How often we Prince Rupert kill'd,
And bravely won the day,
The wicked cavaliers did run
The clean contrary way.
We subjects' liberties preserve
By prisonment and plunder,
And do enrich ourselves and state
By keeping the wicked under.
We must preserve mechanics now,
To lecturize and pray;
By them the gospel is advanced,
The clean contrary way.
And though the King be much misled
By that malignant crew;
He'll find us honest, and at last,
Give all of us our due.
But when our faith and works fall down,
And all our hopes decay,
Our acts will bear us up to heaven,
The clean contrary way.
XPECT no strange or puzzling meat, nor pie
Built by confusion or adultery
Of forced nature; no mysterious dish
Requiring an interpreter, no fish
Found out by modern luxury: Our coarse board
Press'd with no spoils of elements, doth afford
Meat, like our hunger, without art, each mess
Thus differing from it only, that 'tis less.
Imprimis, some rice porridge, sweet, and hot,
Three knobs of sugar season the whole pot.
Item, one pair of eggs in a great dish, So order'd that they cover all the fish.
Item, one gaping haddock's head, which will At least affright the stomach, if not fill.
Item, one thing in circles, which we take Some for an eel, but th' wiser for a snake.
We have not still the same, sometimes we may Eat muddy plaice, or wheat; perhaps next day Red or white herrings, or an apple pie : There's some variety in misery.
To this come twenty men, and, though apace We bless these gifts, the meal's as short as grace. Nor eat we yet in tumult; but the meat
Hunger here is neat;
Division, subdivision, yet two more
Members, and they divided, as before.
O what a fury would your stomach feel
To see us vent our logic on an eel,
And in one herring to revive the art
Of Keckerman and show the eleventh part?
Hunger in arms is no great wonder, we
Suffer a siege without an enemy.
On Midlent Sunday, when the preacher told
The prodigal's return, and did unfold
His tender welcome, how the good old man
Sent for new raiment, how the servant ran
To kill the fatling calf, O how each ear
Listen'd unto him, greedy ev'n to hear
The bare relation; how was every eye
Fix'd on the pulpit; how did each man pry
And watch, if, whiles he did this word dispense,
A capon or a hen would fly out thence!
Happy the Jews, cry we, when quails came down
In dry and wholesome showers, though from the frown
Of Heaven sent, though bought at such a rate;
To perish full is not the worst of fate.
We fear we shall die empty, and enforce
The grave to take a shadow for a corse:
For, if this fasting hold, we do despair
Of life; all needs must vanish into air-
Air which now only feeds us—and so be
Exhaled like vapours to eternity.
W' are much refined already, that dull house
Of clay (our body) is diaphanous;
And if the doctor would but take the pains
To read upon us, sinews, bones, guts, veins,
All would appear, and he might show each one,
Without the help of a dissection.
In the abundance of this want, you will
Wonder, perhaps, how I can use my quill?
Troth I am like small birds, which, now in spring,
When they have nought to Fat do sit and Sing.
William Cartwright.
PERSUASIONS TO LOVE.
HESE curious locks, so aptly twined,
Whose every hair a soul doth bind,
Will change their auburn hue, and grow
White, and cold as winter's snow.
That eye which now is Cupid's nest
Will prove his grave, and all the rest
Will follow; in the cheek, chin, nose,
Nor lily shall be found, nor rose.
And what will then become of all
Those, whom you now servants call?
Like swallows, when your summer's done,
They'll fly and seek some warmer sun.
Then wisely choose one to your friend,
Whose love may (when your beauties end)
Remain still firm: be provident
And think before the summer's spent
Of following winter; like the ant
In plenty hoard for time of scant.
Cull out amongst the multitude
Of lovers, that seek to intrude
Into your favour, one that may
Love for an age, not for a day.
For when the storms of time have moved
Waves on that cheek which was beloved,
When a fair lady's face is pined,
And yellow spread where red once shined,
When beauty, youth, and all sweets leave her,
Love may return, but lover never!
TO HIS FELLOW POET.
HEN we are dead, and now, no more
Our harmless mirth, our wit, and score
Distracts the Town; when all is spent
That the base niggard world hath lent
Thy purse, or mine; when the loath'd noise
Of drawers, prentices and boys
Hath left us, and the clam'rous bar
Items no pints i' th' Moon, or Star;
When no calm whisperers wait the doors,
To fright us with forgotten scores;
And such aged, long bills carry,
As might start an antiquary;
When the sad tumults of the maze,
Arrests, suits, and the dreadful face
Of serjeants are not seen, and we
No lawyer's ruffs or gowns must fee:
When all these mulcts are paid, and I
From thee, dear wit, must part, and die;
We'll beg the world would be so kind
To give's one grave, as we'd one mind;
There (as the wiser few suspect,
That spirits after death affect)
Our souls shall meet, and thence will they
(Freed from the tyranny of clay)
With equal wings and ancient love
Into the Elysian fields remove,
Where in those blessed walks they'll find,
More of thy genius, and my mind.
EW doth the sun appear,
The mountains' snows decay,
Crown'd with frail flowers forth comes the
My soul, Time posts away,
And thou yet in that frost
Which flower and fruit hath lost,
As if all here immortal were, dost stay;
For shame! thy powers awake,
Look to that Heaven which never night makes black, And there, at that immortal sun's bright rays,
Deck thee with flowers which fear not rage of days.
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