled in Dent de lion.

Another ask't me (who was somewhat bolder)

Whether I wore a Love-bagge on my shoulder ?

I feare a fire, as faire maids the small poxe,

And dare not look towards a Tinder-boxe,

Nor him that sells 'em up and downe; I know,

If he comes neer me, 'tis but touch and goe.

A red-fac'd fellow frights me, though some fear

That w^Ch makes his nose red, makes my cloak bare.

They say my thick Back, and thin Cloak appear,

Very like powdered Beef, and Vinegar.

An other vow'd (whose tongue had no restriction)

It was no garment, but the Poets fiction.

Did ever man discover such a knack,

To walke in Querpo with a Cloak on's back !

A very zealous brother did begin

To jeer and say, Sir, your Original sinne

Is not wash'd off (pray do not take it ill)

I see, you weare your Fathers Fig-leaves still.

A Scholar (in an elevated thought)

Protested, 'Twas the Webbe Arachne wrought

When she contended with Minerva : but

Another Raschal had his finger cut,

Musantm Delicics: Or,

And begg'd a piece to wrap about it. Thus

You see (kind Cobwebs) how they laugh at us.

Good Cambrick Lawn, depart; let me not be

For ever fetter'd thus in Tiffany.

Although I never yet did merit praise,

Fde rather have my shoulders crown'd with Bays

Than hung with Cypresse. If this fortune be

Alwayes dependant on poore Poetry,

I would my kinder destiny would call

Me to be one oWClerks of Blackwell-hall;

For though their easie studies are more dull,

Yet what they want in wit, they have in wool.

Once more farewell, these are no times for thee,

Thick Cloaks are onely fit for knavery.

The onely Cloaks that now are most in fashion

Are Liberty, Religion, Reformation :

All these are fac'd with zeal, and button'd down

With Jewels dropt from an imperiall Crowne.

He that would Cloak it in the new Translation,

Must have his Taylor cut it Pulpit-fashion.

Doe not appear within the City; there

They minde not what men are, but what they weare.

The habit speaks the Man. How canst thou thrive

When a good Cloak's a Representative ?

The Females will not wear thee, they put on

Such Cloaks as doe obscure the rising Sunne.

How can'st thou hope for entertainment, when

Women make Cloaks ev'n of Committee men?

Farewell good Cover-wit, upon the bryer

Fie hang thee up, if any doe enquire

The Muses Recreation. 55

Where his braines were that let his Cloak thus swing,
Tell him, his wits are gone a wool-gathering.

Upon a Fart unluckily let

WE11 Madam, wel, the Fart you put upon me
Hath in this Ringdome almost quite undone me.
Many a boystrous storm, & bitter gust
Have I endur'd, by Sea, and more I must:
But of all storms by Land, to me 'tis true,
This is the foulest blast that ever blew.
Not that it can so much impaire my credit,
For that I dare pronounce, 'twas I, that did it.
For when I thought to please you with a song,
'Twas but a straine too low that did me wrong;
But winged Fame will yet divulge it so,
That I shall heare oft wheresoe're I goe.
To see my friends, I now no longer dare,
Because my Fart will be before me there.
Nay more, which is to me my hardest doom,
I long to see you most, but dare not come;
For if by chance or hap, we meet together,
You taunt me with, what winde, Sir, blew you hither ?
If I deny to tell, you will not fayle,
I thought your voice, Sir, would have drown'd your Taile;
Thus am I hamper'd wheresoe're you meet me,
And thus, instead of better termes you greet me.

Musarum Delicice: Or,

I never held it such a heinous crime,
A Fart was lucky held, in former time;
A Foxe of old, being destitute of food,
Farted, and said, this newes must needs be good,
I shall have food, I know, without delay,
Mine Arse doth sing so merrily to day;
And so they say he had. But yet you see
The Foxes blessing proves a curse to me.
How much I wronged am, the case is eleare,
As I shall plainly make it to appear.
As thus, of all men let me be forsaken,
If of a Fart can any hold be taken :
For 'tis a Blast, and we Recorded finde,
King sEolus alone commands the winde.
Why should I then usurp, and undertake
The Subject of a Royall Prince to make
My Prisoner ? No, but as my duty bindes>
Leave that command unto the King of windes.
So, when I found him strugling to depart,
I freely gave him leave with all my heart.
Then judge you, gentle Ladyes, of my wrong,
Am I not well requited for my Song ?
All the revenge that I require is this,
That you may Fart as oft as e're you pisse ;
So may you chance, the next time that we meet^
To vie the Ruffe, and I dare not to see't.

In the meane time, on knees devoutly bended^
My Tongue craves pardon, if my Taile offended.

The Muses Recreation.

•UV* *JW *WV *^kJS/^t 'W *\JV» *\tV* *JV» t\jut isiy •*\JV» ^f\dV* **y3b^ ''V^* *\^* *VDk*

^ young Man courting an old Widow.

DAme Hecuba, fye, be not coy, that look
How it drew up your wrinkles, like a Book
Of Vellam, at a fire ? glazen your eyes
And view this face, these limbs, here vertue lies
Restorative, will make you smooth and straight,
As you were in the sixth of Henry th'eighth.
Come, let us kisse, that solitary Tusk,
As Garlick strong, but wholsomer then Musk,
Invites me neerer yet; the hottest fires
Ne're scorch'd, as doe your ashes my desires.
Time was, I've heard my Grandfather report
When those eyes drew more company to Court
Then hope of Honour; they have vertue still,
And work upon my breast, for as they dril
That humour down your yawning cheeks, my blood
Grows dull, congeals, & thickens with your Mud.

Somewhat youPd say now! I perceive your gums
Are labouring for't, as when we brace our Drums,
To make them sound the better: oh take heed,
A little winde shivers a cracking reed.
One syllable will fetch your lungs up ; stay
And make but signes, I'le guesse what you would say.
Good Granam, doe but nod your tottering head,
And shake your bunch of keys, you'l raise the dead.

Musarum Delicicz: Or,

Why may not you and I be one ? there be
In one world, severall tempers, Harmony
Is made up thus, and Contraries preserve
That subject, where they doe each other serve.
Nor are we therefore over-neer akin,
Because your Granchilds niece hath marryed bin
To my great Unkle; 'Twas a lovely paire,
They say, who knew them then, equally faire
In yeares and Fortune : this a Priest may doe,
Spight of sterne Natures Laws, 'twixt me & you.
He can take you as y'are, me in my prime,
And tye up in one knot both ends of Time;
'Mongst all your Coffers and your bags of Gold,
A cunning Goldsmith ever likes the old. .
The new may prove as currant, and may passe
From hand to hand, as fast as a young Lasse.
But you'r more grave and stay'd, come, pray consent,
And blaze but one good snuff, e're you be spent.
Touch-wood should take fire soonest, as it falls,
Fresh joy clings fully close to aged walls.
So let us joyn thus in one volume bound,
A Chronicle and Corant may be found.

The Muses Recreation. 59

Upon Chesse-play. To Dr. Budden.

TO thee Laws Oracle, who hadst the power
To wage my pens imployment for an hour,
I send no Frogs, nor Mice, Pigmees, nor Cranes,
Giants nor Gods, which trouble so the braines
Or feighning Poets; nor my leisure sings
The Counterbuffs of the foure painted Kings :
Those worthy Combatants have had their times,
And Battells sung in thousand curious rimes.
I sing the fierce Alarme, and direfull stroke
Of passing timbred men, all hearts of Oake;
Men that scorne Armes defensive, nor, in heat
Of bloudy broiles, complaine of dust or sweat.
Men that doe thinke, no victory is fit
That's not compacted by the reach of wit.
Men that an Ambuscado know to lay,
T'entrap the Foe in his retiring way ;
Plot Stratagems, and teach their braines t'indite
What place is fittest to employ.their might.
Dull down-right blowes, are fit for rustick wits,
Within the compasse of whose scalp there sits
A homebred sense, weak apprehension,
That strike the first they cast their eye upon;
Those are the Chaff of Soldiers, but this Corn
Of choicest men, at highest rate is born.

6o Musarum Delicice: Or,

Here life is precious, where the meanest man
Is guarded by the Noblest, who doe scan,
(Not what a poor man is, but) what may prove,
If bravely to the Armies head he move ;
Such may his valour be, he may of right
Be an Executor to Rook or Knight,
Whose Lands fall to the King (their Master dead)
With which this Pawn lives to be honoured,
And doe his Prince good service. Tell me then,
Thou that dost distribute Justice to men,
Must Honours ever follow blood ? or should
Vertue be grac'd, though in the meanest Mould ?
Tell me, thou Man of Peace, are not these War$
Lawfull and commendable, where the scars
Are for Command, where either Enemy
Seeks to himselfe a fifth great Monarchy ?
Where neither knows his confines, but each foot
Is his, where he or his, can take firme root ?
Pity with me, the fortunes of those Kings,
Whose battell such an untaught Poet sings.
Know, that great Alexander could not have
An Homer; and remember, in wars brave,
Each deeds a Poem, and he writes it best
Who doth engrave it on a conquered Crest.
If I offend, part of the blame is thine,
Thou gav'st the Theam, I did but frame the Line.

Two angry Kings weary of lingring peace,
Challenge the field, all Concord now must cease;
So do their stomacks with fiYd anger burn,
Nothing but wounds, bloud, death, must serve the turne.

The Muses Recreation,

They pitch'd their field in a faire chequer'd square,
Each form two Squadrons, in the former are
The common Soldiers, whose courageous scope
Is venturing their lives, like a Fortune, Hope.
These stil march on, & dare not break their rank,
But for to kill a Foe, then 'tis their prank
To make the ground good 'gainst the Enemy,
Till by a greater force subdu'd, they dye.

The Kings for safety, in mid battell stand,
And Marshal all their Nobles on each hand.
Next either King, an Amazonian Queen,
Like our sixt Henryes Margaret is seen,
Ready to scoure the Field, corner, or square,
She succours, where the Troops distressed are.

Next stand two Mytred Bishops which in War
Forget their Calling, vent'ring many a scar
In Princes cause, yet must no Bishop stray,
But leave the broad, and keep the narrow way.

Next are two ventrous Knights, whose nimble feet
Leap o're mens heads, scorning to think it meet
They should stand Centinells, while the poor Pawnes,
With danger of their lives do scour the Lawnes.

The Battells out-spread wings, two Rooks doe guard
These flanke the field so well, that there is barr'd
All side assaults ; these, for their valours grace,
(The King in danger) with him change their place.
But Majesty must keep a setled pace,
Rides not in post, moves to the nearest place,
That's to his Standart; If there be report
Of the Kings danger, all troops must resort.

Musarum Delicice: Or,

But now they sound Alarme, each heart doth swell
With wrath, strikes in the name of Christabel, \

Strike, strike, be not agast, Soldiers are bound \

To fear no death, much lesse to dread a wound.
Now without mercy dies the common Troop,
A Rook, a Bishop, and a Knight doth droop;
Yet neither boasts of Conquest, though each hope
To win the field, which now is halfe laid ope
By Soldiers death; now dares a martial Queen
Check her Foe King, when streight there steps between
A vent'rous Soldier, or a Noble man
Who cares not for his life, so that he can
From danger keep his King ; he feares not death,
In Princes cause, that gives each Subject breath.

But this Virago dyes, being left alone,
When straight a nimble Soldier steppeth on,
And through the thickest Troops hews out his way
And till he come to th'head doth never stay.
This brave attempt deserves the honouring;
The Queens colours are his, given by the King ;
Who knows that valour should not want reward,
And vent'rous spirits, best keep a Princes guard.

Now is the War in heat, bloudy the Field,
Mercy is banish'd, none hath thought to yeild,
Basely to beg his breath ; the fame now ran,
That they must fight it out, to the last man.
All Soldiers dye, but One, who to his King,
Griev'd with his great losse, doth this comfort bring,
That their great Foe, whose Troops are all now dead,
Must to their swords, yeild up his Conquer'd head.

The Muses Recreation. 63

Then with their Check, and Check on either hand,
The poor disheartned King doth mated stand.
Though thus to dye it be the Princes fate,
Who dares pronounce he had a whisking mate;
Who, rather then mumping forgoe the Field,
Joyes in the place he stands, his breath to yeild ?

But now the conquering couple want their breath,
Their festered wounds doe rankle, & grim death
Peeps through the gashes, down the Victors fall,
And then one generall Herse entombs them all.

The loose Wooer.

THou dost deny me, cause thou art a Wife,
Know, she that's Marryed lives a single life
That loves but one ; abhor that Nuptiall curse,
Ty'd thee to him, for better and for worse.
Variety delights the active blood,
And Women the more common, the more good,
As all goods are; there's no Adultery,
And Marriage is the worst Monopoly.
The Learned Roman Clergy admits none
Of theirs to Marry : they love all, not one :
And every Nun can teach you, 'tis as meet,
To change your Bedfellow, as smock or sheet.
Say, would you be content onely to eate
Mutton or Beef, and tast no other meat ?

64 Musarum Delicice : Or,

It would grow loathsom to you, and I know
You have two palats, and the best below.

*jy* ^r\ty^t "yv* *\/v* 'VJ/' *w* ⁱ^iy* *\/y* *w* *\jy* *jy *jy* *\iy* *siy* *w* »\a/»

£^<?;z the biting of Fleas.

SUmmon up all the terrifying paines
That ever were invented by the braines
Of earthly Tyrants ; Then descend to Hell,
And count the horrid tortures that doe dwell
In the darke Dungeon, where the horrid stone
Makes Sisiphus his panting entrailes groane.
Where Tantalus (in th'midst of plenty curst)
Is doom'd to famine, and eternall thirst;
Where the pale Ghosts are lash'd with whips of steel,
Yet these are gentle, to the paines I feel.
Vex'd with a Thousand Pigmy friends, and such,
As dare not stand the onset of a touch.
Strange kind of Combatants, where Conquest lies
In nimbly skipping from their Enemies,
While they, with eager fiercenesse lay about
To catch the thing they faine would be without.
These sable furies bravely venture on,
But when I 'gin t'oppose them, whip, th'are gone.
Doubtlesse I think each is a Magick Dauncer,
Bred up by some infernall Necromancer,
But that I doe believe, none ere scarce knew
('Mong all their Spirits) such a damned crew.

The Muses Recreation. 65

Some, when they would expresse the gentle sting
Of a slight paine, call it a Flea-biting,
But were they in my place, they soon would finde
A cause sufficient.for to change their minde.
Some, telling how they vex'd another, say
I sent him with a Flea in's eare away,
Onely to shew what trouble hath possest
Him, whom this little creature doth molest
It is reported, that a Mouse can daunt
The courage of the mighty Elephant.
Compare my bignesse, and the Fleas to theirs,
And I have smaller reason for my feares,
And yet I tremble when I feel them bite ;
Oh how they sting my flesh ? was black-browed night,
And the whist stillnesse of it, made my Fate,
To make man happy or unfortunate ?
If there be any happinesse or rest
In pangs of torture, I am fully blest.
All my fort sences are combin'd in one,
For, but my sence of feeling, I have none,
And that is left me, to increase my smart;
Bloud-sucking Tyrants, will you nere depart ?
Why doe you hang iu Clusters on my skin ?
Come one to one, and try what you can win.
You Coward ALthiop Vermine ! Oh you Gods
You are unjust, to load me with such odds.
If yove-bom Hercules can't deale with two,
Then what can I against a Legion doe ?
Their number freights me, not their strength; lie dare
The Lion, Panther, Tiger, or the Beare
vol. 1. F

66 Musarum Delicicz: Or,

To an encounter, to be freed from these
Relentlesse demy, Devills, cursed Fleas.

Upon Madam Chevereuze swimming
over the Thames.

>r I ^sWas calm, and yet the Thames touch'd heaven to day,

JL The water did find out the Milky way,
When Madam Chevereuze by swimming down,
Did the faire Thames the Qu. of Rivers crown.
The humble Willows on the shore grew proud
To see her in their shade her body shroud ;
And meeting her the Swan (wont to presume)
Bow'd to her whiter neck his sullyed Plume.
Was not great Jove that Swan ? so shap'd, he came
To LedcCs sight; but Gods and Courtiers shame
Twice to appeare like; I rather dream
love was not here, the Swan might be the stream,
And took far greater pleasure to be cool'd
In silver drops, then in his showre of gold.
And now let Aristotle's Schollers tread
Their Masters timeless footsteps to the dead,
In searching out the deepest secret, which
Or earth or water may be, thought most rich.
Venus by Proxie from the floud ascends,
Bright Chevereuze the whole difference ends,
Adding so great a treasure to the waves,
As the whole earth seemes useless, but for graves.

The Muses Recreation.

Water above the Earth by natures lyes,
But she hath plac'd it now above the skies.
The flame she took, a spirit of water drew,
Fram'd opall Raine, out of extracted Dew.
But her chast breast, cold as the Cloyster'd Nun,
Whose Frost to Chrystal might congeal the Sun_>So glaz'd the stream, that Pilots then afloat,
Thought they might safely land without a Boat.
July had seen the Thames in Ice involved,
Had it not been by her own beames dissolv'd :
But yet she left it Cordiall, 'twas no more
Thaw'd to so weake a water as before,
Else how could it have born all beauties fraight ?
Of force it must have sunke so great a weight.
Have sunk her ? where ? how vainly doe I erre ?
Who know all depths are shallow unto her.
She dreads not in a River to be drown'd,
Who, then the Sea it selfe, is more profound.
Small Vessells shake, the great Ship safely Tydes,
And, like her Royall builder, awes their Tydes.
Above their fome, or rage, we see her float,
In her bright scorn, and, Madam, here's my Vote :
So may all troubled waves beneath you shrink •
So may you swim for ever, your foes sinke.

F 2

68 Musarum Delicice: Or,

«vjl^» *\A/* »jv* *yy» *j\/> «\fl/» *\w *\jy *jy* *"\^» *\jy» *yn/* «yy» «\o/» 'ycy +\Ap

6^;z Aglaura z;z Folio.

BY this large Margent did the Poet meane
To have a Comment writ upon the Scene ?
Or is it that the Ladyes (who ne're look
In any, but a Poem or Play-book)
May in each Page, have space to scribble down
When such a Lord or Fashion came to town?
As Swaines in Almanacks accompt doe keep
When their Cow calv'd, and when they bought their Sheep ? ^
Ink is the life of Paper; 'tis meet then
That this, w^Ch scaped the Press, should feel the Pm,
A Room with one side furnish'd, or a Face,
Painted half way is but a foule disgrace.
This great Voluminous Pamphlet may be said
To be like one that hath more haire then head,
More excrement than body. Trees that sprout
With broadest leaves, have still the smallest fruit.
When I saw so much white, I did begin
To think Aglaura either did lye in,
Or else did Penance, never did I see
(Unlesse in Bills dash'd in the Chancery)
So little in so much, as if the feet
Of Poetry, like Law, were sold by th'sheet.
If this new fashion doe but last one year,
Poets, as Clerks, would make our Paper deare.

The Muses Recreation.

Doth not that Artist erre, and blast his fame,

Who sets our pictures lesser than the frame ?

Was ever Chamberlain so mad, to dare,

To lodge a child in the great bed at Ware ?

Aglaura would please better, did she lie

In th' narrow bounds of an Epitome;

Pieces that are weaved of the finest twist,

As Silk and Plush, have still more stuff than list.

She that in Persian habits, made great brags,

Degenerates in this excesse of rags,

Who by her Gyant bulk, this onely gaines,

Perchance in Libraries to hang in chains.

'Tis not in Books, as Cloath ; we never say,

Make London measure, when we buy a Play;

But rather have them par'd; those leaves be fair

To the judicious, which much spotted are.

Give me the sociable pocket books,

These empty Folio's onely please the looks.

Upon Lute-strings Cat-eaten.

A Re these the strings that Poets feigne,
Have clear'd the Air, & calm'd the Maine ?
Charm'd Wolves, and from the Mountain crests
Made Forrests dance, with all their Beasts ?
Could these neglected shreds you see,
Inspire a Lute of Ivorie,

Musarum Delicti: Or,

And make it speak ? oh then think what

Hath been committed by my Cat,

Who in the silence of this night,

Hath gnawn these cords, and marr'd them quite,

Leaving such relicts as may be

For frets, not for my Lute, but me.

Pusse, I will curse thee, maist thou dwell

With some dry Hermit in a Cel, *

Where Rat ne're peep'd, where Mouse ne'er fed,

And Flies go supperlesse to bed :

Or with some close-par'd Brother, where

ThouPt fast each Sabbath in the yeare,

Or else, profane, be hang'd on Monday,

For butchering a Mouse on Sunday.

Or maist thou tumble from some tower,

And misse to light upon all foure,

Taking a fall that may unty

Eight of nine lives and let them fly.

Or may the midnight embers sindge

Thy dainty coat, or lane beswinge

Thy hyde, when she shall take thee biting

Her Cheeseclouts, or her house be—

What, was there ne're a Rat nor Mouse,

Not Butery ope ; nought in the house

But harmlesse Lutestrings, could suffice

Thy paunch, and draw thy glaring eyes ?

Did not thy conscious stomach finde

Nature profan'd, that kind with kind

Should staunch his hunger ? think on that,

Thou Canniball and Cyclop Cat.

The Muses Recreation.

For know, thou wretch₇ that every string
Is a cats gut, which Art doth bring
Into a thread; and now suppose
Dumtan, that snufPd the Devills nose,
Should bid these strings revive, as once
He did the Calfe, from naked bones ;
Or I to plague thee for thy sin,
Should draw a Circle, and begin
To Conjure, for I am, look to't,
An Oxford Scholer, and can doe't.
Then with three sets of Mops and Mbwes,
Seaven of odd words, and Motley showes,
A thousand tricks, that may be taken
From Faustus, Lambe, or Frier-Bacon;
I should begin to call my strings
My Cattlings, and my Minikins ;
And they re-catted, streight should fall
To mew, to purre, to Caterwawle;
From Pusses belly, sure as death,
Pusse should be an Engastrumeth.
Pusse should be sent for to the King,
For a strange Bird or some rare thing.
Pusse should be sought to farre and neer,
As she some cunning woman were.
Pusse should be carried up and downe,
From Shire to Shire, from Town to Towne,
Like to the Cammell, leane as Hag,
The Elephant or Apish Nag,
For a strange sight; Pusse should be sung
In Lowsie Ballads, midst the throng,

Musarum Delicicz: Or,

At Markets, with as good a grace

As Agincourt, or Chevy Chace.

The Troy-sprung Britain would forgoe

His Pedigree, he chanteth so,

And sing that Merlin (long deceast)

Returned is in a nine liv'd beast.

Thus Pusse thou seest, what might betide thee,

But I forbear to hurt or chide thee.

For't may be Pusse was Melancholy,

And so to make her blythe and Jolly,

Finding these strings, shel'd have a fit

Of Mirth; nay, Pusse, if that were it;

Thus I revenge me, that as thou

Hast plaid on them, I on thee now;

And as thy touch was nothing fine,

So I've but scratched these notes of mine.

To a Lady vexd with a Jealous Husband.

WHen you sit musing, Lady, all alone
Casting up all your cares with private moan,
When your heart bleeds with griefe, you are no more
Neer unto comfort, than you were before.
You cannot mend your state with sighes or tears,
Sorrow's no Balsome for distrustfull feares.
Have you a Foe you hate, wish him no worse
A Plague or Torment, then the Pillowes curse.

The Muses Recreation. 73

Observe your Lord with ne're so strict an eye,

You cannot go to piss without a spy.

If but a Mouse doth stir about his bed,

He starts, and sweares he is dishonoured,

And when a jealous dream doth craze his pate,

Straight he resolves he will be separate.

Tell me, right worthy Cuckolds, if you can,

What good this folly doth reflect on man ?

Are women made more loyall ? hath it power

To guard the Tree, that none can pluck the Flower?

It is within the power of jealous heads,

To banish lust from Court, or Country beds ?

I never knew, that base and foul mistrust

Made any chast, that had a mind to lust.

It cannot make her honest, that by kind,

To loose and wild affections is inclin'd.

Debar her Lord, she, to supply his room,

Will have a Horse-boy, or a Stable-groom.

Keep her From youth of lower rank and place,

She'l kiss his Scullion, and with Knaves embrace :

Suspect her faith withall, and all mistrust,

She'l buy a Monkey to supply her lust:

Lock her from Man and Beast, and all content,

She'l make thee Cuckold with an instrument:

For women are like angry Mastives Chain'd,

They bit at all, when they are all restraint.

We may set locks and guards to watch their fires,

But have no meanes to quench their hot desires.

Man may as well, by cunning, go about,

To stop the Sun in motion, as by doubt,

Musarum Delicicz: Or,

To keep a nettled woman, if that she
Strongly disposed be to Venery.

How many thousand women that were Saints,
Are now made sinfull by unjust restraints ?
How many do commit, for very spight,
That take small pleasure in that sweet delight ?
Some are for malice, some for mirth unjust,
Some kisse for love, and some do act for lust.
But if the fates intend to make me blest,
And Hymen bind me to a female breast,
(As yet, I thank my starres, I am not ty'd
In servile bonds to any wanton Bride)
Let Cinthia be my Crest, and let me wear
The Cuckolds badge, if I distrust, or fear.

'Tis told me oft, a smooth and gentle hand
Keeps women more in aw of due command,
Than if we set a Ganneril on their Docks,
Ride them with Bits, or on their geer set Locks.
For then, like furious Colts, they'l frisk and fling,
Grow wild and mad, and will do any thing.
But if we slack our reyns, to please their will,
Kindnesse will keep them from committing ill.

You blessed creatures, hold your female rights,
Conquer by day, as you o'recome by nights,
And tell the jealous world thus much from me,
Bondage may make them bad, whose mindes are
Had Collatin been jealous (say this more)
Without a rape, Lucrece had dy'd a whore.

The Muses Recreation. 75

Invitation to dalliance.

BE not thou so foolish nice,
As to be intreated twice ;
What should Women more incite,
Than their own sweet appetite ?

Shall savage things more freedom have

Than nature unto Women gave ?

The Swan, the Turtle, and the Sparrow

Bill a while, then take the marrow.

They Bill, they Kisse, what else they doe
Come Bill, and Kisse, and lie shew you.

The Countrey mans Song in the Spanish Curate.

LEt the Bells ring, and the Boyes sing,
The young Lasses trip and play,
Let the Cups goe round, till round goes the ground,
Our learned Vicar wee'le stay.
Let the Pig turn merrily hey,

And let the fat Goose swim,
For verily, verily, hey,

Our Vicar this day shall be trim.

Musarum Delicicz: Or,

The stew'd Cock shall Crow, Cockadoodle doe,

Aloud Cockadoodle shall Crow;
The Duck and the Drake that swim in the Lake

Of Onions and Clarret below.

Our Wives shall be neat, to bring in our meat,

To thee, our Noble Adviser,
Our paines shall be great, and our pottles shall sweat,,

And we our selves will be wiser.

Wee'l labour and swink, wee'l kisse and wee'l drink,
And Tithes shall come thicker and thicker;

Wee'l fall to the Plough, and get children enow,
And thou shalt be learned, Oh Vicar !

Upon the sight of an old decay d patch!d Bed,
with a Pillow having T. R. as a marke on it.

Prologue.

MErvail not {Reader) though the Sun shine bright
About you, if I bid you all good night,
lie tell how't may properly be sed,
Though you are up, yet I am going to bed.

Poetaster.
My slumbring Muse upon thy drowsie bed,
Rest once againe thine unattired head

The Muses Recreation.

Where, for thy great Mecenas so commands,
Thy best assayes with saporiferous bands.
While darknesse did thine outward senses blind,
Tell me what fancies did usurp thy minde.

Muse.
What think you Sir, while sleep enthral'd my head,
What subject could I have, except my bed ?

Poetaster.
Akd no subject to be written on,
But lain, yea by the Muses trod upon.

Muse.
The pillow from the bed I think's nor farre,
And yet on that were written T. and R.
But to be lien on, right I like it well,
For why in lying, Poets bear the Bell,
And to be trod upon, tis not unmeet,
The Muses scand their subjects with their feet.

Poetaster.
The R. O muse thou there saw'st (to be brief)
Was nothing but a Rogue, the T. a Thief:
In the next verse, but two, I blush to tell,
Thou first broughtst forth a Lie, & then a Bell.
Take heed of Libels Muse, thy Poet feares,
If thy feet stumble, he may lose his eares.
To sever Thieves and Poets I am loath,
Because I know Mercurius was both.

Musarum Delicicz: Or,

Muse.
Within thy verses as Birds of a feather,
Liars, rogues, thieves, and Muses flock together,
By whom I'm softly to my subject led,
For flocks and feathers do fill up the bed.
Bacchus his merry boules may humour breed,
But divine raptures from the bed proceed.
Let the Pot Poets in their fury try,
With dipping their Malignant pens to dry
The Muses fountain, my inventions streams
Can never faile, while beds procure me dreams, j
If we one Science justly may admire,
What shall we here where all the Seven conspire;
The letters on the pillow witnesse may
That on this bed some Grammer lately lay;
In Logick also it must needs be able,
For 'twas a Cord would make a pretty Cable :
That beds have Rhetorick we need not fear,
While to his pillow each man lends his eare :
Who number all the feathers in it can,
Must be a good Arithmetitian.
The joynts cry creek when on them any lie,
As if the stocks hung by Geometry.
Its musick sure is pleasant which can keep
In spight of snorting eyes and eares asleep.
The bed I take for deep Astronomy,
Which alwaies studies to eclipse the eye.
If you seek Planets, this is Vulcans gin,
That Mars and Venus were so fetter'd in.

The Muses Recreation. 79

Astrologie in this doth also dwell,

For men by Dreames may future things foretell:

To read strong lines, if any minde be bent,

Herein Jhe bed can also give content

Not sage Apollo, nor the sacred Nine

Can then this Bed-cord shew a stronger line.

Methinkes Fine very sleepy still, and loath

To rise, but that I've on me ne're a cloath.

Twas T. and R. as sure's I live, 'twas they

That stole the Coverlet and Sheets away.

Out ! a Roap choak you both, y'are arrant knaves,

Fde knock you soundly had I but Bed-staves.

Epilogue.

IF ought obscure you in my Verses, marke,
Poets use not their Beds but in the darke.
If false or foolish any thing you deem,
Sith't came from Bed, account it for a Dream.
If in my Verses boldly any catches,
The Bed, my subject, was as full of patches :
The blurs and blots I make, let none disdaine,
The Bed in one place had an ugly staine.
If my unpollish't lines being dull and dry,
Doe make you heavy, I will tell you why.
Some subjects make men laugh, some make them weep
But the Bed-post is to bring all asleep.

Musarum Deliacz: Or,

^S^^^^^^SS^O^S^^S

A Letter to Sir John Mennis, when the Parliament
denied the King Money to pay the Army, unlesse a Priest,,,
whom the King had reprieved, might be executed. Sir!|
John at that time wanting the Money for provisions for his
troop, desired me by his Letter to goe to the Priest, and to r
perswade him to dye or the good of the Army; saying,

What is't for him to hang an houre,
To give an Army strength and power ?

The Reply.

BY my last Letter John thou see'st
What I have done to soften Priest;
Yet could not with all I could say,
Perswade him hang to get thee pay.
Thou Swad, quoth he, I plainly see,
The Army wants no food by thee,
Fast oftner, friend, or if you'l eate
Use Oaten straw, or straw of Wheat;
They'l serve to moderate thy jelly,
And (which it needs) take up'thy belly.
As one that in a Taverne breaks
A Glasse, steales by the Barre, and sneaks :
At this rebuke, with no lesse haste, I
Trudg'd from the Priest, and Prison nasty :

The Muses Recreation.

The truth is, he gave little credit
To'th'Armies wants, because I said it.
And, if youl presse it further, Iohn,
'Tis fit you send a leaner man.
For thou with ease can'st friends expose
For thy behoof to fortunes blows.
Suppose we being found together
Had pass'd for Birds of the same feather ?
I had perchance been shrewdly shent,
And maul'd too, by the Parliament.
Have you beheld th'unlucky Ape
For roasted Chesnuts mump and gape,
And off'ring at them with his pawes,
But loath he is to scorch his clawes
When viewing on the Hearth asleep
A Puppy, gives him cause to weep :
To spare his owne, he takes his help,
And rakes out Nuts with foot of whelp.
Which done, (as if 'twere all but play)
Your Name-sake looks another way.
The Cur awakes, and findes his thumbs
In paine, but knows not whence it comes •
He takes it first to be some Cramp,
And now he spreads, now licks his vamp;
Both are in vaine, no ease appeares,
What should he doe ? he shakes his eares
And hobling on three legs he goes,
Whining away with aking toes.
Not in much better case perhaps,
I might have been to serve thy chaps,
I. G

82 Musarum Delicice: Or,

And have beshrew'd my fingers end,

For groping so in cause of friend ;

While thou wouldst munch like horse in Manger,

And reach at Nuts with others danger :

Yet have I ventur'd farre to serve,

My friend that sayes he's like to sterve.

The Fart censured in the Parliament House.

PUffing down corns grave antient Sir Jo. Crook,
And reads his message promptly without book.
Very well, quoth Sir William Morris, so ;
But Harry Ludlows foysting Arse cry'd no.
Then starts up one fuller of devotion
Then eloquence, and sayes, An ill motion.
Nay, by my Faith, quoth Sir Henry Jenkin,
The motion were good, wer't not for stinking.
Quoth Sir Henry Pool, 'Tis an audacious trick,
To Fart in the Face of the body Politick.
Now without doubt, quoth Sir Edward Grevil,
I must confesse, it was very uncivill.
Thank God, quoth Sir Edward Himgerford,
That this Fart prove not a Turd.
Indeed, quoth Sir John Trevor, it gave a foule knock,
As it launched forth from his stinking Dock.
I, quoth another it once so chanced,
That a great Man Farted, as he daunced.
Quoth Sir Richard Haughton, no Justice of Quorum,
But would take it in snuffe, t'have a fart let before'um.

The Muses Recreation. 83

Such a fart as this ne're before was seen,

Quoth the most learned Councel of the Queen.

Quoth Mr. Daniel, this young man's too bold,

This priviledge belongs to us that are old.

Then wo the time, quoth Sir Laurence Hyde,

That these our priviledges are deny'd.

Quoth Mr. Recorder a word for the City,

To cut off the Aldermans right, were great pity.

Well, quoth Kit Brook, wee'l give you a reason,

Though he had right by descent, he had not livery
and seisin.

Yet, quoth M. Peak, I have a president in store,

His father farted last Sessions before.

Then said Mr. Noy, this may very well be done.

A fart may be entail'd from the father to the son.

Saith Mr. Moore, let us this motion repeale,

What's good for the private, is ill for the Common weal

A goodyear on this Fart, quoth gentle Sir Harry,

He hath caus'd such an Earth-quake, that my Coal-
pits miscarry.

It is hard to recall a Fart when tis out,

Quoth Sir William Lower with a loud shout.

Yes, quoth Sir Laurence Hide, that we may come by it,

Wee'l make a proviso, time it and tye it.

Qd. Sir Harry the hardy, look well to each clause,

As well for Englands Liberty as Lawes.

Now then the knightly Doctor protests

This Fart shall be brought into th'Court of Requests.

Nay rather, sayes Sir Edwin, Fie make a digression,

And fart him a project, shall last him a Session.

84 Musarum Delicice: Or,

Then Sir Edward JJoby alleadg'd with the spigot,

If you fart at the Union, remember Kit Pigot.

Swooks quoth Sir John Lee, is your Arse in dotage ?

Could you not have kept this breath to cool your pottage ?

Grave Senat quoth Mr. Duncomb, upon my salvation

This Fart had need of great Reformation.

Quoth the Countrey Courtier upon my Conscience,

It might have been reformed with Frankinsence.

We must have this Fart by Parliament enacted,

Said another, before this businesse be transacted.

And so we shall have (oh do not abhor it!)

A Fart from Scotland reciprocall for it

A very good jest it is by this light,

Quoth spruce Mr. lames of the Isle of Wight.

Quoth Sir Robert Johnson, if you'l not laugh

Fie measure this Fart with my Jacobs stafife.

Now by my troth, quoth sage Mr. Bennet,

We must have a selected Committee to pen it.

Philip Gawdy stroak'd the old stubble of his face,

Said, the Fart was well penn'd, so sat downe in his place.

Then modest Sir John Hollis said, on his word,

It was but a Shoo that creak'd on a board.

Not so, quoth Sir John Ackla?id, that cannot be,

The place underneath is matted you see.

Before God, said Mr. Brooke, to tell you no lye,

This Fart, by our Law, is of the Post-nati.

Fye, quoth M. Fotherby, I like not this Embassage,

A Fart Interlocutory in the midst of a Message.

In all your Eloquence then, quoth Mr. Martin,

You cannot finde out this figure of Farting.

The Muses Recreation. 8 J

Nay, quoth Dr. Crompton, can any man draw

This Fart within compasse of the Civill Law?

Then Sir William Pady, I dare assure'm,

Thought be Contra modestiam, 'tis not Co?itra naturam.

Up starts Ned Weymark the Pasquil of Fowls,

And said, this Fart would have fitted the Master of the Rolls.

Said Oxenbridge, there is great suspition,

That this Fart savours of Popish Superstition.

Nay, said Mr. Good, and also some other,

This Fart came from som reformed Brother.

Then up start Sir lohn Yong, and swore by Gods nailes,

Was nere such a Fart let in the Borders of Wales.

Sir Walter Cope said, this Fart as 'twas let,

Might well have broke ope his privy Cabinet.

Sir lerome in Folio, swore by the Masse,

This Fart was enough to have broke all the Glasse.

And Sir lerome the lesse said, such an abuse,

Was never committed in Polandor Pruce.

In compasse of a thousand miles about,

Sir Roger Owen said, such a Fart came not out.

Quoth Sir lohn Parker, I sweare by my Rapier,

This Bombard was stuff'd with very foul Paper.

Now quoth Mr. Lewknor, we have found such a thing

As no Tale-bearer dares carry to the King.

Quoth Sir Lewis his Brother, if it come of Embassage,

The Master of the Ceremonies must give it passage.

I, quoth Sir Robert Drury, that were your part,

If so it had been a forrein Fart.

Nay, said Sir Richard Lovelace, to end the difference,

It were fit with the Lords to have a conference.

Musarum Delicice: Or,

Hark, quoth Sir John Townsend, this Fart had the might,

To deny his owne Master to be dubbed Knight,

For had it ambition, or orationis pars,

Your Son could have told him, quid est Ars.

Quoth Sir Thomas Lake, if this house be not able

To censure this Fart, I'le have it to the Councel Table.

It were no great grievance, qd, M. Hare,

If the Surveyour herein had his share.

Be patient Gentlemen, quoth Sir Francis Bacon,

There's none of us all but may be thus mistaken.

Silence, quoth Bond, though words be but wind,

Yet I doe mislike these Motions behinde.

Then, quoth Mr. Price, it stinks the more you stir It,

Naturam expellas furca, recurrit.

Then gan sage Mounson silence to break_y

And said, this Fart would make an Image speak.

Up rises the Speaker, that noble Ephestion,

And sayes, Gentlemen, Fie put you a question :

The question propounded the eares did lose,

For the Major part went there with the nose.

Sir Robert Cotton, well read in old stories,

(Having conferred his notes with Mr. Pories,

I can well witnesse that these are no fables)

Said, 'twas hard to put the Fart in his Tables.

If 'twould bear an Action, saith Sir Tho: Holcroft,

Fid make of this Fart a Bolt or a shaft.

Quoth Sir Roger Ashton, 'twould mend well the matter_?

If 'twere shav'd and well wash'd in rose water:

Why, quoth Sir Roger Acton, how should I tell it,

A Fart by hearsay, and neither hear it nor smell it ?

The Muses Recreation.

Quoth Sir Thomas Knevet, I fear here doth lurk
In this Hallow Vault, some more powder work.
Then precisely rose Sir Anthony Cope,
And prayed to God, 'twere no Bull from the Pope.
Quoth Sir Tho: Chaloner, I'le demonstrate this fart
To b'a voice of the Belly, and not of the heart
Then by my Faith saith Sir Edwin Sandyes,
He playes not by th'line, this Gentleman bandies.
Then said Sir George More, in his wonted order,
I mean but to speak against the houses disorder.
The Fart which we favour far more then is fit,
I wish to the Sergeant you would commit.
The Sergeant refus'd it, humbly on's knees,
For Farts break Prison, and never pay Fees :
Wherefore this motion without reason stands
To charg me with what I can't hold in my hands.
Then quoth the Clerk, I now plainly see
That a private Act is some gaine for me.
All which was admitted by Sir Thomas Freak,
This Gentleman saith, his Shoo did but creak
Then said Sir Richard Gargrave by and by,
This Gentleman speaketh as well as I.
But all at last said, it was most fit,
The Fart as a Traitor, to the Tower to commit:
Where as they say, it remaines to this houre,
Yet not close prisoner, but at large in the Tower.

&8 Musarum Delicicz: Or,

The Farts Epitaph.

REader, I was borne and cryed,
Crackt so, smelt so, and so dyed.
Like to Caesars was my death,
He in Senat lost his breath;
And alike inter¹ d doth lye,
Thy famous Romulus and I.
And, at last, like Flora /aire,
I left the Common wealth mine Aire.

Will Bagnails Ballet

A Ballet, a Ballet,, let every Poet,
A Ballet make with speed,
And he that hath wit, now let him shew it,

For never was greater need.
And I that never made Ballet before,

Will make one now, though I never make more.
O Women, monstrous women,
What doe you meane to doe 1

It is their pride and strange attire

That bindes me to this taske,
Which King and Court did much admire,

At the last Christmas Maske :

The Mtcses Recreation. 89

But by your entertainment then,
You should have small cause to come there agen.
O Women, &c.

You cannot be contented to goe,

As did the Women of old,
But you are all for pride and shew,

As they were for weather and cold.
O women, women, Fie, Fie, Fie,

I wonder you are not ashamed, I.
O Women, &c.

Where is the decency become

That your fore-mothers had ?
In Gowns of Cloth, and Caps of Thrum,

They went full meanly clad ;
But you must jet it in silks and Gold,

Your pride in Winter is never acold.
O Women, &c.

Your Faces trickt and painted be,

Your Breasts all open bare,
So farre, that a man may almost see

Unto your Lady ware.
And in the Church to tell you true,

Men cannot serve God for looking on you.
O Women, &c.

But many there are of those that goe,

Attir'd from head to heel,
That them from men you cannot know,

Unlesse you doe them feel.

9o Musarum Delicicz : Or,

But oh for shame, though you have none,
^;Tis better to believe, and let them alone.
O Women, &c.

Both round and short, they cut their haire,

Whose length should Women grace,
Loose like themselves, their hats they wear;

And when they come in place
Where Courtship and complements must be,

They doe it like Men, with Cap and Knee.
O Women, &c.

They at their sides, against our Lawes,

With little Ponyards goe;
Which surely is, I thinke, because

They love Mens weapons so :
Or else it is, they'le stab all Men

That doe refuse to stab them agen.
O Women, &c.

Doublets like to Men they weare,

As if they meant to flout us,
Wast round, like Points and Ribbons too,

But I pray let's look about us.
For since the Doublet doth so well fit 'urn,

They will have the Breeches and if they can get'
O Women, &c.

And when the Maske was at the Court

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

But soone they were pull'd downe :

The Muses Recreation. 9

And many were thrust out of dores,
Their coats well-cudgeld, and they call'd whores.
Oh King, Religious King,
God save thy Majesty.

And women all whom this concernes,

Though you offended be,
And now in foule and ratling tearms

Doe swagger and sweare at me :
He tell you, if you mend not your wayes,
The Devill will fetch you all one of these dayes.
O Women, monstrous women,
What doe you meane to doe 2

Dr. Smiths Ballet.

Will Womens vanities never have end,
Alack what is the matter ?
Shall Poets all their spirits spend,

And Women yet never the better ?
Will Bagnalls Ballet hath done no good

To the head that is hid in the Taffety hood,
Which makes the vertuous chew the Cud,
And I till now their Debter.

I once resolved to be blinde,

And never set pen to sheet,
Though all the race of Women kinde

Were mad I would not see't.

92 Musarum Delicite: Or,

But now my heart is so big, it struts,
And hold I cannot for my guts ;

With as much ease as men crack Nuts
My rimes and numbers meet

And first I will begin to touch

Upon their daubing paint;
Their pride that way it is so much,

It makes my muse grow faint.
And when they are got into a new Suit,
They look as though they would straight go to't
The Devill's in't, and's dam to boot,

'Twould anger any Saint.

Their soaring thoughts to book advance, .

Tis odds it may undoe um,
For ever since Dame Eves mischance,

That villanous itch sticks to um;
And when they have got but a little smack,

They talke as if nothing they did lack,
Of Wither Draiton or Balzack,

'Twould weary a Man to woe um.

Their Faces are besmear'd and pierc'd,

With severall sorts of Patches,
As if some Cats their skins had flead

With Scarres, hajf ]\loons and Notches.
Prodigious signes there keep their stations,

And meteors of most dreadfull fashions.
Booker hath no such Prognostications :

Now out upon them wretches !

The Muses Recreation. 93

With these they are disguised so,

They look as untoward as elves,
Their Husbands scarce their Wives can know,

Nor they sometimes themselves.
And every morn they feed their chaps,

With Caudles, Broths, and Honey-sops :
And lap it up as thick as hops,

Nere thinke on him that Delves.

Sometimes I thinke them quite subdu'd,

They let me use such freedome,
And by and by they call'd me rude,

And such a word makes me dum.
They are so fickle and shy God save um

That a Man can never tell where to have um.
I would we were all resolved to leave um,

While we hereafter need um.

Their kinde behaviour is a trap

For Men wherein to catch um,
With Sugered words they lye at snap,

But Fie be sure to watch um;
And when with every quaint devise,

They get us into fooles Paradise,
They laugh and leave us in a trise,

The Fiend will one day fetch um.

Sometimes they in the water lurk

Like fish with Silver finns ;
And then I wish I were the Turke,

And these my Concubines.

94 Musarum Delicice: Or,

But to tell you the truth without any erring,

They are neither Fish, Flesh, nor good red Herring

And when so e're you find them stirring,
They will put you in minde of your sins.

A Syren once had got a drone,

And she began to chatter,
Quoth she, sweet heart I am thine owne,

But I Faith it was no such matter.
But when he thought her as sure as a gun,

She set up her taile and away she run,
As if she did mean to out-strip the Sun,

The Devill could never have set her.

Or if some Women mean good sooth,

And purpose lawfull marriage ;
'Tis ten to one they have never a tooth,

And then poor man must forrage.
Who so is sped, is matcht with a Woman,

He may weep without the help of an Onyon.
He's an Oxe and an Asse, and a slubberdegullion,

That wooes and does not bar Age.

Your zealous Lecturers often preach,

And Homilies eke expound,
But Women as if they were out of their reach,

Persevere and stand their ground.
They may preach as well to the Walls or roof,

There's not one amongst ten that are Sermon proofs
Their hearts are as hard as a Horses hoofe,

And as hollow, but not so sound.

The Muses Recreation.

And when doe you thinke this yeare may mend,

And come to a better passe ?
In truth, I thinke, it will never have end,

What never ? then out, Alas !
They hold such wicked Counsells between urn,

We can doe little else but make Ballads against urn,
Ten thousand furies I think are in um,

Is not this a pittifull case ?

I thinke it were not much amisse,

To bring them into a Play,
There's matter enough and enough I wisse,

And Tie have the second day;
Where some shall be attir'd like Pages,

The rest shall be as they are Bagages ;
He that sets them awork, will pay them their wages,

Troth that's the onely way.

And now we have brought them upon the stage.

All sorts of people among;
I'le there expose them like Birds in a Cage,

To be gap'd on in midst of the throng.
Nay, now I have got them within my Clutches,

I'le neither favour Lady nor Dutches,
Although they may think this over-much is,

They are no more to me, then those that goe or
crutches.
/ made this stqffe too long.

Now Lord preserve our gracious Queen,
That gives her cautions ample,

96 Musarum Delicice: Or,

Yet they as if it never had been,

On all good precepts trample.
But heres the spite, it would anger a stone,

That a Woman should goe to Heaven alone :
But it will never be by hope that's bred in the bone,

Theyl never mend by example.

Upon Sir John Sucklings most warlike
preparations for the Scotish Warre.

Sir John got him on an Ambling Nag,
To Scotland for to ride a,
With a hundred horse more, all his own he swore
To guard him on every side a.

No Errant Knight ever went to fight

With halfe so gay a Bravado,
Had you seen but his look, you'ld have sworn on a book

Hee'ld have conquer'd a whole Armado.

The Ladyes ran all to the windowes to see

So gallant and warlike a sight a,
And as he passed by, they began to cry,

Sir yohn, why will you go fight a ?

But he like a cruel Knight, spurr'd on,

His heart did not relent a,
For, till he came there, he shew'd no fear,

Till then, why should he repent a ?

The Muses Recreation.

The King (God bless him) had singular hopes

Of him and all his Troop a,
The Borderers they, as they met him on the way

For joy did hollow and whoop a.

None lik'd him so well as his own Colonel,
Who toke him for John de Weart a,

But when there were shows of gunning and blows
My gallant was nothing so peart a.

For when the Scots Army came within sight

And all men prepar'd to right a,
He ran to his Tent, they ask'd what he meant,

He swore he must needs go shite a.

The Colonel sent for him back agen

To quarter him in the Van a,
But Sir John did swear he came not there

To be kiird the very first man a.

To cure his fear he was sent to the Rere,

Some Ten miles back, and more a,
Where he did play at Tre trip for Hay

And nere saw the enemy more a.

But now there is peace, he's return'd to increse
His money, which lately he spent a,

But his lost honour must still ly in the dust,
At Barwick away it went a,

^V0L '• H

93, Musarum Delicice: Or,

«vi/» *\£v* *jx/+ *w *\w *jy* *jy* *My* *sjy* *&/* *\£¥* •yy* *s/y* *jy *\d/* *w ■

The Old Cloaks reply to the Poets Farewell.

Will you be guilty (Master) of this wrong,
As thus to sell your Servant for a Song,
And now when I am fitter for your wear ?
A Poets habit ever is thred bare.
(Master) if still you love the good old way,
Then why not me ? why not old Cloaks I pray ?
Let Revels rant in silkes : this ragged dresse,
Sets forth a loyall Subjects comelinesse.
Oft have I seen boyes point when you came neer,
And say, There goes an honest Cavaliere.
But when some Gold-bedawb'd favourite,
Ruffling in Silkes hath glister'd in their sight,
Then have I seen the boyes to stamp and rave,
And cry Pox on him, there's a round-head knave.
It is some comfort (Master) then I see,
A good name you shall gaine by wearing me.
Then hang good cloaths, it is the worst of crimes
To weare good garments in such wicked times.
A newer Cloak you might have long since got,
But (pardon me) a fitter you could not.
You are agriev'd, 'cause I am thin and light,
And truly (Master) you your self are slight:
How can't be otherwise, when as you see,
Your best friends sleight you? All your friends but me_r

The Muses Recreation,

I have stuck to you in all sorts of weather,

Though (I confesse) I can scarce hold together.

I did not thrust my selfe upon you 'tis confest,

I first was drawn, and afterwards was prest;

Then bound, then hang'd, and now I may speak true,

I'le first be hang'd ere I do part from you.

The most in me that you can reprehend,

Is, that I have been onely your back friend,

And is not this that now all good men lack ?

I have conceaFd your shame behinde your back.

And when some foule reports have broken out,

'Twas I that kept them from being blown about.

I patiently have suffer'd much distast,

Rather then have your worship be disgrac't.

I have endur'd with you all times, all weather,

And shall we part now ? No, wee'l hang together.

Partus Chauceri Posthumus
Gulielmi Nelson.

Listen you Lordlings to a noble game,
Which I shall tell you, by thilk Lord S.Jame;
Of a lewd Clerk, and of his behaviour bold,
He was I trow, some threescore winters old.
Of Cambridge was this Clerk, not Oxenford,
Well known at Stilton, Stewkey, and Stamford.
He haunted fenney Staunton, and Saint Ives,
And fair could gloze among the Country Wives.

H 2

ioo Musarum Delicice : Or,

A lusty Runnyon ware he in his hose,
Lowd could he speak, and crackle in the Nose.
For Schollarship him car'd him light or nought,
To serve his turn, he English Postills bought.
He us'd no colour, nor no Rhetorick,
But yet he couth some termes of art Logick,
He was full rude and hot in disputation,
And wondrous frequent in his predication.
Full gravely couth he spit, fore he gan speak
And in his mouth some Sugar-Candy break,
But yet his preaching was to small effect,
Though lowd he roar'd, in th'Northern Dialect.
He ware a Cassock deep, but of small cost,
His state was spent in Nutmeg, Ale and Toast.
A gauld back'd spittle Jade for travelling
He kept in summer, but the wintering
Too costly was, rode he early or later,
Nought was his provender but grass and water.
Well liquour'd were his boots, & wondrous wide,
Ne Sword ne Rapyer ware he by his side,
A long vast Cloak-bag was his Caryage
Ther nis the like from Hull unto Carthage,
But, sooth to say, he was for ay formal!,
And ware a thred-bare Cloak Canonicall.
He had a Deanship and a Parsonage,
Yet was in debt and danger all his age,
His greater summe he payes by borrowing,
And lesser scores, by often punishing.
If that a Problem, or a common place
Come to his share, he is in jolly case;

The Muses Recreation, x o I

Then to a Nape of Ling he would invite
Some Rascall Tapster, hardly worth a Mite.

Well was he known in every Village Town,
The good Wives clep'd him Gossip up & down;
Oft was he Maudlin-drunk, then would he weep,
Not for his sinnes, of them he took small keep :
It was the humour fell down from his eyn,
Distill'd from Ale, he drank but little wine ;
And being asked why those teares did fall,
Soothly he preached at a Funerall.
And when with drinking he was some deal mellow,
His motto was, Faith Lad, Ps halfe good fellow.
Thus preach'd he often on an Ale-house Bench,
And, when the Spirit mov'd, cough'd for his Wench,
And Bastards got, which, if God send them grace,
They may succeed him in his Seniors place.
He was an ide Senior for the nonce,
Foul may befall his body, and his bones.

Upon the same.

TWice twenty Sermons, & twice five, I ween,
(And yet not one of them in print is seen)
He preach'd, God and St. Mary's witnesseth,
Where loud he roared, yet had but little pith.

102 Musarum Delicice: Or,

. Imitatio Chauceri altera_yI?i eundem.

LEave, Jeffrey C/iaucer, to describen a Man
In thine old phrason, so well as I can.
I ken no glozing, for my wit is rude,
Nath'iesse I'le limb out his similitude.
Fierce was his look, 'twas danger him to meet.
He passed like a Tempest through the street.
Narrow his eyn, his iNose was Chamised,
Sawfleum his Face, forked his Beard and head.
Pardie I wot not what men doe him call,
Dan Thomas, ne Dan Richard, n'of what Hall
He is, ne Colledge ; but by th'holy Mattin,
He was a frequent guest at John Port Lattin ;
And eke at all other dayes festivall,
He had a liquorous tooth over all;
Ne was there any Wight in all this Town,
That tasted better a Pasty of Venisoun,
Ybaked with Gravy Gods plenty,
It relished better then Austin's works or Gregorj,
Yet politick he was, and worldly wise,
And purchac'd hath, a double Benefice.
Small was his Wage, and little was his hire,
He let his sheep accumber in the mire ;
And solac'd at St. lo/ins, or at St. JPau/s,
That was a Sanctuary for his Soules.

The Muses Recreation. 103

Sir John of them, must alwaies taken keep,

A shitten Sheepherd cannot make clean sheep.

Ne God Mercurius, ne Melpomene,

E're look'd upon him at's Nativity:

Or if they look'd, they looked all ascaunce,

So was he made a Priest by foule mischance.

Pardie he was of the worst clay y'maked,

That e're Dame Nature in her Furnace baked.

For in his youth he was a Serving-man,

And busily on his Masters errand ran ;

And fairly fore a Cloak-bag couth he ride,

Algates a rusty whinyard by his side;

And he that whilom could not change a groat,

Hath changed, for a Cassock, his blew Coat.

One cannot see the Body, nor the Bulke,

That whilom did attend on aged Fulk ;

A larger Gown hath all y'covered,

And a square Cap doth pent-house his swynes head.

Yet notes he got, when his Master disputed,
And when the learned Papists he confuted.
The Borel men sayn, he preach well ynough,
But others known, that he stoln all his stuffe.

Lustfull he was, at Forty needs must wed,
Old January will have May in bed,
And live in glee, for, as wise men have sayn,
Old Fish, and young Flesh, would I have fayn,
And thus he swinketh ; but, to end my story,
Men sayn, he needs no other Purgatory.

104 Musarum Delicice: Or,

The Nightingale.

MY Limbs were weary, and my head opprest
With drowsiness, and yet I could not rest.
My Bed was such, as Down nor Feather can
Make one more soft, though love againe turn Swan ;
No fear-distracted thoughts, my slumbers broke,
I heard no Screech Owl shreek, nor Raven croak;
Sleep's foe, the Flea, that proud insulting Elfe,
Is now at truce, and is asleep it selfe.
But 'twas nights darling, and the worlds chief Jewell,
The Nightingale, that was so sweetly cruell.
It woo'd my eares to rob my eyes of sleep,
That whilst she sung of Tereus, they might weep;
And yet rejoyce the Tyrant did her "wrong,
Her cause of woe, was burthen of her song.
Which while I listened to, and strove to heare,
'Twas such, I could have wish'd my selfe all eare*
'Tis false that Poets feign of Orpheus, he
Could neither move a beast, a stone, or tree
To follow him, but wheresoe're she flyes,
The Grovy Satyr, and the Faery hyes
Afore her Perch, to dance their Roundelayes,
For she sings Distichs to them, while Pan playes.
Yet she sung better now, as if in me
She meant with sleep to try the Mastery.
But while she chaunted thus, 'the C.Qck for spight,
Dayes hoarser Herald, chid away tfre night;
Thus rob'd of sleep, my eye-lids nightly guest,
Methought I lay content, though not at rest.

The Muses Recreation. 105

Epitaph on Mistrisse Mary Prideaux.

HAppy Grave thou dost enshrine
That which makes thee a rich Myne,
Yet remember, 'tis but ioane,
And we look for back our owne.
The very same, marke me, the same,
Thou shalt not cheat us with a Lame
Deformed Carcasse ; this was faire,
Fresh as morning, soft as Ayre;
Purer then other flesh as faire
As other Soules their bodies are:
And that thou maist the better see
To finde her out, two starres there be
Eclipsed now; uncloud but those,
And they will point thee to the Rose
TJiat dy'd each Cheek, now pale and wan,
But will be, when she wakes againe
Fresher then ever ; and how ere
Her long sleep may alter her,
Her Soul will know her Body streight,
'Twas made so fit for't, no deceipt
Can suit another to it, none
Cloath it so neatly a$ its owne.

io6 Mtcsarum Delicicz : Or,

*yy* ^<vv» *^A/* *>A^ 'W* *W* *VD^* *\JD^ *\Dy '"YCy *W* ^r\B/* ^|jy* ^/y» >yy *\p/>

£^<?/z Drinking in the Crown of a Hat.

Ell fare those three, that when there was a Dearth
Of Cups to drink in, yet could finde out mirth,
And spight of Fortune, make their want their store,
And nought to drink in, caused drinking more.
No brittle glasse we used, nor did we thinke
'Twould help the taste, t'have windows to our drinke.
We scorn'd base Clay, w^ch tortur'd in the wheel,
Martyr'd at last, the force of fire doth feel.
Both these doe faile, we drink not morally,
In such like Emblems of mortality.
The Cups that Brewers use, and long use may,
But us'd by women the contrary way,
Polluted not our Pallats; nor the horn,
Due to the forehead, by our lips was worne.
We did abhor these hell-bred, bloud-bought Mettals,
Silver and gold; nor should that which makes Kettles
Serve us for cups ; nor that which is the Newter
Betwixt these five, and is ycleped Pewter ;
But twas as rare a thing, as often tryed,
As best of these, though seven times purifyed
A seven times scoured Felt, but turned never,
And pity tis, I cannot call it Bever.

The circumlated Crown, somewhat deprest,
And by degrees, toward the one side thrust,

The Muses Recreation. 107

That to our lips it might the better stoop,
Varyed a little th'figure of a Hoop ;
From a just Circle drawing out an Angle,
And that we might not for our measure wrangle,
The Butlers self, whose Hat it was and Band,
Fill'd each his measure with an even hand.
Thus did we round it, and did never shrink,
Till we that wanted Cups, now wanted drink.

An Epitaph upon Doctor PrideauxV Son.

Here lyes his Parents hopes and fears,
Once all their joyes, now all their tears,

He's now past sence, past fear of paine,

'Twere sin to wish him here againe.

Had it liv'd to have been a Man,

This Inch had grown but to a span;

And now he takes up the lesse room,

Rock'd from his Cradle to his Tomb.

'Tis better dye a child, at four,

Then live and dye so at fourscore.
View but the way by which we come,
Thou'lt say, he's best, that's first at home.

io8 Musarum Delicice: Or,

On his Mistrisse having the Green-sicknesse.

Hite Innocence, that now lyes spread
Forsaken on thy widdow'd Bed,
Cold and alone; for fear, love, hate,
Or shame, recall thy crimson mate
From his dark Mazes, to reside
With thee, his chast and Maiden-bride :
And lest he backward thence should flow,
Congeale him in thy Virgin-snow.
But if his owne heat, with thy paire
Of Neighbouring Suns, and flaming haire,
Thaw him into a new Divorce,
Lest to the heart he take his course:
O lodge me there where Fie defeat
A future hope of his retreat;
And force the fugitive to seek
A constant station in thy cheek.

So each shall have his proper place,

I in your heart, he in your face.

The Muses Recreation. 109

tXr tStr¹ »tiSr tXr tJKt tXr t&r iSr 'tifir t!Cr *tifir tJtr tJKr tXr *tiRr tXr t4r tXt tSKt t»Br tilr <tiBr <rXr

&^£<m /^ naked Bedlams\ and spotted Beasts _ywe see in Covent Garden.

WHen Besse ! she ne're was halfe so vainly clad,
Besse ne'er was halfe so naked, halfe so mad.
Again, this raves with Lust, for Love Besse ranted,
Then Besses skin was tan'd, but this is painted:
No, this is Madam Spots, 'tis she, I know her,
Her face is powdred Ermin, He speak to her;
How does your most enammel'd Ladyship ?
Nay pardon me, I dare not touch your Lip.
What kisse a Leopard ! he that Lips will close,
With such a Beast as you, may lose his Nose.
Why in such hast ? before we part 'tis meet,
You should doe penance Madam in a Sheet:
Tis time when Schism and Error so lowd cries,
To punish such notorious Sectaries.
I publickly appeare halfe Adamite,
In private practice you are one outright.
But Dapl'd Ladyes, if you needs must show
Your nakednesse, yet pray why spotted so ?
Has beauty think you lustre from these spots ?
Is Paper fairer when 'tis stain'd with blots ?
What have you cut your Mask out into sippets,
like wanton Girles, to make you Spots and Tippets;

no Musarum Delicice : Or,

As I have seen a Cook, that over-neat,
To garnish out a dish hath spoil'd good meat ?
Pride is a Plague, why sure these are the soares,
I will write {Lord have mercy) on your doors.
Devills are black: who doubt it, but some write
That there are likewise Devills that are white :
Well, I have found a third sort that are neither.
They are Py^?de Devils, black and white together.
Come, tell me true, for what these Spots are set,
Are they Decoyes to draw fools to your net?
Are they like Ribons in the Mane and Tayle,
Of an old w^Tincing Mare that's set to sale ?
You that use publick trade must hang out Signes,
Bushes you think: will vent your naughty Wines.
Fie tell you (Ladyes) never give me trust,
If these baites move not more to scorn than Lust
Perhaps they may a stomach tempt, that loves
A Gammon of Bacon that's stuft with Cloves;
Or White-broath with Pruines, but never hope,
That Love or Lust, to this patcrr't Lure should stoop,
Unlesse of such rude Ruffians, as nere blush,
To enter wheresoe're they see a bush.
Whose Breeches and whose Shirts make plain report,
That they as ready are as you for sport.
Take my advice to be secure from jeers,
Wash off your stinking Spots with bitter teares.
O you sweet Rurall beautie"s who were never
Infected with this ugly spotted Feaver,
Whose face is smoother then the ivory plaine,
Need neither spots from France, nor paint from Sfiainc.

The Muses Recreation, 111

Whose snowie Mountaines never saw the light,
And yet the Sun never saw Snow so white ;
Whose dresse the Emblem is of Modesty,
Whose looks secure you from attempts ; whose Eye
Has made lobs Vow, and kept it, and whose whole
Behaviour chast is, as your Virgin-soule :
Which to adorn, take up your choicest thoughts,
Not to get Pendants, Paintings, Ribonds, Spots :
Trust me (sweet Ladies) I that never thought
To love againe, do now extreamly dote ;
Men that have Wit, Religion or Estates,
Will be ambitious to make you their Mates :
Whilst all those naked Bedlams, painted Babies,
Spottified Faces, and Frenchified Ladies,
With all their proud phantasticall disguises,
Will prove at last, but fooles and beggars prizes.

Dear Coz : the want of thy sweet company,
Puts me upon this idle Poetry:
May you returne with Olive in your hand,
Bring thy deare self to me, peace to the Land.

H2 Musarttm Delicice: Or,

To Sir John Mennis, on a rich prize which
he took on the Seas.

WAlking last Friday morning in my Garden,
Where stands a house that I have grunted hard in:
And finding there sweet William by my Bower,
It made me thinke of John for halfe an houre.
Thou art (I heare) where thou dost play Carnoggin
Thou broughtest from Wales, 'gainst flute of Hogan Mogan,
And where thou richly dost abound in Ghelt,
And ropes of Pearl now strip't off from thy Belt;
But now laid up in safety on the shelfe,
Pearl that's more orient, then the East it self;
A Bag of Diamonds too : and I Divine,
That long ere this, all the Hauns Townes are thine :
After thine own thou needst not call these Lands,
For they are ready Christned to thy hands,
Whiles thus in thy Seraglio thou dost bristle,
Poore Lady at New-castle may go whistle,
Or gnaw the sheets for anguish, no John comes,.
He weares out all he hath in forraine bums,
Hee's not at all concerned in us (poor souls)
His friends may hang and who's will carry 'coles.
Nay never tosse your nose ; I knew thee man
When thou wer't little better then poor John ;
The worlds well mended since the warre began,
Thou'rt now become the great Leviathan :

The Muses Recreation.

And as that monster when he hath got a prize
Now eats, then farts out Pilchards as he lies.
So thou devour'st at Sea, making no bones
Of smaller vessells, and their precious Stones.
We have no booties brought us in from Sea,
To furnish us for rates or monthly pay.
No Jewels, nor rich prizes, no such matter,
When Troopers come, we run & pawn a Platter,
Than we can spare, for we have little meat,
If this world hold, we shall forget to eate.
We shall be free-born people then (Oh Hector)

When we have nothing left but a------

Hard-hearted Knight, how canst thou heare this tale

And not bepisse thy self with grief or Ale ?

Hast thou no moisture, no relenting left ?

Wilt thou sit alwayes brooding ore thy theft,

And part with never a penny to the Muses,

Nor to thy friends, nor yet to pious uses ?

Wee'le draw thy picture (Churle) and thy shape both

Standing like Dives in the painted cloth.

One that nere thought upon his friends till then,

When he was in the Devills frying pan.

Then when it is too late thou wilt confesse,

Thou hast more sinn'd in Friendship then

/. S.

VOL. I. \

H4 Musarum Delicm: Or,

A Defiance to K. A. and his round Table.
Incipit J. A.

AS it befell on a Pentecost day,
King Arthur at Camelot, kept his Court royall
With his faire Queen dame Guinever the gay,
And many Princes and Lords in Hall.
Heralds with Hukes, hearing full hie
Cryed largesse, largesse, Chevaliers tres hardy.
A doubty Dwarfe to the uppermost Deske,
Boldly gan wick kneeling on knee ;
Cry'd, King Arthur God thee save and see.

Sir Rhines of Northgales greeteth well thee,
And bids that thy Beard anon thou him send,
Or else from thy jawes he will it off rend.

For his Roabe of State is a rich Scarlet Mantle,
With eleven Kings Beards bordered about,

And there is room left in a Cantell,
For thine to make it out.
This must be done, be thou never so stout,
This must be done, I tell thee no Fable,
Maugre the teeth of all thy round Table.

When this doubty dwarfe his dismall message had said.
The King fum'd, Queen screek'd, Ladyes were agast,
Princes puff'd, Barons bluster'd, Lords began to lowre,
Knights and Squires storm'd, like Steeds in a flowre,

The Muses Recreation. i r 5

Yeomen and Pages yelld out in hall,

With that came in Sir Guy the Seneschall.

Silence my Soveraigne, quoth this Courteous Knight,

And therewithall the stowre began to still.

The Dwarfes dinner was full dearly deight,

Of Wine and Wassell he had his will.

And when he had eaten and drunken his fill,

A hundred pieces of fine Coined Gold,

Was given the Dwarfe for his Message so bold.

But say to Sir Rhines thou Dwarfe quoth the King,
That for his bold Message, I him defie,
For shortly I meane with Basons him to ring
Out of Northgales where he and I
With Swords, and no Razors shall quickly try,
Which of us two is the best Barber.

And then withall he shook his good Sword.
Excutitur

Sic Explicit, I A.

FINIS.

I 2

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---------------------------- NOTES --------------------------------

MUSARUM DELiCI^B,

NOTES.

Pope, in classing the English poets for his projected discourse on the
Rise and Progress of English poetry, has considered Sir J. Mennis and
Thos. Baynall as the original of Hudibras; see Dr. Warton's Essays.
Some of these pieces certainly partake of the wit, raillery, and playful
versification of Butler, and this collection, it is to be remembered, made
its appearance eight years before the publication of Hudibras. Dr.
Farmer has traced much of Butler in Cleveland.

P. 4, 1. i.—" Charles I." Read Charles II. The error has been
copied from Anthony a Wood.

P. 7, 1. 6.—" Valuable presents." Among them probably "the
great Portugal jewel," which he bequeaths in his will, p. 9, to Lady
Heath.

P. 17.—"H. H." Henry Herringham was the Murray of his day.
He published the first complete edition of Davenant's works, in the
advertisement to which he speaks of the author as *' my worthy friend."
We find Pepys, June 22, 1668, "calling at Herringham's," and dis-
cussing Dryden's poetry.

P. 19.—"Parson Weeks." John Weeks, Prebend of Bristol, a face
tious character and popular preacher mentioned by Anthony a Wood
(Fasti Oxonienses, f. 39), and probably the same to whom Herrick
dedicated one of his poems under the name of Posthumus.

P. 20, 1. 18.—" Viatico" 2nd ed. reads " Vernaccio" "Vernage,
sweet wine from Verona."—Bailey's Dut.

P. 20, 1. 19.—" Young Herric" i.e., the author of the Hesperides.
" And now farewell, young Herrick, for young is the spirit of thy poetry,
as thy wisdom is old ; and mayest thou flourish in immortal youth, thou
boon companion and most jocund songster."—Retrospective Reviewy
vol. v.

P. 20, 1. 28.—" Cory at." The Eastern traveller and author of the
Crudities, vide Wood's Athene Oxon., p. 422, ed. 1721. He is again
referred to, "Wit Restor'd," p. 220.

323

Mttsarum Delicice.

P. 21, 1. ii.—"Epsam Well." Epsom in Surrey was the Brighton of
the days of Charles II. The spring was discovered in 1613, and the
water was at first used externally. Later it was esteemed for its purga-
tive powers.

P. 21, 1. 19.—"Putney's Ferry." The bridge which crosses the
Thames at Fulham takes the place of the ancient ferry. Coome's
Chase, between Wimbledon and Maiden, whence the route lay through
Kingston.

P. 26, 1. 8.—"Sleighted by Man," 2nd ed. reads "Sealed by a^

Priest.^:' ' j

P. 26, 1. 13.—" Abhominable." Abominable is generally referred to I
the Latin abominor, and derived from ab and omen, as implying some- J
thing that is to be deprecated as ominous; "but," says the Rev. J. J
Boucher, in his supplement to Johnson's Dictionary, "lam not sure I
that the ancient spelling 'abhominable/ which I find in Hawkins' old!
plays (see vol. i., Lusty Juventus, in which one of the characters is I
called 'Abhominable Liveing,' and vol. iii. p. 140, where Miniver says, i
' Die thou wilt, I warrant, in thy abhominable sins') may not lead us 1
to a better etymology—viz., ab and homo, as implying something that is ,1
unworthy of a man, and therefore to be detested; and if I mistake not 1
on this idea, a much better reason may be given for Holofernes's I
quarrelling with what he regarded as an illiterate innovation—viz., ,1
abominable, than that which Mr. Steevens has assigned; see note to ,1
Lovers Labour's Lost, act v. sc. 1. It does not seem to be at all in cha- J
racter for Holofernes, a schoolmaster and a pedant, to ridicule a ' mere f
foppish manner of speaking, and an affected pronunciation,' but per-
fectly so to take offence at a pronunciation which discovered how
little the speaker knew of the origin of the words which he uttered so
glibly. In the same spirit the omission of the b in doubt and debt are ;
objected to, as losing sight of their Latin origin. All that can be
further said respecting this interpretation is, that by admitting it,> *
nothing is lost, and something may be gained."

P. 26, 1. 19.—"L'lltell thee news" 2nd ed. reads, "Here's news for ,
Jack." . ;'

P. 7, I. 27.—** Will has in his face the flawes" William D'Avenant, ,';,
created Poet Laureate in 1637. In May, 1641, being accused of seducing<{((,.
the army against the Parliament, he was apprehended at Feversham £ /V
being bailed, in July following he fled into France. His loss in the ;*)
field of Love is here jeered at, as usual, " habet sua castra Cupido." ||\
Davenant's personal defect in this particular has been observed by '|^;Faithorne in the portrait prefixed to his works, and is alluded to by , !j|
Sir John Suckling in the " Session of the Poets." $

Will D'Avenant, ashamed of a foolish mischance, ,,i'

That he got lately travelling into France, ;';'*,

Modestly hoped the, handsomeness of his muse* ,f
Might any deformity about him excuse.

Notes.

329

P. 28, 1. 12.—" From Northern soyl." In 1639 Sir John Mennis
was captain of a troop of horse against the Scots. The poems pp. 44,
52, are also of this period.

P. 29, 1. 23.—" Kenelm." 'Sir Kenelm Digby.

P. 30, 1. ii.—^il Vacuus cantabit." " Vacuus cantat coram latrone
viator."—Juvenal.

P. 30, 1. 19.—"Cicero." Cicer, chick-peas, a kind of pulse. " Roun-
ceval" a pea so-called from the place whence it was imported.—■
Richardson*s Diet.

P. 33, 1. 6.—" ShentV Abashed, put to shame.

'' And every man upon him cride,
That was he shente on every side."—Gower.

P- 35, !• 19-—"A Journey into France." Attributed to Dr. Corbet by
Mr. Dubois, who says : " This piece is found in Dryden's Miscellanies,
and is also printed in Bishop Corbet's Poems, 1672, and called Dr.
Corbet's Journey, but almost every stanza is altered and spoiled. The
copy in Mr. Gilchrist's ' Poems of Richard Corbet? 1807, p. 94, labours
under the same imputation, which is surprising in a man of so much
accuracy and research, especially as it appears from p. xxii. that he had
this work before him at the time." There can, however, be no doubt
that Sir John Mennis is the author, for although this piece is found in
the first and the last edition of Corbet's Poems, it is omitted in the
second, 1648, of which Mr. Gilchrist says : " It is the only impression
with any pretension to accuracy, which, from its internal evidence, I
suspect was published under the eye of the Bishop's family."

P. 36, 1. 2.-—" John Dory\" Of this popular song, which is, says
Mr. Gilchrist, reprinted from "Deuteromelia," 1609, in Hawkins⁵History of Music, the following is the introductory stanza :—

" As it fell upon a holyday
And upon a holy-tide-a
John Dory brought him an ambling nag
To Paris for to ride-a."