Part iv

.)

In this, doubtless, we detect two versions, garbed together. What is now the final verse is merely a variation of the sixth: probably the broadsheet-printer could not meet with a genuine eighth verse. Robert Bell denounced the whole as “a miserable composition” (even as he had declared against the amatory Lyrics of Charles the Second’s time): but then, he might have added, with Goldsmith, “My Bear dances to none but the werry genteelest of tunes.”

Far superior to this was the “Arthur o’ Bradley’s Wedding:

“_Come, neighbours, and listen awhile, If ever you wished to smile_,” &c., which was sung by ... Taylor, a comic actor, about the beginning of this century. It is not improbable that he wrote or adapted it, availing himself of such traditional scraps as he could meet with. Two copies of it, duplicate, on broadsheets, are in the Douce Collection at Oxford, vol. iv. pp. 18, 19. A copy, also, in J. H. Dixon’s _Bds. and Sgs. of the Peasantry_, Percy Soc., 1845, vol. xvii. (and in R. B.’s _Annotated Ed. B. P._, p. 138.)

There is still another “Arthur o’ Bradley,” but not much can, or need, be said in its favour; except that it contains only three verses. Yet even these are more than two which can be spared. Its only tolerable lines are borrowed from the Roxburghe Ballad. It is the _nadir_ of Bradleyism, and has not even a title, beyond the burden “_O rare ~Arthur~ o’ ~Bradley~, O!_” Let us, briefly, be in at the death: although Arthur makes not a Swan-like end, with the help of his Catnach poet. It begins thus:

_’Twas in the sweet month of May, I walked out to take the air,_ _My Father he died one day, and he left me his son and heir;_ _He left me a good warm house, that wanted only a thatch,_ _A strong oak door to my chamber, that only wanted a latch;_ _He left me a rare old cow, I wish he’d have left me a sow,_ _A cock that in fighting was shy, and a horse with a sharp wall eye, &c._

(_Universal Songster_, 1826, i. 368.)

Even Ophelia could not ask, after Arthur sinking so low, “And will he not come again?”

J. W. E.

_September, 1875._

[So far as possible, to give completeness to our Reprint of _Westminster Drollery_ of 1671-2, and _Merry Drollery, Compleat_, 1670-1691, we now add the Extra Songs belonging to the former work, edition 1674; and to the latter, in its earlier edition, 1661: with their respective title-pages.]

_Westminster-Drollery._

Or, A Choice COLLECTION of the Newest SONGS & POEMS BOTH AT Court and Theaters.

BY A Person of Quality.

_The third Edition, with many more Additions._

LONDON, Printed for _H. Brome_, at the _Gun_ in St. _Paul’s_ Church Yard, near the West End. MDCLXXIV.

_ADDITIONAL SONGS_

FROM THE

WESTMINSTER-DROLLERY:

Edition 1674.

[p. 111.]

_A Song._

1. So wretched are the sick of Love, No Herb has vertue to remove The growing ill: But still, The more we Remedies oppose The Feaver more malignant grows. Doubts do but add unto desire, Like Oyl that’s thrown upon the fire, Which serves to make the flame aspire; And not t’ extinguish it: Love has its trembling, and its burning fit.

2. Fruition which the sick propose [p. 112.] To end, and recompence their woes, But turns them o’re To more. And curing one, does but prepare A new, perhaps a greater care. Enjoyment even in the chaste, Pleases, not satisfies the taste, And licens’d Love the worst can fast. Such is the Lovers state, Pining and pleas’d, alike unfortunate.

3. _Sabina_ and _Camilla_ share An equal interest in care, Fear hath each brest Possest. In different Fortunes, one pure flame Makes their unhappiness the same. Love begets fear, fear grief creates, Passion still passion animates, Love will be love in all estates: His power still is one Whether in hope or in possession.

[p. 113.]

_A Song._

1. To Arms! to Arms! the Heroes cry, A glorious Death, or Victory. Beauty and Love, although combin’d, And each so powerful alone, Cannot prevail against a mind Bound up in resolution. Tears their weak influence vainly prove, Nothing the daring breast can move Honour is blind, and deaf, ev’n deaf to Love.

2. The Field! the Field! where Valour bleeds, Spurn’d into dust by barbed steeds, Instead of wanton Beds of Down Is now the Scene where they must try, To overthrow, or be o’rethrown; Bravely to overcome, or dye. Honour in her interest sits above What Beauty, Prayers, or tears can move: Were there no Honour, there would be no Love.

[p. 114.]

_A Song._

1. Beauty that it self can kill, Through the finest temper’d steel, Can those wounds she makes endure, And insult it o’re the brave, Since she knows a certain cure, When she is dispos’d to save: But when a Lover bleeding lies, Wounded by other Arms, And that she sees those harms, For which she knows no remedies; Then Beauty Sorrows livery wears, And whilst she melts away in tears, Drooping in Sorrow shews Like Roses overcharg’d with morning dews.

2. Nor do women, though they wear The most tender character, Suffer in this case alone: Hearts enclos’d with Iron Walls, In humanity must groan When a noble Hero falls. Pitiless courage would not be [p. 115.] An honour, but a shame; Nor bear the noble name Of valour, but barbarity; The generous even in success Lament their enemies distress: And scorn it should appear Who are the Conquer’d, with the Conqueror.

_A Song._

1. The young, the fair, the chaste, the good, The sweet _Camilla_, in a flood Of her own Crimson lies A bloody, bloody sacrifice To Death and man’s inhumane cruelties. Weep Virgins till your sorrow swells In tears above the Ivory Cells That guard those Globes of light; Drown, drown those beauties of your eyes. Beauty should mourn, when beauty dies; And make a general night, To pay her innocence its Funeral rite.

2. Death since his Empire first begun, [p. 116.] So foul a conquest never won, Nor yet so fair a prize: And had he had a heart, or eyes, Her beauties would have charm’d his cruelties. Even Savage Beasts will Beauty spare, Chaft Lions fawn upon the fair; [Fierce lions] Nor dare offend the chaste: But vitious man, that sees and knows The mischiefs his wild fury does, Humours his passions haste, To prove ungovern’d man the greatest beast.

_A Song._

1. How frailty makes us to our wrong Fear, and be loth to dye, When Life is only dying long And Death the remedy! We shun eternity, And still would gravel her beneath, [_Scil._, grovel] Though still in woe and strife, When Life’s the path that leads to Death, And Death the door to Life.

2. The Fear of Death is the disease [p. 117.] Makes the poor patient smart; Vain apprehensions often freeze The vitals in the heart, Without the dreaded Dart. When fury rides on pointed steel Death’s fear the heart doth seize, Whilst in that very fear we feel A greater sting than his.

3. But chaste _Camilla’s_ vertuous fear Was of a noble kind, Not of her end approaching near But to be left behind, From her dear Love disjoyn’d; When Death in courtesie decreed, To make the fair his prize, And by one cruelty her freed From humane cruelties.

CHORUS.

Thus heav’n does his will disguise, To scourge our curiosities, When too inquisitive we grow Of what we are forbid to know. Fond humane nature that will try [p. 118.] To sound th’ Abiss of Destiny! Alas! what profit can arise From those forbidden scrutinies, When Oracles what they foretel In such Ænigma’s still conceal, That self indulging man still makes Of deepest truths most sad mistakes! Or could our frailty comprehend The reach those riddles do intend: What boots it us when we have done, To foresee ills we cannot shun? But ’tis in man a vain pretence, To know or prophesie events, Which only execute, and move, By a dependence from above. ’Tis all imposture to deceive The foolish and inquisitive, Since none foresee what shall befal, But providence that governs all. Reason wherewith kind Heav’n has blest His creature man above the rest, Will teach humanity to know All that it should aspire unto; And whatsoever fool relies On false deceiving prophesies, Striving by conduct to evade The harms they threaten, or perswade, Too frequently himself does run [p. 119.] Into the danger he would shun, And pulls upon himself the woe Fate meant he should much later know. By such delusions vertue strays Out of those honourable ways That lead unto that glorious end, To which the noble ever bend. Whereas if vertue were the guide, Mens minds would then be fortified With constancy, that would declare Against supineness, and despair. We should events with patience wait, And not despise, nor fear our Fate.

[p. 120.]

_WICKHAM WAKENED_,

OR

_The Quakers Madrigall In Rime Dogrell_.

The Quaker and his Brats, Are born with their Hats, Which a point with two Taggs, Ty’s fast to their Craggs, Nor King nor Kesar, To such Knaves as these are, Do signifie more than a Tinker. His rudeness and pride So puffs up his hide That He’s drunk though he be no drinker.

_Chorus._

_Now since Mayor and Justice_ _Are assured that thus ’tis_ _To abate their encrease and redundance_ _Let us send them to WICKHAM_ _For there’s one will kick ’um_ _Into much better manners by abundance._

Once the Clown at his entry [p. 121.] Kist his golls to the Gentry: When the Lady took upon her, ’Twas God save your Honor: But now Lord and Pesant, Do make but one messe on’t Then farewel distinction ’twixt Plowman and Knight. If the world be thus tost The old Proverb is crost, For Joan’s as good as my Lady in th’ Light.

_Chorus._

_Now since Mayor and Justice, &c._

’Tis the Gentry that Lulls ’um While the Quaker begulls ’um: They dandle ’um in their Lapps, Who should strike of[f] their Capps; And make ’um stand bare Both to Justice and Mayor, Till when ’twill nere be faire weather; For now the proud Devel Hath brought forth this Level None Knows who and who is together.

_Now since Mayor and Justice, &c._

Now silence and listen [p. 122.] Thou shalt hear how they Christen: Mother Midnight comes out With the Babe in a Clout, Tis Rachell you must know tis, Good friends all take notice, Tis a name from the Scripture arising. And thus the dry dipper (Twere a good deed to whip her) Makes a Christning without a Baptizing.

_Now since Mayor and Justice, &c._

Their wedlocks are many, But Marriages not any, For they and their dull Sows, Like the Bulls and the mull Cows, Do couple in brutify’d fashion: But still the Official, Declares that it is all Matrimoniall Fornication.

_Now since Mayor and Justice, &c._

Their Lands and their Houses W’ont fall to their Spouses: They cannot appoint her One Turff for a Joynter. His son and his daughter, [p. 123.] Will repent it hereafter; For when the Estate is divided; For the Parents demerit Some Kinsman will inherit; Why then let them marry as I did.

_But since Mayor and Justice, &c._

Now since these mad Nations Do cheat their relations, Pray what better hap then Can we that are Chap men, Expect from their Canting, The sighing and panting? We are they use the house with a steeple, And then they may Cozen All us by the Dozen; For Israel may spoyle Pharaohs people.

_Now since Mayor and Justice, &c._

The Quaker who before Did rant and did roare; Great thrift will now tell yee on. But it tends to Rebellion: For his tipling being don, He hath bought him a gun Which hee saves from his former vain spending. O be drunk agen _Quaker_, [p. 124.] Take thy Canniken and shake her, For thou art the worse for the mending.

_Now since Mayor and Justice, &c._

Then looke we about, And give them a Rout, Before they Encumber The Land with their number: There can be no peace in These Vermins encreasing; For tis plaine to all prudent beholders, That while we neglect, They do but expect A new head to their old mans Shoulders.

_Now since Mayor and Justice_ _Are assured that thus ’tis:_ _To abate their encrease and redundance_ _Let us send them to WICKHAM_ _For there’s one will Kick ’um_ _Into much better manners by abundance._

[Here ends the 1674 edition; for account of which, and the 1661 _Merry Drollery_, see our present _Appendix_, Parts Third and Fourth.]

MERRY DROLLERY,

OR, A COLLECTION

{ Jovial Poems, Of { Merry Songs, { Witty Drolleries.

Intermixed with Pleasant CATCHES.

The First Part.

Collected by _W.N._ _C.B._ _R.S._ _J.G._ Lovers of Wit.

[1s. 3d.]

LONDON, Printed by _J. W._ for _P. H._ and are to be Sold at the _New Exchange, Westminster_-Hall, Fleet Street, and _Pauls_ Church-Yard. [May 1661.]

EXTRA SONGS & POEMS,

IN

Merry Drollery, 1661:

(_Omitted from the Editions of 1670, 1691, when New Songs were substituted for them._)

I.—IN PART FIRST.

[fol. 2.]

_A Puritan._

A Puritan of late, And eke a holy Sister, A Catechizing sate, And fain he would have kist her For his Mate.

But she a Babe of grace, A Child of reformation, Thought kissing a disgrace, A Limbe of prophanation In that place.

He swore by yea and nay [fol. 2b.] He would have no denial, The Spirit would it so, She should endure a tryal Ere she go.

Why swear you so, quoth she? Indeed, my holy Brother, You might have forsworn be Had it been to another[,] Not to me.

He laid her on the ground, His Spirits fell a ferking, Her Zeal was in a sound, [i.e. swoon,] He edified her Merkin Upside down.

And when their leave they took, And parted were asunder, My Muse did then awake, And I turn’d Ballad-monger For their sake.

[page 11.]

_Loves Dream._

I dreamt my Love lay in her bed, It was my chance to take her, Her arms and leggs abroad were spread, She slept, I durst not wake her; O pitty it were, that one so rare Should crown her head with willow: The Tresses of her golden hair Did crown her lovely Pillow. [_al. lect._, Did kisse]

Me thought her belly was a hill Much like a mount of pleasure, At foot thereof there springs a well, The depth no man can measure; About the pleasant Mountain head There grows a lofty thicket, Whither two beagles travelled To rouze a lively Pricket.

They hunted him with chearful cry About that pleasant Mountain, Till he with heat was forc’d to fly And slip into that Fountain; The Dogs they follow’d to the brink, And there at him they baited: They plunged about and would not sink, [p. 12.] His coming out they waited.

Then forth he came as one half lame, All very faint and tired, Betwixt her legs he hung his head, As heavy heart desired; My dogs then being refresht again, And she of sleep bereaved, She dreamt she had me in her arms, And she was not deceived.

_The good Old Cause._

Now _Lambert’s_ sunk, and valiant M—— [_Monk_] Does ape his General _Cromwel_, And _Arthur’s_ Court, cause time is short, Does rage like devils from hell; Let’s mark the fate and course of State, Who rises when t’other is sinking, And believe when this is past ’Twill be our turn at last To bring the Good Old Cause by drinking.

First, red nos’d _Nol_ he swallowed all, His colour shew’d he lov’d it: But _Dick_ his Son, as he were none, Gav’t off, and hath reprov’d it; But that his foes made bridge of’s nose, And cry’d him down for a Protector, Proving him to be a fool that would undertake to rule And not drink and fight like _Hector_.

The Grecian lad he drank like mad, [p. 13.] Minding no work above it; And _Sans question_ kill’d _Ephestion_ Because he’d not approve it; He got command where God had land, And like a _Maudlin_ Yonker, When he tippled all and wept, he laid him down to sleep, Having no more Worlds to conquer.

Rump-Parliament would needs invent An Oath of abjuration, But Obedience and Allegiance are now come into fashion: Then here’s a boul with heart and soul To _Charles_, and let all say Amen to ’t; Though they brought the Father down From a triple Kingdom Crown, We’ll drink the Son up again to ’t.

[p. 14.]

_A Song._

Riding to _London_, on _Dunstable_ way I met with a Maid on _Midsummer_ day, Her Eyes they did sparkle like Stars in the sky, Her face it was fair, and her forehead was high: The more I came to her, the more I did view her, The better I lik’d her pretty sweet face, [p. 15.] I could not forbear her, but still I drew near her, And then I began to tell her my case:

Whither walk’st thou, my pretty sweet soul? She modestly answer’d to _Hockley-i’th’-hole_. I ask’d her her business; she had a red cheek, She told me, she went a poor service to seek; I said, it was pitty she should leave the City, And settle her self in a Country Town; She said it was certain it was her hard fortune To go up a maiden, and so to come down.

With that I alighted, and to her I stept, I took her by th’ hand, and this pretty maid wept; Sweet[,] weep not, quoth I: I kist her soft lip; I wrung her by th’ hand, and my finger she nipt; So long there I woo’d her, such reasons I shew’d her, That she my speeches could not controul, But cursied finely, and got up behind me, And back she rode with me to _Hockley-i’-th’-hole_.

When I came to _Hockley_ at the sign of the Cock, By [a]lighting I chanced to see her white smock, It lay so alluring upon her round knee, I call’d for a Chamber immediately; I hugg’d her, I tugg’d her, I kist her, I smugg’d her, And gently I laid her down on a bed, With nodding and pinking, with sighing & winking, She told me a tale of her Maidenhead.

While she to me this story did tell, I could not forbear, but on her I fell; I tasted the pleasure of sweetest delight, [p. 16.] We took up our lodging, and lay there all night; With soft arms she roul’d me, and oft times told me, She loved me deerly, even as her own soul: But on the next morrow we parted with sorrow, And so I lay with her at _Hockley-i’th’-hole_.

[p. 27.]

_Maidens delight._

A Young man of late, that lackt a mate, And courting came unto her, With Cap, and Kiss, and sweet Mistris, But little could he do her; Quoth she, my friend, let kissing end, Where with you do me smother, And run at Ring with t’other thing: A little o’ th’ t’on with t’other.

Too much of ought is good for nought, Then leave this idle kissing; Your barren suit will yield no fruit If the other thing be missing: As much as this a man may kiss His sister or his mother; He that will speed must give with need A little o’ th’ t’on with t’other.

Who bids a Guest unto a feast, To sit by divers dishes, They please their mind untill they find Change, please each Creatures wishes; With beak and bill I have my fill, With measure running over; The Lovers dish now do I wish, A little o’ th’ t’on with t’other.

To gull me thus, like _Tantalus_, To make me pine with plenty, With shadows store, and nothing more, [p. 28.] Your substance is so dainty; A fruitless tree is like to thee, Being but a kissing lover, With leaves joyn fruit, or else be mute; A little o’ th’ t’on with t’other.

Sharp joyn’d with flat, no mirth to that; A low note and a higher, Where Mean and Base keeps time and place, Such musick maids desire: All of one string doth loathing bring, Change, is true Musicks Mother, Then leave my face, and sound the base, A little o’ th’ t’on with t’other.

The golden mine lies just between [? golden mean] The high way and the lower; He that wants wit that way to hit Alas[!] hath little power; You’l miss the clout if that you shoot Much higher, or much lower: Shoot just between, your arrows keen, A little o’ th’ t’on with t’other.

No smoake desire without a fire, No wax without a Writing: If right you deal give Deeds to Seal, And straight fall to inditing; Thus do I take these lines I make, As to a faithful Lover, In order he’ll first write, then seal, A little o’ th’ t’on with t’other.

Thus while she staid the young man plaid [p. 29.] Not high, but low defending; [? descending;] Each stroak he strook so well she took, She swore it was past mending; Let swaggering boys that think by toyes Their Lovers to fetch over, Lip-labour save, for the maids must have A little o’ th’ t’on with t’other.

[p. 32.]

_A Song._

A Young man walking all alone Abroad to take the air, It was his chance to meet a maid Of beauty passing fair: Desiring her of curtesie Down by him for to sit; She answered him most modestly, O nay, O nay not yet.

Forty Crowns I will give thee, Sweet heart, in good red Gold, If that thy favour I may win With thee for to be bold: She answered him with modesty, And with a fervent wit, Think’st thou I’ll stain my honesty? O nay, O nay not yet.

Gold and silver is but dross, [p. 33.] And worldly vanity; There’s nothing I esteem so much As my Virginity; What do you think I am so loose, [_al. lect._, mad] And of so little wit, As for to lose my maidenhead? O nay, O nay not yet.

Although our Sex be counted base, And easie to be won, You see that I can find a check Dame Natures Games to shun; Except it be in modesty, That may become me fit, Think’st I am weary of my honesty? O nay, O nay not yet.

The young man stood in such a dump, Not giving no more words, He gave her that in quietness Which love to maids affords: The maid was ta’n as in a trance, And such a sudden fit, As she had almost quite forgot Her nay, O nay not yet.

The way to win a womans love Is only to be brief, And give her that in quietness Will ease her of her grief: For kindness they will not refuse When young men proffer it, Although their common speeches be O nay, O nay not yet.

[p. 56.]

_Admiral ~Deans~ Funeral._

1.

_Nick Culpepper_, and _William Lilly_, Though you were pleas’d to say they were silly, Yet something these prophesi’d true, I tell you, [? ye,] Which no body can deny.

2.

In the month of _May_, I tell you truly, Which neither was in _June_ nor _July_, The Dutch began to be unruly, Which no body can deny.

3.

Betwixt our _England_ and their _Holland_, Which neither was in _France_ nor _Poland_, But on the Sea, where there was no Land, Which no body can deny.

4.

They joyn’d the Dutch, and the English Fleet, [In] Our Authors opinion then they did meet, Some saw’t that never more shall see’t, Which no body can deny.

5.

There were many mens hearts as heavy as lead, [p. 57.] Yet would not believe _Dick Dean_ to be dead, Till they saw his Body take leave of his head, Which no body can deny.

6.

Then after the sad departure of him, There was many a man lost a Leg or a Lim, And many were drown’d ’cause they could not swim, Which no body can deny.

7.

One cries, lend me thy hand[,] good friend, Although he knew it was to no end, I think, quoth he, I am going to the Fiend, Which no body can deny.

8.

Some, ’twas reported, were kill’d with a Gun, And some stood that knew not whether to run, There was old taking leave of Father and Son, Which no body can deny.

9.

There’s a rumour also, if we may believe, We have many gay Widdows now given to grieve, ’Cause unmannerly Husbands ne’er came to take leave, Which no body can deny.

10.

The Ditty is sad of our _Deane_ to sing; To say truth, it was a pittiful thing To take off his head and not leave him a ring, Which no body can deny.

11.

From _Greenwich_ toward the Bear at Bridge foot He was wafted with wind that had water to’t, But I think they brought the devil to boot, Which no body can deny.

12.

The heads on _London_ Bridge upon Poles, [p. 58.] That once had bodies, and honester soules Than hath the Master of the Roules, Which no body can deny,

13.

They grieved for this great man of command, Yet would not his head amongst theirs should stand; He dy’d on the Water, and they on the Land, Which no body can deny.

14.

I cannot say, they look’d wisely upon him, Because people cursed that parcel was on him; He has fed fish and worms, if they do not wrong him, Which no body can deny.

15.

The Old Swan, as he passed by, Said, she would sing him a dirge, and lye down & die: Wilt thou sing to a bit of a body, quoth I? Which no body can deny.

16.

The Globe on the bank, I mean, on the Ferry, Where Gentle and simple might come & be merry, Admired at the change from a Ship to a Wherry, Which no body can deny.

17.

_Tom Godfreys_ Bears began for to roare, Hearing such moans one side of the shore, They knew they should never see _Dean_ any more, Which no body can deny.

18.

Queenhithe, _Pauls_-Wharf, and the Fryers also, Where now the Players have little to do, Let him pass without any tokens of woe, Which no body can deny.

19. [p. 59.]

Quoth th’ Students o’th’ Temple, I know not their names, Looking out of their Chambers into the Thames, The Barge fits him better than did the great _James_, Which no body can deny.

20.

_Essex_ House, late called Cuckold’s Hall, The Folk in the Garden staring over the wall, Said, they knew that once _Pride_ would have a fall, Which no body can deny.

21.

At Strand Gate, a little farther then, Were mighty Guns numbred to sixty and ten, Which neither hurt Children, Women, nor Men, Which no body can deny.

22.

They were shot over times one, two, three, or four, ’Tis thought one might ’heard th’ bounce to th’ Tower, Folk report, the din made the Buttermilk sower, Which no body can deny.

23.

Had old Goodman _Lenthal_ or _Allen_ but heard ’um, The noise worse than _Olivers_ voice would ’fear’d ’um, And out of their small wits would have scar’d ’um. Which no body can deny.

24.

Sommerset House, where once did the Queen lye, And afterwards _Ireton_ in black, and not green, by, The Canon clattered the Windows really, Which no body can deny.

25.

The _Savoys_ mortified spittled Crew, If I lye, as _Falstaffe_ saies, I am a Jew, Gave the Hearse such a look it would make a man spew, Which no body can deny.

26.

The House of S—— that Fool and Knave, [p. 60.] Had so much wit left lamentation to save From accompanying a traytorly Rogue to his grave, Which no body can deny.

27.

The Exchange, and the ruines of _Durham_ House eke, Wish’d such sights might be seen each day i’ th’ week, A Generals Carkass without a Cheek, Which no body can deny.

28.

The House that lately Great _Buckinghams_ was, Which now Sir _Thomas Fairfax_ has, Wish’d it might be Sir _Thomas’s_ fate so to pass, Which no body can deny.

29.

_Howards_ House, _Suffolks_ great Duke of Yore, Sent him one single sad wish, and no more, He might flote by _Whitehall_ in purple gore, Which no body can deny.

30.

Something I should of _Whitehall_ say, But the Story is so sad, and so bad, by my fay, That it turns my wits another way, Which no body can deny.

31.

To _Westminster_, to the Bridge of the Kings, The water the Barge, and the Barge-men[,] brings The small remain of the worst of things, Which no body can deny.

32.

They interr’d him in triumph, like _Lewis_ the eleven, In the famous Chappel of _Henry_ the seven, But his soul is scarce gone the right way to heaven, Which no body can deny.

[p. 64.]

_A merrie Journey to ~France~._

I went from _England_ into _France_, Not for to learn to sing nor dance, To ride, nor yet to fence, But for to see strange sights, as those That have return’d without a nose They carried away from hence.

As I to _Paris_ rode along, Like to _John Dory_ in the Song, Upon a holy Tyde, Where I an ambling Nag did get, I hope he is not paid for yet, I spurr’d him on each side.

First, to Saint _Dennis_ then I came, To see the sights at _Nostredame_, The man that shews them snaffles: That who so list, may there believe To see the Virgin _Maries_ Sleeve, And eke her odd Pantafles. [? old]

The breast-milk, and the very Gown That she did wear in _Bethlehem_ Town, When in the Barn she lay: But men may think that is a Fable, [p. 65.] For such good cloaths ne’er came in Stable Upon a lock of hay.

No Carpenter can by his trade Have so much Coin as to have made A gown of such rich Stuff: But the poor fools must, for their credit, Believe, and swear old _Joseph_ did it, ’Cause he received enough. [_al. lect._, deserv’d]

There is the Lanthorn which the Jews, When _Judas_ led them forth, did use, It weighs my weight down-right; And then you must suppose and think The Jews therein did put a Link, And then ’t was wondrous bright. [? light]

There is one Saint has lost his nose, Another his head, but not his toes, An elbow, and a thumb; When we had seen those holy rags, We went to the Inne and took our Nags, And so away we come.

We came to _Paris_, on the _Seine_, ’Tis wondrous fair, but little clean, ’Tis _Europes_ greatest Town: How strong it is I need not tell it, For every one may easily smell it As they ride up and down.

There’s many rare sights for to see, The Palace, the great Gallery, Place-Royal doth excell; The Newbridge, and the Statute stairs, [p. 66.] At _Rotterdam_, Saint _Christophers_, [? _Nostre Dame_] The Steeple bears the Bell.

For Arts, the University, And for old Cloaths, the Frippery, The Queen the same did build; Saint _Innocent[s’]_, whose earth devours Dead Corps in four and twenty hours, And there the King was kill’d.

The _Bastile_, and Saint _Dennis_ street, The _Chastelet_, like _London_ Fleet; The Arsenal is no toy; But if you will see the pretty thing, Oh go to Court and see the King, Oh he is a hopeful boy.

He is of all [his] Dukes and Peers Reverenc’d for wit as well as years; Nor must you think it much That he with little switches play, And can make fine dirt-pies of Clay, O never King made such.

Birds round about his Chamber stands, The which he feeds with his own hands, ’Tis his humility: And if they want [for] any thing, They may but whistle to their King And he comes presently.

A bird that can but catch a Fly, Or prate to please his Majesty, [_al. lect._, doth please] It’s known to every one; The Duke _De Guise_ gave him a Parrot, [p. 67.] And he had twenty Cannons for it For his great Gallion.

O that it e’er might be my hap To catch the bird that in the Map They call the Indian Chuck, I’d give it him, and hope to be As great and wise a man as he, Or else I had ill luck.

Besides, he hath a pretty firk, Taught him by Nature, for to work In Iron with much ease: And then unto the Forge he goes, There he knocks, and there he blows, And makes both locks and Keys.

Which puts a doubt in every one Whether he be _Mars_ or _Vulcans_ Son, For few believe his Mother: For his Incestuous House could not Have any Children, unless got By Uncle, or by Brother.

Now for these virtues needs he must Intituled be _Lewis_ the Just, _Heneries_ Great Heir; Where to his Stile we add more words, Better to call him King of Birds Than of the Great _Navar_.

His Queen, she is a little Wench, Was born in _Spain_, speaks little French, Ne’er like to be a Mother: But let them all say what they will, [p. 68.] I do beleeve, and shall do still, As soon the one as t’other.

Then why should _Lewis_ be so just, Contented be to take his lust [? he] With his lascivious Mate, Or suffer this his little Queen, From all her Sex that e’er had been, Thus to degenerate?

’Twere charity to have it known, Love other Children as his own To him it were no shame: For why should he near greater be Than was his Father _Henery_, Who, some say, did the same?

[p. 85.]

_Englands Woe._

I mean to speak of _Englands_ sad fate, To help in mean time the King, and his Mate, That’s ruled by an Antipodian State, Which no body can deny.

But had these seditious times been when We had the life of wise Poet _Ben_, Parsons had never been Parliament men, Which no body can deny.

Had Statesmen read the Bible throughout, And not gone by the Bible so round about, They would have ruled themselves without doubt, Which no body can deny.

But Puritans now bear all the sway, They’ll have no Bishops as most men say, But God send them better another day, Which no body can deny.

Zealous _Pryn_ has threatned a great downfall, To cut off long locks that is bushy and small, But I hope he will not take ears and all, Which no body can deny.

_Prin_, [and] _Burton_, saies women that’s leud and loose, Shall wear no stallion locks for a bush, [_Italian_ ... abuse] They’ll only have private boyes for their use, [_al. lect._, Keyes] Which no body can deny.

They’ll not allow what pride it brings, [p. 86.] Nor favours in hats, nor no such things, They’l convert all ribbands to Bible strings, Which no body can deny.

God bless our King and Parliament, And send he may make such K—— repent [Knaves] That breed our Land such discontent, Which no body can deny.

And bless our Queen and Prince also, And all true Subjects both high and low, The brownings can pray for themselves you know, Which no body can deny.

[p. 88.]

_Ladies Delight._

Hang Chastity[!] it is for the milking pail, Ladies ought to be more valiant: Not to be confin’d in body and mind Is the temper of a right she Gallant; Hither all you Amazons that are true To this famous Dildoe profession, She is no bonny Lass that fears to transgress The Act against Fornication.

The Country Dame, that loves the old sport, Or delights in a new invention, May be fitted here, if they please to repair To this high ranting Convention; If you are weary of your Coyn, Or of your Chastity, Here is costly toyes, or hot-metled boyes, That will ease you presently.

Both curious heads and wanton tailes May here have satisfaction; Here is all kind of ware, that useful are For pride or provocation; Here’s Drugs to paint, or Powder to perfume, Or Ribbon of the best fashion; Here’s dainty meat will fit you for the feat Beyond all expectation.

Here’s curious patches to set out your faces, [p. 89.] And make you resemble the sky; Or here’s looking-glasses to shew the poor Asses, Your Husbands, their destiny; Here’s bawbles too to play withall, And some to stand in stead; This place doth afford both for your brow, And stallions for your head.

Old Ladies here may be reliev’d, If Ushers they do lack, Or if they’ll not discharge their husbands at large, But grow foundred in the back; Green visag’d Damsels, that are sick Of a troubled Maidenhead, May here, if they please, be cur’d of the disease And their green colours turn’d to red.

[p. 95.]

_The Tyrannical Wife._

It was a man, and a jolly old man, Come love me whereas I lay, And he would marry a fair young wife The clean contrary way.

He woo’d her for to wed, to wed, Come love me whereas I lay, And even she kickt him out of the bed The clean contrary way.

Then for her dinner she looked due, Come love me whereas I lay, Or else would make her husband rue The clean contrary way.

She made him wash both dish and spoon, Come love me whereas I lay, He had better a gone on his head to _Rome_ The clean contrary way.

She proved a gallant huswife soon, Come love me whereas I lay, She was every morning up by noon The clean contrary way,

She made him go to wash and wring, [p. 96.] Come love me whereas I lay, And every day to dance and sing The clean contrary way.

She made him do a worse thing than this, Come love me whereas I lay, To father a child was none of his, The clean contrary way.

Hard by a bush, and under a brier, Come love me whereas I lay, I saw a holy Nun lye under a Frier The clean contrary way.

To end my Song I think it long, Come love me whereas I lay, Come give me some drink and I’ll be gone The clean contrary way.

[p. 134.]

_The Tinker._

[Some of these verses are evidently misplaced: We keep them unchanged, but add side-notes to rectify.]

There was a Lady in this Land That lov’d a Gentleman, And could not have him secretly, As she would now and then, Till she devis’d to dress him like A Tinker in Vocation: And thus, disguis’d, she bid him say, He came to clout her Cauldron.

His face full fair she smother’s black [2.] That he might not be known, A leather Jerkin on his back, [p. 135.] His breeches rent and torn; With speed he passed to the place, To knock he did not spare: Who’s that, quoth the lady[’s Porter] then, That raps so rashly there.

I am a Tinker, then quoth he, [3.] That worketh for my Fee, If you have Vessels for to mend, Then bring them unto me: For I have brass within my bag, And target in my Apron, And with my skill I can well clout, And mend a broken Cauldron.

Quoth she, our Cauldron hath most need, [? verse 7.] At it we will begin, For it will hold you half an hour To trim it out and in: But first give me a glass of drink, The best that we do use, For why[,] it is a Tinkers guise No good drink to refuse.

Then to the Brew-house hyed they fast, [? verse 8.] This broken piece to mend, He said he would no company, His Craft should not be kend, But only to your self, he said, That must pay me my Fee: I am no common Tinker, But work most curiously.

And I also have made a Vow, [? verse 9. p. 136.] I’ll keep it if I may, There shall no mankind see my work, That I may stop or stay: Then barred he the Brew-house door, The place was very dark, He cast his Budget from his back, And frankly fell to work.

And whilst he play’d and made her sport, [? verse 10.] Their craft the more to hide, She with his hammer stroke full hard Against the Cauldron side: Which made them all to think, and say, The Tinker wrought apace, And so be sure he did indeed, But in another place.

The Porter went into the house, [? verse 4.] Where Servants us’d to dine, Telling his Lady, at the Gate There staid a Tinker fine: Quoth he, much Brass he wears about, And Target in his Apron, Saying, that he hath perfect skill To mend your broken Cauldron.

Quoth she, of him we have great need, [? verse 5.] Go Porter, let him in, If he be cunning in his Craft He shall much money win: But wisely wist she who he was, Though nothing she did say, For in that sort she pointed him To come that very day.

When he before the Lady came, [? verse 6. p. 137.] Disguised stood he there, He blinked blithly, and did say, God save you Mistris fair; Thou’rt welcome, Tinker, unto me, Thou seem’st a man of skill, All broken Vessels for to mend, Though they be ne’er so ill; I am the best man of my Trade, Quoth he, in all this Town, For any Kettle, Pot, or Pan, Or clouting of a Cauldron.

Quoth he, fair Lady, unto her, [verse 11.] My business I have ended, Go quickly now, and tell your Lord The Cauldron I have mended: As for the Price, that I refer Whatsoever he do say, Then come again with diligence, I would I were away.

The Lady went unto her Lord, [12.] Where he walkt up and down, Sir, I have with the Tinker been, The best in all the Town: His work he doth exceeding well, Though he be wondrous dear, He asks no less than half a Mark For that he hath done here.

Quoth he, that Target is full dear, [13.] I swear by Gods good Mother: Quoth she, my Lord, I dare protest, ’Tis worth five hundred other; He strook it in the special place, [p. 138.] Where greatest need was found, Spending his brass and target both, To make it safe and sound.

Before all Tinkers in the Land, That travels up and down, Ere they should earn a Groat of mine, This man should earn a Crown: Or were you of his Craft so good, And none but I it kend, Then would it save me many a Mark, Which I am fain to spend.

The Lady to her Coffer went, And took a hundred Mark, And gave the Tinker for his pains, That did so well his work; Tinker, said she, take here thy fee, Sith here you’ll not remain, But I must have my Cauldron now Once scoured o’er again.

Then to the former work they went, No man could them deny; The Lady said, good Tinker call The next time thou com’st by: For why[,] thou dost thy work so well, And with so good invention, If still thou hold thy hand alike, Take here a yearly Pension.

And ev’ry quarter of the year Our Cauldron thou shalt view; Nay, by my faith, her Lord gan say, [p. 139.] I’d rather buy a new; Then did the Tinker take his leave Both of the Lord and Lady, And said, such work as I can do, To you I will be ready. From all such Tinkers of the trade God keep my Wife, I pray, That comes to clout her Cauldron so, I’ll swinge him if I may.

[A song follows, beginning “There were three birds that built very low.” With other four, commencing respectively on pp. 146, 153, 161, and 168, it is degraded from position here; for substantial reasons; and (with a few others, afterwards to be specified,) given separately. Nothing but the absolute necessity of making this a genuine Antiquarian Reprint, worthy of the confidence of all mature students of our Early Literature, compels the Editor to admit such prurient and imbecile pieces at all. They are tokens of a debased taste that would be inconceivable, did we not remember that, not more than twenty years ago, crowds of MP.s, Lawyers, and Baronets listened with applause, and encored tumultuously, songs far more objectionable than these (if possible) in London Music Halls, and Supper Rooms. Those who recollect what R...s sang (such as “The Lock of Hair,” “My name it is Sam Hall, Chimbley Sweep,” &c.), and what “Judge N——” said at his Jury Court, need not be astonished at anything which was sung or written in the days of the Commonwealth and at the Restoration. A few words we suppress into dots in _Supplement_, &c.]

[p. 148.]

_The Maid a bathing._

Upon a Summers day, ’Bout middle of the morn, I spy’d a Lass that lay Stark nak’d as she was born; ’Twas by a running Pool, Within a meddow green, And there she lay to cool, Not thinking to be seen.

Then did she by degrees Wash every part in rank, Her Arms, her breasts, her thighs, Her Belly, and her Flank; Her legs she opened wide, My eyes I let down steal, Untill that I espy’d Dame natures privy Seal.

I stript me to the skin, And boldly stept unto her, Thinking her love to win, I thus began to wooe her: Sweet heart be not so coy, Time’s sweet in pleasure spent, She frown’d, and cry’d, away, Yet, smiling, gave consent.

Then blushing, down she slid, [p. 149.] Seeming to be amazed, But heaving up her head, Again she on me gazed; I seeing that, lay down, And boldly ’gan to kiss, And she did smile, and frown, And so fell to our bliss.

Then lay she on the ground As though she had been sped, As women in a swoon, Yield up, and yet not dead: So did this lively maid, When hot bloud fill’d her vein, And coming to her self she said, I thank you for your pain.

[Part First, 1661, ends on pages 171-175, with _The new Medley of the Country man, Citizen, and Souldier_ (which in the 1670 and 1691 editions are on pp. 182-187). The 1661 edition of SECOND PART has a complete title-page of its own, in black and red, exactly agreeing with its own First Part, except that the words are prefixed “THE || Second Part || OF.” A contemporary MS. note in Ant. à Wood’s copy, says, of each part, “1s. 3d.” as the original price. There is also, in the 1661 edition (and in that only), another address, here, which runs as follows:—

“To the Reader:

“Courteous Reader,

“_We do here present thee with the Second part of ~Merry Drollery~, not doubting but it will find good Reception with the more Ingenious; The deficiency of this shall be supplied in a third, when time shall serve: In the mean time_

Farewel.”

The _Third Part_, mentioned above, never appeared.

The woodcut Initial W represents Salome, the daughter of Herodias, receiving from the Roman-like _Stratiotes_ the head of John the Baptist (whose body lies at their feet), she holding her charger. The Editor hopes to engrave it for the Introduction to this present volume.

The pagination commences afresh in the 1661 Second Part; but continues in the 1670, and the 1691 editions.]

Merry Drollery, 1661:

EXTRA SONGS IN PART SECOND.

(_Omitted in 1670 and 1691 Editions._)

[Part 2nd., p. 21.]

_The Force of Opportunity._

You gods that rule upon the Plains, Where nothing but delight remains; You Nymphs that haunt the Fairy Bowers, Exceeding _Flora_ with her flowers; The fairest woman that earth can have Sometimes forbidden fruit will crave, For any woman, whatsoe’r she be, Will yield to Opportunity.

Your Courtly Ladies that attends, May sometimes dally with their friends; And she that marries with a Knight May let his Lodging for a night; And she that’s only Worshipful Perhaps another friend may gull: For any woman, _&c._

The Chamber-maid that’s newly married Perhaps another man hath carried; Your City Wives will not be alone, Although their husbands be from home; The fairest maid in all the town For green will change a russet Gown; For any woman, _&c._

And she that loves a Zealous brother, May change her Pulpit for another; Physitians study for their skill, [p. 22.] Whiles wives their Urinals do fill; The Lawyers wife may take her pride Whilst he their Causes doth decide; For every woman, _&c._

The Country maid, that milks the Cow, And takes great pains to work and do, I’th’ fields may meet her friend or brother, And save her soul to get another; And she that to the Market[’]s gone May horn her man ere she come home; For any woman, _&c._

You Goddesses and Nymphs so bright, The greater Star, the lesser light; To Lords, as well as mean estates, Belongeth husbands horned baites, [? pates.] Then give your Ladies leave to prove The things the which your selves do love; For any woman, what ere she be, Will yield to Opportunity.

[p. 22.]

_Lusty Tobacco._

You that in love do mean to sport, Tobacco, Tobacco, First take a wench of a meaner sort, Tobacco, Tobacco, But let her have a comely grace, Like one that came from _Venus_ race, Then take occasion, time, and place, To give her some Tobacco.

You —— gamesters must be bound, [p. 23.] Tobacco, Tobacco, Their bullets must be plump and round, Tobacco, Tobacco, Your Stopper must be stiff and strong, Your Pipe it must be large and long, Or else she’ll say you do her wrong, She’ll scorn your weak Tobacco.

And if that you do please her well, Tobacco, Tobacco, All others then she will expell, Tobacco, Tobacco. She will be ready at your call To take Tobacco, Pipe, and all, So willing she will be to fall To take your strong Tobacco.

And when you have her favour won, Tobacco, Tobacco, You must hold out as you begun, Tobacco, Tobacco, Or else she’ll quickly change her mind, And seek some other Friend to find, That better may content her mind In giving her Tobacco.

And if you do not do her right, Tobacco, Tobacco, She’ll take a course to burn your Pipe, Tobacco, Tobacco, And if you ask what she doth mean, She’ll say she doth’t to make it clean, Then take you heed of such a Quean For spoyling your Tobacco,

As I my self dare boldly speak, [p. 24.] Tobacco, Tobacco, Which makes my very heart to break, Tobacco, Tobacco, For she that I take for my friend, Hath my Tobacco quite consum’d, She hath spoil’d my Pipe, and there’s an end Of all my good Tobacco.

[p. 29.]

_On the Goldsmiths-Committee._

Come Drawer, some wine, Or we’ll pull down the Sign, For we are all jovial Compounders: We’ll make the house ring, With healths to the KING, And confusion light on his Confounders.

Since Goldsmiths Committee Affords us no pitty, Our sorrows in wine we will steep ’um, They force us to take Two Oaths, but we’ll make A third, that we ne’r mean to keep ’um.

And next, who e’r sees, We drink on our knees, To the King, may he thirst that repines. A fig for those traitors That look to our waters, They have nothing to do with our wines.

And next here’s a Cup To the Queen, fill it up, Were it poyson, we would make an end o’nt: May _Charles_ and She meet, And tread under feet Both Presbyter and Independent.

To the Prince, and all others, His Sisters and Brothers, As low in condition as high born, We’ll drink this, and pray, [p. 30.] That shortly they may, See all them that wrongs them at _Tyburn_.

And next here’s three bowls To all gallant souls, That for the King did, and will venter, May they flourish when those That are his, and their foes Are hang’d and ram’d down to the Center.

And next let a Glass To our undoers pass, Attended with two or three curses: May plagues sent from hell Stuff their bodies as well, As the Cavaliers Coyn doth their purses.

May the _Cannibals_ of _Pym_ Eat them up limb by limb, Or a hot Fever scorch ’um to embers, Pox keep ’um in bed Untill they are dead, And repent for the loss of their Members.

And may they be found In all to abound, Both with heaven and the countries anger, May they never want Fractions, Doubts, Fears, and Distractions, Till the Gallow-tree choaks them from danger.

[p. 31.]

_Insatiate Desire._

O That I could by any Chymick Art To sperme, convert my spirit and my heart, That at one thrust I might my soul translate, And in her w... my self degenerate, There steep’d in lust nine months I would remain, Then boldly —— my passage back again.

[p. 32.]

_The Horn exalted._

Listen Lordings to my Story, I will sing of Cuckolds glory, And thereat let none be vext, None doth know whose turn is next; And seeing it is in most mens scorn, ’Tis Charity to advance the _Horn_.

_Diana_ was a Virgin pure, Amongst the rest chaste and demure; Yet you know well, I am sure, What _Acteon_ did endure, If men have _Horns_ for [such] as she, [p. 33.] I pray thee tell me what are we?

Let thy friend enjoy his rest, What though he wear _Acteons_ creast? Malice nor Venome at him spit, He wears but what the gods thinks fit; Confess he is by times Recorder Knight of great _Diana’s_ Order.

_Luna_ was no venial sinner, Yet she hath a man within her, And to cut off Cuckolds scorns, She decks her head with Silver horns And if the moon in heaven[’]s thus drest, The men on earth like it are blest.

[_A Droll of a Louse_ (p. 33.), seven verses of seven lines each, beginning “Discoveries of late have been made by adventures,” is reserved. _Vide ante_ p. 230.]

[p. 38.]

_A Letany._

From _Essex_ Anabaptist Laws, And from _Norfolk_ Plough-tail Laws, [? taws] From _Abigails_ pure tender Zeal, Whiter than a _Brownists_ veal, From a Serjeants Temple pickle, And the Brethrens _Conventicle_, From roguish meetings, or Cutpurse hall, And _New-England_, worst of all, _Libera nos Domine_.

From the cry of _Ludgate_ debters, [p. 39.] And the noise of Prisoners Fetters, From groans of them that have the Pox, And coyl of Beggars in the Stocks, From roar o’ th’ _Bridge_, and _Bedlam_ prate, And with Wives met at _Billingsgate_, From scritch-owles, and dogs night-howling, From Sailers cry at their main bowling, _Libera nos Domine_.

From _Frank Wilsons_ trick of _mopping_, And her ulcered h... with _popping_, From Knights o’ th’ post, and from decoys, From _Whores_, _Bawds_, and roaring _Boys_, From a _Bulker_ in the dark, And _Hannah_ with St. _Tantlins_ Clark, From Biskets Bawds have rubb’d their gums, And from purging-Comfit plums, _Libera nos Domine_.

From _Sue Prats_ Son, the fair and witty, The Lord of _Portsmouth_, sweet and pretty, From her that creeps up _Holbourne_ hill, And _Moll_ that cries, _God-dam-me_ still, From backwards-ringing of the Bells, From both the Counters and Bridewells, From blind _Robbin_ and his _Bess_, And from a Purse that’s penniless, _Libera nos Domine_.

From gold-finders, and night-weddings, From _Womens_ eyes false liquid sheddings, From _Rocks_, _Sands_, and _Cannon-shot_, And from a stinking Chamber-pot, From a hundred years old sinner, [p. 40.] And Duke _Humphreys_ hungry dinner, From stinking breath of an old Aunt[,] From Parritors and Pursevants[,] _Libera nos Domine_.

From a Dutchmans snick and sneeing, From a nasty Irish being[,] From a _Welchmans_ lofty bragging, And a Monsieur loves not drabbing,

From begging Scotchmen and their pride, From striving ’gainst both wind and tide, From too much strong Wine and Beer, Enforcing us to domineer, _Libera nos Domine_.

[Following the above comes a group of more than usually objectionable Songs, viz., _John_ and _Joan_, beginning “If you will give ear” (p. 46); “Full forty times over I have strived to win,” same title (p. 61); The Answer to it, “He is a fond Lover that doateth on scorn” (p. 62); Love’s Tenement, “If any one do want a house” (p. 64); and A New Year’s Gift, “Fair Lady, for your New Year’s Gift” (p. 81). These are all reserved for the Chamber of Horrors. _Vide ante_, p. 230.]

[p. 103.]

_New ~England~ described._

Among the purifidian Sect, I mean the counterfeit Elect: Zealous bankrupts, Punks devout, Preachers suspended, rabble rout, Let them sell all, and out of hand Prepare to go to _New England_, To build new _Babel_ strong and sure, Now call’d a Church unspotted pure.

There Milk from Springs, like Rivers, flows, And Honey upon hawthorn grows; Hemp, Wool, and Flax, there grows on trees, The mould is fat, it cuts like cheese; All fruits and herbs spring in the fields, Tobacco it good plenty yields; And there shall be a Church most pure, Where you may find salvation sure.

There’s Venison of all sorts great store, Both Stag, and buck, wild Goat, and Boar, And all so tame, that you with ease May take your fill, eat what you please; There’s Beavers plenty, yea, so many, That you may buy two skins a penny, Above all this, a Church most pure, Where to be saved you may be sure.

There’s flight of Fowl do cloud the skie, Great Turkies of threescore pound weight, As big as Estriges, there Geese, [p. 104.] With thanks, are sold for pence a piece; Of Duck and Mallard, Widgeon, Teale, Twenty for two-pence make a meale; Yea, and a Church unspotted pure, Within whose bosome all are sure.

Loe, there in shoals all sorts of fish, Of the salt seas, and water fresh: Ling, Cod, Poor-John, and Haberdine, Are taken with the Rod and Line; A painful fisher on the shore May take at least twenty an houre; Besides all this a Church most pure, Where you may live and dye secure.

There twice a year all sorts of Grain Doth down from heaven, like hailstones, rain; You ne’r shall need to sow nor plough, There’s plenty of all things enough: Wine sweet and wholsome drops from trees, As clear as chrystal, without lees; Yea, and a Church unspotted, pure, From dregs of Papistry secure.

No Feasts nor festival set daies Are here observed, the Lord be prais’d, Though not in Churches rich and strong, Yet where no Mass was ever Sung, The Bulls of _Bashan_ ne’r met there[;] _Surplice_ and _Cope_ durst not appear; Old Orders all they will abjure, This Church hath all things new and pure.

No discipline shall there be used, [p. 105.] The Law of Nature they have chused[;] All that the spirit seems to move Each man may choose and so approve, There’s Government without command, There’s unity without a band; A Synagogue unspotted pure, Where lust and pleasure dwells secure.

Loe in this Church all shall be free To Enjoy their Christian liberty; All things made common, void of strife, Each man may take anothers wife, And keep a hundred maids, if need, To multiply, increase, and breed, Then is not this Foundation sure, To build a Church unspotted, pure?

The native People, though yet wild, Are altogether kind and mild, And apt already, by report, To live in this religious sort; Soon to conversion they’l be brought When _Warrens Mariery_ have wrought, Who being sanctified and pure, May by the Spirit them alure.

Let _Amsterdam_ send forth her Brats, Her Fugitives and Runnagates: Let Bedlam, Newgate, and the Clink Disgorge themselves into this sink; Let Bridewell and the stews be kept, And all sent thither to be swept; So may our Church be cleans’d and pure, Keep both it self and state secure.

[p. 106.]

_The insatiate Lover._

Come hither my own sweet duck, And sit upon my knee, That thou and I may truck For thy Commodity, If thou wilt be my honey, Then I will be thine own, Thou shall not want for money If thou wilt make it known; With hey ho my honey, My heart shall never rue, For I have been spending money And amongst the jovial Crew.

I prethee leave thy scorning, Which our true love beguiles, Thy eyes are bright as morning, The Sun shines in thy smiles, Thy gesture is so prudent, Thy language is so free, That he is the best Student Which can study thee; With hey ho, _&c._

The Merchant would refuse His Indies and his Gold If he thy love might chuse, And have thy love in hold: Thy beauty yields more pleasure Than rich men keep in store, And he that hath such treasure [p. 107.] Never can be poor; With hey ho, _&c._

The Lawyer would forsake His wit and pleading strong: The Ruler and Judge would take Thy part wer’t right or wrong; Should men thy beauty see Amongst the learned throngs, Thy very eyes would be Too hard for all their tongues; With hey ho, _&c._

Thy kisses to thy friend The Surgeons skill out-strips, For nothing can transcend The balsome of thy Lips, There is such vital power Contained in thy breath, That at the latter hour ’Twould raise a man from death; With hey, ho, _&c._

Astronomers would not Lye gazing in the skies Had they thy beauty got, No Stars shine like thine eyes: For he that may importune Thy love to an embrace, Can read no better fortune Then what is in thy face. With hey ho, _&c._

The Souldier would throw down [p. 108.] His Pistols and Carbine, And freely would be bound To wear no arms but thine: If thou wert but engaged To meet him in the field, Though never so much inraged Thou couldest make him yield, With hey ho, _&c._

The seamen would reject [Seaman] To sayl upon the Sea, And his good ship neglect To be aboard of thee: When thou liest on thy pillows He surely could not fail To make thy brest his billows, And to hoyst up sayl; With hey ho, _&c._

The greatest Kings alive Would wish thou wert their own, And every one would strive To make thy Lap their Throne, For thou hast all the merit That love and liking brings; Besides a noble spirit, Which may conquer Kings; With hey ho, _&c._

Were _Rosamond_ on earth I surely would abhor her, Though ne’r so great by birth I should not change thee for her; Though Kings and Queens are gallant, [p. 109.] And bear a royal sway, The poor man hath his Talent, And loves as well as they, With hey ho, _&c._

Then prethee come and kiss me, And say thou art mine own, I vow I would not miss thee Not for a Princes Throne; Let love and I perswade thee My gentle suit to hear: If thou wilt be my Lady, Then I will be thy dear; With hey ho, _&c._

I never will deceive thee, But ever will be true, Till death I shall not leave thee, Or change thee for a new; We’ll live as mild as may be, If thou wilt but agree, And get a pretty baby With a face like thee, With hey ho, _&c._

Let these perswasions move thee Kindly to comply, There’s no man that can love thee With so much zeal as I; Do thou but yield me pleasure, And take from me this pain, I’ll give thee all the Treasure Horse and man can gain; With hey ho, _&c._

I’ll fight in forty duels [p. 110.] To obtain thy grace, I’ll give thee precious jewels Shall adorn thy face; E’r thou for want of money Be to destruction hurl’d, For to support my honey I’ll plunder all the world; With hey ho, _&c._

That smile doth show consenting, Then prethee let’s be gone, There shall be no repenting When the deed is done; My bloud and my affection, My spirits strongly move, Then let us for this action Fly to yonder grove, With hey ho, _&c._

Let us lye down by those bushes That are grown so high, Where I will hide thy blushes; Here’s no standers by This seventh day of _July_, Upon this bank we’ll lye, Would all were, that love truly, As close as thou and I; With hey ho[,] my honey, My heart shall never rue, For I have been spending money Amongst the jovial Crew.

[Followed, in 1661 edition by “Now that the Spring,” &c., and the three other pieces which are to be found in succession, already printed in our _Merry Drollery, Compleat_ of 1670, 1691, pp. 296-301: The last of these being the Song, “She lay all naked in her bed.” This begins on p. 115, of Part 2nd, 1661; p. 300, 1691. In the former edition it is followed by “The Answer,” beginning “She lay up to,” &c., which, like other extremely objectionable pieces, is kept apart. Next follow, in 1661 edition, The Louse, and the Concealment.]

[p. 149.]

_The Louse._

If that you will hear of a Ditty That’s framed by a six-footed Creature, She lives both in Town and in City, She is very loving by nature; She’l offer her service to any, She’l stick close but she’l prevail, She’s entertained by too many Till death, she no man will fail.

_Fenner_ once in a Play did describe her, How she had her beginning first, How she sprung from the loyns of great _Pharaoh_, And how by a King she was nurs’d: How she fell on the Carkass of _Herod_, A companion for any brave fighter, And there’s no fault to be found with her, But that she’s a devillish backbiter.

With Souldiers she’s often comraded And often does them much good, She’l save them the charge of a Surgeon In sickness for letting them blood; Corruption she draws like a horse-leech, [p. 150.] Growing she’ll prove a great breeder, At night she will creep in her cottage, By day she’s a damnable feeder.

She’l venture as much in a battel As any Commander may go, But then she’l play Jack on both sides, She cares not a fart for her Foe: She knows that alwaies she’s shot-free, To kill her no sword will prevaile, But if she’s taken prisoner, She’s prest to death by the naile.

She doth not esteem of your rich men, But alwaies sticks close to the poor; Nor she cares not for your clean shifters, Nor for such as brave cloaths wear; She loves all such as are non-suited, Or any brave fellow that lacks; She’s as true a friend to poor Souldiers, As the shirt that sticks close to their backs.

She cannot abide your clean Laundress, Nor those that do set her on work, Her delight is all in foul linnen, Where in narraw seams she may lurk: From her and her breed God defend me, For I have had their company store, Pray take her among you[,] Gentry, Let her trouble poor souldiers no more.

[As already mentioned, this is followed, in the 1661 Part Second, page 151, by The Concealment, beginning “I loved a maid, she loved not me,” which is the last of the songs or poems peculiar to that edition. See the end of our Supplement: so paged that it may be either omitted or included, leaving no _hiatus_. We add, after the Supplement, the title-page of the 1670 edition of _Merry Drollery, Compleat_; when reissued in 1691, the _same sheets_ held the fresh title-page prefixed, such as we gave in second Volume. Readers now possess the entire work, all three editions, comprehended in our Reprint: which is the Fourth Edition, but the first Annotated. J. W. E.]

Appendix.

APPENDIX.

_Notes, Illustrations, Various Readings, and Emendations of Text._

(NOW FIRST ADDED.)

Arranged in Four Parts:—

1.—_Choyce Drollery_, 1656.

2.—_Antidote against Melancholy_, 1661.

3.—_Westminster-Drollery_, 1674.

4.—_Merry Drollery_, 1661; and Additional Notes to 1670-1691 editions: with Index.

Readers, who have accompanied the Editor both in text and comment throughout these three volumes of Reprints from the _Drolleries of the Restoration_, can scarcely have failed to see that he has desired to present the work for their study with such advantages as lay within his reach. Certainly, he never could have desired to assist in bringing these rare volumes into the hands of a fresh generation, if he believed not that their few faults were far outweighed by their merits; and that much may be learnt from both of these. Every antiquary is well aware that during the troubled days of the Civil War, and for the remaining years of the seventeenth century, books were printed with such an abundance of typographical errors that a pure text of any author cannot easily be recovered. In the case of all unlicensed publications, such as anonymous pamphlets, _facetiæ_, broad-sheet Ballads, and the more portable _Drolleries_, these imperfections were innumerable. Dropt lines and omitted verses, corrupt readings and perversions of meaning, sometimes amounting to a total destruction of intelligibility, might drive an Editor to despair.

In regard to the _Drolleries_-literature, especially, if we remember, as we ought to do, the difficulties and dangers attendant on the printing of these political squibs and pasquinades, we shall be less inclined to rail at the original collector, or “author,” and printers. If we ourselves, as Editor, do our best to examine such other printed books and manuscripts of the time, as may assist in restoring what for awhile was corrupted or lost from the text (_keeping these corrections and additions clearly distinguished, within square brackets, or in Appendix Notes_ to each successive volume), we shall find ourselves more usefully employed than in flinging stones at the Cavaliers of the Restoration, because they left behind them many a doubtful reading or an empty flaggon.

We have given back, to all who desire to study these invaluable records of a memorable time, four complete unmutilated works (except twenty-seven necessarily dotted words): and we could gladly have furnished additional information regarding each and all of these, if further delay or increased bulk had not been equally inexpedient.

1.—In _Choyce Drollery_, 1656, are seen such fugitive pieces of poetry as belong chiefly to the reign of Charles 1st., and to the eight years after he had been judicially murdered.

2.—In _Merry Drollery_, 1661, and in the _Antidote against Melancholy_ of the same date, we receive an abundant supply of such Cavalier songs, ballads, lampoons or pasquinades, social and political, as may serve to bring before us a clear knowledge of what was being thought, said, and done during the first year of the Restoration; and, indeed, a reflection of much that had gone recently before, as a preparation for it.

3.—In such _additional_ matter as came to view in the _Merry Drollery, Compleat_, of 1670 (N.B., precisely the same work as what we have reprinted, from the 1691 edition, in our second volume); and still more in the delightful _Westminster-Drolleries_ of 1671, 1672, and 1674, we enjoy the humours of the Cavaliers at a later date: Songs from theatres as well as those in favour at Court, and more than a few choice pastorals and ditties of much earlier date, lend variety to the collection.

We could easily have added another volume; but enough has surely been done in this series to show how rich are the materials. Let us increase the value of all, before entering in detail on our third series of Appendix Notes, by giving entirely the deeply-interesting Address to the Reader, written and published in 1656 (exactly contemporary with our _Choyce Drollery_), by Abraham Wright, for his rare collection of University Poems, known as “_Parnassus Biceps_.”

It is “An Epistle in the behalfe of those now doubly-secluded and sequestered Members, by one who himselfe is none.”

[Sheet sig. A 2.]

“To the Ingenuous READER.

SIR,

These leaves present you with some few drops of that Ocean of Wit, which flowed from those two brests of this Nation, the _Universities_; and doth now (the sluces being puld up) overflow the whole Land: or rather like those Springs of Paradice, doth water and enrich the whole world; whilst the Fountains themselues are dryed up, and that Twin-Paradise become desart. For then were these Verses Composed, when _Oxford_ and _Camebridge_ were Universities, and a Colledge [A 2, _reverso_] more learned then a Town-Hall, when the Buttery and Kitchin could speak Latine, though not Preach; and the very irrational Turnspits had so much knowing modesty, as not to dare to come into a Chappel, or to mount any Pulpits but their own. Then were these Poems writ, when peace and plenty were the best Patriots and Mæcenasses to great Wits; when we could sit and make Verses under our own Figtrees, and be inspired from the juice of our own Vines: then, when it was held no sin for the same man to be both a Poet, and a Prophet; and to draw predictions no lesse from his Verse then his Text. Thus you shall meet here St. _Pauls_ Rapture in a Poem, and the fancy as high and as clear as the third Heaven, into which [A. 3] that Apostle was caught up: and this not onely in the ravishing expressions and extasies of amorous Composures and Love Songs; but in the more grave Dorick strains of sollid Divinity: Anthems that might have become _Davids_ Harpe, and _Asaphs_ Quire, to be sung, as they were made, with the Spirit of that chief Musitian. Againe, In this small Glasse you may behold your owne face, fit your own humors, however wound up and tuned; whether to the sad note, and melancholy look of a disconsolate Elegy, or those more sprightly jovial Aires of an Epithalamium, or Epinichion. Further, would you see a Mistresse of any age, or face, in her created, or uncreated complexion: this mirrour presents you with more shapes then a Conjurers [_verso_] Glasse, or a Limner’s Pencil. It will also teach you how to court that Mistresse, when her very washings and pargettings cannot flatter her; how to raise a beauty out of wrinkles fourscore years old, and to fall in love even with deformity and uglinesse. From your Mistresse it brings you to your God; and (as it were some new Master of the Ceremonies) instructs you how to woe, and court him likewise; but with approaches and distances, with gestures and expressions suitable to a Diety [Deity]; addresses clothed with such a sacred filial horror and reverence, as may invite and embolden the most despairing condition of the saddest gloomy Sinner; and withall dash out of countenance the greatest confidence of the most glorious Saint: and not with that blasphemous familiarity [A. 4] of our new enlightened and inspired men, who are as bold with the Majesty and glory of that Light that is unapproachable, as with their own _ignes fatui_; and account of the third Person in the blessed Trinity for no more then their Fellow-Ghost; thinking him as much bound to them for their vertiginous blasts and whi[r]le-winds, as they to him for his own most holy Spirit. Your Authors then of these few sheets are Priests, as well as Poets; who can teach you to pray in verse, and (if there were not already too much phantasticknes in that Trade) to Preach likewise: while they turn Scripture-chapters into Odes, and both the Testaments into one book of Psalmes: making _Parnassus_ as sacred as Mount _Olivet_, and the nine Muses no lesse religious then a Cloyster of Nuns. [_verso_.] But yet for all this I would not have thee, _Courteous Reader_, pass thy censure upon those two Fountains of Religion and Learning, the _Universities_, from these few small drops of wit, as hardly as some have done upon the late _Assemblies_ three-half-penny Catechisme: as if all their publick and private Libraries, all their morning and evening watchings, all those pangs and throwes of their Studies, were now at length delivered but of a Verse, and brought to bed onely of five feet, and a Conceit. For although the judicious modesty of these men dares not look the world in the face with any of _Theorau Johns_ Revelations, or those glaring New-lights that have muffled the Times and Nation with a greater confusion and darknes, then ever benighted [A. 5] the world since the first Chaos: yet would they please but to instruct this ignorant Age with those exact elaborate Pieces, which might reform Philosophy without a Civil War, and new modell even Divinity its selfe without the ruine of either Church, or State; probably that most prudent and learned Order of the Church of _Rome_, the _Jesuite_, should not boast more sollid, though more numerous Volum[e]s in this kind. And of this truth that Order was very sensible, when it felt the rational Divinity of one single _Chillingworth_ to be an unanswerable twelve-years-task for all their English Colledges in Chrisendome. And therefore that _Society_ did like its selfe, when it sent us over a War instead of an Answer, and proved us Hereticks by the Sword: which [_verso_] in the first place was to Rout the _Universities_, and to teach our two Fountains of Learning better manners, then for ever heareafter to bubble and swell against the _Apostolick Sea_. And yet I know not whether the depth of their Politicks might not have advised to have kept those Fountains within their own banks, and there to have dammd them and choakd them up with the mud of the Times, rather then to have let those Protestant Streams run, which perchance may effect that now by the spreading Riverets, which they could never have done through the inclosed Spring: as it had been a deeper State-piece and Reach in that Sanedrim, the great Councell of the Jewish Nation, to have confined the Apostles to _Jerusalem_, and there to have muzzeld them [A 6] with Oaths, and Orders; rather then by a fruitful Persecution to scatter a few Gospel Seeds, that would spring up the Religion of the whole world: which had it been Coopd within the walls of that City, might (for all they knew) in few years have expired and given up the ghost upon the same _Golgotha_ with its Master. And as then every Pair of Fishermen made a Church and caught the sixt part of the world in their Nets; so now every Pair of Ce[o]lledge-fellows make as many several Universityes; which are truly so call’d, in that they are Catholick, and spread over the face of the whole earth; which stand amazed, to see not onely Religion, but Learning also to come from beyond the _Alpes_; and that a poor despised Canton and nook of the world should contain as much of each [_verso_] as all the other Parts besides. But then, as when our single Jesus was made an universall Saviour, and his particular Gospel the Catholick Religion; though that Jesus and this Gospel did both take their rise from the holy City; yet now no City is more unholy and infidel then that; insomuch that there is at this day scarce any thing to be heard of a Christ at _Jerusalem_, more then that such a one was sometimes there, nor any thing to be seen of his Gospel, more then a Sepulcher: just so it is here with us; where though both Religion and Learning do owe their growth, as well as birth, to those Nurseryes of both, the Universityes; yet, since the Siens of those Nurseryes have been transplanted, there’s little remaines in them now (if they are not belyed) either of the old [A 7] Religion and Divinity, more then its empty Chair & Pulpit, or of the antient Learning & Arts, except bare Schools, and their gilded Superscriptions: so far have we beggard our selves to enrich the whole world. And thus, _Ingenuous Sir_, have I given you the State and Condition of this _Poetick Miscellany_, as also of the _Authors_; it being no more then some few slips of the best Florists made up into a slender Garland, to crown them in their Pilgrimage, and refresh thee in thine: if yet their very Pilgrimage be not its selfe a Crown equall to that of Confessors, and their Academicall Dissolution a Resurrection to the greatest temporall glory: when they shall be approved of by men and Angels for a chosen Generation, a Royal Priesthood, a peculiar People. In the interim let this [_verso_] comfort be held out to you, _our secluded University members_, by him that is none; (and therefore what hath been here spoken must not be interpreted as out of passion to my self, but meer zeal to my Mother) that according to the generally received Principles and Axioms of Policy, and the soundest Judgment of the most prudential Statesmen upon those Principles, the date of your sad Ostracisme is expiring, and at an end; but yet such an end, as some of you will not embrace when it shall be offered; but will chuse rather to continue Peripateticks through the whole world, then to return, and be so in your own Colledges. For as that great Councell of _Trent_ had a Form and Conclusion altogether contrary to the expectation and desires of them that procured it; so our great Councels of _England_ [A 8] (our late Parliament) will have such a result, and Catastrophe, as shall no ways answer the Fasts and Prayers, the Humiliations, and Thanksgivings of their Plotters and Contrivers: such a result I say, that will strike a palsie through Mr. _Pims_ ashes, make his cold Marble sweat; and put all those several Partyes, and Actors, that have as yet appeard upon our tragical bloudy Stage, to an amazed stand and gaze: when they shall confess themselves (but too late) to be those improvident axes and hammers in the hand of a subtle _Workman_; whereby he was enabled to beat down, and square out our Church and State into a Conformity with his own. And then it will appeare that the great Worke, and the holy Cause, and the naked Arme, so much talked of for [_verso_] these fifteen years, were but the work, and the cause, and the arme of that _Hand_, which hath all this while reached us over the _Alpes_; dividing, and composing, winding us up, and letting us down, untill our very discords have set and tuned us to such notes, both in our Ecclesiastical, and Civill Government; as may soonest conduce to that most necessary Catholick Unison and Harmony, which is an essential part of Christs Church here upon Earth, and the very Church its selfe in Heaven. And thus far, _Ingenuous Reader_, suffer him to be a Poet in his Prediction, though not in his Verse; who desires to be known so far to thee, as that he is a friend to persecuted Truth and Peace; and thy most affectionate Christian Servant,

_Ab: Wright_.”

(From _Parnassus Biceps: or, Severall Choice Pieces of POETRY, composed by the best WITS that were in both the Universities before their DISSOLUTION_. London: Printed for _George Eversden_ at the Signe of the _Maidenhead_ in St. _Pauls_ Church-yard, 1656.)

1.—CHOYCE DROLLERY, 1656.

Note, on _The Address to the Reader_, &c.

The subscribed initials, “R. P.” are those of Robert Pollard; whose name appears on the title-page (which we reproduce), preceding his address. Excepting that he was a bookseller, dwelling and trading at the “Ben Jonson’s Head, behind the Exchange,” in business-connection with John Sweeting, of the Angel, in Pope’s Head Alley, in 1656; and that he had previously issued a somewhat similar Collection of Poems to the _Choyce Drollery_ (successful, but not yet identified), we know nothing more of Robert Pollard. The books of that date, and of that special class, are extremely rare, and the few existing copies are so difficult of access (for the most part in private possession, almost totally inaccessible except to those who know not how to use them), that information can only be acquired piecemeal and laboriously. Five years hence, if the Editor be still alive, he may be able to tell much more concerning the authors and the compilers of the _Restoration Drolleries_.

We are told that there is an extra leaf to _Choyce Drollery_, “only found in a few copies, containing ten lines of verse, beginning _Fame’s windy trump_, &c. This leaf occurs in one or two extant copies of _England’s Parnassus_, 1600. Many of the pieces found here are much older than the date of the book [viz., 1656]. It contains notices of many of our early poets, and, unlike some of its successors, is of intrinsic value. Only two or three copies have occurred.” (_W. C. H.’s Handb. Pop. Lit. G. B._, 1867, p. 168.) “Cromwell’s Government ordered this book to be burned.” (_Ibid._) On this last item see our Introduction, section first. J. P. Collier, who prepared the Catalogue of Richard Heber’s Collection, _Bibliotheca Heberiana_, Pt. iv., 1834 (a rich storehouse for bibliographical students, but not often gratefully acknowledged by them), thus writes of _Choyce Drollery_:—“This is one of the most intrinsically valuable of the _Drolleries_, if only for the sake of the very interesting poem in which characters are given of all the following Poets: Shakespeare, Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Massinger, Chapman, Daborne, Sylvester, Quarles, May, Sands, Digges, Daniel, Drayton, Withers, Brown, Shirley, Ford, Middleton, Heywood, Churchyard, Dekker, Brome, Chaucer, Spencer, Basse, and finally John Shank, the Actor, who is said to have been famous for a jig. Other pieces are much older, and are here reprinted from previous collections” [mostly lost]. P. 90.

It is also known to J. O. Halliwell-Phillips; (but, truly, what is _not_ known to him?) See _Shakespeare Society’s Papers_, iii. 172, 1847.

In our copy of _England’s Parnassus_ (unindexed, save subjects), 1600, we sought to find “_Fame’s windy trump_.” [We hear that the leaf was in _E. P._ at Tite’s sale, 1874.]

As we have never seen a copy of _Choyce Drollery_ containing the passage of “ten lines,” described as beginning “Fame’s Windy Trump,” we cannot be quite certain of the following, from _England’s Parnassus_, 1600, being the one in question, but believe that it is so. Perhaps it ran, “_Fame’s Windy Trump, whatever sound out-flies_,” &c. There are twenty-seven lines in all. We distinguish the probable portion of “ten lines” by enclosing the other two parts in brackets:—

FAME.

[_A Monster swifter none is under sunne;_ _Encreasing, as in waters we descrie_ _The circles small, of nothing that begun,_ _Which, at the length, unto such breadth do come,_ _That of a drop, which from the skies doth fall,_ _The circles spread, and hide the waters all:_ _So Fame, in flight encreasing more and more;_ _For, at the first, she is not scarcely knowne,_ _But by and by she fleets from shore to shore,_ _To clouds from th’ earth her stature straight is growne._ _There whatsoever by her trumpe is blowne,_]

_The sound, that both by sea and land out-flies,_ _Rebounds againe, and verberates the skies._ _They say, the earth that first the giants bred,_ _For anger that the gods did them dispatch,_ _Brought forth this sister of those monsters dead,_ _Full light of foote, swift wings the winds to catch:_ _Such monsters erst did nature never hatch._ _As many plumes she hath from top to toe,_ _So many eyes them underwatch or moe;_ _And tongues do speake: so many eares do harke._

[_By night ’tweene heaven she flies and earthly shade,_ _And, shreaking, takes no quiet sleepe by darke:_ _On houses roofes, on towers, as keeper made,_ _She sits by day, and cities threates t’ invade;_ _And as she tells what things she sees by view,_ _She rather shewes that’s fained false, then true._]

[Legend of Albanact.] I. H., _Mirror of Magist_.

Page 1. _Deare Love, let me this evening dye._

This beautiful little love-poem re-appears, as Song 77, in _Windsor Drollery_, 1672, p. 63. (There had been a previous edition of that work, in 1671, which we have examined: it is not noted by bibliographers, and is quite distinct.) A few variations occur. Verse 2. are _wrack’d_; 3. In _love_ is not commended; _only_ sweet, All praise, _no_ pity; who _fondly_; 4. _Shall shortly_ by dead Lovers lie; _hallow’d_; 5. _He_ which _all others_ els excels, That _are_; 6. _Will_, though thou; 7. _the_ Bells _shall_ ring; _While_ all to _black is_; (last line but two in parenthesis;) Making, like Flowers, &c.

Page 4. _Nor Love nor Fate dare I accuse._

By RICHARD BROME, in his “_Northerne Lasse_,” 1632, Act ii., sc. 6. It is also given in _Westminster-Drollery_, 1671, i. 83 (the only song in common). But compare with it the less musical and tender, “_Nor Love, nor Fate can I accuse of hate_,” in same vol. ii. 90, with Appendix Note thereunto, p. lxiii.

Page 5. _One night the great ~Apollo~, pleased with ~Ben~._

This remarkable and little-known account of “THE TIME-POETS” is doubly interesting, as being a contemporary document, full of life-like portraiture of men whom no lapse of years can banish from us; welcome friends, whom we grow increasingly desirous of beholding intimately. Glad are we to give it back thus to the world; our chief gem, in its rough Drollery-setting: lifted once more into the light of day, from out the cobwebbed nooks where it so long-time had lain hidden. Our joy would have been greater, could we have restored authoritatively the lost sixteenth-line, by any genuine discovery among early manuscripts; or told something conclusive about the author of the poem, who has laid us under obligation for these vivid portraits of John Ford, Thomas Heywood, poor old Thomas Churchyard, and Ben’s courageous foeman, worthy of his steel, that Thomas Dekker who “followed after in a dream.”

In deep humility we must confess that nothing is yet learnt as to the authorship. Here, in the year 1656, almost at fore-front of _Choyce Drollery_, the very strength of its van-guard, appeared the memorable poem. Whether it were then and there for the first time in print, or borrowed from some still more rare and now-lost volume, none of us can prove. Even at this hour, a possibility remains that our resuscitation of _Choyce Drollery_ may help to bring the unearthing of explanatory facts from zealous students. We scarcely dare to cherish hope of this. Certainly we may not trust to it. For Gerard Langbaine knew the poem well, and quoted oft and largely from it in his 1691 _Account of the English Dramatick Poets_. But he met with it nowhere save in _Choyce Drollery_, and writes of it continually in language that proves how ignorant he was of whom we are to deem the author. Yet he wrote within five-and-thirty years behind the date of its appearance; and might easily have learnt, from men still far from aged, who had read the _Drollery_ on its first publication, whatever they could tell of “The Time-Poets:” if, indeed, they could tell anything. Five years earlier, William Winstanley had given forth his _Lives of the most famous English Poets_, in June, 1686; but he quotes not from it, and leaves us without an _Open Sesame_. Even Oldys could not tell; or Thomas Hearne, who often had remembered whatever Time forgot.

As to the date: we believe it was certainly written between 1620 (inclusive) and 1636; nearer the former year.

We reconcile ourselves for the failure, by turning to such other and similar poetic groupings as survive. We listen unto Richard Barnfield, when he sings sweetly his “Remembrance of some English Poets,” in 1598. We cling delightedly to the words of our noble Michael Drayton—whose descriptive map of native England, _Polyolbion_, glitters with varie-coloured light, as though it were a mediæval missal: to whom, enditing his Epistle to friend Henry Reynolds—“A Censure of the Poets”—the Muses brought each bard by turn, so that the picture might be faithful: even as William Blake, idealist and spiritual Seer, believed of spirit-likenesses in his own experience. And, not without deep feeling (marvelling, meanwhile, that still the task of printing them with Editorial care is unattempted), we peruse the folio manuscripts of that fair-haired minstrel of the Cavaliers, George Daniel of Beswick, while he also, in his “Vindication of Poesie,” sings in praise of those whose earlier lays are echoing now and always “through the corridors of Time:”—

_Truth speaks of old, the power of Poesie;_ _~Amphion~, ~Orpheus~, stones and trees could move;_ _Men, first by verse, were taught Civilitie;_ _’Tis known and granted; yet would it behove_ _Mee, with the Ancient Singers, here to crowne_ _Some later Quills, some Makers of our owne._

Nor should we fail to thank the younger Evelyn, for such graphic sketches as he gives of Restoration-Dramatists, of Cowley, Dryden, Wycherley, “Sedley and easy Etherege;” a new world of wits, all of whose works we prize, without neglecting for their sakes the older Masters who “so did take Eliza, and our James.”

Something that we could gladly say, will come in befittingly on after-pages of this volume, in the “Additional Note on Sir John Suckling’s ‘Sessions of the Poets,’” as printed in our _Merry Drollery, Compleat_, page 72.

* * * * *

Are we stumbling at the threshold, _absit omen!_ even amid our delight in perusing “the Time-Poets,” when we wonder at the precise meaning of the statement in our opening couplet?

_One night the great ~Apollo~, pleas’d with ~Ben~,_ _Made the odd number of the Muses ten._

By whom additional? Who is the lady, thus elevated? We see only one solution: namely, that furnished by the conclusion of the poem. It was the _Faerie Queene_ herself whom the God lifted thus, in honour of her English Poets, to rank as the Tenth Muse, an equal with Urania, Clio, Euterpe, and their sisterhood. Yet something seems wanting, next to it; for we never reach a full-stop until the end of the 39th (or _query_, the 40th) line; and all the confluent nominatives lack a common verbal-action. Our mind, it is true, accepts intelligibly the onward rush of each and all (but later, “with equal pace each of them softly creeps”). It may be only grammatical pedantry which craves some such phrase, absent from the text, as—

[_While throng’d around his comrades and his peers,_ _To list the ’sounding Music of the Spheres_:]

But, since a momentary rashness prompts us here to dare so much, as to imagine the _hiatus_ filled, let us suppose that the lost sixteenth-line ran someway thus (each reader being free to try experiments himself, with chance of more success):—

_Divine-composing ~Quarles~, whose lines aspire_ [_And glow, as doth with like etherial fire_] 16th. _The April of all Poesy in ~May~,_ _Who makes our English speak ~Pharsalia~;_

It is with some timidity we let this stand: but, as the text is left intact, our friends will pardon us; and foes we never quail to meet. As to BEN JONSON, see our “Sessions,” in