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'Tis true, was weare him sherkin freize,
But what is that? we have store of s'eize,
And Got his plenty of goat's milke
That sell him well, will buy him silke
Inough to make him fine to quarrell
At Hereford-sizes in new apparell;

And get him as much greene melmet perhap,
S'all give it a face to his Monmouth cap.

But then the ore of Lemster,

By got is never a sempster;
That when he is spun, ore did,
Yet match him with hir thrid
Still, still, &c.

XXIV.

RHEESE.

AULL this 's the backs now, let us tell yee,
Of some provisions for the bellie:

As cid, and goat, and great goate's mother,
And runt, and cow, and good cowe's uther.
And once but taste o' the Welse mutton,
Your Englis s'eep's not worth a button.

And then for your fiss, s' all shoose it your diss,
Looke but about, and there is a trout.

A salmon, cor, or chevin,

Will feed you six or seven,
As taull man as ever swagger,
With Welse hooke, or long dagger.
Still, still, &c.

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And yet, is nothing now all this,
If of our musiques we doe misse;
Both harpes and pipes too; and the crowd,
Must all come in and tauke alowd,
As lowd as Bangu, Davie's bell,
Of which is no doubt yow have here tell,
As well as our lowder Wrexham organ,
And rumbling rocks in s'eere Glamorgan;
Where looke but in the ground there,
And you s'all see a sound there,
That put him aull togedder,
Is sweet as measure pedder.
Still, still, &c.

XXVII. RHEESE.

Au, but what say yow should it shance too,
That we should leape it in a dance too,
And make it you as great a pleasure,
If but your eyes be now at leasure;
As in your eares s'all leave a laughter,
To last upon you sixe dayes after?
Ha! wella-goe too; let us try to do
As your old Britton, things to be writ on.
Come put on other lookes now,
And lay away your hookes too;
And though yet you ha' no pump, sirs,
Let 'hem heare that yow can jump, sirs
Still, still, &c.

GYPSIES SONGS.

FROM THE MASQUE PERFORMED AT BURLEIGH,

XXVIII.

FROM the famous peacke of Darby, And the Devill's-arse there hard-by, Where we yearely keepe our musters, Thus the Egiptians throng in clusters.

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The joule of a jaylor, serv'd for fish,

A constable sous'd with vinegar by;
Two aldermen lobsters asleepe in a dish,
A deputy tart, a churchwarden pye.
All which devour'd; he then for a close,
Did for a full draught of Derby call;
He heav'd the huge vessell up to his nose,
And left not till he had drunke up all.

Then from the table he gave a start,

Where banquet and wine were nothing scarce; All which he slirted away with a fart,

From whence it was call'd the Devil's Arse.

And there he made such a breach with the winde; The hole too standing open the while,

That the sent of the vapour, before and behinde, Hath fouly perfumed most part of the isle.

And this was tobacco, the learned suppose;

Which since in countrey, court, and towne, In the Devill's glister-pipe smoaks at the nose

Of pollcat, and madam, of gallant, and clowne.

From which wicked weed, with swine's flesh and ling;
Or any thing else that 's feast for the fiend:
Our captaine, and we, cry God save the king,
And send him good meate, and mirth without end.

FROM THE SHEPHERD'S HOLIDAY.

XXX.

NYMPH I.

THUS, thus, begin the yearly rites
Are due to Pan on these bright nights;
His morne now riseth, and invites
To sports, to dances, and delights:
All envious, and prophane away,
This is the shepherd's holy-day.

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Of Pan we sing, the best of leaders, Pan

That leads the Nayads, and the Dryads forth;
And to their daunces more then Hermes can.
CHO. Heare, O you groves, and hills resound his
worth.

Of Pan we sing, the best of hunters, Pan

That drives the heart to seeke unused wayes,

And in the chace more then Sylvanus can,

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GREAT Pan, the father of our peace and pleasure,
Who giv'st us all this leasure,

Heare what thy hallowd troope of herdsmen pray
For this their holy-day,

And how their vowes to thee, they in Lycæum pay.
So may our ewes receive the mounting rammes,

CHO. Heare, O you groves, and hills resound his And we bring thee the earliest of our lambes:

praise.

Of Pan we sing, the best of shepherds, Pan

That keepes our flocks, and us, and both leads forth
To better pastures then great Pales can:
CHO. Heare, O you groves, and hills resound his
worth.

And while his powers and praises thus we sing,
The valleys let rebound, and all the rivers ring.

So may the first of all our fells be thine,
And both the beestning of our goats and kine.
As thou our folds dost still secure,
And keep'st our fountaines sweet and pure
Driv'st hence the wolfe, the tode, the brock,
Or other vermine from the flock.
That we preserv'd by thee, and thou observ'd by us,
May both live safe in shade of thy lov'd Mænalus.

XXXII.

HYMNE II.

PAN is our all, by him we breath, we live,

We move, we are; 'tis he our lambes doth reare,
Our flocks doth blesse, and from the store doth give
The warme and finer fleeces that we weare.
He keepes away all heates and colds,
Drives all diseases from our folds:
Makes every where the spring to dwell,
The ewes to feed, their udders swell;
But if he frowne, the sheepe (alas)
The shepheards wither, and the grasse.
Strive, strive to please him then by still increasing

thus

The rites are due to him, who doth all right for us.

FROM THE MASQUE OF THE FORTUNATE ISLES.

XXXV.

LOOKE forth the shepheard of the seas,
And of the ports that keepe the keyes,
And to your Neptune tell,
Macaria, prince of all the isles,
Wherein there nothing growes but smiles,
Doth here put in to dwell.

The windes are sweet, and gently blow,
But Zephirus, no breath they know,
The father of the flowers:
By him the virgin violets live,
And every plant doth odours give,
As new as are the howers.

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FROM THE SILENT WOMAN.

XXXIX.

STILL to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfum'd:
Lady, it is to be presum'd,

Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all th' adulteries of art;

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

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CAN nothing great, and at the height Remaine so long? but its own weight Will ruine it? or, is 't blind chance, That still desires new states t' advance, And quit the old? else, why must Rome Be by itselfe now over-come? Hath she not foes inow of those, Whom she hath made such, and enclose Her round about? or are they none, Except she first become her own? O wretchednesse of greatest states, To be obnoxious to these fates: VOL. V.

That cannot keep what they do gaine;
And what they raise so ill sustaine!
Rome now is mistris of the whole
World, sea, and land, to either pole;
And even that fortune will destroy
The power that made it: she doth joy
So much in plenty, wealth, and ease,
As now th' excesse is her disease.

She builds in gold; and to the starres;
As if she threatned Heav'n with warres:
And seeks for Hell, in quarries deep,
Giving the fiends, that there do keep,
A hope of day. Her women weare
The spoiles of nations in an eare,
Chang'd for the treasure of a shell!
And in their loose attires do swell
More light than sailes when all winds play:

Yet are the men more loose than they!

More kemb'd, and bath'd, and rub'd, and trim'd,
More sleek'd, more soft, and slacker limm'd;
As prostitute: so much, that kinde
May seek it selfe there, and not finde.
They eat on beds of silk and gold;
At ivory tables; or wood sold
Dearer than it and leaving plate,
Do drink in stone of higher rate.
They hunt all grounds; and draw all seas;
Foule every brook and bush, to please
Their wanton tasts: and in request
Have new and rare things; not the best!

Hence comes that wild and vast expence,
That hath enforc'd Rome's vertue thence,
Which simple poverty first made:
And now ambition doth invade
Her state with eating avarice,
Riot, and every other vice.

Decrees are bought, and lawes are sold,
Honours, and offices for gold;
The people's voyces, and the free
Tongues in the senate bribed be.
Such ruine of her manners Rome
Doth suffer now, as she 's become
(Without the gods it soone gaine-say)
Both her own spoiler and own prey.

So, Asia, 'art thou cru'lly even
With us, for all the blows thee given ;
When we whose vertue conquer'd thee,
Thus by thy vices ruin'd be.

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GREAT father Mars, and greater Jove,
By whose high auspice Rome hath stood
So long; and first was built in blood
Of your great nephew, that then strove
Not with his brother, but your rites:
Be present to her now, as then,
And let not proud and factious men
Against your wills oppose their mights.

Our consuls now are to be made;
O, put it in the publick voice
To make a free and worthy choice:
Excluding such as would invade
The common-wealth.

Let whom we name,

Have wisdome, fore-sight, fortitude, Be more with faith, than face endu’d, And studie conscience above fame.

M m

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