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And huddle them together so,

That we ourselves shan't know how many; And others can't their number know,

If we should envi'd be by any.

And then, when we have done all this,
That our pleasures may remain,
We'll continue on our bliss,

By unkissing all again.

Thus we'll love and thus we'll live,

While our posting minutes fly, We'll have no time to vex or grieve, But kiss and unkiss till we die.

THE ATTEMPT.

WHY should I blush or be dismay'd,

To tell you I adore you?

Since love's a pow'r, that can't be stay'd,
But must by all be once obey'd,

And you as well as those before you.
Your beauty hath enchain'd my mind,
O let me not then cruel find,

You which are fair, and there fore should be kind.

Fair as the light, pure as the ray,
That in the grey-ey'd morning
Leaps forth, and propagates a day,
Those glories which in others stray

Meet all in you for your adorning.
Since Nature built that goodly frame,
And virtue has inspir'd the same,

Let love draw yours to meet my raging flame.

Joy of my soul, the only thing,

That's my delight and glory,

From you alone my love does spring,
If one love may another bring,

'Twill crown our happy story.

Those fires I burn with all are pure
And noble, yet too strong t' endure;

'Twas you did wound, 'twas you that ought to cure.

TRANSLATED OUT OF FRENCH.

Now I'm resolv'd to love no more,
But sleep by night, and drink by day :
You'r coyness, Cloris, pray give o'er,
And turn your tempting eyes away.
From ladies l'il withdraw my heart
And fix it only on the quart.
I'll place no happiness of mine

A puling beauty still to court
And say she's glorious and divine,
The vintner makes the better sport.
And when I say my dear, my heart,
I only mean it to the quart.
Love has no more prerogative,

To make me desperate courses take,
Nor me t'an hermitage shall drive,

I'll all my vow to th' goblet make
And if I wear a capuchoone
It shall a tankard be or none.

ADDED.

"Tis wine alone that cheers the soul, But love and ladies make us sad;

I'm merry when I court the bowl,

While he that courts the madam's mad,

Then ladies wonder not at me, For you are coy, but wine is free.

TO A PAINTED LADY.

LEAVE these deluding tricks and shows,
Be honest and downright;
What Nature did to view expose,

Don't you keep out of sight.
The novice youth may chance admire
Your dressings, paints and spells :
But we that are expert desire

Your sex for somewhat else.

In your adored face and hair,
What virtue could you find,
If women were like angels fair,

And every man were blind?
You need no time or pains to waste

To set your beauties forth,

With oils, and paint and drugs, that cost More than the face is worth.

Nature her self her own work does,

And hates all needless arts,
And all your artificial shows

Disgrace your nat❜ral parts.
You're flesh and blood, and so are we
Let flesh and blood alone,

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

TO A COY LADY.

I PRITHER leave this peevish fashion, Don't desire to be high-priz'd, Love's a princely noble passion,

And doth scorn to be despis'd. Though we say you're fair, you know, We your beauty do bestow, For our fancy makes you so.

Don't be proud 'cause we adore you, We do't only for our pleasure, And those parts in which you glory,

We by fancy weigh and measure. When for deities you go,

For angels, or for queens, pray know, 'Tis our fancy makes you so.

Don't suppose your majesty

By tyranny's best signified, And your angelic natures be

Distinguish'd only by your pride. Tyrants make subjects rebels grow, And pride makes angels dev'ls below, And your pride may make you so.

THE RECOVERY.

How unconcerned I can now
Behold that face of thine!
The graces and the dresses too,

Which both conspire to make thee shine,

And make me think thou art divine.

And yet methinks thou'rt wond'rous fair,
But I have no desires.

Those glories in thy face that are,
Kindled not in my heart those fires,
For that remains though this expires..

Nor was't my eyes that had such pow'r

To burn my self and you, For then they'd every thing devour, But I do several others view, Unsing'd, and so don't think it true. Nay both together could not do't,

Else we had dy'd ere this,
Without some higher pow'r to boot,
Which must rule both, if either miss,
All t' other to no purpose is.
It puzzles my philosophy,

To find wherein consists
This pow'r of love, and tyranny,
Or in a lover's eye or breast.

Be 't where it will, there let it rest.

ADVICE TO CELIA,

My lovely Celia, while thou dost enjoy,
Beauty and youth, be sure to use 'em,
And be not fickle, be not coy,
Thy self or lovers to destroy.

Since all those lilies and those roses,
Which lovers find, or love supposes,
To flourish in thy face,

Will tarry but a little space.
And youth and beauty are but only lent
To you by Nature, with this good intent,

You should enjoy, but not abuse 'em,

And when enjoyments may be had, not fondly to refuse 'em.

Let lovers' flatt'ry ne'er prevail with thee;

Nor their old compliments deceive thee,

Their vows and protestations be

Too often mere hypocrisy.

And those high praises of the witty
May all be costly, but not fit ye,
Or if it true should be

Now what thy lovers say of thee,

Sickness or age will quickly strip away
Those fading glories of thy youthful May,
And of thy graces all bereave thee:

Then those that thee ador'd before will slight thee, and so leave thee.

Then while thou'rt fair and young, be kind but wise, Doat not, nor proudly use denying;

That tempting toy thy beauty lies

Not in thy face but lovers' eyes.

And he that doats on thee may smother
His love, i'th' beauty of another,

Or flying at all game

May quench, or else divert his flame. His reason too may chance to interpose, And love declines as fast as reason grows. There is a knack to find love's treasures: Too young, too old, too nice, too free, too slow, destroys your pleasures.

POLITICAL SONGS.

THE ROYALIST.
WRITTEN IN 1646.

COME, pass about the bowl to me,

A health to our distressed king; Though we're in hold let cups go free, Birds in a cage may freely sing.

The ground does tipple healths apace,
When storms do fall, and shall not we?
A sorrow dares not show his face,

When we are ships and sack's the sea.
Pox on this grief, hang wealth, let's sing,
Shall's kill ourselves for fear of death?
We'll live by th' air which songs do bring,
Our sighing does but waste our breath.
Then let us not be discontent.

Nor drink a glass the less of wine;

In vain they'll think their plagues are spent, When once they see we don't repine.

We do not suffer here alone;

Though we are beggar'd, so's the king,
'Tis sin t' have wealth, when he has none,
Tush! poverty's a royal thing!
When we are larded well with drink,

Our heads shall turn as round as theirs,
Our feet shall rise, our bodies sink

Clean down the wind, like cavaliers. Fill this unnatural quart with sack, Nature all vacuums doth decline, Our selves will be a zodiac,

And every mouth shall be a sign. Methinks the travels of the glass,

Are circular like Plato's year; Where every thing is as it was,

Let's tipple round; and so 'tis here.

THE COMMONERS.
WRITTEN IN 1645.

COME your ways,
Bonny boys

Of the town,

For now is your time or never.
Shall your fears
Or your cares
Cast you down?
Hang your wealth
And your health.

Get renown,

We all are undone for ever.

Now the king and the crown
Are tumbling down,

And the realm doth groan with disasters,
And the scum of the land,

Are the men that command,

And our slaves are become our masters.

Now our lives,

Children, wives

And estate,

Are a prey to the lust and plunder,

To the rage

Of our age.

And the fate
Of our land

Is at hand:

'Tis too late

To tread these usurpers under.
First down goes the crown,
Then follows the gown,

Thus levell'd are we by the roundhead,
While church and state must

Feed their pride and their lust,

And the kingdom and king confounded.

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TNE TROOPER,
COME, come, let us drink,
'Tis in vain to think,

Like fools, on grief or sadness ;
Let our money ily
And our sorrows die,

All worldly care is madness;
But sack and good cheer
Will in spite of our fear,

Inspire our souls with gladness
Let the greedy clowns,
That do live like hounds,

That know neither bound nor measure,
Lament each loss,
For their wealth is their cross,

Whose delight is in their treasure:
But we that have none,
Will use theirs as our own,

And spend it at our pleasure.
Troul about the bowl,
The delight of my soul,

And to my hand commend it.
A fig for chink,
'Twas made to buy drink,

Before that we go we'll end its
When we've spent our store,
The land will yield us more,

And jovially we will spend it.

THE PASTORAL.

ON THE KING'S DEATM.

WRITTEN IN 1643.
Where England's Damon us'd to keep,

In peace and awe, his flocks,
Who fed, not fed upon, his sheep,
There wolves and tigers now do prey,
There sheep are slain, and goats do sway,

There reigns the subtle fox
While the poor lambkins weep.
'The laurell’d garland which before

Circled his brows about,
The spotless coat which once he wore,
The sheep-book which he us'd to sway,
And pipe whereon he lov'd to play,

Are seiz'd on by the rout,
And must be us'd no more.
Poor swain, how thou lament'st to see

Thy flocks o'er-ruld by those
That serve thy cattle all like thee,
Where hateful vice usurps the crown,
And loyalty is trodden down ;

Down scrip and sheep-hook goes,
When foxes shepherds be.

A MOCK-SONG.

THE GOOD-FELLOW.
Stay, stay, shut the gates,
Tother quart, faith, it is not so late,

As you're thinking,
Those stars which you see,

In this hemisphere, be
But the studs in your cheeks by your drinking.
The Sun is gone to tipple all night in the sea, boys,
To morrow he'll blush that he's paler than we, boys,
Drink wide, give him water, 'tis sack makes us the

boys.

Fill, fill up the glass,
To the next merry lad let it pass,

Come away wit ;
Come set foot to foot,

And but gire your minds to't,

'Tis heretical six, that doth slay wit. No Helicon like to the juice of the vine is, For Phæbus had uever had wit, or divineness, Had his face not been bow-dy'd as thine, his, and

mine is.

Drink, drink off your bowls,
We'll enrich both our beads and our souls

With Canary,
A carbuncled face
Saves a tedious race,

For the Indias about us we carry.
Then hang up good faces, we'll drink till our noses
Give freedom to speak what our fancy disposes;
Beneath whose protection is under the roses.
This, this must go round,

(crown'd Off your hats, till that the pavement be

With your beavers :
A red-coated face
Frights a sergeant at mace,

And the constable trembles to shiverse

Hang up Mars
And his wars,

Give us drink,
We'll tipple my lads together:

Those are slaves,
Fools and knaves,

That have chink,
And must pay,
For what they say,

Do, or think,
Good fellows account for neither.

Be we round, be we square,

We are happier than they're Whose dignity works their ruin :

He that well the bowl rears,

Cap baffle his cares,
And a fig for death or undoing.

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Throw, throw down the glass,

He's an ass

That extracts all his worth from Canary,
That valour will shrink

That's only good in drink,

'Twas the cup made the camp to miscarry, You thought in the world there's no power could tame ye,

You tippled and whor'd till the foe overcame ye, Gods nigs and ne'er stir, sir, has vanquish'd God damn me.

Fly, fly from the coast,

Or you're lost,

And the water will run where the drink went,
From hence you must slink,

If you have no chink,

'Tis the course of the royal delinquent.

You love to see beer bowls turn'd over the thumb well,

[well, You like three fair gamesters, four dice and a drum But you'd as lief see the devil as Fairfax or Cromwell,

Drink, drink not the round,

You'll be drown'd

In the source of your sack and your sonnets,
Try once more your fate

For the king against the state,
And go barter your beavers for bonnets.
You see how they're charm'd by the kingdom's in-

chanters,

And therefore pack hence to Virginia for planters,
For an act and two red-coats will rout all the

ranters.

THE ANSWER.

STAY, stay, prate no more,

Lest thy brain, like thy purse, run th' score,
Though thou strain'st it,

Those are traitors in grain

That of sack do complain,

And rail by 'ts own power against it.
Those kingdoms and crowns which your poetry

pities,

Are fall'n by the pride and hypocrisy of cities,
And not by those brains that love sack and good

ditties.

The K. and his progeny had kept 'em from sinking,
Had they had no worse foes, than the lads that love

drinking,

[ing.

We drowning may fear,

But your end will be there

Where there is neither swimming nor rowing, We were gamesters alike, and our stakes were both down boys,

But Fortune did favour you being her own boys,
And who would not venture a cast for a crown, boys?
Since we wear the right colours, he the worst of our

foes is,

That goes to traduce us and fondly supposes
That Cromwell is an enemy to sack and red noses.
Then, then quaff it round,

No deceit in a brimmer is found,
Here's no swearing,

Beer and ale makes you prate

Of the kirk and the state,

Wanting other discourse worth the hearing;
This strumpet your Muse is, to ballad or flatter
Or rail, and your betters with froth to bespatter,
And your talk's all diurnals and gunpowder matter:
But we, while old sack does divinely inspire us,
Are active to do what our rulers require us,
And attempt such exploits as the world shall admire

THE LEVELLER'S RANT.
WRITTEN IN 1648.

To the hall, to the hall,

For justice we call,

On the king and his pow'r'ful adherents and

friends,

[us.

[ends.

Who still have endeavour'd, but we work their
'Tis we will pull down what e'er is above us,
And make them to fear us, that never did love us,
We'll level the proud, and make every degree,
To our royalty bow the knee,

'Tis no less than treason,
'Gainst freedom and reason

For our brethren to be higher than we.

First the thing, call'd a king,
To judgment we bring,

[than he,

And the spawn of the court, that were prouder
And next the two houses united shall be:
It does to the Romish religion inveigle, [eagle;
For the state to be two-headed like the spread-
We'll purge the superfluous members away,
They are too many kings to sway,
And as we all teach,
'Tis our liberty's breach,

We that tipple ha' no leisure for plotting or think- For the freeborn saints to obey.

Not a claw, in the law,

Shall keep us in awe;

For the proverbs do learn us, "He that stays from the battle sleeps in a whole skin,

We'll have no cushion-cuffers to tell us of Hell, And our words are our own, if we can keep 'em in,"

For we are all gifted to do it as well:

"Tis freedom that we do hold forth to the nation To enjoy our fellow-creatures as at the creation; The carnal men's wives are for men of the spirit, Their wealth is our own by merit,

For we that have right,

By the law called might,

Are the saints that must judge and inherit.

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What fools are we then, that to prattle begin

Of things that do not concern us?

Let the three kingdoms fall to one of the prime ones, My mind is a kingdom and shall be to me,

I could make it appear, if I had but the time once,
I'm as happy with one, as he can be with three,
If I could but enjoy it.

He that's mounted on high, is a mark for the hate,
And the envy of every pragmatical pate,
While he that creeps low, lives safe in his state,
And greatness do scorn to annoy it.

I am never the better which side gets the battle,
The Tubs or the Crosses what is it to me?
They'll never increase my goods or my cattle,
But a beggar's a beggar and so he shall be,
Unless he turn traitor:

Let misers take courses to heap up their treasure,
Whose lust has no limits, whose mind has no mea-
Let ine be but quiet and take a little pleasure, [sure,
A little contents my nature.

My petition shall be that Canary be cheaper, Without patent or custom or cursed excise; That the wits may have leave to drink deeper and deeper,

And not be undone, while their heads they baptise, And in liquor do drench 'em :

If this were but granted, who would not desire,
To dub himself one of Apollo's own choir ?
[fire,
We'll ring out the bells, when our noses are on
And the quarts shall be the buckets to drench
'em.

I account him no wit, that is gifted at railing,
And flirting at those that above him do sit,
While they do outwit him, with whipping and
goaling,

[wit;

Then his purse and his person both pay for his "Tis better to be drinking:

If sack were reform'd into twelvepence a quart,
I'd study for money to merchandize for 't,
And a friend that is true, we together will sport.
Not a word, but we'll pay them with think-
ing.

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