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, 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, And you as well as those before you. You which are fair, and there fore should be kind. Fair as the light, pure as the ray, Meet all in you for your adorning. 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, 'Twill crown our happy story. Those fires I burn with all are pure 'Twas you did wound, 'twas you that ought to cure. TRANSLATED OUT OF FRENCH. Now I'm resolv'd to love no more, A puling beauty still to court To make me desperate courses take, I'll all my vow to th' goblet make 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, Don't you keep out of sight. Your sex for somewhat else. In your adored face and hair, And every man were blind? 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, Disgrace your nat❜ral parts. To love all compounds hateful be, 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 Which both conspire to make thee shine, And make me think thou art divine. And yet methinks thou'rt wond'rous fair, Those glories in thy face that are, 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, To find wherein consists Be 't where it will, there let it rest. ADVICE TO CELIA, My lovely Celia, while thou dost enjoy, Since all those lilies and those roses, Will tarry but a little space. 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 Now what thy lovers say of thee, Sickness or age will quickly strip away 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 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. 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 we are ships and sack's the sea. 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, Our heads shall turn as round as theirs, 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. COME your ways, Of the town, For now is your time or never. Get renown, We all are undone for ever. Now the king and the crown And the realm doth groan with disasters, 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 Is at hand: 'Tis too late To tread these usurpers under. Thus levell'd are we by the roundhead, Feed their pride and their lust, And the kingdom and king confounded. TNE TROOPER, Like fools, on grief or sadness ; All worldly care is madness; Inspire our souls with gladness That know neither bound nor measure, Whose delight is in their treasure: And spend it at our pleasure. And to my hand commend it. Before that we go we'll end its And jovially we will spend it. THE PASTORAL. ON THE KING'S DEATM. WRITTEN IN 1643. In peace and awe, his flocks, There reigns the subtle fox Circled his brows about, Are seiz'd on by the rout, Thy flocks o'er-ruld by those Down scrip and sheep-hook goes, A MOCK-SONG. THE GOOD-FELLOW. As you're thinking, In this hemisphere, be boys. Fill, fill up the glass, Come away wit ; 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, With Canary, For the Indias about us we carry. (crown'd Off your hats, till that the pavement be With your beavers : And the constable trembles to shiverse Hang up Mars Give us drink, Those are slaves, That have chink, Do, or think, 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, To be going, Throw, throw down the glass, He's an ass That extracts all his worth from Canary, 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, 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, For the king against the state, chanters, And therefore pack hence to Virginia for planters, ranters. THE ANSWER. STAY, stay, prate no more, Lest thy brain, like thy purse, run th' score, Those are traitors in grain That of sack do complain, And rail by 'ts own power against it. pities, Are fall'n by the pride and hypocrisy of cities, ditties. The K. and his progeny had kept 'em from sinking, 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, foes is, That goes to traduce us and fondly supposes No deceit in a brimmer is found, Beer and ale makes you prate Of the kirk and the state, Wanting other discourse worth the hearing; THE LEVELLER'S RANT. 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 no less than treason, For our brethren to be higher than we. First the thing, call'd a king, [than he, And the spawn of the court, that were prouder 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. 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, He that's mounted on high, is a mark for the hate, I am never the better which side gets the battle, Let misers take courses to heap up their treasure, 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, I account him no wit, that is gifted at railing, [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, |