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With a new gentleman-ulher, whose carriage is compleat, With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry up

the meat, With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat, Who when her lady has din'd, iets the servants not eat;

Like a young courtier, &c.

With new titles of honour bought with his father's old

gold, For which sundry of his ancestors old manors are fold; And this is the course most of our new gallants hold, Which makes that good house-keeping is now grown fo

cold,

Among the young courtiers of the king,
Or the king's young courtiers.

XIII.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S CAMPAIGNE.

When the Scottish covenanters rose up in arms, and advanced to the English borders in 1639, many of the courtiers complimented the king by raising forces at their own expence. Among these none were more diffinguished than the gallant Sir Joba Suckling, who raised a troop of horse, so richly accoutred, that it cost him 12,000). The like expenfive equipment of other paris of tbe army, made the king remark, that "the

di Scots would fight ftoutly, if it were but for the English " men's fine cloaths.(Lloyd's memoirs.] When they came to action, the rugged Scots proved more than a match for the fine Dewy English: many of whom behaved remarkably ill, and among the rest this splendid troop of Sir John Suckling's.

This humorous lampoon, Jupposed to have been written by Sir Fohn Mennis, a wit of those times, is found in a small poetical miscellany intitled, Musarum deliciæ : or the mufes recreation, conteining several pieces of poetique wit. 2d edition. - By Sir J. M. [Sir fon Mennis] and Ja. S. (James Smith.] Lond. 1656. 12mo.”. See Wood's Athena. Il.

397.481.

Sir John he got him an ambling nag,

IR

To Scotland for to ride-a,
With a hundred horse more, all his own he swore,

To guard him on every fide-a.

1

No Errant-knight ever went to fight

5 With halfe so gay a bravado, Had you seen but his look, you'ld have sworn on a book,

Hee’ld have conquer'd a whole armado.

The ladies ran all to the windowes to see

So gallant and warlike a fight-a,
And as he pass’d by, they began to cry,

Sir John, why will you go fight-a ?

But he, like a cruel knight, spurr'd on ;

His heart would not relent-a,
For, till he came there, what had he to fear?

Or why should he repent-a?

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The king (God bless him !) had fingular hopes

Of him and all his troop-a :
The borderers they, as they met him on the way,

For joy did hollow, and whoop-a.

20

None lik'd him so well, as his own colonell,

Who took him for John de Weart-a;
But when there were shows of gunning and blows,

My gallant was nothing so peart-a.

25

For when the Scots army came within fight,

And all prepar'd to fight-a,
He ran to his tent, they ask'd what he meant,
He swore he must needs

goe

th*te-a.

30

The colonell sent for him back agen,

To quarter him in the van-a,
But Sir John did swear, he would not come there,
To be kill'd the

very

first man-a.

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To cure his fear, he was sent to the reare,

Some ten miles back, and more-a, Where Sir John did play at trip and away,

And ne'er saw the enemy more-a.

35

But now there is peace, he's return’d to increase

His money, which lately he spent-a,
But his loft honour muft lye still in the dust;

At Barwick away it went-a

40

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XIV.

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON.

This excellent fonnet which poljeled a high degree of fame among the old cavaliers, was written by colonel Richard Lovelace during his confinement in the gate-house Westminster : to which he was committed by the house of commons, in April 1642, for presenting a petition from the county of Kent, requesting them to restore the king to bis rights, and to settle the

government. See Wood's Athena. Vol. II. p. 228 ; where may be seen at large the affeéting story of this elegant writer, who after having been distinguished for every gallant and polite accomplisoment, the pattern of his own sex, and the darling of the ladies, died in the lowest wretchedness, obscurity, and want, in 1658.

This song is printed from a volume of his poems intitled,

Lucafta, 1649. 12mo." collated with a copy in the editor's folio Ms.

W

HEN love with unconfined wings

Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at my grates,
When I lye tangled in her haire,

And fetter'd with her eye,
The birds that wanton in the aire,
Know no such libertye.

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When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames,
Our carelesse heads with roses crown'd,

Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe,

When healths and draughts goe free,
Fishes, that tipple in the deepe,

Know no such libertie.

15

20

When, 'linnet-like, confined I

With friller note shall fing
The mercye, sweetness, majestye,

And glories of my king,
When I Thall voyce aloud how good

He is, how great should be,
Thenlarged windes, that curle the flood,

Know no such libertie.

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