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All these observed, he could contented be,
To give five marks and winter livery.



Great God! how manifold, how infinite
Are all thy works! with what a clear foresight
Didst thou create and multiply their birth!
Thy riches fill the far-extended earth:
The ample sea, in whose unfathom'd deep
Innumerable sorts of creatures creep:
Bright-scaled fishes in her entrails glide,
And high-built ships upon her bosom ride;
About whose sides the crooked dolphin plays,
And monstrous whales huge spouts of water raise.
All on the land, or in the ocean bred,

On Thee depend, in their due season fed;

They gather what thy bounteous hands bestow,
And in the summer of thy favour grow,

When thou contract'st thy clouded brows, they mourn,
And dying, to their former dust return.



Virginius. Farewell, my sweet Virginia; never, never,
Shall I taste fruit of the most blessed hope
I had in thee. Let me forget the thought
Of thy most pretty infancy; when first
Returning from the wars I took delight
To rock thee in my target: when my girl
Would kiss her father in his burganet

Of glittering steel hung 'bout his armèd neck;
And viewing the bright metal, smile to see
Another fair Virginia smile on thee:

When I first taught thee how to go, to speak:
And when my wounds have smarted, I have sung
With an unskilful, yet a willing voice,

To bring my girl asleep. O my Virginia,
When we begun to be, begun our woes,
Increasing still as dying life still grows.

Thus I surrender her into the court [kills her]
Of all the gods! And see, proud Appius, see,
Although not justly, I have made her free.


All shapes, all colours, are alike in night,
Nor doth our touch distinguish foul or fair:
But man's Imagination, and his sight,

And those but the first week; by custom are
Both made alike, which differ'd at first view,
Nor can that difference absence much renew.



Mine host was full of ale and history;

And on the morrow, when he brought us nigh
Where the two Roses joined, you would suppose
Chaucer ne'er made the Romaunt of the Rose.
Hear him-" See ye yon wood? There Richard lay
With his whole army: look the other way,
And to where Richmond in a bed of gorse
Encamped himself ere night, and all his force.
Upon this hill they met." Why, he could tell
The inch where Richmond stood, where Richard fell.
Beside what of his knowledge he could say,
He had authentic notice from the play;

Which I might guess by his mustering up the ghosts
And policies not incident to hosts;

But chiefly by that one perspicuous thing,

Where he mistook a player for a king ;

For when he would have said, King Richard died,
And called-A horse! a horse! he Burbage cried.


Oh, there an hostess was, To whom the Castle and the Dun Cow are Sights after dinner; she is morning ware. Her whole behaviour borrowed was and mixed, Half fool, half puppet, and her face betwixt

Measure and jig; her courtsey was an honour:
Her gait, as if her neighbour had outgone her.
She was barred up in whalebones, which do leese
None of the whale's length, for they reached her knees.
Off with her head, and then she hath a middle;
As her waist stands she looks like the new fiddle,
The favourite Theorbo, truth to tell ye,

Whose neck and throat are deeper than the belly.
Have you seen monkeys chained about the loins,
Or pottle-pots with rings? Just so she joins
Herself together: a dressing she doth love
In a small print below and text above.

What though her name be King, yet 'tis no treason,
Nor breach of statute, for to ask the reason

Of her branched ruff, a cubit every poke.

I seem to wound her, but she strook the stroke
At our departure: and our worships there
Paid for our titles dear as any where.

'Twas quickly morning, though by our short stay
We could not find that we had less to pay.
All travellers this heavy judgment hear:

A handsome hostess makes the reckoning dear :
Her smiles, her words, your purses must requite 'em,
And every welcome from her adds an item.


Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours
Of winters, past, or coming; void of care,
Well pleased with delights which pleasant are,
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers,
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers
Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare;
And what dear gifts on thee He did not spare.
A stain to human Sense in sin that lowers.
What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs
Attired in sweetness, sweetly is not driven
Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs,
And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven?

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Sweet artless songster! thou my mind dost raise
To airs of spheres, yea, and to angels' lays.


This world a hunting is;

The prey poor man, the Nimrod fierce is Death:
His speedy greyhounds are

Lust, sickness, envy, care,
Strife that never falls amiss,

With all those ills which hunt us while we breathe.
Now if by chance we fly

Of those the eager chase,
Old age with stealing pace


up his nets and there we panting die.



An old song made by an aged old pate,

Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a great estate,
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,

And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate.

Like an old courtier of the queen's, and the queen's old courtier.

With an old lady whose anger one word assuages;

They every quarter paid their old servants their wages,
And never knew what belonged to coachmen, footmen nor pages,
But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges,
Like an old courtier, &c.

With an old study filled full of learned old books,

With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks:
With an old buttery-hatch worn quite off the hooks,

And an old kitchen, that maintained half a dozen old cooks:
Like an old courtier,. &c.

With an old hall hung about with pikes, guns, and bows,
With old swords and bucklers that had borne many shrewd blows
And an old frieze coat, to cover his worship's trunk hose,
And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose;
Like an old courtier, &c.

With a good old fashion, when Christmas was come,
To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum,

With good cheer enough to furnish every old room,
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb;
Like an old courtier, &c.

With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds,
That never hawked nor hunted, but in his own grounds,
Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds;
And, when he died, gave every child a thousand good pounds;
Like an old courtier, &c.

But to his eldest son his house and land he assigned,
Charging him in his will to keep the old bountiful mind,
To be good to his old tenants and to his neighbours be kind;
But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was inclined;
Like a young courtier of the king's and the king's

young courtier.

Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land,
Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his command,
And takes up a thousand pound upon his father's land,
And gets drunk in a tavern till he can neither go nor stand;
Like a young courtier, &c.

With a new-fangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and spare,
Who never knew what belonged to good house-keeping or care.
Who buys gaudy-coloured fans to play with wanton air,
And seven or eight different dressings of other women's hair;
Like a young courtier, &c.

With a new-fashioned hall, built where the old one stood,
Hung round with new pictures, that do the poor no good,
With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither coal nor wood,
And a new smooth shovel-board, whereon no victuals ne'er stood;
Like a young courtier, &c.

With a new study, stuffed full of pamphlets and plays,
And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays,

With a new buttery-hatch, that opens once in four or five days,
And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws and toys:
Like a young courtier, &c.

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With a new fashion, when Christmas is drawing on,
"On a new journey to London strait we all must be gone,
And leave none to keep house, but our new porter John,'
Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a stone:
Like a young courtier, &c.

With a new gentleman-usher, whose carriage is complete,
With a new coachman, footman, and pages, to carry up the meat,

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