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AN
ANTIDOTE
AGAINST
MELANCHOLY:
MADE UP IN PILLS,
Compounded of Witty Ballads, Jovial Songs, '
and Merry Catches,
Thefe witty Poems, though fometime may feem to halt on
crutches,
Yet they'l all merrily pleafe you for your charge, which not
much is.
Printed by Mer. Melancholicus, to be fold in
London and Weftminfter. 1661.
INTRODUCTION.
This poetical tract lias been selected for our reprint on
account
of its rarity, the excellence of the greater part of its
contents,
the high antiquity of some of them, and from the fact that
many
of the ballads and humorous pieces of versification are
either not
met with elsewhere, or have been strangely corrupted in
repetition
through the press. Two or three of them are used by
Shakespeare,
and the word "incarnardine" is only found in "Macbeth" (A.
n,
sc. 2), in Carew?s poems, and in this tract: here we have it
as the
name of a red wine; and nobody hitherto has noticed it in
that
sense.
When Eitson published his "Robin Hood" in 1795, he relied
chiefly upon the text of the famous ballad of " Arthur oJ
Bradley",
as he discovered it in the miscellany before us ; but,
learned in
such matters as he undoubtedly was, he was not aware of the
very
early period at which " Arthur o' Bradley" was so popular as
to
be quoted in one of our old Moralities, which may have been
in
existence in the reigns of Henry VI or Henry VII, which was
acted while Henry VIII or Edward VI were on the throne, and
which is contained in a manuscript bearing the date of 1579.
The few known copies of "An Antidote against Melancholy"
are dated 1661, the year after the Eestoration, when lawless
licence was allowed both to the press and in social
intercourse ;
and, if we permitted ourselves to mutilate our originals, we
might
ii
not have reproduced such coarseness; but still no words
will be
found which, even a century afterwards, were not sometimes
used
in private conversation, and which did not even make their
appear-
ance at full length in print. Mere words may be said to be
compara-
tively harmless; but when, as in the time of Charles II,
they were
employed as incentives to vice and laxity of manners, they
become
dangerous. The repetition of them in our day, in a small
number
of reprints, can hardly be offensive to decorum, and
unquestion-
ably cannot be injurious to public morals. We always address
ourselves to the students of our language and habits of
life.
We have never seen a copy of" An Antidote against
Melancholy"
that was not either imperfect, or in some places illegible
from dirt
and rough usage, excepting the one we have employed: our
single exemplar is as fresh as on the day it was issued from
the
press. There is an excellent and highly finished engraving
on the
title-page of gentlemen and boors carousing; but, as the
repeti-
tion of it for our purpose would cost more than double every
other expense attending our reprint, we have necessarily
omitted
it. The same plate was afterwards used for one of
Brathwayte's
pieces; and we have seen a much worn impression of it on a
Drollery near the end of the seventeenth century. It does
not at
all add to our knowledge on the subject of our reprint.
J. P, C.
TO The READER.
There's no Purge 'gainft Melancholly,
But with Bacchus to be jolly:
All elfe are but dreggs of Folly,
Paracelfus wanted fkill
When he fought to cure that ill :
No pe£torals like the poets quill
Here are pills of every fort,
For the country, city, court,
Compounded and made up of fport.
If 'gainffc fleep and fumes impure,
Thou thy fenfes would fecure ;
Take this : Coffee's not half fo fure.
Wan'ft thou ftomack to thy meat,
And would'ffc fain reftore the heat,
This does more then Choccolet.
Cures the fpleene, revives the blood,
Puts thee in a merry mood :
Who can deny fuch phyfick good ?
Nothing like to harmles mirth,
?Tis a cordiall on earth,
That gives fociety a birth,
Then be wife, and buy, not borrow;
Keep an ounce ftill for to-morrow,
Better then a pound of for row.
Ballads, Songs, and Catches in this Book.
PAGI
1. The Exaltation of a Pot of Good Ale - -
I
2. The Song of Cook-Lawrel, by Ben Johnfon -
- - li
3. The Ballad of The Black-fnith -
- - 14
4. The Ballad of the Old Courtier and the New
- - 18
5. The Ballad of the Wedding of A rthur of Bradley -
- 21
6. The Ballad of the Green Gown - - -
- 26
7. The Ballad of the Gelding of the Devil - -
- 28
8. The Ballad of Sir Eglamore - - -
- 31
9. The Ballad of St. George for England - -
"34
10. The Ballad of Blew Cap for me - - -
- 37
11. The Ballad of the Several Caps - - -
- 39
12. The Ballad of the Nofes - -
- -42
13. The Song of the Hot-headed Zealot - - -
- 44
14. The Song of the Scifmatick Rotundos - -
- 47
15. A Glee in praife of Wine - - - -
- 49
16. Sir John Sucklin's Ballad of the Ld. L. Wedding -
- 50
17. The Combat of Cocks .. ^ - - -
55
18. The Welchman\rprayfeof'Wales - - -
- 59
19. The Cavaleer's Complaint - - - -
- 61
2d. Three feveral Songs in praife of Sack - -
- 65
21. On the Vertue of Sack, by Dr. Hen. Edwards
- - 69
22. The Medly of Nations, to feveral tunes -
- - 73
23. The Ballad of the Brewer - - - -
- 77
24. A Collection of 40 more Merry Catches and Songs
- 80
PILLS TO PURGE MELANCHOLLY.
C&e €pMU4atiQU of lie*
Not drunken nor fober, but neighbour to botl^
I met with a friend in Ales-bury Vale :
He faw by my face that I was in the cafe
To fpeak no great harm of a pot of good ale.
Then did he me greet, and faid : Since we meet
(And he put me in mind of the name of the dale)
For Ales-bmys fake fome pains I would take,
And not burf the praife of a pot of good ale.
The more to procure me, then he did adjure me,
If the ale I drank laft were nappy and ftale,
To do it its right, and ftir up my fprite,
And fall to commend •& pot of good, ale,
Quoth I, To commend it I dare not begin,
Left therein my credit might happen to fail;
For many men now do count it a fin,
But once to look toward 3, pot of good alet
Yet I care not a pin, for I fee no fuch fin,
Nor any thing elfe my courage to quail;
For this do we find, that take it in kind,
Much vertue there is in a, pot of good ak.
B
2
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
And I mean not to tafte, though thereby much grac't,
Nor the Merry-go-down without pull or hale
Perfuming the throat, when the ftomack's afloat,
With the fragrant fweet fcent of a pot of good ale.
Nor yet the delight that comes to the fight
To fee how it flowers and mantles in graile,
As green as a leeke, with a fmile in the cheek,
The true orient colour of a pot of good ale.
But I mean the mind, and the good it doth find,
Not onely the body fo feeble and fraile ;
For body and foul may bleffe the black bowle,
Since both are beholden to a pot of good ale.
For when heavineffe the mind doth oppreffe,
And forrovv and grief the heart do affaile,
No remedy quicker than to take off your liquor,
And to wafh away cares with a pot of good ale.
The widow that buried her husband of late,
Will foon have forgotten to weep and to waile,
And think every day twain, till fhe marry again,
If fhe read the contents of v. pot of good ale.
It is like a belly-blaft to a cold heart,
And warms and engenders the fpirits vitale:
To keep them from domage all fpirits owe their homage
To the fprite of the buttery, a pot of good ale.
And down to the legs the vertue doth go,
And to a bad foot-man is as good as a faile:
When it fills the veins, and makes light the brains,
No lackey fo nimble as a pot of good ale.
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
3
The naked complains not for want of a coat,
Nor on the cold weather will once turn his taile ;
All the way as he goes he cuts the wind with his nofe,
If he be well wrapt in a pot of good ale.
The hungry man takes no thought for his meat,
Though his ftomack would brook a ten-penny naile;
He quite forgets hunger, thinks on it no longer,
If he touch but the fparks of a pot of good ale.
The poor man will praife it, fo hath he good caufe,
That all the year eats neither partridge nor quaile,
But fets up his reft, and makes up his feaft,
With a cruft of brown bread, and a. pot of good ale.
The fhepherd, the fower, the threfher, the mower,
The one with his fcythe, the other with his flaile,
Take them out hy the poll, on the peril of my foil,
All will hold up their hands to a. pot of good ale.
The black-fmith, whofe bellows all summer do blow,
With the fire in his face ftill, without e're a vaile,
Though his throat be full dry, he will tell you no lye,
But where you may be fure of a. pot of good ale.
Who ever denies it, the pris'ners will prayfe it,
That beg at the grate, and lye in the goale,
For even in their fetters they thinke themfelves better,
May they get but a two-penny black pot of ale.
The begger, whofe portion is alwayes his prayers,
Not having a tatter to hang on his taile,
Is rich in his rags as a churle in his bags,
If he once but fhakes hands with %,-pot of good ale.
4 Pills to Purge Melancholly.
It drives his poverty clean out of mind,
Forgetting his brown bread, his wallet, and maile ;
He walks in the houfe like a fix-footed loufe,
If he once be inricht with a. pot of good ale.
And he that doth dig in the ditches all day,
And wearies himfelf quite at the plough-taile,
Will fpeak no lefs things than of queens and of kings,
If he touch but the top of & pot of good ale.
?TIs like a whetftone to a blunt wit,
And makes a fupply where Nature doth fail:
The duller! wit foon will look quite through the moon,
If his temples be wet with a. pot of good ale.
Then Dick to his dearling full boldly dares fpeak,
Though before (filly fellow) his courage did quaile :
He gives her the fmouch, with his hand on his pouch,
If he meet by the way with a. pot of good ale.
And it makes the carter a courtier ftraight-way;
With rhetorical termes he will tell his tale ;
With courtefies great ftore, and his cap up before,
Being fchool'd but a little with a, pot of good ale.
The old man whofe tongue wags fafter then his teeth,
(For old age by nature doth drivel and drale)
Will frig and will fling, like a dog in a firing,
If he warm his cold blood with a. pot of good ale.
And the good old clarke, whofe fight waxeth dark,
And ever he thinks the print is to fmall,
He will fee every letter, and fay fervice better,
If he glaze but his eyes with a. pot of good ale,
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
5
The cheekes and the jawes to commend it have caufe;
For where they" were late but even wan and pale,
They will get them a colour, no crimfon is fuller,
By the true die and tincture of a pot of good ale.
Mark her enemies, though they think themfelves wife,
How meager they look, with how low a waile,
How their cheeks do fall, without fpirits at all,
That alien their minds from &pot of good ale.
And now that the grains do work in my brains,
Me thinks I were able to give by retaile
Commodities ftore, a dozen or more,
That flow to mankind from a pot of good ale.
The Mufes would mufe any fhould it mifufe,
For it makes them to fing like a nightingale,
With a lofty trim note, having warned their throat
With the Caballine Spring of 2. pot of good ale.
And the mufician, of any condition,
It will make him reach to the top of his fcale :
It will clear his pipes and moiften his lights,
If he drink alternatim a pot of good ale.
The poet divine that cannot reach wine,
Becaufe that his money doth many times faile,
Will hit on the vein to make a good ftrain,
If he be but infpir'd with & pot of good ale.
For ballads Elderton never had peer;
How went his wit in them, with how merry a gale,
And with all the fails up, had he been at the cup,
And wafhed his beard with &pot of good ale.
6
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
And the power of it fhowes no whit lefs in profe :
It will file ones phrafe, and fet forth his tale ;
Fill him but a bowle, it will make his tongue troul,
For flowing fpeech flows from a. pot of good ale.
And Mafter Philofopher, if he drink his part,
Will not trifle his time in the hufke or the (hale,
But go to the kernell by the depth of his art,
To be found in the bottom of a, pot of good ale.
Give a fcholar of Oxford a pot oifixteen,
And put him to prove that an ape hath no taile,
And fixteen times better his wit will be feen,
If you fetch him from Botley & pot of good ale.
Thus it helps fpeech and wit, and it hurts not a whit,
But rather doth further the virtues morale;
Then think it not much, if a little I touch
The good moral parts of a pot of good ale.
To the Church and religion it is a good friend,
Or elfe our fore-fathers their wifedome did faile,
That at every mile next to the church ftile
Set a confecrate houfe to a. pot of good ale.
But now, as they fay, beer bears it away:
The more is the pity, if right might prevaile,
For with this fame beer came up herefie here ;
The old Catholicke drink is & pot of good ale.
The churches much ow, as we all do know,
For when they be drooping and ready to fall,
By a Whitfon or Church ale up again they (hall go,
And owe their repairing to a. pot of good ale.
Fills to Purge Melancholly.
7
Truth will do it right, it brings truth to light,
And many bad matters it helps to reveal ;
For they that will drink will fpeak what they think :
Tom Tell-troth lies hid in a pot of good ale.
It is juftices friend, Ihe will it commend,
For all is here ferved by meafure and tale;
Now, true tale and good meafure are juftices treafure,
And much to the praife of a pot of good ale.
And next, I alledge, it is fortitudes edge,
For a very cow-heard, that fhrinks like a fnaile,
Will fwear and will fwagger, and out goes his dagger,
If he be but arm'd with a, pot of good ale.
Yea, ale hath her knights and fquires of degree,
That never wore corflet, nor yet fhirts of maile,
But have fought their fights all twixt the pot and the
wall,
When once they were dub'd with a, pot of good ale.
And fure it will make a man fuddenly wife,
Er'e-while was fcarce able to tell a right tale :
It will open his jaw, he will tell you the law,
And make a right Bencher of a. pot of good ale.
Or he that will make a bargain to gain,
In buying or letting his goods forth to fale,
Muft not plod in the mire, but fit by the fire,
And feale up his match with a. pot of good ale.
But for fobernefs, needs muft I confefs,
The matter goes hard ; and few do prevaile
Not to go too deep, but temper to keep,
Such is the attractive of a. pot of good ale.
8
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
But here's an amends which will make all friends,
And ever doth tend to the beft availe :
If you take it too deep, it will make you but fieep;
So comes no great harm of a pot of good ale.
If (reeling) they happen to fall to the ground,
The fall is not great; they may hold by the raile :
If into the water, they cannot be drown'd,
For that gift is given to a pot of good ale.
If drinking about they chance to fall out,
Fear not that alarm, though flefh be but fraile;
It will prove but fome blowes, or at moll a bloody nofe,
And friends again ftraight with a. pot of good ale.
And Phyfick will favour ale, as it is bound,
And be againft beer both tooth and naile;
They fend up and down, all over the town,
To get for their patients a pot of good ale.
Their ale-berries, cawdles, and poffets each one,
And fyllabubs made at the milking-pale,
Although they be many, beere comes not in any,
But all are compofed with a pot of good ale.
And in very deed the hops but a weed
Brought o're againft law, and here fet to fale:
Would the law were renewed, and no more beer brew'd,
But all men betake them to a. pot of good ale.
The law that will take it under his wing,
For at every law-day, or moot of the hale,
One is fworn to ferve our foveraigne the King
In the ancient office of a Conner of'Ale\
Pills to Purge Melancholly,
9
There's never a lord of mannor, or of a town,
By ftrand or by land, by hill or by dale,
But thinks it a franchife, and a flower of the Crown,
To hold the affize of a, pot of good ale.
And, though there lie writs from the Court Paramount,
To ftay the proceedings of Courts Paravaile,
Law favours it fo, you may come, you may go;
There lies no prohibition to 2, pot of good ale.
They talk much of ftate, both early and late,
But if Gafcoign and Spain their wine fhould but faile,
No remedy then with us Englishmen,
But the State it muft Hand by a. pot of good ale,
And they that fit by it are good men and quiet,
No dangerous plotters in the Common-weale
Of treafon and murder; for they never go further
Than to call for, and pay for, a pot of good ale.
To the praife of Gambrivius, that good Britifh king
That devis'd for his nation (by the Welfhmens tale)
Seventeen hundred years before Chrift did fpring
The happy invention of a. pot of good ale.
The North they will praife it, and praife with paflion,
Where every river gives name to a dale :
There men are yet living that are of th' old fafhion,
No nectar they know but a, pot of good ale.
The PicTs and the Scots for ale were at lots,
So high was the fkill, and fo kept under feale ;
The PicTs were undone, flam each mothers fon,
For not teaching the Scots to make hether eale.
c
10
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
But hither or thither, it (kills not much whether,
For drink muft be had, men live not by keale,
Not by havor bannocks, nor by havor jannocks,
The thing the Scots live on is a. pot of good ale,
Now, if ye will fay it, I will not denay it,
That many a man it brings to his bale ;
Yet what fairer end can one wifh to his friend,
Than to dye by the part of a pot of good ale.
Yet let not the innocent bear any blame:
It is their own doings to break o're the pale,
And neither the malt nor the good wife in fault,
If any be potted with a pot of good ale.
They tell whom it kills, but fay not a word
How many a man liveth both found and hale,
Though he drink no beer any day in the year,
By the radical humour of a pot of good ale.
But to fpeak of killing, that I am not willing,
For that, in a manner, were but to raile ;
But beer hath its name, caufe it brings to the Here,
Therefore well-fare, fay I, to a pot of good ale.
Too many (I wis) with their deaths proved this,
And, therefore (if ancient records do not faile),
He that firft brew'd the hop was rewarded with a rope,
And found his beer far more bitter than ale.
O ale! ab alendo, the liquor of life,
That I had but a mouth as big as a whale !
For mine is too little to touch the leaft tittle,
That belongs to the praife of a pot of good ale.
Pills to Purge Melancholly. 11
Thus (I trow) fome vertues I have mark'd you out,
And never a vice in all this long traile,
But that after the pot there cometh the mot,
And that's th' onely blot of & pot of good ale.—
With that my friend faid, That blot will I bear :
You have done very well; it is time to ftrike faile :
Wee'l have fix pots more, though I dye on the fcore,
To make all this good of a pot of good ale.
OBetr Slo^ttgon'jai coofelorreL
COOK-LORRELL would needs have the Devil his gueft,
And bad him once into the Peake to dinner;
Where never the Feind had fuch a feaft
Provided him yet at the charge of a fmner.
His ftomack was queafie ; for coming there coacht,
The jogging had caufed fome crudities rife :
To help it he call'd for a puritan poacht,
That ufed to turn up the eggs of his eyes.
And fo, recovered unto his wifh,
He fate him down, and he fell to eat:
Promooter in plum-broath was the firft difh ;
His own privy kitching had no fuch meat.
Yet, though with this he much were taken,
Upon a fudden he fhifted his trencher,
As foon as he fpide the bawd and bacon.
By this you may note the Devil's a wencher.
12
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
Six pickled taylors, fliced and cut,
Sempfters, tire-women, fit for his pallet,
With fether-men and perfumers put,
Some twelve, in a charger to make a grand fallet.'
A rich fat ufurer, ftevvd in his marrow,
And by him a lawyer's head and green-fawce ;
Both which his belly took in like a barrow,
As if till then had never feen fa wee.
Then carbinadoed, and crookt with pains,
Was brought a cloven ferjeants face:
The fawce was made of the yeomans brains,
That had been beaten out with his own mace.
Two rofted fheriffes came whole to the board,
(The feaft had nothing been without 'em),
Both living and dead they were fox't and furd;
Their chains like fawfages hung about 'em.
The verry next difh was the mayor of a town,
With a pudding of maintenance thruft in his belly;
Like a goofe in the feathers dreft in his gown,
And a couple of hinch-boyes boyld to a jelly,
A London cuckold, hot from the fpit;
And when the carver up had broke him,
The Devil chopt up his head at a bit,
But the horns were very near like to have choakt him.
The chine of a lecher, too, there was rofted,
With a plump harlots haunch and garlick:
A pandors pettitoes, that had boafted
Himfelf for a captain, yet never was warlick*
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
*3
A large fat paffcy of a mid-wife hot;
And for a cold bakt meat, into the ftory
A reverend painted lady was brought,
And coffin'd in cruft, till now fhe was hoary,
To thefe an over-grown juftice of peace,
With a clarke, like a gizard, thrufl under each arme,
And warrants for fippets, laid in his own greafe,
Set over a chafing-difh to be kept warme.
The jowle of a jay lor ferved for flih,
A conftable fous'd with vinegar by :
Two aldermen-lobfters, afleep in a difh ;
A deputy tart, a church-warden pye.
All which devoured, he then, for a clofe,
Did for a full draught of Darby call :
He heav'd the huge veffel up to his nofe,
And left not till he had drank up all.
Then from the table he gave a ftart,
Where banquet and wine were nothing fcarce ;
All which he ftarted away with a fart,
From whence it was call'd the Devil's arfe.
And there he made fuch a breach with the wind,
The hole, too, flanding open the while,
That the fcent of the vapour, before and behind,
Hath fouly perfum'd moft part of the Ifle.
And this was Tobaccho, the learned fuppofe,
Which fince in country, court, and town,
In the Devil's glifter-pipe fmoakes at the nofe
Of polcat and madam, of gallant and clown,
14 Pills to Purge MelancJwlly.
From which wicked weed, with fwines-flefh and ling,
Or any thing elfe that's feaft for the Fiend,
Our captains and we cry God fave the King,
And fend him good meat, and mirth without end.
Of all the trades that ever I fee,
Theres none to the Black-fmith compared may be,
With fo many feveral tooles works he,
which no body can deny.
The firft that ever thunder-bolts made,
Was a Cyclops of the Black-fmiths trade,
As in a learned author is faid,
which no body can deny.
When thundering-like we ftrike about,
The fire like lightning flafhes out,
Which fuddenly with water we dout,
which no body can, deny.
The faireft goddefs in the ikies,
To marry with Vulcan did advife,
And he was a Black-fmith grave and wife,
which no body can deny.
Vulcan he, to doe her right,
Did build her a town by day and night,
And gave it a name, which was Hammerfmith hight,
which no body can deny.
Pills to Purge Melancholly. 15
Vulcan further did acquaint her,
That a pretty eftate he would appoint her,
And leave her Seacole-lane for a joynter,
which no body can deny,
And that no enemy might wrong her,
He built her a fort, you'd wifh no ftronger,
Which was in the lane of Ironmonger,
which no body can deny.
Smithfield he did cleanfe from durt,
And fure there was great reafon fort,
For there he meant fhe ihould keep her court,
which no body can deny.
But after, in a good time and tyde,
It was by the Blackfmith reclifi'd,
To the honor of Edmond Iron-fide,
which no body can deny.
Vulcan after made a traine,
Wherein the God of Warr was tane,
Which ever fince hath been cald Pauls Chaine,
which no body can deny.
The common proverb, as it is read,
That a man muft hit the nale on the head,
Without the Blackfmith cannot be faid,
which no body can deny.
Another muft not be forgot,
And falls unto the Blakfmiths lot,
That a man ftrike while the iron is hot,
which no body can deny,
i6
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
Another comes in, moil proper and fit,
The Blackfmiths juftice is feen in it,
When you give a man roft and beat him with the fpit,
which no body can deny.
Another comes in our Black-fmiths way,
When things are fafe, as old wives fay,
We have them under lock and key ;
which no body can deny.
Another that's in the Black-fmiths books,
And onely to him for remedy looks,
Is when a man's quite off the hooks ;
which no body can deny.
Another proverb to him doth belong,
And, therefore, let's do the Blackfmith no wrong,
When a mans held hard to it, buckle and thong,
which no body can deny.
Another proverb doth make me laugh,
Wherein the Black-fmith may challenge half,
When a reafons as plain as a pike ftaffe;
which no body can deny.
Though your lawyers travel both near and far,
And by long pleading a good caufe may mar,
Yet your Blackfmith takes more pains at the bar,
which no body can deny.
Though your fcrivener feek to crufh and to kill
By his counterfeit deeds, and thereby doth ill,
Yet your Blackfmith may forge what he will;
which no body can deny.
Pills to Purge Melanckolly,
17
Though your bankrupt citizens lurk in their holes,
And laugh at their creditors, and their catchpoles,
Yet your Blackfmith can fetch them over the coales^
which no body can deny.
Though jocky in the ftable be never fo neat
To look to his nag, and prefcribe him his meat,
Yet your Blackfmith knows better how to give a heatj
which no body can deny,
If any taylor have the itch,
The Blackfmiths water, as black as pitch,
Will make his hands go thorough ftitch,
which no body can deny,
There's never a flut, if filth o're fmutch her,
But owes to the Blackfmith for her leacher,
For without a pair of tongs theres no man will touch her?
which no body can deny.
Your roring boyes who ever one quails,
Fights, domineers, fwaggers, and rayls,
Could never yet make the Smith eat his nails,
which no body can deny,
If a fchollar be in doubt,
And cannot bring his matter about,
The Blackfmith he can hammer it out,
which no body can deny,
Now, if to know him you would defire,
You muft not fcorn, but rank him higher,
For what he gets is out of the fire,
which no body can deny,
D
18 Pills to Purge Melancholly.
Now, here's a good health to Blackfmiths all,
And lets go round, as round as a ball;
Wee'l drink it all off, though it coft us a fall,
which no body can deny.
%xi Mh ^otrg of an £DID Courtier
ants a $eto.
With an old fong, made by an old ancient pate,
Of an old worfhipful Gentleman who had a great eftate,
Who kept an old houfe at a bountiful rate,
And an old porter to relieve the poore at his gate,
Like an old Courtier of the Queens.
With an old lady whofe anger and good words affwages,
Who every quarter payes her old fervants their wages,
Who never knew what belongs to coachmen, footmen, and
pages,
But kept twenty thrifty old fellows, with blew-coats and
badges,
Like an old Courtier of the Queens,
With an old ftudy fill'd full of learned books,
With an old reverent parfon, you may judge him by
his looks,
With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the old hooks,
And an old kitching which maintains half a dozen old
cooks,
Like an old Courtier of the Queens.
Pills to Purge Melancholly. 19
With an old hall hung round about with guns, pikes, and
bowes,
With old fwords and bucklers which hath born many
fhrew'd blows,
And an old Fryfadoe coat to cover his worfhips trunk hofe,
And a cup of old flierry to comfort his copper nofe;
L ike an old Courtier of the Queens.
With an old fafhion, when Chriftmas is come,
To call in his neighbours with bag-pipe and drum,
And good chear enough to furnifh every old room,
And old liquor able to make a cat fpeak, and a wife
man dumb;
L ike an old Cotirtier of the 'Queens.
With an old hunts-man, a falkoner, and a kennel of
hounds^
Which never hunted, nor hawked but in his own grounds,
Who like an old wife man kept himfelf within his own
bounds,
And when he died gave every child a thoufand old pounds;
L ike an old Courtier of the Queens.
But to his eldeft fon his houfe and land he affign'd,
Charging him in his will to keep the fame bountiful mind,
To be good to his fervants, and to his neighbours kind,
But in th' enfuing ditty you mall hear how he was inclin'd;
Like a young Courtier of the Kings.
Like a young gallant newly come to his land,
That keeps a brace of creatures at's own command,
And takes up a thoufand pounds upon's own band,
And lieth drunk in a new tavern till he can neither go
nor ftand;
Like a young Courtier of the Kings.
20 Pills to Purge Melancholly.
With a neat lady that is frefli and fair,
Who never knew what belonged to good houfe-keeping
or care,
But buyes feveral fans to play with wanton ayre,
And feventeen or eighteen dreffings of other womens
haire;
Like a young Courtier of the Kings,
With a new hall built where the old one flood,
Wherein is burned neither coale nor wood,
And a new fhuffel-board-table where never meat flood,
Hung round with pictures, which doth the poore little
good ;
Like a young Courtier of the Kings.
With a new ftudy ftufPt full of pamphlets and playes,
With a new chaplin that fwears fafter then he prayes,
With a new buttery hatch that opens once in four or rive
days,
With a new French cook to make kickfhawes and tayes;
Like a young Courtier of the Kings,
With a new fafhion, when Chriftmas is come,
With a journey up to London we muft be gone,
And leave no body at home but our new porter John,
Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with
a ft one,
Like a young Courtier of the Kings,
With a gentleman-ufher whofe carriage is compleat,
With a footman, a coachman, a page to carry meat,
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
21
With a waiting gentlewoman, whofe dreffmg is very neat,
Who, when the mafter hath dyn'd, gives the fervants
litle meat;
Like a young Courtier of the Kings,
With a new honour bought with his fathers old gold,
That many of his fathers old manors hath fold,
And this is the occafion that moil men do hold,
That good houf-keeping is nowadayes grown fo cold;
Like a young Courtier of the Kings.
%\>t %Md& of Qxflyax of %mm^
SEE you not Peirce, the piper,
His cheeks as big as a miter>
Piping among the fwains,
That danc't on yonder plains,
Where Tib and Tom do tread it,
And youths their hornpipes lead it ;
With every man his carriage
To go to yonder marriage ?
Not one would flay behind,
But go with Arthur a Bradley,
Oh, fine Arthur of Bradley ! Oh, fine Arthur of Bradley !
Oh, fine Arthur of Bradley! Oh, &a
Arthur had got him a lafs,
A bonnier never was :
22 Pills to Purge Melancholly.
The chief youths of the parifh
Came dancing of the morris,
With country laffes trounfing,
And lufty lads bouncing ;
Dancing with mufick[s] pride,
And every one his wench by his fide :
They were all fine and gay
For the honour of Arthur of Bradley.
Oh, fine Arthur of Bradley ! Oh, &c.
But when that Arthur was married,
And his bride home had carried,
The youngfters they did wait
To help to carry up the meat:
Francis carried the furmety,
Mighill carryed the mince-pye,
Bartholomew the beife and the muftard,
And Chriftopher carryed the cuftard.
Thus every one went in his ray
For the honour of Arthur of Bradley,
Oh, fine Arthur of Bradley! Oh, &c.
But when that dinner was ended,
The maydens they were befriended ;
For out ftept Dick, the draper,
And he bid pipe up. fcraper:
Better be dancing a little,
Then into the town to tipple.
He bid play him a hornpipe,
That goes fine of the bagpipe.
Then forward, piper, and play
For the honor of Arthur of Bradley.
Oh, fine Arthur of Bradley ! Oh, &c.
Pills to Purge Melancholly, 23
Then Richard he did lead it,
And Margery fhe did tread it:
Francis followed then,
And after courteous Jane.
Thus every one after another,
As if they had been fifter and brother,
That 'twas a great joy to fee
How well they did agree ;
And then they all did fay
Hay for Arthur of Bradley.!
Oh, fine Arthur of Bradley! Oh, &c.
When all the fwaines did fee
This mirth and merry glee,
There was never a man did fmutch her,
But every man kift his wench.
But Giles was greedy of gain,
And he would needs kifs twain :
Her lover feeing that
Did rap him on the pate,
That he had not one word to fay
For the honour of Arthur of Bradley.
Oh, fine Arthur of Bradley ! Oh, &c.
The piper look't afide,
And there he fpide the bride :
He thought it was a hard chance
That none would lead her a dance ;
For never a man durft touch her
But onely Will, the butcher:
He took her by the hand,
And danc't wmTft he could ftand,
H
Pills to Purge Melancholly,
The bride was fo fine and gay
For the honor of Arthur of Bradley,
Oh, fine Arthur of Bradley ! Oh, &c.
Then out ftept Will, the weaver,
And he fwore he'd not leave her i
He hopt it all of a leg
For the honor of his Peg;
But Kefter in cambrick ruffe
He took that in fnuffe,
For he againft that day
Had made himfelf fine and gay :
His ruffe was whipt over with blew;
He cried, a new dance ! a new !
Then forward, piper, and play
For the honor of Arthur of Bradley,
Oh, fine Arthur of Bradley ! Oh, &c.
Then gan the fun decline,
And every one thought it time
To go unto his home,
And leave the bridegroom alone.
To 't, to % quoth lufty Ned,
Wee'l fee them both in bed;
For I will jeopard a joynt
But I will get his codpiece point.
Then ftrike up, piper, and play
For the honor of Arthur of Bradley,
Oh, fine Arthur of Bradley ! Oh, &c.
And thus the day was fpent,
And no man homeward went,
Pills to Purge Melanckolly.
That there was fuch crowding and thru fling,
That fome were in danger of burfling,
To fee them goe to bed,
For all the fkill they had
He was gott to his bride,
And laid him clofe by her fide.
They got his points and garters,
And cut them in pieces like quarters,
And then they bid the piper play
For the honour of Arthur of Bradley,
Oh, fine Arthur of Bradley ! Oh, &c.
Then Will and his fweet heart
Did call for Loth to depart;
And then they did foot it and toss it,
Till the cook had brought up the poffet:
The bride-pye was brought forth,
A thing of mickle worth ;
And fo all at the bed fide
Took leave of Arthur and his bride ;
And fo they went away
From the wedding of Arthur of Bradley,
Oh, fine Arthur of Bradley ! Oh, &c.
26
Pills to Purge Melancholly*
PAN, leave piping, the gods have done feafting,
There's never a goddefs a hunting to day :
Mortalls marvel at Condons jeafting
That gives them affiftance to entertain May.
The lads and the laffes, with fcarves on their faces,
So lively as paffes, trip over the downs:
Much mirth and fport they make, running at barly break:
Lord! what haft they make for a green gown.
John with Gillian, Harry with Francis,
Meg and Mary with Robin and Will ;
George and Margery lead all the dances,
For they were reported to have the beft fkil:
But Cicely and Nanny, the faireft of many,
That came laft of any from out of the townes,
Quickly got in among the midft of all the throng,
They fo much did long for their green gown.
Wanton Deborah whifpered with Dorothy
That fhe mould wink upon Richard and Sym :
Mincing Maudlin fliewd her authority,
And in the quarrel would venture a limb.
But Sibbell was fickly and could not come quickly,
And, therefore, was likley to fall in a fowne :
Tib would not tarry for Tim nor for Harry,
Left Chriftian fliould carry away the green gown.
Blanch and Bettrice, both of a family,
Came very lazy, lagging behind ;
Annife and Amabel, noteing their policie,
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
27
Cupid is cunning although he be blind :
But Winny the witty, that came from the citie,
With Parnell the pretty, and Beffe the brown,
Clem, Jone and Ifabel, Su, Alice and bonny Nell,
TravelFd exceedingly for a green gown.
Now the youngfters had reach't the green medow,
Where they intended to gather their may ;
Some in the funfhine, fome in the fhadow,
Singled in couples did fall to their play :
But conftant Penelope, Faith, Hope, and Charity,
Lookt very modeftly, yet they lay down;
And Prudence prevented what Rachel repented,
And Kate was contented to take a green gown.
Then they defired to know of a truth,
If all their fellows were in like cafe;
Nem call'd for Eede, and Eede for Ruth,
Ruth for Marcy, and Marcy for Grace ;
But there was no fpeaking, they anfwerd with fqueaking,
The pretty lafs breaking the head of the clown,
But fome were a wooing while others were doing,
Yet all their going was for a green-gown.
Bright Apollo was all this while peeping
To fee if his Daphne had been in the throng,
But, miffing her, haftily downwards was creeping,
For Thetis imagin'd he tarried too long.
Then all the troop mourned, and homeward returned,
For Cinthia fcorned to fmile or to frown.
Thus they did gather may all the long fummer day,
And at night went away with a green-gown.
23
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
C^e OBaliats of tfyt d&el&ing of fl&e 3©
NOW liften a while, and I will you tell
Of the gelding of the Devil of Hell:
And Dick, the baker of Mansfield town,
To Manchefter market he was bound,
And under a grove of willow clear
This baker rid on with merry chear :
Beneath the willows there was a hill,
And there he met the Devil of Hell.
Baker, quoth the Devil, tell me that,
How came thy horfe fo fair and fat ?
In troth, quoth the baker, and by my fay,
Becaufe his ftones were cut away;
For he that will have a gelding free,
Both fair and lufty he muft be.
Oh ! quoth the Devil, and faift thou so,
Thou (halt gueld me before thou do'ft go,
Go, tie thy horfe unto a tree,
And with thy knife come and geld me.
The baker had a knife of iron and fteel,
With which he gelded the Devil of Hell.
It was (harp pointed for the nonce,
Fit to cut any manner of ftones.
The baker, being lighted from his horfe,
Cut the Devils ftones from his arfe.
Oh! quoth the Devil, befhrow thy heart,
Thou doft not feel how I doe fmart:
For gelding of me thou art not quit,
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
29
For I mean to geld thee this fame day fevennight.
The baker, hearing the words he faid,
Within his heart was fore afraid:
He hied him to the next market town,
To fell his bread, both white and brown.
And when the market was done that day,
The baker went home another way.
Unto his wife he did tell
How he had guilded the Devil of Hell :
Nay, a wondrous word I heard him fay,
He would gueld me next market day:
Therefore, wife, I ftand in doubt.
Ide rather, quoth fhe, thy knaves eyes were out.
Ide rather thou mould break thy neck-bone,
Then for to loofe any manner of ftone ;
For why twill be a loathfome thing,
When every woman mail call thee guelding.
Thus they continued both in fear,
Untill the next market day drew near.
Well, quoth the good wife, well I wot:
Go fetch me thy doublet, and thy coat.
Thy hofe, thy fhoone, and cap alfo,
And I like a man to the market will go.
Then up fhe got her all in haft,
With all her bread, upon her beaft;
And when fhe came to the hill fide,
There fhe faw two Devils abide :
A little devil for and another,
Lay playing under the hill fide together.
3o
Pills to Purge Melanckolly.
Oh ! quoth the Devil, without any fain,
Yonder comes the baker again:
Beeft thou well, baker, or beeft thou woe,
I mean to geld thee before thou doft goe.
Thefe were the words the woman did fay :
Good fir, I was gelded but yefterday.
Oh ! quoth the Devil, that I will fee,
And he pluckt her cloaths beneath her knee.
And, looking upward from the ground,
The Devil he fpied a grievous wound.
Oh ! quoth the Devil, what might he be,
For he was not cunning that gelded thee ?
For when he had cut away the ftones clean,
He fhould have fowed up the hole again.
He call'd the little Devil to him anon,
And bid him look to that fame man,
Whilft he went into fome private place,
To fetch fome falve in a little fpace.
The great Devil was gone but a little way,
But upon her belly there crept a flea :
The little Devil he foon fpied that;
He up with his paw and gave her a pat:
With that the woman began to ftart,
And out fhe thruft a moft horrible fart.
Whoop! whoop! quoth the little Devil, come again,I pray,
For here's another hole broke, by my fay.
The great Devil he came running in haft :
Within his heart he was fore agaft.
Pills to Purge Melancholly. 31
Fogh ! quoth the Devil, thou are not found,
Thou ftinkeft fo fore above the ground.
Thy life dayes fure cannot be long,
Thy breath it fumes fo wondrous ftrong.
The hole is cut fo near the bone,
There is no falve can ftick thereon ;
And, therefore, Baker, I ftand in doubt,
That all the bowels will fall out.
Therefore, Baker, hie thee away,
And in this place no longer ftay.
% QBaliaB of £>(r Cgle fliore.
SIR Egley More, that valiant knight,
With his fa la, lanctre down dille,
He fetcht his fword, and he went to fight,
With his fa la, and his lanctre dozvn dille:
As he went over hill and dale,
All clothed in his coat of male,
With his fa la, his fa la, and his lanctre down dille.
A huge great dragon leapt out of his den,
With Ms fa la, lanctre down dilly,
Which had killd the Lord knows how many men,
With his fa la, and his lanctre down dille ;
But when he faw Sir Egley More,
Good lack! had you feen how this dragon did rore,
With his fa la, his fa la, and his lanctre dozvn dille.
32 Pills to Purge Melancholly,
The dragon he had on a plaguy hide,
With his fa la, and his lanctre down dille,
Which could both fword and fpeare abide,
With his fa la, and his lanctre down dille,
He could not enter with hacks and cuts,
Which vext the knight to the very heart blood, and guts,
With his fa lay his fa la, and his lanctre down dille.
All the trees in the wood did (hake,
With his fa la, lanctre down dille ;
Stars did tremble, and man did quake,
With his fa la, lanctre down dille;
But had you feen how the birds lay peeping,
'Twould have made a mans heart to fall a weeping,
With his fa la, his fa la, and his lanctre down dille.
But now it was too late to fear,
With his fa la, &c.
For now it was come to fight dog, fight bear,
With his fa la, &c.
And as a yawning he did fall,
He thruft his fword in, hilts and all,
With his fa la, &c.
But now the knight in choler did burn,
With his fa la, &c.
He owed the dragon a fhrewd good turn,
With his fa la, &c.
In at his mouth his fword he bent,
The hilt appear'd at his fundament,
With his fa la, &c»
Pills to Purge Melanckolly.
33
Then the dragon, like a coward, began to fly,
With his fa la, &c.
Unto his den that was hard by,
With his fa la, &c,
And there he laid him down and ror'd,
The knight was vexed for his fword^
With his fa la, &c,
The fword it was a right good blade,
With his fa la, &c,
As ever Turk or Spaniard made,
With his fa la, &c,
I, for my part, do forfake it,
And he that will fetch it, let him take it,
With his fa la, &c.
When all this was done, to the ale-houfe he went,
With his fa la, &c,
And by and by his two pence he fpent,
With his fa la, &c,
For he was fo hot with tugging with the dragon,
That nothing would quench him but a whole flagon,
With his fa la, &c.
Now God preferve our King and Queen,
With his fa la, &c,
And eke in London may be feen,
With his fa la, &c,
As many knights, and as many more,
And all fo good as Sir Egle More,
With his fa la, fa la, lanctre down dille.
34
Pills to Purge Melancholly*
C|e 'Ballad of &t George for em^latm*
Why fhould we boaft of Arthur and his knights,
Know how many men have perform'd fights ?
Or why fhould we fpeak of Sir Lancelot du Lake,
Or Sir Triftram du Leon, that fought for his ladys fake ?
Read old ftoryes, and there you'l fee
How St. George, St. George did make the dragon flee :
St. George he was for England, St. Denis was for France,
Sing Hony foitt qui maly penfe.
To fpeak of the monarchy it were two long to tell,
And likewife of the Romans how far they did excel ;
Hannibal and Scipio they many a field did fight;
Orlando Furiofo he was a valiant knight;
Romulus and Rhemus were thofe that did Rome build,
But St. George, St, George, the dragon he hath kiil'd.
St George he was, &c.
Jephtha and Gidion they led their men to fight,
The Gibeonites and Amonites they put them all to flight:
Hercules Labour was in the Vale of Brafs,
And Sampfon flew a thoufand with the jaw-bone of an affe;
And when he was blind pulFd the temple to the ground ;
But St. George, St. George, the dragon did confound.
St. George he wras, &c
Valentine and Orfon they came of Pipins blood,
Alphred and Aldricus they were brave knights and good :
The four fons of Amnon that fought with Charlemaine,
Pills to Purge Melancholly. 3 5
Sir Hugh de Bordeaux and Godfrey of Boloigne:
Thefe were all French knights the pagans did convert,
But St. George, St. George, pull'd forth the dragons heart,
St. George he was, &c.
Henry the fifth he conquered all France,
He quartered their armes his honour to advance,
He razed their walls, and pull'd their cities down,
And garnifhed his head with a double treble crown :
He thumbed the French, and after home he came ;
But St. George, St. George, he made the dragon tame.
St. George he was, &c.
St. David, you know, loves leeks and tolled cheefe,
And Jafon was the man brought home the golden fleece :
St. Patrick, you know, he was St. George's boy;
Seven years he kept his horfe, and then ftole him away ;
For which knaviih act a Have he doth remain,
But St. George, St. George, he hath the dragon (lain.
St. George he was, &c.
Tamberline, the emperour, in iron cage did crown,
With his bloody flags difplay'd before the town :
Scanderbeg magnanimous Mahomets Bafliaw did dread,
Whofe victorious bones were worn when he was dead:
His Bedlerbegs, his corn like drags, George Caftriot was he
call'd,
But St. George, St. George, the dragon he hath mauld.
St. George he was for England, St. Denis was for France,
Sing Hony foit qui maly penfe.
Ottoman, the Tartar, Cham of PerfiVs race,
The great Mogul with his chefts fo full of all his cloves
and
mace:
56
Pills to Purge Melanckolly.
The Grecian youth Bucephalus he manly did beftride,
But thofe, with all their worthies nine, St. George did them
deride :
Guftavus Adolphus was Swedeland's warlike king,
But St. George, St. George, pull'd forth the dragon's fling.
St. George he was for England, St. Denis was for France,
Sing Honifoit qui mal y penfe,
Pendragon and Cadwallader of Britifh blood doe boaft,
Though John of Gaunt his foes did daunt, St. George fhali
rule the roaft.
Agamemnon and Cleomedon and Macedon did feats,
But, compared to our champion, they were but merely
cheats,
Brave Malta knights in Turkifh fights their brandifht
fwords out-drew,
But St. George met the dragon, and ran him through and
through.
St George he was, &c.
Bidea, the Amazon, Photius overthrew,
As fierce as either Vandal, Goth, Saracen, or Jew;
The potent Holophernes, as he lay in his bed,
In came wife Judith and fubtly flool his head.
Brave Cyclops flout with Jove he fought, although he
fhower'd down thunder,
But St. George kilFd the dragon, and was not that a
wonder ?
St. George he was, &c.
Mark Anthony, He warrant you, plaid feats with Egypt's
queen,
Pills to Purge Melancholly. 37
Sir Egla More, that valiant knight, the like was never
feen;
Grim Gorgons might was known in fight, old Bevis moft
men frighted,
The Myrmidons and Presbyter John, why were not thofe
men knighted ?
Brave Spinola, took in Breda, Naffaw did it recover,
But St. George, St. George, he turn'd the dragon over and
over.
St. George he was for England, St. Denis was for France,
Sing Hony foil qui maly penfe.
% CBallati cairn %\€m Cap Im me*
Come hither, thou merrier! of all the Nine;
Come, fit you down by me, and let us be jolly,
And with a cup full of Apollo's wine,
Wee'l dare our enemy, mad Melancholly ;
And when we have done, wee'l between us devife
A pleafant new ditty by art to comprife;
And of this new ditty the matter mail be,
If ever I have a man, blew cap for me.
There dwells a blith lafs in Falkland town,
And (he hath fuitors, I know not how many,
And her refolution (he had fet down,
That ihe'l have a blew cap, if ever fhe have any.
An Englifhman, when our good knight was there,
Came often unto her, and loved her dear,
Yet ftill flie replyed, Geod fir, La be,
If ever I have a man, blew cap for me,
38
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
A Welchman that had a long fword by his fide,
Red doublet, red breech, and red coat, and red peard,
Was made a great fhew of a great deal of pride,
Was tell her ftrange tales, te like never heard;
Was recon her pedegree long pefore Prute,
No body was near that could her confute ;
But ftill fhe reply'd, Geod fir, la be,
If ever I have a man, blew eap for me.
A Frenchman that largely was booted and fpurr'd,
Long lock with a ribbon, long points, and long preafhes,
Was ready to kiffe her at every word,
And for the other exercifes his fingers itches,
You be pretty wench, a metrel, par ma foy;
Dear me do love you ; be not fo coy;
Yet ftill replyed, Geod fir, la be,
If ever I have a man, blew cap for me.
An Irifhtnan, with a long fkeen in his hofe,
Did think to obtain her ; it was no great matter :
Up flairs to the chamber fo lightly he goes,
That fhe never heard him until he came at her.
Quoth he, I do love thee, by fait and by trot,
And, if thou wilt know it, experience fhall fho't;
Yet ftill fhe reply'd, Geod fir, la be,
If ever I have a man, blew cap for me.
A Netherland mariner came there by chance,
Whofe cheekes did refemble two rofling pome-watters,
And to this blith laffe this fine fute did advance ;
Experience had taught him to cog, lie, and flatter:
Pills to Purge Melaiicholly. 39
Quoth he, I will make thee fole lady of the fea ;
Both Spaniard and Englifh man fhall thee obey;
Yet ftill fhe replyed, Geod fir, La be,
If ever I have a man, blew cap for me.
At laft came a Scotchman with a blew cap,
And that was the man for whom fhe had tarryed:
To get this blyth lafs it was his good hap ;
They gan to kirk, and were prefently married.
She car'd not whether he were lord or leard,
She call'd him fick a fine name as I ne'r heard :
To get him from aw fhe did well agree,
And ftill fhe cryed, Blew cap, thou art welcome to nice !
C^e 'Ballot) of t^e Cap&
The wit hath long beholding been
Unto the cap to keep it in;
But now the wits fly out amain,
In prayfe to quit the cap again.
The cap that keeps the higheft part,
Obtains the place by due defert:
For any cap, &c.
The Monmouth cap, the faylors thrumbe,
And that wherein the tradesmen come;
The phyfick cap, the cap divine,
And that which crowns the Mufes nine;
40 Pills to Purge Melancholly.
The cap that fooles do countenance,
The goodly Cap of Maintenance :
For any cap, &c.
The fickly cap, both plain and wrought,
The fudling cap, how ever bought;
The worfted, furr'd, the velvet, fattin,
For which fo many pates learn Latin ;
The cruel cap, the fuftian pate,
The perewig, a cap of late;
For any cap, &c.
The fouldiers that the Monmoth wear,
On caftles tops their enfigns rear;
The feaman with his thrumb doth ftand,
On higher parts then all the land ;
The tradefmans cap aloft is born,
By vantage of a ftately horn :
For any cap, &c.
The phyfick cap to dull; can bring,
Without controul, the greateft king :
The lawyers cap hath heavenly might
To make a crooked action ftraight;
And if you line him in the fill,
The caufe heel warrant as he lift.
For any cap, &c*
Both eaft and weft, and north and fouth,
Where ere the gofpel hath a mouth,
The cap divine doth thither look:
Tis fquare, like fcholars and their book :
Pills to Purge Melancholly. 41
The reft are round, but this is fquare,
To (hew their wits more liable are;
For any cap, &c
The jefter he a cap doth wear,
Which makes him fellow with a peer,
And 'tis no (lender piece of wit
To acl the fool where great men fit;
But 0, the cap of London town !
I wis 'tis like a goodly crown.
For any cap, &c.
The fickly cap, though wrought with filk,
Is like repentance, white as milk:
When caps drop off at health apace,
The cap doth then your head uncafe :
The fick mans cap (if wrought can tell)
Though he be fick, his cap is well
For any cap, <&c.
The fudling cap by Bacchus might
Turns night to day, and day to night;
We know it makes proud heads to bend^
The lowly feet for to afcend :
It makes men richer then before
By feeing doubly all their fcore.
For any cap, &ca
The furr'd and quilted cap of age
Can make a mouldy proverb fage :
The fatin and the velvet hive
Into a bifhoprick may thrive :
42 Pills to Purge Melancholly,
The triple cap may raife fome hope,
If fortune ferve, to be a Pope ;
For any cap, &c.
The perewig 0! this declares
The rife of flefh, though fall of haires,
And none but grandfiers can proceed
So far in fin, till they this need,
Before the king who covered are,
And only to themfelves ftand bare :
For any cap, what ere it bee,
Is JIM the Jigne of Jo me degree.
% 'Baiiats of t^e 0om
Three merry lads met at the Rofe,
To fpeak in the praifes of the nofe ;
The nofe, that ftands in the midle place,
Sets out the beauty of the face :
The nofe with which we have begun
Will ferve to make our verfes run.
Invention often barren growes,
Yetjtil titer s matter in the Noje.
The nofe his ends fo high a prize,
That men prefer't before their eyes,
And no man counts him for a friend,
That boldly takes his nofe by the end :
The nofe that like Uripus flowes,
The fea that did the wife man pofe.
Invention often, &c,
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
43
The nofe is of as many kinds
As mariners can reckon winds;
The long, the fhort, the nofe difplayd,
The great nofe which did fright the maid ;
The nofe through which the brother-hood
Do parly for the lifters good.
Invention often, &c.
The flat, the fharp, the Roman fnowt,
The hawkes nofe circled round about,
The crooked nofe that ftands awry,
The ruby nofe of fcarlet dye ;
The brazen nofe without a face,
That doth the learned Colledge grace.
Invention often, &c.
The long nofe, when the teeth appear,
Shewes what's a clock, if day be clear :
The broad nofe ftands in bucklers place,
And takes the blowes for all the face:
The nofe being plain without a ridge
Will ferve fometimes to make a bridge.
Invention ofteny &c.
The fhort nofe is the lovers blifs,
Becaufe it hinders not a kifs :
The toteing nofe, O monftrous thing !
That's he that did the bottle bring,
And he that brought the bottle hither,
Will drink (O monftrous !) out of meafure.
Invention often, &c.
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
The fierie nofe in lanthorn ftead
May light his mafter home to bed ;
And whofoever this treafure owes
Growes poore in purfe, tho rich in nofe.
The Brazen Nofe that's ore the gate
Maintains full many a Lattin pate,
Invention often, &c.
If any nofe take this in fnuff,
And think it more then enough,
We anfwer them, we did not fear,
Nor think fuch nofes had been here ;
But if there be, we need not care,
A nofe of wax our ftatutes are :
Invention now is barren grown,
The matters out, the nofe is bloivn.
$ ^ong of t#e f ot^eatseu Zealot
To the tune of Tom a Bedlam.
Am I mad, O noble Feflus !
When zeal and godly knowledge
Have put me in hope
To deal with the Pope
As well as the beft in the colledge ?
Boldly I preach, hate a croffe, hate afzirplice,
Mitres, copes, and rotchets:
Come, hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads zvith crotchets.
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
In the houfe of pure Emanuel
I had my education,
Where, my friends furmife,
I dazled my eyes
With the light of Revelation.
Boldly I preach, &c.
They bound me like a Bedlam,
They lafh't my four poor quarters :
Whilft this I endure,
My faith makes me fure
To be one of Foxes Martyrs.
Boldly Ipreachy &c.
Thefe injuries I fuffer
Through Antichrifts perfwafions :
Take off this chain,
Neither Rome nor Spain
Can refill my ftrong invafions.
Boldly I preach, 8fc.
Of the beafts ten horns (God blefs us
I have knock'd off three already :
If they let me alone,
Tie leave him none ;
But they fay I am too heady.
Boldly I preach, &c.
When I fack'd the feven-hilFd city,
I met the great red dragon:
I kept him aloof
Fills to Purge Melancholly.
With the armour of proof,
Though here I have never a rag on.
Boldly I preach, &c.
With a fiery fword and target,
There fought I with this monfter ;
But the fons of pride
My zeal deride,
And all my deeds mifconfter.
Boldly I preachy &c.
I unhorfl the Whore of Babel
With a lance of infpirations :
I made her ftinke,
And fpill her drinke
In the cup of abominations.
Boldly I preach, fyc.
I have feen two, in a vifion,
With a flying book between them :
I have been in difpair
Five times a year,
And cur'd by reading Greenham.
Boldly 1 preacky fyc.
I obferv'd in Perkins tables
The black lines of damnation :
Thofe crooked veins
So ftuck in my brains,
That I fear'd my reprobation.
Boldly I preachy fyc.
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
47
In the holy tongue of Canaan
I plac'd my chiefeft pleafure,
Till I prick't my foot
With an Hebrew root,
That I bled beyond all meafure.
Boldly I preach, 8fc.
I appeared before the Archbifhop,
And all the High Commiffion :
I gave him no Grace,
But told him to his face,
That he favour'd fuperftition.
Boldly I preach, hate a crofsjiate afnrplice,
Mitres, copes, and rotchets :
Come, hear me pray nine times a day,
And fill your heads with crotchets.
a ^ong on t|e ^clt^maticfe ffiotrot&ofc
ONCE I a curious eye did fix,
To obferve the tricks
Of the fchifmaticks of the times,
To find out which of them
Was the merrieft theme,
And beft would befit my rimes.
Arminius I found folid,
Socinians were not ftolid,
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
Much learning for Papifts did ftickle,
But, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, Rotundas rot,
Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, Rotundos rot,
'Tis you that my fpie en doth tickle.
And firft to tell muft not be forgot,
How I once did trot
With a great zealot to a lecture;
Where I a tub did view,
Hung with apron blew :
'Twas the preachers, as I conjecture.
His life, and doctrine too,
Were of no other hue,
Though he fpoke in a tone moft mickle;
But, ha, ha, ha, ha, Sfc.
He taught, amongft other prety things,
That the Book of Kings
Small benefit brings to the godly:
Befide he had fome grudges
At the Book of Judges,
And talkt of Leviticus odly.
Wifedome moft of all
He declares apocryphal,
Beat Bell and the Dragon like Michel;
But ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, fyc,
Gainft humaine learning next he enveyes,
And moft boldly fays,
'Tis that which deftroyes infpiration :
Let fuperftitious fence
And wit be banifhed hence,
Fills to 'Purge Melancholly,
49
With Popifh predomination :
Cut bifhops down in haft,
And cathedrals as fa ft
As corn that's fit for the fickle.
But ah, ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, Rotundas rot*
Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, Rotundas rot,
Tis you that my fpleen doth tickle.
% dBlee in pvam of w&nt*
LET fouldiers fight for pay and praife,
And money be the mifers wifh,
Poor fcholars ftudy all their dayes,
And gluttons glory in their difh :
y Tis wine, pure zvine, revives fad fouls;
Therefore give me the chearing b ovules*
Let minions marfhal in their hair,
And in a lovers lock delight,
And artificial colours wear ;
We have the native red and white.
' Tis wine, pure wine, 8fc.
Your pheafant pout and culver falmon,
And how to pleafe your pallets think,
Give us a fait Weft-phala gamon,
Not meat to eat, but meat to drink.
'Tis wine, 8pc.
II
So
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
It makes the backward fpirits brave,
That lively that before was dull;
Thofe grow good fellows that are grave,
And kindnefs flows from cups brim full.
' Tis wine, fyc.
Some have the tiffick, fome [the] rume,
Some have the palfey, fome the gout;
Some fwell with fat, and fome confume,
But they are found that drink all out.
' Tis wine, fyc.
Some men want youth, and fome want health,
Some want a wife and fome a punck ;
Some men want wit, and fome want wealth,
But he wants nothing that is drunk.
? Tis wine, 8fC.
a QBallaB m patif htmtm ttoo ta&t$t*
county fl©en3 on 0ig|t of a a$etfottt&
I TELL thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the rareft things have feen ;
Oh ! things beyond compare :
Such fights again cannot be found
In any place on Englifh ground,
Be it at wake or faire.
Fills to Purge Melancholly.
At Charing Croffe, hard by the way
Where we (thou know'ft) do fell our hay,
There is a houfe with flairs;
And there did I fee coming down
Such volk as are not in our town,
Vortie, at leaft, in pairs.
Amongft the reft one pefVlent fine,
(His beard no bigger though then thine)
Walkt on before the reft:
Our landlord looks like nothing to him ;
The King (God bleffe him !) 'twould undo
Should he go ftill fo dreft.
At Courfe-a-Park, without all doubt,
He fhould have firft been taken out
By all the maids i' thJ town;
Though lufty Roger there had been,
Or little George upon the green,
Or Vincent of the Crown.
But wot you what ? the youth wras going
To make an end of all his wooing,
The Parfon for him ftaid ;
Yet by his leave (for all his haft)
He did not fo much wifh all paft
(Perchance) as did the maid,
The maid (and thereby hangs a tale)
For fuch a maid no Whitfon ale
Could ever yet produce.
S3
Pills to Purge MelanchoUy.
No grape that's kindly ripe could be
So round, fo plump, fo foft as fhe,
Nor halfe fo full of juice.
Her finger was fo fmall, the ring
Would not flay on which he did bring ;
It was too wide a peck :
And, to fay truth (for out it mud),
It lookt like the great collar (juft)
About our young colts neck.
Her feet, beneath her peticoat,
Like little mice ftole in and out,
As if they fear'd the light.
But, Dick, fhe dances fuch a way,
No fun upon an Eafter day
Is halfe fo fine a fight.
He would have kift her once or twice,
But fhe would not; fhe was fo nice
She would not do't in fight;
And then fhe lookt as who would fay,
I will do what I lift to day>
And you (hall do't at night.
Her cheeks fo rare a white was on,
No dazy makes comparifon,
(Who fees them is undone) ;
For flreaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Katherine pear,
The fide that's next the fun.
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
53
Her lips were red, and one was thin
Compared to heat [that] was next her chin,
(Some bee had ftung it newly):
But (Dick) her eyes fo guard her face,
I durft no more upon them gaze
Then on the fun in July.
Her mouth fo fmall when fhe does fpeak,
Thoud'ffc fwear her teeth her words did break,
That they might paffage get ;
But fhe fo handled ftill the matter,
They came as good as ours, or better,
And are not fpent a whit.
If wifliing fhould be any fin,
The Parfon himfelfe had guilty bin,
(She lookt that day fo purely) ;
And did the youth fo oft the feat
At night, as fome did in conceit,
It would have fpoil'd him furely.
Paffion of me, how I run on !
There's that that would be thought upon
(I trow) befides the bride :
The bufmefs of the kitchin's great,
For it is fit that men fhould eat,
Nor was it there deny'd.
Juft in the nick the cook knockt thrice,
And all the waiters in a trice
His fummons did obey :
54
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
Each ferving-man, with difh in hand,
Marcht boldly up, like our train band,
Prefented and away.
When all the meat was on the table,
What man of knife or teeth was able
To flay to be intreated ?
And this the very reafon was,
Before the parfon could fay grace
The company was feated.
Now hats fly off, and youths carroufe :
Healths firft go round, and then the houfe,
The brides came thick and thick;
And when twas nanVd anothers health,
Perhaps he made it hers by Health,
(And who could help it, Dick ?)
O'th fudain up they rife and dance :
Then fit again, and figh and glance ;
Then dance again and kiffe.
Thus feveral wayes the time did paffe,
Whim every woman wifht her place,
And every man wifht his.
By this time all were ftolne afide
To councel and undreffe the bride,
But that he muft not know ;
But 'twas thought he gheft her mind,
And did not mean to ftay behind
Above an houre or fo.
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
55
When in he came (Dick), there (he lay,
Like new-fain fnow melting away,
(Twas time, I trow, to part) :
Kiffes were now the onely flay,
Which foon fhe gave, as who would fay,
God b' w' yJ with all my heart!
But, juft as Heavens would have, to croffe it,
In came the bride-maids with the poffet:
The bride-groom eat in fpight ;
For had he left the women to it,
It would have coft an hour to do it,
Which were too much that night.
At length the candle's out, and now
All that they had not done they doe :
What that is who can tell ?
But, I believe, it was no more
Than thou and I have done before
With Bridget and with Nell.
% Combat of Cod&
By T. R.
Go, you tame gallants, yoti that have the name,
A nd would accounted be Cocks of the Game,
That have brave fpurs to Jhew foryt, and can crow,
And count all dung-hill breed that cannot Jhew
Such painted plumes as yours ; that think't no vice
56
Pills lo Purge Melancholly»
With cock-like lujl to tread your cockatrice :
Though peacocks, wood-cocks y weather-cocks you be,
If fare no fighting-cocks, fare not for me.
I of two feather'd combatants will write :
He that to tJi life means to exprefs the fight
Mufil make his ink d tli blond which they didfpill,
And, from their dying wings borrozv his quill.
No fooner were the doubtful people fet,
The matches made, and all that would had bet,
But ftraight the Ikilful judges of the play
Bring forth their fharp-heel'd warriours, and they
Were both in linnen bags, as it were meet
Before they dy'd to have their winding-meet.
With that in the pit they are put, and when they were
Both on their feet, the Norfolk chanticleere
Looks ftoutly at his ne're before ken foe,
And, like a challenger, begins to crow,
And ihakes his wings, as if he would difplay
His warlike colours, which were black and gray.
Mean time the wary Wisbich walks and breaths
His active body, and in fury wreaths
His comely creft; and often looking down,
He whets his angry beak upon the ground.
With that they meet, not like that coward breed
Of ^Efop, that can better fight than feed :
They fcorn the dung-hill; 'tis their only prize
To dig for pearl within each others eyes.
They fight fo long, that it is hard to know
To thJ fkilful whether they did fight or no,
Had not the bloud that died the fatal floore
Pills to Purge MelancJtolly.
Born witnefs of it; yet they fight the more,
As if each wound were but a fpur to prick
Their fury forward:] lightning's not more quick
Nor red than were their eyes : 'twas hard to know
Whether it was bloud or anger made them fo :
And fure they had been out, had they not flood
More fafe by being fenced in by blood.
Yet ftill they fight; but now (alas!) at length,
Although their courage be full tryed, their ftrength
And blood began to ebbe : you that have feen
A water-combat on the fea, between
Two roaring, angry, boy ling billows, how
They march and meet, and dafh their curled browes,
Swelling like graves, as if they did intend
To intomb each other, ere the quarrel end ;
But when the wind is down, and bluftring weather,
They are made friends and fweetly run together,
May think thefe champions fuch : their combs grow
And they that leapt even now, now fcarce can go:
Their wings, which lately at each blow they clapt,
(As if they did applaud themfelves) now flapt,
And having loft the advantage of the heele,
Drunk with each others blood, they only reele.
From either eyes fuch drops of blood did fall,
As if they wept them for their funeral;
And yet they would fain fight: they come fo near,
As if they meant into each others ear
To whifper death ; and when they cannot rife,
They lie and look blowes in each others eyes.
But now the tragick part, after the fight:
When Norfolk cock had got the beft of it,
I
58 Pills to Purge' Melancholly.
And Wisbich lay a dying, fo that none,
Though fober, but might venture feven to one,
Contracting (like a dying taper) all
His force, as meaning with that blow to fall,
He ftruggles up ; and having taken wind,
Ventures a blow, and ftrikes the other blind,
And now poor Norfolk, having loft his eyes,
Fights only guided by antipathies.
With him (alas !) the proverb holds not true,
The blowes his eyes ne're fee his heart mod rue.
At length by chance he ftumbling on his foe,
Not having any power to ftrike a blow,
He falls upon him with a wounded head,
And makes his conquered wings his feather-bed ;
Where lying fick, his friends were very charie
Of him, and fetcht in hafte an apothecary,
But all in vain : his body did fo blifter,
That 'twas incapable of any glifter ;
Wherefore at length, opening his fainting bill,
He call'd a fcrivener, and thus made his will:
Inprimis, Let it never he forgot\
My body freely if I bequeath to the pot,
Decently to be boyPd, and for its tomb,
Let it be buried infome hungry womb.
Item, Executors I will have none,
But he that on my fide lay }d feven to one;
And like a gentleman that he may live,
To him and to his heirs my comb I give,
Together with my brains, that all may know
That oftentimes his brains did ufe to crow,
Item, It is my will, to the weaker ones,
Pills to Purge Melancholly. 59
Whofe wives complain of'them, I give my ftones.
To him thats dull, I do my fpurs impart;
A nd to the coward I bequeath my heart.
To ladies that are light, it is my will,
My feathers fhoidd be given ; and for my bill
Fde give't a tay lor, but it is fo fhort
That Fm afraid heel rather curfe me for7.
And for the apothecaries fee, who meant
To give me a glifler, let my rump be fent
Laflly, becaufe I feel my life decay,
I yield, and give to Wisbich Cock the day.
C|e Mt\$\wwm ^ottg3 111 pratge of
icaxaie&
I'S not come here to tauke of Prut,
From whence the Welfe dos take hur root;
Nor tell long pedegree of Prince Camber,
Whofe linage would fill full a chamber;
Nor fmg the deeds of ould Saint Davie,
The urfip of which would fill a navie ;
But hark me now for a liddell tales,
Sail make a gread deal to the creddit of Wales :
For her will tudge your eares,
With the praife of hur thirteen feers,
And make you as clad and merry,
As fourteen pot of perry.
&0 Pills to Purge Melancholly.
'Tis true, was wear him fherkin freize,
But what is that ? we have (lore of feize,
And got is plenty of goats milk,
That, fell him well, will buy him filk
Inough to make him fine to quarrell
At Herford Sizes in new apparrell,
And get him as much green melmet perhap
Sail give a face to his Monmouth cap.
But then the ore of Lemfter,
Py Cot is uver a fempfter ;
That when he is fpun or did,
Yet match him with hir thrid.
Aull this the backs now; let us tell yee
Of fome provifion for the belly,
As kid and goat, and great goats mother,
And runt and cow, and good cows uther:
And once but taft on the Welfe mutton,
Your Englis feeps not worth a button;
And then for your fiffe, fhall choofe it your diffe,
Look but about, and there is a trout,
A falmon, cot, or chevin,
Will feed you fix or feven,
As taull man as ever fwagger
With Welfe club, and long dagger.
But all this while was never think
A word in praife of our Welfe drink ;
And yet for aull that is a cup of bragat
Aull England feer may caft his cap at.
And what fay you to ale of Webly ?
Toudge him as well, you'll praife him trebly,
Pills to Purge Mclancholly. 61
As well as metheglin, or fyder, or meath,
Sail fake it your dagger quite out of his feath.
And oat-cake of Guarthenion,
With a goodly leek or onion,
To give as fweet a rellis,
As e'r did Harper Ellis.
And yet is nothing now all this,
If our muficks we do miffe ;
Both harps, and pipes too ; and the crowxl
Muft aull come in, and tauk aloud,
As lowd as Bangu Davies bell,
Of which is, no doubt, you have hear tell,
As well as our lowder Wrexam organ,
And rumbling rocks in the Seer of Glamorgan ;
Where look you but in the ground there,
And you fall fee a found there,
That put her all to gedder
Is fweet as meafure pedder.
W$z Caftaltergs Complaint
To the Tune of lie tell thee, Dick, &c.
Come, Jack, let's drink a pot of ale,
And I (hall tell thee fuch a tale
Will make thine eares to ring :
My coyne is fpent, my time is loft,
And I this only fruit can boaft,
That once I faw my King.
62
Pills to Purge MelaucJwlly.
But this doth rnofr. afflicT: my mind :
I went to Court in hope to find
Some of my frienpls in place ;
And, walking there, I had a fight
Of all the crew, but, by this light,
I hardly knew one face.
S'life, of fo many noble fparkes,
Who on their bodies beare the markes
Of their integrity ;
And fuffred ruine of eftate,
It was my bafe unhappy fate,
That I not one could fee.
Not one, upon my life, among
My old acquaintance all along,
At Truro and before :
And I fuppofe the place can fhew
As few of thofe whom thou didft know
At York, or Marfton Moore.
But, truly, there are fwarms of thofe
Whofe chins are beardlefs, yet their hofe
And backfides ftill weare muffes;
Whilft the old rufty Cavalier
Retires, and dare not once appear
For want of coyne and cuffes.
When none of thofe I could difcry,
Who better farre deferv'd than I,
I calmely did reflecT:,
Pills to Purge Melancholly. 63
Old fervants, by the rule of State,
Like almanacks grow out of date :
What, then, can I expect ?
Troth, in contempt of fortunes frowne,
lie get me fairely out of towne,
And in a cloyfter pray,
That fince the ftarres are yet unkind
To Royalifts, the King may find
More faithfull friends then they.
The ANSWER.
I MARVAILE, Dick, that having been
So long abroad, and having feen
The world as thou haft done,
Thou fhouldfh acquaint me with a tale
As old [as] Neftor, and as ftale
As that of Prieft and Nunne.
Are we to learne what is a Court ?
A pageant made for Fortunes fport,
Where merits fcarce appear;
For bafhfull merit onely dwells
In camps, in villages, and cells :
Alas ! it comes not there.
Defert is nice in its addreffe,
And merit oft times doth oppreffe
Beyond what guilt would doe ;
Pills to Purge Melancholly,
But they are fare of their demands
Who come to Court with golden hands,
And brazen faces too.
The King, indeed, doth ftill profeffe
To give his party foon redreffe,
And cherifh honefty;
But his good wifhes prove in vaine,
Whofe fervice with his fervants gaine
Not alwayes doth agree.
All princes, be they ne're fo wife,
Are fain to fee with others eyes,
But feldom hear at all;
And courtiers find their intereft
In time to feather well their neft,
Providing for their fall.
Our comfort doth on time depend :
Things, when they are at worft, will mend ;
And let us but reflect
On our condition 'tother day,
When none but tyrants bore the fway :
What did we then expecT: ?
Mean while a calme retreat is beft;
But difcontent, if not fuppreft,
Will breed difloyalty.
This is the conftant note Fie fing:
I have been faithfull to the King,
And fo fhall live and dye.
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
ADtt a pint of ^m%
Old poets Hipocrin admire,
And pray to water to infpire
Their wit and mufe with heavenly fire:
Had they this heavenly fountain feen,
Sack both their well and Mufe had been,
And this pint-pot their Hipocrin,
Had they truly difcovered it,
They had, like me, thought it unfit
To pray to water for their wit;
And had adored Sack as divine,
And made a poet god of wine,
And this pint-pot had been a fhrine.
Sack unto them had been in ftead
Of nectar, and their heavenly bread,
And ev'ry boy a Ganimed:
Or had they made a god of it,
Or ftil'd it patron of their wit,
This pot had been a temple fit.
Well then, companions, is't not fit,
Since to this jemme we ow our wit,
That we mould praife the cabonet,
And drink a health to this divine
And bounteous pallace of our wine ?
Die he with thirft that doth repine !
66
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
■a ^ottg in pratee of ^m%
Hang the Presbyters gill, bring a pint of Sack, Will,
More orthodox of the two ;
Though a flender difpute will ftrike the elf mute,
Here's one of the honefter crew.
In a pint there's fmall heart : firrah, bring a quart;
There is fubftance and vigour met :
'Twill hold us in play fome part of the day,
But wee'l fink him before fun-fet.
The daring old pottle does now bid us battle ;
Let us try what our ftrength can do :
Keep your ranks and your files, and for all his wiles,
Wee'l tumble him down ftayrs too.
Then fummon a gallon, a flout foe and a tall one,
And likely to hold us to't :
Keep but coyn in your purfe, the word is disburfe ;
He warrant he'le fleep at your foot.
Lets drain the whole celler, pipes, buts, and the
dweller,
If the wrine floats not the fafter :
Will! when thou doft flack * us, by warrant from Bacchus
We will cane thy tun-belli'd mafter.
Fills to Purge Melancholly. 6/
3!ti t#e vmim oC Mint,
JTlS Wine that infpires,
And quencheth loves fires,
Teaches fools how to rule a ftate.
Mayds ne're did approve it,
Becaufe thofe that doe love it
Defpife and laugh at their hate.
The drinkers of beer
Did ne're yet appear
In matters of any weight:
'Tis he whofe defign
Is quickn'd by wine
That raifes things to their height.
We then ihould it prize,
For never black eyes
Made wounds which this could not heale
Who, then, doth refufe
To drink of this juice
Is a foe to the Comon weale.
& d&lee to t$e 2ltcar>
Let the bells ring, and the boys fing,
The young laffes trip and play:
Let the cups go round, till round goes the ground,
Our learned Vicar we'le ftay.
68 Pills to Purge Melancholly.
Let the pigg turne merrely, hey !
And let the fat goofe fwim,
For verily, verily, hey !
Our Vicar this day fhall be trim.
The ftewd cock fhall crow, cock a doodle doe !
A lowd cock a doodle fhall crow;
The duck and the drake fhall fwim in a lake
Of oynions and clarret below.
Our wives fhall be neat to bring in our meat
To thee, our noble advifer:
Our paynes fhall be great, and our pottles fhall fweat,
And we ourfelves will be wifer.
Wee'l labour and fwlnk, we'le kiffe and we'le drink,
And tythes fhall come thicker and thicker ;
We'l fall to the plow, and get children enough,
And thou fhalt be learned, O Vicker!
€>tt a Colt) C^ire of Xttl
BRING out the old chyne, the cold chyne to me,
And how He charge him, come and fee,
Brawn, tufked brawn, well fowft and fine,
With a precious cup of Mufcadine.
CHORUS.
How Jhall 1' Jing, how fhall I look}
In honour of the mafler-cook f
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
The pig (hall turn round and anfwer me,
Canft thou fpare me a moulder ? a wy, a wy.
The duck, goofe, and capon, good fellows all three,
Shall dance thee an antick, fo mall the turkey ;
But O, the cold chyne, the cold chyne for me !
CHORUS.
How/hall 1Jing, how Jhall I look,
In honour of the mafter-cook f
With brewis He noynt thee from head to the heel,
Shal make thee run nimbler then the new oyld wheel;
With pye-cruft wee'l make thee
The eighth wife man to be ;
But O, the cold chyne, the cold chyne for me!
CHORUS.
How Jhall I Jing, how Jhall I look,
In honour of the niajler-cook f
^ fi&ong of Citpiti ^com'th
In love ? Away! you do me wrong :
I hope I ha* not liv'd fo long
Free from the treachery of your eyes,
Now to be caught and made a prize.
No, lady, 'tis not all your art
Can make me and my freedome part.
CHORUS.
Come, fllys a cup offherry, and let us be merry\
Then Jhall nought but pure wine
Make us love-fock or pine :
;o
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
Wed I hug the cup and kiffe it, we'I Jigh when en
we mi fife it;
For tis that that makes us jolly,
A ndjing hy trololey lolly.
In love ? tis true, with Spanifh wine,
Or the French juice, Incarnadine ;
But, truly, not with your fweet face,
This dimple, or that hidden grace.
Ther's far more fvveetneffe in pure wine,
Then in thofe lips or eyes of thine.
CHORUS.—Come, fill's a cup ofifiherry, &c>
Your god, you fay, can moot fo right,
Hee'l wound a heart ith darkeft night.
Pray, let him throw away his dart,
And try if he can hit my heart.
No, Cupid, if I fhall be thine,
Turn Ganimed, and fill us wine.
Chorus.—Come, fill's a cup ofjherry, &c.
flDn tfyt ©ertue of fkacfo
By D. R. H. E.
Fetch me Ben Johnfon's fcull, and fill't with fack,
Rich as the fame he drank, when the whole pack
Of jolly fifters pledg'd, and did agree
It was no fin to be as drunk as he :
If there be any weaknefs in the wine,
Pills to Purge Melancholly. 71
There's vertue in the cup to mak't divine.
This muddy drench of ale does taft too much
Of earth ; the m'ault retains a fcurvy touch
Of the dull hand that fows it ; and I fear
There's herefie in hops : give Calvin beer,
And his precife difciples, fuch as think
There's powder-treafon in all Spanifh drink,
Call fack an idoll, nor will kifle the cup
For fear their conventikle be blown up
With fuperftition : give to thefe brew-houfe alms,
Whofe beft mirth is fix millings beer and pfalms,
Let me rejoyce in fprightly fack, that can
Create a braine even in an empty pan.
Canary ! it's thou that doffc infpire,
And actuate the foul with heavenly fire ;
Thou that fublims't the genius, making wit
Scorn earth, and fuch as love and live by it.
Thou mak'ft us lords of regions large and fair,
Whilft our conceits build caftles in the air.
Since fire, earth, air, thus thy inferiours be,
Henceforth I'll know no element but thee.
Thou precious elixar of all grapes
Welcome ! by thee our Mufe begins her fcapes ;
Such is the worth of fack, I am (me thinks)
In the Exchequer now : hark how it chinks!
And do efteem my venerable felf
As brave a fellow, as if all the pelf
Were fure mine own ; and I have thought a way
Already how to fpend it. I would pay
No debts, but fairly empty every trunk,
And change the gold for fack to keep me drunk;
72
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
And fo, by confequence, till, rich Spains wine
Being in my crown, the Indies, too, were mine.
And when my brains are once afoot (heaven bleffe us !)
I think my felf a better man than Croefus.
And now I do conceit my felfe a judge,
And coughing laugh to fee my clients trudge
After my lordfhips coach unto the Hall
For juftice, and am full of law withall,
And doe become the bench as well as he
That fled long fmce for want of honeftie.
But I'll, be judge no longer, though in jeft,
For fear I mould be talk'd with, like the reft,
When I am fober. Who can chufe but think
Me wife that am fo wary in my drink ?
Oh, admirable fack ! Here's dainty fport:
I am come back from Weftminfter to Court,
And am grown young again : my ptifick now
Hath left me, and my judges graver brow
Is fmooth'd, and I turn'd amorous as May,
When fhe invites young lovers forth to play
Upon her flowry bofome : I could win
A veftall now, or tempt a queen to fin.
Oh, for a fcore of queens! you'd laugh to fee
How they would ftrive which firft mould ravifh me:
Three goddeffes were nothing : fack has tipt
My tongue with charms like thofe which Paris fipt
From Venus, when fhe taught him how to kiffe
Faire Helen, and invite a fairer bliffe.
Mine is Canary rhetorick, that alone
Would turne Diana to a burning ftone,
Stone with amazement burning with loves fire,
Fills to Purge Melancholly. 73
Hard to the touch, but fhort in her defire,
Ineftimable fack ! thou makTt us rich,
Wife, amorous, any thing : I have an itch
To t'other cup, and that, perchance, will make
Me valiant too, and quarrell for thy fake,
If I be once inflam'd againft thy nofe
That could preach down thy worth in fmal-beer profe,
I mall do miracles as bad, or worfe,
As he that gave the King an hundred horfe.
T'other odd cup, and I fhall be prepar'd
To fnatch at ftars, and pluck down a reward
With mine own hands from Jove, upon their backs
That are or Charls his enemies or facks.
Let it be full : if I doe chance to fpill
Ov'r my ftandifh by the way, I will,
Dipping in this diviner ink my pen,
Write my felf fober, and fall to Jt agen,
C^e SJpetrte^ of t^e ®ation&
The Scot.
I AM a bonny Scot, fir; my name is Muckle John,
Twas I was in the plot, fir, when the wars begun :
I left the Court in one thoufand fix hundred forty and one;
But fmce our flight at Worcefter fight we are all undone,
I ferv'd my lord and mafter, when as he liggd at home,
But fmce by a bad difafter he received his doom,
L
74 Pills to Purge Melancholly.
And now we fink, uds bread! I think the Deal's got in his
room :
He no man fpares, but ftamps and ftares at all
Criftendum.
I have travell'd mickle ground fince I got from Worcefter
Pound ;
I have gang'd the gallant round
Through all our neighbouring nations,
And what their opinions are of our Scotch and Englifh
war.
Nee, gidd feth, I mall declare all their approbations :
Jockey fwears he had his load, feels the rodd,
Breed a Gott, and complains 'tis very odd,
Since the fiege of Worcefter ; we were wounded tag and
rag,
Foot and leg, wem and crag. Hark ! I hear the Dutch-
men brag,
And begin to blufter.
Dutchman.
Uds floperment! fall Hogan Mogan ftates,
Strike down der top fails unto puny powers.
Ten hundred thoufand tun of devils, dam de Fates
If all her fkips and goodes prove not ours.
Since that blood and wounds do delight 'urn,
Tan-ta-ra-ray de trumpet found.
Let Van Trump go out and fight 'urn.
Eldeft ftates (hall firft be crowned :
Englifh (kellums fight not on Gods fide.
Out, alafs ! the Flemings beat.
Day have given us fuch a broad fide,
That we fhall be all forc't to retreat.
See where the French man comes in compleat.
Fills to Purge Melancholly. 75
Frenchman.
Begar, mounfier, 'tis much in vain
For Dutch, and France, or Spain
To crofs the Englilh main.
De nation now is grown fo ftrong,
De Tivil er't be long muft learn the Englilh tongue.
JTis better dat we do combine to fell dem vine,
Or learn of dem to make de lady fine :
Wee'l teach a dem to trip and mince, to kick and wince,
For by de fword we never (hall convince,
Zounds! every brewer dat can beat a prince.
Spaniard.
What, are the Englifh to quarrel fo prone,
That they cannot, of late, let their neighbours alone ?
And ihall the great and the Catholick King
Let his fcepter be contrould by a fword and a fling ?
Shall both the Indies be left to the fway,
And purity of thofe that do plunder and pray ?
Ere Auftria fuffer fuch affronts to be,
He'le tumble them down, as you, fenior, ihall fee.
Welchman.
Taffie was once a gott a mighty in Wales,
But his coozen, 0. P., was a greater :
Hur came in hur cuntry, Cots fplutter a nails !
Hur took up hur Welfh hook and did beat hur.
Hur eat up hur fceefe, hur turky, hur keefe,
Hur pig and hur capon in tidy fort:
Ap Morgan, ap Evan, ap Shenkin, ap Stephin,
Ap Tally, ap Powell, did fly for't.
;6
Pills to Purge Melancholly*
Irijhman*
0 hone ! a hone! poor Tege, and fhun my howle and cry,
St. Patrick, help d'y countryman, or fet and trot we dey.
The Engllfh day doe fteal our hoar'd of ufkabat'h,
Day put all to de fword all in Drogadah.
Help ! help ! St. Patrick ; now have no faint but thee :
Let us no longer cry O hone, a cram a cree<
Engli/ItmatL
A crown ! a crown ! make room ;
The Englifh man doth come,
Whofe valour is taller then all Chriftendome.
Though the Spanifh, French and Dutch,
Scotch, Welfh and Irifh grutch,
We care not, we fear not,
We can deal with fuch.
You thought, when we did begin
In a civil war to wafte,
That our tillage your pillage
Would become at laft.
When we could not agree,
You did think to fhare our fall ;
But youle find, fir, nere ftir, fir,
We fhall nofe you all,
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
77
, etje 'Bretuer*
A Ballad made in the Year 1657.
To the Tune of The Blackfmith.
There's many a clinching verfe is made
In honor of the Blackfmiths trade ;
But more of the Brewer may be faid,
Which no body can deny.
I need not much of this repeat:
The Blackfmith cannot be compleat,
Unlefs the Brewer doe give him a heat;
Which no body can deny.
When Smoug unto the forge doth come,
Unlefs the Brewer doth liquor him home,
He'le never ftrike, My pot and thy pot, Tom,
Which no body can deny.
Of all the profeffions in the town,
The Brewers trade hath gaind renown ;
His liquor reacheth up to the crown,
Which no body can deny.
Many new lords from him there did fpring,
Of all the trades he ftill was their king,
For the Brewer had the world in a fling ;
Which no body can deny.
He fcorneth all lawes and marfhall flops,
But v/hips an army as round as tops,
And cuts off his foes as thick as hops,
Which no body can deny,
78
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
He dives for riches down to the bottom,
And cries, My mafters! when he hath got um,
Let every tub ftand uppon its own bottom ;
Which no body can deny.
In warlike a6ls he fcorns to ftoop,
For when his army begings to droup,
He draws them up as round as a hoop,
Which no body can deny.
The Jewifh Scot, that fcorns to eat
The flefh of fwine, and brewers beat,
Twas the fight of this hogs-head made um retreat,
Which no body can deny.
Poor Jocky and his bafket hilt
Was beaten, and much blood was fpilt,
And their bodies, like barrels, did run a tilt;
Which no body can deny.
Though Jemy gave the firft affault,
The Brewer at laft made them to halt,
And [gave] them what the cat left in the malt;
Which no body can deny.
They cri'd that Antichrift came to fettle
Religion in a cooler and a kettle,
For his nofe and copper were both of one mettle ;
Which no body can deny.
Some Chriftian kings began to quake,
And faid, With the Brewer no quarrels we'le make,
We'le let him alone; as he brews let him bake,
Which no body can deny,
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
He hath a ftrong and very (tout heart,
And thought to be made an emperor for't,
But the Devil put a fpoke in his cart ;
Which no body can deny.
If any intended to do him difgrace,
His fury would take off his head in the place,
He always did carry his furneffe in his face;
Which no body can deny.
But yet, by the way, you muft underftand,
He kept his foes fo under command,
That Pride could never get the upper hand ;
Which no body can deny.
He was a ftout Brewer of whom we may brag,
But now he is hurried away with a hag :
He brew'd in a bottle, and bak'd in a bag ;
Which no body can deny.
x\nd now may all ftout fouldiers fay,
Farewell! the glory of the day,
For the Brewer himfelf is turn'd to clay;
Which no body can deny.
Thus fell the brave Brewer, the bold foil of flaught
We need not to fear what fhall follow after,
For he delt all his life time in fire and water ;
Which no body can deny.
And if his fucceffour had had but his might,
Then we had not bin in a pitiful plight,
But he was found many grains too light;
Which no body can deny.
So
Pills to Purge Melancholiy.
Let's leave off finging, and drink off our bub :
We'le call up a reckning, and every man club,
For I think I have told you a tale of a tub ;
Which no body can deny.
a Colieaton of jHen^ Catches*
The Tinker.
i He that a tinker, a tinker, will be,
Let him leave other loves, and come liften to me :
Though he travels all the day,
Yet he comes home ftill at night,
And dallies with his doxie,
And dreams of delight.
His pot and his toft in the morning he takes,
And all day long good mufick he makes :
And wanders up and down to wakes and to faires,
And cafts his cap at the Court and its cares.
When to the town the tinker doth come,
Oh ! how the wanton wenches run.
Some bring him bafons, fome bring him bowles ;
All wenches pray him to flop up their holes :
Tink goes the hammer, the fkellet and fkummer.
Come, bring me the copper kettle ;
For the tinker, the tinker, the merry merry tinker,
Oh ! he is the man of mettle.
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
81
A Catch.
You merry poets, old boyes
Of Aganippes well,
Full many tales have told boyes
Whofe liquor doth excell ;
And how that place was haunted
By thofe that love good wine,
Who tipled there, and chaunted
Among the Mufes nine :
Where ftill they cry'd, Drink clear, boyes,
And you lhall quickly know it,
That 'tis not lowzy beer, boyes,
But wine, that makes a poet.
A Catch.
3 Now that the fpring hath fill'd our veins
With kind and active fire,
And made green liveries for the playnes,
And every grove a quire,
Sing we this fong with mirth and merry glee,
And Bacchus crown the bowl;
And here's to thee, and thou to me,
And every thirfty foul I
Shear fheep that have them, cry we ftill,
But fee that none efcape
To take off his fherry that makes us fo merry,
And plump as the lufty grape.
M
82
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
A Catch.
4 MONGST all the precious juices
Afforded for our ufes
Theres none to be .compar'd with fack :
For the body or the mind,
No fuch phyiick you fhall find ;
Therefore, boy, fee we do not lack.
Would'ft thou hit a lofty ftrain,
With this liquor warm thy brain,
And thou, fwain, fhall ling as fweet as Sidney;
Or would'ft thou laugh and be fat,
Ther's not any like to that
To make Jack Sprat a man of kidney.
It [is] the foul of mirth
To poor mortals upon earth;
It would make a coward bold as Hector:
Nay, I wager durft a peece,
That thofe merry gods of Greece
Drank old fack and ne<5tor.
A Catch.
5 Call George again, boy, call George again,
And for the love of Bacchus call George again.
George is a good boy, and draws us good wine,
Or fill us more clarret our wit to refine :
George is a brave lad, and an honeft man,
If you will him know, he dwells at the Swan.
Pills to Purge Melancholly. 8$
A Catch.
6 COME, come away to the tavera, I fay,
For now at home 'tis warning day:
Leave your prittle prattle, and fill us a pottle;
You are not fo wife as Ariftotle.
Drawer, come away, let's make it holy day.
Anon, anon, anon, fir: what is't you fay ?
A Catch.
7 There was an old man at Walton Crofs,
Who merrily fung when he liv'd by the lofs;
Hey tro-ly loly lo.
He never was heard to figh a hey ho,
But he fent it out with Hey troly loly lo,
He chear'd up his heart
When his goods went to wrrack,
With a hem, boy, hem !
And a cup of old fack ;
Sing, hey troly loly lo.
A Catch,
8 COME, let us caft dice who fhall drink.
Mine is twelve, and his Jiee Jink :
Six and Jbwr is thine, and he threw nine.
Come away, Jink tray; Jize ace, fair play.
Quater-duce is your throw, fir;
Quater-ace ; they run low, fir :
Two dewces, I fee ; dewce ace is but three.
Oh! where is the wine ? Come, fill up his glaffe,
For here is the man has thrown ams ace.
84
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
A Catch.
9 She that will eat her breakfaft in her bed,
And fpend the morn in dreffing of her head,
And fit at dinner like a maiden-bride,
And nothing do all day but talk of pride,
Jove of his mercy may do much to fave her,
But what a cafe he is in that fhall have her !
A Catch,
io Never let a man take heavily the clamor of his wife,
But be rul'd by me, and lead a merry life,
Let her have her will in every thing:
If fhe fcolds, then laugh and fing,
Hey derry> derry ding.
A Catch.
i i Let's caft away care, and merrily fing,
There is a time for every thing:
He that playes at work, and works at his play,
Neither keeps working, nor yet holy day.
Set bufinefs afide, and let us be merry,
And drown our dull thoughts in Canary and fherry
A Catch.
12 Hang forrow, and caft away care,
And let us drink up our fack :
They fay 'tis good to cherifh the blood,
And for to ftrengthen the back.
Pills to Purge Melancholly. 85
Tis wine that makes the thoughts afpire,
And fills the body with heat;
Befides 'tis good, if well underftood,
To fit a man for the feat.
Then call, and drink up all,
The drawer is ready to fill :
Pox take care! what need zvefpare,
My father has made his will.
A Catch.
13 The Wifemen were but feven, nere more fhall be for me;
The Mufes were but nine, the Worthies three times
three ;
And three merry boyes, and three merry boyes are we,
The Virtues were but feven, and three the greater be;
The Caefars they were twelve, and fatal Sifters three;
A nd three merry girles, and three merry girles are we.
A Catch.
14 Shew a room ! fhew a room ! fhew a room !
Her's a knot of good fellows are come,
That mean for to be merry
With clarret and with fherry.
Each man to mirth himfelf difpofes,
And for the reckoning tell nofes:
Give the red nofe fome white,
And the pale nofe fome clarret;
But the nofe that looks blew,
Give him a cup of fack; 'twill mend his hew,
86 Pills to Purge Melancholly.
A Catch.
15 O ! The wily wily fox, with his many wily mocks,
We'le earth him, if you'l but follow.
And now that we have don't, to conclude this merry
hunt,
Lets us roundly whoop and hollow.
Prithee drink, prithee drink, prithee, prithee.drink■,
That the hunters may follow,
A Catch.
16 My lady and her maid, upon a merry pin,
They made a match at farting, who mould the wager
win.
J one lights three candles then, and lets them bolt
upright;
With the firfb fart me blew them out,
With the next me gave them light:
In comes my lady then, with all her might and main,
And blew them out, and in and out, and out and in
again.
A Catch.
17 Now I am married, Sir. John He not curfe :
He joyns us together for better, for worfe ;
But if I were fingle, I tell you plain,
I would be advifed ere I marri'd again,
Pills to Purge'Melancholly. 8j
A Catch.
i 8 An old houfe end, an old houfe end,
And many a good fellow wants niony to fpend.
If thou wilt borrow,
Come hither to morrow,
I dare not part fo foon with my friend.
But let us be merry, and drink of our fherry,
But to part with my mony I do not intend.
Then turd in thy teeth, and an old houfe end.
A Catch.
19 There was three cooks in Colebrook,
And they fell out with our cook,
And all was for a pudding he took,
And from the cook of Colebrook.
There was fwafh cook, and flafli cook,
And thy nofe in my narfe cook,
And all was for a pudding he took,
And from the cook of Colebrook.
Then they fell all upon our cook,
And mumbled him fo that he did look
As black as the pudding which that he took,
And from the cook of Colebrook,
A Catch.
20 Wilt thou lend me thy mare to ride a mile ?
No ; file's lame going over a ftile.
But if thou wilt her to me fpare,
Thou (halt have money for thy mare.
Oh ! fay you fo ? fay you fo ?
Mony will make my mare to go.
88
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
The Answer.
21 YOUR mare is lame ; fhe halts downe right :
Then we fhall not get to London to night.
You cry'd Ho, ho ! mony made her go ;
But now I well percieve it is not fo.
You muft fpur her up, and put her to't:
Though mony will not make her go, your fpurs will do't.
A Catch.
22 If any fo wife is, that fack he difpifes,
Let him drink fmall beer and be fober,
While we drink fack, and fing as if it were fpring,
He fhall droop like the trees in October.
But be fure over night, if this dog do you bite,
To take it henceforth for a warning,
Soon as out of bed, to fettle your head,
Take a haire of his tayle in the morning :
And be not fo filly to follow old Lilly,
For ther's nothing but fack that can tune us,
Let his Ne-aJJuefcas be put in his cap cafe,
And fing bibi to-vinttm jejunus.
A Catch.
23 GOOD Symon, how comes it your nofe looks fo red,
And your cheeks and your lips look fo pale ?
Sure the heat of the toft your nofe did fo roft,
When they were both fous't in ale.
It fhowes like the fpire of Pauls fteeple on fire,
Each ruby darts forth (fuch lightning) flafhes,
Fills to Furge Melancholly.
While your face looks as dead as if it were lead,
And cover'd all over with afhes.
Now, to heighten his colour, yet fill his pot fuller,
And nick it not fo with froth:
Gra-mercy, mine hoft! it fhall fave the a toaft :
Sup, Simon, for here is good broth.
A. C A T C H .
Wilt thou be fatt, He tell thee how
Thou fhalt quickly do the feat,
And that fo plump a thing as thou
Was never yet made up of meat :
Drink off thy fack ; twas onely that
Made Bacchus and Jack Falftafe fatt.
Now, every fat man I advife,
That fcarce can peep out of his eyesf
Which being fet can hardly rife,
Drink off his fack, and freely quaff:
'Twil make him lean, but me laugh
To tell him how-—'tis on a daff.
A Catch.
Of all the birds that ever I fee,
The owle is the faired in her degree ;
For all the day long fhe fits in a tree,
And when night comes, away flies fhe:
To whit, to whow, to whom drink thou ?
Sir knave, to thou.
N
9°
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
This fong is well fung, I make you a vow,
And he is a knave that drinketh now.
Nofe, nofe, nofe, and who gave thee that jolly red nofe ?
Nutmegs and cloves, and that gave thee thy jolly red
nofe.
A Catch,
26 This ale, my bonny lads, is as brown as a berry ;
Then let us be merry here an houre,
And drink it ere its fowre.
Here's to the, lad ;
Come to me, lad.
Let it come, boy; to my thumb, boy,
Drink it off, fir; 'tis enough, fir.
Fill, mine hoft, Toms pot and toaft
A Catch.
27 What ! are we met ? Come, let's fee
If here's enough to ling this glee.
Look about; count your number.
Singing will keep us from crazy {lumber,
i, 2, and 3, fo many ther be that can fing,
The reft for wine may ring.
Here is Tom, Jack, and Harry:
Sing away, and doe not tarry.
Merrily now let's fing, caroufe, and tiple.
Here's Briftow milk ! come, fuck this niple,
There's a fault, fir: never halt, fir, before a criple,
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
A Catch.
Jog on, jog on the foot path-way,
And merrily hen't the ftile-a;
Your merry heart goes all the day,
Your fad tires in a mile-a.
Your paltry mony bags of gold,
What need have we to ft are for,
When little or nothing foon is told,
And we have the lefs to care for.
Caft care away, let forrow ceafe,
A fig for melancholly !
Let's laugh and fing, or, if you pleafe,
We/1 frolick with fweet Dolly.
A Catch.
What fortune had I, poor maid as I am,
To be bound in eternal vow,
For ever to lye by the fide of a man
That would, but know's not how!
Oh ! can there no pity
Be in fuch a city,
Where lads enough are to be had ?
Unfortunate girle, that art wed to fuch woe,
Go, feek thee a lively lad,
And let the poor that hath nothing to {hew
Go, feek for another as bad.
Then call for no pity ;
Thou dwelt in a city
Where lads enough were to be had.
92
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
A Song..
Tr(inflated out of Greek.
30 The parcht earth drinks the rain,
Trees drink it up again :
The fea the ay re doth quaff,
Sol drinks the ocean off;
And when that health is done,
Pale Cinthia drinks the fun.
Why, then, d'ye ftem my drinking tyde,
Striving to make me fad ? I will, I will be mad.
A Catch.
31 Fly, boy ; fly, boy, to the cellars bottom
:
View well your quills and bung, fir.
Draw wine to preferve the lungs, fir;
Not rafcally wine to rot 'em.
If the quill runs foul,
Be a trufty foul, and cane it;
For the health is fuch
An ill drop will much profane it.
Upon a Welchman.
32 A MAN of Wales, a little before Eafter,
Ran on his hoftes fcore for cheefe, a teafter.
His hoftes chalkt it up behind the doore,
And faid, For the cheefe, good fir, come, pay the fcore.
Cods pluternails (quoth he), what meaneth thefe ?
What! doft thou think her knows not chalk from
cheefe ?
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
A Song.
DRINK, drink, all you that think
To cure your fouls of fadneffe.
Take up your fack, 'tis all you lack :
All worldly care is madnefs.
Let lawyers plead, and fchollars read,
And feftaries ftill conje<5lure,
Yet we can be as merry as they,
With a cup of Apollo's ne<5lar.
Let gluttons feed, and fouldiers bleed,
And fight for reputation,
Phyficians be fools to fill up clofe ftools,
And cure men by purgation:
Yet we have a way far better then they,
Which Galen could never conje£ture,
To cure the head, nay, quicken the dead,
With a cup of Apollo's ne6lar.
We do forget we are in debt,
When we with liquor are warmed :
We dare on't face the fergeant's mace,
And martiall troops though armed.
The Swedifh king much honour did win,
And valiant was as He6lor,
Yet we can be as valiant as he
With a cup of Apollo's ne6lan
94
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
Let the worlds flave his comfort have,
And hug his hoards of treafure,
Till he and his wifh meet both in a difh,
So dies a mifer in pleafure.
5Tis not a fat farm our wifhes can charm,
We fcorn this greedy conjecture;
Tis a health to our friend, to whom we commend
This cup of Apollo's ne£lar,
The pipe and the pot are our common fhot,
Wherewith we keep a quarter,
Enough for to choak with fire and fmoak
The Great Turk and the Tartar;
Our faces red our enfignes fpread,
Apollo is our protector :
To rear up the fcout, to run in and out,
And drink up this cup of nectar.
A Catch.
34 Welcome, welcome again to thy wits,
This is a holy day !
He have no plots, nor melancholly fits,
But merrily paffe the time away.
They are mad that are fad :
Be rul'd by me,
And none ill all be fo merry as we.
Pills to Purge Melancholly.
The kitchin (hall catch cold no more,
And we'l have no key to the buttery dore:
The fidlers (hall fing,
And the houfe fhall ring,
And the world fhall fee
What a merry couple,
Merry couple,
We will be.
FINIS.